Parsing the Fear

            Parsing the Fear

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On a Saturday I saw an orthopedic specialist. He said, “I can fix your hip and leg.”

I’m kind of backward when it comes to medical issues. I didn’t go to him for a fix. I went for a referral to somebody who could make me those horrid ugly black shoes where one shoe is built up with a two or four or six inch sole—you know the kind—the ones I’ve been too vain to consider.

The doctor also told me the ugly black shoes would not help. I like to think I am smart. I like to think I knew my problem and shoes were the fix. Not even close.

Lent being too far ahead to wait, I had decided to give up vanity for Christmas. You might have overheard me make the pronouncement: no surgery ever again.

I like to think I’m flexible rather than flakey. Within two hours I was wondering how soon we could schedule the knife.

On Monday I went to the hospital in town for the round of tests. Routine stuff. Blood, urine, X-Rays, EKG and others I cannot translate.

On Thursday I went to the heart specialist for his readings. Five pages of excellent, excellent, excellent. Then he got to the EKG and frowned. I knew I had a heart and I knew it had been broken many times. But I think that is normal.

“Not so good, not so good.” He took my blood pressure. Frown deepened. Your blood pressure is way too high. I cannot recommend surgery.”

I blanched. How can that be? Historically I have low blood pressure. I always have low blood pressure. I think I may have thrown a mature version of a fit. The fit hit the wall and bounced back to slap me.

Maybe he felt sorry for me. Maybe he felt I needed a week to settle into the idea of medicating the problem. The kind man gave me a week to bring my blood pressure down to an acceptable level. 

Now that I think about it, that sounds crazy.

I’m so medically ignorant I had to consult Senora Google to find what blood pressure is normal.

He didn’t tell me how I was to accomplish this minor miracle. I’m a friend of the benefits of regular meditation and Qi Gong, a kind of meditative exercise. I can’t remember quite when I quit. Why is it so hard to maintain good habits and so easy to backslide down that slippery slope? 

On the phone with my daughter, Dee Dee, a mental health counselor, I whinged and whined. She, being calmer and smarter than me, said, “Mom. You have been walking in fear ever since you fell, back in September.”

“Bingo,” I said. “That is when the high blood pressure started. I’ll bet on it.” It’s true. Every step I have taken since I fell has been hesitant. I’m glad they didn’t test my adrenaline level.

I also have the misguided notion that if I can understand a problem, I can control it. It seldom works that way but I like the illusion.

Simple little changes in my routine include morning sun time under my jacaranda. This stately gentleman tree whispered to me, “Dune”.

Years ago my son Ben said, “Mom, read this. You’ll like it.” I did. I whipped through the “Dune” series. A simple paragraph stuck in my mind:

Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone, there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”

I love my children. They are so much wiser than I am.

Meditation, Qi Gong in a chair, regular conversations with my trees, chats with myself about fear, blind luck, the phase of the moon, Hershey’s Chocolate Kisses, who knows? In a few days I have lowered my blood pressure to what I hope is acceptable.

If, however, I am living in my own LaLa-Land of Illusions, I’ll swallow the bitter pill.

*”Dune” by Frank Herbert

Sondra Ashton

HDN: Looking out my back door

December 12, 2019

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