Posts Tagged ‘childbirth’

Owning Our Wholeness: Epiphanies

Saturday, November 7th, 2009

Epiphany Times Three by Kathrin Burleson

Epiphany Times Three by Kathrin Burleson

Hiya Pinkies – please welcome back the incomparable Alice Langholt, Pink Reiki Rockstar and dispenser of great Pink wisdom. Today she writes of ephiphanies — those pivotal moments in life that make us who we are. We drank in every word and know you will too. Thank you, Alice, for this gorgeous, thought-provoking piece.

I have been thinking about epiphanies – those moments when you learn something about life, and in doing so, your understanding of reality shifts. There are many of these that happen to us from an early age, and usually we can remember them because they pack a wallop! Epiphanies are scattered throughout life, and involve a paradigm shift – a drastic change of understanding. So I thought I’d share my epiphanies with my Pinkie siblings. Maybe you share some of them, and no doubt you have some of your own to add. These are mine:

  • Death – I remember learning that people die, and when they do, they don’t come back (at least not in physical form as we knew them). I learned it around the age of four, but the lesson really hit home the deepest for me when my favorite aunt died suddenly on the night of my 8th grade dance. I found out that she had died as I was getting into my dress, and it was too late not to go – my date was coming to pick me up in about 10 minutes. So I went but ran to the bathroom for a huge cry in the middle of the evening, dragging my best friend along for support.
  • Sex – Learning how babies are made is an epiphany. It’s rather shocking, and I know that many of us feel that our parents bungled telling us, making a traumatic, uncomfortable conversation out of “the talk.” I was about five years old, and wasn’t ready to know, but my mom thought I needed the information and kind of forced the conversation. I wanted to cover my ears and yell, “LA LA LA LA LAAAA!” to drown out her words. “Ewwww!” I remember thinking. As far as my own kids, I waited until they asked and really wanted to know how that baby had gotten into my growing belly, and then I told them. Were we uncomfortable? Oh yeah. But it was okay, I think. I’ll know more about how well I did when they are old enough to tell me how they remember the conversation.
  • There are people with bad intentions in the world. Finding out that not everyone has your best interests at heart is an epiphany. It’s a sad wakeup call to learn not to talk to strangers and why, and what to do if someone tries to abduct you. Many a nightmare is triggered by fear of crime or a bad person trying to hurt you. This is a particularly disturbing epiphany. I don’t remember exactly when I learned it, but I know that the lesson was powerful and scary.
  • War exists – I remember learning about WWII and prejudice, racial hatred, and the pain of finding out how people in my religion were senselessly treated. Knowing that people have a history of not being able to accept differences, despite the peaceful, tolerant-emphasizing way we are being brought up, is painful. Learning about slavery is another, related epiphany, and empathetically hurtful. People can be so cruel to each other, and it’s hard to live in a world where things like this have been, and still are, so rampant. I remember being deeply upset and feeling hopeless about the world for a good long time beginning when I was in the sixth grade.
  • Heartbreak – The first time someone breaks your heart is an epiphany. You learn how much it hurts and that in time you get over it. Chances are it won’t be the last time, either. My first heartbreak was in eighth grade, and I wrote a song full of teenage angst called “Alone Again” which described my feelings perfectly after being dumped.
  • Love – Really learning what it means to love and be loved was an epiphany. For me, this included the realization that love means treating the other person with love, and being treated that way as well. I spent a good long time in my teenage years thinking that love meant working through problems. If only I knew that I wasn’t being treated with love, and this was not what love meant, I would have saved myself six years of being mistreated by my so-called boyfriend. I try to teach my teen students this realization when I have the opportunity. I will also teach my children this when they’re interested in dating. When I finally dated someone who treated me like I was someone to be cherished, I learned the difference. That was an epiphany for me. I learned that I am deserving of love, and of being with a person who would treat me that way. This epiphany helped me know that my husband was the right person to marry.
  • Having Sex – Yes I said this before, but this time it’s the experience of sex, not just learning about it, that’s an epiphany. Whenever it happens to you, however it happens, the experience itself is one that most people always remember. I’ll spare you the details of my first time, but tell you that it happened when I was seventeen.
  • Having a baby – This applies to either gender, but I have to say that being female, it’s an especially powerful epiphany. Being pregnant is a feeling like no other – having a living being growing and moving inside your body is an intimate experience. I remember feeling the little kicks. I remember my husband singing to my belly and the baby moving her head close to his mouth when he did, to hear him better. Labor is another profound and unique pain, followed by the overwhelming love experienced by holding that newborn and gazing into his or her little eyes with wonder. Creating another human being is mind-blowing. Becoming a parent changed my life completely. Being a parent is an endlessly unfolding series of epiphanies as my husband and I watch and try to support our kids’ growth.
  • Reiki – Learning Reiki was an amazing epiphany. I had longed for a spiritual connection ever since I can remember. Learning Reiki gave me a tangible, physical response to spiritual energy. I feel tingles in my hands when Reiki is running through them. The experience of working with Reiki energy showed me that there is something spiritual outside myself – an energy coursing through me – that’s capable of helping someone feel better if I focus my intention on sending it to him or her. It showed me that we are all, indeed, connected, and have great power to help each other. Reiki represents something I can do to make the world better by helping others. I guide others to tap into this potential inside them when I teach Reiki. I help people feel better when I give a Reiki healing session. Anyone can learn it, and when I teach someone Reiki, I feel I’ve done something worthwhile. For many, having a religious experience is an epiphany – God exists! For me, learning Reiki showed me the same thing, and I can do something that goes beyond talking about a religious experience: I can give this experience to others when I teach them Reiki. Reiki is not religion, but it is a profound connection with the spiritual energy inside, around, and running through all of us. Learning Reiki gave me my life’s purpose and my spiritual connection. I am forever changed and utterly grateful.

What are your epiphany moments, Pinkies? What have you learned that changed the way you understand your life?

With eyes wide open,

Alice

Wounded Healers

Thursday, January 29th, 2009

banner4Why is it that our doctors have become so broken? “Physician heal thyself,” or so they say. But it seems we’ve lost the art of caring for ourselves as a profession. It saddens me deeply. Yesterday, Aviva Romm, a skilled midwife/herbalist/author/artist-turned-Yale medical student called me to process the decisions that lie ahead of her. Originally, she decided to go to medical school to become an OB/GYN, so she could add skills and expertise to her already vast knowledge of childbirth and women’s health. Now, in her fourth year of medical school, she is questioning her decision. Somehow, the OB/GYN’s at her prestigious medical school have lead her to question her skill set, to doubt her gifts, and to feel diminished. We’re talking about an amazing healer who has been on faculty at a university, has written many textbooks, and has years of clinical experience. That she should be cast down by the very profession that inspired her to attend medical school in the first place seems horribly wrong to me. What has become of us?

I swear I have posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) from my twelve years of medical education. Even now, I sometimes awaken, drenched in sweat, certain that my pager has been buzzing and a woman is hemorrhaging in a delivery room while I sleep through my page. Or I experience the sting of having my medical school professor spewing hateful words at me- “Suck me good, Lissa. Suck me hard, Lissa,” while he rams the suction catheter at me in the operating room. The one and only time I revisited the hospital where I did my OB/GYN residency, I threw up. So it comes as no surprise that this wonderful woman who would add so much to our profession should second guess her decision to become one of us. Frankly, I don’t blame her.

When I think back to what I endured, it sickens me. When I wanted to fly home to attend my grandmother’s funeral, my professor said, “I didn’t even attend my own father’s funeral. Cancer doesn’t take a holiday.” As if that was something to be proud of, some crazy badge of honor signally his dedication to the profession. I remember consciously deciding that I didn’t want to become like him. I wanted to bring all of my humanity to my medical practice, to be competent and professional, but also flawed, compassionate, empathetic, and real. Nobody made it easy to do that, as if the process seeks to weed out doctors with hearts. Until recently, no physician other than my father ever made me feel valued for being whole. Instead, they seemed to revel in what made me feel conflicted. When I came back to work four weeks after giving birth to my daughter by C-section, they cheered my decision to come back so quickly, even though my father’s funeral had been only days before. When I stayed late to see a patient through a difficult delivery- choosing my patient over my daughter, who I didn’t get to see that night, they praised me. And when I finally decided to take some time off to reconnect to my heart, they chastised me. When I told him I was leaving the hospital to take a year off, one senior surgeon said, “We have to train two of you women to equal one man, since none of you know how to work.” Ouch.

Yet that message lives in me still, buried beneath years of undoing my past, of trying to let go of those twelve painful years of medical education. I still hear its voice in dreams and doubts and demons in my head. They are quieter these days, but they still whisper venom. So I don’t blame this lovely midwife-turned-medical student for questioning her choice. Within the ivory towers of her university, she has discovered a nest of kind, appreciative internal medicine doctors who are wooing her to join their ranks. They want her to craft a residency program to meet her needs, to bring her gifts to how she practices, and to pave the way for a new way to care for women. She asked me what I thought, whether she needed to suffer through the pain of an OB/GYN residency in order to provide the kind of women’s health care she wants to practice.

It’s a funny question. On one level, I am eternally grateful to my teachers for training me so well. I know I can handle any OB/GYN emergency that comes my way. I can wield a scalpel, deliver babies, stop hemorrhage, and resuscitate a dying person. And yet, if I knew then what I know now, would I do it all again? Maybe not. Maybe I would hung out with the nutty but sweet psychiatrists. Or maybe I would have joined the ransk of the kid-loving pediatricians. Maybe I would not have gone to medical school at all. But it’s impossible to play the what-if game. I can’t undo the past, and I do have that training, even if it comes with the PTSD baggage I still carry.

Today, I am grateful to be a board-certified OB/GYN, even with all the crap that came with it. But mostly, I’m happy to have met a group of doctors who value my humanness, who respect me more because I am whole. In my new job at Clear Center of Health in Marin County, I share space with a family practice doctor, an internal medicine doctor, an osteopath, a naturopath, a nutritionist, and a psychologist. We all spend an hour with our new patients, we listen to their stories, we pay attention to the subtext of their illnesses, and at the end of the day, we go home to be with our families. The medical director just left the office for a week to attend a funeral, and the naturopath just took off to take care of her sick cat. Maybe, to truly heal others, we must allow ourselves to grieve, to laugh, to feel, to love, to fear, even to fail. Rejecting our humanity, they way they preached to me in medical school, doesn’t help anyone.

So how did I advise the medical student who sought my counsel? I told her to listen to her heart. Regardless of what they teach you in medical school, hearts always know the answer. And I suspect she’s going to make some gentle-spirited internal medical doctors very happy. As for my profession, if she chooses not to become an OB/GYN, it will be our loss.