I described my symptoms to Connie. There was the tingling and numbness – I could manage with that. There was the stiffness, especially in the morning. That was very upsetting, because I couldn’t use my hands. But worst of all were the spasms. The pain was unbelievable, and it was always the same. It would awaken me in the early morning hours – just as I finally fell into a deep sleep. My fingers were hot, throbbing, and intensely aching.
I would have to jump out of bed and dance around in the bathroom to search for any position that would alleviate the pain. I had some relief after my visit with the physical therapist yesterday. However, the important part was that I had a different perspective. I was determined I could overcome this sudden condition that has afflicted me.
When I played my guitar in the evening at Border’s, my numbness returned.
Then late at night, the painful spasms returned again. This time I massaged my own hand and gritted my teeth. I didn’t mention to Connie that I had a powerful image. The pain was once again a “lion,” except I pictured myself holding a whip to it!
Last week, I had to answer a question for Connie. Did I believe that my subconscious mind might be able to manifest numbness in a physical way?
I wanted to believe that. However, as much as I wanted to, it wasn’t something I readily grasped. It just didn’t seem possible that I could have stress that would cause these symptoms. My life was joyful, even with my current challenges. These symptoms were causing me stress!
Today, I told Connie about something interesting that happened to me last week. I had lunch with three women. While I was engaged in conversation with one of the women, she told me she had experienced numbing pain that was similar to mine. It had happened suddenly also. She had all the same tests done and everything came up negative. I listened raptly to her story. She said, “My doctor told me that it was stress related. After I knew that, I relaxed and my symptoms went away.”
After hearing that, I was able to acknowledge that perhaps I was open to the possibility that this pain was a manifestation of thoughts. The explanation of how our body forces us to “pay attention,” did make sense for me.
Gently, Connie mentioned she knew this a difficult time of year for me.
I told her, “Yes, on top of my seasonal sadness, I’ve had a lot of responsibility.” Lately, dealing with both my parent’s care was reminiscent of steering Jason’s medical course. I’ve felt especially responsible for my mother’s destiny.
My hand pain had me feeling discouraged and angry. Connie encouraged me to feel more loving toward them. “Look at your painful arms and think loving thoughts about them,” she suggested.
The last revelation was the most painful.
Connie said, “I remember you telling me something about that certain phone call at night – the one where you knew Jason had died. What time did that happen?”
It wasn’t hard for me to make the connection. I wave of sadness hit me as the realization came. It actually was around the same time as my spasms.
Perhaps it was that when I was sleeping, my subconscious forced me to pay attention.
Now there was work that I needed to do. I had too many negative thoughts affecting me; my thoughts were definitely not helpful. I tried to simplify the negative dialog into simple statements that were positive and uplifting.
I started with my thoughts regarding my mother’s situation. I decided that when dealing with my mother’s dementia I would think of the “abundant love” she showered me with throughout my life. My mother always made me feel like I was the most important person in the universe.
I said, “Yes, thinking of my mother’s love would help me to cope; to deal with the different person she’s become.”
All of this brought to mind the new song I wanted to share with Connie. I had brought my guitar. I asked her if I could share it with her now.
I sang my new lyrics in the quiet of the guesthouse. I was able to manage it without crying, though I choked on the very last line, “the memory of love is always there.”
It was time for hypnosis. I was very emotional. My eyes were closed, but tears managed to seep out under the closed lids. As I was awakening, I thought I heard her voice gently saying, “The memory of love is always there.” It was the last line from my new song’s lyrics.
I opened my eyes; my cheeks were still wet. I said in a soft voice, “That would be a great song title, you know. The memory of love – I like that! Song titles are very important. I must go home and see if that one is taken.”
I went home and reworked my song a little more to incorporate those words better. I did a song title search and nothing came up.
I had found my song title.
I was preparing to record an old song tomorrow, and to post this before going to bed. I wasn’t sure what pictures I could add to this post. I always add pictures. Recently I had scanned a lot of pictures of Jason. I anticipated I would want them in the coming weeks.
Today, I allowed myself to accept that perhaps my joy was tempered considerably by the approaching anniversary of his death. I decided to add a few of his pictures.
I chose two pictures that really showed how tiny and skeletal he was. He vomited every day. There was lot of trauma there seeing those pictures. So many times I’ve had thoughts surrounding this.
But then I remembered. The simplest thought came to me. It was always there.
The memory of love . . .
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