The IWALLK Essays - 3. Continuously Found

I wanted to let folks know about an interesting aspect of post general anesthetic surgery. I write this now, recalling events from over a week ago.

After I woke up on Friday of last week (10/4), the day after surgery, I began to experience a normal amount of temporary, post-surgical dementia (e.g. short term and verbal memory lapses—like forgetting the name of objects; drifting into thoughts rather than finishing sentences, etc.). Even now this fog is still tapering off, and it's taking a bit longer than I'd anticipated.

Most unexpected was the loss of emotional control. I'd get easily over-frustrated with my inability to remember, but I would also weep openly when being moved by any reminders of the profundity of my new circumstances—that is, getting a second chance at life and what that might truly mean, after the weeks leading up to the surgery. Before surgery I was realistically preparing for the end, accepting that my dreams for later life were to be thrown away in preparation for death. 

Even under normal circumstances it is admittedly difficult for me to discern emotional reactions from emotional over-reactions. (It is sad perhaps that a grown man must use mental issues to equivocate his behavior or admit to actually reacting to deep emotional states while the people around him remain numbed by the habit of insensitivity, but whatever, bub!)

Overall, the situation for me has ranged from being very humorous to being a real drag on my organizational skills. Incidentally, for this reason, I apologize for missing or not replying to the messages, emails, comments at Facebook and the questions you might have been asking. Do please know that the good vibes and healing energy you have expressed have been fully appreciated and have helped me tremendously!

You probably know me by now and have seen how everything that happens can become an opportunity for an impromptu scientific examination? Well, in an attempt to study the post surgical phenomenon while in this unique state, I've discovered that my clarity of thought before speaking (and/or while writing), is much more acute than normal. Nice as this should presumably be, my thoughts aren't effective unless they can be properly expressed. 

It's kind of like the balance between the *origination* of ideas vs their *expression* is significantly eschew. The process is normally more like a seesaw, with the former on one side and the latter on the other, moving up and down to pump out something meaningful. In this case, the former is accumulating data, while the latter is acting like a bottleneck, building up inexpressible thoughts that weigh down the system.

People have asked me online if I wanted help, how I'm doing, when they should stop by, etc. And I can't keep up right now—though I love all the attention! (I was telling someone—can't quite remember whom right now, ha! that I'm going to miss being unhealthy due to all the special attention I've received.)

On the second day after being discharged from the hospital I walked to a new restaurant with my mom. I was in pretty rough shape still, being unable to drive there. Together, Mom and I planned to take buses and walk where we needed to go around town. It was a throwback to a couple years earlier when I set about trying to train her in the South Portland and Portland bus systems before I moved up to my land in Farmington.

As we sat across from each other, each munching on a veggie spring roll and sipping soda, we commiserated on what it was like to forget things so easily and to feel like the world was always looking askance at us; the forgetful—the challenged thinkers.

I have often reminded my mom about things, but now she seemed to be the one in control. This was her world and I was but a transient visitor. Looking into her deep brown eyes, I asked, “Is this what it feels like?”

And, instead of saying, “What?,” she was right beside me on that thought train, nodding. I told her it seemed like a dark place. She suggested, “It is like being far away from everyone, right after the sun goes down; like you're lost in the woods and all you can really see are the tiny lights of civilization flickering on the horizon...” I smiled at her and then she smiled at me.

I said, “Yes, I know what that feels like in real life too. I've been in the middle of nowhere more times than I count! I was fortunate to be able to walk to the horizon each morning though. Not being able to do that is more like being trapped.” The connection of understandable symbolic imagery mixed with my actual physical experience, and knowing what my mom must feel each day, made my eyes well up a bit.

Then she said, “Lately, that's where I am all the time. At least right now we can be lost together.”

On my phone I struggled to find the correct part of the South Portland transit website in order to download PDF's for the Bus 24A, Bus 24B, and Bus 21 schedules. I couldn't focus very well and kept slipping under the mental ice of uncertainty and confusion, thence being pulled along under its surface by my own overriding mental currents. 

If we could arrange to catch a bus out here on the edge of South Portland, we could surely find our way downtown and be able to walk around Mill Creek Park. If I could only move through the fresh autumn air, maybe I could also stay above the mental ice. I was also in a sea of pain and I could not ignore it. Overthinking always makes pain worse, and vice versa.

I was having what felt like a bad trip, like I used to in the old school days. For me, the worst LSD moments of my youth were due to the futile chasing of thoughts over the horizon and the inability to retain short term objectives while being swept along by the ever-arising novelty of newly generated ideas, all produced by the drug experience. In this case, there were no drugs involved. Still, the more I sought to grasp onto the edges of certainty, the more psychic ground broke out from below my feet. And – at least out in public – I was there to watch over my mom! Until I could pull my shit together the safest plan was to simply sit and talk.

Yet time moved on, as it does, and the tangled vines of my indecision eventually showed a hint of loosening up. At some point during my Google searches, I clicked on the correct link and the bus schedule PDFs started to slowly download themselves. When they were ready to view, I discovered that the 24A would be passing right by us to the bus stop located just in front of Amato's in only 20 minutes. We finished our sodas and took what seemed like the enormous risk of leaving our safe place.

But it's a good thing we did! The fresh air instantly revived my pedestrian inclinations and my instincts for negotiating the streets around me popped back in, like a head's up display. What I'd needed all along was simply to walk—a lesson I should have remembered from the bad trip days. If you're stuck in a loop, a mental trap, or an unmovable sense of hesitation, just stand up and walk! It clears the senses, feeds you oxygen, points you in at least some sort of direction! Strange that I should so easily forget my most fundamental rule. 

The walking that saved me from drug hells of high school also (as we know) saved me from the social hell of hypocrisy while my Journeys across America were taking place. 

That's when it turned into “wallking.” Now that I have been given a new life, naturally, its most fundamental tenets should continue to include the option (or the requirement?) of wallking.

We caught the bus and joyfully rolled down Broadway until we reached the South Portland Transit Center. There, we stepped off and found our way to Mill Creek Park. The sun was low, with golden rays fanning out over a dark strip of clouds that were parked on the horizon like a big grey wall. Florescent oranges, reds and yellows gently swayed in leafy waves across the beautiful trees all around the lily pond. I took my mom's hand and we slowly made our way past sleepy ducks, moving along upon the pathway of a new personal freedom. 

Being lost is so much easier if I hold the steady hand of someone who loves me. Come to think of it, as long as we're together, we are never lost at all... We are continuously found... Love is the only destination that is available everywhere.