Connection of Care

What did I miss most when I retired from being a doctor?

Patients.

The dignity with which they put up with so much angst and uncertainty constantly inspired me. They smiled. They tried to be gentle, often through pain. I felt a deep connection of care with them. When I stopped working, I missed my patients most.

Over the last 15 months, I have been studying the principles of Hypnotherapy and learning the skills of Solution Focused Brief Hypnotherapy. Anaesthesia is to Medicine what Hypnosis is to therapy. The parallels are clear to me. The course was enjoyable and insightful, and the practice is deeply satisfying. I can now work online with my clients from this remote little village where we live. Once again, I have that caring connection with people.

The fundamental physiological principle on which Hypnotherapy is based is that of Neuroplasticity – the ability of the brain at any age to grow and morph in response to repeated use of certain neural tracks. Cells that fire together, wire together, states Hebb’s law. This essentially means that the repeated use of certain pathways strengthens them and disuse of others, weakens them.

The belief at the root of this practice is that all the resources we need are already present within us. The art is to have access to them, to be self-aware and make decisions from a place of strength, not fear.

Insomnia, weight loss, depression and anxiety, stopping smoking, grief, getting over a phobia, relationship issues and stress are the most common presenting complaints. I am fascinated with the process as I see people identify small steps for themselves that add up over time to produce the big changes they want in their lives. One or two bonus ones as well.

One of my clients was mainly concerned about her weight. She didn’t like her photos and hated shopping for clothes. Otherwise, her life was good. She shared it with her husband of 28 years. After 6 weeks in therapy, she started to comment on her relationship with her husband, which seemed to be improving. She was responding differently to the things he said and did. That really helped. By Week 8, she was enthralled by how famously the two of them were getting on. At our 10th and last meeting, the weight wasn’t even mentioned. She had taken charge of her life.

“I think I have been more positive since we started. More considered, certainly.  My responses have become calmer. This has helped many of my interactions, especially with Mike. There are people who trigger me, however, that I still find it difficult to respond in a calm way (my mother). My activity levels have been steady. I rate my confidence as being a bit improved. I am trying to value myself more and my body. I am still a very organised person, but I suppose I am ‘letting things happen’ a bit more. I find that the small improvement in my levels of confidence and interactions have made a difference.  My reactions and responses help me.

As far as happiness is concerned, I often rate how I feel and think about what little thing I could do to improve how I feel. In general, the sessions have helped me view how I act and interact with others. I can ‘hear’ your voice calmly in the background when I take time to consider how I feel. I am also good at scoring myself. 

There have been some difficult moments recently (regarding my mother), and I have managed to step back for a few days and recharge.”

I feel fortunate to have found this new line of work that is essentially a series of creative conversations.

Resource: An international School for training to be a Hypnotherapist: https://inspiraology.com/

The perils of being DIFFERENT.

This is the month of his birth. I have not forgotten the 6th of May.

The questions still sneak in on stormy nights and on special days, especially the supposedly ‘happy’ ones. Yes. Blessed is the day he was born. Aren’t I lucky?

All the questions that I can ignore and shove out the window on other days of the year come back and stand firmly in front of me on his birthday.

What would he be doing at 32?

What would he make of the state of this world?

Would he still be playing the drums?

What would he look like?

Would he have a girlfriend? Would he be engaged? Married?

Kids?

What music would he be listening to?

Job?

Health?

Cricket?

Friends?

Where would he have chosen to live?

Blah. Blah. Bloody blah!

Pointless noise.

What if he wasn’t bullied at school for being different? That’s a biggy!

What if his class teacher had listened to me when I told her about it?

What if his small, protestant, primary school in Dundonald, Northern Ireland had acknowledged the issue?

What if they had taken appropriate action?

What if I had moved him to another school there and then?

“Adam is always on my side when the other kids bother me.” He said one Sunday morning, at the age of 6. We were having a lazy morning in bed.

“Do the other kids bother you a lot?”

Silence.

“What do they say?”

“You worship a God with an elephant head!”

Sometimes, I am grateful that he doesn’t have to deal with this hateful world of genocides and mad wars.

Hope the world you’re in is a peaceful one, my love. Happy Birthday Saagar.

New things.

They opened her sister’s tummy and took out a thing that looked like a red chili. Their mother was very worried, but the doctor said ‘all went well’. She was so relieved, she brought her a blue silk purse embroidered with beads and sequins. She had managed to buy a nearly new one for pennies at the village market from a heap of random goods piled up on the roadside.

New things never happened to Amita. She was the fifth of six kids. One girl. 3 boys. Her. One more boy. Most of her childhood was spent in boy’s clothes. When she was seven, she could finally wear her sister’s tattered old frocks. All she wanted was something new.

Amita started complaining of tummy aches that were so strong she had to miss school. She hardly ate anything and became scrawnier every week. She looked sallow. Her parents took her from one doctor to the next. They were exasperated. Finally, the fifth doctor said they would have to open her tummy and look inside. Amita’s dream was coming true. She smiled inwardly. Her operation was scheduled for Monday.

On Sunday night, in her hospital bed she remembered when her aunt had come to visit from Bangalore, she had brought one plastic doll for the girls to share. Its golden hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her head was round with two very round brown eyes. When you lay her on her back, her eyelids closed over. Thick long black lashes touched her pink cheeks. On standing her up, the lids mechanically snapped open. Her elder sister claimed the doll all for herself. When no one was looking, Amita would hold the doll like a baby, rock it from side to side and stroke its cheeks.

On Monday morning, she was super-excited. As she was going off to sleep, the blue silk purse embroidered with beads and sequins danced in front of her eyes.

When she woke up, Amita had a huge red gash right down the middle of her tummy. It was so painful that she could hardly breathe but Amita didn’t care. She waited for her mum. When the visiting hour arrived, her mum brought her a gift – a red silk purse embroidered with beads and sequins. It was even more beautiful than the blue one. Amita felt victorious. She had a new thing, all for herself.  She could hardly wait to show it to the smiley nurse who routinely looked after her.

That night, Amita slept peacefully in her hospital bed, clutching on to her silk purse.

The next morning, the smiley nurse came in with a thermometer and placed the tip of it under Amita’s tongue with a smile. She then started writing her notes. Just then, Amita pulled out the purse from under her pillow and held it up for her to see, her eyes popping out but unable to speak.

“Oh! For me? How kind! Thank you.” said the nurse and received the purse with both her lovely hands.

                                                ****    ****    ****

Resource: This story is inspired by an anecdote from the book “Nonviolent Communication. A language of Life.‘ by Marshall B. Rosenberg. PhD. In Chapter 4, he addresses the heavy cost of unexpressed feelings about unmet needs.

Five times more likely.

Queer youth are five times more likely to die by suicide. I did not know that. I knew nothing about Andrea Gibson until after their death earlier this week from Ovarian Cancer. Every word they wrote throbbed with a cry against injustice. They were an activist for tenderness, a warrior for the human heart. I have spent most of today reading her poems and they sing to me. Gibson lived deeply and spoke candidly about moments when things got too much for them.

“When your heart is broken, you plant seeds in the cracks and pray for rain.”

“Just to be clear,” they wrote, “I don’t want to get out without a broken heart. I intend to leave this life so shattered there’s gonna have to be a thousand separate heavens for all of my flying parts.”

Respect!

Two overlapping worlds.

The Bhagavad Geeta addresses the ethical and moral dilemmas around the questions of who we are, how we should live our lives and act in this world. If this voluminous text was to be summarised in two sentences, they would be:

  1. Do what needs to be done, knowing that all actions come from God.
  2. Do not be attached to the results of your actions.

Six weeks ago, I re-entered the world of Suicide Prevention due to a presentation I agreed to make. It took me back to a familiar battleground where strong currents of injustice flowed through me. I went over our story yet again, in mind and body. It burnt me up. It made me restless and irritable. It kept me staring at the ceiling at night. It brought back the shit of guilt in big droppings. It was silly of me to agree to do it, but it was too late already. I wrote it down, prepared a set of PowerPoint slides to support the story.  I repeated it for the nth time to many. I wondered, to what end, but I did it anyway.

Four and a half years ago, when my road gradually swerved from the Suicide Prevention world towards peer support with other parents, it was like a cool breeze gently blowing in my face. That conversation felt like a proper invitation. Instinctively I knew it was good for me. Despite huge self-doubt, I trusted that path. I went with it. This work was also about preventing isolation and possibly suicide amongst parents, as our risk is 60-70% higher than others. It did not feel like work at all. We formed strong bonds of friendship. We shared deeply and held each other in understanding and compassion. This felt like home.  

The organisers at National Confidential Inquiry into Suicide and Safety in Mental Health provided me the best possible support to be able to present my thoughts. The comments on the chat were that of gratitude and inspiration to change. One person said that it was better than any training course they had attended. I am glad that I did what was needed. The strength to do it came from somewhere. Now, it can do its work and I can go back home.

The recording is here (‘Bridging the gaps’ starts 6 minutes and 45 seconds in).