There’s No Place Like Home

Have you ever wished to borrow Dorothy’s ruby slippers to just take you home on command?  We did, a month ago, when confined to rehab for an expected twenty-one days.  But Dorothy’s slippers reside at the Smithsonian, and not in Durham, North Carolina, so no clicking of heels for me.  We considered a dramatic breakout using Kim’s new red Chevy truck but after a week we chose our moment of freedom and snuck out to the parking lot and into our minivan, still salt- and sand-coated from its latest sailing trip to to Lake Jordan with teens, dog and Cool Ranch Doritos.

At home, time to unpack.  First, the items always at reach on my bedside table were redistributed on the rolling table next to my window-view hospital bed.  From this lovely perch, I look over the Key West coffee cup, writing pad, and Kleenex box and into the backyard with its flowers, swaying trees, and two wandering cats. Birds chirp their morning symphony.  The neighborhood’s expanding supply of young children add their delightful squeals and giggles in early afternoon.

The less pleasant side of unpacking at home involves my abscess wound.  When a wound is deep, packing the wound with cloth strips can help it heal. The packing strips absorb drainage from the wound, which helps the tissues heal from the inside out.  Enough about that – it is healing well.

Then there is emotional packing and unpacking, which have long been a part of this journey. So-called “negative emotions,” including grief and loss, fit my predicament and deserve time, but I will not dwell there, and I will not let a negative tone dominate my interaction with others.  In conversations that included as many laughs as tears, the Brain Tumor Center’s neuropsychologist, Dr. Renee Raynor, taught me that I can pack up each of these emotions and put them on a shelf in my mind where they will be available when I need them. Then I can unpack each as needed, spend time there, and pack up again.

Sometimes, Dr. Raynor advised, the emotions choose their own timing. “Expect an occasional game of ‘whack-a-mole,’” she said. “You won’t know which is popping up next, yet you’ll still have the power to choose where you invest your attention, and when to pack them back up and store them on that shelf.”

Sometimes a mole pops-up as Dr. Raynor predicted, and sure enough, I can choose whether to unpack and be with that emotion or whack it right back into hibernation on the spot. Occasionally, in a tired afternoon moment, I realize I have time – and emotional strength – and choose some deserving topic from that shelf to ponder. Careful not to cry myself into a headache, I find these sessions honest, moving, real and therapeutic. I am in control. I can control when to experience each emotion.

Let’s pack up that subject.  I’m home, and there’s no place like home.