My mind is at times a dark place, I have the kind of sense of humor that makes me say things in a matter of fact way that have often shocked some and enraged others; but there are a few of us, the few that laugh at life for fear it will bring us crashing to our knees, that get it. We stand and say fuck you life, better laughter and a resignation to do what ever is necessary than lying on my side letting you kick me in the stomach. I don't always laugh but when I do I make sure I'm amused.
All of you will find my sense of humor a bit strange, disrespectful, and downright fucked up but some of you will laugh any way, and that's okay.
There are many things in life that we take for granted, things that we really don't worry about until it stops happening on its own. My father, having stomach cancer and all the complications of the illness and the attempted cures, has caused months and months of progressively worsening constipation. Constipation when you are sick sucks, but to have it so bad that your bowels become impacted and your dehydrated, severely under nourished and in pain is torture.
Now that I think about it, it amazes me that through out my life what comes out of a living body has been a concern to me. My children will tell you, I have screamed across the house at them several times, "You better start drinking more water your pee is too yellow," and not once have I ever cared who they had over. Ever since I had my first child, bodily waste has been an indicator of health. Be it my children, my pets and later my father I'm all about color, texture, consistency and frequency.
It seems to be a common thread throughout my life, shit.
That's right, shit.
A few weeks ago my father was having an especially hard time moving his bowels. It was torture for him. The tumor is almost an obstruction, every medication he takes causes constipation. It got so that I could see him considering how each morsel he placed to his lips would effect him at a later date.
On this occasion he was weak, tired, frustrated and in severe pain. I had given him one enima with some result but he was begging for another one. Now, mind you, we are talking about a man who would never have considered putting anything up his ass, ever. The fact that he was in enough pain and discomfort that he would insist on even one enima, then practically beg for a second, was not lost on me. This was especially upsetting to my three younger brothers who sat in the living room like expectant father's.
This whole ordeal took about two hours. Every so often I would come out for fresh towels, warm water to clean my father, or to wash my hands but mostly I was fighting the urge to run. I wanted to run badly, get the hell out of there, but stronger than my need for flight was my need to fight. To do my best to make Dad feel a little better and so, I encouraged him, I rubbed his back and finally I gave him some of my energy. A side note, I am a martial artist, my instructors have taught me to fight, physically and spiritually. I can run my healing energies to help me in many ways, although I don't as much as I should. I've made a special effort to run healing energies for my father. Some will believe and understand it is not a cure, some will think it's a placebo, but either way it helps.
My heart broke as Dad sat hunched over the bedside toilet, his elbows pushed against his stomach to help him push, sweat on his forehead and tears in his eyes. I had to be careful in my approach to him regarding running my energy with his, things of this nature scare the hell out of my catholic father. More now because of the actions of his estranged wife, we'll talk more of that shit later, but back to the shit on hand.
I went into the bathroom, grounded myself, said a little prayer and began cleaning out my own energy. After a few minutes I went back into the bedroom and stood behind my father. I placed my hands just over his body at his lower back and imagined my golden light coming from my hands into his body and helping him. After a many minutes continuously running my energy through him we finally heard a loud, heavy plop drop into bedside toilet. I swear I felt the vibration of thud through the legs of the toilet and the floor. Dad practically collapsed trembling from the exerting ordeal.
Needless to say all this is very alarming, each and every time he struggled with using the bathroom was alarming. The fact that he only had a bowel movement once a week for the last month is alarming. I mean can you imagine? I can and it's horrifying.
Imagine, after all that, the relief that swept through the entire household. I looked at my youngest brother, who had been sent in by my the two older brothers to check to see if it was safe. As soon as I gave him the all clear he ran down the hall and gave them the news. A few moments later as I busied myself opening windows, cleaning up and getting everything back in order, the boys all filed in. Being the oldest and the only girl out of the four of us, I have a tendency to call my brothers my babies, little brothers and refer to them as The Boys, even though they all tower above me. The oldest of my younger brothers is forty, the next is thirty-six and the youngest is seventeen.
They sat around my father's bed not knowing what to say and Dad lay there not talking. I took Dad's hand in mine and said, "Well Pa, I used to work in a stable many years ago and I've seen ponies take smaller shits than you, you must feel alot better." My brothers' mouths fell open and my father turned and looked at me. I nodded my head and tried to look very serious. Dad looked shocked and for a moment I thought, oops, but then he laughed and a second later everyone was laughing. It was the last really good laugh Dad had, the first in many weeks, and one I will always remember.
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