In with the New

Tags

adopting a new attitude, Adoption recovery, Gratitude, planting hope

Last week I remodeled my back yard

For fifty years, the Century Plant lived and grew. It was big and green and beautiful. Every decade or so, it produced a lovely white blossom. It witnessed the overnight campouts of my two young sons, just little guys then. It thrived next to a California style hot tub, scene of social gatherings and solo soaking. In the 1990s, hot tub maintenance became burdensome and I had the redwood barrel removed. My Century Plant soldiered on. Though it flowered rarely, the plant held court constantly. In the 1970s and early 1980s, it was surrounded by grass. Up until 2000, year of New Mexico’s devastating bark beetle invasion, it was neighbor to a forest of piñons.

Then, a harbinger of losses to come, the backyard piñon trees died. First one, then another, and finally 70 of them. Everywhere in my two acres. It happened not just to me but to all of Northern New Mexico. Because of ongoing drought, the trees’ immune systems were wrecked. The beetle larvae, always present within the trees, came alive, fed on the trees, going voraciously from one piñon to another. The bug came to be called “a wildfire on six legs.”

With the help of my helper, Julian, the Century Plant was removed. Its roots went deep into the earth and it took my very strong gardener nearly an hour to dig and saw his way to the depths of the plant’s reach. To our delight, there was a new fledgling plant underneath the spikes of the old. Julian created a “rock pond” where the parent Century Plant had resided. Junior, as we named the offspring, displays himself proudly at the edge. Little things can mean a lot.

Why is this such a big deal? Today’s world is changing with increasing velocity. Problems such as climate change, war, famine, abortion rights, inequality and a host of ills. It can all be too much. Personally, I contribute what I can to help the world. After that, I narrow the lens. My goal: make improvements in the personal sphere. In with the new!

The old plant removed, a new start can live and breathe.

Join Elaine on Mondays for reflections on the writing, hiking and the outdoors, Santa Fe life, and the world as seen through adoption-colored glasses. Check out her newest novel The Hand of Ganesh. Follow adoptees Clara Jordan and Dottie Benet in their  quest to find Dottie’s birthparents. Order today from Amazon or http://www.pocolpress.com. And thanks for reading!

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Digging into Dickens

Tags

A Tale of Two Cities, adoptee, Birthdays, Book clubs, Charles Dickens, Gratitude

China tea, the scent of hyacinths, wood fires and bowls of violets—that is my mental picture of an agreeable February afternoon. — Constance Spry

Here we are at the beginning of a new month. In January I survived yet another birthday. A lady doesn’t reveal her age, so I won’t, but in the meantime, I’ve decided that the best gift I can give myself is gratitude.

Charles Dickens would have been 209 years old on February 7th

New Mexico has a governor who is applying strict measures for stopping the pandemic’s toll. She’s working hard to insure that those who want the Covid-19 vaccine can get it. I was lucky enough to receive my first injection; in six days I’ll receive the second. This non-opening of businesses is hard. It means no eating out (except for frigid picnics), no going to movies or musical events, and missing all the festivals, markets and celebrations that make Santa Fe  the unique town that it is. To celebrate my birthday, friends and I went not to lunch but to the forest for snowshoeing.

In addition to being grateful for daily doses of outdoors, I’m thankful for books. The new order of things has allowed us bibliophiles more time to read. I belong to an excellent book club.The members are adventurous in their literary choices, and it’s been fun reading books that, on my own, I might never have discovered. I’m a lifetime fan of Victorian literature, especially Charles Dickens. When it was my turn to select, I proposed A Tale of Two Cities. To my relief, everyone seemed to love reading (or in most cases re-reading) the dramatic story of Charles Darnay, Lucie Manette and her father the doctor, Jerry Cruncher, Miss Pross and Jarvis Lorry.. The backdrop of the French Revolution and scheming Madame Defarge, the storming of the Bastille, and Sydney Carton’s heroic sacrifice…all of it was reviewed in our two-hour online get-together. The discussion was lively, rewarding and affable. Several of us, in addition to the next book club selection, are going to be reading more Dickens on our own.
These are troubling times, but there is much for which to be thankful. That said, I’ve adopted a new role: curator of my own contentment.

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Tune in to Elaine’s blog posts on alternate Mondays for reflections on adoption, the outdoors and the writing life. Her third novel, The Hand of Ganesh is headed toward publication in late 2021.

Snowshoeing is a great way to celebrate Winter.

Troubadour for Troubled Times

Tags

Acceptance, Adaptability, Gratitude, Guitar, Jugband Music, Keeping Calm, Storytelling

John Henry MacDonald has been called “the Will Rogers of modern times.”

Today’s guest post features one of the world’s treasures, a person whose attitude toward life I’ve decided to adopt. A few years back. I met John Henry MacDonald on the hiking trail. He is a musician, philosopher, a one-of-a-kind singer songwriter, a man with a healthy attitude toward life, an outlook well suited to these Corona Virus Times. His is a philosophy that I’ve adopted.
And who is John Henry MacDonald?
In his own words: “From the streets of San Francisco to the jungles of Vietnam, from drug addiction and alcoholism and homelessness, to finding his strength and becoming a reigning figure in financial services in Austin Texas for more than 40 years, John Henry McDonald has lived many lives in one. And throughout the years he always kept a common thread: a love of folk, gospel, and blues music and a talent for telling a good story.”
A true survivor of many of life’s challenges, John Henry McDonald endeavors to tell his story of survival and hard-earned success by telling audiences about himself and about the man who saved his life. Entitled “A Guru Named Frank,” his beloved one-man show features 16 original songs wrapped around 11 vignettes and a ready encore. The stories and the songs describe his brokenness after the war, and the rite of passage McDonald undertook after meeting his guru, the man that would serve as John Henry’s guide to leading a productive and extremely successful life.

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“Nuts and Bolts of Calm” by John Henry
First we must wish to be calm. Then we must wish to remain so. (A decision has to be made).

A morning prayer recited.
Listing things that make us grateful.
Guided meditation.
A reading for the day.
These are all activities that still the mind. And these moments of stillness are the treasure we are seeking. Moments of calm. Priceless.
Now we’ve established that we can be calm. Next the task of remaining calm.

A worrisome thought has a beginning. And all of those beginnings sound something like this: “what’s going to happen to me when”… (Fill in the blank with negativity).
So it’s our job to identify the beginning of a negative thought and stop it in its tracks. You see, I control my mind, my mind does not control me.
So when a worrisome thought begins, I stop it by saying “No!!” Then I recall the morning moment of calm.
A quick prayer
Listing a gratitude
Return to the treasure of the quiet time of day.

Decide to be calm
Identify negativity
Stop it in its tracks
Repeat Repeat Repeat.

Listen to John Henry MacDonald’s song “Hold On”
https://www.dropbox.com/s/gtae3nmeup250l5/03_Hold%20On.mp3?dl=0

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Subscribe to Elaine Pinkerton’s website for monthly blog posts on adoption, nature, and the writing life. She is working on a suspense novel, The Hand of Ganesh, slated for publication in 2021.

 

Sharing is Caring:

Tags

adoption, China-Burma-India (CBI), Gratitude, Letters, Love, reunion, WWII

I’m working on a new edition of my WWII book of letters, From Calcutta with Love, to be published in 2019 by Pajarito Press. Herewith, one of my favorite epistles. My adoption history begins with a 1930s love story, that of my adoptive parents Richard and Reva Beard. They’d been teenage sweethearts in Findlay, Ohio, they married in 1937, and they put off starting their family until my father-to-be earned his doctorate from Ohio State University.

For six years, while Richard earned his PhD in clinical psychology, Reva taught elementary school. When it turned out that they were not able to have children, they decided to adopt. The outbreak of World War II, however, further delayed the formation of a family.

Richard was drafted and sent to India. He served as a clinical psychologist in charge of a neuropsychiatric ward at the 142nd General Hospital in Calcutta, part of the China-Burma-India theater of the WWII. For 18 months, my future adoptive parents were separated by 6,000 months. My mother-to-be lived at home with her parents in Findlay, Ohio. She continued to teach school and inquired into adopting a baby. Without a dad in the home, however, adoption proved impossible.

Devoted to one another for a lifetime, Richard and Reva exchanged letters every day of their wartime separation. Sometimes they alluded to adopting a child; Always they reaffirmed their strong love and devotion for one another. My divorced birth mother attended college where Richard was a guidance counselor. As far as I can tell, she asked him to help her by taking my brother and me. I was five and my brother nearly two.

Years later as I read through my parents’ wartime letters, I was moved and inspired by the depth of their love. Of all the confessions of love, this is the one I most cherish…

Calcutta, India
May 29, 1945
Dearest Reva,
You asked why I had white roses delivered to you on May 16. It was a sentimental and romantic gesture in which the traditional meaning of the colors of flowers was invoked. But to my way of thinking I could as well offer a white rose upon the altar of my love for you each day. Purity is as much a lovely characteristic of your being today as it was the first time I touched your hand in 1930. By some miracle, your contact with life—with me— has not coarsened you. I reflect upon you and me in the car under the moonlight, in the front room listening to “Moon River,” and in the bed we have shared, I am aware that I have approached you each time as a man who knows his love for the first glorious union of body and soul

Waiting for the war to end, Reva lived for letters from India.

How much our separation has meant to me I dare not put on paper. Perhaps, just before I sail for home, I may try. But rather by far that I be permitted to demonstrate in a real way what I mean. You will not have to cling to me, you are me.

Perhaps in all this I am idealizing, but I think not. this low, weary year has given me time to consider many things, the significance of which has been blurred in the past. Clearcut, sharp and pure, etched against the certificate of our union as a palm tree silhouettes against the blue of a late Indian evening, is the world-crashing, world-engulfing, between-you-and-me eternal fact: I am so glad that you married me.

Goodnight, precious Ritter. I’ll help moisten that pillow soon, from which I have so often seen your large brown lovely eyes watching me. They are looking down on me now, Reva.

In devotion,
Dick

I’ve recounted my adoptive parents’ story in From Calcutta with Love-The WWII Letters of Richard and Reva Beard. Their love for each other became a gift of love for me.

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Join Elaine for reflections on adoption, writing, hiking and life in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Your comments are invited.

 

Three Steps toward Gratitude

Tags

adoptee, adoption, Attitude adjustment, Daily Practice, Deepak Chopra, Gratitude, Henri Nouwen

Resentment and gratitude cannot coexist, since resentment blocks the perception and experience of life as a gift…Gratitude as a discipline involves a conscious choice. I can choose to be grateful even when my emotions or feelings are still steeped in hurt and resentment. – Henri Nouwen

As we begin October, I’m counting my blessings. It’s been a year since a hiking injury resulted in a spinal fracture, and for months I thought I’d never be OK. Months of physical therapy and lots of walking have made me whole again.

But equally helpful has been practicing what Henri Nouwen calls The Discipline of Gratitude. Being out in nature with daily walking, savoring the good parts of every day, and support from wonderful friends: all of that has made a profound difference.

Santa Fe Botanical Garden offers a beautiful place to ramble.

While the issues of adoption never go away completely (You wake up in the morning and you’re still an adoptee), I’ve learned to cut through gloom by using the following tools. The first two mental routines are best practiced during a walk outdoors. The final process is to be done at day’s end.

STEPS TOWARD DEVELOPING THE DISCIPLINE OF GRATITUDE:
1. Walk your brain: This is a technique developed by my friend Beth, who leads a women’s Tuesday-morning brisk aerobic jaunt. After you’ve started walking, imagine a goal and think of five things that will move you toward accomplishing it. The goal need not be lofty: Anything from a chore you’ve put off for too long to applying for a job or writing an overdue important letter. Name your intention and concentrate on the five steps to achieve that goal. Do this throughout your 15 or 30 minute walk, and put the plan into action right away.

2. Practice the “shake it off” mental housecleaning movement: This is another technique best practiced while strolling. When you find yourself dwelling on the dark side, shake either your right or left hand out into the air, as though shooing away pesky insects.

3. Every night before falling asleep, think of five things that you’re thankful for, events of that particular day or conditions of your life in general.
Author, physician, and New Age guru Deepak Chopra maintains that “a gift resides in every moment.” By practicing the discipline of gratitude, one can learn to see those gifts, to find an opportunity behind every problem, and to walk through the darkest hours and come out on the other side.
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Join Elaine on alternate Mondays for reflections on adoption and life. And check out her memoir The Goodbye Baby-Adoptee Diaries

Aspen Vista, Santa Fe, New Mexico

Adopting the Road to Gratitude

Tags

adoption, Attitude adjustment, Diaries, Gratitude, healing, Insight, Life as a Journey, Self-acceptance, Solutions

“Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today and creates a vision for tomorrow.” – Melody Beattie

The highway from Albuquerque to Santa Fe, New Mexico

 

 

NOTE FROM ELAINE:  Summer has been hectic! House guests and helping a family member move to a job in another part of the country have been all-consuming. Therefore, I’m taking a brief blog-cation, republishing a favorite post from the past. This one contains a message that’s always relevant.

Several years have passed since the publication of The Goodbye Baby-Adoptee Diaries. My memoir comprises diary entries from years of dwelling on unanswered questions about my adoption. Most of those questions have been answered; now I am free to live my life. This journey—writing the book—has opened up a multitude of insights. Being in touch with the many wonderful adoption posts available on the Interenet has deepened my tolerance and understanding of not only my adoptee status but of the personal issues unique to fitting in with friends and families.
I feel that I’m traveling an entirely new highway, going from overcast skies to wide open sunny plains. The secrecy that surrounded my adoption caused weary decades of self-doubt and recrimination. The lack of a family tree that was authentically mine felt like a character flaw. Being an adoptee and the insecurities attached to that label defined, at least to myself, who I was.
Finally it seems possible to turn problems into opportunities. Of all the insights gained, perhaps the most stunning is this: growing up as an adoptee was the source of my problems but, paradoxically, the springboard of my success.
Through the Internet’s vast, far-reaching adoption community, I’ve met adoptees young and old, birthparents, adoptive parents, couples wanting to adopt, and people who care about adoption issues. Seeing the “land of adoption” with a wide-angle camera has opened up a new landscape.
Its been said that eighty percent of our information comes through our eyes. Since accepting  the past and steadfastly refusing to stay mired in it, I’ve gained a new appreciation for the beauty all around us. I’m fortunate to live in northern New Mexico’s high desert country, a land of astonishingly beautiful sunsets, the Rocky Mountain foothills, majestic forests and scenic plains.
Sometimes all that’s needed is to spend less time “over-thinking”—a notorious flaw of adult adoptees I’ve met—and more time simply really looking at the world.This is a step toward discovering the fullness of your life. BEING HERE is a gift.

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The Goodbye Baby-Adoptee Diaries is available from Amazon and on Kindle. Join me on alternate Mondays for reflections on the world as seen through “adoption-colored glasses.” Your comments are invited!

 

I Should have Stayed Home

Tags

Accident, adoptee, friends, Gratitude, Hiking, Nambe Lake, recovery, Rio Nambe, Riverbed, Santa Fe National Forest

Readers who’ve been following The Goodbye Baby blog know that I’ve adopted hiking as an essential part of life. But for now, it’s all I can do to walk a mile. I’ve been a prisoner of my house, slowly recovering from the worst hiking injury in 50 years of roaming around in the mountains. Here’s THE SHORT VERSION…

Nambe Lake was our destination on that fateful September 22nd

The first day of Autumn, as I was hiking uphill to Nambe Lake (11,374 feet), I
Tripped
Slipped
Flipped
Dipped

and ending up feeling much like Kafka’s unfortunate narrator Gregor Samsa who awoke one morning to find himself transformed…into a gigantic insect. -(Metamorphis)

THE LONG VERSION…
During the jolting, I must have closed my eyes. No one witnessed my fall. As I try to piece things together, this, it seems to me, is what happened: While climbing along the creek bank , I slipped on something (I’ll never know whether it was a root or boulder), twisted myself into a downhill orientation, contorted, and ended face-up, IN THE CREEK. On rocks and logs, thankfully cushioned by my backpack and it’s water-filled Camelbak.

Last year’s Nambe Lake experience, after taking “the easy way.”

There were abundant reasons NOT to be taking this particular hike. The next day, my son and I were scheduled to hike the 13,000 foot Santa Fe Baldy. I could have, should have rested up for the next day’s long, challenging adventure. But oh no, I did not want to miss out on the viewing the splendors of my favorite Alpine lake.

There were five of us that day. Unwisely, I didn’t ascertain that we would be taking the dry land route to Nambe Lake (as opposed to the slippery riverbank route).
A less challenging way, a route which I’ve often hiked, parallels the Nambe River and becomes a bit tricky only at the very end. Once we were at the meadow with one trail going up the “safe” way and the other going to the riverbank, a vote was not taken. The lead hikers took off for the riverbank way and we all followed. (Why did I ignore the mental alarm bells?)

Only when we were clawing our way up the muddy sides of the little river did I realize, with a chill, that I had no business being here. Uneasiness grew into fear, as I saw that we were very scattered and I wasn’t sure I knew the way. I looked above me and saw our lead hiker’s booted feet forging ahead and upward. Next thing I knew, I was lying, my back throbbing with pain, in shallow, rock-filled water, feet heading not up but down. (How had I managed to trip and twist myself into this awkward position?)

Never underestimate the treacherous power of roots!

My hiking friends came quickly in answer to my screams, walked me three painful miles out of the forest, took me to Urgent Care. No broken bones: a good thing. But there was soft tissue battering and bruising. Needless to say, there would be no hike up Santa Fe Baldy with my son, maybe not until next hiking season. Instead, I began days of an acutely sore back and midriff. Out of commission. Down for the count. Miserable.
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THREE WEEKS LATER
I’m going to be OK, thanks to friends doing many acts of kindness, the mailman bringing mail to the door, and treatments including arnica, epsom salts baths, a wonder product called “Boswellia,”physical therapy and acupuncture (www.pinoncommunityacupuncture.com). Walking still wears me out, but I’m able to go for a mile, adding a bit more distance each day. For the next weeks or months, it will be “life in the slow lane.” It could have been worse, and after all, the entire episode has made me aware of how much I have for which to be grateful. Lessons that would not have been learned if I’d stayed home.

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Join author Elaine Pinkerton on alternate Mondays for reflections on adoption and life. Comments invited!

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Adopt a Peace Plan for the Holidays

Tags

adoptee, Adoptee Recovery, Focus, Gratitude, Happiness, Holidays, Self-Empowerment, serenity

The grandchildren are visiting soon, and I couldn’t help but recall a long-ago past. Like

Christmas is full of joy and anticipation!

my five-year-old boy and eight-year-old girl, I was caught up in Christmas magic. I couldn’t wait! What a contrast with these days’ scrambling to accomplish everything, to set the stage, to “deck the halls.” It can be exhausting!

During a recent hike in the Santa Fe National Forest, I talked with a friend about combating Holiday Doldrums. His solution was simple: “Aim for peace, and stay within the confines of the day.” Great advice as far as it goes, but I’ve found it helpful to set boundaries for the day, especially during December madness. Based on a recent message from the Chopra Center, here’s my personal six-point plan.

Be in the NOW, regarding each day, from sunrise to night, as a gift.

Raise your appreciation quotient. Challenge yourself, as you go throughout the holidays, to turn your attention to others. Last week I was stuck in a slow-moving line at the post office. Instead of the snag turning into an ordeal, I enjoyed a pleasant conversation with a fellow USPS customer. We discussed the superiority of the greeting cards carried by our post office. Just one example of being grateful for the “small stuff.”

3. Think less about yourself, more about others. Give your ego a vacation and practice really listening. It is a way of flipping the script and focussing on being.

4.Be easy on yourself. Don’t obsess about making the holidays perfect. That can be a

Make it a daily practice to recall 5 things for which you’re grateful.

recipe for disappointment. Look for ways to be satisfied with all you accomplish.

5. Set limits, and do it gracefully. The holidays are often a time when old family issues reappear, stress levels rise, and people overstep your boundaries. Reactive responses are the enemy. If you find yourself saying the same things you’ve said in the past, just stop. Determine to recalibrate your emotions.

6. Focus on the spiritual. Whatever your beliefs, place them in center stage during Christmas and Hannukah. Turn to scriptures, poetry, being in nature — whatever inspires you.

Create a checklist, writing these suggestions on an index card. As you go about the day, refer to the list to see how you’re doing. It shouldn’t be burdensome but more like a game. Be grateful for the times when you meet your expectations. How do YOU make the holidays less stressful and more joyous. Please share your reflections!

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Please join Elaine every other Monday for reflections on adoption, hiking and life. Let us know if you’d like to contribute an adoption-related guest post. And remember, as of now, the days are growing longer!

Nature can be the best therapy of all!

Lost and Found

Tags

Above the clouds, adoption, adoptive parents, birthparents, Dealing with Adoption, Gratitude, Hiking, Mother/Son, Mountain weather, Planning, Raven's Ridge, Santa Fe National Forest, Winsor Trail

“Not all who wander are lost.” -J. R.R. Tolkien

(Note: But some are. The good news is that even if lost, the lucky ones will be found.)

My 40-year-old son  was visiting me for the weekend. Since we both love hiking, we

A brief period of sun before the clouds lowered.

decided to climb to Deception and Lake Peaks, located in Santa Fe National Forest, both above 12,000 feet. We had just one day available for the hike. This particular Saturday was iffy, threatening rain and cold mountain top temperatures. An early start was mandatory. Fortified by Starbucks, we drove to Santa Fe Ski Basin and were forging up Winsor Trail shortly after 7:30 a.m.

A few hours after embarking, we’d traversed Raven’s Ridge and were above the treeline. The temperature had dropped from 50 degrees to below 40. Wind picked up; Cloud level lowered. Reaching Lake Peak, which is just beyond Deception, involved scrambling over a rocky ledge. Because my son is stronger and faster, I told him that Deception would be my final destination. I’d wait while he went on to the more technical destination of Lake Peak. Then, when he’d gone the difficult extra half mile, he’d turn around, come back and we’d reunite forces.

He instructed me to wait on a boulder near the grove of trees next to the end of Raven’s Ridge and at the base of Deception. He’d be back, he promised, in 30 minutes or less. Though this seemed like a fine plan, that’s when the trouble began.

Deception Peak lives up to its name.

You might say it was my fault. Instead of just sitting on a boulder near the grove of trees, I decided to keep warm by temporarily joining some hikers who were headed toward Lake Peak. My plan was, after the 20-minute trek to keep warm, to take the same path down to the tree line and wait for my son.

At the top of Deception Peak, all paths are just slight demarcations in the rocky dirt, one resembling another. Shivering from the cold wind and realizing that it had been MORE than 30 minutes since I was to meet my son, I mistakenly started down a path that led to another ridge, NOT Raven’s Ridge. Thus began a scary interlude of searching. I tried my smart phone. No voice reception. Panicking, I decided to start sending texts. Here, transcribed, is our broken conversation….

ME: I’m here at the top
SON: Top of what? Went past treeline yelling and I didn’t see you
ME: I went back down and I’m headed toward the trees on the path…go down the path
ME: I;m headed right to the trees where you told me to wait…down the path
SON: I am already down a ways. Head down and I’ll wait
ME: Okay, I’m coming down
SON: Make sure you are on the right path. Stay on the ridge
I’m down about a half mile on but where it starts to go up again…

At this point, texting failed, and I was practically running, not at all sure I was headed toward the right landscape. When you’re lost in the wild, everything can begin to look alike.

Then a minor miracle! It came in the form of two other hikers, total strangers, who were there when I needed help. The first hiker was a man with a long white beard who looked as though he’d stepped from the last century.

“I’m headed toward Raven’s Ridge,” he said, after I’d explained my plight. Another five minutes and we were at the grove of trees where I’d been told to wait. I learned that the stranger’s name was Paul, then hugged and thanked him for being a Good Samaritan. He went on toward Lake Peak and I hurried toward the path that my son was already partially down. Another hiker appeared from nowhere, a young man named Jason and a few of his friends.
“Are you Elaine,” he called out.
“Yes, I’m sort of lost and I’m looking for my son.”
“He’s looking for you,” said the young man. He escorted me a half mile down the trail where my son, who’d hiked two extra miles, was awaiting. It turned out that Jason and his pals were doing field work to qualify for the local Search and Rescue Team. After thanking him profusely, I made a feeble joke:
“Well, at least I gave you a case study.”

My son was relieved but furious. As we hurried down the trail, it started to rain. “I

At the top of Deception, Lake Peak in the background.

can’t leave you alone for a minute,” he grumbled. “You’re a terrible hiker.” Thoroughly chilled, we reached the car in record time. Fortunately, my son’s a forgiving soul and reneged on his decision never to hike with me again.

In retrospect, the episode reminded me of my adoption, of how I’d been lost but then found. It was fate that my birthmother was not able to be a parent. Figuratively and literally, she lost me. My adoptive parents, by a series of fortuitous events, found me and my brother and provided us with a stable home and good childhood. Above all, what I gained from this memorable day, was a sense of gratitude. Oh yes, and this as well: follow directions. and pay attention to the landscape.

Marvelous May

Tags

Adopted daughter, Aorta, Christus St. Vincent Hospital, Dealing with Adoption, Friendship, Gratitude, Operation Recovery

The month of May casts her magic spell as spring’s promise is finally fulfilled.
 – Sarah Ban Breathnach

As an adult adoptee, I’ve always looked at the world through what I call “adoption colored glasses.”  In my experience, we adopted ones seem to invite drama and extremes into our lives, maybe even more than those raised by their original parents. Take, for example, a milestone event that befell me three Mays ago. One of my worst challenges—life-threatening surgery—turned into a blessing.

May is a time to appreciate everyday epiphanies.

May is magical for me not only because of spring’s blossoming, but because it is the month that kept me alive. I was given a new lease on life. Allow me to explain…

The surprises began in late May. Just as I was retiring from my job as elementary school librarian for Santa Fe Public Schools, I contracted an intestinal flu that resulted in multiple visits to the doctor. Blaming my “bug” on elementary school germs, I assumed that I would eventually get better. Despite antibiotics, however, I felt worse by the week. My primary care physician ordered a CT scan, and the scan revealed a seriously advanced abdominal aortic aneurism. It would have to be repaired; time was of the essence. A few days after the diagnosis, I had surgery.
I vividly recall operation day. I felt a deep sense of impending doom. As I traveled into the surgical theater on a gurney, I noticed all the details—shiny surfaces, lots of white. Soon, anesthesia took over, and I was OUT. Working for several hours, the brilliant surgical duo Doctors Poseidon Varvitsiotis and Gerald Weinstein replaced my defective aortic section with a dacron stint, sutured it in place, and sewed me back together.
My next moment of consciousness was in the Intensive Care Unit, where I would spend the next two and ½ days. Despite exhaustion and a morphine-induced stupor, I was amazed and grateful. My life had been saved!
After six days at Christus St. Vincent’s, I was allowed to go home. Friends rallied, a different pal spending the night in my guest room for a couple weeks, just to make sure I was OK. For a month, I was very feeble and could get about only with the help of a walker. It was a chore to eat, to dress, to do anything at all. Following doctor’s orders, I took a siesta every afternoon. When I was at last able, I took a daily half-hour walk outdoors. Along with resting and walking, I edited, proofreading the final galleys of my memoir, The Goodbye Baby. Though later than I’d intended, the book was finally ready for publication.
So, my surgical event is history. The operation and ensuing months of recovery made me realize that, in the big picture, it does not matter if I meet personal deadlines exactly as I’d envisioned. After my brush with mortality, I adopted a new attitude. Every day, I celebrate the gift of life. And it all happened in the month of May.

Join Elaine on Mondays for reflections on adoption and life!