Deep Breathing...

Deep Breathing as Survival (drafted March 2017)

Last Wednesday the temps suddenly dropped and everyone had to put their winters coats back on. I work in a historic building in downtown Chicago and our heat comes from radiators. 

As I walked through the office that day trying to focus on my mounting list of work tasks, I began to hear the all too familiar clicking sounds of the radiators. I had heard them all winter but after having the heat off for a while, the hissing clicks  sounded especially loud. 

I grew up in public housing projects that had radiator heat. The clicks of the radiators reminded me of both of my childhood home. A home in which I was not safe. A home in which I was sexually, physically and psychologically traumatized by my father. A home that I escaped and never returned.

As the clicks continued, I found myself unable to focus on my work but without really knowing why. I felt panicked and unstable even though I knew I was not in any direct danger. I was distraught because I needed to settle since I had a shortened work week given a surgery that I had scheduled for later in the week. 

I breathed deeply and I just survived the day. I struggled emotionally throughout the work day. I prayed that the cold days would end. 

On Friday, I was admitted the St Francis Hospital in Evanston for an outpatient procedure. During the pre-op process a nurse shared that I would be given a sedative that would put me asleep so that the surgeon could begin my surgery but that I would wake up mid surgery. My heart immediately began to race. My father used to sexually assault  me when I was asleep so the thought of waking up when someone was hovering over me was unsettling. I tried to express my general concern to the anesthesiologist and he did his best to be reassuring. I still felt uneasy. I worried that I would wake up feeling startled/frightened and instinctively try to defend myself. 

I breathed deeply and tried not to angst. 

I was then wheeled to a pre-op/post-op room to await being wheeled into the operating room. For some reason the multiple beds in one room and an older woman who began moaning after getting out of her surgery reminded me of being in the hospital for my first abortion. It was a late term abortion and women and girls all were put together for our procedures. I was the youngest person there and it was one of the scariest experiences in my life. I hadn't thought of that day/night and those collective moans for a long time but suddenly, the memories came flooding back.  

I had to force myself to stop thinking about it. I needed to hold my shit together since my surgery was about to happen. Breath, Sekile. Breathe. 

I was then wheeled into the operating room. I was not scared but was still unsettled about waking up mid surgery. My anesthesiologist tried to chat with me to keep me calm by chatting about music he liked from South Africa. Then the nurse began to use "soft" restraints to strap each of my arms down so that I would flail around once I woke up. This almost pushed me over the edge,  even though theoretically I understand the purpose of the practice. All I could think of was waking up and not being able to defend myself because I was strapped to the bed. In an instant, I was disempowered and trapped. My anesthesiologist began asking me where my name was from and I blurted out "I can't focus on that right now, I am feeling anxious and overwhelmed!". He continued to do his best to keep me calm but it was a lot to take in and was happening so fast. I guess I breathed through it.

Luckily when I woke up in the middle of the procedure, they had put a tent up that visually blocked out what was actually happening. I was able to hear first and then adjust to the situation. Not being able to see was a good thing for me in this moment. Like I've already said, I thought I would wake up and want to protect myself, especially if I found a man hovering over me. 

In the end, everything went well. I was even able to go to a party yesterday, less than 24 hrs after the surgery. But this situation reminded me how much I live with my trauma daily. Trauma histories are heavy and looming. These experiences are sometimes hard to carry and are unpredictable.

I know there was nothing that could be done about the radiators but the hospital experience could have been improved upon. I wished I had found the courage to inform the people who were providing health care to me that I was a sexual abuse survivor. I just kept saying I was feeling anxious. I could not name my pain. On the other hand, I feel like this should not have to come from me.  All health workers should be trained  to provide trauma informed care and know that the hospital experience itself can be a traumatic event.  They should be aware that many of their patients may have trauma histories. It's more than just being nice and saying "you'll be ok". I had to do a lot of self regulation to get through that minor procedure. They all were medically competent but were clueless about how their "standard" practice of strapping someone down can illicit strong feelings of vulnerability and anxiety for some patients. I do recognize that I am economically privileged given my access to health care. That does not preclude the fact that health professionals can be more responsive to the complex needs of their patients. Asking me if I have trauma history should be right next to the asking me if I have any allergic reactions to medications. 

I breathed deeply through it all and survived yet again. But this post is evidence that I am still haunted by my brief hospital experience 2 days later. Luckily, there's lots of air out there...

*************************************************
Here's a gift to all of you out there breathing through it all:

1 minute breathing exercise

My 13 yr old's walking review of "13 Reasons Why"

My daughter and I walked to school together today. We talked about the show 13 Reasons Why. She said she viewed it as a TV show not representative of real mental health issues that lead to suicide. She said she watched the interviews with the directors (producers?) who said that their intended goal was to raise awareness about suicide. She said she thought they failed at it but she still liked the show. She also said that none of us are perfect, so we all have the potential for hurting people without realizing it but they shouldn't then make a video about it for revenge.

She's 13, uses the word bogus a lot but has critical thinking skills to understand fact from fiction. I don't think we should ban TV,music or movies but our kids do need a few things from us so that they are informed. I think we should be talking to kids about mental health and how to reach out to ask for help if they need it (sidebar: We should also fight to ensure mental health services are publicly funded and not only accessible to middle class families). We should also remind them of their personal power so survive and that they should fight back at life, even when it's shitty. I'm not victim blaming those that lose their lives to suicide, the rates are going up in the US and are concerning. Instead I'm saying we should destigmatize seeking mental health treatment and we should teach children (and the adults in their lives) the symptoms so that they learn how to respond. I also think resiliency has to be fostered--our children need adults affirming their worth but they also simply need to know they are worthy. These should be a normal part of our daily conversations--at home, in schools, in youth organizations, and in faith communities.
Hi I shared my suicide attempt during our walk. I shared my bouts with depression stemming from my trauma history. I shared that I went to therapy. I told her that I was happy I woke up from the overdose and I was happy to still be here. She listened and asked questions but kept a fast walking pace because she was meeting up with her friends--I did say she was 13, right? I wanted to kiss her on the forehead when she turned left to head towards school and I turned right to head towards the train but then I knew that would be bogus of me.