Am I Teddy or is Teddy Me?

In June 2012, my doctor called me, told me to pack a bag and check myself into the hospital. She suspected cancer. On my way, I called family and told them that I had good news and bad news, "I'm going to the hospital. They think it's cancer." 

No one understood how there was good news in anything I just said. However, after being sick for two years, I was ecstatic to finally have an answer. Now that we knew the cause, we could do something about it. 

I remember my oncologist putting his hand on my knee and saying, "I'm a fixer. We're gonna fix this." And we did.

 

The term COVID - PTSD has been floating around lately. I know my blood boils anytime anyone attempts to downgrade the reality and seriousness of it. 

Now, as the Delta variant sweeps our communities and swells our hospital rooms once again, my anger has grown exponentially, and I have experienced many more panic attacks than usual. The tension is rising with both staff and patients. I get more requests to visit anxious COVID patients. Because their breathing is already labored, added anxiety threatens their healing. 

COVID – PTSD – is it a real phenomenon? If so, do I have it? 

I posed this question to my therapist because not only does she know me so well, but she works with the military and is well versed on the topic of PTSD. 

Her assessment? Yes. 

She explained what happens with soldiers and how that translates to my world, specifically, why I feel so alive and thrive at work and feel panicky and anxious when I am not at work. 

A nurse friend noticed me sitting on the ER floor comforting a youth whose father died suddenly. She was on her way out and knew I, too, should be getting off soon. She texted me about an hour later to check on me. I was snuggled with Bailey in bed watching an episode of – you guessed it – The Good Witch. I replied that I felt great – that I thrive in trauma – other people's trauma.

After the adrenaline wore off, though, I began to feel panicky. 

As I broached the subject of COVID-PTSD, I told my therapist about one of my fictional characters. "I have been thinking about Teddy a lot lately," I said.

Teddy is one of the main characters in Life Before Me. He realized his childhood dream of becoming a fighter pilot with the Air Force. During the early days of his first tour of duty in Vietnam, it was thrilling for him to take down enemy planes. That changed the day his best friend died. Teddy blamed himself for Caleb’s death. Once discharged, he struggled to reacclimate to civilian life and reenlisted without discussing it with his wife. In his plane during wartime was the only place Teddy felt safe and in control.

My therapist explained that when I am in the throes of battle (hospital – other people's trauma), I feel calm, confident, and (strange as it is to say) happy. I am not happy that someone else is sad, but I am happy because I am in my element, the place where I shine. And . . . I am in control. 

The problem is that my circle has grown smaller and smaller over these 18+ months. 

When I first became a chaplain, I belonged to a circle of ministry which included chaplaincy - a relatively large circle. 

Hospital chaplains make up a smaller, more intimate circle. 

Hospital chaplains in the thick of a worldwide pandemic is an even smaller, more exclusive circle. 

Hospital chaplains in the thick of a worldwide pandemic who have also experienced significant personal loss while serving as a chaplain in a hospital during a worldwide pandemic comprise an even smaller, much rarer circle. 

The smaller the circle, the fewer people can relate to my reality—problem number 1.

Second, we discussed love languages. Mine is time and touch. The pandemic did away with touch. The smaller my circle, the less opportunity for touch.  The smaller the circle, the less opportunity to spend time with others. Translation, lost love—problem number 2. 

It becomes a vicious cycle. My circle is shrinking, but instead of expanding my non-hospital circles, I self-isolate, cutting myself off from the love I need, which, in turn, increases the anxiety. My old ways of coping return, and I try to manage on my own instead of letting others in and sharing what I feel and need with them—problem number 3. 

Like a soldier, I, and others like me, feel misunderstood. Those who have not experienced the battle cannot fully understand us. We try to share, but when we are met with the judgments and opinions and false realities fabricated by outsiders, we turn ourselves off and push those outsiders away.

This is how the real problems for us begin, and if we do not recognize it and take steps to relieve it, we get into more serious trouble – hence – the extremely high rate of suicide with military veterans. 

Don't worry. I am not suicidal. I know enough about how to recognize when I am in trouble and get help. 

This Delta wave put me into a critical state. So, I'm taking some time off. But I am also getting out of my room more and going out on dates!

Now, before anyone gets any ideas, I am still not interested in dating other people. I am, however, interested in dating myself. Pre-COVID, I used to go out and do things by myself all the time. But, for the past 18+ months, when not at work, I am holed up in my room. I don't even sit outside to read anymore. 

So, for the past two weeks, I have done something for and with myself outside of the house. I forgot how much I enjoyed art and live music. I remember I also loved being out in nature. I'm looking forward to getting out there again, too.

Going out is scary, though, because I don't know what will trigger me. Last night, I went to a Christian music showcase and concert.  A few songs and the pulse of the music triggered me a few times, but no one saw the tears because of social distancing and the dim lights. The entire experience reminded me of Brad – the good, the bad, and the ugly of the music business. It was an important step, though, and overall, I had a really good time. 

This is one song that made me cry. Blanca- Even At My Worst

Anyway . . . 

After talking with my therapist about COVID-PTSD, I now understand my post-pandemic withdrawal from church. 

I am angry with them (church-going-Christians) – and when I say angry, I mean livid – and disappointed – and sad – and let down. 

American Christians, especially here in Texas, tend to be highly nationalistic. Way too many of them fall in line with what I wrote about above  – because of the judgmental, self-righteous, arrogant, and uninformed vocal opinions of a people who are supposed to be compassionate and God-fearing. Christians are not supposed to make their own personal rights more important than the rights of others. That is not Christlike. So, to see them, hear them, read their social media posts disturbs me. 

It's not just my church – although my church is not miraculously immune – it is all of Christianity. We have become a noxious odor in the world – the Pharisees and Sadducees. It's no wonder non-Christians find us so repulsive. I am finding my own kind rather offensive, too, right now. 

And what is most difficult to reconcile is that I know that several of the people who say and post such nasty things do care about me. However, when they say and post such hurtful things, I know they do not truly know me – or if they do, they do not care that they are hurting me with their opinions, making me feel more alone and isolated. 

So, where does that leave me? As my therapist said, I suppose I need to tell people what I feel and what I need from them, knowing that I cannot control how they respond. I cannot make every Christian react the way I think they should. I cannot invite everyone with a different opinion to see my reality for themselves. 

All I can do is to be genuine – be honest. If they accept me and give me what I need, great. If they do not, I can let them go knowing that I gave them a chance. 

Still, openly sharing my whys and my needs is not something I am ready to do. First of all, I know I cannot yet speak rationally. My judgment against Christians who do not respond to COVID the way I think they should is fueled by raw judgmental emotion and is just as wrong as the judgment I condemn of them. Also, I don't want to come across as weak or needy, someone others have to walk on eggshells around. I am not a fragile little flower and do not want to be treated as such. 

However, I will commit to talking with those closest to me when they say and do something I find insensitive or hurtful. I will share some of my hospital stories – some deeply personal – if they are willing to listen. But I will do my best not to react in anger and judgment if they still do not get it – or get me. 

I will pray for the discernment to know with whom I can trust – when to speak and when to be silent (Ecclesiastes 3:7).

I will enjoy my vacation these next two weeks. 

I will refrain from filling the silence with noise and give God space to talk, even though it may hurt or cause panic in the beginning. 

I will continue dating myself even though, right now, it can be scary. 

I will continue with therapy and exercise and even watching the Good Witch, all of which help me to cope. But I will not rely on any single coping mechanism to the exclusion of the others. Instead, I will listen to my body and act according to what it needs. 

I will search for friends with whom I can trust and who will fill up my love tank – friends like the nurse who checked on me. I will stop making excuses why I cannot go out with them.

I will commit, just like I did when I found out that I had cancer, to do the work to fix it – knowing that, just like with cancer, I cannot do it alone.  

 

Lucky Number 13

When Catherine Bell posted that this would be the last season of the Good Witch, she quoted Dr. Seuss: 

“Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened!”

I assumed this would be the last season. This is the 13th year of the franchise. I mean, seriously, anyone familiar with this show would know the significance of 13 - for Cassie and for Cassie and Sam - a poetic end after 13 years - "Oh, thirteen gets such a bad reputation but it's actually been a very lucky number for me."

Still, I was surprised by how sad I felt upon learning that my hunch was now a reality. My initial thought was, "Another loss." And, it did (and does) feel like another loss in a long string of losses this year - which feels very strange to say about a television show. Seriously, it's a television show - not real life!!! On top of that, it's not like I have followed them for 13 years. I learned about the show during the middle of season 5. I am a newbie fan. 

However, for anyone who has read my blogs this past year, you will know that the Good Witch show has been an integral part of my self-care plan through Brad's death and COVID. I cannot tell you how many times I have watched each episode - and I never weary of them. 

As matter of fact, I was watching an episode (how to make a Middleton quilt) this morning when I was called into work for a code - CPR in progress. 

Last night was a draining night - covering two hospitals - the wife of one patient begging me to stay with her and me sitting with her for over an hour - another patient coding and dying in the ICU, the family overcome with grief. 

I slept well but was still dragging. So, between prayer group and church, I decided to watch an episode of the Good Witch. I barely got started before having to rush out the door. 

And - the young mother of 4 did not survive. She died before I arrived. The family was gathered around the bedside. Even after I left and headed to church, I worked two phones trying to find a Catholic Priest on a Sunday morning who would pray with the family (at the family's request) - a nearly impossible task being a Sunday morning and the fact that Priests do not offer anointing for people after they have died. (Luckily, we have a great network at Methodist and a Catholic Priest chaplain was on duty at another hospital.)

Now, my neck and shoulders ache - and I find myself thinking of last night, today, the sermon this morning, and the loss of my Good Witch Middleton family. 

When I got to church, one of the pastors greeted me at the door and mentioned how slowly I was walking in from the parking lot. I shared with him and another man why I was so sluggish. 

Inside the church, an old friend saw me in the foyer and came up to greet me with a hug. She asked how life was treating me and I said good. She asked if that's really how I was or if I am just a good liar. Before telling her that life was really good, but that I was having a rough morning, a scene between Sam and Cassie flashed into my head.

Sam: Something wrong? 

Cassie: No.

Sam: I'm going to try that again. Do you want to tell me what's wrong? 

(Yeah, I suppose I am kind of an addict at this point. 😏)

This woman is not just any retired nurse, but a retired military nurse. So, she knows the importance of self-care from a lot of angles. She asked me how I care for myself. I listed some of the ways:

Therapy . . . 

Exercise - and not just any exercise - 9Round where I get to safely punch and kick things . . . 

Writing . . . 

and being here (referring to church).

I did not mention Good Witch, but it was in the back of my mind, obviously! 

Before the service fully got underway, I received a text from my Catholic Priest chaplain friend letting me know that he had reached out to the family and taken care of them. I sighed with relief and mouthed the words "thank you" to the ceiling. 

During the service intro, one of the pastors mentioned their Sunday School lesson - Jesus walking on water - how the men in the boat must have been thinking, "After all this, now we have to deal with a ghost!?!?!" I laughed to myself, improperly thinking, "After all this, now I have to deal with the cancelation of one of my best and favorite self-care routines!?!?!"

I never want to give the wrong impression about my job or EVER make it sound as if I consider myself to be a martyr. That is the furthest thing from the truth. I LOVE my job and am good at it, but it is NOT about me. 

When it comes to grief, I am a stranger inviting myself into a family's worst day. There are generally three typical responses:

1) They want nothing to do with me and "my God" and make it very clear that I am not welcomed - in which case I quietly walk out of the room, but may remain close-by but out of sight just in case (more for staff than family) I often pray for them anyway, but silently and out of sight.

2) They are indifferent - in which case I make it known that I am available and quietly slip out of the room (sometimes praying with them first). 

3) They cling to me as if I am God Himself or at the very least an intimate friend - in which case I let them grab onto me. In this case, I know fully well that it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with who I represent. 

Yesterday and this morning, the families all fell into category #3. 

I am not an empath. Although I may cry with the families or feel for their loss, their grief does not become my own. It is not grief that zaps my energy. It is simply an emotional drain. 

It is like the story of the woman who reached out and touched the edge of Jesus' garment. People were pressed in all around Him, but He still felt power leave Him the moment she touched Him. “Someone touched Me, for I know that power has gone out from Me.” (Luke 8:40-50).

I don't particularly like that comparison, because, well, I am not Jesus. But the sentiment fits. 

Another comparison is like the gentle giant from the movie, the Green Mile. He had the power to heal, but whenever he did, it drained him of his own power. 

Again, this is not the best example. I do not have supernatural powers to heal. I am simply a good listener. However, I am an emotional conduit and after such emotional encounters, I am drained. 

Before COVID, Blue Bloods used to be my favorite show. For the past year, I have been unable to watch any show that even remotely mentions COVID, masks, politics, or any of the serious issues going on in the real world (with the exception of This Is Us). I find it rather difficult just to keep up with the local news. 

That is why one of my favorite and most effective refueling tools is to go home and watch an episode or two (or five) of the Good Witch. The shows are predictable, safe, and filled with love. There is always a happy ending. It refuels me. 

So ever since I learned that the Good Witch was being canceled, I have felt sad and a little lost. What am I going to do without my Middleton family?  

During the service, my pastor gave some wonderfully vivid illustrations. One was about a woman from his hometown, a Christian for over 60 years and the most bitter woman he had ever met. He asked if we wanted to be stuck like that. (At least I think he did - that's what I heard, "Renee, do you want to be stuck?")

That hit me right between the eyes. As I lay down to try to sleep after learning about the show's cancelation, I felt like God was telling me that this was a sign that it was time for me to let go and move on. But from what? I have had milestone moments in my life before, things that changed my trajectory. Where will I land this time? 

I have been sitting in limbo, feeling like I was in a holding pattern for another change. I know I have been in this holding pattern for this past year, but I am beginning to see that I have actually been stuck for a lot longer.  

I kind of feel like I am a ball in a pitching machine, whirling around waiting for my turn. I think my turn is coming. I think I am about to be sucked up and shot out. But when? Where? How? 

I have referred to all of my self-care techniques as band-aids, but maybe I have relied on them a little too much for a little too long. It's not like I will stop doing them or watching the series. I mean, they do serve a vital purpose. I have 7 seasons to watch over and over again as much as I need to or want to, but I think it is time to find a real Middleton.

Last week during a text exchange with my pastor, I admitted to needing help with a class assignment that involved our church because I have been MIA for a while and feel way out of touch. I have changed a lot this past year and I no longer know what that means as far as my role at/with the church (meaning SAF and the universal church). 

Today, I think it became a tiny bit clearer. Friend after friend came up to hug me during church. I saw some people I haven't seen in a while and I met some new people. 

A sweet young girl (16) with significant issues of her own, knows just a tad about mine. She had seen me in the foyer trying to have conversations with people while trying to take care of the hospital stuff mentioned above. Before I left, she gave me a hug and asked if I was okay. 

This girl, with this great big heart. She genuinely cares about the wellbeing of this old lady!

I waved my hand around the sanctuary and I said, "I am now. I have been refueled." 

Hugs - community - a place to belong - isn't that what we all want and need? 

Middleton may not be real and this chapter may be ending, but I will always have the memories and 7 seasons of reruns. 

However, I do not have to wait two years for graduation to find out where I am eventually going to land. (My post-graduation plan is to get a job at a cancer hospital somewhere in the country, work on my doctorate and eventually teach at the university level.) 

I have a home right here, right now. For now, my community, my church is my Middleton. I should start treating it as such and not just as a stop along this destination. 

It is scary, to think of moving away from my grief - of letting go of Brad - he has had such control of me my entire adult life. I know letting go does not mean I have to forget or stop loving him. It simply means I need to stop letting him have control over me, my emotions, and my actions. 

It means I need to stop living as a visitor rather than as a resident of my own life. 

Dealing with the "ghost," choosing to not be the kind of Christian no one wants to emulate, walking away from the beach for good (sermon points) is terrifying. 

But, it's the next step in my journey. And, oddly enough, it begins with saying goodbye to the fictional town of Middleton. 

From Catherine Bell's FB and Instagram posts:

Catherine Bell

July 9 3:42 PM 

 

“Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened!”

- Dr. Seuss 

I am so grateful for 7 seasons... and 13 years (of movies) of being a part of Good Witch, working with the KINDEST and most talented, cast & crew, producers, network! It has always felt like family ❤️ 

Cassie Nightingale... a woman who is always positive, inspiring and uplifting. Someone who brings out the best in everyone she meets, makes life better for everyone around, and always sees the glass half FULL.

She has inspired me to be a better person, to be kinder, gentler, more loving and accepting. I know that many of you have felt the same 🥰 I feel so fortunate. I know we will all miss the Good Witch and all the amazing chracters and stories. But I am definitely smiling because it happened.

With love, respect and so much gratitude,

CB ❤️

F.R.O.G . (Fully Rely on God)

My swimming pool sits empty until it rains. With enough rainwater gathered and slow drainage, little critters emerge - spiders, insects, snails, frogs, and the occasional wayward lizard. The spiders and insects I leave to fend for themselves. The snails, frogs, and lizards I rescue. 

This is how I begin a day - enter the pool, search for these little snails and frogs, collect them, and relocate them. If I neglect this early morning task, they will die by day's end, fried by the heat of the Texas summer sun. The snails are SO much easier to rescue than those tiny little frog babies. The lizards are SO much harder, but less common. 

When there are more than one or two frogs to rescue, I collect them in the big, deep pockets of my pajama shorts. 

When one of the little guys tries to hop away, I promise him I am simply trying to save his life. "Just be still," I say as I maneuver my way around him. 

When they attempt to squirm out of my hand or leap out of my pocket, I tell them that I know they are scared, but I am doing this for their benefit. They will soon be safe and free. I tell them that I know life may be difficult outside of the pool as well, and I have no guarantees that they will have a safe or easy life, but I can guarantee that if they do not let me get them out, they will most definitely die. At least out there, they will have a fighting chance. 

Unfortunately, I am unable to save all of them. Some do not come out of hiding from underneath the murky water until it is too late. Some frantically hop away from me, too quick and slippery to be caught. These stinkers dive back into the water and swim down the drainage hole out of my reach. When I come home in the afternoon to look for them, hoping they stayed in the cool of the water until I return, sometimes I discover that one or more are dead - hard as a rock and melted to the floor of the pool. 

Yep, I mourn for those I was unable to save, but it was not for lack of trying. They simply did not want to be saved and that decision cost them their lives. 

I often think of our relationship with Jesus during my morning jaunts with the frogs. We are those scared and helpless baby frogs and Jesus is just trying to save us and set us free. 

 F.R.O.G. - Fully Rely On God - no matter how afraid we may feel.