Transplant Rituals
This morning, after my husband had left for work and as the sun crept up in the sky, I sat on the couch snuggled up with my puppy, a mug of coffee, a cozy blanket and my journal. This has become such a non-negotiable part of my day. The birds begin to sing, eventually groups of children will walk by on their way to school, cars will pass full of people on their way to work. And as I sit here and watch it all go by, writing down thoughts, sipping slow, while what I’m doing looks meaningless it actually holds great importance. I am practicing the art of abiding.
The act of ritual becomes you.
Last week, I sat down with an old friend of mine. Megan and I connected a few years ago when she helped me craft a pre-transplant ritual, which actually set the groundwork for a lot of the embodiment work that became fundamental to my healing. We talked about collaborating together, and how that ceremony we did over 2 years ago created framework for others seeking their own healthcare ceremonies.
Since my transplant, I’ve been given the opportunity to walk with others on their own health journeys, from varying chronic illnesses to transplantation, and every time my advice is the same: learn how to be embodied. Practice it, commit to it. Learn how to show up for yourself, learn how to be present, learn how to make medicine out of the mundane.
I was talking to Megan, and reflecting on all the ways I have since gone on to make ritual and ceremony out of my own life. As I’m waiting on another surgery, I’m already planning who I will call in and ask to support me, and how I will create ceremony from surgery. This morning ritual I hold, while not fancy, is a practice in abiding with myself. I practice, so when I am in crisis, I know how to be with me. I currently wear an abdominal binder to hold all my organs in place until surgery, and every morning when I stand in front of the mirror and wrap it up, I think of it like a holding. I remind myself I am being held, supported, taken care of. Every morning when I take my pills, the order in which I take them has become like its own little ritual, and I think of each one and what it does for my body and the ways in which it supports me.
I heard a story a long time ago about a woman who was undergoing chemotherapy, and during the chemo process instead of focusing on chemo as poison she decided to focus on chemo as medicine. The chemo was entering into her blood stream, helping her body fight, strengthening her. And that image has stayed with me as an ever present reminder that anything can be medicine, if we let it.
I have bottles of narcotics and of herbal tinctures beside my bed, and I look to each one saying “How can you support me?” I reach for what I need, trusting my intutition, believing there is no right or wrong way to heal but about tapping into how my body needs to be supported today. What kind of medicine do I need today? Some days I need the medicine of another hand holding mine. And yes, that’s medicine. Soaking in the sunshine, medicine. Walking the dog, medicine. The rows of pills I take to intentionally suppress my immune system, medicine. The herbs and plants I use, medicine. I’m under the impression that it’s not what we do that necessarily contributes to healing but how we do it.
How can I take this ordinary everday and turn it into ritual? How can I be more present, more alive, more supported in this moment? How can I take this thing that I have to do and give gratitude for it? How can I make it sacred?
If you’re looking to create your own rituals for any occassion, Megan and Be Ceremonial have created an app that allows you to create your own customized ceremony, and I highly recommend it. And if you’re looking for individualized support and witnessing on your own complex grief and health journey, I’d love to hear from you. You can find my contact info under the contact tab at the top of the page.
