Operation. Preparing For Death

2024 Author: Harry Day | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-17 15:43

(From the Author: I bring to your attention an excerpt from my client's diary on the topic of fear of death.)

I had an operation, a simple one - removal of a polyp by hysteroscopy. Everything would be fine, it is necessary - it means it is necessary, but here the doctor uttered one key phrase: "You know, it's like an abortion, scraping - they came at 9 o'clock, and at 12 they are already free." DO NOT KNOW. Did not do. But my mom did it. BEFORE I was born.

This turned out to be enough for me and, given my bronchial asthma and drug allergies, I "realized" that I could die … Die, "suffocated" by the anesthesia or not waking up after it, die of pain, if the anesthesia does not work, die from the process itself " abortion”, to die from fear of dying…. And also to remain visually impaired or broken with paralysis…. And I began to prepare for death.

When there was a week left before the operation, I thought it would be correct and useful to share this "experience" - my thoughts and experiences on the topic of life and death - with everyone who might be interested, and I sat down to write a diary …

Week before surgery

The first day. Friday

I went to the Lavra. At first I was lucky - they dimmed the lights, and I dozed off to the voices of the clergyman and the choir, on a bench in the side. I tried to imagine that I had come to confession. What would I say? What are my sins? I tried to formulate it, but not everything worked out. Nevertheless - she spoke as best she could, imagining the priest sitting opposite. There was a strange sensation - as if they heard me, as if something clicked, "recorded" somewhere and the sheet turned over. This happens when you say something in sessions.

It was not possible to concentrate on something specific, I fell asleep all the time, although it changed the position of my body in space.

And then they gave light. I could no longer sit and went to walk. I watched those who sang in the "choir" - men, in leather jackets, joking and smiling among themselves during breaks. Weird. But they sing, investing their souls completely, not just "working at work".

I discovered the icon of Xenia the Blessed, tried to read the troparion 3 times, caught myself on the fact that the brain turns off on the second line. I saw the icon of John of Kronstadt, I realized that I needed to "talk" in earnest. While I was sitting, I noticed that near the place where the candles were put for the repose there was a “stand” with a prayer, so I went to buy two candles. But then the ceremony began with a tour of the temple with a censer. My heart beat as usual with horror in a quickened rhythm, my breath caught, and I began to look for a place where to hide. I pretended to be looking at the icons in the shop for sale. But I looked around every second, I was very afraid that the ringing censer would be here, in front of me…. But no, they passed by, lingering for a few seconds in front of the thirsty (what?) Touch or words, I don't know. I do not understand these people kneeling, bowing, kissing icons, singing in an "incomprehensible" language - this is not my world at all …

I put one candle for the peace of the soul of a recently deceased relative. With difficulty I read the prayer, passed out on the second or third sentence, then went to Xenia. She said that she was glad to find her here, but admitted that it was more comfortable in her chapel at the Smolensk cemetery. She asked me not to leave my son, to be with him and not to let him commit "wrong" acts. I read the troparion again. Hard.

Then she went to John. Stared into the face. I can't say what responded. Nevertheless, she asked for help in surviving the operation, said that I was afraid that I might die, but I didn’t want to. She put down a candle. I crossed myself 3 times in front of both icons, I was surprised by this - I usually feel very embarrassed to do it in front of everyone. And now she just lowered her eyes, as if no one would see me because of this.

I wanted to go home, but something wouldn't let me go. I sat down on the bench again and decided to wait a little longer. As if something has not been completed. Ahead was Christ crucified on the cross. I thought that he was the only one with whom I did not speak, although, referring to the icons of Xenia and John, I did not mention their names a couple of times, but used the word "God" (out of habit). I also talked to him, said something stupid: "It probably hurt you to hang like this with nails in your hands and feet," then something else, and then all my thoughts returned to my analyst, and I said something To God about him - that he is a very good person and that he "brought me" here. She asked me to give him patience and strength, so that he could rest more, that many people need him.

She left. I walked home with the feeling that there are still too many people in the Lavra, in the chapel I feel better, like my own. But, nevertheless, the conversation with the saints on the icons gave a feeling of living action, it was from this that the soul melted and lightness and calmness appeared. Yes, I was very calm and for the first time the thought flashed that I was not afraid of dying.

Second day. Saturday.

We were with my mother at the notary. It didn't work, let's go tomorrow. While I was sitting in line at the MFC, I thought that I was completely calm (regarding the operation). For the first time I felt that I was ready to die, almost ready, that I was not afraid. That if it happens, then so be it. I will leave calm and happy. I have learned and understood a lot in this life. I feel very good now. All working moments from the life of the office and clients seem so distant and insignificant. Family is what matters.

I planned the week in such a way as to have time to carry out things from different areas: to watch the film "Persona" by Ingmar Bergman in the company of psychoanalysts (this is my theme - existential loneliness and the search for my meaning in life), to deal with finances and accounts, to sort out piles medical papers, attend a free seminar in English, hold a session, buy things for the child, talk to mom more, clean up the room, sort things out in the closet, talk with my son's coach about his career guidance, send the boss a selection of documents so that all the texts are under hand (only it still needs to be completed), get on Thursday, if possible, once again to the Lavra or to the convent of St. John of Kronstadt on Karpovka … This will turn out to be the happiest week of my life. Calm and grace - this is what will be her main difference. True, it will not work to complete the idea of submitting an application to Rosreestr about personal presence in real estate transactions. Well…. To live unhurriedly, the most ordinary life, but a little more choosy - this is what is most important in the week before the expected possible death.

"To live well, one must die well." Yes, I understand that now. The main thing is not to think about direct actions and manipulation during the operation - all these "biological" moments are visualized too painfully ….

It's a shame that we won't be able to take a walk this weekend. Today there is a strong wind and rain, and tomorrow - a notary and a film club. But on the other hand - I did a biowave in the ESTEL salon (for 2650 rubles - horror!) And now I walk curly. It may not be long, but I wanted it all my life. It is a pity that the son is all ill again. How much he is sausage after all these troubles associated with the funeral. Awful cough! Impossible. All September and here again … Probably, you will have to go to an allergist and go to basic anti-asthma therapy …

How time stretches, how much of it. No, not outside - inside me. It passes into space, into the ocean, it can be touched and hugged. Hug the world. Yes, now I can say that this is one of my favorite Body-Oriented Therapy exercises with my trainer.

By the way, I bought myself a new autumn gray hat with roses instead of a knitted dark gray beret with sparkles. Mom said she was making me young. Nicely!

Day three. Resurrection.

We went to the notary again. We almost quarreled: it was possible to come to the signing of the agreement today at 16. But then I would not have got to the Cinema Club on Persona. Mom, of course, cannot understand this and laughed in my face right in the notary's office…. What can you do. But I still came to calm. Now I know that I can die before her. It's a little weird, but true.

By the way, this is not about the fact that I was going to die (why on earth? Life is not a bad thing and I want more!) Or that the operation will definitely lead to death. I just use this opportunity (preoperative jitters) for training, I want to understand - how it is…. And in an extreme case (if you adhere to the materialistic point of view of Epicurus): "Where I am there is no death, where there is death there is no me." Silence, calmness and oblivion nobody touches me … - I would like it, probably …

Returned after seeing Persona. As I said at the discussion after the screening: I want to go back 2 hours, I want not to WATCH this film. It hurts, sharply and did not live up to expectations at the expense of the semantic orientation. Enraged the main character - by the fact that I look like her; that she fell into the same transfer trap as me, that she could not get out of there and left me alone with my problem:)) This film did not fall into my mood, although it was filmed, of course, powerfully …

The son is coughing, violently, terribly. I am afraid that I also started to get sick. This means that there will be no operation. Interestingly - this is almost a conscious escape turns out - freshly self-invented …

I want to go back to thinking about death. I feel calm and comfortable there …

Day four. Monday

I wrote to my sister in the morning about the operation - she had a similar experience, but as it turned out - not under general anesthesia, but on painkillers that did not. Of course, I was immediately scared. I realized that if death from anesthesia is prepared for me, then I will accept it calmly - I am ready to accept it. But I don’t want to endure hellish pain (if the pain reliever does not work). But I can't say that death is better …

In the afternoon we were at the notary's - everything was signed, everything was submitted at the same time to the MFC. Now wait 2 weeks. Maybe I will not be destined to receive this already?

"Magic", by the way, disappeared - the pacification was gone. Everything is not so "romantic" anymore…. When a child is sick with a strong asthmatic cough and fever, there is no time for magic and romance. I worry.

I spoke to him as a coach…. Why is he so different with other people? Am I such a bad mother?

Incidentally, I also get sick. Definitely. Cough, weakness in the legs, sore tonsils in the neck, cold core in the chest, and red eyes. And again strong pressing moving pains in the chest appeared, hard and painful…. But I wanted to go to the Lavra tomorrow … It turns out that I don't get to the English seminar on Wednesday either - it's a pity. Yes, and an operation in such a state is impossible. This means that it will be necessary to take an official sick leave, since without it, the insurance company will consider it as a refusal to go to the operation and will no longer offer to pay. This means that everything will be postponed for another couple of weeks…. Again a cardiogram, again blood from a vein, but probably at his own expense…. 18, 5 thousand is not a joke at all….

And a new countdown?

Or maybe gather your will into a fist, go and do it? Once - and close this question….

Day five. Tuesday.

I got sick. I didn't go to work, I went to the doctor. For surgery or not for, but I need to get well. The earlier the better.

_

Two days after surgery:

I really got sick - ARVI, two-week obstructive bronchitis with an asthmatic component. It was possible to re-register for the operation only after 1, 5 months. What a scope for fantasy and … action …

Two days before the operation and the day before, I went to the Alexander Nevsky Lavra, talked with Him, with family and friends, lit candles, prayed for health (“Help stay alive, in a sober mind and sound memory!”), Asked for forgiveness, confessed in love. I tried to formulate phrases without the "not" particle. Difficult, very difficult. Then she copied the rules of the Sacrament of Penance into a notebook. True, I realized that I was far from this, and if confession is still somehow understandable to me, then the sacrament is something from the world of “fantasy”.

I drew up a will, tried to complete all the cases as much as possible, sent all the people "involved" in this topic with the necessary instructions and comments, took care of the financial issue, dragged a friend into this event, placing a huge responsibility on her (Thank you, big, kind-hearted and courageous mine!), but most of all, of course, went to my analyst. No, I did not call him at night and did not write suicide notes, did not declare my love. But practically every session I started with the words: "I want to talk about death." He sighed and we talked about death. About death, about fear, about pain, about life without me, and only once - about happiness … And I also asked him to take care of my son. And it was not a client's request, it was a request from one person to another person …

My son asked me to remember everything that could be remembered during the operation and then tell him, she promised. A friend “forbade” me to die, saying that she didn’t want to deprive herself of the pleasant habit of spending time with me:) Friends from the sphere of psychology sympathized and understood “were silent”. The managers from the Don’t speak English school didn’t understand why I would be able to give my answer to my conversation club only after a certain date. Only I didn’t want to load my mother with anything, and it was the most difficult of all - Not to show. What. To me. On my soul …

By the beginning of the operation, I was completely calm, peaceful. I was ready, ready for any development of events. In my pocket was an anti-asthma cartridge, in my hand was a note to the anesthesiologist with a list of drugs that cause me allergies and the name of the anesthesia I had once undergone; in my bag - a phone with unlocked, in my head - hope for the professionalism of doctors, in my soul - warmth, in my heart - the knowledge that an important person in my life “holds” my hand, and on my lips “Our Father” …

Intravenous anesthesia worked instantly, the operation took no more than 20 minutes, after another 10 minutes I came to my senses. I realized that it was all over, by the intonations of the conversation that reached me - without understanding the words, I distinguished this conversation of the roommates from the preoperative conversation between the anesthesiologist and the nurse on the topic: "What is the best alarm system, and which cars are stolen more often?" This is for ME - the turning point of life, I was going to die, and they have a simple routine job: “Sister, inject anesthesia, the usual dosage,” and, I must say, the precisely selected dosage. An hour later, I left the clinic on my, however, slightly swaying legs. The sms sent to my friend read: "Laugh!:)))"

Thanks to all the participants in this story, directly or indirectly involved in it! Without your support, it would have been much more difficult for me to survive the process of “aborting myself from my own womb”. I was very sad to part with this part of me, but the end of one thing always leads to the beginning of something else. "Life welcomes you!" - my analyst told me an hour after the operation. "Thank you for being with me!" - I answered.

_

Ludmila