Jonathan Louis Dent, who is an artist, actor, numerologist, astrologer and life coach (over achiever?) said: “Imagine if we measured success by the amount of safety that people feel in our presence.” This week, for the third time in a row (please please forgive me!) I am talking about my own personal experiences around recovery, and as I am lying in bed, typing away at the blog, I have a deep sense of security, just because of the people I am hanging out with today.
A group of my friends decided to book a holiday in the bush. Close mates who have recently emigrated came home for a visit. They had desperately missed Africa, the sun, the bush, and well, us actually. We briefly considered that I would not join the holiday because I would obviously still be recuperating after my unexpected surergy, but my wise husband said, “Whether you are in a bed in Jozi or a bed in the bush, it makes no difference.”
I also knew that being with my people would do me good. We’ve been friends since we were all students, and after surviving our mutual fashion crimes of the early nineties, partying in downtown clubs, living in dreadful flats, attending each other’s weddings and watching our children grow into teenagers together, we have truly solid friendships. We have had wonderful adventures together, but have also attended funerals, as one by one, we started saying goodbye to our parents. Later on, some of our group suddenly and tragically passed away. We’ve seen each other through all the brutal cruelty of life, illness, death and loss, as well as its beautiful, precious moments. We shared the “in-between” of what makes up a life, a lot of mundane, unexciting living, all the while fostering connections and creating safe spaces.
Yesterday, after a proper English-breakfast, we squeezed our now, 50-plus-year old bodies into our cozzies (me with waterproof dressings obviously) and frolicked like our teenage selves in the pool. We laughed at stupid shared jokes (for the hundredth time), spoke about friends that have emigrated and loved ones who have died. Afterwards, we went on an epic game drive and then came home to, you guessed it, a braai. I clearly overdid it and have had to spend the day in bed today. It was so worth it though, and as I’m lying here, my friends pop in, bring me snacks, and we chat for a while before I snooze on and off. I feel safe with them, and know that I am healing, even if I scare them by being in my pjs way too often.
Mr Dent says: “Having a safe space is the first step in the healing process. You cannot heal in a traumatizing environment, the same way you cannot see in the dark.” I think places like ICUs and rehab centres often create such a wonderful clinical space, but completely forget that the physical creatures we need to fix also have souls and minds. It is also easy for those of us with warm, safe family-spaces to remain mindful that home is not a safe place for everyone.
We have a relatively new patient who is staying with us on a permanent basis. Mr Jacobs was discharged from hospital last week and we were quite surprised that he did not go home, because he could easily have been looked after in his sprawling mansion by a team of carers. His wife is healthy and his two daughters live nearby. His doctor however, said that in his opinion, Mr Jacobs should come to us, and only us. As I am getting to know the family, I understand why. His home is not safe. There is no acceptance. The siblings are not talking to one another, his wife has sued one daughter and the grandchildren are already fighting about the inheritance. He and his brother disagree about what to do with their successful engineering companies, and between his wife and daughters, no one can agree on what type of care he needs. Olida sent me a video of Mr Jacobs walking with Nthabiseng a little while ago. In the quiet of the lodge, where he is just loved because he is in our care, not because he is important, successful and wealthy, he is blossoming. He did not want to co-operate in hospital, but somehow, with the same gentle people caring for him each day at the lodge, something has shifted. I wonder if it is because he feels safe?
About a year ago we had a patient who suddenly got terribly constipated. (If I had a Rand for every time I speak about stool, constipation or laxatives, I would have also have lived in a sprawling mansion like Mr Jacobs by now!) I will spare you the details, but during end of life care, one major concern is a patient getting a bowel obstruction or faecal impaction. This happened to a patient, and she was extremely uncomfortable. The way to fix this, is without a doubt, also extremely uncomfortable, even humiliating.. We decided that we would make this awful episode gentler, so we explained what had to happen, gently turned her on her side, got the carer she loved the most to face her and hold her hand and chat to her. We put her favourite Andre Riu video on, and between some jokes and chatting we managed to get her sorted. I know she felt safe, and during that very glamourless procedure, I was so grateful that we get to play a part in people’s lives when they are most vulnerable and that we get to carry them through it. Creating safe spaces always matters, but perhaps more so for people who are genuinely afraid and are in vulnerable, scary situations.
And so, I am getting ready to have a bath and then get into fresh pyjamas, go and sit outside around a fire on a comfy chair one of my friends will certainly move for me, and toast the things that really matter, like emotional wellbeing, friends, relationships, safety and Africa.