2# Wisdom Wednesday " Embracing and Enjoying the Simple" Of Living with Chronic Illness

Week 1: The Wisdom of Advent Season 2024

Title: "Hallelujah Shouting Time"
Artist: Irene Tison

Find An Audio Reading Of This Wisdom Wednesday Above

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This past Sunday marked the First Sunday of Advent. During the four Sundays of Advent, we will delve into a theme and a Bible reading for the week to celebrate this beautiful season. This week's Advent theme for 12/03/23 -12/09/23 is "Embracing and Enjoying the Simple." 

If you missed the thread, here is a brief excerpt: "Sitting at the ancestral altar, I received the download of “How can we spend this Advent season collectively?" the message was “Embracing And Enjoy The Simple." Where can we scale down the expectations and the stress? What if you say it’s okay to skip gift-giving and feel no shame? So, how would things be different this Advent season if we focused on simplifying the holiday season?

Do you want to chat with me here in the thread? Let's Chat

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Reflecting on the past and present Advents, I have come to appreciate the current possibility of finding hope in "Embracing And Enjoying The Simple."

Advent is a continuous, unfolding process at every moment in life. Life has taken me on many interesting journeys but forced me to slow down in unfamiliar ways. Slowing down was a stranger to me, and I didn't want to meet or become acquainted with it, "Mr. or Mrs. Slow Down.

"Slowing down wasn't an option in my life as a First Responder for FDNY: If you do not know what First responders are, First responders are broadly defined as individuals who are first to arrive on the scene of an emergency, accident, or disaster, facing dangerous, challenging, and cumbersome situations to preserve and protect life, environment, and property (Arble & Arnetz). To preserve life.

Moving to preserve life serving requires rushing, moving full speed ahead. Because. Sometimes, a person is in pain or panic mode. They don't want you to slow down. They want you to get them help and get them help fast! I was used to moving at a fast pace. When helping people in their most vulnerable times as a first responder. “We are further responsible for immediately reaching out. To the survivors of disaster and providing not only physical but also emotional comfort” in a highly fast-tempered environment. (Kleim & Westphal)

Living a life of helping others, living on an adrenaline I wasn't ready to meet, slow down, but I did eventually meet slow down. I remember when I was first diagnosed with WTC lung, my impatience for answers on my health was surmounting due to the uncertainty that I was facing around the diagnosis. I would ask my doctor, "When will I know about my lung health?" If you dont know what World Trade Center lung is, it is the name for a grouping of lung diseases found in people who worked at or near the Ground Zero site of the September 11th attacks in New York City.

This cluster of conditions ranges from asthma to sarcoidosis and other varying non-terminal and terminal lung diseases. That came from inhaling the various particulate matter from the towers collapsing; in the collapsing of the buildings were many types of harmful materials that found their way into many of the first responders' lungs. I was one of those first responders, and these particles entered my body. I was tired of the invaders in my body, all the doctor's appointments, and carrying the extra weight of uncertainty. The doctors didn't have many answers; in the beginning, they figured things out as they developed. I wanted this part of my life to be over and over quickly; I wanted to be rescued from this part of life like a quick extraction from a severe car accident; when will one of the doctors get here and arrive at the scene of my emergency come along swiftly and extract myself from my crisis come patch me up and send me on my way.

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Photo by Jane Boyd & ECE Workshops

I was now on the other side of the emergency, just like many people that I had pulled from the entangled seats of a car accident, eyes full of fear, worry, and dread, and wondering when this was going to be over and if I could get through this safely. I saw those same things in my eyes that I noticed in many emergency scenes: in the eyes of the people that I helped. Please hurry up and, connect me to safety, and ensure my life will be okay. A glaring look; I now had the same face it transferred to me.

I felt scared because there was so much uncertainty around my health. At an appointment about two years after my diagnosis, I asked my doctor, "How much longer do I have? What is the status?" He replied, "I am sorry, but we don't know exactly how this will work for you. Some people are developing cancer and other diseases. Nonchalantly, he said this: We just have to be patient and have to watch and see.

"I don't know exactly" is not what I wanted to “f*c*i*g” hear. I wanted the doctors to show up to my scene and deliver like I have provided under pressure countless times as a First Responder. I was hoping to receive the same treatment I have given to others. I was hoping for empathic information about when I might develop any further diseases or if my current condition would worsen.

“Why aren’t these damn doctors more helpful and faster?” ‘Are they even f*c*ing helping?” constantly plagued the back of my mind in the early days of my diagnosis. When will they get helpful to know where in my body and when this might happen? I wanted to determine if there was any chance of improvement or how I could prepare for the worst-case scenario. Damn it!, I would appreciate having a plan or some guidance in this regard to be better equipped to face any challenges. Like I did when I pulled up too many scenes of chaos and disaster, I had a plan for worst-case scenarios as a First Responder. But in this part of my life, it was tough to create a plan of action; it was a lot of slowing down, waiting, and seeing what would happen, and that fucking sucked. It didn’t feed the adrenaline-junky lifestyle I have become accustomed to.

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I wanted to see If I would ever feel better,? Or how could I prepare for the time to be near? I wanted to be able to brace myself or have a plan. But I slowly discovered with each doctor’s appointment and new ways the WTC Lung presented in my body that there was and was no way to "prepare" for those unexpected circumstances. Prepare, according to the dictionary, is a transitive verb that means to make (something) ready for use or consideration, to put in a proper state of mind to work out the details of the plan in advance strategy together:

As my doctor's appointments kept piling up with new WTC Lung symptoms, there were plenty of worries and no strategy, but one thing I learned for sure is that I could not be ready; I just had to slow down and wait, which for me at the time was torture. In my Advent with the ancestors this past Sunday, I reflected on how often we as human beings are hyper-fixed on preparing and being prepared, and sometimes, no matter how much you prepare, things that are out of our control still occur.

Jeremiah 29:11 came across my heart often that day: "For I know my plans for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not evil, to give you a future and hope. I wondered when God and my ancestors would begin to reveal some plans to me about my health and well-being.

I was getting messages of wait and see from everywhere, from dreams to Bible divination, IFA readings, conversations from elder downloads from my ancestors, and "wait, see, and be patient; time will tell" from the doctors. It was on blast and a billboard for me to see everywhere, and I didn’t want to hear it. With each passing checkup, altering my medicine to see what treatment best suited my lung health needs, I continued to pray at my altar and sought counsel from my elders. The same message continued: "God is working through you.” The other repetitive message was, "God's and your ancestral destiny plan was at hand." And all those messages, although true to my circumstances, aren’t what I wanted the messages to be. Has that ever happened to you? The messages you get from God and your ancestors aren’t the ones you wish to receive. You are screaming on the inside; please give me more details, and thank you. You are still trying to take the wisdom and messages given to you with grace.

Photo by Gabriel Ramos

Human beings sometimes, I believe, think impatience is a true virtue, and if we dont possess the impatient gene, something is wrong with us. We live in time being at the forefront of our lives—we have everything on the timeline. We tend to think of life as measurable. And if life is measurable to us, then it's fixable. We experience life as a fixable measurable timeline of when, where, and how it should transpire. But then life happens. Like life happened to me from my work the day of September 11th as a First Responder, and my life was not a fixable, measurable thing. It wasn't a time, place, or date that I knew when things would unfold.

The uncertainty of waiting was a dreamlike state. Waiting for circumstances beyond our control can feel like a dream – something we can see and comprehend but cannot alter. The dream fades from our memory as time passes, yet we remain trapped within it until we awaken. Even after waking up, we may still struggle to make sense of it. Waiting between doctor appointments and compiling a new list of symptoms from my WTC Lung felt like being trapped in a dream, unsure of what would happen next.

Have you ever been frustrated with a dream or nightmare you couldn't understand? Have you ever had a dream or nightmare while asleep or awakened where you got angry because it seemed God and your ancestors were there but also that the divine was far away?

Has God or your ancestors appeared far away in your dreams or nightmares like they intentionally did not show up? Have you asked yourself Why they are tardy to your dreams and nightmare party, or sometimes they feel absent from all you are going through? When are you going to answer me? Where are you, God, and ancestors in this? Why are you making me wait so long? Why do you seem so far away?

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I was so fucked up emotionally and genuinely torn in my mind and soul. I had plenty of frustrations that I wanted to express between doctor appointments and diagnosis, adding up as new diseases began to combine with the ones that I already had developed from my work as a First Responder. My frustrations were roaring in my belly those waiting days for what would become of me with this WTC Lung disease.

I could not express my frustrations and openness like I wanted to, so I thought I couldn't because many times, many people would meet me with many of these comments: "At least you made it out alive," unlike many of your colleagues and friends you look good"; or one of my favorites that got an inner eye roll every time someone would say it to me “God saved you from dying that day," or the infamous, "Well” God got you!," Now, I have been found guilty myself of saying some those well-meaning statements to others going through things in life. But trust me, that is not the" ish” you always want to hear, no matter how well-meaning it may be.

Throughout my years of Interfaith ministry and Hoodoo priestesshood, I've heard countless teachings and talks on God's timing, patience, and the art of waiting. But when your life requires attention, it has a whole new meaning. When you're waiting for something, it's easy to feel like your problems are being ignored, and that's a frustrating experience. When I was first diagnosed with WTC Lung during that Advent season, it was particularly challenging for me. I couldn't help but wonder, why should I celebrate the sickness that I never caused? Why should I rejoice in a condition I never knew I would experience when I started as a First Responder?

All I wanted was a miraculous Advent season - a time when I could say that I was healed and had my diagnosis confirmed, treated, and cured. But instead, I was left with more questions than answers about my health. While struggling to come to terms with my WTC Lung during one Advent season, I wished I could control everything in my life. It was then that I realized the true power of waiting. Sometimes, the best thing we can do is let go of our need for control and allow things to unfold naturally.

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During the Advent season, I had an epiphany. I am trying to remember what year it was, but it was over a decade ago. When I struggled to understand and control the outcomes by knowing, planning, and correcting my health, I was met with a different kind of Advent, an inner Advent, an Advent of my heart. My heart had to change about my diagnosis and my control; I needed an inner Advent. I read a little Advent pamphlet that the local church gave out and read.

Matthew 6:34: "Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

As Auntie Oprah says, it hit me that I had an "aha! moment!" It wasn't about the doctors. They were and still do the best that they can do and give me the best treatment and give me the answers to the best of their abilities; it wasn't about the what, who, where, and whys of my WTC Lung diagnosis. It was about dealing with my inner self, why and how I was meeting these new seasons of my life, and my health unfolding in new ways. I had several inner Advent moments over the years. after that "aha moment!" With my God and my highest ancestors, yes, I still work on not obsessing over control of my life's outcomes in every area, especially my health. 

Road to Freedom is a painting by Sonja Griffin Evans.

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Just like when I arrived on the scene to help others through the emotional distress, I had to do for myself what I did for others, and I let them go through all the emotions they needed to help out the best way I knew how as a First Responder. I had to let myself go through all the emotions that often follow a chronic illness diagnosis and not rush my way through it. Through my experience as a mental health coach and interfaith minister of spiritual counsel, I learned that the impact of such a diagnosis is profound, regardless of one's background or circumstances. It's only natural to have a human response and allow oneself to feel the full range of emotions.

During my difficult Advent seasons decades ago, I decided to embrace the unfolding of my life. I knew I could not control my diagnosis or the outcomes, but I could make

Matthew 6:34 a theme for my life: "Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

I begin to approach each day in a self-loving way and appreciate the present moment. I took responsibility for my thoughts and feelings toward my health and life and was deliberate about caring for my spiritual and mental health.

Focusing on Freedom and growth, rather than trying to control my survival or what I thought I needed to be happy, I became free and fueled with hope. I realized that my inner Advent could be part of my spiritual practice and a tool for caring for my mental health.

I attend all of my immunology and pulmonology appointments without any deadly dread or unreasonable demands. Although a bit of worry does creep in here and there, it's my normal human response. I no longer go to these appointments with a chip on my shoulder and a bad attitude towards the doctors for something they didn't cause or answers they can’t give me. I don't get mad when their solutions are not what I want or expect, or they can't predict what will happen to me.

Now, I focus on how I'm doing in the present moment and remember Matthew 6:34: "Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself."

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I embrace and enjoy the simple act of silence on my way to the doctor now to savor life's moments. I am still here, not always in the optimal health of how I would like, but I am here.

I embrace and enjoy the simplicity of sometimes my lungs won’t allow me to do certain activities. Instead of getting upset and irritated, I embrace the simple act of having to sit this out, and guess what? That’s okay!

I embrace and enjoy the simplicity that I can’t spring into action super fast in a hurry like I used to when I was working as an FDNY First Responder.

Relaxation is a painting by Sonja Griffin Evans.

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I embrace and enjoy the simplicity of reflecting on my personal growth and emotional experiences throughout the years. I often meditate on the Advent experience I had many years ago during the Advent Season. That taught me each day has enough troubles of its own. It took many seasons of inner Advent to get there, y’all. However, it reminds me not to live in fear of what will happen or try to plan a life that some aspects I can't plan for obviously and that some things happen by default. Through many inner Advent seasons of life and holding hands with my chronic illness, I sat between anguish, despair, conflict, and fear. Each Advent year that passes, I am learning new ways to embrace my life, chronic illness slowing down caring for my health, and just simply being.

'Now, I constantly dance between my chronic illness of WTC Lung, dancing between natural worries and joy, but I refuse to let them consume me. I still have wild dreams and the occasional nightmare, and sometimes, the answers I get aren't what I want to hear. I embrace what I'm given and make the most of it. Chronic illness may be a part of my life, but it doesn't define me. I live for the beauty and ashes of every moment, cherishing the present and holding onto hope for the future.

And just because I can’t move around as fast as I used to or would like sometimes dash speed in a hurry. Slowing down for my lung’s sake, my health and well-being, I dont see it as punishment any longer. I joke I was on trend for “the art of slow living” before it was fashionable. Because I had to slow down and become reluctant friends with uncertainty, I won't let my chronic illness heartbreak be my permanent home. With each Advent passing, embracing the simplicity of my life and how it has slowed down considerably over the years, contentment is my compass, leading me toward brighter horizons.

Have A Blessed Wisdom Wednesday

If you want to continue this conversation, meet me in the thread

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A true man never frets about his place in the world but just slides into it by the gravitation of his nature and swings there as easily as a star. -Alexander Crummell

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