Lessons from the Heart, Part 2: Fear and Attachment

                During my stay in the hospital and subsequent days recovering my strength at home, the need for drawing on practices I had learned did not decrease.

                After leaving the hospital and consulting with a cardiologist, I learned that the heart infection had done permanent damage to the mitral valve in my heart and that I might have to have open heart surgery to repair or replace it. I felt a series of mental stories and a wave of fear arise in me.  The stories were multiple:   “I might die on the operating table, there could complications and they would have to operate again, my life will never be the same if I have open heart surgery….”  As I did before, I continually reminded myself that these were only stories about a possible future and not facts.  As long as I stayed in the present moment, there was some peace.

                The prospect of open heart surgery brought up fear on several levels.  The operation itself is a huge blow to the body.  A bone saw is used to saw through the length of the sternum in the center of the chest, and then the ribs are pulled back to create a huge hole in the center of the rib cage.  This is not minimally invasive surgery.  In addition, it is necessary to actually stop the heart completely for a period of time and then restart it when the surgery is complete.  The extreme violence of this particular kind of surgery brought strong fear in me.

                There was also a second, even stronger, fear.  During the time the heart is stopped, a machine takes over the job of circulating and oxygenating the blood.  This pump can add microscopic pieces of plastic to the blood, sometimes tiny air bubbles, and also damage blood cells which then can clump together with other cells. This debris in the blood can block tiny blood vessels in the brain, depriving brain cells of oxygen and killing them. The permanent brain damage can lead to a permanent reduction in mental functioning and even personality change.  When these thoughts entered my mind, fear arose.

                I have learned from this experience that I have a strong attachment to keeping my mind and personality the way they are.  I was born with good native intelligence.  I didn’t connect with the school curriculum much during K through 12. However, I loved college--4 years undergrad and 7 years graduate school, followed by teaching college philosophy classes for 40 years.  I also became a Buddhist meditation teacher.  I love learning and helping others to learn things that will help them in life and help the world become a better place. I have done hundreds of speaking engagements and written over 50 articles and one book.  My insight and ability to function mentally (along with friends and music) are a huge part of the life that I love. My sense of humor involves making connections and seeing things from unusual perspectives.   I fear losing this as a result of heart surgery. 

                There are really two things that need to be worked with here:  1) attachment to having things stay the way they are, and 2) fear. 

                My mind rebelled against the idea of not having my present level of mental functioning, insight, knowledge, memories, as well the prospect of undesirable personality changes.   And yet, I know that when I was 20 years old I did not have my present level of mental abilities, insight, and knowledge—and I would have said that I was happy with my life back then.  My personality was also substantially different from now.  If I was transformed by surgery into an “average person,” well, can’t average people have good and decent lives?  But if they can, is this only because they have no experience of what they are missing out on? Am I concerned that I would miss what I once had and now would no longer have?  But why couldn’t I be a simpleton and be happy?  These are questions I need to keep sitting with.  If I have to have things a certain way in order to be ok (this is sometimes called attachment), it is a certainty that I will suffer as a result. 

                I have also learned that I have a high level of attachment around possibly having to take drugs (blood thinners and heart rate control drugs) for the rest of my life, as well as not being able to maintain a certain level of physical fitness and strength which is necessary to do many of the things I want to do (and which I truly enjoy).  More questions for me to sit with, and an opportunity to loosen my grip of having to have things be a certain way. There is fear here, too.

                And none of the above (or what follows below) means that I don’t try to improve my situation.  I can still do the things that I can do to minimize my chances of death, brain damage, and loss of physical abilities.  I can seek out less invasive forms of treatment or even opt for no treatment at all if that provides the greatest chance for a good quality and length of life.

                The second area I need to work with is opening to fear and anxiety using the Buddhist practices I have learned over the years.  For me, these practices begin with noticing the emotions that are present and acknowledging their presence.   Rather than pushing fear away, pushing it down inside myself, or trying to distract myself from it, I can try leaning into the fear, getting curious about it how it feels in the body. 

                To do this I have been taking time to just sit with the fear without judging it or myself.  I just try to feel the emotion.  Where do I feel this fear in the body?  What does it actually feel like?  What are the specific sensations that are present and how do they change as I observe them?  The intention here is not to figure out where the emotion came from or do anything about—I can just be there with it, sort of like sitting next to a person on a bench.  When I did that, I felt some tension and pressure all across my upper back, and also at the back of my head.  I also felt a sort of heaviness in the pit of my stomach.  Experienced in this way, it was something I could be ok with.  

                When I can do this, it becomes ok for the fear to be there, and the fear may even subside some.   I use this practice for impatience, boredom, anxiety, fever, aches, pains and so on.  Fear about heart surgery still arises in me, but it’s not there all the time.  And when it is there I sit with it, drop the mental stories, and open to just feeling the emotion.  That’s the practice—over and over again.

                Of course, the best time to be learning these practices is not when in the middle of a crisis.  Learn how to use and benefit from them when not in crisis and they will be readily available to you when you are in crisis. [Warning:  the idea of “being in crisis” can also be another mental story—things are just happening and I need to deal with them as they arise!]

                In summary the lessons for me are:  1) Deal with what is right in front of me, not everything all at once.  2) Drop the mental resistance to the truth (what is real) in this moment.  3) Open to experiencing the emotions that are present in this moment.  4) Notice the mind-created stories and remind myself that they are almost never true, and stop believing in them (buying in to them) as facts.  5) Notice when I am clinging (attached to) certain conditions or outcomes and let them go.

 

Next post is Lessons from the Heart, Part 3:  Limbo

 

 

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