Column: Living like a Lotus, part 2
Editor’s note - Nancy Turner gives us a two-part column about adversity, the love of a child and the transformation for embracing both in the most desperate of times. Here is part 2. Click here to read Part 1
I went home to Portland but drove to Eugene regularly. Day by day, I fumbled my way along, struggling to discern what to do as the mother of a sick adult child. I tried to be helpful without undermining Toby’s independence. I gathered medical information and struggled to sort out conflicting medical advice. The morass of the unknown gradually diminished. My tight shoulders relaxed. I had not lost my son. Instead, I was graced with the rich experience of sharing a challenging time together. I grew appreciative of our having so many days together.
I reflected on how fleeting life is. The close bond I’d enjoyed with my son during his childhood had been trampled during my divorce. He was nine at the time. As a single parent, I became preoccupied with parenting two adopted daughters who required a great deal of attention. During his adolescence, our relationship became more fractured. I had taken my son’s love and good health for granted, putting the girls needs ahead of his. The acute ulcerative colitis experience gave me time to resurrect our precious relationship. I came to grips with the fact that nothing is for sure.
For months Toby carefully monitored his symptoms and agonized over choosing which long-term treatment plan would be best. The perplexing array of options muddied the water; nothing was clear. He interviewed several doctors. He talked with numerous patients who had suffered with colitis for years. They were the most helpful. The conclusion was, that to have a healthy life, he could not rely on a change of diet or drugs. He made the momentous decision to have surgery.
On Toby’s twenty-first birthday, his surgeon removed his diseased colon and pulled his upper intestine down to form what was called a “W” pouch, a make-do replacement for the colon. From the hospital bed, Toby, with his rye sense of humor, cracked, “Shouldn’t I be out cruising the bars?”
Instead, he rested and recuperated from surgery. Prednisone made him emotionally unstable; he struggled with a colostomy. Two months later, the colostomy was removed. His body was finally allowed to heal. We began to look toward the future with optimism.
He learned to monitor his diet by avoiding acidic foods and eating balanced meals. “No big deal,” he said. “Isn’t that what we’re all supposed to do?”
Glass artistry continued to be what he loved doing most. When he had a thin glass rod in his hand and a blow torch in front of him, he focused on nothing else. He became totally absorbed in being creative. His passion for glass deepened and expanded. As his strength returned, he established a business called Current Glassworks, as sole proprietor. Located in an industrial area of Eugene, it contained an art gallery, a glass supply outlet, studios for teaching, and a retail web page for his art pieces. He went to Italy, to assist teaching a class with a master glass artist in Venice.
Hello, World!
Five years after Toby’s harrowing health crisis, I co-led a group of Americans on a month-long tour to Buddhist monasteries in Thailand. I invited Toby to come along on this adventure to help schlep suitcases.
One day in Bangkok I rode in a motorized rickshaw. The tuk-tuk zipped around cars and motorcycles like a fish whisking it’s way in water. I held my breath and pulled in my elbows. The tuk-tuk stopped abruptly, trapped by thousands of vehicles clogging all four lanes. To my left I saw a wrought iron fence surrounding a government building. Each post was topped with an artistic metal lotus bud. On the other side of the street grew a garden of lotus flowers. Signs with images of lotus flowers appeared everywhere. Lotus Boutiques, Lotus Restaurants, Lotus sweater shops, Lotus shoe stores, Lotus Massage Parlors. A neon-blue truck with large yellow letters spelling, Thailand Electric Company, slithered into the next lane, close enough to bump door handles. On it’s side panel, splayed juicy pink lotus blossoms the size of pie pans. (PGE would never) I counted thirty-two lotus images in less than an hour. Why not roses or iris?
Travel changes a person. When we returned home, Toby began making glass lotus flowers instead of roses. The blooms of pure white petals, often five or six inches across, rested on a bed of trailing green stems. They graced art galleries in downtown Portland.
I researched the cultural and religious meaning of lotuses. The lotus is the national flower of Thailand (ours is the rose). It also has spiritual significance. Each plant sprouts in mud; the stem grows through murky water and emerges above the surface, presenting a pristine flower. The simplest and most obvious interpretation is that it represents the process of growth and opening. It signifies that out of a dirty, distressing or dark aspect of human life, something beautiful unfolds. As with the unopened bud, within each of us is the potential to realize something of exquisite beauty.
Hello, World!
Toby’s ability to transform dealing with a debilitating disease into something meaningful was wonderful to watch. Together we healed our relationship. His courage to accept his situation and turn it into a time of creativity was miraculous. Nietzsche would be proud! I certainly am. And I know, from reading scientific studies about surviving trauma, Toby’s resiliency is not the norm, but it is an inspiring possibility.
I would never wish such a dire circumstance on anyone, but if something terrible happens, it’s good to remember the possibility of transformation. When awful things happen, we have options. We can contract, become bitter and depressed, mask our feelings with drugs and alcohol, or deny the impact of the trauma by telling ourselves it really wasn’t that bad. Another choice is to become tolerant and accepting of what we went through and create something new for ourselves. It’s never easy, and it takes a while. Years, sometimes. It shouldn’t be a solo journey. We can’t do it alone. We need friends and family, and sometimes professional healers or spiritual guides.
It’s true. Like the lotus, we can grow through the mud, rise above the murky water, and bloom.
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