I have this knack for manifesting exactly what I need right now. Sitting on the verandah floor, (and a too much information warning coming up!) throwing up into an old red bucket which I grasp with one arm, and holding my other hand out to catch the vomit spewing out of my littlest one's mouth, a bewildered and shocked look on his face... I am okay with this, I thought. Just please, let it be quick. Intense, and quick.
And quick- and intense- was what I got. By the time my partner came home on the mercy dash, having got the dreaded text message an hour earlier, I was just about purged. He found me slumped on the front step, where I had landed a while before, and I was unable to move. So exhausted from the full body engagement of letting go, from helping the baby through his ordeal, cleaning him up, me up, the space up... He smiled sympathically and went to find our little one, who was by now happily playing with his brother and sister.
Three hours, fourteen vomits, and I was done. I finally managed to crawl into the shower, and allowed myself to crouch under those precious drops for a long time, threw up once more, and fell naked and cold into bed. My biggest little one came in a few minutes later, and pulled a blanket over me, and took the message to his dad that I wanted ginger tea. In his own beautiful caring way, he brought me some slivers of ginger he had cut to chew on, and my daughter (who had been in the throes of the bug two days prior) came and lay with me, whispering "I know, I know."
Whenever I have a vomit bug, I can feel the parallels between giving birth and throwing up. Both are all consuming, when they get to that point of full bodily engagement. In both, our verbosity rendered less of a tool- but our voices can be amazingly healing (I am a noisy birther, and noisy moaner when sick). Both show us the power and totality of our bodies ability to do whatever it needs to do to get the process done, no matter how we feel about the process.
Knowing this ( a lesson from previous bugs) I wanted to go deeper. Can I touch some of that special place we go to inside of ourselves, that trancy, magic space of birth, amidst all this bodily discomfort and yuckiness? The big words inside my head was : GO WITH YOUR INSTINCT.
And for me, that was the point of letting go. Even when I am sick, I think I try to hold onto things- ensure my children are okay, and reassuring them I am okay (they have a fascination with watching me spew, as I am sure many people do). Washing out and then rinsing the bucket after every spew. Taking small sips of water after every spew.
This time, I didn't. Short of making sure Koa was laying down next to me on a towel wherever I ended up (in his less chirpy moments) and doing what I needed to do to support him, I let all of this go. I went to the spots of the house I needed to. The front steps and the breeze and openness there was right for me- even though my vomity aria was probably an unwelcome soundscape to the neighbours across the gully. I didn't get up to clean up, and totally surrendered to that feeling of being wiped out. I adamantly felt not to put anything in my stomach, not even a sip of water. This process needed to be a complete and pure purge- something needed to come out, beyond the physical, and I needed to allow the space for that.
I found myself staring at trees, (as I often do in labour), feeling their strength and their eternity. I breathed into this amazing feeling of transcendance. Yes, the awful nausea and dizziness and pain was there- but so too was acceptance, gratitude and beauty.
And when I finally collapsed into bed, still sick but knowing the vomiting was done, it was blissful and pure and transcedent too. Even though two days later I still feel a little sick, and incredibly tired and run down, there is thankfulness.
Yesterday, my husband returned to work, but two hours later than usual on a Sunday morning, and that was so recuperative for me. The children and I spent a day snuggled up on the bed in the spare room (where I had slept the night before, my little retreat nest), reading, or cuddling. I was still feeling so weak. I dipped into a book that was visually and mentally soothing and inspiring for me, and felt that this is where the real gold is.
In my family, we have a rhythm: for every sick day, we take a recovery day. A day off too nourish, nurture, come back to ourselves. Now this doesn't often happen easily for me, being a mama as I am, with a house to clean, children to feed, sibling fights (oh, the endless sibling fights!) to mediate...But I was able to get a sense of it, the gold that the recovery time holds. It's not the purging itself, or the illness that holds the healing (or not primarily, perhaps), but the space afterwards. If I am still, and sit with it, I can feel the light entering each cell. I notice the way I relate to the children is gentler, and more conscious. I find myself visioning what I want to bring more of into my life, how that would look and feel. Gladly letting go of that which does not serve.
If I could truly hold and honour that healing time for myself, how would I grow and evolve? And if I could facilitate that quiet, magic time for my children, how beautifully would they blossom?
That is my intention I hold up today: that I may truly honour the recovery time.
I have a clear sense of what that means to me in this moment: a little writing (done!) some rest in a cool, tidy room (I will gift myself that five minutes of tidying) and a nourishing juice or smoothie to build me up nutritionally. So a morning off work to dive into healing space- awaits!
