Posts Tagged With: childhood surgery

Day 1286: Take a break

Take a break, my dear readers, and ask yourself this question: Do you need to take a break from anything, as you’re reading this blog post?

I definitely need to take a break, from

I took a break, yesterday, from negative assumptions about cardiac  surgeons (based on some difficult past experiences), when I spoke on the phone to Dr. Joe Dearani from the Mayo Clinic. Dr. Dearani is going to break into my very unusual heart on September 21 to replace my severely leaky valve with a mechanical valve, so that my doctors and I can take a break from concerns about deterioration of my heart’s pumping ability. Dr. Dearani told me that he takes a break from work, sometimes, by visiting my hometown of Boston, because  a lot of his relatives live in the New England area.

After I spoke with Dr. Dearani,  I was able to take a break and truly relax, for the first time in quite a while.

Yesterday, I took short breaks throughout the day to take some take-a-break photos:







I also took a break from wondering why this photo, from yesterday’s blog post, has gotten absolutely no comments from any of my readers:


What music do you think would help us all take a break in this post?

Because I have not been able to take a break from my fascination with HamiltonI’m including this link to “Take a Break,” from that break-through musical.

I just took another  break to watch this on YouTube:


When I had my first heart surgery when I was 10 years old, I took a valuable break by watching “The Price is Right” in the hospital, a few days after President John F. Kennedy’s assassination. I  remember taking a break, all by myself, laughing until it hurt about the weird ugliness of the car they were giving away that day. (A Jaguar, no less, but what does a 10-year-old girl know about cool cars?)

Do you think you have time to take a break today and leave a comment for this post?

I would never take a break from expressing  gratitude to all those who help me create these posts and to you — of course! — for reading them.

Categories: personal growth, photojournalism | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 52 Comments

Day 161: Tales of Tigers

Tiger Tale # 1

When I was a little kid, my parents went away on a trip. They brought home, as a gift for me, a Steiff puppet, that looked a lot like this:


I was apparently unfamiliar with the fine points of animal classification at that age, because I named it “Tiger,” despite the telltale lack of stripes on its fuzzy little body. Tiger became my favorite toy. I slept with Tiger and often carried him around with me. As we say in the psychology business, Tiger was a transitional — or comfort — object. Or, as one might say in any business, I loved Tiger very much.

One of my main memories of Tiger is — of course — a scary one (since those are one type of memory that tends to stick). My family and the family of my mother’s best friend were visiting New York City. I was carrying Tiger with me, and Richie — the son of my mother’s friend, who was a little younger than I — grabbed Tiger away from me, yelled, “I’m throwing this off the top of the Empire State Building,” and ran away. I remember being so scared and upset, in that moment, standing frozen and alone, both Tiger and Richie gone.

I can’t remember details about what happened next, except for vague memories of Richie catching some hell about that. And I know that Tiger was returned to me, because here he is:


Two things you might note about Tiger today. (1) He is hangin’, these days, with his own transitional object and (2) the top of his head is particularly fuzzy. The latter is due to his needing corrective surgery years ago, after being placed on the top of a lamp, so he could listen to a little girl practice piano.

Tiger Tale # 2.

When I was 10 years old, and had my first major heart surgery at Children’s Hospital, I know I didn’t have my comfort object, Tiger, with me. People probably thought I might lose him. Or maybe there were other rules about that. I know there were rules, during those days, that prevented my parents from being with me there, outside of normal visiting hours. (Things have changed, quite a bit, regarding parents and children and hospitals, since 1963.)

My mother told me a story, later, about sitting at my bedside, soon after that surgery, during regular visiting hours. I had fallen asleep. Suddenly, I stiffened. As my mother described it, “You went stiff as a board. Then, you yelled, ‘I have a tiger in me! A tiger!!'”

My mother was freaked out and frightened by that, I know. Again, I don’t remember the details that followed.

That tale has always stuck with me. My assumptions about that — then and now — include these: I was in pain. I felt like violence had been done to me (and my world). I was probably scared and angry.

One thing I’m noticing now: Just like with my Steiff puppet, I used the word “tiger” not-exactly-correctly, to name something important to me.

As I’m revisiting this story today, I’m glad I didn’t yell out the name of another ferocious thing with fangs and claws — like Bear, Beast, or Monster. Instead, I used the name of something I already loved.

In a lot of ways, I’m still making sense of that moment.

For example, this is a book I’ve been reading lately:


I bought this book, years ago, because of the title. Since then, it’s been recommended by several people, as an effective way to work with people dealing with PTSD symptoms. I’ve resisted reading it, until now. (Also, I CANNOT hold on to the first word in the title of that book. Whenever I mention it to somebody — a healer, or somebody who wants to heal — I can never remember the verb. In my mind, I struggle: “Taming the Tiger?” “Turning the Tiger?” “Stirring the Tiger?” And I look it up, every time, to discover that first word, anew.)

The time is here for me to look more closely at that tiger. And even wake it, in some way.

Something that helps me feel braver and more ready: I’ve always loved cats, of all kinds. Big ones. Little ones. Wild ones. Tame ones.

Including this tiger-striped one, who watches me as I write:


Thanks to all, for reading today.

Categories: personal growth | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

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