Melvin & Me, Part 30: Being Seen

I honestly had not expected to get to the topic of ostomies so quickly in nursing school--at most, I thought they might be a short lesson in one of our later classes.  I mean I certainly brought up the topic quickly, because I have a ready answer when someone asks me what kind of nursing I want to go into, but it was quite edifying to have a voice or two in the program that is passionate about wounds and ostomies, too.  Another "I have found my people" moment, frankly, and otherwise when I was making the decision to go into the program a rather firm shove that I was heading in the right direction.  So, in addition to being a lecture topic, we also had a guest speaker come to bring their experience to the table--I am making some further efforts to talk with this person. 

And me being me, I reached out to my theory and lab instructors to ask if there was anything they should like me to bring or even videotape regarding my experience, if there was any further enrichment I could offer.  Thus, I recorded a poorly angled video of my ostomy bag change.

This isn't the first time I've shown my ostomy in public (specifically, here's the old blog post).  It's a risk in a few ways, sure, even in an educational environment.  And yet, it is a wonder to be seen.  This produced two prominent feelings for me--empowerment and a lesser but still present sense of vulnerability.  It is incredibly cathartic to me to teach, and I recognize that not everyone is capable of sharing something so intimate this bluntly, making it all the more important to do so.  On the other hand, my disease and my disability are relatively invisible, and I have now lost part of that shield.  The vulnerability is not because my intestines or stomach were visible, but more because a hidden part of what makes me me was on display.  

And that is the tension.  I want to be seen, to have ready empathy in the places I need them in the instances that I need them, but I also want to be invisible, to have choice in when I'm seen and self-manage peacefully.  I think it's the same for folks with anxiety, depression, grief, lupus, fibromyalgia, and all kinds of other conditions that aren't immediately obvious.  Myself, I'm not great at asking for this space in those crisis moments.  I'm bad at it, to be more direct--I can ask for clarification or help on a great number of things, but a direct ask for empathy can be difficult.  I find that a lot of people I know are excellent at acute empathy--folks that will make a beautiful gesture of love and support in those critical times--but I only know a few people that are good at chronic empathy.  This understanding makes the asking harder still.  There is a part of me that resents having to ask in the same breath that I recognize it's not fair to expect someone to read my mind--another tension point.  And because I'm high-functioning in my depression (meaning I don't pause because the engine seizes but instead crash once the teeth have been worn off the gears through continuous use, even though the engine still sounded like it was rolling along fine), I am cognizant of trying not to take up space for those that are obvious in their need or state it first, yet another point of tension.  

If I hold the button down, which option is that?

I have tactics.  I have outlets.  I am growing in self-compassion and allow myself moments to crumble safely and experience emotion that I've been putting off.  Yet, with being seen, I'm very much testing the waters to see what I need and how I need it.  With my old job, I had persons with me in transitioning to my new life with a permanent ostomy--now I'm in an entirely new group of people and sorting out what it means to establish oneself in this group, trying to sort out how and when it is necessary to be seen and where it is helpful to be seen and where it detracts to be seen, all while still making space for everyone to express their own way.  

It's another set of unspoken complications in life with an ostomy.  Tension, balance, time; seeing and being seen in turn.  ...and allowing myself the grace to mess up a few times in the meanwhile.