July 18th, 2013
A few weeks ago I had a seizure. It was a night like any other until I went to sleep. I had just gone to bed when my housemate heard unusual noises coming from my room. When I didn’t respond to her calls to me she looked in on me. She found me having what appeared to be what is now known as a generalized tonic-clonic seizure. They are more commonly known as “grand mal.” Because the seizure lasted several minutes and I appeared to be having trouble breathing she called 911.
In Madison we do 911 calls with style. They came with a firetruck and ambulance. I regained consciousness to see half a dozen uniformed men and women surrounding my bed. The really good looking guy was in charge of asking me questions. I did my best to answer those really tough ones like “what day is it?” Who knows what day it is when you’re awoken in the middle of the night? It’s tough to answer questions when you’re struggling to form words and figure out where you are and who these people are.
They decided to take me in to the ER. My housemate, Jennifer, met us there and helped me understand what was happening and was my advocate.
The days following that event were really tough. First, of all dealing with the migraine that came along with the two seizures that I had that night and all the other physical side effects. Secondly, exploring all the fears and new understandings that arose as well.
My family and friends have told me how lucky I was that Jennifer was there. I definitely was lucky. I’d thought for months that I might be having seizures. Now I have proof and can figure out how to address them. On the other hand, however, had she not been there I would have slept through it and just woken with a nasty migraine and nothing to fear.
So what does this have to do with organizing?
Lots I suppose. You can’t deal with the issues until you know what they are and you can’t change them, can’t win until you face the fear. It’s also a reminder to me that I am not permanent. There was a time before me. There will be a time after me. Some day my eyes will close for the last time and there’s a good chance I won’t know it.
How do we continue to do the good work with that knowledge, with a recognition of our miniscule space in the grand realm? Again I have no answers.
I do know that over the years I’ve had hundreds of conversation about burnout, trauma, stress, depression, and hopelessness as a part of what we do. I’ve been a part of many efforts to address such things. Some have helped. Some simply died away themselves.
I know that I struggle with those same things sometimes. I find myself losing my ability to feel the passion that I once felt. I am often left with just sadness and emptiness. I both miss the passion and am thankful to not have that intensity that has worn me out. Still, I look for ways to maintain and build my ability to feel and embrace and love this world and its beings.
We, as activists, organizers, and educators, need to figure out how to not just support others but support each other and ourselves. I find the last the hardest. There is always someone else who needs care, who needs support, who needs strength. They don’t jump in front of me in the line to receive care. I step behind them, push them forward. It’s easier to address another person’s needs than my own.
Tonight, or rather this morning I’m staying awake. I have to. I am going to get my brain scanned in the morning to see why I had those seizures. I have to be in a sleep deprived state. In a little more than an hour I will have been awake for 24 hours straight. Surprisingly I still feel quite awake. In fact, I’m going to take a shower and go for a long walk with the dog when I’m done writing this. It’s been a while since either of us has seen a summer sunrise.
I hope to learn something there that will help me move toward caring more for myself and through that care rebuilding my passion. I ask my fellow activists, organizers, and educators out there, don’t wait for the seizures and brain scans. Show yourself that love and caring that you save for those you defend today and every day. If we are to be in this work for the long haul, we need to be here for the long haul.