Like stones thrown into a lake, trauma creates ripples in the water that change not only its still, glassy surface but reverberate all the way through its flourishing ecosystems underneath. These microscopic quivers are often invisible, but present nonetheless—settling into the bones, minds, and memories of every survivor who’s known them.
When these ripples are born from multiple traumatic experiences, they can collide into chaos or build upon each other in strength – powerfully reshaping the ways a survivor sees themselves and the world around them. They can shift how one experiences their body, pain, touch, and even comfort; how they interpret and respond to danger, intense emotions, relationships, sensory input, and subtle reminders of that trauma; and how they’re seen by others. It can be difficult to disentangle the natural ebb and flow of the water’s currents from the ripples made from a downpour of stones.
Despite all the waves and wreckage, just as a lake remains beautiful, inviting, and a calm respite to all who wish to visit, survivors retain their beauty and resilience in spite of their trauma. Their healing isn’t about how quickly they can return to serene stillness after all that rocky hail, but in recognizing the unseen tremblings underneath, and finding ways to create harmony in concert with their movement. To those on the water’s edge, just as we respect nature’s quiet endurance, we should offer the same respect to those who’ve experienced trauma—tossing fewer stones and perhaps adding a few more reeds to ease a quivering shoreline.
It all started when I went for my regular Ketamine infusion, which is part of my treatment for Complex Regional Pain Syndrome.
Felicia, the head nurse, asked if I was doing ok. She said I wasn’t looking like myself and that I was pale. I said I was good and that was all that was said.
I remember lying back on the stretcher while they prepped me, putting heart monitoring stickers on my chest, attaching a BP cuff to my arm, oxygen in my nose … I was shivering and could feel tears running down from the corners of my eyes but i had no emotions. It was strange because that doesn’t usually happen. They took my hand to start an IV and I heard a faint voice in my head whispering – don’t touch me.
I remember turning my head to the side and just letting myself drift away. Don’t have any more memories about the treatment than that.
Once the infusion was done they wanted to talk to David. Felicia asked him how I’ve been doing lately. David later told me that he told her I’ve been purging a lot, that I’ve been quite depressed and that he’s been worried. Apparently she told him that I’m not looking well. That I was pale, my eyes were dark, and my lips were almost grey.
I was awake, my eyes were open, but I was non-responsive. My neck and head were spasming and I was staring off with no reaction when someone spoke or touched me. So they decided to keep me an extra hour to give me more fluids and more time to let the meds wear off. David asked if they felt I had taken anything and she said no because my vitals were all good. But they did bloodwork just to be sure.
An hour later Felicia called David back in and told him that he needs to take me to the ER. Apparently I had been mumbling some things that no one could really pick out but Felicia had heard me say something about this being the end and it was almost time to die …. I don’t remember any of that. I’m just telling what I was told.
So they put me in a wheelchair and David registered me in the ER, where I sat/slumped for 9 hours. David said I kept falling to the side as if I couldn’t hold myself up. He had to ask for a pillow and blanket to put around me to secure me a bit. He said I was in a completely different world.
Then they called us in to a small room that had nothing but 2 chairs bolted to the floor. And that’s where I spent the next 26 hours. It was nothing short of brutal.
Tears are burning my eyes now as I write that. I think it’s cruel how this was handled. They took me from the OR after having a procedure done and forced me to sit up on hard seats for a total of 36 hours. I was hallucinating. I was in terrible pain and developed a migraine. Had multiple bouts of vomiting. And I started experiencing opiate withdrawal because after I took my meds Thursday morning, I wasn’t given anything until Friday night. By that time I had missed 6 doses of morphine. It was torture.
David had to leave at one point. We had taken our dogs with us that morning. So David spent the entire day going from me in the hospital to the dogs in the car. He’d switch every hour. Take them for a walk, a drink, get them a snack then settle them in the car again before coming back in with me. But they couldn’t do that all night. So around 10pm he spoke to the staff. They assured him that I would be in safe hands and would be looked after so he left to go home with the dogs. Just before he left, he brought me in Zoey’s blanket from the car because he’d been asking for a blanket for me for 2 hrs with no luck. So I just kinda dozed off, sitting up in the chair, with Zoey’s blanket over me.
At one point I started to be more alert and I was really confused. I needed to use the bathroom but there wasn’t one so I left the room and just wandered around a bit. I went to the nurse’s station and asked if there was a bathroom and he said down the hall on the right. I roamed the hospital for a while. Took the elevator a few times, and eventually made my way back to that room. I called David, upset, wanting to know what was going on. When he realized that I was still there in that room – alone, he drove back to Grand Falls again at 4am. In the meantime, while hyperventilating and being trapped in that space with the chairs bolted to the floor, I clawed/scratched/cut my neck.
David came, and he channeled his anger into fighting for me. He took me outside for some air then went and found a vending machine and got me a sandwich and water. I hadn’t had anything since 7am the previous day. Thankfully there was one nurse there on Friday that had a bit of respect and showed some compassion. She even gave me a little bit of her on personal toothpaste so I could brush my teeth. No one gave me a breakfast tray but she made sure there was one for me by lunch time. And she also contacted the necessary ppl to get my meds ordered.
Then my psychiatrist came. It was still another long painful day sitting in that chair but by Friday evening I was admitted to the psyc unit.
And I’m still here. I am much more stable than I was over 2 weeks ago but still have a ways to go. Have no idea what is going to come out of this.
Sometimes it’s hard to breathe All these thoughts are shouting at me Trying to bring me to my knees And it’s overwhelming Darkness echoes all around Feels like everything is crashing down Still I know where my hope is found It’s in You.
You say You’re working everything for my good and I believe every word
‘Cause even in the madness, there is peace Drowning out the voices all around me Through all of this chaos You are writing a symphony
Tune my heart to Your beat Let me be Your melody Even when I cannot see. You orchestrate it Even when the darkness surrounds You’ll never let me drown I know that my hope is found In the name of Jesus.
And even in the madness, there is peace Drowning out the voices all around me Through all of this chaos You are writing a symphony.
I want to truly know if You compose beautiful music though From all my unruly notes. The distance is dissonance.
You erased the scales from my eyes Then played the scale of my life Chaos played out with chords in accord With the source prevailing through strife.
I’ve tasted suffering I’ve been embraced by the painful buffering I’ve been bound by doubts, so loud right now But a melody is made when you play these rusty keys. So we all gotta get pressed And tuned up like instruments I know life’s tempo is set So I must remember this …
That even in the madness, there is peace Drowning out the voices all around me Through all of this chaos you are writing a symphony
Her Complex Musings 
You must be logged in to post a comment.