During the past 18 months since my aortic dissection, I have been living with a small fraction of the energy that I had before. To use a metaphor, I have needed to pay much closer attention to how much gas is in the tank and how quickly it is being consumed. When I am running on fumes, I am more irritable and impatient, which is not fair especially to my wife. When I run out of gas, I crash, and sometimes can do almost nothing for the rest of the day or even longer.
The energy of social interactions
After we got vaccinated, we began to get together with people we hadn't seen in more than a year. I quickly realized that social interactions, while enjoyable, take much more energy than I had ever realized. The first few times we got together with friends, I was on fumes after an hour or so, and I crashed several times, literally crawling upstairs to bed.
There were several multiple day events during the summer and the fall: a week in Arkansas visiting my son and his family, three days visiting our daughter's husband's parents, our daughter's wedding, and my father's memorial service near Salt Lake City. On those big occasions, even with naps and multiple rest periods during the day, I was exhausted at the end, and I think this was unavoidable. Interestingly, my then four year old granddaughter who has seen me as a special playmate, was able to adapt remarkably well to grandpa needing naps and rest periods and having to do more quieter activities during our times together.
Over the year, I have learned better to modulate the outflow of energy and still have some gas in the tank during the more ordinary get togethers with friends. I even learned to say no to some invitations because I could sense that it was just too much. There wasn't a formula for monitoring my energy, but there were commonalities: needing to pay attention to the wanting to be normal again, needing to let go of other activities during the days I spend time with friends, and being more mindful of clues in my body while I was with friends.
The energy of afflictive emotions
I have become more sensitive to the energy consumed by what Tibetans call afflictive emotions, e.g., anger, resentment, or getting and staying irritated at someone or something. When I find myself mired in afflictive emptions, I am more and more able to feel, in my body, these emotions sucking energy out of me, and I suddenly find it much easier to let go than I had before. For example, when the newspaper delivery person forgets us and I start to get angry, I sense the energy this is consuming, take a few breaths and let it go. My computer or tv is often buggy. At those times, I realize I can go on a rant about how everything is made poorly these days. Or I can simply restart the computer or tv and breathe consciously and slowly while it reboots. When frustrated with a with family member, more often now I recognize I have a choice: either staying in the mental mud for the rest of the day or letting it go.
I once read about how hunters catch monkeys in Asia. The hunters carve a hole in a tree just big enough for the monkey to put its hand into. Then they put sweets in the hole. When the monkey slips its hand into the hole and grabs the sweets, the hunters jump out of their hiding places. All the monkey has to do is open it fist and let go, but more often it holds on and then gets caught. We are like the monkeys! When I realize that I am holding on, I often smile, physically open my fist, and then let go.
The energy of physical and mental activities
I am also learning to be more mindful of the cost of both physical and mental activities which happen daily. For example, if I take a break after mowing the first half of the lawn, I am not as wasted the rest of the day. I have also learned to do many activities--like riding my bicycle, mopping the floors, cooking, even writing this blog--more slowly. I take the time to be aware of my breath and aware of tightness in my body because of my decades long tendency to hurry almost all the time.
Coming to a deeper understanding
Sometimes I feel like I have this superpower ability to feel the energy usage in my body: to know when I need to slow down, when I need to rest, and when I need to make different choices. There is some grief for what I've lost: all the things I can't do now or have to do much more slowly.
I've realized that while I need to attend to my sadness and grief that the old Tom is gone, I also need to let go of some of the old Tom's habits that were not helpful even for the old Tom and which are dangerous for the new Tom, who is also 72 years old.
I have been forced during this illness to learn things that everyone has to learn anyway; it was just forced upon me. I hope that these insights might be useful to others as they grow older or if they develop a chronic disease.