The Tao of Chaos

Recently, I watched an artist on a YouTube video create a beautiful charcoal drawing that he started by placing random marks and lines on his canvas, and removing some of the darkness with an eraser, creating an effect that seemed to leave a luminous glow in its place. A face slowly emerged from the chaos as he smudged and blotted the canvas, and I was mesmerized, thinking, I want to do that!

Within days, I had an opportunity to experience the emergence of order from chaos in a very personal way. One night as I tried to sleep, I found my heart racing and pounding. Every little movement, even just turning over, made it worse, and my heart beat more rapidly as I struggled to catch my breath. I could hear it pounding whenever my ear was pressed to the pillow, and my head ached with pressure. I was awake all night trying to talk myself into relaxing enough for my heartbeat to calm down, but it never did, and the problem continued into the next day.

My mother tried to talk me into checking my blood pressure when I finally told her what was going on, but I refused, explaining that I didn’t want to find out that it was too high. I was afraid that she’d get upset and send me spiraling into a panic, making it worse. I just wanted the problem to go away on its own.

Unfortunately, it didn’t, and by early evening, my mother finally convinced me to check it. When I did, my blood pressure was on the low side but my heart rate was high. I called the 24-hour nurse on the back of my insurance card, and she urged me to go to the ER immediately.

It was 10 p.m. when we arrived, and the waiting room was overflowing with people everywhere. They were huddled in their chairs, coughing, and moaning, and many of them were sleeping. There were so many people that a lot of them were lined up against the walls outside, covered in blankets. I understood that this was not first-come-first-served. People were taken into the back according to how severe their conditions were, and there were several sick children and babies. Naturally, I was happy when they were seen more quickly.

I was given an EKG and my blood pressure was taken right away. The reading was much higher than it had been when I was at home, and my heart rate was in the low 100s. After about an hour, I was taken to a tent that had been pitched outside to help the phlebotomy technicians catch up with all the blood draws they had to do.

All the rooms were full, so after 10 hours of sitting in the waiting room, I was finally ushered into the busy ER where I was assigned to one of the beds that had been moved into the hallway. A chair was brought for my mother and placed at the foot of the gurney, and she settled there while I went to the restroom to change into a hospital gown. When I returned, I was greeted by a friendly nurse named Sheila who prepared me for the heart monitor, and I was then visited by the very composed and cool-headed Dr. Pearl, who asked me to describe my symptoms. She listened carefully, and I could tell she was cataloguing the details in her head.

She asked if I’d had COVID and I replied that I may have had it way back before the pandemic was announced. I explained that I’d had a very mild sore throat and a really low fever, which lasted for two months. About six months later I developed tinnitus in my left ear, and two weeks after that, vertigo. Since then, I’ve experienced an array of distressing issues, most of them neurological. She didn’t say, but I suspected she felt that COVID might have been responsible for my condition.

The hallway was frigid, and I shivered uncontrollably under my thick, knit shawl. It wasn’t long after Sheila and Dr. Pearl stopped by that a male nurse showed up, shadowed by a young trainee named Doreet. The male nurse told me that Dr. Pearl sent them to collect more blood from me so they could see if my symptoms were being caused by a clot, inflammation, or an imbalance of magnesium or thyroid hormone. I was leery of being jabbed by a trainee nurse since I’m extremely sensitive to pain and have had bad experiences in the past, so I was happy when Doreet didn’t take it personally when I requested that the senior nurse do the deed instead. I didn’t want to offend her.

As he drew my blood, the male nurse used levity as he explained that he was leaving a small tube in my arm because Dr. Pearl wanted them to give me some fluids, and his humor helped diminish some of my anxiety. When he was finished, he connected me to a heart monitor and swaddled me in several layers of warm blankets, and then he and Doreet moved on to the next patient.

As I lay there, I worried about my 78-year-old mother, who had a heart condition of her own. The roles were reversed now. I had been with her many times in the last few years when she was taken to the ER for AFib, but this was the first time since I was six years old and in the hospital with my tonsils out, that she was the visiting family member and I was the patient. I knew she hadn’t eaten since 8 p.m. the night before and neither of us had gotten any real sleep. I asked one of the nurses if she could bring something for my mother to eat, but she apologized, saying that they were only permitted to give food to the patients. Disappointed, I tried to convince my mother to find the cafeteria and get some sustenance, but she refused to leave my side.

I closed my eyes and tried to focus on calming my heart, but my blood pressure and my heart rate continued to fluctuate with each breath I took. I was anxious that I might have to stay overnight and have some sort of surgery, so it was difficult to feel anything but apprehension. I dreaded hearing the potential diagnosis and had visions of my heart being carved open while I was under anesthesia. That was an experience I’d never thought I’d have to face, and now it was a looming presence that I might very well have to confront. I tried to remind myself that many people survived such procedures, but it didn’t help. I simply didn’t want to be in this situation at all.

After a little while, a Middle Eastern man was brought in and settled on the gurney behind me, and I could tell that he was suffering chest pains from a heart attack. I could hear a nurse speaking calmly to him, telling him that they were going to give him something for the pain, and although I’m not religious, I prayed that he would be okay because I really felt for him. I wanted him to be free from pain. I wanted him to live.

Across the hall from my bed were two rooms with a number of police officers guarding both doors, just like they did on television crime shows. The rooms were occupied by people that had been involved in a car chase, and the ensuing crash, the night before. We’d seen the story on the news just a few hours earlier in the waiting room. At one point, one of the doors opened, and the occupant was wheeled down the hallway by nurses and policemen alike. I knew this individual had done something reprehensible, but I couldn’t stop my heart from going out to them as they lay there twisted and broken on the gurney. Human beings make horrific choices that often have devastating results—on their own lives as well as the lives of others. Why are we so reckless and unmindful of life? Why don't we do everything we can to protect it and care for it?

I was resting when the Director of Nurses came by to see how I was doing. I explained that I was concerned about my mother because she was elderly and had her own medical issues, and that she hadn’t eaten since the night before. I was overjoyed when he immediately agreed to find something for her to eat. He came back a few minutes later with a sandwich and some yogurt, and I was so grateful. After that, Dr. Pearl stopped by and informed me that some inflammation had been detected in my bloodwork, so she was ordering an echocardiogram.

A little while later, another man was brought in. It looked he was being carried on a chair by paramedics, and he appeared to be strapped into it. He seemed to be unconscious because his eyes were closed, and he was slightly slumped over. Doctors and nurses calmly swarmed his room, and before long, he was alert and wailing in agony, with brief regular intervals of silence.

At first, I wondered what kind of procedure required the medical staff to work on him without any form of sedation or pain relief, but as hours went by and he was still howling and raging with every exhale, I realized he’d probably induced his condition himself by taking some type of street drug that created paranoia or physical pain. I felt compassion for him, and wished him peace and well-being. Humans sometimes do harmful things to themselves. What is it that makes us so self-destructive?

I closed my eyes again and tried to sleep. As I did, I noticed something strange. There were medical staff everywhere. They moved up and down the hallway, in and out of rooms, and although I couldn’t hear most of their words, their voices were a constant hum that never deviated above or below the same volume or level of calm. This hum of voices was steady and consistent, and I found myself tuning into it. Despite the consistent screams of the man in the background, the calm energy of this hum of voices had a soothing effect on me, and I was able to stop worrying about what might happen and just let go and focus on the now.

By the time I was taken for an echocardiogram, I was starting to feel better. I didn’t know if the readout on the heart monitor was still displaying a rapid fluctuation, but my mind was more at peace, and I felt more in control of my emotions. If not for the warmth, humor, and calm energy of the medical staff, I might have focused on the fear and suffering not only within myself, but in the other patients around me, and this would have contributed to my anxiety and, potentially, to the condition of my health.

I felt a rush of deep appreciation for all the doctors and nurses. I knew that they were probably overwhelmed by the number of people in the ER and that many of them had probably already been working longer than 12 hours. I knew that they had been dealing with not only the worst traumas and tragedies, but had been dealing with COVID for the last few years and the impact it had on their patients, their families, themselves, and each other—and yet they kept on working to save hundreds of strangers every week with grace, humor, calm, and beauty.

When Dr. Pearl came by for the last time, she explained that the results of my echocardiogram had come back normal. I was thrilled. There was no damage to my heart, no blockages, no structural abnormalities. All was in good order, and I could go home, but I was given a heart monitor to wear for the next 14 days. I was told to avoid caffeine, check in with my regular doctor, and see a cardiologist ASAP. I was also prescribed a medication to slow my racing heart if it felt like it was getting out of control again. It was a relief when Dr. Pearl indicated that my condition might have been caused merely by stress and palpitations.

I hadn’t really thought of myself as being stressed, but I realized that I was. I was constantly worried about money, about the future, about crime, about the environment, about the economy, about the pandemic, about our democracy, about humanity, and about life on this planet. It was a tremendous weight to bear. To top it all off, it had only been six months since my father passed away, and not only did I begin to worry about losing other loved ones, but I still hadn’t fully processed all of my grief. So much of my sadness was still knotted up in my heart, and I hadn’t been able to express it. Was that what was behind my heart’s current condition? Was it struggling to release all of the sorrow I hadn't expressed?

My experience in the ER reminded me to look for what’s good and right and focus on those things when it feels like the world is falling apart. By facing my fear of dying I had peeked behind the curtain and seen the order within the chaos. Life hurts sometimes, and it can be really scary, but there’s always, always beauty and goodness present as well. This realization had a huge impact on me, and although my heart still acted up for a few days, my emotions felt lighter, as if my heart had needed to crack open a little bit to release some of the pain and sadness and let some light inside. It was a powerful lesson in remembering to let go of fear and focus on love.

I saw that as healers, the medical staff worked together as a single unit, unconsciously using their grace, humor, calm, and beauty as one voice that could be heard and tuned into, and this enabled me to receive their efforts with gratitude. The word “hero” has been tossed around so casually in the media that it almost feels trite, but these people truly embodied the meaning of the word. They were the order in the chaos—a life raft in a sea of uncertainty.

When we got home that night, my mother and I were both too tired to cook dinner, so we ordered something to be delivered. I don’t know if it was the fact that I hadn’t eaten in almost 24 hours, or if my medical reprieve had something to do with it, but it was the most delicious meal I’ve ever tasted. (It was the smoked salmon pizza from Urth Caffé, in case you’re wondering. Their food is always delicious!) I went to bed early and fell asleep listening to the sound of the little fat cat purring as she curled up next to me, her red fur plush and soft against my cheek.

Thank you, Dr. Pearl; my nurses, Sheila and Britney; the male nurse who joked with me, and his trainee, Doreet (who will be an excellent nurse someday!); the young technician who performed my electrocardiogram; and all of the other amazing staff at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. It’s clear to me why you’re a world-class hospital.