Althea: A Story of Love

by Philip Rastocny

  Wheeling back out into the main hallway, we drove past the coffee shop where they served her favorite morning brew: Starbucks. Her nose strained from the smells emerging from the open doorway. Smiling, we continued on down the hall to the cafeteria.

  Emerging into a large crowded room, we moved to the courtyard across the way where I usually ate lunch and met with friends. “This is where Jonathan and I would eat together. It’s nice out there in the sunshine.” The heavier rains of this morning continued as a light drizzle this evening so no one was outside. But Althea enjoyed watching the raindrops make splashes in the puddles on the sidewalk. She pressed her hand against the glass and looked around at the flowers and trees just beyond.

  Motioning for us to leave, she mouthed to me, “Let’s go back. I’m tired.”

  All of the excitement of the evening was obviously a little too much for her. Although we were only out now for about twenty minutes, this was a full day’s worth of activity for someone who was used to one small room in the ICU. It must have been a little overwhelming.

  Moving slower to the elevators than before, Althea’s head sagged now in response to her exhaustion. “We should get you back into bed,” I said wheeling her in. “You’ve had an interesting day today.”

  As we got off the elevator and back into her room, Althea—now completely exhausted—struggled to get back into bed. Turning and twisting, she put her head on her pillow, closed her eyes, and instantly fell fast asleep.

  Leaving Althea rest, I wandered down to the public PC room wanting to email to our family, friends, and supporters the good news. From a combination of excitement and exhaustion, my fingers fumbled on the keyboard. As the staff announced the room would soon be closed for the day, I pushed the Send button on the email as the lights went out behind me.

  That email message read as follows.

  Hi everyone,

  Finally, the day is here! Althea is out of ICU and in her regular room. Praise God!

  Many of our friends want to send flowers but after talking it over with the woman who has extreme allergic reactions most scents and pollens, she decided that the thought—while terrific in intent—is not a good idea. She does think that since she is an artist, gifts of acrylic (not oil) paints, brushes, etc. would treat her already runny nose kindly (she is allergic to the soap they are using on the sheets). Cards (without scents), letters (the same), prayers, and healing energies are of course always welcome.

  This is a remarkable woman. The word remarkable has been a cliché about many things, but if we get back to the real meaning of the word, Althea is it. She has done in six days what typically takes six months for people with this injury to heal from. If it were not for her weakened state, she would want to go home since her body is already screaming inside, Let's get out of here! She amazes me each day with what she accomplishes and how she believes she is not ill. This is a lesson I have learned from and hope others will too.

  Althea ate her first meal Thursday, March 6, 2008 at about noon. Her spirits are high, her health excellent, and her vision is on her favorite bench as I hope yours is too.

  It is a Native American tradition to support a family member by the ritual of the "cutting of the hair." As you can see by the attached picture I have done so.

  You all have my gratitude and thanks,

  Phil

  Phil’s New Look

  PS—Please forward a copy of this to all of those you have in the past and thank everyone for this truly miraculous recovery.

  Chapter 19 — March 8, 2008 — Day 17

  * * *

  Spirituality is now and probably always has been universally practiced throughout the world in some form or another. With modest beginnings in prayers for good weather, to honoring animals and water, and of course worshiping the sun, moon, and stars, mankind has looked outward for answers to burning inward questions. Spiritual leaders arise within tribes and given the responsibility to maintain good relations between deities and the people while guiding them in their quest for understanding. Philosophers contemplate burning questions in life like Why are we here? and What is the meaning of life? and What is consciousness? Even young children routinely ask their parents similar universal questions.

  Religions have come and gone throughout the centuries, one toppling another. Today, there are over three hundred and fifty organized religions in the world, the top ten of which are:

  Present Day Top Ten Organized Religions by Membership, Smallest to Largest

  Nonreligious people fall into two categories: those who do not believe in a deity (commonly called atheists), and those who believe in a deity but do not belong to a recognized organized religion. Nonreligious people are the third largest group on the planet and points to a very interesting question: Why?

  What is it about all of these mainstream organized religions that these people find unattractive? With so many choices, surely one would think just one of these organized religions would fit, but they don’t. This group merely finds spirituality in ways not recognized as mainstream (even atheists believe in “no deity” which is by definition spirituality).

  Looking back through history—long before the appearance of Christianity—organized religions and their popularity routinely changed, some forms of which still survive today. While Christianity is the most popular organized religion today, many organized religions predate it. Using archeological and surviving written evidence, scientists have found the oldest organized religions known Before the Common Era (BCE) and their relative origins in time were:

  Organized Religions BCE as First Practiced, Youngest to Oldest

  Native American Spirituality is one of the many ancient Primal-indigenous religions that survived despite extreme actions taken earlier in history in a conscious attempt to do otherwise. During the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the government of the United States established aggressive policies to “solve the Indian problem.” At this time, Native Americans were forbidden to practice their traditional spiritual beliefs and even speak their language. The government understood that changing children’s attitudes will eventually change a culture; Native American youth were forced to cut off their hair and attend structured schools in an attempt to “civilize the savages.”

  Staunch traditionalists of a few tribes deliberately disobeyed such decrees and secretly continued performing these ceremonies upholding their traditions, sometimes under the penalty of death. Without these brave individuals, much of Native American Spirituality would have been lost.

  One of these defiant tribes, the Lakota, was determined to maintain their culture and remember their traditional way of life. Practicing in secrecy, they believed one day these traditions and ceremonies would be needed and eventually allowed to return. Only through their persistence and personal sacrifice do these traditions and ceremonies remain, and as their visions foretold they are again allowed to be practiced openly.

  In the ancient Lakota religion, one’s connection with the Creator is uniquely individual (a personal connection) and loosely structured. Several sacred ceremonies define this loose structure, the best known of which are the Inipi (Sweat Lodge), the Hanblecheya (Vision Quest), and the Wiwangag Wachi (Sun Dance), regarded as the highest. While all are encouraged to participate in every ceremony, one’s personal connection to the Creator determines which is suitable. Because of their unusual physical demands, choosing not to participate in some of these ceremonies is easily understood.

  During a Sun Dance, participants commit to dancing inside of a sacred circle around an honored tree for one to four days. Reasons for participating in a Sun Dance vary but typically involve supernatural pleas for healing, strength, guidance, and power for either themselves or others. Regardless of the weather, participants dance in rhythm to traditional sacred songs and drums, invoking a direct spiritual connection between the dancer and the Creator. Some also choose to offer of their own flesh to seal this commitment by physically tying themselves to this sacred tree or dragging Buffalo sk
ulls around the sacred circle.

  Each summer, Sun Dances are held throughout the west on Native American Reservations. Preparation for a Sun Dance begins with a week-long Spiritual Encampment at which time dancers and volunteers prepare the sacred circle, harvest the sacred tree, conduct Spiritual rituals, and staff the event. Volunteers organize camping areas, arrange food preparation facilities, maintain sacred fires, and erect structures. Well-seasoned Medicine Men with adequate preparation and special skill levels conduct this ceremony. Other volunteers help newcomers understand the content and purpose of this ceremony, and mediate issues and requests from supporters. Not all Sun Dances are open to the public, but those that are, are known as “Four Winds” ceremonies.

  In the summer of the 1987, Althea and I ventured to one of these Four Winds Sun Dances held at the home of the Spiritual Leader of the Teton Sioux. Traveling with several friends, we arrived at the Pine Ridge Reservation early one Tuesday morning and set up our tents in the short grassy field east of the ceremonial site. The winds of South Dakota briskly whipped through the plains rustling the tall wheat in a nearby field in long waves of golden light. The heat of the early morning sun warmed the dew, and droplets rubbed off onto our shoes and pants as we scurried about setting up camp.

  The ceremony did not begin until Thursday, so we were some of the first folks to arrive. Staking out an area amidst the other tents and teepees, our modest camp soon sprang to life. A ring of stones defined our camp fire and three tents circled around it leaving an opening to the west looking onto the ceremonial grounds. Althea took pride in arranging the sleeping bags, cooking items, and food getting them out of the wind and well out of our way. Lawn chairs huddled around the camp fire and our friend Ted was already brewing a fresh pot of camp coffee.

  Standing well over six feet tall, Ted’s long white hair blew around his face in the blustery South Dakota breeze. His blue jeans and cowboy boots soon soiled with dirt as he pounded his tent stakes into the ground with a rock from the camp fire pit. A red bandana framed his chiseled jaw, pronounced nose, and distinctive high cheek bones. Resembling an older Native American himself with his deep brown eyes and long face, Ted was as happy as could be coming back to one of his favorite ceremonial events.

  Arriving early, we experienced all of the preparations and activities that preceded the actual ceremony. Like organized chaos, people moved about setting up tables, carrying armfuls of sage, chopping up branches, making prayer ties, and erecting makeshift outhouses paying little attention to our goings on. This is a big event where hundreds of dancers and supporters would arrive by Friday night, and many of the preparations for a crowd of this size were still undone. Wanting to help, we volunteered for various small labor-intensive tasks and after a quick snack rinsed down with a cup of Ted’s thick, dark camp coffee, we set off to work.

  As the sun rose in the sky, a hand-built arbor also grew from the ground to greet it. Its modest frame forged from tall slender young trees, the arbor rose straight up out of the ground. With bows removed, this slender frame held more limbs that crisscrossed each other in preparation for a makeshift roof. More bows were then tossed atop the crisscrossed limbs providing shade to the onlookers and supporters. Wood shavings and pine needles were scattered on the ground below. Nothing of these trees used to make the arbor went to waste.

  Sundance Arbor Frame

  It was hard work under the noon-day sun, and as evening approached our weary limbs found the simple comfort of our tent camp a welcomed sight. With stories of people we met and the things we heard shared between us, our small group gazed skyward as an intense darkness settled over the reservation. Without the glow of city streetlights, the sky revealed brilliant stars and the wispy cloud-like structure of the Milky Way. Never before had we seen the sky so black and so full of stars. Such a sight felt old—very old—as if we were seeing the same sights the ancestors of these great Native Americans did in similar evening campfires long ago. Eventually, we succumbed to our weariness and one by one we peeled off to our tents with the sounds of the crickets and frogs lulling us gently to a deep, restful sleep.

  Ted was an early riser and greeted me as I emerged from our tent the next morning. The sun was just above the horizon and the chill from the evening quickly became a distant memory in the warm morning air.

  “Howdy, my good friend,” Ted said with his slightly southern accent. “It is a good day!”

  “Good morning, Ted, my friend. How long have you been up?”

  Stirring the coffee pot with a long thin stick, he replied, “About an hour before the sun. It was as if the morning was calling me, wanting me to be wide awake when the first rays peered above the horizon.” Pouring both of us a fresh cup of his coffee, we sat in our lawn chairs talking and laughing occasionally while watching the hot sun climb higher into the sky.

  After about an hour, Ted remarked, “Is Althea ever going to get up?”

  “She stayed up much later than I did last night. You know how Althea loves to laugh with people and tell stories. She just couldn’t get enough of it.”

  “She’s going to miss the day. Why don’t you wake her up?”

  “I know better than to do that, Ted. I’ve been married to her for long enough now to understand Althea needs to wake up on her own.”

  Without hesitating, Ted reached over to the coffee pot and poured a fresh cup. “I know what will get her up,” he said confidently.

  Watching in disbelief, Ted wandered over to our tent and unzipped the door. Thrusting the hot cup of coffee in through the open slit, Ted let the smell of the coffee waft into the tent without saying a single word. Then pulling the cup out, he walked back over to his chair and sat down. “There, that ought to do it!” he said giggling.

  Moans emerged from our tent followed by the rustling of a sleeping bag in side. There was a yawn, more moans, and still more rustling. Peering squinty-eyed through the doorway, Althea eventually emerged scratching her ear. Smacking her lips, she stretched and mumbled, “Is the coffee ready?”

  With yesterday’s lesson of staying firmly focused, I concentrated on getting my favorite parking place even before I entered my car. Departing quite late made it imperative to do so since the parking lot was far fuller at eleven o’clock than at seven. To find it empty would test my ability to visualize this. I imagined seeing the shadows of the trees cast against the leaves on the bare asphalt in the empty parking spot. Vividly imagining the wind rustling these leaves and hearing the sound of my car backing in, I rounded the corner and there it was, empty. Success! Gathering up my things, I moved quickly to the hospital’s main entrance and walked down the long hallway to the visitor’s elevator.

  As a creature of habit, I got off of the elevator, walked across the corridor, and reached for the handle on the door to the ICU. Just as my hand touched the metal, I recalled that Althea was no longer there and moved to another room. Feeling foolish, I turned around and found the door to Althea’s new room.

  She was sitting up in bed looking out the window. I walked into the room with my usual greeting, “Good morning, darling. How are you today?”

  Much to my surprise Althea responded, “Good morning!”

  My eyes grew wide and my mouth dropped in total disbelief. Was I imagining this? I thought to myself. Rushing to her bedside and grabbing her hand, tears filled my eyes as I gazed into hers. “You can talk!”

  Althea’s tearful eyes stared back into mine. Choking her words, “Yes, and I want a good cup of coffee.”

  I started laughing uncontrollably. These were the last words I expected to first fall from her sweet lips. I hoped that she would say something like, “I’m glad to see you” but I quickly got over that and returned to the moment.

  “It’s time for a celebration! I’ll be right back. You can talk!”

  Finding my way down to the coffee shop was difficult with my head so high in the clouds. It’s been over two weeks since I heard her voice so clearly and I was in a hurry now to hear it again. Filli
ng two small cups of freshly brewed Starbucks coffee, I added cream and dashed back to Althea’s room.

  Lifting the cups over my shoulders and motioning to the sketch hanging from the overhead television, Althea greeted me. “Woo…” she said in a low, sexy voice.

  Handing her one of the cups I said, “A toast…to good coffee and a rapid recovery.”

  After our cups clinked, we hooked arms and drank ceremoniously together.

  Tasting it she said, “Not like ours.”

  A Coffee Siphon

  Her broken sentences were music to my ears and I completely understood what she meant. Coffee to us is a ritual in itself starting with fresh European slow-roasted whole beans, burr ground in an antique hand-turned grinder, and perked in an all-glass coffee siphon. Using only the purest water on low heat, the water gently boils into the upper chamber. At the right temperature for seven minutes, this water perfectly steeps the grounds making a superb brew. After cooling, the brew siphons back into the lower half, straining out loose grounds as it does. This process is a far cry from the automated methods used to brew coffee here in the hospital. I started laughing and said, “It’s the best that they have. The other coffee in the cafeteria is really bad!”