Let me start off by saying, I am definitely not pregnant. But I am experiencing a phenomenon that is mostly linked to late-term pregnancy – nesting. I am cleaning out closets, storage units, under beds, rearranging dishes, buying new linens and throwing away any and all things; in an unusual, for me anyway, unsystematic way. But, of course, accomplishing all this slowly, and within the invisible guidelines of my current function and abilities. I have done some research into why I am feeling the need to nest, and how that may be influenced by my current illness, and anticipated recovery. What I found out is that I am not completely alone in this behavior. I am not crazy after all.
Just like a new mother, I am simply trying to control my environment. This overwhelming need of providing a safe environment for our babies to enter the world connects us to not only the animal kingdom, but also to our ancestral past. It is a basic instinct of evolution: protect your home, family, tribe, flock, herd, etc. As for humans, recorded medieval history documented vast diseases, plaques and epidemics that killed thousands upon thousands of lives, and could have been prevented through basic sanitary methods. I mean, didn’t anyone think there could be a public health issue when hauling their bucket of human feces to the window and throwing it out into the streets? Eeeww! I would never leave the house! Especially with a baby! In fact, I still remember my grandmother telling me while pregnant, that I should never take my baby outside without a hat covering her ears or socks on her feet. In fact, she said never, ever, take her out of the house until she was at least 3 months old because of germs. I assume this was something her own mother, or grandmother, told her and she passed it along. The general lesson is this world is a dirty one, and we must protect our vulnerable children from it. Indeed. **fingers snapping**
But, again, I am sure I am not expecting a child, so how does this translate to me? I dig deeper into research. I love research. It makes me feel like I am moving towards something that can offer some enlightenment. It makes me feel like I can have a better understanding to my situation. In this case, on illness, on trying to find some control in a situation where I have none. In making sense out of something that makes no sense. That synopsis is a bigger one than I planned on discussing in this post on nesting, but it is fair to say that in all matters, research is therapeutic to me. I find in this research, that mice respond to many issues much like humans do, and are why they are used for scientific studies more than any other mammal. Scientists have concluded that when offering injured mice nesting material such as sticks and leaves, it helped reduce stress and for them to heal from wounds quicker. For mice, nests are used as a shelter from predators, a retreat from harsh environments and a protective insulator for their young. I surmise that this is not much different than what my own desires are. I want to get my shelter ready for something I have no idea how it will play out. I want my children “insulated” from that experience. But even in its simplest terms, I want my home ready for those who will help me recover. I want my home ready to help me heal from my wounds. This house, and its contents, is not only the safe place that we created for our children, this is MY safe place. I need it ready for what is next in my journey with heart failure. That readiness comes with the need to declutter, reorganize, reexamine and refocus. Because, maybe, just maybe, something good, or something better, may happen too. This is the point where “hope floats.” In order for us to receive this good “thing,” I need to let go of other “things,” old “things,” worn out “things,” loved “things,” tried and true “things.” So that there’s room for new “things.” And so I am ready for it. The analogy being that I am told that my heart is just an organ, just a “thing.” However, I don’t buy it.
If the body is a house to your soul, than what is the heart? Ages of symbolism conclude that the heart is recognized for love, romance, compassion, empathy, courage, creativity, kindness, sympathy, will, affection; amongst other flourishing synonyms. In Egypt, the human heart represented life-essence and was the only organ left in place during mummification. They believed the heart organ was the center to a person’s being – first part of man to actually live, and the first part to actually die. At a young age we are told to rely on “our heart” to assess situations, life and ourselves: to determine our innermost feelings. That when talking to someone “heart to heart” that you are speaking to their true selves, and them to yours. That getting at the “heart of the matter” is getting to the essential truth. These are symbolisms that are deeply rooted in our psyche and hard to ignore when facing an operation to remove such a vital organ: but also a vital part of ourselves: our identity, our own “truths.” I know that rationally it is an organ, and a diseased one at that. But just like the biblical story of Samson, who God bestowed on him great strength, which he lost when Delilah assisted in cutting off his hair, I am a believer that my strong “heart” is what makes me who I am, and what will happen to the strength it provided, once it is gone? After saying that irrational fear out loud, I do acknowledge that the “heart” is only a symbol.
As a scholar with a fine arts degree, I am educated in that symbolism is only an object, representing an abstract idea or belief, and can have different meanings for different people. It can also imbue objects with a meaning that is different from their original function: in this case, a anatomical heart. Intellect tells us that a heart is just an organ, a “thing.” But metaphorically, I am proud of my “heart” and how hard I have fought for it to be as strong, assured and kind, and how much I depend on finding my “center” there in times of vulnerability and doubt. Symbolically, I am sad to lose it. I am working on coming to terms with that anticipated loss. Maybe all this nesting goes deeper than house cleaning? Maybe it is a way to create a new physically visual “nest” in preparation of an internal one. Either way, I will be ready; attempting to be brave and open to new “things.” I am sure that is what my “heart” would want me to do.
