If you're lost, hug someone...

I've been writing another post on how to prepare for a colonoscopy or colon surgery for several days now. Some readers may think that subject is sort of gross... but that won't stop me from writing it. It is surprisingly technical and that part means that it is taking me longer to write than I expected. If you know me - and let's face it, almost all of you do - then you won't be surprised that I have gotten distracted from this task several times.

My latest distraction? Hugs. Lots of hugs.

I'm one of those people that love hugs. There's just something about the mutual vulnerability, the fact that each person is within the personal space of the other, and the physical contact between me and whomever is giving me a hug that makes my heart warm. Any day seems better after a hug, although admittedly some days in my life have been so bad that while a hug took the edge off the pain, no amount of these magical embraces could possibly make things better.

That's the magic of a hug though, at least in my opinion. It doesn't actually make anything better. It's not a salve, it's not an antibiotic that can help the body kill a serious infection. After a hug, the world and all its challenges are still present. If anything, taking the time away from whatever I am facing in order to accept a hug from someone will just delay the inevitable effort I have to expend in order to overcome the challenge. A hug seems more counterproductive than anything, seen that way.

I still like them. And while they don't achieve anything practical or productive, I would strongly argue that hugs do have a strong functional role. They remind me that my life is bigger and better and nicer than whatever challenge I am currently facing might be.

Imagine that you are lost in the woods. You aren't cold or injured, but you know that you are lost and are extremely unlikely to find your way back to where you need to be by retracing your steps. You slid down a slope or some malignant force transported you to the middle of the woods or something like that; how you got there isn't important for this metaphor. The woods are all you know in this moment; the world you were in before you became lost is nothing but a distant memory.

Most people who get lost in the woods go through a period of reasonable efforts to get their bearings, take an inventory of their resources and needs, establish a safe space, and other smart things like that. Then they panic. Their hearts race, their vision narrows, their mouth goes dry. They will start running around, frantically searching for something - anything - that will help them get back to where they started. When I was a teenager I took a military survival course that taught me what to do if I wound up in this scenario, yet I still occasionally find myself panicking when faced with something that I don't understand or a problem I don't think I can overcome.

Congratulations. If you think this might happen to you, you are human. So am I when I panic and forget what I need to do to get out of the uncomfortable situation. The point of this blog is not to shame people for panicking or to wrongly claim that I don't. It's to talk about what helps when we panic. So... back to the woods.

You feel panic starting to set in. You feel your heart racing. It is getting hard to breathe. You can't remember the last time you felt safe or warm or dry. The best thing to do in this situation is to find something distracting - some menial task or something that is not going to get you out of the situation but that will keep your mind occupied. Foraging for food in survival situations is less about feeding yourself - you can survive for a lot longer without food than you can without clean water or shelter - and more about occupying your mind. Similarly, camp crafts like making a stool or hammock or whittling or making a walking stick or braiding rope don't actually get you home, but they do make your temporary home more comfortable or make you feel more prepared. They occupy your mind from the enormity of being lost.

They improve your morale.

Morale. That's the real key here. When you're lost, you need to keep up your morale. When your morale is high you are convinced that you will get out of your situation. When your morale is high, the problems you are facing don't seem as devastating because you know your life if bigger and brighter than the darkness you are currently facing. You are even more productive when your morale is high. That productivity might help you remember that if you climb a tree you can see farther and perhaps see a route out of your predicament, or that the sound of running water that was annoying to you means that there is likely fresh water nearby that could save your life.

And hugs improve morale. At least, they improve my morale. I'm not judging if you don't like hugs, but even my most hug-averse friends (and you know who you are) still give wonderful hugs at times. They aren't the only thing that improves my morale, but they are a significant contributor. And yesterday I got a lot of hugs.

Yesterday, you see, was my last day of work before my surgery. It was my last day of work for a significant time, and for the first time in my life it was my last day of work that didn't involve moving on to a new job or a new position or going on some amazing vacation or motorcycle adventure. This time I was leaving for work and didn't know when or even if I would return. This time, I was leaving because I was facing something scary and life-altering.

Life-altering. I've used that phrase a lot lately to describe being diagnosed with colorectal cancer, almost always followed by but not life-ending. My life will definitely be changed by what I am going through, but I don't believe my cancer will nor will I allow it to end my life. A year from now, malignant colorectal adenocarcinoma and lower anterior resection and total mesorectal excision will just be words in my past medical history. They will not be words I use to describe my life. And having good personal morale is the fuel I need to stay productive, to stay focused on that goal, and to have the courage to let someone steal a part of my body that I admittedly never thought much about until it decided to grow a tumour.

I have embraced an informal role as mentor in my workplace. I cherish this role, I cherish the trust that the smart, amazing young people I work with have placed in me. A lot of the people I work with are young enough to be my children; in fact, one of them even went to school with one of my children. They are bright and capable and eager to succeed and thrive and make their own way in this world. It means so much to me that they look to me as a role model, and that alone would buoy my spirits through these challenging times.

But when they all lined up yesterday as I was leaving, each colleague wanting to give me a hug and say a few simple words of comfort or thanks or wish me luck, I felt my heart filling like a balloon filling with helium. As much as I like hugs, I do not tend to hug people at work because I respect their boundaries. Yet here was a line of amazing people lining up to spend two seconds in a physically and emotionally vulnerable position with me.

Each hug made the needle on my fictional morale meter tick higher. Each hug reminded me that there is more to my life, more to who I am than cancer. Each hug reminded me that the world is beautiful and caring and brimming with people that love more than can possibly be imagined. Each hug reminded me that a trouble shared is a trouble halved.

So keep those hugs coming. If you're not sure if it's okay to hug someone, ask. I've had several people as "is it okay if I give you a hug?" in the past few weeks. Every one of them surprised me in asking, and I think I thanked every one of them for the hug and for their courage in asking. The simple act of kindness conveyed by their hug makes my heart soar every time I think of it.

We're all on this pretty blue-green marble together and we all face times when we feel like we are lost in the woods. But if we take a moment to remind ourselves that we are not alone, if we take a moment to be human with each other with a simple touch or a simple word of caring, the beauty of our world will come shining through when all we saw was mud.

To all my angels, to everyone who has hugged me or expressed their caring in the past weeks since my diagnosis; thank you for helping me survive.