A Victory Over an Early Fear
I was recently advised to have a radiology procedure, an MRI, to get information about a potentially concerning medical condition. I have a fear of being in confined spaces, and the procedure required going into a narrow tube.
I counseled on the fear for several weeks prior to the MRI—focusing on what I had experienced in utero and at birth and on the effects of sexism, male domination, and men’s oppression. And I moved from being panicked to successfully and relaxedly completing the procedure.
My mother, like many people in the 1950s, was a heavy smoker and coffee drinker. The tobacco industry had withheld information about the damaging effects of smoking and addicted millions of people to its products. My mother would never have smoked cigarettes while pregnant if she had known that it would constrict my oxygen supply.
There was also the male-dominated Western medical system in which pregnancy and childbirth were regarded as disabling medical conditions. In a rational society, my mother would have had access to a midwife trained in traditional female wisdom and birth practices. She would have kept me skin-to-skin after the birth. She would likely have breastfed me—which she was unable to do, probably because nicotine and caffeine restrict milk ducts.
To prepare for the MRI, I put my head under a bed, with a couple of inches of clearance between my face and the underside of the mattress, and devised a tunnel and put my body into it. With my Co-Counselors on the phone, I got into these spaces while putting attention on deepening my breath with abdominal breathing and on my body’s response to gravity. These physical sensations are benign, and I came to enjoy them. I realized that I was in no physical danger when in a small space, that my breathing was assured and inevitable.
Several times I felt panic and had to come out of the spaces. Then after a brief cry, and slowing down and breathing more deeply, I went back in. Soon I could be in the small spaces for a longer time—laughing, talking, occasionally yawning. My goal was to notice my breathing and my connection with my counselor. Connection was key. Like many of us, I struggle to notice human connection; but in this situation, I had a strong awareness of my counselor’s presence.
Because of men’s oppression, I haven’t easily noticed fear. Often I know that I’m scared only because I feel angry and can’t sleep. I decided to communicate about the panic. I called the radiology technicians to learn more about the procedure and shared that I had feelings of “claustrophobia” and had been unable to complete MRI procedures in the past. The technicians were warm and offered information. One thing I learned was that the spaces I had practiced in were smaller than the one I would be going into for the procedure. I became more confident that I could complete the MRI and do so without drugs.
During the procedure, I connected with the technicians. I shared my fears while still being in charge. I think this was a contradiction to men’s oppression, for them as well as for me. The procedure went well and was a victory for me.
My mother had wanted only the best for me when I was in utero and in the early minutes and hours of my life. It was capitalism and sexism that deprived me of oxygen and installed feelings of suffocation. I now feel much more connected to my mother and have stopped blaming her for my struggles.
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA
Reprinted from the e-mail discussion list for RC Community members
(Present Time 207, April 2022)