My new primary caregiver is named Elizabeth. Elizabeth is Lakota Sioux raised by a German family who adopted her at birth. She has a very deep presence with long dark hair and beautiful, dark penetrating eyes. Her adoptive parents named her of all names, Heidi. After what must have seemed like a lifetime of trying to be Heidi, Elizabeth returned to her original birth name as she reclaimed her authenticity and her true essence. After about twenty hours of working together, Elizabeth told me, “I wanted my work to make a difference and I manifested you…but you are better than what I had hoped to manifest.” We are off to a wonderful beginning.

A few months ago, I was summoned to a pivotal meeting with my previous caregivers who suddenly gave me notice that they would be leaving after only three months of working together in this capacity. Being as vulnerable as I am physically, major changes such as these can be devastating. However, one of the lessons I seem to be learning is that change is ultimately safe, and I felt a sense of calm along with the anxiety. While I was in the impromptu meeting, being notified of their impending departure, I concurrently received an e-mail from Deanna, my friend and caregiver, introducing me to Elizabeth. Given that this change was spontaneous and the fact that no one knew about the departure of the present caregivers, Deanna’s e-mail introducing Elizabeth was completely synchronistic. That seems to be how things roll when you’re in the zone at Crestone.

I have an incredible team right now. Deanna had to go to Portugal for a conference for eleven days. This required many alterations to the schedule, which was a bit confusing.  Last night, thirty minutes before my evening caregiver was to arrive, my modem lost its wireless signal and needed to be rebooted, which of course I cannot do myself. Considering that my whole source of communication is through my computer via Facebook, Skype or e-mail, I figured that when my caregiver arrived she would reboot it. I waited and waited, yet nobody arrived. She had forgotten because the schedule had been so confusing. Normally, I take these things in stride, but without the ability to communicate via my computer, I freaked. I saw myself sitting here in the dark all night unable to communicate with no blankets and no food. I freaked some more.

It had been a particularly difficult week. Tuesday, five flies had attacked me for many hours while I sat there unable to defend myself and I thought I was going to go out of my mind. They continued to dive bomb my face for hours. Last night, when my modem went out, I remembered the First Alert medallion around my neck and pushed the button. I gave them cell phone numbers of caregivers to call and much to my relief, one of my wonderful tagteam of women was able to come to fill-in and reboot my modem. What an experience of letting go and trusting this curriculum provides.

Another significant and provocative incident was during the evening blanketing ritual. Many of the Colorado nights go down to the teens this time of year, so having the right amount of cover is essential. One evening, Deanna forgot to put my heaviest wool blanket on me during an extreme Colorado cold spell. After she left to go home, I called her on my computer and she said that she thought she had put it on me. In the dark I couldn’t tell, but by four o’clock in the morning, it would be extremely obvious because my body temperature would plummet along with the ambient temperature. So I hoped that Deanna was right. However, an hour later Elizabeth walked in to check on me, feeling that there was something urgently  wrong. Shocked to see her that late at night I remarked, “Deanna must have called you about the blanket!” “No I just had a feeling that you were needing something.” Sure enough the blanket was not there and I would have had a terrible night sleep.

Let me present to you, Elizabeth.

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