Chaos Theory

Making house calls is exhausting work, and not for the faint of heart. Working in areas of grinding poverty will take its toll on your body, your spirit, and your car. Today, as I waited for the predicted tornadoes to roll into Atlanta, I visited some of my regular patients, and some new patients. Almost without exception, they have some kind of chaos going on in their lives, need that exceeds what I have to give. One house has had the utilities cut off. At another, a child has been severely injured. At a third, hoarding is suspected. At the next, neglect is reported. A patient follows me up a driveway, she's out of medication and can get no more, and the darkness is closing in. Can I help? Serious family fights swirl around me as I try to treat my patient, try to hear and respect their story, their pain, explain their body to them, and offer a healing touch. I knock on a door and it falls off its hinges. I attempt to walk through the yard, and beer bottles, garbage of every sort blocks my way. I set down my treatment bag and bugs scatter. These places are real, and I am in them every day, trying to bring better health, trying to inspire, explain, soothe. Can I help? Can I?

Some days are better than others. Some days I am sure I am in the right place, doing the right thing, at the right time. Some days I feel effective, like Joan of Arc, my patron saint, out there on the battle field. My sword is raised and nothing can stop me. Other days, it's more like St. George slaying the dragon. Did St. George win? Just now I cannot recall. The dragons of poverty, crime, disease. Can they ever be slain? After a meal and a hot bath with vanilla amber oil, I feel restored enough to carry on and attempt to process the horrors of the day. Advance, retreat, advance, retreat. Have I left any good behind?

From my beginner mind, I seem to recall that the theory of chaos states that there is actually a pattern and predictably in what seem to be chaotic and random events. Of course, I am no expert on this matter, but use it as a metaphor only. I can see the predictability in the life and health choices my patients have made, and I can see a pattern. How can I explain it to them so that they too can see, step for a moment out of their own story, and see the larger pattern in the chaos? The greatest gift I could give them, in the short time I am with them, is a sword to slay their own dragons, and create a path to peace through the chaos.