How to Be Selfish

A guide for my selfless friends after major surgery

Did you just have major surgery? Congratulations! I’m so glad you were cared for and so sorry to hear that you needed this sort of care. Recently, several of my generous and selfless friends have needed some support in healing, and so I’m writing this for them and for you and for anyone who leans towards helping others and runs screaming (emotionally speaking) from receiving support.

Caveat: while I have not (yet) experienced a major surgery myself, I did once provide full-time care for my person on oxygen and a PICC line and eighteen prescription meds and supplemental feeding 24 hours a day during a global respiratory pandemic with very occasional and rare (and essential and valuable thank you) direct support from other people. So this advice comes from proximal first-hand experience?

Only do what only you can do
This is a truth for always, but especially now. What can only you do? Heal. The magic of reassembling your sweet body into an organized microcosm of the macrocosm is not something anyone else can do for you.

Everything that you do that is not healing will slow down your healing
Sorry, but this is the truth. You need 100% of your energy to heal, so every time you take out the trash or bake cookies for the nurses you are slowing down your healing by at least that much if not more. For now, for several weeks, please let the other people do the things. Make cookies for the nurses in three months. Or a year. Do it, but don’t do it now.

Give only from your excess
Spoiler: your excess is gratitude, and gratitude only. Not banana bread gratitude, but word gratitude. Knowing look gratitude. Emoji gratitude. Smile gratitude. This is another truth I believe always, that giving from anything other than your excess is necessarily depleting. It’s just math, don’t take it out on me.

Healing is not linear
I wish that feeling better one day meant that you would feel even better the next, but healing is often circuitous and requires many extra visits, labs, naps, and possibly tears. Again, I did not create this system.

Do not muscle through it
If you feel profoundly worse, call or go in. Don’t wait. You aren’t bothering anyone. Not calling and not going in will not make it go away or make it less worse. Feel icky? Call. Have a fever? Go in. Have an impending sense of something just not being right? Go. In. Now.

Let’s just say six weeks
Your timeline might be longer, but it cannot be shorter. Six. Weeks. From this thing, you will need to be reborn. You will need excessive napping and nourishment, just like a baby. At six weeks, plan life like you’re a toddler who will benefit greatly from a mid-afternoon nap, followed by your version of milk and cookies. This may be true for some significant period of time. Like a year. Maybe one day you will not need a nap, but prepare your life as though you do.

Probably soup will help
The physicists agree with the Ayurvedic police on this one. Cooked food takes less energy to consume. Warm food doesn’t need to be heated up by the body to make enzymes work. I don’t care what the soup is for you, but probably lots of soup will help.

See who else can do it
Every time you think about doing something, see who else can do it. I know this is likely counter to the way you have lived in your sweet self-sufficient life, but this is the game. It’s just for a few weeks. Food delivery? A friend who can come take out the trash? If you have friends who offer you money, take it. Then hire folks to help you do the things you can’t locate others to do for you. Grocery shopping? Shovel the driveway? Take the dog to the dog park? There are apps for so many things, and this is a good time to use them.

Do not keep score
You may have the inclination that you should write down every single person who is helping you and then attempt to reciprocate their generosity directly at some point, but this is not how the universe is supposed to work. We live in an ecosystem, and the person who is helping you now is giving from their excess. It’s a pleasure! And it would be weird to pay them back. Instead, when you are fully healed (like next year!) and an opportunity to help out by redistributing your excess appears? By all means.

Your story is yours
It is ok to tell people what has happened, and it is ok to tell them only selected pieces. You do not owe the Director’s Cut to anyone outside of your medical team. Just because your neighbor walks your dog does not entitle them to an update on the status of your bowel movements. Telling people the vague thing will allow those with excess to arrive and reallocate it in your direction. Case in point: I once vague-booked about a wild inquiry to have someone obtain a particular food item from Costco on my behalf, which was answered by someone who took a training with me six years previous. Not only did she pick up that thing and deliver it to my door (vs. meet me in the parking lot, which had been my request), she refused to receive money for it. She did not know me or my story, but had some excess and offered it.

You deserve a healing team who is willing to listen to you
Even if you are the most private of humans, it will ultimately be important for you to receive spiritual care. Your body is just the vehicle for your essence - an essential vehicle - and the squirrely bits within you, who normally sort themselves out with bodily movement or practice might need something new and different. This might be yoga nidra. Massage. Acupuncture. Reiki. Chaplainship. Therapy. And probably? All of the above.

All of the above are directions. This is not a ‘pick and choose’ sort of list. AND it may not fully apply in your circumstances. I hope you have help beyond the words etched in cyberspace.

For your helpers:
Giving direction is something we are encouraged not to do, and yet, on occasion, it is possible to offer direction from the most compassionate space.

If you’re supporting someone who is recovering, consider yourself their little Jiminy Cricket - a proxy voice for their own self compassion, when they’re lost in pain or overwhelm. It can never be self serving. It requires bravery and immense humility. It’s always an honor.

Use your powers for good.

PS: I created a free course Caregiving Strategies for Nonmedical Caregivers. It is free and it does not engage with any of my marketing efforts. In case you or someone you know is providing care for a loved one at home, this course can help.

PPS: My unorthodox kitchari recipe

2 Tbsp ghee or coconut oil
2/3 c red lentils
3+ c water
1 t brown mustard seeds
1/2 yellow onion, chopped
fresh ginger (and the stuff in the tube counts)
1 t whole cumin seeds
1 t turmeric powder (or fresh if you’re fancy)
1/2 can coconut milk (you can use the whole thing, it’s fine)
1 c plain yogurt
2-3 c cooked rice
cilantro (optional)
1-2 avocados (optional)
salt to taste (definitely not optional)

1. Heat the oil. Toast the mustard seeds first for a minute or two, then add the cumin and turmeric, ginger and onion. Cook for about five minutes.
2. Rinse the lentils and then add them & the water to the pot. Bring to a boil, then lower to a medium simmer and cook 30 minutes. If you’re into it, add the tofu.
3. Add coconut milk and heat through, then serve over warm rice. Top with yogurt, cilantro, avocado, and salt. You’ll need more salt than you think, I think.

Listen. This recipe is about as easy as it can be. I make it when I am being so kind to myself. It makes 3-4 servings. It’s tough to mess it up. You can add the rice into the kitchari and combine and put in the fridge for later meals, but don’t mix in the yogurt or avocado in advance.

Nowhere on earth, other than this substack, are you likely to find someone suggesting you eat avocado with your kitchari. That’s ok. I’m telling you, it’s ok to eat it that way if you want to. And it’s ok not to.

Howdy! The [virtual latte] is a reader-supported publication. I’m on the path to medical school, and your support matters.