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Hey, folks, this is Kevin. On this week's episode of Risk, you'll hear Swapna Deshpande.
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When I make my masala chai tea sometimes and grate the ginger, I grate my fingers. Thankfully. Thankfully. I'm just an internist, not a surgeon. So your appendix is in safe hands. Not these hands.
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That and more. But first, I. I will be teaching a new online workshop starting on November 16th. That is a Sunday morning at 10am Eastern time. That would be 7am for early risers in Los Angeles. It'll be late Sunday night for me in Bangkok. But I so want to give it a shot because the last one I just taught, which I finished teaching while here in Bangkok. Oh my God. Just such a beautiful experience. So much incredible sharing. So email me@KevinResteShow.com to learn about my next online storytelling workshop. I'll tell you all about it. We'll be right back.
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When did making plans get this complicated? It's time to streamline with WhatsApp, the secure messaging app that brings the whole group together. Use polls to settle dinner plans. Send event invites and pin messages so no one forgets mom 60th and never miss a meme or milestone. All protected with end to end encryption. It's time for WhatsApp message privately with everyone. Learn more at WhatsApp.com Limu Emu and.
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Doug Here we have the Limu Emu in its natural habitat, helping people customize their car insurance and save hundreds with Liberty Mutual. Fascinating. It's accompanied by his natural ally, Doug.
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Uh, Limu is that guy with the binoculars watching us.
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Cut the camera. They see us. Only pay for what you need@libertymutual.com Liberty Liberty Liberty Liberty Savings Ferry Unwritten by Liberty Mutual Insurance Company and affiliates Excludes Massachusetts.
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This episode is brought to you by Marshalls, where you never have to compromise between quality and price. The buyers of Marshalls hustle hard working to bring you great deals on brand name and designer pieces. Because Marshalls believes everyone deserves access to the good stuff. Visit a Marshalls store near you or shop online@marshalls.com.
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Now here's the show SA hello folks. This is Risk, the show where people tell true stories they never thought they'd dare to share. I'm Kevin Allison. This is Dear Pilot behind me. Now, if you want to hear more of them, head on over to your streaming platform of choice and check out their latest album. It makes sense if you don't think about it. We're calling this week's episode mortal. And it has the distinction of being the first episode that I am hosting inside my new condo in Bangkok. I'll be saying what I'm about to say for years on the podcast. I'll say it again and again and again. If you know anyone in Bangkok or anyone passing through Bangkok or really anyone anywhere in Thailand or maybe just Southeast Asia, have them email me at kevinrisk-show.com I want to meet as many folks as I can here and that's one of my biggest missions as I'm getting my start here and settling in and I'm doing good so far. I did a check in over@patreon patreon.com risk and it's free for all even if you're not a member over there. I've been meeting people, exploring places, having some fun with the kinkier fellas over here, but mostly trying to settle in and get a million day to day logistics worked out. In any case, I am so happy to be embarking on, you know, creating a new life in a new home. It's really, really something. It's just life is just fascinating. And you know, this is a home where I hope to be eventually hosting a Risk live show. You know, I was walking around Bangkok today listening to jc, our business director, host the September New York show and it was fabulous. So you'll be hearing some of that soon too. Now, today, like I said, the theme is mortal and we have some truly thoughtful and heartfelt and creative storytelling on today's episode about life and death. In a little bit, we're going to hear from Swapna Deshpande. But first, a story from Hannah Sussman. It's a story we call Another Conversation with My Dead Mother.
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It's been two years since my mother died.
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Wow.
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Boy, do I feel at peace. I'm saying this without guilt. If a mentally ill person raised you and you've worked your tushy off getting through the trauma, you deserve to feel at peace when that person's gone. Now, last year when I lit the one year yard sign, I felt guilty for feeling this great relief because I was experiencing so many conflicting feelings. Mama wasn't a dependable go to mother, but she had her moments of brilliant motherliness. Like when I was a teen, she said, hannah, the first time you do it, do it in a nice warm bed and not in the backseat of a car. Okay? I, I took her advice. She taught me great habits, like being on time. I remember she was going to school when I was going to school and I always watched her do her Homework all the time. So I did my homework all the time. She used to say to me, make sure you scrub the tub after you bathe. Well, I've got the world's cleanest bathtub. Her laugh was so infectious that I laugh hysterically whenever possible. And I learned how to cook for 30 people for Passover. She was so inappropriate at times, but she was raw and real. So she influenced me to be raw and real. When I went to sleep after lighting the first year's yard site, I woke up at dawn because it dawned on me that I was getting older. Yeah, I woke up because I was worried that I was aging. Of course I'm aging. I'm aging because I'm growing older. Plus, I'm making myself miserable in bed with this reality by ruminating over wrinkle creams, filters and Botox. I got so self conscious even though nobody was there. And I started sucking in my tummy pooch and pointing my toes to tighten my thighs and my ass. I had to redirect this chatter in my head. So I quickly uttered my made up acronym that makes me feel grounded. Clit. C is for creativity, L is for love, I is for intelligence, T is for trust, and B is for brilliance. Yes, I spell clit with a B. And the bee is silent as in the word climb. What can I say? The fruit doesn't fall far from the tree. I am so inappropriate. Yeah, that's how I calmed myself down by saying clit. And I went back to sleep and I had this hallucinogenic dream. And in my dream, I was getting ready to go to my tap class, standing in front of the mirror, putting the mascara on my left eye and then on my right. But my right right eye was Mama's eye. And I knew it was her eye because Mama had freckles in them that gave the illusion that her eyes twinkled. And as I combed the mascara on Mom's eyelashes, her eye morphed into her face in her mid-60s, the exact same age I am now. And at that moment, I felt I accepted my age. I felt it in my body. And then I turned my face around. Now I'm wearing a white scarf on my head like Sophia Loren in a moody European film. And I spoke this line, Growing old is hard. And it was so clear. That's what I said. And then immediately, I'm standing in the wing of a theater waiting for a cue. And a choreographer bellowed out, hit it. And with passion, I danced out onto the most glorious golden lit stage. And I suddenly woke up. But I Did so with a new perspective. I rushed to the mirror in my birthday suit and I studied myself. I saw the beauty of my unfiltered face reflecting an unfiltered life. And the twinkle in my eye was gratitude for overcoming my suicidal ideation. I saw the creases around my mouth and the crow's feet around my eyes and realized they were there from laughing hysterically. And the creepy crepey, creepy thigh skin loose stuff I looked at as modern art on my wonderful strong tap dancing legs. Now I'm giving a a special shout out to my crinkly neck. I learned that sensory inputs occur at the head. My valuable, valuable neck movement is vital to my survival. Thank you. I have a benign cyst behind my ear and I realize that it symbolizes a speed bump that will remind me to slow down. And my veiny hands show me the numerous times I scrub my own tub. And that liver spot on my cheek is a glorious beauty mark that my boyfriend gets to see when he's banging this badass senior. So I got dressed and I went and sat in front of the dwindling yahtzite candle and I was illuminated. So picture this. While hurricane Hillary was flooding my apartment complex, I was having an emotional downpour. You know like when you're sobbing so hard that you can't catch your breath? And I couldn't catch my breath and I blurted out, mama, help me. And I stared at the flame and I got goosebumps because I knew mama had come to me in my dream. I knew her message was for me to be compassionate and to savor aging. Old age is not a disadvantage or a disease. It's a continuation of growing up out of old thinking. Now I'm wise enough to know I'll definitely forget this insight, but I will also realize that it will come back to me. So of course mama came to me in a dream. I mean, who else knows better about aging than the dead, right? Her life flashed before her at her last breath. She saw where she screwed up. She lacked self compassion, so she's cheering me on. Hit it, old girl. I was verklempt. I loved her. She loved me. Our relationship was complicated. Aging with compassion was such a profound message. It was as if the earth had moved. Well, it literally did because I was then experiencing a 6.0 earthquake. I'm telling you, conversations with my dead mother can be very biblical when she uses her quakes to effectively get her points across. Thank you, Mama.
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Sam, we'll be right back. We're back. This is risk this is Jason Shaw behind me now. And we just heard from Hannah Sussman. You can see Hannah on the Netflix series Nobody Wants this. And you can find her on Instagram HannahSussman 1957 that beautiful sort of stream of consciousness style and the way it allows for mixed feelings to be threads intertwined in the story, it reminded me so much of a story that was just shared in one of my online workshops that I really hope to be able to feature on the podcast soon too. I love that after all these years, 16 years, we're still able to say, okay, here's a little something kind of sort of different now. Like I said, On November 16th, that's a Sunday morning at 10 Eastern Time time, I'm going to start teaching another eight week long online storytelling workshop for absolute beginners and seasoned pros alike. Many folks have taken the workshop twice this year and people, including me, are just so moved by the love and support and thoughtfulness and creativity and flexibility of these workshops. So much so that we're starting an online community for folks who are graduates to keep coming together online and sharing with one another. So email me at kevinrisk-show.com to learn more about that. And folks, the winter holidays are close enough for me to be calling for your pitches again. A hilarious thing that happened one Hanukkah one. Or a tragic Christmas Eve, or a breakthrough New Year's night. Has anyone ever had one of those? I don't know. Or a crazy day of sledding and snowball fights? If you have a memory that comes to mind each December, maybe you can pitch it to us at risk-show.com/submissions. And finally, folks, we have a new bonus story out right now over@patreon.com risk from Craig Rowan. Plus free access to our online video course, Storytelling for Business. That's just one of the perks of becoming a member over there. And you know you'll be helping us keep Risk running, which we very dearly need. And all of that is@patreon.com risk now Next we're going to hear a story from Swapna Deshpande. Oh my gosh. This was recorded at a Risk live show in Philadelphia last June. And I was so enamored with Swapna that night. Just such a wonderful person, such great life energy, as you're about to find out. So here she is now, Swapna Deshpande with a story we call each Other's Angels.
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So the story is about John and I, and John is not his real name. Just trying to protect patient privacy here, right? So John and I, we met many, many, many years ago in the hospital where I work in the icu. So I get assigned to John as randomly, very randomly, by chance, as his internal medicine physician, or hospitalist they call us. We are the brand of physicians. We just work exclusively in the hospital. We wander top to bottom, seeing all kinds of patients. Now, the hospital we're talking about is like, an hour and a half west of Philadelphia. It's a large 500 bed, level one trauma center, certainly capable of dealing with a complex patient such as our John. So John is in the ICU many years ago, and I go to the ICU to see him. I. I'm a little scared because I'm a freshly minted, relatively speaking, graduate. So am I going to know, you know, the right thing to do? And I open the sliding glass door for John's room, and the room is a chaos. John is intubated. He's on multiple drips. You can't see his eyes. He's out of it. He's sedated. And the nurse is trying to, like, fumbling to get a second set of vital signs on him. And I enter, and she sees me coming in, and she says, are you the doctor? And I'm wearing this long, you know, nice, crisp white coat to prove it. But I say, yes, I'm Dr. Deshpande. I'm here to see John. Doctor who? But whatever, you know, his blood pressure is tanking. Can you do something about it? Otherwise we're gonna lose him. Now, again, my blood pressure is going up. Am I gonna have the wisdom to do the right thing for John? And outwardly, again, I say, give him a liter of normal saline bolus, stat. If that doesn't work, start neo drip to titrate the map to 65. Now, the nurse gives me an adorable look and gets the IV fluids in. The neo goes in, the blood pressure comes up. So good job, right? Yep. John, septic. John, couple of days, we are treating him. He gets out of the icu, he goes to the medical floor. And that's when I notice John's eyes. They sparkle. They sparkle with this unmistakable curiosity. Now, John is a frail man. He's a slightly built man, but he has a full head of hair. Anybody jealous here? He parts his hair on the right side. He wears dark creamed glasses with those million watt eyes, like, sparkling through. John is better now, so I can talk to him. So I go in, you know, this morning, and I'm like, good morning, John. How are you doing? How was your night? Any chest pain, shortness of breath, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea? Da da da, da. And he tells me also about his chronic excruciating back pain that he has to live with. He had fallen a few days ago, he has a fracture in his C spine for which he has to wear a C collar. And he has lots of tremors, lots of tremors from his Parkinson's disease. Then I asked John some non medical questions just to get to know him as a person. And boy, he starts talking, he's like, you know, I grew up just a block from the hospital right here with my mother. I used to sell donuts at the intersection here. All along. As he's telling about his life before, he's looking at me intently. Am I really listening? You know, because some of us, we have that face. We have that face where we say, mm, uh huh. But we are not listening. But I am very much so. I'm born with those good listening ears. Maybe, or maybe it's a pretense to impress on my part being a newbie. Either way, John is so much better now that he is ready to be kicked out of the hospital, AKA discharged. So he's going to go home to Lester. Lester is his long term partner of many, many years. And Lester comes in to pick him up. Lester is much younger, he's stockier and he's very quiet compared to John. He has no questions about discharge process, which a lot of families have a lot of questions because we change a lot of things around in the hospital, which is appropriately so. But I know that Lester will take very good care of John because I can see the love in his eyes. I can see how he touches John's forehead ever so gently. So he goes home, John goes home. But then he comes back again and again and again for a variety of different reasons. Medical reasons, we call these patients frequent flyers. But each time, as sick as he is, he gets better, like beating expectations in a good way. So one of those times I visit him during one of his admissions and I do my thing, the exam, and John says, could you please push that tray table towards me? And I do. And I see there's like a package on it. He opens the package and hands me something. It looks like a white frame with a black paper cutout pasted on it that looks like cats, that actually looks exactly like this. This is in honor of John. I have made this custom, made this to honor him today. So he gives that to me. And then the second one that looks like a Pineapple. And another one that looks like a weed, you know, not this kind. I want you to have them. You know, this is sharing, schnit. Sharing shit. This is the first time I ever said shit on stage or even off stage. So pardon me, please. He says, no, no, no, Remember, I mean, I. I mean, the artist. It's a German art of paper cutting. Scheren Schnitt. Apparently what you do is you grab like a pair of scissors and you make thousands of super tiny cut in a piece of paper, and you make your cat, your pineapple, your weed, or whatever else you would imagine, right? These pieces of art, they are beautiful. They're beautiful. They're intricate, but improbable coming from a frail man with tremors. Contrast that with me, for example, you know, when I make my masala chai tea sometimes and grate the ginger, I grate my fingers. Thankfully. Thankfully. I'm just an internist, not a surgeon. So your appendix is in safe hands. Not these hands. So I take the art home. I take the art home, and I'm staring. I'm staring at this pineapple, the weed, the cat, and I'm inspired to make something. So I reach into the corner, there is like a pile of newspaper, and I start cutting. And I make my own version of Sharon Schnett, or you could say collage. Of What? This is 2018 Philadelphia. Anybody? There you go, sir. I knew Philly. You know, Eagles fans are not shabby. So. So I make this collage of eagles in a winning Super Bowl. And it's large, but I take it in. I show it to John. John loves it, which is like a nod from Michelangelo for me. So I got my second career lined up already right now the sad part, really, which is John begins to insist that can I take care of him each time as he's hospitalized as Abel, which is one huge big deal, because if you know any of my partners, which you don't, I'm at the bottom of the totem pole, really. That's true. Why me? I mean, I even have an accent. So I begin to think I must be the best doctor in town, or John must be the kindest person in town, wanting to give me a chance as I struggle in this little town to establish myself either way. So this is one of the later visits, now that I am in John's room. He's not intubated or anything, but he just looks much sicker to me. Lester has a lot more worry in his eyes about John. I do my exam, and I then sit down with him, which has become customary for us. And John extends his hand and holds my hand. It's a weak grasp. And he says, I want you to know that you bring me joy. You bring me light. He says, you are my angel. You are my angel, he says. And when I leave, I begin to feel like, desperate, you know, what else can I do to make John better? And I tweak his meds and I escalate his antibiotics and I make sure he's not in pain. But then I must leave, to go away. I believe it was for a vacation, for a few days. And when I come back, I have this whole new set of 20 patients to see, and John is not part of it. And I wonder how he's doing, but it's a busy day and I don't get a chance to see him. And at the end of the day, Rob, my partner, tells me, spapna, do you know that John has taken the turn for the worst when you're away and John is dying? No, John does not die. John gets better. He goes home. I discharge him to go home with Lester. But maybe I should go. I should go see John. But again, it's the end of the day. It's nighttime. I'm exhausted and I'm needed at home. I'm a mom. My son, who I call him my left ventricle, he is visiting from his med school and he's going to tell me about his anatomy classes and dissection. And my daughter, I call her my right ventricle, which is equally important. She's here right now, she and I. She only is with me another year before she goes off to college. So we're going to buy our seats to go watch Mamma Mia. Musical. Now, these things might seem trivial to you, but I have been an absent mother a thousand times over. So I'm in the parking lot of the hospital, opening my car door, and suddenly a page shines across my beeper. Lester wants you to know, doc, that John is not doing well at all. In that moment, I needed to decide whether to turn around to go back in the hospital to see John. And I drive home that night. I tossed and I turn. The finality in my partner's voice haunts me. Lester's page that I ignored haunts me. And I get nightmares in which John refuses to even look at me. Because now I'm not an angel. I'm a villain. Next day, morning, I wake up first thing in the morning. I go. I go to see John. He's not in the ICU he's in one of our quiet rooms on the seventh floor floor. And outside of his door there is a cart that's parked. That's filled with untouched cookies and coffee. That cart is a telltale sign that someone inside of that room is actively dying. And the cookies are just meant to bring what, fake comfort to the loved ones? And I open the door and Lester makes room for me. And I go. I sit down by John's side. John is alive, but it's too late because he's now comatose. And I extend my hand and hold John's hand, hoping to hear that you are my angel, willing to settle for a gentle squeeze. But no words and no movement. And I stay for a while. I stay, witnessing some of John's last breaths. And when I leave, I have this profound regret that I betrayed John. John trusted me with both art and science of medicine, and I flunked miserably because, I mean, I just aced my exams. What's the big deal? John's sharing schnet and my collage hang in my house to remind me of the responsibility that comes with being someone's angel. John is no more, and I'm angel no more. But if you're hearing this, John, please forgive me. And I'm truly sorry. Thank you. We begin as a breath before we know what breath means, the world rushing in uninvited. Life is the quiet work of turning moments into meaning, of learning how to let things go. The sun dies each night and rises without complaint. And we do the same in smaller ways, forgetting, forgiving, starting again. Death is not the opposite of life, but its final translation. A sentence ended, still echoing in the room. What matters most is how we speak between breaths before the air returns to where it came from.
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This is risk. That was a poem written and produced by our editor, Hope Brush. We are consistently thrilled to discover more about the video, various talents of hope and we just heard from Swapna Deshpande, who you can find on Instagram swapndream. Now, folks, I'm repeating myself, but the online storytelling workshop I'm teaching starting on November 16th at 10am Eastern Time. So that's every Sunday morning on Zoom for eight weeks. Weeks is for beginners, people who want to work on storytelling for creative reasons or personal growth reasons or business communication. People in the workshops joked that on Sunday mornings, it's better than church. Some folks are experienced in storytelling. Some folks prepare meticulously and some just improvise, just show up and share. Some stories are light and fun, less than five minutes. And others are hefty, like, you know, the 15 minute sort of stories you might be used to hearing here. And some folks even bring in the same story twice to share how they revised it between, you know, the first four weeks of the class and the latter four weeks of the class. And there's over seven hours of video content where I analyze risk stories and teach all about all kinds of techniques and principles of storytelling. Let me read what one student just wrote to me about this latest workshop that just ended. This person wrote, the camaraderie is the first thing I think about, or maybe the first thing I feel feel when I think of the group, but when I'm actually in the zoom sessions. The thing that strikes me many times each class is how deep your study of storytelling is, Kevin, how comfortable you are teaching it, and how good you are at communicating the things you want to help us with without ever making someone feel foolish. It's a lovely combination of sharp observation and loving kindness. I'll tell you. I'm so honored to hear things like that. And I will say, being in like so many times in these classes, someone else makes a point where I'm like, holy, what a great point. I didn't even think of that, you know, or oh, I did think of that, but it didn't. I wasn't able to articulate it. So, yeah, the people who take the workshops just tend to be so thoughtful and emotionally intelligent and compassionate that it's just a joy. So listen, if you were thinking of jumping into one of these before, I moved over here abroad but were too shy or did too much second guessing of yourself, you now have another chance. You can email me at kevinrisk-show.com and join us as this journey continues. Now, next week we're gonna have our annual Scary Stories episode. But meanwhile, folks, today is the day. It.