On Brain Injury, Butterflies, and Becoming

 by Penny Costello

Dear Readers, I invite you to join me on a circuitous journey of heart, mind, and humanity. At a time when many are gleefully launching into 2022, I’ll be joining you soon. But as I write this, I’m still in a reflective mode. Through much of 2021, reflections have centered around or been inspired by concussions, cocoons, and consciousness.

On Brain Injury

Dead Man's Run Rescue

Seven years ago on Thanksgiving Day, I fell head first into a ravine while playing a rousing game of fetch with my dogs. It happened in a place where I had been taking dogs for walks for years on the East Campus of the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Salt Creek runs through the site, carving a 30-foot channel called Dead Man’s Run. I had never had occasion to go close to the creek in all those years. But, on that day, the tennis ball ended up within inches of the edge of the bank, and when I bent over to retrieve the ball, a very slight misstep took me sailing over the edge, landing on my head 30 feet below. I didn’t lose consciousness. When the rescue squad transported me to the trauma center a couple of hours later, I was told that I had sustained three neck fractures and a concussion. As awful as that sounds, I didn’t die. I wasn’t paralyzed.

I embarked upon what I refer to as a journey of recovery. (Apologies to Lewis and Clark historians, I can’t resist a play on words.) As the euphoria of my good luck dispersed over time and I prepared to return to work, I became conscious of the lasting impacts of my brain injury – fatigue, tinnitus, difficulty concentrating, memory issues, light and noise sensitivity. It was then I learned the ingratiating term ‘new normal’, and came to understand that there would be no going back to the person I was. The new normal for me included early retirement when that would not have been my choice. Like it or not, I was on a new path, and little did I know at the time that I’d be guided on this journey in part by Monarch Butterflies.

On Butterflies

Several years ago, a lone milkweed plant (Asclepias Syriaca) appeared in my yard. I live on a corner lot, and the spot where this plant appeared is the sunniest, most exposed area of the property. At the time, I knew very little about milkweed. A friend of mine pointed it out to me. I knew that it generated pods, and remembered picking those off plants as a kid on our ranch in South Dakota. I would soon learn that milkweed blossoms provide one of the most wonderfully fragrant smells I’ve experienced.

I would also learn that milkweed is the only plant upon which Monarch Butterflies will lay their eggs and it is the primary food source for Monarch caterpillars. Habitat loss, climate change, pesticide use, and agricultural practices have caused a 90 percent decline in Monarch populations over the past two decades.

Since that first plant appeared in my yard, protecting the milkweed became a priority, and each year, seeds would burst forth from the pods and scatter, rewarding me with more and more plants the following year.

I’ve had interesting conversations with passers-by when I’ve been weeding that spot. I’ve explained to little kids that I’m trying to help the Monarchs. I’ve explained the same thing to the city weed authority and a nice engineer from the Traffic and Safety Department when the milkweeds got too high for motorists to see pedestrians approaching the corner. Ultimately, we reached a compromise that would benefit motorists, pedestrians and Monarch Butterflies.

The more I have learned about the Monarchs, the more concerned, fascinated, and enamored I’ve become. My feelings for them have evolved into respect, awe, and gratitude.

Weather Radar Image, Monarch Migration

Monarch Butterflies are amazing creatures. Their story as a species is enthralling. The Monarch breeding population will produce four or five generations during a summer season, each of which produces the next generation. The last generation of the year fulfills a different purpose. The survival of the species depends upon this generation to make the 3,000 mile migration to Mexico and California in October, to overwinter there, and begin the return trek the following February or March, reproducing subsequent generations along the way who will complete the journey. It takes three to four generations to make the northward migration. While the first three or four generations have a life span of two to six weeks, the last generation each year can live for nine months!

In terms of life stages, the egg stage lasts three to five days. The larva emerges from the egg and lives as a caterpillar for 11 to 18 days, during which time it becomes an eating, growing machine. The caterpillar then produces sticky ‘silk’, with which it attaches itself to the milkweed to enable its metamorphosis. It then bursts out of its skin and converts that to the protective pupa (chrysalis). While in the chrysalis, the caterpillar partially dissolves, allowing inherent cellular structures that become wings, antennae, and butterfly bodies to develop. This complete metamorphosis takes up to two weeks. When butterflies emerge from the chrysalis, they strengthen and spread their wings and prepare for migration

 On Becoming

Monarchs are the only butterflies that migrate in two directions as birds do. They use environmental cues to tell them when it’s time to go. The magnetic pull of the Earth and the direction of the Sun aid them in navigating to overwintering locations and summer breeding grounds. And they recognize and locate milkweed, the keystone plant species ensuring their continued existence.

When caterpillars have been subjected to chemical gases in the lab, butterflies they become have shown an aversion to the odor of those same gasses, suggesting that they have memory that transcends the stages of metamorphosis.

I can’t help but wonder what awareness or consciousness they have of their generational structure. Do they identify with which generation they are in, and what they are responsible for in terms of feeding, breeding, and reproduction? Do they get excited with the prospect of flying 3,000 miles to winter in Mexico, or breathe a sigh of relief that their role is simply to eat and have as much sex as possible in order to fulfill their purpose?

I have to at least consider the possibility that this is a sentient, conscious species, and marvel at the extent to which they are connected and tuned into the cycles of nature, her signals and seasons, and their complete engagement in and commitment to their place in the circle of life. In seeing this and pondering those questions, my faith in the Universe as a living, spiritual entity deepens. This can’t be a random evolutionary crap shoot with no purpose. Something great is at play here. And we’re so lucky to be in the game.

I recognized the Monarchs as guides in my journey of brain injury recovery after reading about the stages and process of their metamorphosis. At times it has felt like I was encased in a chrysalis, uncertain of how, when, or as whom I would emerge. 

I’m sure I am not unique in this experience. People constantly encounter setbacks, injury, heartbreak, pandemics, and pathologies that encase us for a time. Like the Monarchs, we have to trust the process. A process the result of which, ultimately, is becoming.

As we go through these stages and experiences in life, when we come to an ending of who we are or what we knew, that merely signals the beginning of the next stage of what we are becoming. 2021 felt like that. I think I’m ready now for 2022. I’m grateful for a loving, supportive spouse, committed friends and care providers who have stood by me through these past seven years. And I want to extend a special thanks to the four Mavens of Mayhem who tolerate my mercurial, meandering contributions to this blog.

In her book, My Antonia, Willa Cather wrote, “I was something that lay under the sun and felt it, like the pumpkins, and I did not want to be anything more. I was entirely happy. Perhaps we feel like that when we die and become a part of something entire, whether it is sun and air, or goodness and knowledge. At any rate, that is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great…”

Become a part of something entire - that’s the key, isn’t it?

This past summer, every time I would walk out of the house a pair of Monarch butterflies flew up to greet me. They flitted around my head as I walked around my front yard. It felt as if they were purposefully coming to greet me. I talked to them and wished them well on their journey to Mexico. And I was entirely happy.

With all due respect, Ms. Cather, I submit that we don’t have to die to, as you wrote, ‘be dissolved into something complete and great.’ The real trick is to realize that we are an intrinsic part of something complete and great, and to walk in that awareness while we’re alive. It wouldn’t hurt to plant some milkweed while we’re at it. Feel free to hit me up for some seeds.

Thank you, dear readers for taking this journey. May 2022 become the fulfillment of your hopes and dreams.

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