Coughing and spluttering, I complain that the air quality is terrible. I find a lot of other people who also believe the air quality is terrible, and we sit in rooms together. It is indeed terrible, although some of us have chosen to live next to main roads, and others, who were born next to main roads, have decided not to move away. What's more, not everyone who lives next to main roads is coughing and spluttering. Anyway, we sit there, week after week, talking about the air quality. Sure, people occasionally mention the possibility of medical treatment, but this seems like a cop-out. The problem is the air quality. If that were fixed, we wouldn't have breathing difficulties. Why should we make it our problem?
We claim our seat and share about the air quality constantly. We journal about our journey with the air quality and share our findings. It's 'toxic' and 'unhealthy'. It's affecting us. We grieve. We try to create a 'safe space' by sealing the windows and installing air-conditioning ('boundaries'), and feel the feelings associated with the breathing difficulties. We learn not to take the air quality personally. After all, it's not our fault the air quality is so bad. We're powerless over it! We didn't cause it. We can't control it. We can't cure it!
At some point, I figure: there is nothing I can do about the air quality, and my life sucks. I can't breathe, and everything is an effort. (Step One.)
Someone tells me about a local hospital where they can treat this as a medical problem. This person used to have breathing difficulties but has now recovered. They still live next to a main road, but they can breathe just fine. (Step Two.)
I decide to hop in the car and drive to the hospital. (Step Three.)
They perform investigations: blood tests and a chest X-ray. All sorts of abnormalities are discovered. (Step Four: my defects of character: my wrong beliefs, thinking, and behaviour.)
The doctor and I discuss the investigations. It's a neutral summary of my situation. (Step Five.)
The doctor asks me to sign a consent form to surgery. (Step Six.)
I sign the consent form. (Step Seven.)
I am wheeled into the operating theatre. The surgeon opens me up, and now she can really see what the problem is: a growth, which is causing a pleural effusion (a collection of fluid around the lungs), and that is what is causing the breathing problem. The growth may have been caused by poor air quality, but cleaning up the air won't fix that now.
The effusion (resentment) is drained (forgiveness). Then the growth (a life lived based on self) is excised (amends), and I am sewn up. (Step Nine.)
I am then wheeled into the recovery room. I realise that recovery does not start until the surgery (the first nine Steps) is complete: the effusion is entirely drained; the growth, fully excised. I realise everything up until then has been the preparation for recovery. What was required for recovery to begin was simply drainage plus excision (forgiveness and amends).
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As recovery proceeds, I learn to live life based on God (Step Eleven) by helping others (Step Twelve) and watching out for backsliding (Step Ten). The air quality is of no more concern, because I can breathe easily under any conditions. I go back regularly to the rooms where they talk about the terrible air quality and tell them about my surgery. Some of them think I'm changing the subject. But I keep coming back, because, one by one, they become sick and tired of being sick and tired and start asking about the hospital.