It’s seven in the evening, and I’m trying to knock out today’s blog now because I’m thinking I may want to “pass the fuck out” later and don’t want anything to stand in my way. Head, meet pillow. Currently I’m in the living room, propped up in an oversized chair. Mom’s across the room on her tablet, my nephew is watching a cartoon on the television, and my sister is working a puzzle we started about an hour ago on the coffee table. (I’m ready to join her.) Dad, on the other hand, is sick. He hasn’t been out of his room all day. The germaphobe in me appreciates the fact that he’s quarantined himself, but I hate it for him. Anyway, everywhere I look, it’s just life.
Last night I read more in my book about Reichian Therapy, which focuses on the mind-body connection. Specifically, I read about (and practiced) the proper way to breathe deeply. Having been to a meditation class or two, some of the concepts were familiar to me, like the fact that (if you’re lying down) the belly button should rise when you inhale and fall when you exhale. But I’ve never had anyone explain that after the belly rises on the inhale, the chest should expand–then the belly should fall on the exhale, then the chest should un-expand. This is harder than it sounds. I kept thinking, I’m not doing this right. How am I even alive if I’m not breathing correctly?
A lot of people think of inhaling as putting air into the body, like pouring water into a glass. But when used the right way, the diaphragm actually works to create a vacuum that sucks air in. (This is pretty cool to experience, since it feels effortless, like you’re “being breathed.”) The book says it can take a year or more to get the hang of the process, but that it will change your life, that deep breathing can initiate your body’s relaxation response and repair the damage done from years of stress, trauma, and living in fight-or-flight mode. It also says that it can trigger seizures and heart problems in those prone to such things. So there’s that.
Like everybody says, talk to your doctor first.
My personal experience with deep breathing last night was all-positive. I honestly don’t remember when I’ve had so much oxygen. Well, wait–the book says this idea is wrong, that deep breathing isn’t about having more oxygen, but rather about having less carbon dioxide. I don’t know if that’s true, since I’m not a doctor, but I do know it felt great, for whatever reason. At the very least it was calming and relaxing, and I know I could use more “calming and relaxing” in my life. Like, who couldn’t?
This afternoon I received a text from an old friend of mine. She said perhaps part of the reason I’ve been tired lately is that I’ve been healing, really healing, and that takes energy. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this reminder. Granted, I have been fighting an off-and-on infection. That’s something. But I do think it’s easy to get caught up in whatever is going on physically and forget that our thoughts and emotions play a huge part in how we feel. And I’d like to pretend that you can dig deep, really look at your past, and turn your life around and not take a huge withdrawal out of your energetic bank account, but that’s simply not true. My friend is right–it takes energy to heal. So for now I continue to work at patience and supporting my body the best I can, by resting and taking deep breaths. Likewise, I’m trusting that this entire process is “just life,” and that every time we make a withdrawal to invest in healing ourselves, it will eventually pay off.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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Sometimes the best you can do is metaphorically sit you ego down, look it square in the eye, and say, “Would you shut the fuck up already?”
Well, Daddy is worn out. I guess it’s “whatever is wrong with my body.” I’m trying to be patient. This morning I found out the referral my doctor sent to the “immunologist” has been received. I say “immunologist” because Google says he’s actually an “infectious disease specialist.” Personally, I don’t think this title instills calm in a patient. A paranoid patient like me, that is. All day I’ve been thinking, I probably have a rare African virus–something I caught from a mosquito. Go ahead and put me in quarantine. But back to the referral. “It’s on his desk,” the lady who answered the phone said. “It can take a few weeks for him to review, then his nurse should call you. Currently, we’re booked until March.” My shoulders caved in. I said, “Ohhhhhhhhhhhh.”
After I got off the phone, I realized a couple months really isn’t that long to wait for someone as smart as this guy is supposed to be. A relative recently waited six months to see a specialist, so March is better than July. Anyway, all I can do is see what happens, rest as much as possible until it does.
As part of the marketing job I’ve taken on recently for a large dance event, I’ve spent a lot of time this week on the phone, interviewing people about their experiences in the dance world. What works for you? What doesn’t work for you? What are you pissed off about? So far, this has been a fascinating journey. Everybody–everybody–has a story, and they’re usually willing to share it if someone will listen. That being said, it takes a lot of energy to listen, to let someone else unload their ups and downs on you. Plus, it’s not easy to stay focused, to stay present with someone else. More than once I’ve caught myself thinking about dinner and had to say, “Wait–could you back up?” Seriously, I’m convinced therapists earn every dollar of what they charge.
This evening I drove my aunt to get her hair cut, since I knew where we were going and she doesn’t like to drive at night. Well, first of all, she got a spunky new do. But then we went out to eat at Chili’s, and that’s where things really got interesting. “I ate there a while back, and my waiter was really cute and probably gay, she said. “So let’s go see what we can find out.” Y’all, this is my seventy-year-old aunt, trying to hook me up.
“Okay, I’m in,” I said. “Hell, even if he’s not there, I like their fried chicken.”
Well, whoever this fella was, wasn’t there. (Oh well.) But the fried chicken was. (Yippee!) Plus, another gay guy ended up being our waiter. (He was pretty cute, but kind of young.) My aunt said, “So you have a–what’s it called?–gay-dar?” I said, “Well, yeah. Some people show up on it more readily than others, but when a boy in Crawford County wears jeans that are tight from top to bottom and shimmies every time he sets an appetizer on the table, it’s not rocket science.”
After we each had a glass of wine, my aunt started flirting with our waiter. “This is my nephew–Marcus,” she said, holding her arms out toward me as if I were the prize on a game show. Like, Behind door number one is Marcus Coker, a middle-aged man from Van Buren, Arkansas, who still lives with his mom and dad! Anyway, then she proceeded to talk about her haircut, about how when you get older EVERYTHING starts to sag, so you have to keep your hairline shorter. “People look where your hairline stops,” she said as she pointed to the sides of her face. Our waiter said, “You do have nice apples.”
Later I had to explain to my aunt that apples were cheekbones. She said, “OH! I thought he was talking about my boobies.”
I’m seriously not making this up. (Welcome to my family.)
Now it’s almost eleven. I’ve been typing for just over an hour. And I don’t know if it’s how my body feels, the running around, the wine, or what. But I’m honestly done. Daddy is done. Earlier my nephew and I played this game where we buried each other in pillows. At one point I was all covered up, and he turned the lights off and said, “Good night.” I thought, Don’t tempt me–I could straight-up pass out this very instant. I guess when I don’t feel well I’m always thinking a day could be better than it was, better than it is. But the truth is, despite my low energy level, today was a great day. Maybe, just maybe, it was a great day because of my low energy level. I told my therapist recently that when I’m sick, I’m kinder to myself and the world around me–I’m a better listener–a better understand-er. Of course, I want this thing to go away. I believe it will. But I know it’s changing me and changing me for the better, so I can’t hate it. I don’t think you can hate anything that makes you love more.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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Just as there’s day and night literally, there’s also day and night emotionally. Like the sun, one minute we’re up, the next minute we’re down. Our perspectives change constantly. There’s nothing wrong with this. The constellations get turned around once a day, so why can’t you and I? Under heaven, there’s room enough for everything–the sun, the moon and stars, and all our emotions. Yes, the universe–our home–is large enough to hold every bit of us.
Last night I started reading a book called Reichian Therapy by Jack Willis. I’d never heard of Reichian Therapy before, but I ran across it while doing my Googling thing, and it’s apparently based on the work of psychologist William Reich, who was a student of Freud’s. His theory was that behavior springs from personality, which springs from “character,” which is the deep down part of you that you never think about and is totally your parents’ fault. Neuroscientist Candace Pert say your body is your subconscious mind, and Reich says it this way: a person’s character is manifested in their body. So rather than simply doing “talk therapy” for the mind, Reich developed a method for both the mind and the body.
Anyway, this book I started reading–it’s thirty-five dollars on Amazon or free if you download it here. (Warning–it’s five hundred pages long.) So far, I’m about one hundred pages in, and the theory behind the therapy makes a lot of sense to me. Willis says that when a child cries, it’s a full-body experience–their eyes water, their face contorts, their chest heaves, their breathing changes. When an adult comes along and says, “Quit your damn crying,” all of those physical processes have to stop. If a child gets the message that crying is wrong or embarrassing often enough, tension develops throughout their body in order to prevent crying not just in their eyes, but also throughout their entire body. If this doesn’t change, the adult child may be able to cry, but it will look simply like a few tears streaming down their cheeks, not the heaving-sobbing deal. Unfortunately, their character and body literally prevent anything more. And maybe they think, I wonder why my shoulders are so tight.
Willis’s book is unique in that not only is it free, but it also appears to relay, in detail, a series of exercises and practices to “change character,” release tension from the body, and promote healing on multiple levels. I’m just getting started with the exercises, but since one of them is simply looking at yourself the mirror every day, I’m already a fan. But seriously–the idea is to look at yourself the way you would a stranger in a restaurant, asking yourself, “What is this person feeling? Are they anxious? Are they elated?” Last night when I tried this, I realized how tired I looked around my eyes. Then I noticed that my jaw looked angry. I’m not sure what this exercise did on a subconscious level, but it did connect me with self-compassion. You’ve been through a lot, Marcus. Go easy, would you?
During the next exercise (which I was practicing when I took tonight’s selfie), I was instructed to “make faces.” You know, raise your eyebrows, shift your jaw around, flare your nostrils, whatever. Again, I’m not sure what this accomplished–I’m assuming it was about releasing tension–but it sure was fun.
The last exercise I’ll mention involved reaching your hands out in front of you and holding the position for twenty seconds. I tried it a couple times, and the first time I reached slightly up. The second time, however, I reached down. That’s funny, I thought, why would I reach DOWN? Well, I immediately remembered being a small child and how my dad would set me and my sister on top of the refrigerator. I remembered this being fun, but I also remembered wanting to get down and not being able to. Thus the reaching down. (Like, help!)
I don’t recall why I was on the refrigerator–maybe I was in time out, maybe my dad was kidding around, maybe he was on the phone. Maybe I asked to be up there then changed my mind. Regardless, I couldn’t get down when I wanted to, and part of the message my little brain and body received was, “You can ask for help, but that doesn’t mean you’ll get it. Better to take care of yourself.”
See how easy it is to screw up your children?
Honestly, that was it last night. There wasn’t a big emotional upset or hub-bub during the reaching exercise. I didn’t get upset with my father. I felt a gentle letting go in my shoulder blades, nothing major, then had that brief memory. The book says this is normal but not the goal. So try not to pay too much attention to sensations that arise, memories that come up, or emotions you feel. Just let them be, then let them go. Also, do the same for your dreams, which is where the big changes really happen and could get a little weird or crazy after doing the exercises. Last night I dreamed I had worms and a small octopus crawling under my skin, so maybe that means I’m doing something right–or Reich, as it were. (I crack me up.) Anyway, the book says the weird stuff isn’t the point–letting the mind and body fix themselves is. So go easy and take it slow–the slower, the better.
Whatever needs to happen, happens.
I think it’s really fascinating that the memory about reaching out and asking for help came up last night. Just this week my therapist and I discussed my independent nature, my determination to do everything on my own. Then that night, the night before my mom’s surgery, I had dinner with some friends and students, and all three of them–unsolicited–said, “We really do want to help you if we can. You don’t have to do this alone.” Honestly, I don’t know if the conversations with my therapist and friends sparked the refrigerator memory or if the book exercise did. It really doesn’t matter. But I’m coming to believe that when it’s time for healing to happen, you get it from all angles. Misperceptions are corrected. The body shifts ever so slightly. Whatever needs to happen, happens. This is the mystery I’m always talking about, the idea that for all the problems life creates, it creates that many more solutions.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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There’s a power that comes when you meet life’s challenges head-on. Those are the times you breathe the deepest. Those are the times the waters come forth and your heart beats every bit as loud as the thunder claps. Those are the times you know more than ever—no matter what happens next—in this moment, you’re alive.
Today Mom came home from the hospital. She walked through the front door, sat down in “her chair,” and hasn’t gotten up since. Both my sister and I have felt under the weather all day–wiped out, tired. Maybe mine is my chronic sinus problem. Regardless, we’re quite the pitiful lot. My three-year-old nephew, Ander, on the other hand, has been full of energy. Sometimes that kid is so loud, I swear he could wake the dead–or at least his sleeping uncle. I honestly think you could strap him to the top of an ambulance and tell him to scream, and it’d be just as effective as any siren. Of course, he doesn’t care that he’s loud. Nor does he care that he spilled an entire bowl of shredded cheese on the living room carpet.
Kids–not giving a shit since the beginning of time.
This afternoon while my sister and aunt were changing my mom’s bandages, Ander and I went outside to play with his scooter. Well, he played with his scooter–I decided I was too big for it. He only fell over once (we were on our way to the mailbox, then all of a sudden–plop). Thankfully, he bounced right back up, like a little ball of rubber. No kidding–children are like Tupperware–virtually indestructible. Also, boys apparently have no concept of dirt. Maybe some of the gay ones do, but I really think any boy has to start doing his own laundry before he really “gets it.” Ander kept “accidentally” falling down in our front yard, right where our friendly neighborhood gopher and the recent rain have turned what was once a lush, green lawn into a mud pit. I kept thinking, It’s going to take your mother two hours to get that stain out of your britches!
Of course, he wasn’t concerned, and when he wasn’t rolling around in the dirt, he was rolling around in the leaves, throwing them up in the air, covering himself in fall foliage and dead grass. “I’m in the leaf pile!” he’d say. “You’re uncle is tired–let’s go inside,” I’d reply.
He kept looking at me like, “Tired? I don’t know the meaning of the word.”
I spent the day reading Mind Over Medicine by Lissa Rankin, M.D. I heard about the book two or three years ago while listening to a podcast and finally picked it up at the library earlier this week. I’m not done with it yet, but the book discusses the powerful role that the mind, healthy relationships, and a positive environment can play in healing. As a medical doctor, Lissa said she used to fret when her child hurt himself. But after doing a lot of research into the body and such things as spontaneous healing, she now teaches her son that his body is a powerful healer. What I love about this idea is that if he falls down and scrapes his knee, rather than freaking out and being afraid, he says, “My body knows how to fix itself.”
To be clear–because people worry about this kind of stuff–yes, if their child got cancer or were hit by a car, they wouldn’t say, “He’ll be fine on his own,” they’d rush him to the hospital. Still, even in a serious situation, the idea is the same–the body is smart. Given the right support, it knows how to restore balance. Perhaps children instinctively understand this. Maybe that’s why they pop right back up after they fall off their scooters, unless of course we adults scare them by flipping our shit. Oh my god, are you okay!
Earlier today while doing chi kung, even before reading the book, I gave myself a hug and told my body that I trusted it. I’ve still felt like crap all day, but I think this was and is an important step in healing. Personally, I know that I’ve spent a lot of time not trusting my body, believing that it didn’t know how to fix itself, or that no matter what I tried, it wouldn’t work. Plus, I’ve spent a lot of time not liking this about my body, not liking that about my body. And yet, my body has given me every experience I’ve ever had. (Think about that–and thank your body that you can.) And it doesn’t just let me sit at this keyboard or play with my nephew–it’s watching out for me. A couple days ago I wrote about some great feedback I got from my gut, and a lot of interesting things have been happening in meditation lately (crying, letting go, stuff like that). So I’m starting to believe that my body really is on my side–it wants me to be in healthy relationships, it wants me to let go, it wants me to heal.
Now I’m thinking, We’re BOTH doing the best we can.
Tonight’s blog is number 300. That’s 300 days or nights in a row of writing. When I started this project almost a year ago, I really thought it was just about writing, about developing a discipline and working on my craft, the one I want to spend the rest of my life doing (if God and my body will let me). But somewhere along the way I realized this project is about more than writing–way more. It’s about healing. Maybe that sounds like a funny thing to say when I’m once-again sitting here feeling poorly, but I’m talking about healing deep down, about finally loving every well and broken part of yourself, about finally taking care of yourself, about knowing, really knowing, that your life has a purpose and nothing can stand in the way of it. For me, this has happened–is happening–one word and one day at a time. For this change in perspective and direction, me and my body are more grateful than we could ever say.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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Our shoulders weren’t meant to carry the weight of the world.
It’s two-thirty in the morning, and I’m not sure how the day got away from me. Well, yes I am. Dad and I watched a documentary about Robin Williams, and I finished reading a book about meditation then made further progress in one about figuring out the most important thing you can do every day. (I’m in the middle of the book, so I still don’t know what that thing is, but I’m thinking, Breathe–breathe is the most important thing I can do every day.) Currently I’m propped up in my waterbed, which is not an easy thing to do. I feel like I’m going to fold in on myself, like a jackknife, any minute now. But at least it’s warm here. I love it. It’s like a full-body heating pad.
Winter, winter, go away.
I’ve blogged a number of times about the idea that the body can release stress and trauma through shaking or quivering. This is a process that happens naturally in many mammals, but humans often intellectually shut it off or aren’t aware they can access it. Anyway, there are some exercises, called trauma release exercises or TRE, that encourage shaking, and I’ve been working with them lately. (I’ve blogged about this most recently here.) Today I watched a video about trauma release exercises that said at first you have to go through this whole setup to fatigue your muscles and start them quivering (what a funny word), but after a while it doesn’t require much. This has been my experience. Sometimes my legs will start shaking with minimal encouragement–even when that’s not my intention. Not just randomly, like a seizure, but like if I’m doing yoga or some other stretching.
Today my legs started vibrating while I was reading in bed. I had them propped up a certain way, which I guess put tension on my adductors, and bam! All of a sudden it felt as if I was lying on one of those vibrating beds at a cheap motel. Not that I’ve ever done that. So I just let my body do it’s thing from the waist down and kept reading from the waist up. (Why not multitask?) Later I watched a video of someone else experiencing TRE, and I noticed that whereas only my legs jerked, their entire body jerked about, like a Pentecostal on the floor. (It really was fascinating to watch. Next time I’m breaking out the popcorn.) Anyway, I started comparing myself. I thought, It’d be really nice for MY back to vibrate like that. Maybe it would help my headaches. Am I broken from the waist up? Is something wrong with my back-shaker? Do I need to put another quarter in this thing?
For Christmas my friend Matt gave me an Amazon gift card. Talk about the perfect thing. You can buy everything (from A to Z) there. Plus, this boy loves to read–real books, digital books, you name it. And Amazon has them all. So this evening I went through all my Amazon wish lists, sifting through hundreds of books I’ve marked as interesting over the years. Whenever a title jumped out as “still interesting,” I jotted it down, along with the price. I knew I could buy several things, but I’d still have to think about it. When it was all said and done, there were several “serious” books and several “fun” books, including an out-of-print, limited-edition collection of dance photographs I’ve been wanting for over a year but haven’t been willing to “splurge” on. Well, I finally decided, Tonight’s the night. I bought all the fun books. I mean, I’m up to my ears in serious reading material, and–what the hell!–it’s Christmas.
Thanks, Matt!
As I scanned through my Amazon wish lists, I noted several books that I’m honestly not interested in anymore. Only a handful of them seem currently fascinating. I try to trust this. Sometimes I grit through a book because I “should” and am usually disappointed by the last page. What a waste of time, I think. But when a book seems fascinating from the get-go, when I’m actually enthusiastic about reading it–those are the books that make the biggest difference, the ones that stick with me. Joseph Campbell says, “Follow your bliss,” and I’m realizing you can’t fake your bliss. You can’t fake what excites you, or even what interests you. This applies to little things like books, as well as big things like work and sexuality.
You’re either into something or you’re not.
My friend that I had dinner with last night said she really believed the body had its own mind, its own wisdom. So I’ve been telling myself tonight that my body knows more about healing than I do. If it wants to shake its legs and not its shoulders, there’s probably a good reason for it. Maybe it wants to work on issues at the base before it moves higher. Either way, like me and some of those books on my wish lists, at this point in time, it’s simply not that interested. Maybe it will be interested in “shaking loose” other areas later. So I’m trying to be patient, trying to trust both my body and its inner compass, trying to let this mystery unfold one page at a time.
I swear I didn’t intend for this to become a blog about my health problems. Whatever–this shouldn’t surprise anyone who knows me–I’m a hypochondriac. Plus, life isn’t predictable–you gotta go where it takes you. Anyway, here we go (again). Last night I only slept a couple hours and woke up at six-thirty this morning to drag my ass to see my new medical doctor, an internist. Thinking she might want to draw blood, knowing that blood is best drawn on an empty stomach, and not wanting to make the early-morning haul to her out-of-town office any more than I have to, I decided to skip breakfast. Y’all, sick, sleep-deprived, food-deprived Marcus is not a pretty picture. But what do you do?
I got to the doctor’s office about eight-thirty, a little earlier than my appointment time in order to check in. Folks, this clinic was pretty so-phis-ti-cated. I got to use an electronic device, a tablet, to fill out all the standard new-patient forms. Talk about fancy. They had free WIFI! (The password was–are you ready for this?–care4you.) Anyway, I was impressed from the get-go. There was even a human anatomy book in the exam room that I got to thumb through while I waited for the doctor. Seriously, there’s so much I never knew, like apparently the correct term for my butt crack is “intergluteal sulcus.” And that horizontal fold that divides your butt from your thighs, the one my friend Kenny calls your “undercut”? Well, that’s actually called your gluteal fold.
Isn’t medical science fun?
Just as I was learning all the proper terms for the parts of my butt, my new doctor showed up. By this time I’d convinced myself she was going to be like everyone else, that she’d just suggest more steroids and antibiotics for all my sinus issues. But that’s not what happened. For over an hour we talked about my medical history–constant sinus infections, body odor, warts, prostatitis–everything I’ve talked about on this blog and more. Even before our time was up, I was completely impressed. She listened, asked questions, patted my back in encouragement, and never talked down to me or used five-dollar words. She didn’t even make fun of me for taking a dozen vitamins or going to see a Native American witch doctor.
In terms of my sinus issues, which have been my major health complaint for twenty years, she said that if you took the germs in your nose and compared them to the germs in your butt hole (my phrase, not hers), the germs in your nose would be grosser. “It can get pretty filthy up there,” she said. “And some of your nasal passages are no wider than the tip of a ballpoint pen, so when things get inflamed, it’s no wonder they get clogged up and disgusting.” Anyway, her immediate prescription for my sinus (and allergy) issues was to put me on a different anti-histamine, as well as a histamine blocker, since apparently anti-histamines only stop histamine symptoms and not histamines themselves. (No one’s ever told me this before.)
She also started me on probiotics and wrote down the names of specific strands and brands to buy that target the sinuses. She said my bacterial biome was probably all fucked up from all the damn antibiotics over the years (again, I’m paraphrasing), and that was most likely the root cause of my body odor issue. I’ll spare you the point-by-point details, but for each health issue discussed, she either gave me specific things to do or told me not to worry.
In terms of my overall health, she ordered some blood work, and I had my blood drawn before I left. But the big thank-you-Jesus moment was when she said she’d like to refer me to an immunologist. “I don’t think you have a serious disease or disorder,” she said. “But some people are born with a part of their immune system missing or not working, and sometimes that shows up as chronic sinus infections or other problems like prostatitis, which is an odd thing for someone your age to have had. If that is the case, you can take shots, maybe just for a while.”
“Let’s do it,” I said.
Solid help and solid hope are quite the same thing.
That’s where we left it. I got back in six weeks. She said I should hear from the immunologist within two weeks– that if I don’t, call her. So even though I don’t have an immediate answer and don’t feel physically any different than I have recently, I feel extremely hopeful because it’s like I finally have someone squarely in my corner who’s willing to look at my overall health and address my issues in both a different and aggressive manner. I don’t love the idea of having a substandard immune system, but I’m excited about a possible explanation. Plus, I feel validated. Like, I’ve had sinus infections for twenty years, and someone is finally agreeing that that’s not normal. I’m not a hypochondriac! I feel like that dead guy with the headstone that says, “I told y’all I was sick.” More than anything else, I feel grateful, glad to have some solid help and solid hope, which I’m learning are quite the same thing.
Yesterday I drove to Sapulpa, Oklahoma, to meet my friend Elisabeth and visit The Eyeball Oracle, an iridologist named Phyllis who owns and works at Rock Creek Herb and Vitamin Company. An iridologist is someone who identifies problems in your body by looking at your eyeballs. (I’m not making this up. It’s on Google.) Since I arrived early, I was the first in line. When Phyllis showed up two hours later, there were at least a dozen other people behind me. As I understand it, this is pretty common with Phyllis, who’s been practicing iridology for over forty years (she learned from her grandfather, who learned from his father) and never charges for her services.
Y’all, it was fascinating–and easy enough, at least for me. After introductions, I sat in a chair and stared out a window while Phyllis looked at my eyes from a few feet away. For maybe a minute or two, Phyllis took notes, stating that we’d first talk about what she observed, then there’d be time for questions. Get this shit. The first thing she said was, “Have you ever had an injury to your left leg or had pain in your right hip?” I said, “Well, the right hip has been a major problem these last several years, and when I was a kid my left leg was twisted, although it never hurts now.” She said, “That’s what created the imbalance, though.”
Phyllis recommended two products for my muscles and ligaments, one of which was a blend of calcium and magnesium and came up later when we discussed my sometimes-nightly leg jerks. In addition to my left leg/right hip issue, Phyllis and I went through eight things or categories she observed in my eyes–thyroid, pancreas, PH of colon, left kidney, stomach/digestion, right adrenal, heart, and (I think) memory/focus. (That was a joke.) For each thing we talked about, Phyllis had recommendations. For my thyroid, which she said contributed to my feeling of being overwhelmed at times, it was two supplements (amino acids) and one vitamin (D3). For my colon, it was black cherry juice (1/3 cup a day). This is something I appreciated, that there was just as much advice about diet (eat things that are red, green, and purple, not things that are white and yellow) as there was about herbs and vitamins.
The diet recommendations, Phyllis said, came from the Blood Type Diet, a theory which proposes that each blood type (A, B, AB, and O) should eat differently. She said, “When I was a child, my grandfather would put all this food on the table and say, ‘What does YOUR body want?'” Phyllis guessed my blood type as A. It’s actually O. There were a couple things like this, observations she had that didn’t “hit home” for me. For example, when she talked about my pancreas and asked if I ever felt my blood sugar drop, I said, “Not really. Sometimes I get light-headed, but it’s better when I stay hydrated and keep my electrolytes, like salt, up.” Phyllis didn’t seem fazed by this, and she wasn’t pushy, which I respected. On my paper under pancreas/blood sugar, she wrote, “Good.”
By the time we got to the end of Phyllis’s list, nothing had been said about my sinuses, which have been my major complaint these last few months and, well, my entire life. When I asked about them, Phyllis–first of all–didn’t say any of the things I’ve been afraid of hearing, things like, “You’re covered in mold,” “You have a yeast infection,” or, “You have an auto-immune disorder.” She didn’t tell me I was beyond hope or repair. Rather, she said that following the Blood Type Diet should help with allergies and mucus production, and the other products already discussed should help with overall immune function. Then she recommended a few products, two of which I’ve never tried before. At the end of the session, she gave me all her notes, on which she’d starred the “priority items.” She said, “Start with your sinuses if you want. Work on your muscles and ligaments later. Come back in six weeks, and we’ll see where you’re at.”
Here’s one of the four pages Phyllis gave me. I chose this one to share because I spent all day yesterday thinking she’d written “Carlos” under “Right Adrenal.” I kept thinking, What’s he doing there? Is that the guy who started The Blood Type Diet? Then last night I realized she’d actually written “Carbs,” as in, eat the good ones–not the bad ones. Carbs, Marcus, not Carlos. But I guess the advice would apply either way.
After I saw Phyllis, a couple other people went, then Elisabeth did. “She told me I had eyes that were sweet and kind,” Elisabeth said. “Well,” I replied, “She certainly didn’t tell me that.”
Not that I’m bitter.
The entire time I was with Phyllis, I never felt pressured to buy any products from her shop. That’s something a lot of the online reviews are clear about. If you want to go and just get your eyes read, you’re more than welcome to. That being said, I did end up buying five things Phyllis recommended–two for my sinuses, two for my thyroid, one for my muscles. I’d told Elisabeth, “Please don’t let me buy the entire store,” and she came through. She said, “You already have that and that, just different brands, and you can wait on that and that and try them later if you want.” By the time it was all over, I spent about as much as I would to see a doctor at a walk-in clinic, a little more than a hundred bucks. At Phyllis’s suggested dosages, I’ll need to restock some of the products in two or three weeks, but that won’t cost any more than all of the other shit I’ve tried these past few months, certainly not more than some antibiotics. None of those things, by the way, have made a remarkable impact on my health.
Phyllis said I should notice a difference within 72 hours, so I started taking the pills before I left the parking lot. One of the ones for my sinuses had eucalyptus in it, and within twenty minutes I could not only smell it, but also taste it when I burped. Now it’s less than twenty-four hours later, and whereas my sinuses aren’t completely dried up, they are better. Likewise, the dark circles under my eyes are lighter, and (I think) there’s less histamine in my face. Maybe I’m just hoping, but I can definitely tell something’s going on–there are sensations, pulses, in my legs and feet that aren’t normally there. I don’t know another way to say it.
I’ll continue to keep you posted, but here’s this, maybe the most notable difference–I woke up feeling great today. I’ve been off-and-on sick, gross, and dragging ass for over ninety days, but–simply put–I’ve been happy today. I’ve had good energy, I haven’t been tired behind my eyes, and I’ve felt like my problems are manageable, my body is capable of health, and the world is full of possibilities. This is no small thing, of course–huge progress. While making breakfast I was singing and dancing along with Macklemore. I feel glorious–glorious–got a chance to start again.
Part of me is dismissing what happened yesterday, thinking I wasted my time and threw my money away–again. I’ve been thinking, It’s just a coincidence, Marcus. You woke up feeling pretty decent yesterday. Maybe you were already healing. Still, here’s what I know. I’ve been working my ass off for over three months trying to get better–reading books, buying vitamins, doing visualizations. Most of this has been on my own, and it’s been exhausting. But this week is about changing that. Yesterday I saw Phyllis, and I see a new medical doctor later this week in order to cover all my bases. And I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all the help and guidance, from wherever it comes–from a lady who looks into my eyes, from a bottle of vitamins, whatever. From above. It’s good to feel better, of course, but it’s even better to know you’re not alone down here.
Lately I’ve backslidden on my sleep schedule, staying up until almost sunrise and waking up in the afternoon. But because I’m getting up early (by anyone standards) tomorrow to run around, I set my alarm for before noon today. Like, maybe I can ease myself into this. Y’all, it’s awful. I’ve been ready to go back to bed all day. Now it’s five in the evening, and I’m working feverishly to finish the blog before I teach dance in an hour and a half. Since I’ve got to go to bed early tonight–I’ve just got to–this may be more of a sprint than a marathon. Some days all you can do is show up.
This afternoon I finished reading a book by Laura Day about intuition and how it relates to healing. It’s due back at the library tomorrow, and I’m finding that having a deadline is a good way for me to get things done. Anyway, the book mentioned something about feeling “comfortable and proud” in your body, so I’ve been chewing on those words, since they’re not the first adjectives I think of when describing how I feel in my skin, but I’d like them to be. I guess sometimes I feel that way, and I know I feel that way more than I used to. I’d just like to feel that way more often–comfortable and proud.
Hum.
Whenever I get a sinus infection, my go-to adjective for describing the way I feel is “weak.” All my energy is just up and gone. It feels hopeless, like all my vitality has been buried next to Jimmy Hoffa, never to be found again. Much to my non-amusement, “weak” has become a kind of joke in our family, a word we toss around whenever one of us feels bad–like, poor, poor, pitiful me.
As a healing exercise, the book I finished earlier suggested remembering a time when you felt strong, almost unable to contain yourself, absolutely powerful. This isn’t exactly easy to do when you feel like someone’s unplugged you from the wall, but I assume that’s exactly the point, to reconnect with the best possible version of yourself. More than anything else, the exercise made me realize that weak isn’t simply a word I use to describe myself when I get sick. I mean, I don’t put it on my business cards or even think that word on a day-to-day basis, but I often feel that way, like I’m unable to affect change in my life, unable to move forward, unable to heal.
Just bringing my attention to this fact has made me realize that it’s not true. Like, I can look at my life and list dozens of places and situations in which I’m able to get things done, make progress, be effective. And yet still that feeling is there. I guess I get hung up on the things that aren’t happening yet, the things that aren’t healing. I start comparing myself, giving all the praise I have away to others and saving little for myself. This is something I intend to work on, gently if possible. I just looked up “weak” on Google, and whereas the first definitions is “lacking physical strength and energy,” the second is “easily damaged.” Synonyms are frail, feeble, delicate, fragile. This is good information to have, since I don’t feel THAT way at all. Even when my energy is low and things aren’t happening as I’d like them to, I don’t feel that kind of weak. Rather, I know there’s a part of me that’s eternally strong. That’s the part of me I want to spend more time with, the part that’s not only confident, but also comfortable and proud, simply happy to be alive, sure that it can weather any storm.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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All the while, we imagine things should be different than they are, but life persists the way it is.
It’s nine in the evening, and I’m finally sitting down to blog. I’ve been putting it off for a couple hours now, distracting myself by scrolling through social media and looking up rare sinus-related diseases on the internet. I’ve got to stop doing this, since it only takes about two seconds for me to convince myself that I’m “histamine intolerant” or “magnesium deficient” or that I have mold and moss, like the kind you see on the north side of trees, actually growing inside my head. Rather than read a book or watch a comedy special on Netflix, this is how I’ve decided to entertain myself until I see the doctor next week, by turning every health problem I have into a conspiracy theory that only I and the world-wide web can unravel.
I know–I could use a new hobby.
Earlier this week I spoke to my friend Marla, who was recently sick with the crud, maybe the flu. She’s better now but said there was a point when she just gave in to the illness. So I’m thinking of doing the same thing, saying, “Fine. You win. I quit.” I mean, it’s not like I haven’t tried or put up a good fight. I’ve made some progress. I’m better than I was. But I’m not myself. And surely there wouldn’t be any harm in spending a few days in bed, at least until I can see someone with a medical degree, throw all my vitamins and herbs down on their table, and say, “Here–this is your problem now. You figure it out.”
This afternoon I had coffee with my friend Lorena and told her that one good thing that was coming out of my being sick for so long was that I’m developing both patience and empathy. Like, one day I’ll be able to look at someone else who is overwhelmed and discouraged by their situation and say, “Hang on. Things will turn around for you one day. I promise.” Honestly, I hate this. I mean, patience and empathy are fine characteristics to carry around in your back pocket–I think you should have them–but I hate that, like a good husband, they’re so damn hard to acquire.
Can I get an amen?
Looking at the picture of Lorena and me, I’m thinking I need to shave my face. But this is another thing about not feeling well–shaving, or even taking a shower, feels like a daunting task, something I need to talk myself into, something I should get a gold star for after I finally do it. Like, Look over here, World–I bathed! I haven’t always felt this way about basic hygiene, but it’s amazing how “one little infection” can drop you to your knees and lower your standards. All of a sudden the word “accomplishment” has a very different meaning than it did before. It’s like you’re two-years old again, proud of yourself for, I don’t know, putting on pants.
I told my dad all this earlier, about how cleaning up felt like such a big deal. Currently he has a cold, but even when he feels well, I think he only showers once or twice a week. He said, “Just wait until you get thirty or forty more years on you, son.”
This is what passes for a pep talk in my family.
When I was in high school, I had a dictator for an English teacher–Mrs. Shipman. (I mean dictator as a term of endearment.) She used to interrupt us while we were praying–talking to the god of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob!–in order to correct our grammar. Talk about someone who means business. Once she hunted me down in the lunch room to let me know that I’d misabbreviated “etcetera” as “ect.” instead of “etc.” in a party invitation I sent home with her son. I can still remember her finger pressing into my shoulder, the way she leaned over me as I was eating my Lunchables, the way I broke into a sweat. Honestly, I think it was overkill, but I’ve also never made the “ect.” mistake again.
Anyway, Mrs. Shipman made us memorize poems, and a few of them have never worked their way out of my brain, a fact I’m actually grateful for. One of those poems, by Nancy Byrd Turner, goes like this–
Courage has a crimson coat Trimmed with trappings bold, Knowledge dons a dress of note, Fame’s is cloth of gold. Far they ride and fair they roam, Much they do and dare. Grey-gowned Patience sits at home, And weaves the stuff they wear.
Now it’s ten o’clock, and I’m ready to call it a night, at least wrap this up so there’s nothing else I “have” to do until tomorrow. I’m thinking of curling up in this chair with a hot cup of herbal tea and reading a book or watching a comedy special on Netflix. I’m telling myself, No more internet searches regarding your health, Marcus. No more playing medical detective. This is me giving in, if only for a night. This is me acquiring patience–grey-gowned, anything but sexy, necessary patience.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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Of all the broken things in your life, you’re not one of them–and you never have been.
Yesterday when I rinsed out my sinuses, something new came out–a clear blob, about the size of a dime, with the consistency of a jellyfish. That’s peculiar, I thought. A quick Google search revealed that it may have been–possibly–something called biofilm, a protective coating sometimes formed by harmful bacteria that makes getting rid of them difficult. A bacterial condom, if you will. In my nose. The body is such a mystery. Anyway, whatever that thing was, I’m glad it’s not inside me anymore. This is how my grandpa used to feel about farts. “More room on the outside than there is on the inside,” he would say.
Last night I went to bed at two in the morning but lay awake for over four hours, part of the time watching Netflix, but mostly wondering why I wasn’t tired. Maybe I’m feeling better, I thought. Maybe I’m feeling worse. Finally, I decided it was because I forgot to take Benadryl, something I’ve been using lately to help with allergies, but only at night because it makes me drowsy. I hope I’m not becoming addicted, I thought. But then I got out of bed, tossed back a couple pink antihistamines, and was out before I knew it–until two this afternoon.
Today I ran some errands and ended up buying two new herbal teas. This is something I’ve been doing lately, trying different teas to hopefully boost my immune system, decrease my allergies, and heal my sinuses. I’ve inadvertently started a collection. I’m one of those people. (Shit.) So far, I’m not sure the teas are making a difference, but at least they taste nice enough and have fewer calories than alcohol. That being said, they are also significantly more boring, by comparison. I mean, when was the last time a warm cup of dandelion tea got anyone laid? (Tequila makes my clothes fall off, Mom.)
Well, actually scotch, but I digress.
Earlier this week I finished the two-thousand-piece puzzle my family started working on over the holidays. Considering that my nephews were turning the house upside down and the fact that my sister found a couple pieces in the pockets of my mom’s housecoat, I kept thinking I’d get to the end of the puzzle and find pieces missing. But that wasn’t the case. All the pieces were there. Everything came together. (Miracles never cease.)
Isn’t it gorgeous?
Last night while meditating I decided to start thinking of my body as strong, even when I don’t feel well. My logic for this is that even though I’ve been having significant allergy and sinus issues these last few months, there are hundreds of problems I don’t have. Like, I don’t have boils, leprosy, or diverticulitis, to name a few examples. Whenever I get a cut, my body heals it. Likewise, it fights off numerous infections and neutralizes various threats every day, largely without my help. So I’ve got to assume it’s doing the best it can, that eventually we’ll get things figured out.
With this new attitude in mind, I’ve been more optimistic today. Next week I’m seeing a new medical doctor, and I plan to look further into alternative therapies, things like acupuncture. I’m actually excited about finding an answer, getting myself back in tip-top shape. My retired psychologist friend Craig says that every piece of a puzzle is important, that there are no unimportant pieces. I guess for a while it’s felt like some of my pieces were missing, like I’m an incomplete puzzle. But I’m starting to believe that all the pieces for healing really are here, it’s just a matter of putting them together in the right order and of being patient, trusting that all things are worked out in their own time.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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Bodies are so mysterious, much more complicated than car doors. They take more patience to understand and work with. They require more than a couple hours to repair.
