For the last eight days I’ve been struggling with a sinus infection. And whereas it’s not really getting worse, it’s not really getting better either. Every morning I cough up junk. Every afternoon I feel wiped out. Every night I cough myself to sleep. All the while I pray for a solution. Not just a temporary one, but a permanent one. And whereas sometimes I think heaven must be tired of hearing from me (it’s me again, Margaret), I keep telling myself that’s not the way God works. Just because I’d be sick (I am sick, actually) of hearing from me, doesn’t mean God is. Of course, having been around for ETERNITY, he’s got this patience thing down.
Me? I’m still working on it.
This afternoon I taught a dance lesson to a couple, and when I asked if they’d practiced since I last saw them two weeks ago, they said, “No.” Now, this didn’t surprise me. Hardly any of my students practice unless they HAVE to. Like if they have a performance or a wedding coming up. Otherwise, they practice when they see me. And whereas there’s nothing wrong with not practicing (it’s job security for me), it naturally means the students progress at a slower pace than they COULD. Conversely, once I had a mentor who said it only took him a year to learn how to dance (the average is three to five years) because he worked at it every day for hours on end. And whereas this man had a natural aptitude for dancing and my students–quite frankly–don’t, my point is that just as HE CHOSE to go fast, they’re CHOOSING to go slow.
Recently I wrote about creating time, and this is what I meant. That is, to a large extent, we decide how quickly we want things to happen. Are certain things out of our control? Absolutely, a million things are. But take this, for example. This afternoon and evening I worked non-stop on an arts and crafts project I’ve been tinkering with for the last few weeks, framing antique jewelry. (I plan to post pictures soon.) And whereas it’s going slower than expected (because when you do something for the first time you run into all sorts of problems–er, challenges–you hadn’t anticipated), I should be done in a couple more days if I stick with it. My point being that I COULD drag this little project out for days, weeks, months if I wanted to.
But I don’t. I’m ready to see it finished. Which means I’m willing to put in the work.
Now, just because I’m ready to tackle this particular project doesn’t mean I’m not procrastinating like hell on plenty of others. Indeed, there are books I plan to read and books I plan to write–one day. Most likely, either it’s simply not time or I’m putting them off because I’m afraid of how my life will change–or worse, not change–once I do. Full of the fear of failure, I slow things down. I pump the brakes. Quite literally, I create (more) time.
Caroline Myss says we do this time creating thing constantly, in every area of our life. With our relationships, with our careers. Even with our resentments. Like, we decide how long it’s going to take us to get over something. We decide how long we’re going to “hang on.” We joke about this. Someone brings up an argument they had with their lover in 1983, and we say, “Still not over it?” Clearly they’re not. But they COULD be, just like my dance students COULD be further along than they are.
One of Myss’s points about all this is that we can’t decide to move slowly in terms of our resentments and expect to move quickly in terms of our healing. Because you can’t hang on and expect your body to let go at the same time. You either both hang on or you both let go. This is one of the reasons I’ve talked so much lately about letting go and forgiving. More and more, I see the price of holding grudges and being bitter (about anything) as simply too high. Now, I don’t claim to be a master at this. Nor do I have any promise that as I work to let go that my body will miraculously heal. Or heal at all. Although I do believe forgiving in one way to SPEED UP healing. Indeed, I’ve heard stories of people who forgave experiencing healing. But healing is always a grace, never a guarantee. This being said, and despite the fact that I currently feel like poop, I have experienced more physical healing these last two years (and especially these last two months) than ever before, and I don’t think it’s simply a coincidence that this has happened alongside my conscious choice to–in front of God and everybody–connect with my own good heart.
When I first sat down to write tonight I thought I was going to write about hope. Because whenever I don’t feel well I usually hit a point when I think things are hopeless. Consequently, it’s good for me to talk myself down off a ledge, to remind myself to be patient. Because the truth is there’s always hope. Likewise, as long as you’re alive you can always choose to be a better dancer, choose to be a kinder, gentler person. Even if you grow just a little bit each year, that’s something and is better than choosing not to. My point being that as long as YOU can change, your body can change, your life can change. And if takes a lifetime or an eternity to heal, to really heal?
Then it’s time well spent. And you haven’t hoped–or worked–in vain.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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I don't think anyone came to this planet in order to get it right the first time. What would be the point?
Last night my throat got scratchy and I started coughing. It’s nothing, I thought. Probably allergies. Alas, I woke up sick today, weak and junky. Currently my head hurts, maybe from spending too much time in bed. Who knows what’s going on, either in my body or in American politics? But seriously, it could be sinus crud (it’s always sinus crud), a cold, the flu. Let’s hope it’s not the flu. Or the black plague. I’ve heard that’s awful. Something that can really put a damper on your plans for New Year’s.
Speaking of plans, I was supposed to have a day full of appointments today–a dance lesson, a checkup with my dermatologist, some odd job work. And whereas I thought about pushing myself and doing these things anyway, when I coughed up crap this morning decided to listen to my body and intuition instead. “Cancel your appointments,” they said. “Stay home. Rest.” So that’s what I did–made a few phone calls and went back to sleep. Each time I woke up, I went to the bathroom, drank a glass of water (I’ve heard fluids are important), then went back to sleep again. Finally, at five in the evening, I woke up, turned on my bedside lamp (which because I’m so gross is probably the only thing I could turn on today), and binge-watched Season 3 of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.
I haven’t finished yet, so keep your mouths shut about any spoilers.
Having dealt with (what I feel is) my fair share of sinus (and cold and flu) crud over the years, more and more I’m getting okay with it. Sure, it’s frustrating as hell, especially when I go down the rabbit hole of feeling sorry for myself, of thinking, This nonsense again?! Or when I blame myself. I should have known better, I should have done something different, and all that. But when I take whatever’s happening moment-by-moment, it’s not so bad. Like, Now I’m lying in bed. Now I’m coughing up a lung. Now I’m praying to God to get me out of this.
I mean, I’m in bed, I’m warm, I’m full, and I have people who love me.
Not so bad.
To be clear, it’s not so great either. I’d much rather feel like a million bucks or be at Disney World with Zac Efron on my arm. Or both. But these aren’t current options for me. So more and more, “not so bad” is good enough. Because although I’m in a certain amount of physical pain and discomfort, I’m not adding to my suffering by constantly telling myself a “woe is me” or “isn’t it awful?” story.
And when I do tell myself a tale of “and this sucks and this sucks and this sucks”? Well, I try not to believe me.
Lately I’ve had a phrase stuck in my mind–smoke and mirrors. A few days ago I mentioned there’s a hole in my bathroom wall that’s covered up by a bookshelf, and this is what I mean. In reality there’s a blemish, but–presto change-o–now you see it, now you don’t. Y’all I use smoke and mirrors constantly. I use furniture to hide animal stains on rugs, magic markers to fill in scuff marks on shoes, and shoes to hide holes in socks. And don’t even get me started on the one-size-up clothes I wear to hide holiday pie.
I’ve even been known to wear concealer to cover up zits.
As most of you know, especially those of you who wear makeup, using smoke and mirrors is an uphill battle. The older you get, the harder you have to try. This morning, afternoon, and evening I helped a friend begin to organize their rather large personal library and, in the process, damaged a book cover. I was flipping through the pages, and it just snapped right in half. “Don’t worry,” my friend said. “Those covers [part of a particular series] are extremely brittle. They just keep falling apart.”
“I guess we all do,” I said.
Whether in terms of physical objects or material bodies, my point is that everything on planet earth (and in the universe) is slowly or quickly deteriorating. Nothing’s permanent. We can fool ourselves into thinking things will last, we will last, but they won’t, we won’t. You know how you can pick up a dandelion parachute (the white tuft thingy full of seeds) and, if the wind is blowing, it will disintegrate before your eyes? Well, this is what’s happening to everything and to all of us. Even if we can’t see it, we’re falling apart. Now, we may hide this fact and–somehow or other–get eighty or ninety years. We may even pass our book collections and antique pieces of furniture on to our children. But sooner or later the jig’s up for both us and our stuff.
As Kansas so aptly stated, “All we are is dust in the wind.”
At one point today my friend said, “Here’s a stack of books I’ll probably never use but am just not ready to get rid of.” Y’all, I totally get it. A few years ago I sold or gave away of over 80 percent of my worldly possessions and yet often still have trouble letting go. I look at a few of my books and pieces of jewelry and think, I’m taking YOU to the grave. Of course, this is nonsense. Ultimately, we don’t get to hang on to anything in this life–not our books, not our jewelry, not our Pink Floyd records. Not even our bodies. Whether by choice or by force, we eventually have to let go.
So all the better if we can, as my gay Uncle Randy used to say, set it free.
Now, does this mean that I’m going to voluntarily get rid of what little I have left (which is a lot by much of the world’s standards)? Does this mean I’m suggesting we all have estate sales? Hell no. But I am suggesting we do whatever we can to let go mentally and emotionally whether or not we let go physically. For me this looks like allowing myself to get excited about and enjoy physical objects (including my body and–sometimes, but not nearly enough, dear lord–the bodies of others), but not allowing myself to buy into the incorrect notion that any one thing or group of things can or will provide me with everlasting happiness. Indeed, I’m convinced that if it all disappeared tomorrow–my books, pictures, and clothes–I’d still have everything I need to live a joyful and content life.
Albeit a naked one.
More and more I think there’s nothing wrong with owning stuff as long as your stuff doesn’t own you. Like, does it add to your life, or take away from it? Is it a burden? This morning I was driving to my friend’s and noticed ALL THE TREES along the way. Like, there wasn’t just one tree or two trees, there was an abundance of them. So I don’t think we can rightly say that God is a minimalist. That being said, he’s clearly not ATTACHED to things either. This evening I watched an absolutely glorious sunset–full of purples, reds, oranges, and yellows. I wanted to hang on, stretch it out, take a picture. Buy a souvenir! Not God, however. He just let it go. Like, No big deal. Let’s forget it ever happened. Because he gets how things work here. Everything that’s born, dies. Period. The wind carries us all away.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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It's enough to sit in, and sometimes drag ass through, the mystery.
This afternoon I saw The Brainstem Wizard, my upper cervical care doctor who’s helping me “get my head on straight.” The idea being that when your atlas vertebrae, which supports your head, sits right, good health is most likely to follow. Conversely, when it doesn’t sit right, it can put pressure on your brainstem and cause all sorts of problems (because your brainstem and nervous system directly affect or influence almost everything in your body). All this to say that today my doctor determined (through the use of a handy dandy device that looks like Batman’s ray gun) that my nervous system was working fine on its own and, therefore, I didn’t need an adjustment this week.
Honestly, this was a little disappointing because I’ve had such good results with the last few adjustments. Plus, the last few days my head has hurt, my back has ached. But my doctor said, “That’s normal. Healing isn’t a straight line. It’s more like a wiggly line, full of ups and downs. Be patient. People normally hit the sweet spot around the two to four month mark. People think the adjustment is what heals them, but that’s not it–it’s your body. Give it time.”
“So just tough out the pain until my body decides to fix the problem?” I said.
“Yep,” he smiled. “That’s what you’ve been doing all this time anyway, right?”
I laughed. “Right.”
“Don’t be discouraged,” he said. “We’re fighting a long history of problems.”
Boy, did he say a mouthful or what? So often along the path of healing, in all its many forms, I’ve wanted instant results. Then, upon not getting them, I’ve gotten depressed, convinced that the universe in all its wonder doesn’t have an answer to my problem. Or worse, it doesn’t care. But the truth is the universe does care (a lot) and does have an answer. However, sometimes the answer we’re looking for doesn’t come fast precisely because of our long history of problems and, in many cases, because of our self-neglect. Think of it this way. The longer you go without cleaning your house, the longer it’s going to take to clean it. The more baggage you have, the longer it’s going to take to move somewhere.
This truth applies to your house, your body, your mind and emotions, and your relationships. At times I get frustrated with people in my life (who doesn’t?), but usually by the time my lid’s about to pop over something “big,” it’s only because I’ve let so many small things go without addressing them. Without addressing the relationship. Whenever this occurs, I remind myself to slow down, to breathe. I remind myself we’re ALL fighting a long history of problems. The last two days I’ve mentioned a YouTube commenter who read me the riot act for counting Rumba incorrectly (according to them), and this idea applies to people like him too. Like, I want him to straighten up and fly right, but–let’s get real–that’s probably not going to happen because he’s had an entire lifetime to become who he is.
Not that people can’t change. They can. But it takes time. And they don’t do it just because I (or you) want them to.
My therapist would add, “They have to really desire it. And they have to work their ass off.”
Which reminds me of a joke my aunt told me once. How many therapists does it take to change a lightbulb?
Only one, but the lightbulb has to really WANT to change.
I keep going back to this YouTube commenter not because it’s really a big deal to me, but because it represents things that are big deals. You know how we all have things we can’t get over. Like, I live with my parents, and they do things that drive me absolutely crazy. Things I can’t stand. Things I’ll probably miss when they’re gone (but not a minute sooner). And yes, I’m sure I do things that make them go bananas too. And then we all have THE BIG THINGS. The real dramas and traumas in our lives that really are difficult to let go of–a long history of problems–but that really NEED to be let go of. Because you can’t live your life collecting problems and baggage and expect to be happy.
What can you expect, Marcus?
Misery.
So I’ll say it again and again. It’s worth your time to clean things up.
In yesterday’s selfie I apparently left my bedroom door slightly open. Well, the damndest thing, earlier when I looked at the photo (I always look at yesterday’s post before I start today’s so I know what number I’m on), I thought, Crap, my door’s open, and immediately started out of my chair to close it. Even now when I look at the photo above (I’ve included it again for your convenience), I glance up at my actual door and am amazed that it’s shut. I think, Phew, it’s closed. But then I look at the picture again and think, Wait, it’s open. This is the power of an image, whether it’s a actual photo or a memory in your head. It’s seems real but it’s not.
What is real then?
Whatever’s right here, right now. For me, it’s a chair, a laptop, and a closed door. For you, maybe it’s an open door.
The problem with images, including memories, appearing real is that we get hung up on them. We tell our friends, “Some guy on YouTube said this shitty thing to me. My parents did this. My lover did that. The door is open.” A wise person will point out that everything is in the past and there’s no use wasting your present, vital life force keeping your past–your long history of problems–alive by holding on and looking backwards instead of forwards. “Look,” they’ll say, “the door is shut.”
“But it WAS open,” you’ll insist. “And this guy really did say something shitty. And these terrible things really did happen.”
“I know, sweetheart,” they’ll reply, “and the door is shut now.”
This last week I ate three cheeseburgers, two frosty treats, a plateful of salty nachos, a number of bite-sized desserts, and an ungodly amount of peanut butter (although I guess God did make the glorious stuff). And whereas I was expecting to have gained weight since my last weigh-in eight days ago, this afternoon I discovered I’ve actually lost 1.4 pounds. This brings me to not my lowest weight since I decided to get right with the food lord a few months ago, but to almost my lowest. It’s in the top–er, bottom–three. Perhaps dancing and going to the gym last week paid off. Maybe my metabolism is improving thanks to The Brainstem Wizard. Regardless, I’m considering this a Christmas miracle.
God bless us, everyone.
Motivated to not be drastically derailed from my diet by all the easily available holiday sweets (and my willingness to put them in my mouth), I’ve spent today fasting. Whenever I post pictures on the blog I title them first, and tonight’s selfie is called “icouldeatmyownarm.” So that’s how it’s going. Alas, if I can make it several more hours I can go to bed, today’s fast will be over, and peanut butter and I can be friends again.
Because fasting tends to put me in a cranky mood (I could eat my own arm), I’ve spent the day doing non-stressful things–reading books, watching YouTube. But this evening I thought SURELY I could survive a trip to Walmart, Lowe’s, and Walgreens. You know, for just a few items–prescriptions, shampoo, and such. And whereas I went and survived, it took me five minutes to decide what kind of lightbulbs I needed for one of my lamps and ten minutes to decide what kind of rubber grippy things I needed for the bottom of our microwave. Ugh. Thinking is so hard without food. And get this shit. With respect to both the light bulbs AND the rubber grippy things, I made the WRONG decision. Which means I’ll be going back.
Thank god for returns and exchanges.
The problem with the lightbulbs is that they are BRIGHT white and not SOFT white. When I screwed them into my lamp earlier I noticed they looked different on the outside but tried to convince myself they’d still work. Try something new, I thought. But when I turned the lamp on I was like, Ick, gross, too harsh, I could never. I mean, I could if they were the last lightbulbs in the world and I absolutely had to find my way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. But as long as I’ve got the option of softer lighting, I’m going for it. I am, after all, not twenty anymore. My skin’s not as tight as it used to be.
It looks better in indirect lighting.
Along these lines, recently a friend I hadn’t seen in a while told me there was something different about me. “If I had to sum it up nicely,” they said, “you’re more comfortable in your own skin.” I replied, “Maybe that’s because with each passing year my skin is easier and easier to fit into.” But seriously, think about it. No wonder taught-skinned teenagers are so angsty. They’re physically constricted, trapped in their own flesh corsets. But–thankfully–as we age we literally loosen up. Our epidermis becomes the equivalent of sweatpants. Isn’t that nice? We get something we can relax in.
Something we can wear to Walmart.
I keep thinking about the fact that I only have so many of these blogs left (until I reach 1,000, until I reach 1,095). One of my friends is planning a small party for my upcoming milestone, and it’s honestly terrifying me (the milestone, not the party). I think, What if I get to the end and still have more to say? What if my last blog isn’t fabulous? What if it’s ordinary? Alas, more and more I realize there will always be more to say and do. We never get it done–because there’s nothing to get done. Life isn’t a to-do list; it’s an experience. Additionally, in a universe where it’s normal for comets to streak across the sky and for full-grown oaks to evolve out of acorns, there’s nothing wrong with being ordinary because what we consider ordinary is actually miraculous. We look in the mirror and pick ourselves apart–this is too loose, that is too big–and we forget.
We’re absolutely marvelous just the way we are.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
"There are a lot of benefits to being right here, right now."
Last week I wrote about my amazing experience with upper cervical care, and this afternoon I had another successful appointment with my doctor, the man I’m starting to refer to as The Brainstem Wizard. And whereas I’ll spare you all the details of my adjustment (because it honestly was a lot like last week’s except I didn’t cry as much) and the free class about upper cervical care I attended later in the evening, I will say that I’m completely sold on the process.
Apparently upper cervical doctors concentrate solely on the top one or two vertebrae (the atlas and the axis, respectively) because these bones not only support our head, but also house and protect our brainstem, which controls virtually everything else in our bodies. The idea being that an injury (like a car accident or even being YANKED out of your mother’s vagina by a full-grown OBGYN) can easily misalign your upper cervical vertebrae (they’re free-floating by design because you need to be able to turn your head), put pressure on your brainstem, and wreak havoc. Tonight The Brainstem Wizard said that from the time we’re born until the time we croak our bodies are ALWAYS ready to heal, but if our brainstem can’t properly function, we’re fighting a losing battle. Think about a water hose that’s kinked up. You’ve got to take the pressure off.
A point that was really driven home to me today was that “this is a process” and “we’re in this for longterm results.” In other words, I’m going to have ups and downs. Indeed, there will be days that I feel like crap and my job will simply be to trust that my body knows what it’s doing. “Just because you have symptoms doesn’t mean you’re not healthy,” I was told, “and just because you’re symptom-free doesn’t mean you are.”
Something I appreciate about my visit today is that I was presented with a proposal or plan. Basically the doctor suggested I come once a week for four months, every other week for three months after that, and once a month for five months after that. In other words, he asked me to commit to a year–a year of driving two hours round trip, a year of paying for visits, a year of following his protocols (which are more than reasonable in my opinion but do include severely cutting back on coffee). “Based on what you have going on and my experiences, this is how long I think it will take,” he said.
Because I’ve seen more positive results in the last week with this guy than I have in the last two years with half a dozen others, I signed on the dotted line. Hell, it took five to ten years for me to REALLY learn how to dance, and I’ve been going to therapy for almost six. A year to get my body back on track (which I really think this process can help me do) is certainly worth it. And four months, which (I think) is the time frame during which most of the results will be realized, is nothing.
To be clear, this entire ordeal is not cheap. That being said, it’s not any more expensive and is actually less expensive than many forms of chiropractic, massage, and even dancing. It’s just not covered by my insurance. But I’ve said before that everything comes with a price, and this is a point I’d really like to drive home tonight. If you want anything in your life to improve (including your health, your relationships, and your Cha Cha), you better pony up the dough. Now, by “the dough” I’m not just talking about your money. I’m also talking about your time, mental and emotional resources, and even how your life works in general. I’ve been very clear about the fact that since I started therapy a number of important relationships in my life have dissolved. This is what I mean. On one level it’s TERRIFYING for me to heal emotionally and physically because I know that means MORE confrontations, MORE being honest. For example, if The Brainstem Wizard is able to cure me of my headaches, I can never again say, “Not tonight, dear. I have a migraine.” I’ll have to tell the truth instead.
I’d rather read a book than sleep with you.
For years I’ve sung the praises of my therapist and am now singing the praises of The Brainstem Wizard, and–I don’t know–only one in a hundred people say, “I’d love their number.” Honestly, I don’t think this lack of interest is because people don’t believe my good results or don’t want them for themselves. And, yes, I’m VERY open to the idea that people know what’s best for them and are able to find answers elsewhere. At the same time, I know that for every two dozen people who tell me they ADORE Dancing with the Stars and would LOVE to take lessons, only one person will. Because anything new (including learning to dance and being healthier) is scary. Plus, as I’ve said before, changing one thing (even for the better) means changing everything.
And who wants to do that?
More and more, I do. Not because I’m gunning to have my life turned upside down, but because I’m finally figuring out that having my life turned upside down is the only way to really get anywhere, the only way to really get any peace. So this continues to be my advice. If you’re suffering, get some good help–and don’t shit yourself about whether or not something is working. If it’s been six months and you’re not improving, try something else. Just don’t give up. When you find something that does work, commit to the process. Go all in. Jump feet first. Put in your money and your time. Any investment in yourself will pay off big, I promise.
Okay, let’s just get right to it. This last weekend I felt like hell. Saturday I had a headache all day, and yesterday my neck hurt, my shoulder felt hot, and my lower back was locked up. This morning when I stumbled out of bed I felt every bit of my thirty-nine years and then some. And whereas I realize this could be read as complaining, it’s simply the truth.
These are the facts.
Whenever I feel this way (like a bag of ass), it’s extremely frustrating because despite my best efforts, not only are my physical problems continuing, they’re apparently getting worse. Month by month and year by year it seems there’s SOMETHING ELSE that’s not quite working right. Last summer my stomach started acting up. Since then, I haven’t been able to breathe as well. For a while now my ribs have felt constricted. Every time I breathe deeply, they hurt or my shoulder does. I’ve talked to multiple medical doctors, chiropractors, physical and massage therapists, and acupuncturists, but no one’s been able to help me significantly. The most recent medical doctor I asked about headaches said, “Posture has a lot to do with that.” And whereas I don’t disagree with that statement, no amount of posture correction techniques, including physical therapy exercises, yoga, pilates, stretching, bioenergectis, myofascial release, and chi kung, have changed my condition. I try and try to get my body to stand straight and “do right,” but I’m still in pain. One chiropractor–a doctor and self-professed “really smart” man–told me, “You’re an anomaly.”
He still took my money, of course.
I could go on and on about this topic and know I have in the past. Suffice it to say that it’s VERY DISHEARTENING to not only be faced with a physical challenge, but also to do everything you know to do to find an answer (talk to experts, read a ton of books, pray) and still come up with peanuts. Personally my biggest challenges have been sinus infections and headaches, and I know that they’ve often left me feeling quite hopeless. Indeed, there have been times that I’ve cried out to whoever’s listening up there for help and felt like I was totally ignored or–worse–completely unloved. Tylenol takes the edge off my headaches, but nothing takes the edge off this, the feeling like you’re all alone in the universe, that God’s left you twisting in the wind.
Recently I heard that a prayer heaven always answers is one that sounds like this. Dear God, I don’t care what it takes or how you turn my life upside down, but get me out of this pattern (of illness, of unhealthy relationships, etc.) Well, this is a bold prayer, of course, since you’re giving the gods permission to do what they want with your life, but–let’s face–they’re going to anyway. So you better bet I’ve been praying that prayer. Help, Lord, I want out.
I wish I could tell you that I’ve had unshakable faith that my prayer would be answered. And yes, I know that “no” and “not now” are valid answers from heaven. Sometimes we simply don’t get what we want. Sometimes, especially when it comes to physical problems, we don’t get relief until we die. This is something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. Will I simply have to suffer with this until I kick the bucket? If so, am I strong enough to do that? Because one day of solid pain is bearable, but day after day for decades? I can’t imagine. That’s one positive thing that’s come out of my hurting these last few years. For the rest of my life, I’ll hold increased compassion for anyone who feels like they’re up against a wall and getting nowhere. If this is you, I understand. My heart goes out to you.
Also, hold on. Your story’s not over.
One thing I say a lot is that God works in mysterious ways. Well, get this shit. Several weeks ago I posted about ANOTHER sinus problem I was having, and a friend of mine (whom I met through dance nearly twenty years ago and only this year reconnected with) said she used to be in the same boat but that something called Upper Cervical Care had helped. “I don’t remember the last time I had an infection,” she said. Well, for all my talking to experts and reading constantly, I’d never heard of upper cervical care, so I started digging around and found a doctor in Northwest Arkansas–Dr. Jackson Chism–who’s one of the three people in the state who practices it.
While reading the reviews on Dr. Chism’s Facebook page, I began to cry. (This is usually my intuition’s way of letting me know that what I’m hearing is true.) People were saying they’d suffered from headaches, migraines, and fibromyalgia for years and had seen vast improvements if not complete remission of symptoms. Hopeful, I told myself I would go by his office the next time I was in Northwest Arkansas. However, weeks went by and I didn’t stop by or call. I do this sometimes, put off trying something that could help because I’ve tried SO MANY OTHER THINGS that haven’t helped and don’t want to be disappointed AGAIN. Because–if this doesn’t work, then what?
One thing I’ve been looking into and have mentioned here before is a posture and movement correction program I heard about online. Seriously, it seems really smart, really legit, the main idea being that a lot of our posture problems are caused from the BOTTOM UP. Like, we sit all day, which shortens our hip flexors, which tilts our pelvis, which causes our back to sway, which rounds our shoulders, juts our head forward, and so on. Anyway, if I had the money, I’d be on a plane tomorrow to work with one of the trainers who promotes this program. (No one does it around here.) This is part of my frustration. Like, I don’t have the money, don’t have the resources to take care of myself.
However.
Recently I’ve been going through a series by Caroline Myss and Jim Curtan about the symbology of The Wizard of Oz, and one thing it says is that Dorothy’s dog’s name in Latin (Toto) means “everything,” the idea being that from the start of her journey until its very end, Dorothy always has EVERYTHING she needs. When she clicks her heels together three times and teleports back to Kansas, Glinda the Good Witch tells her, “You could have done this all along.” So I’ve been reconsidering the notion that I need more money or need to leave the state in order to heal. I’ve been thinking, Maybe the answer’s right here.
Getting back to upper cervical care, a couple weeks ago I finally called Dr. Chism’s office. As “luck” would have it, not only was he taking new patients, but he was also running a special–x-rays with consultations before and after for under $40. “Let’s do it,” I said.
Last Monday was my appointment. I met Dr. Chism, he explained what he does (I’ll get to that part below), then he took x-rays, saying that he never makes adjustments without knowing what he’s working on first. “It’s possible I’ll look at your x-rays and determine that I can’t help you,” he said. “If that’s the case, we’d be wasting my time and yours to go any further.” Then we scheduled my next appointment.
For this afternoon.
For the last week I’ve been cautiously optimistic. Dr. Chism explained that at the base of our skull sits something called an atlas, the first “disc” of your spinal column. Then he put his thumb and first finger together and dropped a pen down the middle. “Through your atlas runs a bundle of nerves that control most everything else in your body,” he said. “But if your atlas shifts because of a car accident or something, it can pinch those nerves and cause all sorts of problems. [This is why upper cervical care can help sinus infections, apparently, because your nervous system influences your immune system.] Additionally, that shift can cause your head to lean one way or the other, and then your body will lift a shoulder or tilt a hip in order to correct the problem.” Still, despite this explanation making sense to me, again, I felt like crap all weekend and thought, I’m probably just throwing money down the drain. I’m broken. God doesn’t care, and no one can fix me.
I actually thought that this morning on my way to a meeting. But no kidding, just as I finished whining, I turned my head and noticed one of the many inspirational yard signs that have recently sprouted up around town. “Don’t give up,” it said. Then, when I arrived at Dr. Chism’s this afternoon, the lyrics of the first song that came on when I sat down in the waiting room said, “Don’t you give up on a miracle. You gotta speak to the impossible.” And whereas I’m normally turned off by offices that play “churchy” music, I took this as a direct encouragement from above.
Hold on. Your story’s not over.
The first thing Dr. Chism did with me today was go over my x-rays, which are just below. On the left you can see where the vertebrae in my neck are. The red curve, Dr. Chism explained, is where they’re supposed to be. “Ideally the top vertebrae is over the bottom one, and the ones in between curve like a banana,” he said. “Yours is straight as a board.” I said, “It feels stiff as a board.”
Other doctors have pointed out the fact that my vertebrae show signs of deterioration and bone spur calcification, but no one else has adequately explained why. “If your discs were deteriorating because of age [which other doctors have said], they’d all look the same because they’re the same age,” Dr. Chism said. “But some of yours are better than others.” Then he explained that my discs were showing signs of wear because my head is forward of my body, and my structure is trying desperately to support itself. “For every inch your head is forward, it adds ten pounds. So a ten pound head becomes a twenty or thirty pound one,” he said. “That’s why your body’s laying down new bone, in order to shore itself up.” Then he pointed to the base of my skull (where I experience the worst of my headaches) and said, “One consequence of all this is that these muscles will always be tight.”
Check.
Next we talked about my atlas, the vertebrae that’s the focus of upper cervical care. Apparently the ideal situation is for the atlas to be titled at 8 to 10 degrees, but Dr. Chism said mine was at 3.4. “The problem is that this pinches nerves and–worse–cuts off blood supply to the brain. So you might feet tired all the time [check] or begin to experience neurological symptoms [check: tremors].” We talked about the BOTTOM UP theory, but Dr. Chism said, “For you, I can definitely say the problem is TOP DOWN. Your body cares more about getting blood to your brain than it does about whether or not your hip flexors are short.”
When I asked WHY most of my issues show up on the right side of my body, Dr. Chism directed me the right x-ray, in which you can see a definite “kink” in my neck. My reaction to this and our ENTIRE conversation was consistent tears. It was like my body was confirming, “What this man’s saying is true. THIS is what we’ve been living with for years, for decades.”
“The good news,” Dr. Chism said, “is that THIS is what I do. You’ve got a lot going on, but it hasn’t progressed to the point where it’s irreversible [as would be the case if my bone spurs had actually FUSED my vertebrae together].” Then he asked if I WANTED a treatment today, and I said YES, HELL, YES. From there he walked me through getting on my knees, lying my head turned one way on a small table (about the height of an ottoman), and relaxing as much as possible. Then he felt for my atlas, placed one hand karate-chop style along the base of my skull, and with the other (I think) applied swift pressure. Inside, I heard what sounded like the cracking of a large walnut.
“I heard that,” Dr. Chism said. “They probably heard it next door.”
Y’all, that was it. Five seconds and it was over. When I got up (slowly), I was a little dizzy, and Dr. Chism walked me to another waiting room where I lay down with my head and knees supported for about 25 minutes. “Your body and nervous system need time to adjust to what just happened,” he said. Well, adjust they did. For the first–I don’t know–five to ten minutes, I cried. Then I laughed a lot. The entire time I could feel my head, neck, shoulders, hips, and legs shifting ever so slightly, tightening up, then relaxing. When Dr. Chism came back, my hands were tingling. “All of that’s normal,” he said. “It’s just your system changing.”
When I first arrived at Dr. Chism’s today, he used a particular tool to measure–I think–how the nervous system in my neck responds. I’m still not super clear on what this tool does. What I do know is that when I got there today, the graph this tool produced looked like a YELLOW S. “We want that line to be straight,” said Dr. Chism. “That’s what we’re working toward.” Well, after my adjustment and “sink in” period, my line was still curved but much straighter, as indicated by the TEAL LINE below. “It’s almost perfect,” Dr. Chism said. “For the first treatment, it’s awesome. You’re going to do really well.”
Before I left, Dr. Chism said, “If you wake up feeling awful again tomorrow, don’t be discouraged. This isn’t a one-and-done thing, and it’s going to take time to get you where we want you. [My thought: That’s okay. You don’t learn to cha cha in a day either.] Also, if you wake up feeling fabulous tomorrow, don’t get too excited. This is A PROCESS. Either way, you might be sore because as your body makes corrections, it’ll be using muscles it’s not used to using.” Then he gave me a dos-and-don’ts pamphlet, his staff took my payment and made me an appointment for next week, and I went on my merry way.
This evening I’ve continued to feel slight changes in my body, something Dr. Chism said could happen over the next two days. And whereas I’m still aware of tightness here and pain there, overall things are MUCH looser and mobile than they’ve been in a long time. Y’all, I’ve been cracked, whipped around, poked, prodded, needled, cupped, electrically stimulated, medicated, and colon cleansed. I’ve spent thousands of dollars trying to feel better and–time and time again–been frustrated. (To be clear, some things have helped, albeit not solved, my problems.) But then today happened. As I sit here now my shoulders aren’t as tight, my rib cage doesn’t hurt as much, and it’s easier to sit and stand up straight.
And here’s something–I’m happier.
As one of my chiropractors often says, things can turn on a dime.
Y’all, I realize I almost never discuss my healthcare providers by name but have gone on and on about Dr. Chism. This is simply because I am so very grateful for having met him. I don’t think it happened by accident. I also realize this is a VERY long post, one of my longest. Alas, this is a BIG subject for me both physically and emotionally, and it has a LONG history. I also want others to be as clear as possible about the process should they choose to explore upper cervical care for themselves. (It’s recommended for headaches, migraines, IBS, acid reflux, fibromyalgia, asthma, arthritis, and chronic fatigue, among other things). Still, if you skimmed down to the last paragraph, I don’t blame you. The main thing I want you to know is that more and more I believe 1) there’s always hope, 2) there’s always help, and 3) even though it may not seem like it at times, heaven is listening. We’re not in this alone. God works in mysterious ways. (Along these lines, sometimes not having enough money to do the things you want to do–and think would help you–IS an answer to prayer.) So don’t you give up. Whatever you’re going through, hold on.
Your story’s not over.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
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If anything is ever going to change for the better, the truth has to come first.
Last week, from Sunday evening until Tuesday at noon, I fasted for forty consecutive hours, and since it went so well (I lost 4.2 pounds and reached my lowest weight since I don’t know when), I’m doing it again. Last night at eight I stopped eating, and I haven’t eaten all day today. And whereas I’ve been hungry, only water and green tea have passed my lips. Granted, I’ve been tempted. This afternoon my aunt offered me a bowl of chili, and I almost dove headfirst into the pot. But, having seen good results with what I’ve done thus far (I’ve lost a total of eleven pounds as of this morning), I’m too motivated to continue to quit.
This last week, honestly, I probably ate “worse” than I have since I started my one-year-to-forty health plan seven weeks ago. For example, this weekend was full of carbs–I inhaled tacos, pasta, a huge cheeseburger and fries, AND pancakes (with peanut butter, butter, and syrup). Crap, I shouldn’t have mentioned that. Now I’m starving. Anyway, despite my indulgences, when I weighed this morning I was still down 3.8 pounds from a week ago and only up .4 pounds from my lowest (after last week’s fast). I assume this is because my body’s metabolism is changing and also because whenever I indulged I made my next meal a light snack. Saint Augustine said, “Love, and do what you will.” I say, “Find balance, and eat what you will.”
But seriously, pancakes with peanut butter.
This afternoon I saw my chiropractor who works with emotions and their physical manifestation, and we dove into an issue that used to plague me quite a bit but hasn’t plagued me in a while–hives. During our conversation, my chiropractor asked how having hives made me feel. Panicked, out of control, I thought. (In his method, you don’t have to verbalize your answers). Then he asked me to go back to the first time I felt that way. Thinking of a time when I was about five or six, I said, “Got it.” Then he said, “If you could have felt any other way [besides panicked or out of control], what would that have been?”
“The word that keeps coming to mind is confident,” I said.
Well, me must have hit on something true because when I left my chiropractor’s office and climbed in my car, I began repeating to myself out loud, I am confident, and ended up crying. So often I think my entire intuitive and healing system is broken, but moments like this one remind me that it’s not. Likewise, the fact that I can stick to a dietary plan and lose weight reminds me that I am not the exception to the rules of health and healing. My body (inside and out) was made to work.
Getting back to the idea of confidence, this is what I’m talking about. Sometimes when you’ve faced one disappointment after another, you start to question whether you’ve got what it takes to get by in this world. You start to think that relationships, success, and healing are for everyone else but not for you. But the truth is anything can happen to any of us. We all have our challenges. We all have our triumphs. Things can turn–either way–on a dime. More and more I believe we all have “the stuff” to handle whatever comes our way.
Something else I’ve been thinking about today centers around the idea of reaching your goals. For example, seven weeks ago I set a goal to lose ten to fifteen pounds, and–technically–I’m there. Now, this doesn’t mean I’m finished eating well and fasting once a week, since my original goal was to maintain a certain weight and size and–also–work out consistently for a year and see what happens. God knows I’ve seen what happens when I DON’T eat well and exercise. But my point is that part of me is never satisfied. I lose ten pounds and instead of celebrating I immediately think it needs to be twenty, which simply isn’t reasonable for me. Thus, nothing is ever good enough. I’m never good enough.
My therapist says that getting what you want is scary, that her office is full of people who say they want a different body or better relationship, and as soon as they come close to actually getting one, find a way to sabotage it. They binge on a bucket of ice cream. They flake out our cheat on Mr. or Miss Right. They shoot themselves in the foot. In effect, they prove to themselves that what they want doesn’t exist or is beyond their reach. This has been true in my experience. I’m so used to struggling (in terms of healing, for example), it’s easier to think my goals are unattainable than to think they are attainable and NOT reach them.
Thankfully, this attitude is changing for me. In terms of my body, I’m believing more and more that “this is good enough,” that I don’t have to be the perfect weight, have the perfect cholesterol. There’s no such thing. There’s simply how you are right here, right now, and are you going to love yourself or not? Over two and a half years ago I set out on a journey to blog every day for a year. Well, I did it, and my goal became to blog every day for two years, which I also did. Now the current goal is to blog every day for three years, and I’m telling myself that’s gotta be it–not matter what else I have to say, no matter how many people have or haven’t read it, no matter whether or not the project seems successful to myself or others. At some point, you stop struggling. You give it up. You surrender. After you’ve done all you can do, you let go of the results.
Whatever the results are, they’re enough. You’re enough.
Sunday evening I started a forty-hour fast that I broke today. Yesterday, Monday, I weighed myself. It wasn’t pretty. I was up 1.6 pounds for the week, a total gain of 2.6 pounds from my lowest point two weeks ago. But then I weighed again today, Tuesday, just before I ended my fast. Y’all, in twenty-four hours I lost 4.2 pounds! This means I’ve lost a total of 11.6 pounds in the last six weeks and am currently at my lowest weight since–I don’t know–over a year ago. (Insert my elastic pants breathing a collective sigh of relief here.) I can’t tell you how thrilled I am. I’m five pounds away from skinny-bitch size and ten pounds away from twink size. That being said, if I lose any more body fat, I’m going to have to invest in some flannel underwear for the winter.
This is the essence of balance–skinny bitches and twinks may thrive in the sun, but they shiver in the snow.
Getting back to my forty-hour fast, it was fine. Sure, I got hungry, but never more than I get on a regular basis. The hunger just lasted longer. And whereas I probably went a smidge overboard at breakfast this afternoon (I ate at 12:30), my body handled it well. Sort of. You know that noise an old car makes when you’re trying to start it for the first time in a year–chugga, chugga, splat, hiss, roar? That’s what my stomach sounded like fifteen minutes after breakfast. But that was it. This afternoon I had a light snack (nuts and an apple) and this evening I had a bowl of chicken fried rice and an egg roll, no problem.
After breakfast I exercised at home (part of my routine is pictured above) and listened to a lecture by Alan Watts about the difference between work and play. Watts says it’s mostly a mindset, that he’s seen shoe shiners and bus drivers having an absolute ball by essentially turning their work into a dance. This analogy, of course, made sense to me (because I’m a dancer), the idea that there’s a way to move through any job or task with rhythm and energy. I’ve been trying to do this all day. While doing handyman work, I danced with my tools. While folding laundry, I danced with my pants and socks. Now I’m dancing with my keyboard. Mary Poppins said, “In every job that must be done, there is an element of fun. You find the fun and–snap!–the job’s a game.” Same idea.
I really like this notion of treating whatever you’re doing as a dance, of turning your work into a game. This evening I installed a grab bar in my parents’ shower, and it really was a hoot. For one thing, it was like a mystery–Where can I find a stud (but seriously, where?), Is this gong to work out? In this sense, my working in my parents’ shower was a mini version of my entire life, me wondering what’s going to happen next, if everything is going to come together. And whereas I can’t speak for the future, so far everything HAS come together–including tonight’s shower project–so I’m betting whatever’s left will too.
Watts says there are four fundamental philosophical questions–Who started it?, Are we gonna make it?, Where are we gonna put it?, and Who’s gonna clean up? These questions, he says, beg a fifth question–Is it serious? Well, if you’re familiar with Watts’s work, you’ll know he’d answer no, whatever it is isn’t serious. It won’t matter in a hundred years. What’s more, life is a dance, life is a game. This viewpoint makes the biggest difference. Normally when I diet and exercise I put all this pressure on myself. Like I’m going to hell if I don’t succeed in lowering my cholesterol. But this time around I’ve been more lighthearted about it, like, I’m just going to play around with this and see what happens. You can do this with anything–your finances, your relationships, your job. Don’t make changes because you HAVE TO, because you MUST, but rather because you can, because you WANT to, because it’s fun.
Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)
"We all have inner wisdom. We all have true north."
WTF? I’ve been tired all day. This morning I woke up at ten, then went back to sleep until noon. Then I ate breakfast, read a book, and took a two hour nap until four-thirty. Now it’s 10:15, and I’m about to fall out of the chair I’m sitting in. Seriously, I don’t know what the deal is. I can barely keep my eyes open. I hope I’m not dying. That would suck. I’m sure I’m not. Don’t send flowers just yet. Other than being tired, I feel fine. Exhausted, worn out, and run down (and as long as I’m being honest, irritated about it all), but fine.
Recently I heard Caroline Myss say that the thing we all have in common is that life isn’t working out for us like we want it to. Ain’t that the truth, Ruth? Take today, for example. I’d wanted to read more and exercise (I’m trying to get in shape here), but my body said no. This is mostly why I’m irritated. Because I had plans but haven’t been able to do them. Currently I’m house sitting and have some chores to do, but–quite frankly–I’m not sure they’re going to happen. Unless, of course, one of the chores is “snore.”
Lately I’ve been exploring the idea of slowing down and being okay with it, and clearly I’ve still got some work to do. That is, I’m fine with slowing down in theory, but slowing down in practice is more difficult. At least for more than half an hour. I suppose this is because I get such a good feeling when I’m being productive and, thus, my self-esteem is tied up in my being busy. I don’t feel worthless when I’m lying around, but I do feel worth less. Granted, there’s nothing wrong with accomplishing things, but there’s also nothing wrong with not accomplishing things. Especially when “not accomplishing things” means taking care of your body and soul.
Several times since I started therapy, my therapist has had to postpone or cancel my appointments due to her being sick or a family member being sick. Once she had to take off for a number of weeks. “I can’t be present with myself and my loved ones and still be present with my clients,” she explained, “so I need some time off. I preach self-care to others, and I intend to practice what I preach.” I’ve been thinking a lot about this. I run a blog about self-care, and although I think I do well with the mental aspect of health, I don’t do so well with the physical. Whenever my body asks me to rest, I usually say, “Okay, but let me get some work done first.” No wonder my body occasionally slams on the brakes.
As I see it, my body being tired is an opportunity for me to practice what I’ve been preaching lately–slowing down and being okay with it. I imagine I’ll gain a hundred pounds if I don’t exercise today, but the truth is I won’t and there will be plenty of time for exercising later. I imagine I have to get all my chores done tonight, but the truth is I have all weekend. Or even next week if I need it. One of the things I need to do is mow the lawn, but because it’s been raining nonstop for two days I couldn’t mow the lawn even if I felt like it. I’ve said a number of times that “things happen when they happen” and that I believe in divine timing, so now’s my chance to act like it. Life isn’t complicated. How do I know I need to rest now? I’m tired.
