On Bracing, Letting Go, and Being Free (Blog #1058)

In (what seems to be) my never ending search for healing and wholeness, last summer I found out about a somewhat local physical therapist who facilitates myofascial release, fascia being the connective tissue that touches and, well, connects everything in our bodies. (Even our spit is made of fascia.) And whereas I spoke to her and began making plans to see her, things came to a halt when I found out my insurance wouldn’t help with the cost. Not because the treatment wasn’t covered under my plan (it was and is), but because I’d run out of physical therapy visits for the year.

Thanks, knee surgery.

All this to say that now that it’s the new year and that I’ve seen my primary care physician and he’s sent in a referral for treatment, I finally got scheduled to see my–hum, what shall I call her?–myofascial release wizard (MFRW) today. Ugh. Sometimes things just take a while to fall into place. That’s okay, I thought on the drive there this morning. Maybe my body will be more receptive today than it would have been six months ago.

After an initial interview about my problems, complaints, and posture, my MFRW had me lie on her table, placed her hands on my hips, and began gently pushing on my psoas. “Fascia responds to low, consistent pressure,” she said, “so I’m just going to keep pushing for three to five minutes.” Well, sure enough, after a few minutes I felt things begin to melt, shift, and move about: across my hips, my lower back, my legs, and even my ribs. “Everything’s connected,” she said, “so one part can affect the whole. Just like a sweater is woven together, so are you woven together. What’s more, every person’s WEAVE is different, so no two people get bound up or let go in the same way.”

Letting go, I thought, that would be nice. And whereas part of me did, the entire time there was another part of me that kept wanting to tense against the release, to brace for–I don’t know–the other shoe to drop. Ugh. This has been my mostly unconscious but sometimes conscious habit for years. To tighten, to constrict, to hide, to protect. Alas, after decades of this, it’s become intolerable. My head aches. My shoulder hurts. My hips, move movements have become so–inflexible.

Which makes it hard, of course, to live.

After working on my hips and midsection, my MFRW steadily rocked me back and forth, a movement called rebounding. The idea is that our bodies are largely made up of water, and just as the waves of the ocean can break apart a child’s sandcastle, so too can the water in our bodies break up our stiffened fascia. “Notice what parts flow,” she said, “and what parts feel solid like coral reef.”

“That’s easy,” I said, “my hips feel like coral reef.”

Next she moved my head and shoulders (my actual head and shoulders, not my dandruff shampoo), where she compared myofascial release to everyone’s favorite food. “You can eat a frozen pizza,” she said, “but it won’t really taste good unless you first put it in the oven and get that melty, runny cheese. That’s what we want from your fascia, for it to really let go.” What’s great is that it did. As she pressed her hands down on my shoulders, I could feel my fascia release all the way down to my (hurting) shoulder, my lower back, and even my shins. Trippy, I know, but everything’s connected.

And get this shit. When she worked on my neck, the area that’s responsible for my headaches and that I’ve tried a hundred ways to force to relax, she held out a tuning fork and said, “May I?”

“Sure,” I said. “I’m up for anything.”

Well, she tapped the tuning fork, and it began to vibrate. Then she held it against my neck, and things began to relax, to break up. Just like that. At the same time, I began to cry. “Sometimes emotions get stuck in our bodies,” she said. Go figure. All these things I’ve tried, all this pressure I’ve put on myself to heal, and yet this simple, small vibration cracked me open in a second.

Healing can happen in the blink of an eye.

Later I told my MFRW that for years I’ve carried an image in my head of a yoga instructor I once met whose hips looked so mobile, so free. “I used to be envious of him, like that could never be me,” I said, “but now I think I remember him because he’s an example of what’s possible.” I paused. “That’s what I want, that kind of freedom in my body.”

“What was the last time you felt that?” she said.

More crying. “Oh gosh,” I said. “Not since I was child.”

“So that’s your homework,” she said. “Remember when you felt that free. Remember what it looked like, felt like, sounded like, tasted like.” Additionally, I have two different stretches to do. Nothing forceful, just gentle, sustained pressure. “Wait for your body to let go,” she said. “Don’t force anything.” Lastly, I’m supposed to jiggle. (This should should be easy enough thanks to the chocolate cake I had last night.) jiggling being standing on both legs and just lightly bouncing around and, at the same time, bending over, leaning back. “If you feel something tense,” she said, “let the movement break it up.”

I can’t wait to try.

Now, did everything get fixed in one session? Of course not. Our problems aren’t created overnight, and they don’t go away overnight. So I go back next week. But I already feel looser in my body, I guess because we “took pressure out of the system.” This is a good thing. What’s even better is that I’m highly encouraged, both by my the treatment and my MFRW. And even more by my body. After the treatment I lay in a vibrating recliner (for more jiggling/rebounding), and I felt like it was saying, “Your mind may not remember what it was like to be free, but we do. We absolutely know what that felt like. And, sweetheart, we’re willing to go back there. We WANT to go back there. So just trust us. Let go and trust us. Trust yourself. Stop bracing. The worse is over.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Getting comfortable in your own skin takes time.

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On the Law of the Harvest (Blog #822)

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

The above poem is part of A Psalm of Life by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (a long-named fellow). I memorized it in high school because my English teacher was a Nazi about her students memorizing poems. We’d start every class by reciting them. One line, two lines, one paragraph at a time. Each day or week we’d add on until our entire class had an entire poem memorized. Then it was on to another. Anyway, this particular poem has been on my mind the last few days because I heard someone on a podcast mention it and looked it back up. Sure enough, after just one reading, my mind remembered the whole thing.

Thank you, Mrs. Shipman.

In yesterday’s blog I said I wasn’t feeling great. Well, damn it, I woke up today with a sinus infection. So after breakfast I went hunting for kimchi, since it contains a bacteria (if you’re lucky enough to get a recently-made batch) that’s helped me a number of times in the past . Anyway, we’ll see what happens. If things don’t improve within the next two days, I’ll know I need to go a different route.

Recently I read a book about how to cure, or at least dramatically improve, essential tremors, an inherited condition I, well, inherited and basically amounts to involuntary shaking. My dad’s case is pretty bad–sometimes he can’t hold a cup of coffee–but my case isn’t as severe. Still, I don’t want it to get worse, so I’m trying to learn about its causes and treatments. Back to the book, the author suggests cutting out or drastically cutting back on–coffee, alcohol, liquids stored in plastic containers (like bottled water or milk), and all products containing heavy metals like aluminum (for example, most frying pans, soda cans, and deodorants). And whereas I’ve been thinking about attempting this plan, I haven’t quite been ready to bite the bullet because–in a word–coffee.

Y’all, I gave up coffee after my knee surgery last December for a few months. It wasn’t terrible. I drank a lot of tea. Still, I fundamentally enjoy coffee, so I let it creep back in. By creep I mean that I at first had a couple cups a week, and for the last three months I’ve had–on average–a pot a day. By myself. This, of course, doesn’t help the shaking, nor does it help my sleep patterns. Oh well. I’m not a perfect person.

All this (and I know it’s a lot) to say that when I woke up with a sinus infection today I thought, Let’s give up coffee! Because coffee doesn’t sound good when I’m sick, and if I’m going to go through caffeine withdrawals, I might as well do it when I’m already sick. You know, just suck it up and be one miserable-ass sonofabitch (nothing personal, Mom), which I’m quite sure is what I have been all day today. This afternoon my family had a cookout, and I don’t think I said three words to anybody. Still, this was authentic for me. I felt cranky. I acted cranky. To minimize the fallout, I kept to myself.

After the cookout, I took a nap. That helped. Then I painted a friend’s cabinets for a couple hours, long enough to apply one full coat over the already applied primer. Alas, I’m sure another coat will be needed. Now I’m blogging and doing laundry. Just before I sat down to write, I moved my clothes from the washer to the dryer and hung my shirts to air-dry on hangers. Whenever I don’t feel well (or am going through caffeine withdrawals, or both), I feel generally overwhelmed, so I keep thinking about all the projects I’ve started I haven’t finished–books I’m in the middle of, weight I haven’t lost. I’ve especially been worrying about the short story I started that I’ve yet to complete for the writing class I’m taking and is technically due this Tuesday. Seriously, it may not happen.

Who wants to write when you’re sick?

The line from Longfellow’s poem that’s been stuck in my head is “learn to labor and to wait.” In my experience, the waiting is the hard part. For example, with my sinus infection, there are certain actions I can take, but ultimately I have to give my body time to (hopefully) rebalance itself. With my essential tremors, the lifestyle changes may help, but nothing’s going to happen over night. Like painting cabinets, washing clothes, reading a book, or writing a short story (did I give enough examples?), everything is a process. Poems are memorized one line at a time. And whereas I wish almost everything happened at a faster pace, I’m learning to trust that if one is willing to both labor and wait, the desired results will come. This is the law of the harvest. You reap what you sow.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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It’s not where you are, it’s whom you are there with.

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Paix et Travail (Blog #818)

Six months ago today I had knee surgery to repair my ACL. And whereas I still have progress to make–things aren’t perfect yet–I’ve technically reached all my milestones and hit the “all clear” point. As of now I can jump, spin, dance, and swim. Wow. Talk about the end of a long journey. Again, there’s still work to do. This morning I walked down a steep driveway, and my left leg felt a bit wobbly. My surgeon says it will take a full year to regain my strength. But I don’t have to limit my activities anymore. Now–supposedly–my new ACL is getting good enough blood flow to be considered “healed.”

To celebrate, this afternoon I ate a cheeseburger (and fries) and went shopping. There’s a shelf in my bathroom that has an empty spot on it (oh no!), and although I rarely shop for knickknacks (at least since I had my estate sale and became a minimalist over two years ago), I thought, Maybe I can find something to put on that shelf. And whereas I didn’t find anything for my bathroom, I did end up buying a medium-sized statue for my room at a local antique store. Basically the statue is a hot (shirtless) dude holding a flag. I’d admired him a number of times over the years, but–alas–he cost more than I wanted to spend. However (thankfully?), he was much more affordable today because at some point he’d been damaged. Like, now he’s missing a finger and part of his flag pole (and yes, I mean that literally). Oh well, I thought, I had knee surgery six months ago. I understand not being perfect.

I can’t tell you how exciting getting the statue was. For one thing, I’d completely forgotten about him, so it was like a surprise. Oh yeah, I like him! For another thing, the shop owner gave me a discount off the (already less than it used to be) sticker price. Knowing there would be some savings because they had a sale going on, I said, “Oh, that’s even better than I was hoping for.” Seriously, I almost squealed. On top of all this, I had the best time talking to the shop owner, who chatted with me for over thirty minutes about some of the pieces in the store and how she got started in the business in the first place. “The banker tried to convince me that a shop like this would never make it,” she said. “That was thirty-six years ago, and we’re still standing.”

Thinking about my knee and my anything-but-perfect life, I thought, Me too, lady. Me too.

This evening I spent over an hour shuffling things in my room in order to accommodate the statue. You know how moving one thing means moving everything. No kidding, over seventy-five percent of the books and other items I had on the piece of furniture where the statue is now got rearranged. This, I think, is why people are afraid of change (in their lives, not on their shelves). Because everyone, deep down, understands that you can’t change one thing without changing it all. The example I often use is that if you develop even one ounce of self-esteem (Oh yeah, I like me!)–watch out–every relationship in your life is about to be turned upside down. Said another way, when you change the way you see yourself, you change the way you see–and interact with–the entire world.

Moving one thing means moving everything.

You can’t change one thing without changing it all.

The statue I purchased this afternoon was originally sculpted by Charles Perron and is entitled “Paix et Travail,” which is French for “peace and work.” I didn’t realize this about the title when I bought the statue, but I think it’s one of those cool universe things, since my goal here (in therapy, on this blog, and in life) is more inner peace, and I often talk about doing The Hard Work. For me, the two go hand in hand. That is, if you want real peace in your life, there’s a lot of damn effort involved. It means looking at and cleaning up your past, owning your shit, having difficult conversations, and being willing for everything in both your interior and external worlds to change. Conversely, a certain amount of inner peace, or at least inner stability, is a prerequisite for doing The Hard Work because–again–it completely shuffles your deck and cuts it in half, and you’ve got to be centered enough to say, “Even if my entire world falls apart, I’m not going to. Instead, I’m going to come together.”

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We are all connected in a great mystery and made of the same strong stuff.

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On Swerving (Blog #733)

It’s five-thirty in the evening, and I’m house sitting/dog sitting for a friend who lives slightly off the beaten path. It’s gorgeous here–quiet, peaceful. When I arrived over an hour ago, I was still in GO mode. I thought, I need to DO something, so I unpacked, made sure I knew where to find the dog food. But then I thought, Shit, I’m free. I can relax. So I turned on my music, poured a cup of hot tea, and moved my ass to the front porch. Thats’ where I am now. The sun is going down. There’s a slight breeze. There’s less tension than before.

This morning I saw my therapist. She’s just about the only person I’d wake up before noon for. To start our session, I read her blog #730, which I wrote this last Saturday and was the final blog for year number two of Me and My Therapist. In short, it’s about my beginning to own my strengths, give myself credit, and go easier on myself. My therapist acknowledged my progress. “It’s like your learning to ride a bike,” she said. “You’re up for sure, just swerving a little, finding your balance.” Yes, finding my balance.

I can do this.

This afternoon I saw my physical therapist. I use that as a generic term, since there are several therapists who work together in the office I go to, and they all switch off. It’s like tag-team healing. Anyway, today I got a new girl, an intern. I guess she’s currently in physical therapy school and will graduate next month. And whereas I’ve been impressed with the other therapists I’ve worked with since having knee surgery last December, I was completely impressed with her. Y’all, she was a total hard ass, constantly correcting my form and making me do things the correct way. “I’m picky,” she said, half apologizing. (Sorry, not sorry.) “It’s okay,” I said, thinking of how absolutely picky I can be with my dance students. “I need to do this right, so I can do what I want to do later.”

One of the things she corrected was how I both climb and descend stairs using my left leg (the injured one). As it turns out, in both cases, I was using my right leg A LOT to compensate without realizing it. This, of course, has been creating imbalances and keeping my left leg weak. No more of that. “I’d rather you not use that leg when going up or down stairs than use it and do it wrong,” she said. So now I have homework, which includes some new stretches to loosen up my quads and an exercise where I have to get myself out of a chair using only mostly my left leg (without pushing with my right leg or my arms–much). You should see me try this.

It’s that swerving thing again.

Honestly, despite the fact that I’m glad this girl was picky, this news about my doing things wrong for the last three months was frustrating. Why didn’t someone tell me sooner? My therapist says, unfortunately, a lot of people “phone it in” at work. Maybe they got lazy. Or maybe they didn’t have the knowledge. But you’d think they should have the knowledge, considering what they charge. What the hell ever, at least I know now. We press on.

The visible mirrors the invisible.

It seems that in both my internal and external lives, I’m serving, working to find balance. Funny how the visible mirrors the invisible. I imagine this is often the case, that our bodies and even the entire universe conspire to heal us, to keep us from swerving all over the road of life and find that sweet, steady, balanced spot that feels like home. And perhaps swerving and even falling down now and then are necessary. After all, life’s road is anything but smooth. We’re bound to hit some bumps along the way. And surely these bumps create contrast and remind us that we can rebuild ourselves, that we can fall down and stand back up again stronger, freer.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Whereas I've always pictured patience as a sweet, smiling, long-haired lady in a white dress, I'm coming to see her as a frumpy, worn-out old broad with three chins. You know--sturdy--someone who's been through the ringer and lived to tell about it.

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Boys, Frosting, Food, and Clothing (Blog #705)

Today has been fabulous and makes me glad to be alive. I can’t say why it’s been fabulous exactly, but I’ll try. This morning I woke up early, like eight-thirty, and began the day in quiet and solitude. This suites my personality, a slow, hushed start and a healthy breakfast. The menu today: scrambled eggs with turkey, spinach, and green onions; a side of pineapple; and hot lungwort tea. Lungwort’s supposed to be good for your lungs and decreasing mucus. Personally, I just like the way it sounds–lungwort. It’s so–medieval. I feel like a wizard every time I say it.

The reason I got up early was to see my therapists. Yes, I have more than one. It takes a village. First I saw my mental health therapist, the one this blog is named in honor of, my shrink. A few months ago I had a dream about a giant snake in a swamp, and recently I had another dream about a giant snake on land. The second snake tried to bite me, and I was terrified but ended up controlling it. When I told my therapist about these dreams, she said, “What do you think of snakes?” I said, “I think they’re strong and powerful.” Then she said, “Then that’s you. You’re the snake–you’re strong and powerful,” which made me want to cry. Weird how we don’t want to recognize our own best qualities, how we’re afraid of ourselves.

My therapist and I also talked about my future. I’ve been thinking lately I should get into an additional writing routine, force myself into a chair and bang my head against the table until a book falls out. My therapist, however, suggested that I don’t do anything until we talk again. “Reduce yourself,” she said. “Give yourself a break.” Then she added, “In the meantime, think about boys, frosting, food, and clothing.” So that’s what I did the rest of the day. First I ate a cream cheese bagel, then (after physical therapy) went shopping for clothes. And whereas I didn’t buy anything, I had a wonderful time looking. Well wait, I bought a new tape measure at the hardware store because my old tape measure broke recently. Anyway, the point is that I did NOT think about my future, even while I was eating a brownie tonight.

I’d like to emphasize I only ate the brownie because, well, doctor’s order’s, and I try to be a good patient.

At physical therapy, I got to jog (on a treadmill) for the first time since my knee injury and subsequent surgery. Well, okay, it was more like a fast walk (3.3 miles per hour), but it mimicked a jog. My physical therapist said this was the point, to simply get the motion. “It feels awkward,” I said. “That’s normal,” he said. Likewise, when I said that the hardest exercise I do is lowering myself down onto a step, he said, “That’s the last thing to come back. It just takes time.” Still, despite this fact, I see a lot of progress. Today I broke a sweat balancing on a Bosu ball, but the balancing was easier than two weeks ago; I didn’t have to use the bar in front of me to keep from falling over.

And did I mention I’m jogging!

While driving around today, I listened to a podcast about willpower. The speaker, Kate Galliett, said that willpower is depleted 1) by our feeling overwhelmed and 2) by our making a lot of decisions. That is, if you have to make a hundred choices at work during the day, in the evening you’re probably not going to have the mental reserves required for eating broccoli instead of cake, unless broccoli is already a habit for you. If it’s not, you’ll say, “Fuck it, I’m too tired” and reach for the red velvet. What I found most interesting, however, was that Kate said ANY decision you make depletes your willpower–including what statuses to like or not like on social media. Or what clothes you’re going to wear every day. This is why Steve Jobs had a uniform (or why you might want to set out your clothes the night before). Think about it–if you can only make so many decisions each day, why not save them for what’s important–your job, your health, your relationships.

Not necessarily in that order.

Honestly, I’m not sure why my therapist wanted me to “reduce myself” for a bit in terms of my writing routine and rather think about boys, frosting, food, and clothing. But my guess is that she knows I tend to wear myself out and thinks it would be wise to first sit down and get clear about what’s really important and what I want to accomplish. Because I do use my willpower a lot–to write this blog every day, to rehab my knee, to read a hundred books, to do half a dozen things I don’t always talk about here. And the podcast I listened to was right–willpower is a limited resource. Granted, it can replenish itself, but not if you keep pushing, pushing, pushing. At some point, you’ve got to chill out. You’ve got to give yourself a break.

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?”

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On Getting What’s Inside, Out (Blog #691)

It’s 9:20 in the evening, and I suddenly find myself frustrated. I took the above picture about an hour ago and tried using a photo editing app to caption it, “This is watermelon juice, but I wish it were a Bloody Mary,” but I couldn’t get it to work. Damn technology. Damn watermelon juice that’s not a Bloody Mary.

This afternoon I saw my massage therapist, and she said something I frequently say–“I hate winter.” And whereas I tried to be positive by pointing out we only have four more weeks until the first day of spring, I really am over all this dark, cold, and wet business. (I could feel differently about winter once allergy season kicks in.) My massage therapist said it seems like everyone is irritable this time of year. No kidding. Later I went to a coffee shop to read a book by their fireplace, and I nearly threw my man bag across the room at a kid who was witnessing to another kid about Jesus. Not that I have anything against Jesus. It’s just he was talking about him so loudly, it was difficult for me to concentrate.

Like, Do you have to shout? Even the baristas in the back know you’re a sinner.

Maybe it is the winter that’s making me irritable. Maybe it’s my recent knee surgery. Regardless, I’ve been stir crazy lately, just wanting to move. And whereas I can walk and even ride a stationary bike, I still can’t get out and jog, still can’t dance, still can’t break a sweat. I guess that’s it–I can’t do everything I normally do to blow off steam and work out my emotions. Sure, I’ve got this blog. I can say I’M PISSED in all capital letters, but it’s not the same as pounding the pavement, not the same as physically expressing all the little frustrations and irritations that build up day after day after day.

Last night I listened to a podcast with Rob Bell and his guest Nate Staniforth. Nate’s a magician, and last year I blogged about his glorious memoir, Here Is Real Magic. Anyway, in the podcast Nate said it took him four years to write his memoir, and one of the positive things about the project is that it gave him another outlet. That is, previously he’d been funneling the majority of his creativity and emotions into magic, and that’s limiting, just having one thing. That’s my point–we all need multiple ways to express ourselves. Lately I’ve been using my car horn when someone ticks me off in traffic or cuts in front of me. I’m such a people pleaser, I never would have done this in the past. But after five years of therapy, I’ve finally learned to communicate. Hey, watch where you’re going, asshole! And as one of my horn-honking friends says, “And then it’s over. Then I don’t carry that frustration into any other part of my day.”

Emotions don’t die until they’re acknowledged.

During a conversation about stuffing down and bottling up, another friend of mine recently said, “What’s inside eventually comes out.” Talk about the truth. Since starting therapy, I’ve had so many thoughts and feelings come up and out that I’d thought were long buried. As it turns out, emotions don’t die until they’re acknowledged. Once when I was talking to my therapist about something I was mad about, she kept saying, “Say more, tell me more, keep going,” until I started crying. Wiping my eyes, I said, “Jesus, did they teach you that technique in therapy school?” She said, “No, I’m just that good,” which made me laugh. Then later she explained, “We just needed to pop that pimple, and we weren’t quiiiite there yet.”

My therapist says that you can express your emotions in multiple ways. For example, if you’re angry with someone, you can honk your horn, have a confrontation, tell them to fuck off, go to the gym, or–hell–write a blog about the jerk. Personally, I think it’s good to have a go-to strategy and several backup plans. I also think that when we find ourselves overly irritated with the world around us, it’s our body’s way of letting us know that something is off. Maybe there’s a deeper issue involved. Maybe it’s time to rest. Maybe it’s time to start a creative project. That’s what I’ve been thinking lately. How else can I be creative? How else can I get what’s inside, out?

Until I come up with an answer, don’t cut me off in traffic.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Healing is never a straight line.

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A Reprieve (Blog #678)

Well shit. After six weeks of rehab-ing my knee two to three times a day, which I was told to do, I was given a reprieve today. I’ll explain. This afternoon I had an appointment with my surgeon, who said my range of motion looked great. Then he said the swelling in my knee (oh, there’s swelling in my knee) was probably due to overuse. “Most people rehab a day, then take a day off,” he said. “I’m officially giving you permission to rest. It’ll take all of six months for your strength to come back, so don’t rush.”

Afterwards I met with my physical therapist, who confirmed, “Yeah, if you come here, you don’t need to do anything else for the rest of the day.” Ugh. That’s not what was said in the beginning. “Do your exercises two or three times a day.” So much for living in the golden age of communication. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled to be able to chill out. These exercises have been taking up two to three hours every day, and now I get to back off to about one hour every other day. Plus, instead of going to physical therapy twice a week, now I’ll only be going once a week or once every other week.

Here’s to sleeping in and saving gas money.

Since leaving the doctor’s and physical therapist’s, I’ve been in a mild state of shock. As a former straight-A student, I’m so used to giving a hundred and ten percent all the time. Work, work work. Push, push, push. What’s more, unfortunately, I’m used to giving, giving, giving, and it never being enough. If this sounds like a recipe for exhaustion and constant frustration and disappointment, it is. But these last few years I’ve been learning (slowly) that you don’t have to go balls-to-the-wall every minute of every day in order to get good results, and today was another reminder of this.

A slow and steady effort will do.

This evening I taught a dance lesson, my first since injuring my knee over two months ago and having surgery six weeks ago today. Y’all, it was the perfect thing, this darling engaged couple getting ready for their first dance. This meant I didn’t have to spend an hour dancing with someone and could limit my movements to demonstrations. And since they weren’t advanced, I didn’t have to turn or spin, which I’m not allowed to do anyway. I can’t say how much fun I had. Not only did I enjoy teaching, but the lesson got me out of the house and took my mind off my problems. Well, one problem in particular. Ugh, this is so important, having something worthwhile to focus on.

Tonight, for the third night in a row, my dad and I went to the gym together. And since I was given a reprieve from leg exercises for a couple days, I worked on my upper body. I’ve been studying some muscle-balancing exercises online, so my plan is to try a new thing or two each time I work out. I figure I’ve set aside time every day to focus on my body, so I might as well keep it up. But you know, not go too fast. This is really a big lesson for me, that I don’t have to overachieve all the damn time, that a smaller amount of effort, applied consistently, will get the job done.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All your scattered pieces want to come back home.

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Return on Investment (Blog #670)

This morning I woke up to a voicemail from my dermatologist. “Call us about your results,” it said, which I assumed had to do with to the moles I had taken off recently. Shit, I thought, I have cancer. Super optimistic, I know. That’s me, always assuming the best. As it turns out, the results they were referring to was a test I had done last year at another dermatologist’s office (when my regular dermatologist didn’t take my insurance), a test I was previously told said I had “an inflammation whose cause is unknown.” (The problem went away after I changed washing detergents, but I’ve had other similar issues lately.) My dermatologist’s nurse said the report actually said my skin irritation could have been caused my mites, like scabies. (Ick, gross.) So just to be on the safe side, now I’m on an anti-parasite medication.

This is my life.

Alternatively, the report said I could have contact dermatitis. So maybe in a couple weeks I’m going to get tested for skin allergies. And whereas all of this sort of wears me out, I’m glad that my dermatologist is being aggressive and doing her best to figure out what’s going on. The way I see it, the more information I have, the better. When I walked into the bathroom this morning, I noticed my tongue was black. Again I thought, Cancer. But it turns out it was just a result of having taken Pepto-Bismol last night. My point being, despite my tendency to freak out, I’m learning to trust that everything is going to be fine.

This afternoon I had physical therapy for my knee, which I had surgery on last month. I go to this office with several therapists who all work together, and today I ended up with someone I haven’t seen before. She said she’d had three knee surgeries–three!–including one ACL repair like I had. This was super encouraging, since she was running around the therapy center like a jackrabbit and said now she never thinks about her surgeries. “It gets better,” she said. “Just be patient and follow the protocol and you’ll get to where you want to be.” So this is my new mantra. Be patient. Follow the protocol.

This evening I made dinner–chicken and rice. Oh my gosh, y’all, do you have any idea how long it takes to make rice? Fifty frickin’ minutes. What the hell? It took over an hour to put my entire meal together and only seven to eat it. Where’s the return on investment?

Ugh. It occurs to me that in order to appreciate anything, you’ve got to put your time or money into it. You’ve got to be patient, follow the protocol. For example, after a year of seeing doctors, I appreciate my health more than I ever have. After having injured my knee, I want to run (well, walk) out into the streets and shout, “Do you know how lucky you people are because you have two working legs?!” And despite my joking about how long my meal took to cook, I did enjoy it more than I would have a fast food burger. Not only was it healthier for me, but I made it, and there’s a certain amount of pride in that. (I boiled rice!) So I guess that’s the return on investment, that warm fuzzy feeling you get when you know you’ve worked hard for something, be it your health (including your mental health), your ability to walk, or even your supper.

And, especially in the midst of winter, let us never underestimate the importance of a warm, fuzzy feeling.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Rest gives us time to dream. One day, for certain, you’ll wake up. And you’ll be grateful for the time you rested, and you’ll be just as grateful that you’re different, far from the person who fell asleep.

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When Your Body Asks for Help (Blog #667)

Yesterday I blogged about my not feeling well and wanting to give up. This is my general inclination, to give up, whenever life becomes “too much.” Honestly, I was really hoping I’d get a good night’s rest and wake up fine today. I didn’t. I mean, I slept fine, but I woke up still sick. I really don’t know what’s going on. A sinus thing. It’s always a sinus thing. Whatever it is, I’m not amused. Hell, I’m rarely amused. It takes a lot to amuse me. I’m just–what’s the word?–unamuseable.

Well, now that’s not true, since I just amused myself.

As I said yesterday, my recent sinus junk mostly bothers me not only because my sinuses have been a huge historical problem for me, but also because I have a bunch of other stuff going on right now and am tired of shit going wrong. I’ve had headaches since I was a kid, my stomach’s been upset since last July, my elbow’s had psoriasis for months, another section of my skin’s had a fungal infection for weeks, and I just had knee surgery in December. My point being, even before this sinus crap showed up I was thinking, Enough already! I cry uncle.

Yesterday, the day I woke up congested, I noticed a red spot on my wrist. No itching, no scales, just a red spot. But still, as a self-professed hypochondriac, I freaked out. It’s the psoriasis, I thought. It’s spreading! So yesterday afternoon I upped my water intake and also bought a natural supplement (White Willow Bark) that’s supposed to be good not only for pain relief (from headaches), but also for skin disorders like psoriasis. Having been disappointed by supplements more times that I’ve been pleasantly surprised by them (and, to be clear, I’ve been pleasantly surprised by them a number of times), I started the supplement last night with cautious optimism.

My attitude: I’ll try almost anything once.

At the close of last night’s blog, I said it was time to start eating better. Recently I watched a video posted by a prominent figure in the alternative health and healing community, Charlie Goldsmith, about his father, who has Parkinson’s and showed significant improvement in his ability to sit down, stand up, and walk after just four days of changing his diet. And whereas I don’t know specifically what Charlie’s dad’s diet included or excluded, I’m assuming it included–um–vegetables and excluded the usual suspects–gluten, dairy, soy, sugar, and alcohol. Anyway, this video reminded me that diet is a huge contributing factor when it comes to one’s health, which is why I decided it was time to get serious about what I’m eating.

Therefore, before I went to bed last night, I ate a salad. Then today I had oats for breakfast. And whereas some elimination diets wouldn’t approve of oat-eating (because oats are a grain), I figured it was better than a piece of white bread slathered in peanut butter. (Progress, not perfection.) Then I pulled myself together and went to the grocery store and got everything I needed for at least a week’s worth of clean (mostly Paleo) meals. Y’all, I loaded my cart with fruits, nuts, and vegetables for eating, as well as Zicam, Airborne, and bone broth things for healing. I mean, it’s all for healing. Everything you put into your mouth has an effect.

I hate to admit that, but it’s true.

Granted, I don’t know what’s going to happen to my body. I could very well wake up tomorrow with even more sinus trouble or skin flare-ups. But even after half-ass starting this thing yesterday, that red spot on my wrist is almost completely gone, and–I swear–the psoriasis on my elbow looks better. And whether or not the water I drank yesterday, the salad I ate last night, or the supplement I started had anything to do with it, the improvement reminds me that my body is not only AWARE of what’s going on with it, but also willing to repair its problems when given the proper support. That’s my logic with all these issues that have cropped up lately, that my body is simply asking for help. And whereas I can’t promise that I’ll help it perfectly, I can promise that I’ll do better.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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 Beautiful isn’t something that comes in a particular package. Beautiful is simply being yourself.

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Pancakes and a Secret Handshake (Blog #665)

It’s ten at night, and I have a headache. A few hours ago I took a nap hoping it would go away, but it didn’t. Instead, it got worse. I hate that–and the fact that whenever I don’t feel well I scare the shit out of myself imagining what could be wrong. Once I had a boyfriend who gave me a diagnostic health book that always gave the worst case scenario as the answer to any given problem. Like, oh, your stomach’s upset? It’s cancer. Or, your foot hurts? It’s gangrene. And whereas I thought the gift was cute, I threw it away after we broke up. First, I didn’t need the reminder. Second, no hypochondriac with a headache should ever allow themselves daily access to such a book.

Or the internet.

This afternoon I saw my friend Bekah, who cuts my hair. (I went for a trim.) When we talked about my recent knee surgery, Bekah said that she’s had three–on the same knee–then added, “Welcome to the club of I Can’t Believe This Is My Fucking Life.” Is that great or what? I told her it would be my quote of the day. But seriously, I’m glad to know there’s a club. I’ve always wanted to be in one. With any luck, next I’ll find out we have regularly scheduled pancake breakfasts (in the afternoon, of course) or maybe even a secret handshake.

Pancakes and a secret handshake would be the best!

I don’t know what to blog about today. Getting my hair cut was my “big thing” for the day, other than going to two health food stores in search of non-ultra-pasteurized milk. And whereas the first one said they didn’t have it but could special order it, or I could be one of those people and get raw milk from a local farm (“Their number is on that bulletin board,” the lady said, “but you’ll have to bring my own container”), the second one did. Thank God, after my experience at the first store, I was really starting to worry that I’d have to turn my life upside down to get a half-gallon of non-ultra-pasteurized milk. Instead, I just had to turn my wallet upside down. It cost $6.39!

That’s nearly $13.00 a gallon.

This super expensive magic milk, which as I understand it is simply–milk, is for a fermenting project one of my friends is helping me with tomorrow. We’re going to make our own kefir. Well, we’re going to make my own kefir, since my friend already has theirs. That’s apparently the deal, in order to make your own, you first have to be given a starter kit from someone else who already has one (or buy it on the internet). Anyway, I’ll know more about the whole process tomorrow. Also, if you have no idea what the hell I’m talking about, kefir is a fermented dairy product similar to yogurt except it’s runnier. That is, you can drink it. I’m interested in it because it’s supposed to be high in probiotics, and everyone who’s paranoid about their health is into probiotics. Granted, you can buy it at the grocery store (and I often do), but supposedly making your own is cheaper, even after you pay all that money for milk that obviously comes from cows with golden udders.

Now it’s eleven, and I’d like to end this so I can go to the gym and do physical therapy. Recently I started a stretching routine (that a friend told me about and is on public television) in addition to physical therapy, so I’m spending a good part of my day counting repetitions. Thankfully, as a dance instructor, I have no problem with this. At least until I get to eight. Anyway, I’m doing both the stretching routine and the kefir thing tomorrow because I’m hoping they’ll help me, the stretching with my headaches, the kefir with my stomach. And whereas I’ve been doing the stretching for two whole days (!) and my head still hurts, I’m telling myself that some things take time. (That’s a joke–everything takes time.) But really, so often I want to ditch good habits when I don’t see immediate results rather than stick with them and be patient.

Maybe you’ve felt this way before.

Personally, I’ve felt like giving up more times that I can count. I think, I’ve exhausted every option, and nothing is working. But then–eventually–I remember the universe is large and no, I haven’t exhausted every option. And because there’s something in me that refuses to give up, I take a deep breath and try again. Surely something will work. There’s that verse in the Bible about the person who had their prayer answered simply because they were so damn persistent, because they didn’t quit asking. The squeaky wheel gets God’s grease or whatever. Anyway, maybe you can’t believe this is your fucking life, but I think there’s hope for whatever it is you’re going through, so keep trying. And even if nothing works, I definitely know a club you can join.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Life proceeds at its own pace.

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