The beginning of the second chapter is sharply delineated for me by a particular run, on a particular day. I remember this so clearly, it still strikes me odd. Erick and Clara were riding the bike and I was running- a long run that day, 12 miles. We were going to meet at a park six miles up the trail, play a bit, and then come back. It was a gorgeous day. I had found myself really loving the D.C. area, in particular, the area where we lived in Arlington. Very walking and biking-friendly, pretty good food choices, a Whole Foods and Trader Joes close by, good schools, good playgrounds… but anyway, I was almost to the park that we were going to meet at and I was so happy! The day was perfect, really. As I approached the park, I remember thinking I wanted to remember this feeling and the day- the sky, the other people, seeing Clara and Erick playing, waiting for me to arrive. Then the thought popped into my head that this was the last long run I was going to have.
And it has been so.
I don’t remember exactly what happened or how it came to pass. The pain arrived at some point, and didn’t leave. It was horrible and scary. My entire torso hurt at this point. Wearing pants hurt, picking Clara up and carrying her on my right side hurt- as if my liver were swollen. I felt like I wasn’t digesting food and I was often nauseated. Then, to top it all off, I started having panic attacks. This period of time is cloudy and dark for me. I was trying so desperately to keep it all together- mostly for Clara- but really, I wasn’t even there. I was submerged in the pain and anxiety.
The doctors were of little use. Although my primary care doctor was nice, she would give me referrals and tell me to have tests done quickly, but it would take weeks, if not months, to get scheduled for tests. Radio-isotope tests, CAT scans, sonograms, blood work… nothing looked terribly wrong. When I finally got in to see the GI doctor at Walter Reed, I wasn’t even allowed to see a doctor, I was sent to an assistant, who then talked to the doctor about my case. The question they always asked was, “Did you get blood work done at the ER during an acute pain episode?” No. I dislike going to the ER and Erick was skeptical, since I was having panic attacks, he thought it was all emotionally driven.
I was so frustrated and angry, and felt like I had zero control over anything. I was still showing up and going to my classes and doing what I was supposed to be doing, but the pain was constant, so it’s all rather blurry. I don’t think I can even convey how bleak everything seemed at this time. In addition to my own pain, I started getting paranoid about Clara’s health, which just added to my angst and panic. After three or four months of this, finally, my primary care physician put me on Tagamet, after I suggested it could be ulcers. The Tagamet helped with the nausea, which was a blessed relief, to be sure. Erick left for a month during this time, and I began to do some serious soul searching, as well as serious self-care (which, obviously, I needed).
Of course during this whole time, I was doing massive amounts of research on the internet. This was good and bad. Given my state of mind, it was a bad thing, because it fueled my anxiety. On the other hand, I felt informed when I would go and talk to the doctors, which was good. However, when Erick left, I went on a self-imposed no-internet-search policy and also started talking to some people. Up to this time, I had mainly tried to keep the whole thing under wraps- why? I have no idea. But first on my list of people to talk to was a beloved co-housing neighbor who always had sage advice for me.
I called her up one day and barely got a word out before I started sobbing everything out: the pain, the grief, the panic, the fear, the anger… Being who she is, she was completely calm and accepting and also gave me wise advice. She told me that grief and fear morph into illness in our bodies. As a Yoga instructor, this made intuitive sense to me. The next part of her advice was some good medicine, Yoginis. She told me to cry as hard as I could, screaming into a pillow for 10 minutes a day, twice a day, telling me I had to get that toxic stuff out. In fact, she had me hang up the phone and go have my first “session” and told me to call her back. I insisted I couldn’t do it then because Clara was home with me and she gently explained to me that it would be good for Clara to see her Mama processing painful emotions, instead of pretending that everything is okay.
I couldn’t really argue with that, and hung up the phone. I explained to Clara what I was going to do and why I was sad and she sat with me, and wiped my eyes periodically. Eventually, she grew bored, gave me a hug and wandered off to play. After that first cry, I knew I was on the path of healing. I called Pat back and we had a great talk- we set up phone dates to check in every few days while I was doing my “cry therapy” during the next two weeks. As a side note, still now, when I am cranky, Clara will ask me if I need to have a good cry.
Next I enlisted the advice of my friend Monica, who is a health counselor. She loaned me books about digestion and I went on a quest to find the supplements that might help me feel better. I will not go into that here, but I will say Monica was a great resource for me and helped me find my way on the path of nutrition and supplements for digestive disorders. Suffice it to say, I take supplements and I think they are an important component in any healing regime, however, mine are specific to my particular condition, so it wouldn’t be so useful to give a list here. If you want to know what supplements I take, contact me and I will give you the run down.
I also seriously re-engaged with my Yoga practice at this time. I would get on the mat and it felt like a prayer from my body to the Universe. It was a blessed relief to get on the mat. It was my sacred place, my touchstone. Out of this passionate reconnection with my body and my Yoga practice came serious brainstorming about MY future not as my husband’s wife, but as a stand-alone, vibrant, creative woman. Hence, Everyday Yogini was born.
On a search for serious self-care, I also decided to get some massage (also on my neighbor’s recommendation). On a whim, I decided to have acupuncture instead of a massage and this, Yoginis, was a critical turning point. So, to recap, I was processing my emotional baggage, I had recommitted to a Yoga and meditation practice, I began a tailored regime of supplements, and I was defining my new place in the world according to my wishes and desires- working all three dimensions: body, mind, and spirit. But this wasn’t enough in and of itself, because my body was sick and in pain. The clinic I went to was fabulous. And the acupuncturist, Kate, was wonderful! I expected to go one time, but I saw her twice a week for a month, and then dropped to once a week until we left the country.
Within three weeks of starting acupuncture, I was pain-free and off of the Tagamet. It was amazing. By the time we left the country, I felt strong and full of gratitude. I was ready. I was excited to get to Rome and settle into our new life. I felt like I had overcome an enormous hurdle and was ready to take my new depth of self-knowledge with me to Rome. So I walked away from the pain, feeling confident I had seen the last of it.
But this was not to be so.
