Still reeling

“You look great.”  That is what everyone says now when they see me.  “No, I mean it.  You really look great.”

My response when they repeat themselves:  “Do you want to see my boob?”  Yes that is exactly what I say followed  by something like, “Yeah, that is the funny thing about cancer.  If you do not have chemotherapy and lose your hair,  you look good, like you are not even sick.  I call it the secret disease.  If you did not know me, you would never know I was sick.”

I do not feel like a sick person.  I felt the best I have in years when they discovered my most recent tumor back in March.  Never better.  Strong, steady, happy. . .  all that.  Then boom, they dropped the C-Bomb.

“Ms. Nichols, I am sorry to tell you but we have found a mass in your right breast.  I think we need to do a biopsy.”

“Today?”

“No you will have to wait about 10 days.  Please see the nurse.  She will set you up with an appointment. ”

My mind is racing.  Ten days.  How can I wait that long to find out whether I have cancer?  You just will.  And I did.  I convinced myself the results would be negative.  Well they were positive.  Surprise.  My second round of cancer and only two years after the first bout.  Two frigging years.

But I did not begin this post to tell you about my cancer.  I am trying my best to write about my experience after cancer, after surgery, and radiation.

“Now the surgery is a fairly simple procedure.  We will remove the mass and the centennial lymph nodes.”  Okay how did I miss the part about injecting dye into my breast to find that “node or nodes?”  Did the surgeon tell me I would be placed on a cold metal table only to have a plate of concrete lowered to just inches above my face?  No he did not, because I would have explained that I could not do that.  “I am extremely claustrophobic.”  Let is suffice to say that I survived this ordeal, but I did have to ask once to be pulled out so that I could close my eyes, recite my mantra and use my breath to stay calm and in the moment.

Did the surgeon tell me how painful the catheter that he placed in my boob after the surgery would be?  No.  Nor did he tell me that the radiation itself my be painful.  No.  In fact, all medical personnel stated unequivocably that the radiation would be painless.  Let me make this perfectly clear.  I am do not consider myself a wimp, but I suffered, yes suffered from extreme discomfort when anyone touch the device which I wore in my right breast for 8 days and 7 nights.  All the gauze padding in the world did not relieve the stabbing sensation in my breast.   When the doctor asked, which he did each time I came in for a treatment (twice a day), “Are you in any pain?”  I said, “Yes, all the time.”

His response, “Take another Percocet.”

“But they give me such terrible stomach cramps and constipation.”

“Get a stool softener.”

“Any suggestions.”  He blurted out a couple of words I never heard of and immediately forgot.

“Okay are you ready for the treatment?”

The radiation did not hurt, but hooking the machine up to my boob was excruciating.

“This should no hurt.”  the nice man administering the treatment said condescendingly.

Crocodile tears are rolling down the sides of my cheeks.  Every time he touches one of the limbs of my device, my body convulses.  Radiation doctor says, “We will have to give you a stronger pain medication.  I am going to write a scrip for long release morphine.  That should do it.”

“Morphine?’

“Yes you will take on every 12 hours and continue to take the percocets an hour before you come to treatment.”

And so it went for 5 days.  At one point, lying on the table, reciting my mantra, I thought, I am going to have post traumatic stress from this.  I did and I am.

My emotions are off the charts.  Giddiness moves quickly into boredom, into anger and resentment, into bitchiness, into fear and foreboding and finally into deep sadness.

When I joke about cancer, people’s expressions reveal disdain and shame.

“Look, if I can’t joke about cancer, who can?”  There is humor in every situation and I plan to look for it.  I only made a crack about all my friends buying me dinner the week of my radiation.  I guess that is one of  the cancer “perks.”

Hardest part about being well now is everyone still looking at me with deep, questioning eyes when they ask, “How are you doing?”  To most who inquire, I say, “Fine.  Really I am good.”  To my closer friends I reply, “Physically I feel great, but mentally I am off the charts.”

“Oh, but I thought you got a good report.  All clear, right?”

“Yes, all clear.  No cancer now.  But will there be more?  No one knows.  No one knows.  Each day is a gift.”

 

 

 

#invokingdrala #day 2 #pampering #before

restless night – nightmares,

discomfort, tossing, mantra –

need a makeover

Expired – Going for the Gusto

There are multiple levels of clarity and  well-being.  I realized today that I have been operating on the lowest of the low, slogging through my days, trying to be motivated, but really having a sense of drowning.   I can put on a happy face with the best of them,  even teach a great asana class, but underneath the façade lurks a murky bog waiting to suck me down.  I have been chronically depressed most of my adult life.  It was not until I turned forty that a doctor finally diagnosed my depression and prescribed Prozac.  I immediately felt better.  Endless days of malaise turned toward sunnier times.  I wanted to be with my children.  I wanted to leave the house.  I was no longer afraid to go to the grocery store where I might see someone, god forbid, who would want to talk to me.  I felt more energetic and more engaging.  That was 1991.

Fast forward to   2005.  I am still taking Prozac not knowing that after years of being on serotonin uptake drugs the effects tend to flatten out.  I figured, “Well I am getting older.  I am probably going to have a shift in energy.”  Then I started studying with Rod Stryker who I heard claim, “If you practice yoga, pranayama and meditation correctly, you should not have to take antidepressants.”  That may not be what he said, but it is what I took away from the teachings.  So I got a mantra, started doing more pranayama, designed my private and public yoga classes, including my personal practice, according to the energetic principles of Para Yoga.  I let go of my vigorous vinyasa practice which included lots of surya namaskars with chaturangas, arm balances, head and shoulder stands and overall steady, but constant movement.  Rod suggested slowing down the momentum, giving the unconscious mind a chance to reveal its dark secrets.  That part worked.  I did heal many old wounds, but the effort to stop taking meds failed over and over again.  I felt like such a failure.  My therapist at the time tried to convince me that my long-term depression was chemical and not likely to be remedied by meditation. In fact, she recommended aerobic exercise.

January 22, 2014. I continue to use my mantra, to meditate and practice asana in a slow, steady way.  But something is shifting.  Yesterday I added Wellbutrin to my antidepressant cocktail.  I am ready to move beyond flat.   I am not giving up meditation or mantra.  I am, however, going to up the ante in my physical practice.  I am 62 years old and I want to be strong physically as well as mentally.  I am bringing back head stand, hand stand, shoulder stand and arm balances.  I am going to play music in my classes.  One of my friends and a wonderful yoga teacher, Jennifer Brilliant, whom I have not seen in years, said, “Everything a yoga teacher tells you eventually has an expiration date.”  Time for slow and steady has expired.  Going for the gusto.

I want to be her, the lady pictured below, in twenty years.

No Alcohol By Choice

Be authentic.  Be authentic.  “Alright, already, I hear you, but how can I be authentic when I do not know exactly what is happening?”

I went to a Grizzlies game last night with my husband and another couple.   We parked, entered the forum and went directly to the Plaza lounge.  Our  friends ordered red wine.  Jimmy looked at me, “Do you want anything?”

I paused thinking, I could have a glass of wine, but I said, “No, maybe at intermission.  I mean half-time.”  I fully expected to return at the half and order a glass of red wine, which they were filling to the brim.  Of, course I noticed.  When I drank daily, I always watched how much the bartender poured into the glass. I loved to go where the servers were, shall we say, generous with the pour.  Last night, I watched, I noticed how full the glasses were and still I said, No, I do not want a glass of wine. ”  This dramatic shift in my drinking behavior is incomprehensible.  I have never left a Grizzlies game sober.

We came home, climbed in our down covered bed and closed our eyes.  I was not sleepy. It was late, and I take a spin class at 6:00 am on Wednesday and Friday mornings.   I laid there waiting for fatigue to swaddle me. I recited the  MAHAMRITYUNJAYA MANTRA. 11:15 pm, I am looking at the clock.  Better get up and put Triphala oil on my body.  Abyangha, as it is referred to by Auyrveda practitioners, often works as an instant sleep aid.  I simply rub the infused sesame oil all over by body paying particular attention to my feet, put on my warmest jammies and crawl back into bed.  12:30 am.  Still awake.  I get up again, go to the kitchen and make my favorite nite, nite drink:  warm milk, ghee, grated nutmeg, cinnamon, and turmeric sweetened with honey, another Ayurveda sleep aide.  I savored the warm tonic rolling my growling belly.  It has now been 7 hours since we ate dinner.  Now surely I will fall asleep.  1:00 am.  I am up watching the season finale of Sons of Anarchy.  TV screen reads, “Intended for mature audiences only.”  Very gruesome.  Oh great, now I will be awake the rest of the night reliving the murder I just saw.

My phone alarm sounded at 4:30 am.  Damn, I just went to sleep.  I turned off the alarm and rolled over.  Next thing I know Jimmy was poking me.  “It’s 5:00 am.”  I got up, made coffee and went to spin class.  And here I am still trying to process the fact that I did not drink last night, by choice.  I told myself I could and I did not drink.

There is only one thing, and one thing only, that has changed during this past week.  I know now that I am not my mother.  Does that explain my sudden ability to make a conscious choice about drinking.  Time will tell.

One more thing.  I want to reiterate,  I gave myself permission to drink.  I choice not to drink.  I was not afraid I would drink when we went to the game.  I was not anxious when we entered the lounge.  I simply did not want any alcohol and as the night went on I felt better and better about the choice I had made.  And the sleep thing.  Well there was a full moon last night.

He is coming back. Jordan is regaining consciousness.

Watching Jordan lying in bed unconscious, intubated, plugged into every kind of imaginable machine, I practiced breathing in and out.  I laid my hand on his swollen deformed one.  The plastic surgeons had come by earlier in the day to look at it.  Seems its   inflated state is a result of  multiple injections of epinephrine in an effort to get his heart to start.  The chemicals are trapped in his hand and could cause permanent damage, but the doctors will not operate until they know whether or not he will regain consciousness.  Of course, there is not point in operating if he remains in a coma.  Wow.  How will we deal with a son who is alive but uncommunicative?

I feel myself tumbling into darkness.  I cannot bear to think of him living this way.  Clenching my jaw and sucking back tears, I leave the ICU.  I must find a quiet place.  I make it half way down an empty hall when I sink into a squat.  I drop my head in to my hands and cry out,  “Divine Mother, what will I do if he does not come back?”

“Quiet, my child.  Do you not know that I love him more than you.  He is my very own son.  I am with him now.  I am watching over him.   You are not alone.”

My heart rate slows and my throat opens.  The pain in my chest subsides.  I stay right where I am and silently chant the MAHAMRITYUNJAYA MANTRA, over and over and over again. The words of Pandit Tigunait flash on the screen of my mind. “You must not tumble into darkness.”  Then, while chanting, I see them, all of them standing in a circle around me.  We are at Stone Henge.   Swami Rama holds a staff in his right hand.  He is surrounded by seers, teachers, men in long robes.  I am kneeling before them.  I feel uplifted, supported, protected and reassured by their presence.  I know they have come to help us. “He is coming back.  Jordan has a purpose to fulfill.  He will return.  Let go of all fear.  Fear is your enemy.  We are with you.”

I calmly slid up the wall and walked upright back to our camp on the outskirts of ICU.  Something has shifted.  I sense a presence with me.  My phone rings.  It is my teacher, Rod Stryker.  I had called him the day before.  He says, ” Sarla, how are you?”  I burst into tears and tell him what has just happened…what I have seen and heard.

“I knew you were not alone.  I sensed they were with you.  That is why I waited to call.   You know we are all with you.  Is there anything Gina and I can do for you?”

“Hold us in the light.  Just hold us in the light.”

Within minutes…mind you my sense of time is quite distorted…our lovely Indian doctor, whose name I cannot now recall, approached us.  Leah and I, Jordan’s two mothers, are standing side by side.  “It is a miracle.  It is a miracle.”  His Indian accent punctuates the word  miracle.  We wait.  “He is waking up.  We did not expect this.  His heart was inactive for quite some time.  People rarely return to consciousness after such long periods without a heart beat.  You must understand.  This is truly a miracle.”

I throw my arms around him, giddy with joy.

“Now,” he continues, “we must be patient.  It will take at least 2 more days for the drugs to completely clear his system.  Tomorrow we will take the tube out of his throat.  Once he starts to breathe on his own, his lung should fill out and we can then take that tube out.  One more thing.  We will not know until he is fully conscious if there is any brain damage.”

Another hurdle to jump.  We will do it.  I am confident he will be whole again.  Leah and I hug.  We must tell the others.

January 3, 2010…My Son Died…We arrive at the hospital

Jimmy and I round the corner and see them, our family and friends camped outside the doors of the ICU.  Apparently the regular waiting room is being remodeled and the temporary one is jammed packed with the members of another ICU family.  I take a deep breath.  We all hug and hold on tight to one another.  We are all in this together.  No matter what differences we have had in the past, ex husband, his wife, friends from whom I have been estranged, all here to love and support one another.

“I want to see him.  When can I go in?”

Someone tells me to push the button beside the door.  I do and it opens.  I see him immediately, lying in a tiny cubicle just in front of the nurses desk.  I laugh to myself.  Even now Jordan is center stage.  Odd how humor rears its delightful head even in the midst of tragedy.  Tubes, monitors, light, beeping sounds abound.  I walk in to find my son, in a coma, attached at every place possible to some kind of machine.  There is a tube down his throat.  They had to intubate him because his lung collapsed.  Even now, writing this, my heart is in the back of my mouth and my eyes fill with tears.  I lay my hand on his.  Oh my God.  What will I do if he dies?  I love him so much. My thoughts jump from one horrific scenario to another, and then I remember the mantra we just learned at the Himalayan Institute.  How ironic.  I have just come from The Institute where we have been chanting and meditating for days. I remind myself that I am prepared for whatever comes and I immediately start silently chanting the

Mahamrityunjaya Mantra

Om, tryambakam yajāmahe

 sugandhim pushti-vardhanam

urvā-rukamiva bandhanān

mrityor-mukshīya mā mritāt

There are very few mantras that stand on par with Maha Mrityunjaya Mantra (also known as Mahamrityunjay Mantra, Rudra Mantra, Tryambakam Mantra or Maha Sanjivini Mantra). This mantra is said to have the power to remove all sufferings, ward off all evils, remove diseases and bestow the aspirant with health and energy. And it is said that when this mantra is it chanted with great devotion and serious contemplation it is said that the knowledge of this birth and death cycle is revealed to the aspirant. And thus it helps in overcoming the fear of death.  (from 9 dozen’s blog)

Could anything have been more perfectly timed. My breath keeps catching in the middle of my chest.  I remind myself to breath.  I hear the voice of reason coming from the center of my heart.  “You must be strong.  Stay calm.  Catastrophiizing will not help anyone.  Be here for Jordan.”  I look at him, lying there so innocently, not breathing, in a coma, and I realize that I am powerless over death.  I am reminded that Jordan does not belong to me, that he came into this world to live his life.  I am also keenly aware that some lives are shorter than other and just because I do not want him to die I should not try to keep him here.  Maybe he is ready to go.  Then I hear these words come out of MY mouth.  “Jordan, I love you so much, but I do not want you to stay on this earth for me.  I want you to live.  We all do, but if you are ready to go walk toward the light.  If you want to come back, come toward our voices.  We are all here with you.”  Wow, did I say that?  Yes and I will never, ever forget it.

Leah and I agreed to take turns spending the night.  I ran home, gathered a few things and came back to do my first shift.  The nurses at Methodist Central were incredible as were all the doctors who cared for Jordan.  Everyone of them treated Jordan and all of us with kindness and respect and talked to us in such a way, that we knew at every moment, what to expect.  They explained that he might never come out of the coma.  Jackie, Jordan’s father, took that pretty hard.  It was hard for all of us to see Jordan lying with no affect in a hospital bed, but it was particularly hard for Katie, his sister and his Dad.  They had both seen him dead on the floor at the bar.  Katie had trouble sleeping.  She told me, “I keep seeing him lying there, in that bar, with all the lights on.  When do you ever see a bar lit up like that.  It was so gross.”  I held her close…my baby girl.  What would happen to her if Jordan did not pull through?  We will cross that bridge when we come to it.  Stay here, in the present moment.  You can handle anything that is happening now.

Thank God for Leah.  I do not know what I would have done had I been the one to stay with Jordan every night.  She had the courage to tell me, “I want to be here for you and for Jordan, but if I am in the way, please tell me.”

I wept and hugged her.  ‘No please, I need you.  We all need you.  Thank you so much.”

So knowing that Jordan might never come out of his coma, we settled in to the hospital routine.  I spent every day, all day at the hospital.  I did not teach yoga.  We took turns posting updates on Facebook.  We sat on the floor outside of ICU and told stories, visited with friends who came by and tried to stay positive.  When the doctors told us they ere going to start decreasing Jordan’s medication in order to bring him back into consciousness, we were excited and scared at the same time.  What if he did not come out?

Still day 2…will finish this in the am