Warrior Pose (45 page)

“A sailboat, Daddy. Please draw a sailboat.”

Tears fill my eyes as we take our adventure on the high seas with our sails full and the sun shining down. The way Morgan hugs my knees, I sense he could stay on my lap forever, but soon the front desk rings to say Pamela is waiting in the lobby. I savor every final moment: Gathering his things. Holding his hand in the elevator. Lifting him into my arms to walk through the lobby.

Morgan seems to make the transition with ease. But for me, saying good-bye is almost impossible. “When can I see him again?” I whisper to Pamela after I set him down. “We'll talk,” is all she says in reply. My heart aches as I watch my son exit the hotel with Fuzzy tucked under one of his chubby little arms.

It must be three in the morning when a coughing fit wakes me. The skin has split open in my throat. Blood is trickling into my mouth. I instinctively reach for my neck and feel around for lumps, scared to death I'll find a new one. I'd almost forgotten about the cancer. As I get up and spit the blood into the bathroom sink, a jolt of panic hits me.
How am I going to pull this off? Even if I stabilize my back, am I doomed to succumbing to this disease? Am I still in remission or is it spreading? Will I ever get back home, even for a short time?

A few deep breaths now. Relaxing. Letting it pass. Okay. This, too, I realize, must be given up to the unknown. It's a conundrum: As I seek to take charge of my life, I have to simultaneously let go of trying to control the outcome. I'll do everything I can to get up, change the things I can, but my fate is in the hands of some higher power. I open my mouth wide and stare into the bathroom mirror. My throat is red, raw, and bloody.
God, grant me serenity
.

Before going back to sleep, I find hotel stationery and write a letter.

I fold the note into a hotel envelope, label it with Morgan's name, and write on the bottom:
Do not open until Daddy is gone.
I slip it in the side pouch of my suitcase and zip it closed.

CHAPTER 28

Stretching the Limits

E
ACH TREATMENT ROOM at the Pain Center has its own personality. Physical Therapy is high energy, bubbling with friendly talk and pop music playing in the background. Bio-feedback is the exact opposite: quiet, clinical, and dignified, like a scientific laboratory of mind-body exploration. Jin Shin Jyutsu reminds me of a meditation room, with peace, stillness, and healing energy permeating the atmosphere. The counselor's office makes me feel the way I felt as a child when I walked past the vice principal's office at school a few minutes late for class, terrified of being caught.

But there's another room, one I haven't even been inside, that intrigues me. It's the Yoga room. Right now, standing outside its closed door, I hear soft, exotic music playing. There's a faint aroma wafting into the hallway that reminds me of scented candles. A female voice is murmuring so softly I can't quite make out what she's saying, but it sounds soothing. In the more than six weeks I've been at the Pain Center, I've only had a few glimpses of the room, whenever the door is ajar during my exercise walks down the hallway. It's mysterious, even a little foreboding. Normally, I'm hard to intrigue. Suspicious. Jaded. Cynical. Yet for some unknown reason, I want to know what goes on in this room, and why I haven't been given the chance to experience it.

Yoga was making a wave through America when I was coming of age in the 1960s. It sounded silly to me and seemed like a waste
of time, so I took a pass whenever someone invited me to try it. I wanted to climb mountains and canoe down wild rivers, not sit down and try to hold still or twist myself into a pretzel. But I can't climb mountains or canoe down wild rivers anymore. Yoga might even require too much exertion for me now. After seeing the poster in the Physical Therapy room of the woman doing the impossible V pose on the rocks, I'm not sure I belong in a Yoga room at all. Still, I can't get it out of my mind and want to ask if Yoga can be added to my schedule, just to see what it's all about.

“I see you're curious.” Counselor Mason startles me as she walks up behind me in the hallway. “Well, today's your big chance. The staff thinks you're ready for Yoga.” I'm beginning to wonder if everyone here can read my mind. “You start this afternoon at three o'clock,” she continues dryly, then adds with her usual sarcasm, “but Yoga is not for everyone, and it's certainly not the greatest thing in the whole world, like some people around here think it is.”

This isn't the first time Ms. Mason has tried to dampen my enthusiasm. Her negativity must be a burden. I feel sorry for her, but it dawns on me that I just can't be around her any longer. I don't want to absorb her pessimism. Dr. Miller talks about this at length in his book. Negative thoughts lead to negative results; positive thoughts lead to positive results. I excuse myself by telling Ms. Mason I don't need a counseling session this morning and am going to do a few exercises in Physical Therapy. After that, I go through the paces in my other classes, but the afternoon Yoga session is all I can think about. I have a strange sense I'll be entering more uncharted territory where something momentous might unfold. There's no logic or reason for this. It even sounds absurd to me. But there it is.

A few minutes before 3:00, I return to the door of the Yoga room, lean toward it, and listen. It's silent inside. No one answers my timid knock. I softly turn the door handle. It's unlocked. As I open the door, I see a pile of thick, wool blankets on the floor near a low, wooden table with a few candles on it. There is a small stack of light-blue rubber blocks near the wall, and some straps like the ones I've seen in the Physical Therapy room. The harsh fluorescent lights are off and the room is bathed in soft, natural sunlight. The windows are open,
and a warm, gentle breeze carrying the scent of spring blossoms is flowing through the air. There's nothing remarkable about it, but the atmosphere of the room envelops me. I feel a palpable sense of healing energy surrounding me.
This is it
, my heart says with conviction. As usual, the rational mind of my inner journalist resists, but my heart calls out again,
This is it!

The instructor floats in from nowhere and offers me a wide smile. “Welcome to Yoga,” she says with a thick eastern European accent. “My name is Savita.” Like Dawn in Jin Shin Jyutsu, Savita is earthy, relaxed, centered. I immediately feel a deep sense of trust and kinship, like our distant ancestors were once in the same tribe.

“I've reviewed your chart, and I'm sorry you have had to live with so much pain,” Savita says softly, still smiling as she gently lays a few blankets out near a wall. “We will begin very slowly and stick to basics. Have you ever done Yoga before?”

“No, never,” I say slowly, feeling calm and grounded in her presence. “But I'll give it my best try.”

“Wonderful. But the less you try, the further you'll get,” Savita says cryptically.

“That's good to know,” I answer. “I've always been stiff, inflexible, and tight. More than ever since I injured my back fourteen years ago. And I'm weak and sore, especially since the drugs are still wearing off.”

I feel out of body now, watching myself confess to her: “Savita, I have to tell you that the minute I stepped inside the door something happened to me. I felt like I was right where I am meant to be. I don't know what Yoga involves, Savita, but somehow I believe it's exactly what I need.”

“It may well be,” Savita says with another smile, as if to confirm I'm not crazy. “We'll start by having you lie down and put your legs up the wall.”

The old me would immediately want to know why we are doing this so I could analyze and judge its value. Now, I'm surprised how eager I am to do whatever I'm told without question. As always, it takes me time to get myself onto the floor, and it's a chore to maneuver myself where Savita wants me to be. Once I've accomplished
this, she has me sit down with my outstretched legs parallel to the wall and scoot my hips about eight inches away from the baseboard. Demonstrating as she speaks, she asks if I can bend my knees, hold onto them, slowly roll onto my back, pivot my hips around, and swing my legs up against the wall. I give it my best effort, but my stiffness and soreness freeze me in my tracks.

“Impossible,” I grunt, looking at her with an apologetic smile. “It's okay,” Savita says serenely, the indelible smile still on her face. “Don't worry. I'll help you.” She brings her legs down and floats up to standing. Then she gently grasps my ankles, deftly swings me around, and lifts my legs up against the wall. Her gentle authority is impressive and, to my surprise, it's completely painless.

“Relax your arms down by your sides with your palms turned face up,” she says as I lie here on my back with my legs up the wall. My hamstrings are so tight my knees stay bent and feel locked up. My body is trembling with nervousness, afraid of triggering pain. “Now your legs, relax them…your belly and chest, relaxed…your back…your neck, your head, relaxed…all the muscles on your face, relaxed.” As Savita leads me into relaxing my body, much like a Dr. Miller visualization, I realize I'm tensing everywhere and can't seem to let it go.

“This tension you have is the face of pain,” Savita whispers. “Just do your best to release it wherever you find it.”

Once I relax as much as I can into the posture, Savita teaches me three-part Yogic breathing. First, she has me place my hands over my abdomen and breathe into my belly, filling it like a balloon. After several rounds of this, she urges me to deepen the practice and inhale into my belly and then into my ribs, feeling my side-body expanding. Finally, she has me do the full technique, lifting the third part of my inhalation up into my chest so I feel my collarbone and shoulders opening.

“This is a very healing breath,” Savita says. “It is a form of what is called
Pranayama
in Yoga. This means enhancing and balancing your inner energy, or life force, through certain breathing practices. This three-part breath enhances relaxation, oxygenates your blood, and promotes tissue repair.” This is just what I need to hear. It's a science.
Even though I was intrigued about Yoga, my rational mind needs this kind of information.

Still, it's a challenge. My stomach muscles remain weak despite Physical Therapy and it takes a surprising amount of effort and abdominal strength to breathe this way. But as I continue, a feeling of euphoria slowly engulfs me and the deep breathing becomes easier. There's a sense of expansion and spaciousness with every inhalation. Every exhalation is an emotional release, like I'm unlocking a file deep in my subconscious where I've been stuffing all my hurts. Soon, I begin to notice a pleasant tingling throughout my body that I've never experienced, except when I was taking drugs.