Tag Archives: yoga

The Blue Lollipop

blue lolly

I have spent the past few years trying, with some success, to cultivate a sense of gratitude. I don’t mean Pollyanna gratitude: “Thank you so much for the one legged blind teddy bear that smells like old dog! It’s the best Christmas present ever!” No, what I mean is more a sense of finding what is unique or at least special about my life, my family and friends, the things I live my life among, and loving them for what they are, giving them the value they deserve. It’s also putting envy into perspective. I will always be envious of some things: people who are tall, people who can do math, people who can eat eggplant, people who can sing or juggle or Magic Eye. I know I will never have or be those things but I can envy those people without actually wanting to be them. I can see something beautiful in a store and enjoy its beauty, bask in it even, without wanting to own it, pleased that it exists but not needing it in my life, allowing my magic credit card to rest.

So now I am trying to find gratitude in the fact that I had my final radiation treatment today. There will be no more solitary morning walks to the hospital, no more taking off my shirt and lying on the table while people whose names I don’t know draw on me with magic markers. No more waiting in the pink paper line, no more pulling out my magic credit card and paying the bill, day after day after twenty-five days.  I can sleep in. I can take my time with morning yoga, finally start to work back toward where I was when this all began. I can finally start scrubbing the map of Arizona off my chest.

honey

(As a side note, one radiation treatment costs just about the same as a 1200 gram bottle of organic Acacia honey. Given a choice, I’d rather have the honey. Extra irony: my credit card is magical because it can somehow withdraw an unlimited amount of money from my bank account. The organic honey store only accepts cash.)

When I was dressed and opened the curtain, the radiation room was deserted. There was nobody to say good-bye to except the horrible machine but we had never really made friends. It felt strangely unfinished, like I should get a lollipop or a balloon, something to mark yet another passage through the surreal world that my life has entered.

So I walked back home, just another day, and got to work on the script for a program I will direct next week. In the program, three teams compete to make the springiest food they can come up with. One makes a gelatin-and-starch-based, multi-textured pudding (ugh), another makes a sticky rice ball seasoned with tomato and basil and topped with fish (blech) and the third, the crown jewel, is a blue, bacon-flavored lollipop made of mochi and swathed in mustard-flavored cotton candy. I kid you not.

monkey

Monkey Boy was minding his own business, having a nice nap in front of the kerosene heater, when I barfed on him. And then I realized I had something more to be grateful for. Nobody will ever force me to eat a blue bacon-flavored mochi lollipop swathed in mustard-flavored cotton candy. And as wild as my imagination may be at times, it will never go that far. For that, I am also grateful.

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Cow Plop ‘N Beans

My chemo vacation is nearly over, three glorious weeks of not once being jabbed with a needle, not once having fluids removed or injected except voluntarily and through the usual portals, not once having to find the courage to open the door to the doctor’s office, not once having to walk past the line of women waiting to see the doctor when I’m on my way to the chemo room.

I had thought this vacation would be wonderful, a respite from poison being pumped into my body. I thought I would start to feel better, but twelve weeks of poison take their toll. I still feel like clobbered cow plop. The worst of it is not being able to breathe properly. The chemo monsters thought it would be fun to set up camp in my lungs. If I try to walk faster than a blue-haired-granny-shuffle or climb the stairs or even bend over to pick something up, the monsters start poking at my lungs with tiny daggers and pitchforks and other implements of destruction. I imagine this is what asthma must feel like. It sucks.

I asked my nurse about this and she said there’s nothing I can do. “Just be lazy!” she chirped. But the more I sit still and do nothing, the more it feels like my very soul is clotting in my nether regions, currently oozing along at the rate of molasses, but threatening to pull a Lot’s wife maneuver and turn to stone. I try to do some yoga every day, including at least a gentle inversion. The lack of blood in my brain is making me woozy. Just the other day, I imagined I was being attacked by a polar bear at Costco.

slutty bear

So I’m thinking let’s get on with it. I want to be done with this already. Ah, but there’s the catch. The first round of chemo was meant to compromise my immune system. The next round intends to pulverize it into oblivion. “Be very careful,” says my nurses. “No diseases, no injuries. Your body won’t even be able to cope with a hangnail. But don’t worry. You’ll probably only feel like hammered shit (she used a slightly more technical term) for three days. Just carry on with your normal life.” So all I have to do is make sure I don’t bump into anything or trip over anything and none of the 12 million other people in Tokyo decide to sneeze on me.

Well, that sounds easy enough.

As always in this hideous process, the waiting is the worst part. None of the medical people will commit to anything. I may or may not feel just fine; I may need to spend the next three months in bed whining and throwing up and generally being hateful. And there are a myriad of possible variations in between.

So I am trying to cope with this looming unknown and the anticipation is turning me into a quivering bowl of lime jello. (I dislike jello in all its forms but lime is particularly awful.) I slept for eighteen of the past twenty-four hours, partly healing, partly hiding, trying to find the strength to follow through on this nightmare.

Here are two ways you can help.

  1. Just a couple of days after I shaved my head, I got a message from a very well-meaning friend asking how my pretty blonde curls were holding up. I crumpled. It felt like a very well-meaning punch to the gut. So if any of you feel the urge to assure me, again, that it’ll grow back, please don’t. I promise you will receive a very well-meaning but very solid sucker punch to the kidney. You have been warned.
  2. Please don’t come at me with another miracle cure. It’s too late. The surgery is done, the treatment begun. Parts of me are lying on the top of a trash heap somewhere nasty being picked over by seagulls. I am attempting to cope with that grief, so please spare me the latest miracle diet/exercise program/jungle plant/exorcism that will make this all go away. Just the other day, I watched a yoga video featuring a charming Indian fella who ended the class with a long list of powders guaranteed to cure cancer in all its forms. Unfortunately, the only ingredient on the list that I recognized was cow piss. So now, on top of everything else, I have buy a cow.

cow

Reading back over this post, it seems I am not my usual gentle, benign self. I apologize for that. If anybody has any spare amulets or talismans or fetishes or fairy dust or just plain good intentions, could you give them a gentle push in my direction? Anybody got any spare magic beans? I have one, but I don’t want to spend it.

elepant bean

Happy Cake

In this morning’s yoga class, there was only one other student, who turned out to be a tour guide, the type that accompanies Japanese tour groups when they go abroad. But, she said, she hasn’t been very busy lately because people are not traveling much outside of commonwealth countries like Australia, New Zealand and Canada. This is because there are too many terrorists in Europe and every American is armed to the teeth with automatic weapons and sub-machine guns.

Granted, many Japanese people are given to sweeping generalizations and melodramatic hyperbole but at the same time and for the first time in history, the governments of other countries are warning their nationals to avoid the States.

I told the other student and the teacher that not all of the States is a war zone and gun control is often a state-by-state issue. In fact, I told them, Hawaii has just recently passed some rather strict gun ownership regulations, thank goodness.

They seemed surprised that I felt that way. I was surprised at their surprise…and then deeply saddened.

So I came home and baked an orange cake because while warm cake might not solve anything, it makes things better, especially if it’s smiling.

I figure if cake can smile, I can, too.

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Honesty

When I went to Bali last year, I was once offered a beverage made up of Pineapple and Orange juices with coconut Water. Lets call it POW. It was heavenly. Until that time, I thought the little paper cup of guava juice I was given on an airplane was the best nectar of heaven to ever pass my lips. But guava is rather thick and sticky and can be cloying. POW is the delightful reward I get after morning yoga and a year later it has not cloyed even once.

The problem, though, is that in my car-free existence, it’s hard to carry such heavy liquids home. And coconut water is expensive. Enter Amazon. While the cost is about the same as the import store, delivery is free and doesn’t give me sore shoulders.

So we ordered a case of coconut water and it came. Then the next day another one came. So we wrote to the store and asked if they’d…um…made a mistake. They wrote back right away saying how much they appreciated our honesty and that we should keep the extra case at no cost.

Ah, Japan.

cocanut water

Perspective

After seventy-one straight days of morning meditation
and my first yoga practice in over a month,
I can say that I’m feeling pretty good.

Life isn’t perfect, but it could be a whole lot worse.

We can and do decide for ourselves how we perceive the world around us.

tiger

Sometimes things are not exactly what they seem.

dog horse ditto

A little adjustment might be all that’s needed.

toner cat

It may be that all you need is a hug from someone you love.

lion babies

And if all else fails, there are always baby goats.

little goats*I’m sorry I can’t post attributions for these, but a heartfelt thanks to whoever created them.

Baby Steps

PENTAX DIGITAL CAMERA As of yesterday, I am five months smoke free. (Pause for applause. “Thank you, thank you very much,” she says in her best Elvis voice.) And I’ve finally got some time off from work, so I have devoted this week to exercise. On Monday, I did Pilates and a step class at the gym. On Tuesday, I started a 30 day squat challenge. On Wednesday, I had my first yoga lesson with Kelly, who is a wonderful person, teacher and addition to my life. On Thursday, I did boxing and kicking classes at the dojo.

When I woke up this morning, I could barely move. My sore muscles have sore muscles, but I feel wonderful. One of the side effects of detox is sometimes crippling depression. This is normal and people quit longer than me keep saying it will pass in time, I just need to stay strong, take deep breaths, wait it out.

I hadn’t been to kicking class, and consequently hadn’t seen Sensei, for a couple of months. Part way through class, he looked at me and said, “Eda-san, you’re different. You’ve changed, and not in a bad way.” I just smiled, but I knew what he meant. As I work my way out of my nicotine-addled funk, I am discovering a whole other Eda I had forgotten about. She’s smarter, funnier, prettier because she smiles more. She’s gentler, kinder, more at peace.

The battle isn’t over yet, probably never will be. The nicodemon still lurks in dark corners and leaps out at me, much the way Twitchy attacks my toes at unexpected moments, but I can swat him away the same way I do her. The depression monster still wraps himself around my throat and squeezes, but it’s happening less often. Instead, in recent days, I have unexpected moments of happiness. I can’t think of anything to call it besides joy. I am finally free of that wretched addiction and can start to make my way down the path toward discovering myself and who I am without the chemicals.

It’s a journey that requires no suitcases, taxis, passports, visas, or plane tickets and all of the travel takes place inside my own head, but the destination is worth every iota of effort and pain it takes to get there.