After Bikram, I went to the acupuncture’s office to pick up some pills. The pill bottle had been set out, but there was no note saying it was for me. I had to wait until the acupuncturist came out because she wanted to change the directions. Because I haven’t experienced much improvement, she upped the dose from three pills three times a day, to six pills twice a day. We’ll see. I’m game. My hot flashes have gotten worse of late. I can’t remember if this is only since Mike’s death.
I am dreading encountering family members along my west coast trip who are going to push hip replacement surgery. I’m not expecting many people would want to do it my way. However, it drives me crazy that these folks look at the dramatic, sudden difference the surgery made on the lives of those who had it and overlook that I am not in that kind of pain, and I have been steadily improving. Yes, my process is slow, very slow, but I love it.
Some people think I’m improving because I’m exercising, which I believe means to them that I am working on strengthening my body and making it more flexible. That doesn’t capture what I am doing. I am using exercise to do unwinding and improve my posture, which has something to do with fascia, not muscle, tendons, or ligaments. In the process, I am gaining strength and flexibility, but that is not the objective of my work.
I’m not expecting anyone else on the planet to be interested in doing what I am doing. I wouldn’t object if I were successful, and it became clear that there are alternatives to surgery. However, even I am willing to consider cell transplant therapy. That can be used to replace cartilage. That would be good -if the bone spur and large cartilage cyst in the hip would not still interfere with joint movement.
Heather, the Bikram teacher, told me about the CPR class given at the Firehouse at the airport. She said 9/11 at 9 am, and 11 am. I went out there for the 11 am class. The gate was locked. I made a few phone calls, and finally got hold of someone in the facility I was trying to get into . Frank the Fireman, from yoga, came out to open the gate. He said the 9 am class was still in session, and the next class was at 1 pm. Ah, Heather. Well, now I know where the class is. I also know the course will be two hours long. I came home and did some writing.
I went back at 1 pm for the class. I was lots of fun. Showing us what to do took all of 10 minutes. Most of the class was devoted to helping us get over any reluctance we might feel to doing it for someone who needed it. The main presenter said that fear was the biggest obstacle, mainly when using CPR on people we know and love. We’re afraid of hurting them. The mantra was, “If you break a rib, it will heal. But dead is dead.” In other words, go for it. If someone doesn’t need CPR, they will say, “OW!” when you push on their chest.
My biggest problem was that I didn’t seem to have the strength to do it. My partner was a vet. She pointed out to me that I was doing the compressions in the wrong place. The directions are to find an area between the nipples. Problem: on women, at least on me, there is a good six-inch difference between where my nipples once were and where they are now. I think this standard of measure is for men. At any rate, when I was shown the right place, I couldn’t fully make those compressions.
However, the presenter told a reassuring story. The program was initially designed so someone could only receive their certificate of completion if they were able to do compressions for something like 2 minutes or was it 120 compressions. At any rate, she taught a woman who couldn’t do that much. The woman was denied her certificate. The next day, the woman called to say that her mother had collapsed and she had done compressions on her for 40 minutes straight and saved her life. Moral of the story: with the aid of adrenaline, anything is possible.
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Musings:
I had an interesting experience today. I heard a song on the radio which appealed to me, but it appealed to the part of me that is lonely and yearning for something I can’t have, Mike. I didn’t want to enhance that emotion, but I found myself drawn back to the song over and over. It was becoming an earworm. I knew that would not be good for me.
I said, “No!” but I didn’t say no to the song, I said no to the part of me that was drawn to it. I see this as something quite different than restraint in the sense that I usually think of it. Restraint, as I have understood it up to now, is pulling on the reins of a runaway horse. This experience of restraint is more like saying NO to a dog who I know well and who is dependent on me, a dog that will listen to me. I am wondering if this difference in attitude, precisely in who is addressed when I say no, could be a useful tool for addicts. I have to try it more with my runaway FreeCell playing.
Oh, by the way. I have found a way to get myself to do more writing on my book. I think of just doing a paragraph at a time. If I want to do more, I do. Then I can do something else. And, then I can come back to it because it is only a small chore, a little bite of the apple.
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