by Brad Willis
As I reawaken, I come back feeling relaxed, refreshed, and alert. My body feels invigorated, my mind is clear, and my emotions are calm.
The introduction to the book tells me that Dr. Miller is an African-American who grew up in Harlem in the 1950s. He dealt with the pain of racism through academic achievement. He became a mathematician, scientist, and, ultimately, a surgeon, graduating from the Albert Einstein College of Medicine. But he soon became disillusioned with Western medicine, feeling it lacked compassion and was too quick to implement invasive procedures, especially surgery. Instead, Dr. Miller began to focus on the power of the mind to facilitate healing. As a result, he put down his scalpel and developed Deep Healing, which proved to be a revolutionary, holistic program of mind-body medicine. It’s a synthesis of East and West, a journey into self-discovery, and a pathway toward self-healing.
The book explains that Western medicine views the human body as composed of systems and parts, such as our various muscles and organs, the skeletal structure, the cardiovascular, neurological, and endocrine systems. Specialists come to great understandings about these parts and systems, but rarely see them as a whole. Eastern medicine takes an opposite view, focusing on the interrelationship between all aspects of a human being, including the body, mind, and Soul, which is why it’s called holistic medicine.
While reading Deep Healing I’ve jotted down pages of notes on affirmations, awakening the inner healer, true relaxation, opening the heart, self-acceptance, and faith. This is a complete shift from who I’ve been. I never thought mental attitude could impact physical feeling, and probably would have rejected the idea had I not experienced it in Biofeedback. Now I’m starting to understand that my fear, anger, and negative thoughts have been like a poison inside of me, making me worse while also alienating everyone around me. As Dr. Miller explains it, our thoughts create an inner chemistry, and dramatic biochemical changes can be achieved based on the thoughts and images we hold in our minds. In other words, we are creating our own experiences of the world, not just in our heads but in our neurochemistry as well.
Chapter Three of Deep Healing hit me right between the eyes. The title is “Taking Responsibility for Your Own Health.” It delves into the healing powers of profound relaxation, reducing stress by letting go, getting in touch with the deeper Self, and taking charge of my own healing. In a section subtitled “The Holy State of Victimhood,” Dr. Miller explains how easy it is to hide behind being the victim, blame others for our plight, and avoid all responsibility. This describes me perfectly, and I flush with embarrassment every time I read it. This is what I’ve been doing for years: hiding behind the tragedy of my story, lashing out and blaming others, blaming the world, cursing my fate. Dr. Miller writes, “The victim role is one of the greatest weapons we have against real healing.” He’s right. It’s what Morgan felt without really understanding it. Get up, Daddy was a plea for me to take charge of my life.
During the Internet research I did on cancer, I discovered an article that maintains almost everyone has cancer cells inside of them, but most are recognized and dealt with by our immune systems. It’s when we’re stressed, imbalanced, and making poor lifestyle choices that they have a greater chance of taking hold. It’s the same with chronic pain. The more you stress over it, the worse it gets. Again, I can’t think of a better example than myself. It’s clear that if I’m going to deal with my physical pain, and if I have the slightest chance of beating cancer, I have to radically rearrange my mind. I have to let go of self-centeredness, get past my ego, no longer play the victim. Ever since I lost my career I’ve been waging an inner war. Now I have to figure out how to wage inner peace.
I’ve also ordered some of Dr. Miller’s audiotapes and take guided journeys into healing as I listen to his intelligent and soothing voice. It’s an amazing new world to me. Not the vicarious living of the cheap novels I used to read for escape. I’m now on my own adventure. It’s an authentic journey of the body, mind, and Soul—one I’m taking myself. I’ve never been able to relax and let go like this, and I already feel like I’m starting to live again, or, maybe, beginning to live for the first time on a very new level. I’m totally committed. I have to give this everything I can muster. This is my only chance to get up and be a worthwhile human being.
The new drugs from Dr. Kozin help ease my back pain a bit, but they make my eyes blurry. Things go out of focus. Spatial relationships shift, with objects appearing closer than they really are and then suddenly appearing to be farther away. As a result, I feel unsteady and look a little drunk when I walk. Given this reaction, I couldn’t drive my car even if I had it here with me, so I’ve hired a service to shuttle me to and from the Pain Center. The black sedan looks like the one that picked me up at the airport years ago and took me to Manhattan for my interview with NBC. It’s another reminder of how far I’ve fallen.
Snap out of it, I tell myself. Okay, you’ve fallen, but you’re “getting up” like Morgan begged you to. Cut the self-pity. Don’t worry about the past. It’s over. Move forward. Be strong. Wage inner peace. When I give myself pep talks like this I realize that, even though three weeks is a short time, I’m getting somewhere. It’s working. I can even feel a different inner chemistry that is soothing, the complete opposite to my usual state of agitation. It’s a challenge, but I no longer take my brace or cane to the center. Even with an aching back, I can now walk the full length of the hallway without any assistance from my physical therapist, although I still feel intimidated every time I pass the stairwell and glance at the incline.
PJ has worked me hard in our Physical Therapy sessions, and I’ve mastered balancing on the ball and can hold alternate arm-leg balances for twenty seconds. This requires being on my hands and knees while maintaining a straight spine, then reaching one arm forward and the opposite leg backward, sort of like a hunting dog pointing at a bird hiding in the brush. It’s an extremely challenging balancing posture designed to strengthen the core muscles around my lower back. The first few times I tried it I immediately collapsed. It still takes all the strength I have, and I’m sweating profusely within a few breaths, but I get through it by silently chanting, I am strong, healthy, calm, and relaxed, and I feel more empowered every time I hold it a little bit longer. It’s a mental game as well as physical, and there’s no doubt in my mind that I couldn’t do any of this without the body and mind relaxation and centering I’m learning through Deep Healing.
This morning at Physical Therapy, as I gaze up while icing my tender back after a rigorous session, I glance at a large poster I’ve never noticed before on the wall. It’s a photo of a lean, strong, and vibrant woman on a jetty of large boulders at the beach. She’s on top of the highest rock, balancing on her tailbone with her arms and legs extended into the air, making her body resemble a perfect V. The poster simply says, “YOGA.” I’m incredulous. How can she do that?
“Is that a cruel joke?” I ask PJ with a friendly grimace. “Something to remind me of my inadequacies?”
“It’s to inspire you,” she replies with a chuckle.
“It’ll never happen!” I laugh aloud.
When our session is over, I look at the Yoga poster again. How could anyone have that much strength and balance? Then I walk over to the window and gaze two floors below me to the courtyard between the Pain Center building and the McDonald detox center. I recognize a few of the people who are waiting for the evening Alcoholics and Narcotics Anonymous meeting. I know these meetings are powerful and have helped many lost souls reclaim their lives. I slipped into one last week while waiting for my driver to arrive and take me back to the hotel. A young man on the podium was sharing his challenges with the audience, exclaiming, “My mind is a dangerous neighborhood none of you ever want to be caught in.”
My mind was that way not too long ago, even more like a war zone than a bad neighborhood, and I can feel the anguish in the minds of my friends down in the courtyard as they light cigarettes, sip coffee from Styrofoam cups, and stare
at the ground. I lift my gaze up to the majestic maple trees surrounding them. A few thrushes, starlings, and sparrows are dancing through the blue sky. I want to call down to my friends and have them open their eyes and look up to see the beauty of life all around them, but I know we’re in different worlds. I take a deep breath and whisper to myself, “I am getting up…I am.”
Each evening after dinner in my hotel suite, I practice deep breathing, a few alternate arm-leg balances, then lie on the living room floor, reading Deep Healing and listening to Dr. Miller’s audiotapes. When I’m completely relaxed, I contemplate my higher power. Exactly what is it? How do I connect at a deeper level? Harmonize body, mind, and Soul like Dr. Miller advocates and Dawn teaches me in Jin Shin Jyutsu?
But tonight, after a long day, I feel the full force of back pain returning. It’s the first time since checking into the detox ward that this prelude to a major episode has gripped me. I know it too well. It begins with the ice pick sensation, like I’m being stabbed in the tailbone. Then a fire rages in my back. My muscles fill with tension and begin to spasm. Sciatica runs down the backs of my arms and legs. These episodes always shut me down for at least two or three days, sometimes a week or more. I’m gripped with fear. Is all my progress just a farce? Is this going to knock me out of the Pain Center? I have just crawled out of the abyss, and now I wonder, Am I going to fall back in?
Instinct and habit kick in. I need some pills. Must gobble morphine, Vicodin, and Valium. Oh God, I flushed those! I remember the Celebrex and Neurontin by my bedside and start to go for them. Then I pause. Deep inside of me I hear Dawn talking about physical, mental, and spiritual harmony. And Dr. Miller’s words are bubbling into my mind as well, urging me to be strong, healthy, calm, and relaxed. As I stare at the prescription bottles, contemplating swallowing a double or triple dose, an inner voice says Don’t do it. Take responsibility for your own health. Allow relaxation to heal you at every level.
The flare-up continues to grip me all over, but I don’t resist. “I have you,” I tell the pain out loud. “You don’t have me.” I lie down on the living room floor and try to relax into it. Oh, Higher Power, Dear God, whoever, whatever you are, guide me through this. Holding my hands together in a Jin Shin Jyutsu position designed to move energy in the lower back, I breathe as deeply as I can, consciously accepting the torment, surrendering to it, even thanking it for all it has taught me. I am strong, healthy, calm, and relaxed. There are moments I want to scream and writhe in pain, but I keep completely still. Breathing, relaxing, accepting, releasing, surrendering. Wage inner peace. It’s now or never, this is the test.
Thirty minutes later, a slow shift. The sciatica and muscle spasms start to subside. I have you, you don’t have me. I breathe deeper. Focus more intently. Surrender further. Another thirty minutes. I can feel pain leaving my arms and legs. Thank you for the lesson, pain. Thirty more minutes and it leaves my hips. I’m strong, healthy, calm, and relaxed. My back is still on fire. I stay with it. My body, emotions, mind, and Soul are all at peace. Visualizing the ice pick slowly being removed from my tailbone. And then I picture Morgan. Get up, Daddy. Another thirty minutes. Breathe, accept, release. Maybe an hour goes by. Get up, Daddy. Suddenly, I feel deeply relieved. Light. Airy. Still, it takes a while to realize it: All the pain is gone.
I can hardly believe it. In less than three hours, I’ve ended a pain episode that in the past would have immobilized me for days. The best news is that I haven’t had to rely on any drugs. Maybe I don’t have to look inside of a pill jar any more to find relief. I can look inside myself instead. I stay on the floor a while longer, just to make sure this is real, then get up carefully, find the Celebrex and Neurontin, and toss them in the trash.
CHAPTER 27
The Visits
HI MORGAN, it’s Daddy.”
“Hi, Daddy.” “Daddy loves you, honey.”
“I love you, Daddy.”
I call Morgan a few times a week to remind him how much I love and miss him. My heart aches like crazy, and hot tears stream down my cheeks every time I hear his precious little voice. He’s only two-and-a-half years old, so I’m not sure he understands why I’m not home drawing sailboats on his back, playing little games, and holding him on my lap.
“I miss you. I’ll be home as soon as I can. You take care of Mommy, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy.”
I’d call every morning and night, but it would probably just confuse him and surely drive his mother crazy.
Each time Morgan hands the phone back to Pamela, I ask for a visit. Just me and Morgan. I need to spend a day with him now and then, get reconnected, and let him know how much his daddy cares about him. Pamela always answers, “Maybe next week. We’ll see.” I sense that she’s retaining control because she still opposes my choice of the Pain Center and wants me in the rehab unit. Part of me wants to lash out at her, recount the demons in the detox ward, the continued episodes of pain, how I’ve been working so hard to heal myself. I have to remind myself to stay calm and relaxed, to wage inner peace, change the things I can, just accept the rest.
Then it dawns on me one evening after we hang up and my frustration begins to subside: What about her years of suffering? The thrilling promise of a global life replaced with becoming the caretaker of an invalid? My energy, bravado, and boundless curiosity replaced by darkness, depression, and bitter outbursts? If I had been in her position, would I have stayed, or would I have cut and run long ago? I’m not sure I want to know the answer.
Finally, after a lot of begging and a little badgering, Pamela agrees to a visit, but it won’t be time alone with Morgan. My other family members will be there, too, and it will be only an hour or two. No one will come to my room. Instead, we’ll meet down the hall in a reception area. I grit my teeth at all this but quietly acquiesce.
It’s wonderful to see my family when they arrive on a Sunday afternoon. I hug my mother and sisters, apologizing again for the hurt I’ve caused, and softly kiss Pamela on the cheek. She’s tense, and I sense that the kiss makes her uncomfortable. Then my whole being comes alive when I turn to Morgan. I lift him up and hug him closely, fighting tears as I whisper, “I love you so much,” over and over into his ear. But because I have to give my attention to everyone, Morgan and I just can’t connect on the level I need.
The reunion soon starts to feel stiff and formal. I’m embarrassed about having been in detox. Visions of the intervention flash in my mind and I start to feel nervous and unsure of myself. We are all uncertain and nervous, staying on the outer edges and keeping the conversation very light. Worse, it seems like it’s over before it’s begun. It isn’t nearly enough. I need time with my son. Real time. Just the two of us. Bonding. Reconnecting. Affirming the fact that his father is completely devoted to him and always will be.
During my calls home, I continue to negotiate with Pamela for a visit from Morgan that we can have all to ourselves. It feels outrageous that I have to beg to see my child, but I swallow the anger. Wage inner peace. I don’t want to blow it. Being with him is worth the wound to my pride. Two more weeks go by like this, and it’s making me crazy. It’s all I can do to stay focused on making progress at the Pain Center. Finally, just when I’m about to crack, a breakthrough: Pamela agrees to bring him to my hotel for a half day this Saturday.
When Saturday finally arrives, I’m up early and doing my new morning routine of deep breathing, relaxation, and visualization that I’ve designed from practices in the Deep Healing book that Dr. Miller calls “Experiential Workouts.” This time, instead of I am strong, healthy, calm, and relaxed, my chant all through my morning practice is Morgan, Morgan, Morgan. I’m waiting at the door when I hear the knock. Pulling the door open, I see a boy who seems even bigger now, standing beside his mother with a huge smile on his face as he clutches a little stuffed animal under one arm. I lift Morgan up and hold him tightly to my heart. He wraps his free arm around my neck and nuzzles his cheek into mine.
“Hello, big boy!�
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“Daddy!”
“I love you so much, Morgan!”
“I love you, Daddy!”
Pamela is polite and kind, but a wall is clearly there, and it feels to me like it’s getting thicker. She lets me know I have three hours with Morgan and tells me the precise time she’ll return to take him home. I’ll need to have him ready and waiting in the lobby. These are her conditions, which she made clear when we arranged this, and that is that. I have to suppress the urge to remind her that he’s my son, too, as I smile and say, “Sure, of course. Thank you.” This is hard work for me, always trying to choose humility and kindness.
It’s a relief to close the door. Morgan and I hug some more. Roll around on the floor. Catch up on his life. He gives me the latest news on the status of his favorite toys, including a Thomas the Train engine and the new stuffed bear from his grandma, named Fuzzy, that he’s still clutching. Our cat, Max, is doing great, Morgan says, but he meows for me now and then. There was a butterfly in the front yard yesterday. It almost landed on his finger. Now they’re friends for life. Whenever we’re alone together he opens up like this. I could talk and play with him for days on end.
As he continues sharing, Morgan is staring softly at me, touching my face and hair, getting reacquainted. I find myself doing the same thing to him. We have so much to discuss, but it’s in the silent moments between our words that we find the deepest connection. When it’s my turn to be the reporter, I take him on a tour of all the nooks and crannies of my suite, show him the view from the balcony, and how I can almost see Coronado in the distance.