Warrior Pose

by Brad Willis

  “When the sun rises, its golden light streams right through this window,” I tell him. “Your name means great shining light by the sea, and ‘Morgan’ also means morning. So the sunrise makes me feel like you’re shining down on me with lots of love. When you see the sun tomorrow morning, I’ll be sending my love to you in that light, too, okay?”

  Morgan likes this idea. He smiles, hugs me, and says, “Okay, Daddy, we’ll send love through the sun.” I’m amazed at how much he’s talking and it feels like I’ve missed ten years of his life.

  Then we embark on an adventure throughout the hotel, ending up at the downstairs spa. I put on swim trunks I bought in the hotel gift shop. He wears his little pull-ups. We quickly immerse ourselves into a large Jacuzzi. With the support of the warm water, I can swing him around, ride him on my back like I’m a sea monster, and lift him into the air. It’s pure joy. We play until the last minute possible then hurry back upstairs to change and meet Pamela at the appointed time.

  “Daddy, will you draw on my back?”

  “Of course, sweetheart.” I’ve been dreaming of this moment. I even packed the magic drawing stick when I went to the detox ward and have kept it by my bedside like a talisman. “What should we draw?” I ask, although I know the answer.

  “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.

  Dear Morgan,

  If you are reading this, it means I didn’t make it. I tried to get up, just like you asked me to. Really, I tried as hard as I could. Sometimes things just don’t work out the way we plan.

  Please never forget how much I love you. I loved you from the moment you were born and I have loved you every moment since.

  Always do your best. Believe in yourself. I know you’ll do great things.

  One more thing. Every time you see a ray of morning sunshine, remember me, okay?

  Love, Daddy

  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

  EACH 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 se
nse 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.

  “Keep breathing deeply,” Savita encourages me. “Always through your nose. Listen to its whisper, be aware of its texture and temperature.” Whenever my mind wanders, my breath gets short again. When Savita brings my attention back to my breath, my mind becomes calmer and more focused and my breath expands even deeper.

  “Relax your jaw.” I had no idea it was clenched until Savita softly touches my jawbone. She guides me through relaxing my entire body again, and I find more tension hiding everywhere. There are muscles in my arms, legs, back, neck, and face that I’m gripping without knowing it. Slowly, a deeper relaxation begins to set in as I let go, and let go, and then let go again. I can feel myself letting go of more emotional stuff as well, especially when I exhale, but my “hurt file” is so huge I think it will take a lifetime to delete it all.

  As I continue to lie on my back with my legs up the wall, Savita turns on soft, ethereal music and gently presses my shoulders down with her palms. Within minutes, I melt into a euphoria of deep peace. It’s more profound than Biofeedback and Jin Shin Jyutsu combined. For the first time since I left my home two months ago, I know for certain that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. My vision that Yoga is the answer has been confirmed.

  “Gently roll your head side to side and hug your knees into your chest.” Savita is softly bringing me back into the world now. “We have one or two more poses to try before we are finished for the day.”

  Hugging my stiff knees isn’t easy, and I begin to default into tension. Then I remember to breathe deeply and take it slowly. This makes hugging my knees much easier. Finally, I’m able to roll over on my side and press up to a seated position on the floor with my back against the wall for support. I try to cross my legs like Savita, but my knees are up to my armpits and it feels like my groin is about to rip wide open.

  “Don’t force it,” Savita reminds me. “Keep your back against the wall, and place your right hand on your left knee. Now, gently twist to your left.” There is a string of subtle, painless little pops in my spine as I do this. I have the same experience when I twist in the opposite direction. It feels like I’m making space between each vertebra and a healing force is rushing into every subtle opening. It consumes my attention and a voice inside my mind says There’s hope for you.

  “Keep breathing deep and full,” Savita prompts me again. “You have to stay aware because it’s easy to forget and default back to shallow sips of air.” She’s right. I forget every fifteen or twenty seconds, my breath gets shallow, and my mind starts to race again.

  “Straighten both of your legs out in front of you now,” Savita demonstrates by uncrossing her legs and sliding them straight out on the floor. This isn’t easy, either. My knees stay bent due to my tight hamstrings. My back is rounding forward like a hook. I can’t keep my torso anywhere near straight without the wall behind me for support. Just don’t tense up. Stay with it …Get up, Daddy.

  “Now, reach your arms up high, keep breathing deeply, fold forward, and reach toward your toes. Keep me fully informed. If anything causes you pain, tell me immediately and we will modify the posture.”

  As she says this, Savita folds all the way forward and effortlessly wraps her palms around the balls of her feet. I can fold only a few inches forward, but the good news is that it doesn’t cause a hint of pain. Still, my feet look as far away as China. Savita places a strap around the balls of my feet and gives me each end to hold in my hands. As I pull on the strap and try to strain farther into the pose, Savita softly tells me to ease off. “The straps are just to give you some support and alignment. It’s not how far you get right now. Don’t pull or strain. Just experience it, even if you only fold a few inches.”
She’s smiling the entire time she says this, and it feels so nurturing and affirming that I trust her completely.

  I hold the position where I am, my fingertips not even reaching my knees, and breathe as deeply as I ever have in my life. Suddenly, on an exhalation, the lower lumbar vertebrae in my back pull apart with a loud, baritone popping sound. But instead of agonizing pain, an energetic sense of relief washes through me, like a dam has broken and years of heaviness and tightness have suddenly been washed away. A huge smile covers my face as my inner voice returns and says with even greater authority, This is it!

  When the session is over, I feel a lightness and openness beyond description, like I’m stoned on some magic elixir. Just before I leave, I ask Savita what her favorite book on Yoga is and commit the title to memory. The minute I get back to the hotel I rush to find Sandra, the concierge.

  “Hi, Sandra. Please find this book for me and have it shipped overnight express. It’s urgent. I need it right away. Please!”

  CHAPTER 29

  Fanatical

  I’M LIKE A CHILD on Christmas morning as my driver drops me at the Marriott Hotel after another day at the Pain Center and my second Yoga session with Savita. I slide out of the backseat and do my limited version of a power walk into the hotel, limping as I go. I’m panting by the time I get to the concierge desk.

  “Is there a package for me?” I ask Sandra with the greatest urgency and a huge smile.

  “Yes, it’s right here,” she says as she reaches under her desk to retrieve it, noticing I’m much more animated than usual and a little out of breath. “Are you okay?”

  “Just exercising a lot today,” I say as I take the package. “Thanks, Sandra!”

  I would run to the elevator if I could. The moment I reach my room, I sit on the bed and call room service to order my usual gourmet dinner of filet mignon and garlic mashed potatoes, little realizing my understanding of what constitutes a healthy diet will soon be turned upside down, right along with my fairly mainstream view of the meaning of life. Then I roll onto my back, prop a few pillows under my head, and reach for my new book. I’m giddy as I rip open the FedEx package, feeling like I’ve found the buried treasure Morgan and I always “discover” on our imaginary sailing adventures.