by Brad Willis
“I want to get back to where I was,” Richard tells me. “Be with my kids again, fix things up with my wife, get my career back.”
Richard is now in the residential program, but he tells me he doesn’t like AA. He’s heard about the changes I’ve made, and he wants to do Yoga, too. In fact, it’s all he wants to do. I support and encourage him in every way possible, but make it clear to him that I strongly oppose his desire to drop out of the residential program and join the Pain Center full time. Even though he disdains the AA program for reasons I can’t understand, he doesn’t seem anywhere near ready to walk the path of sobriety on his own. So we make a plan. We’ll ask the Pain Center to allow him to take Yoga as long as he promises to be fully committed to the requirements of the residential program.
I meet with Dr. Kozin and give him a strong pitch for Richard. He agrees with the idea and it only takes a few days before Richard learns that he is approved for Yoga, with the caveat that he remains fully committed to the residential program. When he gets the news, he’s ecstatic. “I’m going to do Yoga!” Richard gleefully tells me one morning as my driver drops me off at the curb of the McDonald complex. “I’ve been waiting here to tell you. The Pain Center has agreed to let me enroll in a few Yoga classes. I’ve been able to sort out a schedule and I start tomorrow!”
“That’s great news, Richard!” I say, putting an arm around his shoulder as he limps along beside me. “Go slowly. Don’t push it. Breathe deeply all the time. And if you run into Ms. Mason, don’t let her get you down.”
As we enter the complex, Richard turns left toward his first morning meeting. I turn right toward the stairs to the Pain Center. I’ve liked this man since the moment we met, and as I watch him limp away I whisper a prayer of hope that he’ll find healing and eventually create a new life for himself. No more stress. No more painkillers. No more booze. A life of health, happiness, and wholeness. May it be so for Richard, and may it be so for me.
My own fourteen years of alcohol and medications were a terrible tradeoff. In return for reduction of my pain, I surrendered my physical and emotional health. Now, with Yoga, the heavy veils I placed over my Soul are slowly lifting, one by one, revealing something inside me that disappeared long ago. My emotions are shifting from anger and fear to acceptance, confidence, and even a little bit of humility. I’m moving away from being a self-pitying victim and starting to take responsibility for my life. A feeling I had forgotten existed now visits me daily. The word that comes closest to describing it is hope.
Every move I make, from climbing the stairs to sitting for dinner, getting in and out of a car, standing before the concierge to order more books, or slipping into a hot bath, is now an act of Yoga. I pay close attention to where my balance is, which parts of my body are twisting, flexing, or engaging, and how good it feels to harmonize the rhythm of my breath with the movement of my body. I’m also taking greater charge of my life. I no longer need Biofeedback. I listen to Dr. Miller’s audiotapes in my hotel room almost every night and know visualization works without having electrodes and monitors proving it to me. I’ve pared down my schedule at the Pain Center to Yoga, Physical Therapy, and an occasional Jin Shin Jyutsu session. I find ways to cancel every meeting with Ms. Mason, and vow I’ll only see her if I’m threatened with expulsion. Luckily, it’s yet to become an issue.
With a shorter schedule, I can get back to my hotel room earlier to study and practice more of the deeper, mind-body aspects of Yoga. There’s a great complexity to this science, yet also an elegant simplicity—a pureness of logic that resonates with my analytical mind. Pranayama, the mastery of our life force, known as Prana, is the science of controlled breathing. It purifies, balances, energizes, and oxygenates the body. My books say it also boosts the immune system, enhances circulation of the blood, and massages the heart muscle. Meditation lowers blood pressure, reduces stress, and calms the emotions. I lived most of my life being judgmental and combative. This seemed normal to me and always helped me advance my career. Now I understand how it also stressed me out. Breathing deeply and meditating on calmness and acceptance feels so much better than always being on guard.
I’m also learning that all the Asanas (poses) have profound physiological, neurological, and even psychological benefits. Twists promote digestion and elimination, tone the abdominal organs, and quiet the nervous system. Forward bends relieve anxiety, stress, and depression; stimulate the liver and kidneys; and calm the mind. Backbends energize, open the area of the heart center, promote courage, and counter fatigue. The more I study, the more I also realize that this barely touches the surface of what Yoga offers. I see it as the ultimate science of how to be a human being in body, mind, and Soul. It’s self-healing at the highest level, powerful medicine with no side effects, a completely natural way to heal and thrive. I’m totally hooked.
My usual bacon and egg breakfasts, meat sandwich lunches, and steak dinners always seemed sumptuous and hearty. The science of Yoga recommends a vegetarian diet. Even though I’m not ready for this, red meat and pork now taste greasy and heavy to me, no longer appetizing. It must be the power of suggestion. Or maybe I only liked these foods because I associated them with the “good life.” Either way, red meat and pork are gone. I’ve substituted granola and fruit for breakfast, salads and soups for lunch, and fish or poultry for dinner. I eat more slowly, chew more thoroughly, and really taste the food. This makes me satisfied with smaller portions at every meal. As a result, the new pants I just bought are already too loose, and my extra-large T-shirts now droop over me like sacks.
Pain episodes still strike when least expected. Sometimes I go into my old mode and start to despair. I want to down some painkillers, curl up into a ball, and scream out loud. Then I catch myself and remember all my new tools. The first step is to stop myself from reacting and getting tense. Instead, I breathe deeply, visualizing the pain as a wave that will come and go. Then I do restorative poses, chant my mantras, and relax myself as much as possible. It’s worked every time so far.
With less of the stress that pain creates, my energy is increasing. Every morning I feel a little more vibrant and alive. Where I used to be really shut down and completely opposed to making an effort or trying new things, I now feel adventurous. So I try to take the stairs up to the Pain Center every day and even climb the stairs for a few floors at the hotel every morning and evening before surrendering to the elevator. It would be impossible for me to make all twelve stories, but I’ve made it from the lobby to the fourth floor. My sights are now on the fifth.
I’m also growing more flexible by the day. A few months ago, I could barely touch my knees while trying to do a seated forward fold. Now I can almost reach my toes. I can sit cross-legged on the floor without back support for a few minutes at a time. My spine is coming into a more natural alignment. I’m exploring basic hip openers, more advanced backbends, deeper twists, and more powerful lateral extensions. This physical progress might not be the ultimate goal of Yoga, but it’s profoundly inspiring and empowering. Every time I take a pose the slightest bit farther, the light of hope shines more brightly within me.
While I remain heavily focused on Yoga postures, breath work, and meditation, the core of my being continues to be drawn to the spiritual aspects of this ancient practice. The more I study it, the more I’m convinced that it transcends religion and dogma. Yoga urges us to see the unity in all things rather than focus on our differences. I witnessed as a foreign correspondent that when religious, social, and/ or political systems see themselves as the only legitimate way, others can become adversaries and enemies. This has promoted intolerance and fanaticism throughout the ages, leading to misunderstandings, condemnations, conflicts, and wars. Yoga offers something different, and I find myself drawn to it like I’ve been lost in a desert and suddenly an oasis has come into view.
Yoga also holds that self-indulgence and materialism never bring happiness. The more we look externally for a sense of satisfaction in our lives, the more we ar
e destined to suffer. It reminds me of all the stories I’ve read about people who attained great wealth or fame in their lives yet were miserable and often killed themselves with drugs and alcohol. I remember, too, how as a journalist I was happiest when I was in a third world country or a war zone, like the time in the mountains of northern Iraq when my little bottle of Tabasco, Swiss Army Knife, and a piece of twine were all I needed.
Yoga also teaches me that there is a Divine Being within each of us, and that merging back with this inner essence is the journey of transformation and spiritual unity. It advises me to be still and quiet, really connect with the present moment, and—perhaps most importantly—release my ego and concentrate on my sense of higher power. It also advises me to continually contemplate who I really am at the deepest level, and to seek to be the very best person that I can be. This means even more humility, more compassion, and more gratitude for what I have in my life rather than worrying about what’s lacking.
Stillness and silence used to be disconcerting. Now they’re rich and delicious. I no longer turn on the TV and allow myself to be seduced by its nonsensical cacophony. My interest in the bestseller novels I used to crave has been replaced by Yoga studies. Stepping onto my balcony at night and gazing at the vast phantasmagoria of the heavens is bedazzling. All this gives me a sense that I’m being reborn. Brad Willis the global journalist died long ago. Brad Willis the permanently disabled man with a broken back is passing away. I even wonder if one day, just maybe, Brad Willis the cancer victim might be gone as well. The authentic person within me has been suppressed for years. Now that person is coming alive as a fledgling Yogi.
I have no illusions that Yoga will make me a sage of any sort, but the more I tune out the noise around me and listen to the silence within, I’m able to access an inner wisdom I’ve been unaware of most of my life. I now realize there’s a natural and intuitive knowing within me, an inner guidance arising like a whisper from my Soul. I repeatedly commit to listening even more closely to this voice, which always seems to be saying Take it further, commit ever more deeply, and never look back. My intellectual mind, of course, offers me a million ways to judge or dismiss all this esoteric spirituality, but I’ve decided not to listen to that mental voice any longer. This is life or death for me. My only chance. I’m all in. One hundred percent.
CHAPTER 31
Homecoming
RICHARD IS WAITING for me in the downstairs lobby as I arrive at the Pain Center this morning. I’m surprised to smell tobacco on his breath. He quit smoking last week when he started Yoga, and has been exuding a real sense of hope lately. Now he’s gripped with anguish as he grabs my arm with force and almost yells, “Did you hear the news?”
I wonder if there’s been a cataclysmic world event I’ve missed since I no longer watch TV, or maybe someone we know has had a relapse.
“No, Richard, what is it?” I ask softly, trying to calm him down.
“I just found out that the Pain Center is shutting down!” He exclaims with tears welling up in his eyes as he trembles with anger. “They’re out of money. The insurance companies say there’s no proof any of this works and it’s out of the mainstream, so they won’t reimburse the hospital for our treatments. There aren’t enough patients who can pay the full price and there aren’t sufficient funds to continue.”
He says all this so fast I have to ask him to take a few deep breaths and slow it down. “One of the nurses told me in confidence,” he says, on the verge of breaking down. “I can’t believe it. Why would they enroll me and give me this hope when they knew they were closing?”
I remember my first day at the center when two other patients said their insurance company had rejected all their reimbursement requests. Mine have been rejected as well. It’s been a source of frustration for all of us. Although I’m fortunate to have enough saved to afford the program, it’s been a major financial burden. I hold Richard in a bear-hug and whisper that it will be all right, everything will work out as it’s meant to be. Then I go investigate. PJ is always the one who’s most dialed into what’s going on, so I hurry up the stairs and find her as she’s coming out of a staff meeting with a worried look on her face.
“PJ, is it true, about closing down?” I ask, a little breathless.
“Shhhh,” she says secretively. “I was going to tell you this morning. Come into my office and we can talk about it, but you can’t tell anyone else right now.”
When we sit down, PJ is on the verge of tears. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her down. “The staff has been in meetings trying to find some way to salvage the program, or at least persuade the hospital to run it at a loss while they attempt to locate funding, but it’s not going to happen,” she tells me as she wipes a tear away. “They just can’t attract enough patients to sustain the center without insurance company reimbursements. The closure date is uncertain, but the end of the Pain Center is inevitable, and it’s coming soon.”
Like Richard, I feel a sense of betrayal and anger at a system that so often puts profits above patients. Is this a business or a place for healing? And there’s this irony: Most of the expensive procedures and medications my insurance has paid for only made me worse. The Pain Center has been an oasis and has the capacity to help people find true healing and wholeness. Now, it’s going to close its doors. It feels like the rug is being pulled out from beneath my feet just as I’m finally able to stand firmly on the ground. It’s outrageous. They can’t do this to us. I won’t stand for it.
Wait. I stop myself in the middle of this psychological drama I’m creating, take a deep breath, and let it go with a loud “AHHHH.” Instead of giving in to anger or reacting with fear, Yoga would advise me to meet this challenge with confidence and faith in myself. I close my eyes and focus on the situation.
Yes, my healing has just begun. I’ve risen from the bottom of the abyss, but I’m still clawing my way up the side of the cliff and my grip remains tenuous . But I can do this. I have to deepen my resolve if I’m going to pull myself all the way up. I have to reclaim the courage that I lost long ago. I must begin believing in myself again. I can do this.
Just by repeating this to myself, my resolve begins to deepen. I can do this. Even if I have to do it all on my own, I can do this. Stand in Yoga. Get up, Daddy. Get up and stay up. Then I give PJ a hug and ask that she give me an extra rigorous session. She smiles and says she’s happy to oblige.
This morning toward the end of my practice as I’m doing some more self-reflection, it dawns on me that my first step into Yoga wasn’t at the Pain Center. It wasn’t the epiphany when I walked into the Yoga room. It wasn’t when Savita helped me get my legs up the wall or taught me how to breathe. It was nearly four months earlier, on the morning I discovered my family downstairs and the intervention began. That was when I began to face myself, realized I had lost control of my life, chose to let go of all resistance, heard my inner voice telling me the truth about what I had become, and said, “It’s about time.” I had no idea this was Yoga. But it was.
Yoga teaches the immutable law of Karma. Karma says we are the architects of our happiness and our misery. We can hope for new outcomes from old behaviors, or realize that only new behaviors will change our circumstances. It’s our choice. We can continue to suffer, or we can take responsibility for our lives. We can live in our illusions, feeling frustrated and victimized, or we can surrender our egos and see the bigger picture. This means we learn to listen to our hearts, reclaim our power, step up, and take skillful action.
I surrendered a truckload of ego when I entered detox. It was an experience of humility that wasn’t easy for me but ultimately proved invaluable. I began to reclaim some of my power when I listened to my heart and chose the Pain Center over the residential program. Now that the center is closing, Pamela is still insisting that I’m not ready to come home and that the residential program is my only option. I think she’s afraid life will quickly go back to what it was.
Who can blame her? I thi
nk she also wants her way right now, which I can understand. But I’ve been away from Morgan far too long and my inner voice has been telling me there may be other agendas in play of which I’m unaware. Every cell in my body is almost screaming: If you don’t go home now, you might lose your son. As I end my morning practice I commit to following this inner guidance. If I can repair and renew my marriage, I’ll do so with humility, energy, and effort. The likelihood of this seems uncertain right now, and I’m unsure how many mountains I can climb at once. Either way, my mind is made up: I’m going home.
The final days at the Pain Center are difficult for all of us. Staff members have hushed conversations in the hallways. They’re angry, sad, and fearful of the challenge of finding work somewhere else. The small number of patients at the center are in despair. Enrolling in this program was a huge step for them, a final effort that offered a glimmer of hope after years of suffering. When I see them now, their physical and emotional pain is palpable. I’m deeply disappointed as well but do everything in my power to accept it and remind myself that I have to move forward as skillfully and courageously as possible.
“I don’t know what to do.” Richard is dark and despondent in his rage. “I’m not going to stay in the residential program without the Pain Center.”
“Richard,” I plead, “don’t walk out. You know what will happen. You can make it here. I’ll give you some of my Yoga books. You can study. Practice. Believe in yourself. Stay strong. We can talk on the phone. I’ll come see you when I can.”
“I don’t have it in me,” he answers sharply. “Everyone has betrayed me. I’m done with it all. I’m out of here.”