“I love you, leg,” and other weird things I am saying lately

Ah, the trials and tribulations of being on blood thinners. I hit the therapeutic INR level last Friday, which is fantastic, but then on Tuesday it had dropped back below 2. Coumadin is a tricky, tricky drug. I am a little nervous about it fluctuating this much, but the doctor seems to think that it will be okay eventually. I am going to trust her. My prayers these days are for equilibrium more than anything else.

I participated in an online distance healing event at a friend’s suggestion. I am no expert on Reiki or really any form of nontraditional healing, but I am not the type of person to turn down help or support, no matter what form it takes. One of the things that the facilitator suggested after the session was to create a talisman that would remind me of my intention and goal for the healing process and outcome. I make jewelry, so I have a ton of spare beads just waiting to be used. I rummaged through my collection and found a few with words on them. I reached in the bag and picked three at random and got: “Feel”, “Self” and “Love”

Well, then.

I now am carrying a leather cord in my pocket with those three beads strung onto it. I reach into my pocket now and again, and remind myself that healing takes time. That I am supported. That I am loved. The trick is to provide the same level of support and love to myself that I have been feeling from my networks of friends and family.

This is a particularly difficult challenge right now. I am trying to follow doctor’s orders and do everything I am supposed to do in order to prevent a recurrence. But it is clear to me that the root of my motivation is fear rather than love. Here are some irrational thoughts that keep spinning through my head:

My body tried to kill me. I don’t trust my insides right now. What was that twinge? Why is my heart beating too fast? When am I going to collapse again? I’m feeling light-headed, so therefore I am about to die. I am never going to get better. How can I be more active when there’s a blood clot waiting to move to my heart? My body tried to kill me.

This kind of talk isn’t helping anyone, especially me, and it’s just serving to increase my anxiety levels at a time where I really need to relax.

I am scheduled to teach a path/class next February which will have a major focus on self-love and being conscious of being in the present moment. When I agreed to teach this work, I was thinking more along the lines of perception and emotions rather than physicality. This health scare experience is opening up an entirely new way of viewing my relationship to my body and self-love. It’s not about loving myself so I can be more confident and move through the world with a greater sense of ease and openness to sharing love with others (while an absolutely worthy goal) — it’s about loving my body despite the fact that I am currently afraid of it.

My new doctor (who is wonderful) joked that now that I’ve been through something like this, I will be calling her every time I have a runny nose. And it’s true that every twitch or twinge or discomfort has me worried that I am suddenly going to collapse and be taken back to the hospital or something worse. I am attempting to reframe those twitches and twinges as signs that my body is just trying to communicate with my brain to let me know how to adjust so I can be more physically in balance. So the current focus of my personal work is to attempt to consciously love parts of my body that I am afraid of.

Admittedly, it’s a little strange to say, “I love you, right leg.” But I am doing it. Saying it enough might even make it true. It’s even stranger to say, “I even love the blood clot you’re currently holding, because it reminds me that life is sacred and therefore needs to be lived fully.”

It’s a work in progress. What a gift to be alive to work on it.

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2 thoughts on ““I love you, leg,” and other weird things I am saying lately

  1. What a beautiful post. I so appreciate the new awareness you are cultivating, and the way you share it with us. From my perspective, the body has so much to say. And (largely because of the way we are taught) the mental ego has been so invested in not listening.

    I’ve been crossing out the next sentence for five minutes, and I still don’t have it ‘right,’ so I’ll just blurt: From my personal perspective, I don’t think your body tried to kill you. If this were my body, it would be more like, “I’ve been trying to get your attention for something important and,” like a toddler throwing a tantrum, “I don’t know what to do besides shriek.” I’m so glad to hear you are consciously loving your body, part by part, especially the parts that have been involved in this medical event. I’m so glad you are able to write about this so clearly. And mostly, I’m so glad you are still in the world.

    So much love and light and laughter to you.

    Like

    • Oh, I definitely agree with you. The idea that my body is trying to kill me is one of those aforementioned irrational thoughts (emphasis on the word ‘irrational’) that keep spinning through my head. I really like the way you reframed it. Thanks for that.

      Love back atcha. 🙂

      Like

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