The power of a new perspective

I suppose one of these days I will get back to blogging about things that are completely unrelated to my health, but today is not that day.

One thing about the new doctor that I dislike – she is not very prompt about getting back to me with my INR results. This is the second week in a row that I have had to call to pester her for them, and I hate the idea that I might be labeled “a bother.” But then again – this is my body we’re talking about, and learning to be my own advocate has turned out to be an incredibly valuable gift from this process. Luckily, my pestering paid off. She finally returned my call to let me know that I am not only back in the therapeutic zone – I am smack dab in the middle of it, which is perfect. Now the Coumadin can get to work dissolving these clots like it is supposed to.

Before I made it back to the therapeutic level, I was struggling. A lot. I had the good fortune to talk to a friend of mine who is not only a lovely and supportive human being, but a professional nutritionist as well. I was so grateful to her for the compassionate way she answered my questions and validated that I was doing what I am supposed to do.

One of the best pieces of advice she offered me may seem like such a minor adjustment – but it had a major effect. She encouraged me to think of getting my INR results not as a blood test, but rather a blood check. I’m not being graded on this. And therein lies the problem. Every time my INR has fallen below therapeutic level or isn’t getting there fast enough, I feel like it’s all my fault. I feel like a failure – when the truth is that there are so many other factors that affect how Coumadin functions, or how Vitamin K works in my body. I just need to figure out what works best for me and stick with it. And like every other learning process, that takes time.

Language has a weight to it. Words have power. I know this. I study this. I teach this. But I do occasionally get thrown off-guard by their impact. I am continually fascinated by what a simple act of reframing can do. It makes me wonder what other stories I am currently telling myself that could use a language shift or minor adjustment, and what new perspective that shift could open up for me.

Ah, growth opportunities. Can’t escape ’em.

Wouldn’t want to.

“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.