Letting Go

I alluded in my last post to having begun practicing yoga again.  For me, one of the blessings of going through difficult times is the way I turn to my spiritual practice for relief, and grow.  It was after a particularly trying day that I gently shut the bedroom door, selected a yoga video, and nestled onto the ground, in a comfortable seated position, eyes closed, hands placed gently on my knees, breathing in and out through pursed lips.  

I remember the first time I practiced yoga.  The discomfort.  The ensuing frustration when I allowed the discomfort to overwhelm me and broke a pose.  Two weeks ago when I pulled up a yoga video online, I was pulsating with energy.  Anger, upset, maybe even resignation coursing through my veins.  I felt discomfort this time around, sure, but I breathed through it.  Each time I wanted to break a pose, I focused on my in breath, and my out breath, and on breathing into the discomfort.  And each time I made it through.

Several quotes I've (over)learned throughout my life have been resonating with me during my practice, and have helped me to appreciate the way yoga not only nurtures my mind but my spirit as well.  The way it helps me to cope with Type 1 diabetes just a little bit better.

A few days ago, my practice was winding down, and the instructor was getting into position for a headstand.  Now, I'd never done anything even remotely close to a headstand, and when we would get to this point in a class, I would opt for the gentler modification.  But this time I sat up tall, leaned forward to rest my chest on my knees, then tucked my head into my interlocked fingers.  And slowly, ever so slowly, lifted my feet off the ground.  Higher, ever higher, until my body created a beautiful vertical line.  The question, "What would you do if you knew you could not fail?" reverberated through my body.  It was with this mindset, this shrugging off the possibility of falling that allowed me to attain this beautiful posture.

A few days later, I found myself in a Warrior pose.  Those tend to be some of the most uncomfortable poses for me.  My thighs burn, and I feel tight all over.  In an effort to loosen up my body a bit, I concentrated on relaxing my inner thighs.  And experienced the pain of letting go.  The joy of surrender.  The adjustment helped me to appreciate that pain will inevitably enter my life.  And that I can surrender to it or attempt to protect myself against it.  Either way, I will experience it.  But it is in the surrender, the letting go, that there exists true peace.

Peri - (Oh no!) - dontal disease

We had just returned from our honeymoon, blissfully (yes, blissfully!) happy.  Marriage was even better than we had anticipated.  Somehow, after saying our vows, we entered into an even more intimate, comfortable, secure, loving relationship.  Taking care of each other became our top priority. And we constantly teased, hugged, loved.  I remember thinking, "It doesn't get better than this."

Three days after we returned from our honeymoon, I attended a routine dental appointment.  Water shot out from Dr. L's high-powered cleaning device to clean the surface of my teeth and the spaces in between.  His assistant maneuvered a suctioning device around my mouth as Dr. L cleaned, and at one point she removed it.  I took the opportunity to swallow.  And tasted blood.

Dr. L pulled up a chair after the cleaning and told me that he was concerned about the amount my gums had bled during the appointment.  Usually this is a result of tartar build up, he told me.  But I had none.  He was concerned that my having had undiagnosed diabetes for awhile had led to the development of gum disease.  I couldn't believe it.  M is forever teasing me about how thoroughly I brush and floss.  How had this happened?

One week later, I was at Dr. P's office.  He was the periodontist Dr. L referred me to.  He used a measuring tool to assess how deep the pockets between my teeth and gums were.  The deeper he could submerge the tool beneath my gum line, the more concerning the pocket was.  I had remembered Dr. L telling me that 3's were normal.  When I heard Dr. P read out 4's, 5's, even 6's to his assistant, I fought back tears.  Closed my eyes against the pain and focused on taking one breath at a time.

Dr. P pulled up a chair after the procedure and told me I had periodontal disease and would need to schedule surgery as soon as possible.  Untreated, periodontal disease would lead to tooth loss.  This was all so overwhelming to me.  Within the space of 8 months, I had been diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes, learned how to manage diabetes with fingersticks and injections, began using a continuous glucose monitor, and a pump...and now diagnosed with periodontal disease.  And this in addition to all the good stress, the moving in with M, planning our wedding, taking and passing my licensing exam, getting married...

I've had about a week to adjust to this latest news, this new chronic condition that I'll have to manage for the rest of my life with quarterly visits and hypervigilance about oral hygiene.  This news stole M's and my bliss for a time, until we fought to regain it.  Until I renewed my commitment to yoga and my spiritual practice.

J, Dr. P's assistant, met with me before I left my appointment.  She told me that whenever she doesn't understand a condition her daughter was born with, why it was that other little girls don't have to manage what her daughter does, she tells herself that it's because they wouldn't be able to.  That if we're given it, we can handle it.