Readjustment, Ramadan, and Release

The cervical vertebra in my neck is in the process of being readjusted. So is my life. The thing is, it's really painful. 

 

The discs in trouble are flat where they're supposed to be round. Consequently, they've herniated and begun to pinch the nearby nerves. The pain has radiated down the whole of my right shoulder down into the arm and elbow, even at times to the fingertips. I can barely turn my neck. I feel the bite in every step. Lying, sitting, or standing I feel constricted in my movements and experience a constant pulse of pain. Sometimes I can sense my posture correcting itself, as the pain is too much to slouch. The worst part is waking up from sleep. I often want to turn over but I cannot turn without my shoulder sending me its signal of disagreement. 

 

My doctor (or rather, his wife) tells me that it must be my body readjusting itself to its natural position. It's so used to the old, wrong ways that it can't handle going back to how it's supposed to be. What's compounding the feeling of helplessness and constriction, I'm sure, is that the same thing is going on spiritually and emotionally. My life in the last year has not been ideal. Many choices were made that did not need to be made, and the few that were necessary left their share of scars, too. In the meantime I oscillate between the two emotional paradigms of guilt and defiant resolution. Again and again, the choice has been to either push away progress, which has the tendency to bring it crashing down upon you like a monster in a bad dream, or to jump into it, the effect often being that your energy is more wisely and efficiently spent.

 

In April I met my friend DA3 (pronounced Daa). Like I reported in another post, he is from Tunisia, which means that he is Muslim. While he's not particularly devout, his brand of faith is simple and straightforward. Spirituality is about you and God. Religion is a means to an end, but it's also a cultural and human construction on many levels. I add that there are divine, useful, practical, and spiritually significant principles and that's where the month of Ramadan enters the picture. Fasting is one of those principles that major religions all over the world emphasize. The idea is to let go of what you think you depend on, learn to lean on God, learn that those things we consider "basic" desires are actually not as basic as the calm and peace that one needs in order to live a balanced and free life. This peace doesn't come from routine or food or sex or money or anything that our simple physical bodies can provide us. It comes from our spiritual core, which is connected inherently to our Creator.

 

This idea is the same in all the big religions. It's what DA3 believes and it's what I believe. After meeting DA3, I concluded that this year I would fast during Ramadan with him. It looked like just the kind of opportunity I needed at this point in my life, so on July 9 I joined him in his preparations. For a month we made sure to prepare Iftar (breaking the fast) together. We made healthy, really delicious food. I, personally, tried to make a conscious effort to eat in moderation, reminding myself that there was no need to binge, that I would not starve during a fourteen-hour period of fasting every day. At first I wanted to exercise at night, do yoga, and follow all the other great tips for a healthy Ramadan that I read on various Muslim women's blogs. 

 

Then my neck just gave out on me. I couldn't move and was in constant pain in any position. Pain does something to your brain. It brings out negativity. It reminds you of all the reasons you have to hate life. It tells you constantly that you make bad choices, that you aren't a good person, that everything that's wrong in your world is your fault. To put it simply, it stomps you to the ground. I already couldn't move my body in a normal way. Suddenly, I also couldn't escape the emotional pain still present either. All of my escape tactics were useless once I found myself attached to an IV four hours a day for three weeks. With only my thoughts for company, the resulting potion turned into inner commotion. I would cry. The nurses would ask, "Does it hurt?" What could I say? "YES! It all hurts! I can't find a place that doesn't hurt!"  

 

Keep in mind that all this is happening and I'm fasting. The doctor said it wasn't a good idea. Perhaps not, but I had already committed myself to it. More than wanting to eat to make the pain stop, I wanted God to see that I could do something for Him. Yet there in my hospital bed, I couldn't figure out why nothing seemed right. All of the anger, pain, and fear that I was experiencing just wouldn't leave, no matter how calm I tried to make my mind. I prayed and prayed. I prayed for help, for forgiveness, for answers, for calm, for my neck, for the pain to go away. I prayed and prayed until one day I couldn't take it anymore. "I give it to Thee," I said. "I can't handle it. I'm giving it to Thee." Specifically, I gave "it" to Christ. When I did that, and each time I did--do--that, I feel released. It feels like coming off of the Gravitron or a roller coaster. You can walk again. You just look around and continue walking, aware of the rush and its accompanying hormones, but not unconsciously affected by them.
 

The last day of Ramadan was yesterday. DA3 and I ate our last Iftar together. We each blessed the food in our own language and in our own way. This month has shown me just how special of a person he is and I think it's been the same for him. My neck is slowly improving. I don't have to be hooked up to an IV every day anymore. Readjustment, of either the body or the mind, is not a quick or easy process, I'm discovering. I'm understand that if this neck pain is the pain I have to experience in order to recorrect my spine, the core of my being, then I should welcome it. I ought to be its nurse and caretaker, keeping the faith and the hope that at some point it will be released. The same goes for any and all kinds of feelings I let myself get carried away by. 

 

Lastly, while I had fasted before, I had never done it for a number of days consecutively. To do it in this way has taught me that all those memories, physical ailments, and emotions that we imagine are critical to our being can be let go of. A person can start anew. It can all be released if we just give it away.

At the Hospital

I've been going to the hospital nearly every day for over a week. As I recently discovered that my student, Isabelle's, dad is a chiropractor, I decided to take him up on his offer for some neck treatments. I usually have a pretty stiff neck and sometimes the pain will become very acute on one side so that turning my head becomes a problem. Usually after a week or two the problem just goes away on its own. 

This time I decided to take the matter to Isabelle's dad. During the first examination they took an x-ray that showed some flattened spinal disks. To correct this, I was put into a straight-backed chair, had a noose-like contraption strapped around my head, and then my head was lifted by some mechanical attachment. Those who saw me said my head was visibly crooked. I, for one, had entered into a mediation of sorts and couldn't maneuver myself into coherence anyway. After twenty minutes of head pulling, I got a massage. 

After three days of massages my muscles felt loose and relaxed, but my neck pain had gotten decidedly worse. Isabelle's mom said its because my disks are being reshaped and aren't used to the position. That very well could be, I think, but I'd just like to be able to sleep at night again. 

 

So began the electrical massages and the injections. Although an electric pulse has a surprisingly life-like touch, I continue to feel terribly stiff afterwards. I can't tell if the hormone injections are supposed to work immediately or what. As far as I can tell, an IV hookup is a last resort, but also practically inevitable in Chinese hospitals. There goes three hours every day. 

 

The thing they try that I receive the most relief from is ba gua, the fire cups. This is where they take a bulbous glass, stick a burning cotton ball in it for a second, and then suck it onto your skin, thereby creating a big circular hickie. The darker the color when they pop it off, the more toxins were being released from that area. I leave the hospital peppered with black dots for a few days, but it does release a lot of the built up tension from my neck and shoulders. 

Finally, the last few days it has gotten to the point where we've had to do acupuncture. Since its my nerves I'm pretty sure that are the problem, the threadlike needles really make an impact. I can sense the needle's presence on a very deep level. My shoulder socket, especially, cringes even before they start the antibacterial swab. After the needles go in, they hook up an electrical current and proceed to send charged particles down the needle sticks into those molecules of mine running adjacent to them. To complete the effect, they set a heating lamp over the process. Day after day of this, I sit there and can only hope that somewhere in some deep tissue one little molecule has had enough. I hope he stands up before his compatriots and begins the struggle to straighten things out, put things back where they belong, and get back to living. Please, little Molecule. Your motherland is waiting.