My Chiropractor, My Hero

About 4 years ago, I started getting headaches. Searing, brutal headaches that actually made banging my head in to a wall feel soothing and healing (I tried it, several times). I had scans of my brain, I tried numerous migraine medications, and I blamed everything from green tea to dairy. The headaches were unrelenting, and often would last for days. Finally I asked my dentist what he thought about it. He sent me to a TMJ (temporomandibular joint) disorder specialist who told me to stop chewing my food and to hold a popsicle stick in between my front teeth for two 15 minute periods a day.

I sought out another opinion. I was told to try yoga and not stress so much.

So I finally went to the guy who knows jaw drama better than anyone, the reconstructive surgeon for the Philadelphia Flyers. He sent me to get another scan, this time not of my brain but of my facial bones. He discovered that the clenching and grinding I was doing in my sleep had actually caused the cartilage to slip from out between my jaw joint and my skull. Because there was no protection or cushion anymore, each night was effectively a lot of repetitive bone-on-bone grinding (God, that sounds so much dirtier than I intended).

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no cartilage!

So it was surgery time! I spent two weeks blissfully drugged while Tai brought me smoothies and frappuccinos. I did weeks of physical therapy with a specialist who looked like Sean Penn and loved to talk about Bruce Springsteen. I started wearing an industrial strength nightguard to sleep. And I was healed!

Only I wasn’t.

The headaches were certainly less frequent, but they were still happening. And now I had a chronic, dull ache in my jaw that no amount of Akaishi facial massage could address. I made an appointment with a fancy “integrative dentist” about 45 minutes away. But before I actually got a chance to see her, my friend Jessica (you know her as my makeover buddy) started talking about chiropractors. She’s had Atlas-level back issues, and while she was skeptical of chiropractic for herself, she got me thinking. The spine…namely the cervical spine…connected to the skull…

People say that chiropractic is mere quackery, and that chiropractors get you addicted to adjustments so that they can go on and buy yachts and Ferraris, but a.) I love quackery and b.) I’d gladly just outright buy my chiropractor a yacht thanks to the relief he’s given me.

The way an adjustment generally works is as follows: the chiropractor surveys the alignment of your spine, as well as the way you stand, walk, move your head from side to side, etc. Over time, the theory goes, the vertebrae in your spine can shift ever subtly, and the disks between the vertebrate can swell, creating what’s known as a subluxation. This then causes a domino effect, where gradually the wayward vertebrate may irritate surrounding nerves, soft tissues, and muscles. If you are used to walking or sleeping a certain way, it can almost lock the subluxation into place, eventually causing crazy amounts of pain. For me, the subluxations were mostly, as suspected, in my cervical spine, the area at the very top of the spine that runs along the neck and into the skull. My clenching and grinding was in fact causing me to sleep with my head in a very wonky, contorted position month after month and year after year, doing awful things to my poor vertebrae. So while the cartilage issue was valid, it was still only half the story.

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I couldn’t stop laughing during my first adjustment. I’m a ticklish person, and it was just plain weird. At one point, my chiropractor lifted my head (I was lying on my back), told me to relax, and twisted my neck swiftly to one side. I heard the vertebrate snapping, crackling, and popping, and was sure I’d be paralyzed from the neck down. Yet I was still hysterically, almost drunkenly, laughing. Then he did the other side, before having me flip onto my belly to work on the smaller inconsistencies in my middle and lower spines. The sounds were equally terrifying, but oh, so satisfying. I was so out of whack that first day that he also brought out what’s known as an activator tool, something that feels like an air gun or a staple gun being shot all over the back. In a good way.

Now, I still leave every session feeling as if my head is a light and airy balloon, no longer a bowling ball. I feel grounded and balanced. And while I can’t say my TMJ headaches are completely gone, they now happen every few months instead of several times a week. I’m sleeping so much better. And I’m aware of my posture in a totally new way.

Now that I’m pregnant, however, adjustments have taken on a whole new significance. I can still lay prone, thanks to a table that opens up and lets my belly fall through. Now it’s more about refocusing my center of gravity and relieving some of the pressure the twins are causing all around my whole pelvic girdle and lower back.

this, times two

this, times two

And it’s as delightful as ever.

jlbs

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Here Comes the Sun

I’ve always enjoyed basking in the warmth of a sunny day as much as anyone else, but I never considered myself a sun worshipper, per se. That’s changing now that I’m pregnant. Maybe it’s due to the traumatic cold of this past winter, or maybe my body is just craving more vitamin D. Whatever it is, I just can’t get enough of the sun. I sit in the same west-facing spot in our dining room from 4:30 – 7 every day until the sun goes down. I’ve stopped lowering our shades at night because I’m an exhibitionist – I mean – because I don’t want the sun to come up and me not experience it in its full glory. When I hear Sheryl Crow sing that she wants to soak up the sun, I don’t rush to change the station because how many times have I heard that particular earworm? I think, girl…I feel ya. I’m telling you, I’d crawl across the Katy Freeway just to get to the sunny side of the street.

So how appropriate that the kachina that called out to us the most in New Mexico, that practically jumped from the shelves and into our suitcases, turned out to be the Tawa Kachina, or the Sun God?

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What am I even talking about? A kachina is a spirit being affiliated with the western Pueblo cultures – among them Taos, Hopi, Zuni, and others – though their ideologies may differ from group to group. There are hundreds of kachinas, signifying not just the sun but practically everything under (and beyond) it: animals, crops, ancestors, concepts, cosmological entities.  One of the main principles behind the kachina is that we, as humans, must connect with and respect the energy in concepts beyond our material existence in order to survive. In ceremonial situations, kachinas are often impersonated with masks and costumes. Pueblo children may be given kachina dolls not necessarily to play with, but to help them understand the universe beyond them.

Tawa may also be called the Sun Shield Kachina. Tai and I were drawn to him at once because we loved his blue face and wild hair, which, like in the picture above, is usually represented by a circle of feathers. He holds a spruce tree in his left hand and a bell in his right; in a ceremonial Hopi Mixed Dance, Tawa carries a flute. The spruce, bell, and flute all pertain to various Hopi myths around Tawa, among these myths is the idea that he, along with Earth goddess Kokyanwuhti, created Earth together.

Needless to say, kachinas were a crucial aspect of the belief system that the Pueblo people fought so hard to hold onto in the 17th century when the Spanish came to try and convert them all to Christianity. And as such, they are still an important and revered part of their culture.

We put our Tawa in a sunny windowsill where I like to think he watches over me on my own journey from shivering, paranoid wreck to sun-filled-earth-goddess-nature-mama.  Maybe he’ll even protect me from chloasma?

jlbs

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Spiritual Healing with Pedro

Among the many highlights of our trip to New Mexico was a visit with a shamanic healer, an actual medicine man, if you will, named Pedro. I was a little scared because I found out about him online, and didn’t want to end up in a plastic bag in his freezer or anything. I also didn’t really know what I wanted him to do, I just knew that I wanted a transformative experience. But that could be anything. Did I want to know about more of my past lives? Did I want to know about the twins’ past lives? Did I want to know what the future held? Did I want to see what guardian angels came through? I thought about this for some time, and discovered that the issues I needed resolving weren’t in the past or the future, but they were right now issues. Pedro picked up on this within seconds of my arriving.

But first, a little about Pedro. Born in Mexico, he comes from a long line of healers, though the gift had always been on the maternal side of his family until he and his brother discovered they had it as well. He communicates with spirits throughout the universe, among them seven archangels, and while the way he spoke of the divine had a decidedly Christian feel to me, it was in such a way that could be open to interpretation for anyone. A lot of what he said right off the bat resonated with both the psychic reading I’d had a few days earlier, as well as all the new age books I’ve devoured over the past few years. In fact, as soon as I met him I felt as if I was in the presence of someone very special and, dare I say, holy? He told me he’d be happy to do a past life reading or glean more about the future for me, but that what he saw in me that took precedence were energy blockages – things buried so far deeply in my cells that they were holding me back from becoming my true self without my even knowing it. So with that, we left Tai in the living room to read Fodor’s and went into a light-filled healing room full of fascinating objects: crystals, candles, drums, stones, feathers, drawings…

not really him

not really him

We began with a clearing ceremony and asking the higher powers to come through for us. Pedro kept referring to me as his sister, which I thought was awesome. He burned sage and waved the smoke around me with eagle feathers, all the while invoking various healing spirits with whom he has worked. It was very beautiful! Then I lay down on a table while he waved a crystal over each of my chakras. Depending on which way the crystal swung, he could tell if I had an energy blockage. I was watching too as the crystal swung back and forth, usually ending in a spinning circular motion. A few times, however, it just kept going back and forth, with no circular motion. These were the red flags.

Pedro told me that my second chakra, the sacral chakra, which deals with sexuality as well as issues of self worth, was weakened. So was my fifth, or throat chakra, which deals with voice. He said that while my heart chakra was essentially strong, he sensed that a major rejection had broken my heart and left lasting sadness. He asked me if I was ready to heal these weakened chakras even if it would be uncomfortable. Yes, indeedy!

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So from there, with Pedro chanting away, I went into a state that I wouldn’t exactly describe as a trance, though I was extremely relaxed and wouldn’t have wanted to drive a car or anything. Bad memories associated with the two blocked and one weakened chakra came up to the forefront of my mind; things I never dreamed were still affecting me but that actually made so much sense once I said them out loud.

For the broken heart: Sometime in the late 70s. Yes, I did suffer a massive rejection. I always thought I was too little to remember it, let alone feel any lasting repercussions from it. But when I was less than two years old, my parents divorced and I never saw my biological father again. He didn’t try to contact me until 20 years later, at which point I had no interest in reconnecting (too little, too late, buddy!). I was adopted at age 4 by the man my mom remarried, who I adored (and still do!) and so I never lacked for a father in my life. But I’ve had therapists over the years suggest that this initial rejection was still with me, despite my refusing to believe it. Now Pedro was suggesting the same thing. It was time to take back control and say goodbye to him for good.

For the throat chakra: September, 1994. No one thinks of me as particularly quiet, but there’s a reason I’ll tell everything and anything in writing but I need to have a bottle or two of shiraz in me before I tell the same things in words. There’s a reason I never spoke in class once I got to college. There’s a reason I used to love acting and theatre and now the idea of being on a stage makes me cringe. My freshman year, a week or so into my first English class, I raised my hand and thought I was offering some profound insights into The Catcher in the Rye. I was stunned when, instead of nodding, my professor stared at me for a full minute after I stopped talking before saying, “Why don’t you repeat whatever the hell it was that you just said, only this time eliminate the word ‘like’ and see what you have left.” What I had left was a sniffly, teary, whispered, “I don’t know what I really meant” and a vow of silence for the rest of the year. And the next. And so on. I became convinced that my opinions were meaningless, my thoughts jumbled, my speech totally inarticulate. I got Fs in class participation from there on out. A crappy boyfriend who liked to tell me that I wasn’t smart enough to be an English major, that Italian was a pointless language to study, and that the theatre people were all losers and I’d never make any friends if I hung out with them really didn’t help my diminishing self esteem. I seriously hated college.

For the sexuality/self worth chakra: July 12, 2007. Many of you know what happened that night, but for those who don’t, you’re in luck because I’m cool with blogging about it! A man, ostensibly employed by the hotel where I was staying in Cape Town, South Africa, took me on a city tour that ended in him slipping me the date rape drug. I don’t need to know or ever remember the exact details of what happened during my blackout to know that it was horrible. I knew plenty from the state I was in when I woke up, from what happened throughout the course of the following day, and from a subsequent background check I had run on the guy (the idiot gave me his real name!). I thought that I had healed this particular memory with acupuncture, hypnosis, and about 18 different blood tests that assured me that despite being in the STD capital of the world, I had emerged from the ordeal in perfect health. But I’ve still been know to cry about it on occasion. I’ve still also been known to fantasize about ripping his head off, literally grabbing him by the ears and just yanking it right off. Sadness and anger are such a painful combination.

forgiveness

So to heal these episodes, Pedro started tapping on different parts of my face and chest. While he tapped, I spoke. I had to address each of these culprits from my past, OUT LOUD, tell them why I was hurt by their actions, and tell them why I forgave them. It went a little something like this: Biological father, I forgive you because you were young and didn’t understand the responsibility of having a child. I know now that you didn’t reject me personally, you rejected fatherhood. And I’m grateful that you opened the door for me to have a wonderful life raised by someone else. Professor, I forgive you because you didn’t know how sensitive I was. You were trying to look assertive and in control in front of your class and you didn’t really think I was a stupid idiot even if you made me feel that way. Dirtbag Tour Guide, I forgive you because I know you grew up in a broken country where violence is your answer to everything. I know you didn’t mean to humiliate me personally, and I could’ve been anyone to you. I pray that you don’t touch another woman ever again.

Then I banished each from my mind and memory.

It was really hard to do! I was crying, but it was cleansing. Afterwards, Pedro finished with more chants and asked me if I knew the sex of the twins. I said not yet, and he said he thought I would have one of each. He had a vision of them as two little Eskimos huddled together, and he affirmed what the psychics said about them coming to earth together and choosing Tai and I specifically to be their parents. Eskimos! So that’s why I was so utterly freezing cold the first few months! Pedro told me that what I was doing was healing not just for me, but for them. I was creating a calm and spiritually healthy world for them by being calm and spiritually healthy in myself.

When I left, I honestly felt light as a feather. The experience made me feel truly transformed and in touch with the divine. Now whenever one of these jerks, or any negative feeling, really, crosses my mind, I can just say – oh! I banished you, remember? And can remember Pedro and all his healing wisdom.

jlbs

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Past Lives, Future Promises

greetingssantafe

Hello from beautiful (if chilly) New Mexico! Tai and I are spending the week indulging in things we won’t be able to do with the same ease once the babies arrive, among them getting extravagant spa treatments and spending hours idling around museums. We also attended a “Psychic Faire,” a drop-in evening of energy readings at the Center for Inner Truth last night, which is what I want to talk about today.

Some of you know this already, but I’ve been seeing a spiritual medium for about 4 years now. It’s changed my life in countless beneficial ways. Through my medium, Wendy, I’ve re-established a relationship with my grandmother, I’ve started to heal one of my past lives, and I’ve met several guardian angels upon whom I call all the time. Wendy predicted when I’d meet Tai, and even indicated that my first baby would actually be two babies. So suffice it to say that I am a full believer that life on earth is but a tiny part of the larger spectrum of the eternal life that awaits us on the other side; with God, with Source, with Creator, or who/whatever you’d like to call it. I also believe that we choose our earthly experiences; that we, or our spirits, pick the exact families, friends, mates, and set of challenges before we arrive here to help us reach our highest spiritual potential in a given lifetime.

In that vein, I’ve always believed that I was destined for Tai. And I’ve always thought that any children we may have would have specifically chosen us as their parents to help them along in their own life missions. Now that it’s actually happening though, I’m flabbergasted. And full of questions. So I went into last night’s reading wanting to know more about these people growing inside me, and if I’m at all capable of caring for them. My session was conducted by Gerilyn and Janet, who looked more like they were about to lead a hiking expedition into the Jemez mountains than a psychic reading. Tai’s reading was conducted in a separate room by someone who looked more the part, what with long hair and bangles and the rest. Lesson 1: Psychics come in all stripes!

psychicreader

Gerilyn and Janet both kept their eyes closed the entire time that I was in the room, which made the fact that they knew I was pregnant all the more fascinating. They said they saw sunflowers surrounding me, and that my babies would help me grow even closer to God. They said I needed to be in a place where I had access to a garden and water. They also said that the twins chose to come to earth together, and chose Tai and I for parents (yes! I knew it!) but that my big responsibility to them beyond the basics of feeding, clothing, nurturing,  etc. would be to recognize and cultivate their two unique personalities. They also had a glimpse into one of my past lives with Tai, where we were 5-year-old children together in England. This was in the early 19-teens. Apparently, we lost contact after our childhood and the loss was tragic for both of us. Therefore, we came to earth this time around with the goal of finding each other and being partners for good. How beautiful is that? Of course we did! Tai has been my best friend since the night I met him (which, incidentally, was 4 years ago today). Tai’s past life reading involved an earlier one of his lives, and a stint in the Navy in the 17th century that had freaky parallels to his life today. He also gained some insight into how to better approach his career, which either means he must begin tending his work with more tenderness and care, or he should quit his profession and become an arborist.

After our readings, we had delicious BBQ! I’d originally wanted to come to Santa Fe for the art and the healing, but also because Southwestern and Mexican food is generally very friendly to Celiacs. I’m hardly gorging myself on enchiladas though – I think the twins had a growth spurt into my stomach because it seems to have shrunk to maybe a tenth of its usual size. Three bites in to any meal and I’m so uncomfortably full I want to lie in bed for the rest of the day. Fortunately, this was dinner, so lying in bed straight after was a viable option.

As for past lives and spiritual wellness, we’ve only just begun! On Thursday I am to meet a traditional Native American shamanic healer named Pedro who may add to the story.

Till then,
jlbs

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I Got A Right to Sing the Blues

Spring, spring, at long last, spring. It’s actually been more like summer this week with temps in the mid 80s, but who’s complaining? The babies are about 3 ½ inches each and look fantastic as of my last sonogram. We’re having fun getting back to writing and soaking up as much Vitamin D as we can.

But it isn’t all sunny in Philadelphia. I had a few very dark days last week that were both familiar and out of the blue, and they sort of terrified me for what may be to come. See, here’s a secret. I was diagnosed as bipolar when I was 19. Not the kind of bipolar you’re thinking, with wild, reckless highs and devastating lows, but a kind of bipolar called Bipolar II. This means that, unmedicated, my “highs” are just normal, functioning good moods and my lows are as dark and horrible as any. And the lows are the more persistent of the two. It’s a feeling that goes even deeper than just utter hopelessness; it’s like my brain will actively conjure what I always thought of as living nightmares. Scenarios that are so vivid and detailed that I actually lay down and grieve for them, no matter how unlikely they may be in real life. It’s truly dreadful, and it terrifies me because I love the light and the sun and laughter and I can’t understand why this sickness lives inside me.

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Fortunately, medication exists. I went through a little crapshoot trying them all in various doses before I found Zoloft, which has worked miracles for me. I’ve tried weaning myself off several times in subsequent years, each with harrowing consequences. Sometimes I even attribute my eating disorder to a nasty cocktail of a broken heart, unemployment, and an ill-timed decision to go off my meds.

At times over the years I would just feel so normal and well-adjusted that I’d think I didn’t need medication anymore. I’ve had dozens of friends go on and off antidepressants; why, I reasoned, should I indulge myself by staying on them? Was I that spoiled? That unable to cope with life? I still fall into this thinking sometimes, in spite of numerous doctors telling me that I really do need medication, that I have a legit mental illness and that they really aren’t writing me prescriptions for shits and giggles. My husband has been the only one who can help me start to believe them, and now that it’s the two of us and not just me, I’m less likely to try sneaking less of my dosage without him being a part of the decision. Of course, now that the two of us is about to become four of us, the plot thickens some more…

So judge me all you want, but I’ve stayed on Zoloft throughout the pregnancy, though I hate the idea of it and I feel like I’m poisoning my babies with great unknown chemicals on a regular basis. My doctors all tell me that Zoloft is the safest antidepressant for pregnant women, and that the consequences of going off far outweigh any potential risks associated with staying on. I tell myself that since I’ve got two of them in there, they can split the dosage between them and in turn halve whatever risk might be involved.

The thing that’s really scary, though, is that with my hormones such as they are and all the huge decisions I have looming ahead (cars, houses, and actually caring for these two creatures while still maintaining some sort of identity for myself), the dark moods know how to creep back in despite my steady commitment to staying on medication. So that is why I’ve been quiet lately. I’m thrilled at being pregnant, but I’m scared to death of my depression. I’m afraid it’s just a poorly built levee waiting to break. How am I going to survive the postpartum phase without dumping entire bottles of Zoloft down my throat every night before bed?

Do I feel weak because of this? Of course. Do I look at other women and wonder how they weather their pregnancies naturally? Yes, I do. Do I marvel at people who just “stop their meds” and go on to live normal lives? All the time. Do I feel like a cuckoo mommy whose kids are going to learn sooner rather than later that their mother is a pill popping drama queen? Totally.

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But do I also know that there is no other choice? I’m getting there. You know what they say, happy mama, happy babies…

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