It's My Cancer and I'll Cry if I Want To

Devoted bloggees may recall that on day one of my southwestern spa mindfulness trip, I overhead a discussion at the spa pool and realized that I wanted to cry. 

Not right at that moment, but at some point during the week. There are many kinds of crying: crying in pain, in grief, in sadness, in joy, and as a release, to name a few.  I think I wanted to cover several of those types.

On day two, I had an outdoor therapeutic deep tissue massage, which I had really been looking forward to.  My stress--like many of us--builds up in my neck, shoulders and back.  I am fortunate to have a fantastic massage therapist at home and to know what a good massage feels like. Unfortunately, this was not it.  "Deep" to me means, well, deep.  Dig into my back; find the knots; press on them; touch that pain sensation and drive it away.  For 30+ minutes of the massage, I repeatedly requested "deeper, harder, there . .  no there . . . )  It was frustrating for me and likley unpleasant for the massage therapist (MT) as well.  I had advised MT of my cancer--because the area where my port is (left chest, below collarbone and above bra line) is a no-touch zone.  The rest of me is completely touchable.  I couldn't help but wonder if she was scared to touch me harder.  Afterwards, I felt no relief; I felt like I had wasted precious time.  I was torn . .  do I say something to spa managment? complain? or just remain disappointed? I sat there in my spa robe for a bit, silent tears running down my cheeks.  I ended up talking to the spa manager.  It was all very quiet and discreet, and he offered me another massage the next day, with a super MT named L, known for her strength and deepness.  Kudos to Miraval and to the spa manager for handling this so professionally and compassionately.

MT L and I had a great session on day 3. She had already been given a heads up about my port and my desire for depth. We connected, muscularly and oherwise--a book she suggested that I read is the exact book I was already reading (for the second time actually--"When Things Fall Apart", by Pema Codron--I highly recommend it.)  My back and shoulders began to open up, and other parts seemd to follow.  MT L suggested that I try Thai massage, as that would go ever deeper into the kinks, knots, and  stored up gunk.

By day 5, my  final day at Miraval, I was relaxed and rejuvenated.  I told lovely daughter (LD) that I loved our week, in that every day I woke up happy and went to bed happy.  But some part of me still wanted more, deeper.  I still had not truly cried, and since the "Equine Experience" had not triggered tears, I wasn't expecting it at this point.  Little did I know.

I went to a session called "Mindul Stress Mastery."  That session had my name on it!  I thought it would be a lecture of sorts, e..g, "five ways to reduce stress and reach optimal health".  In fact, it was far more raw and honest.  About 10 of us sat in a circle, propped up by meditation chairs, pillows, and blankets.  Stress expert MG (SEMG) led a discussion of what we all stress about, how we deal with it, how to deal with it better.  We each revealed a  small bit about ourselves, and yes, I talked about my cancer, and how my stress emerges with small everyday occurences, often in parking garages. 

SEMG guided us into a walking meditation . . . just around the room, each at our own pace, in our own space.  I was cold and wrapped a large, soft red blanket around me as I slowly walked through the room.  I came face to face with a wall and stopped.  I started crying, still silently, but more abundantly, tears streaming down my face as I stood with my face to the wall, clutching my blanket.  I realized that what I was doing with thr blanket was hugging myself. And that what I really wanted more than anything was a huge bear-hug, from a large, protective, male human, with arms around me, assuring me nonverbally that  everythng would be OK.  And I wanted that hug without asking for it.  And I realized that I didn't know where a gentle giant hug like that might come from, or whether it would ever occur.

Then I pictured my Dad.  Dad passed away in 2004, just a few months before my Mom.  Some cousins said at the time that he was a rock in all of our lives.  Dad was also a great hugger.  I cried more silent tears as I thought about how much I miss him. 

After the walking meditation, we returned to our circle, and SEMG asked us to lie down, as she would then guide us through a body scan.  A body scan??  I smiled through my tear-stained face, and asked "will this be covered by insurance?" I remained aware as she talked us through the scan of the right leg, then left, and then I drifted off into that lovely zone between wakefulness and sleep.

My Thai massage was moments later.  I told Thai massage person M about my port, and he replied "I'm not scared of cancer."  I liked that.  He proceeded to push into my nooks and crannies with his feet, stretch my arms, legs and hips in varying directions, and generally turn me into a pool of mush.  I shed a few tears, and then I was blissfully done with my crying game.

Tearfully yours,

Cdiva 

Cancer Diva Adventures: The Dark Horse is a Winner!

I was a willing participant in the Miraval Equine Experience earlier this week, with little knowledge of the activity, except: 1) there would be no riding of the horses, 2) we would work closely with expert trainers to learn to communicate nonverbally with the horses (I did not ask if they're experts in training horses or training people), and 3) (unofficially) it can make grownups cry. All sounded good for me: I'm a city girl, with virtually no experience in riding or interacting with horses, and the crying part was calling to me. Plus, I had purchased cowgirl-ish straw hats for myself and my lovely daughter (LD) for the trip.
Our expert trainers C and K (ET C & K) were very supportive and encouraging (although I was a bit disappointed that neither resembled Robert Redford in the least.) ET C started the eight of us out with a discussion. Why are we here (can anyone say or hear that without thinking of James Stockdale?) I reported my poolside overhearing of the crying part. "Why would you want to come to an activity to cry?", ET C asked.  I chose to not reveal all, and just replied as I did by the pool, "I guess we all have something to cry about."

We divided up into pairs, each pair to choose a horse. I was immediately drawn to the brown & white painted horse, as those are the colors of my sweet pup Lulu, but others had already chosen him. This turned out to be an advantage as painted horse (ph)  (not to be confused with Perfect Husband (Ph)) was not very compliant.  Neither is Lulu, who is very anxious even aggressive with new humans, but Lulu weighs 25 lbs, not 980.

My partner K and I then went to Leo, the dark (brown) horse. We were instructed by ET C&K on how to approach our horses, where to stand to avoid being kicked, and how to squeeze a horse's lower leg to get him to lift its hoof (they are trained for that response.) We were then to hold the leg/hoof as shown/directed, and clean out each hoof with a special tool. K is a brave soul and went first, to clean the left-side hooves of Leo. It took a few tries, and some guidance ("you don't need to sweet talk him; just show him who is in charge), and then K succeeded marvelously. I was a bit of a nervous Nellie, so K & ET K turned Leo around, giving me access to his right side. My first few tries were unsuccessful. ET K said that I was not communicating clearly with Leo, as I was intermittently squeezing, then loosening my grip--so Leo wasn't sure what I wanted. Hmmm, what does that tell me about my non-horse relationships?? I tried again; Leo lifted his rear hoof a bit . . . and then started pooping. I backed away, and ET K shoveled it up. I thought this actually was a good development, as Leo likely felt better after that . . I think most beings do. I strode back over--purposefully, as the ETs had demonstrated--squeezed once; Leo lifted his leg; I grabbed/supported it; and did the pedicure thing. Success!

K and I then brushed Leo, and each took a turn walking him around the ring, Leo on the other end of a rope. It was surprisingly easy . . . he just walked along at the same pace as me.

For our next trick, the eight humans each took a turn with another brown horse named Elvis. Obviously, he must be special to have that name. Our task was to enter the ring where Elvis was unharnessed and could run free, and to use body language and a whip (to hold only, not actually whipping) to have Elvis trot around the ring at the pace we want, and then stop when we want him to.


 Brave K went first, then another Miravalite. I stood up & handed my Iphone to K, asked her to take photos, and that committed me to going next. I did not want to be first or last. I had sort of assumed Elvis wouldn't comply, but I shut out that thought, walked into the ring, picked up the whip and held it high as I swirled slowly in a circle. Elvis trotted along, so he spun a wider circle around the fence as I formed a smaller concentric circle. Nothing else, no one else existed at that moment but me and Elvis. We were in sync. Mutual respect.  I was in control but in a calm, confident way. I decided this pinnacle should be brief, and stopped at lap one. Elvis slowed down. ET K said "communicate clearly with him." I rolled my shoulders back, put down the whip, and lowered my gaze to the earth, as in a yogic namaste gesture. Elvis stopped. I think I heard a few people clap. It was magical. I was totally in the zone. It lasted less than two minutes.

ET C said that is mindfulness. ET K said she watched me transform from being anxious to being calm and in control. I said "thank you."

So, I did not shed any tears at the Miraval Equine Experience. But there is always another day.

Crying post to follow.

Yours calmly,

Cdiva

Cancer Diva Adventures: Judgment Day at the Spa

Lovely daughter (LD) and I are at Miraval outside Tucson, AZ, and it is just as wonderful as hoped: peaceful, sunny & warm, delicious healthy food,  abundant opportunites for yoga, workouts, hiking, meditation, mindfulness, massage, facials, and classes in mindfulness, minimizing stress & other ways to better oneself. In between all of that, we veg out at the pool. 

The spa pool area is generally quiet, with most patrons reading, listening to music with headphones, or dozing off, and a waiter discreetly offering frozen mint lemonades and other concoctions.  Adult beverages are available also, and one group of girlfriends seemed to be enjoying those vigorously one afternoon, leading to rather vigorous, loud, alcohol-infused conversation.  I didn't want to judge, but I admit I was annoyed by this, as I really wanted to read/doze off, and even with headphones on, I could hear every word clearly, from irritatons with their kids and husbands, to  "I'm just not a zen-type person" (in case we hadn't noticed).  I really struggled internally with my desire to tune this out, my annoyance at the loud intrusion, and my desire to not judge. I was judging them and judging myself for judging them. Arghhh! I did nothing except occasionally glance over, as if they would read my mind and quiet down.

Then an extremely loud conversation emerged and moved closer, including a woman sitting right next to me.  "I heard  they were crying!" "How ridiculous!!" "What would they be crying about??" They clearly were talking about something occurring at Miraval, and I just had to ask the woman next to me (quietly, of course) what they were talking about. "Oh, it's called the Miraval equine experience. You like train a horse or something."   I admit I then commented: "everyone probably has something to cry about. I think sometimes at a place like this you just have to suspend your disbelief."

I was immediately intrigued by the crying aspect and attracted to the activity they disdained.

Miraval equine experience, per the brochure: "an opportunity to live life in the moment . . . Work with specially selected horses . . . Expert facilitators . . . Nonverbal communication with the horse . . . Notice personal patterns that may be holding you back from the life you want to live."

I signed up.  Happening later today.  Will the horse know I have cancer and be extra gentle? Or maybe I'll get Mr. Ed?  

Naaaaaaay!

Cdiva