am I my body?
by elizabeth mass

As a young adult, I was aware that men found me attractive. I enjoyed my sensuality, my vitality. I was never particularly athletic, and didn’t much participate in sports. I preferred using my mind —deep discussions, word games, mental exercise.

Later, minor physical problems arose, but I just took them in stride and dealt with them.

My first pregnancy brought the first signs that my body would demand more attention. I’d wake up in the morning with my hands stiff and swollen. The joints of my fingers were painful and didn’t want to move. Rheumatoid arthritis, my doctor said. It was annoying, painful even, but again, I didn’t give it much attention. I finally went for cortisone shots when I stopped nursing my baby at nine months. The condition improved and I forgot about it. My baby, my husband, my life became too busy. Time went on.

After the birth of my third child, the arthritis returned full force. The pain was in my legs now, and I could hardly get up in the morning. But with three young children to tend to I didn’t have time for this. I was angry at the intrusion. The pain and the lack of energy were keeping me from doing what I needed to do. When the doctor said “We don’t have a cure for arthritis (this was 1971 before the medications now available), it may just get progressively worse and you may end up in a wheelchair, or you may be lucky and it’ll just get better by itself,” his casual pronouncement felt like a sentence of doom. But rather than sink into despair, it aroused my fighting spirit. I was frightened, but determined to find a way out.

I left the doctor’s office and when I got home, sank into meditation. In desperation I called out to whatever, whoever, was out there and asked for help. I put my heart and soul into that plea. Then a strange thing happened. Within a few days of that call to the Universe, I received in the mail an advertisement for a book entitled, There Is A Cure for Arthritis by Paavo Airola, a Naturopath. Surely this was more than coincidence. Although I was skeptical, the book came with a money back guarantee, so I ordered it. Surely, this was the answer to a prayer.
Following Airola’s suggestions, I began with a special fast: a liquid diet consisting of vegetable broth, juices, teas, and water — not an easy matter, since I was cooking meals for the family at the same time.

But I was determined. I followed as much as I could of the recommended regimen: enemas, hot and cold showers, Epsom salts baths, etc. At the end of the fourth day I broke the fast with a salad and gradually reintroduced some foods, with certain dietary changes.

Within another day or so I was free of pain and could walk easily. I had lost a few pounds and looked and felt great! So that was that.

I went back to my busy life, more conscious of the foods I was eating and trying to eliminate those (like nightshades) that were said to contribute to arthritis. There were occasional flare-ups, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

Life went on…children grew up and left home. I grew up and left home. Divorce. Work as a Spiritual Therapist. Opened a holistic center, closed it 4 1/2 years later. I had a busy life. I was the center of a lot of activity. The arthritis in my hands returned at one point and again I endured cortisone shots. They worked.

All the while I still felt my body to be an aspect of me that needed attention in order for me to do other things. Yes, I became more health conscious, sought out organic foods, eliminated sugar (mostly) and caffeine, cut down on dairy, wheat and red meat. But I was more interested in my work with clients, leading workshops, lecturing. I needed to keep my body in shape so I could get on with what was really important.

As I moved on in years, and especially as I entered into my 60’s, I became concerned with my lack of stamina. I could no longer dance away the night. In fact, I couldn’t even walk up a slight incline without a shortness of breath. I joined a gym, worked out. In my younger days I’d enjoyed yoga classes, but now I wanted to work with weights and build my strength. It seemed to be making a difference. Then, at age 64, all hell broke loose.

I’d always prided myself on feeling young. Age seemed irrelevant. I had a vibrant spirit, was mentally alert (except for the disappearing memory!) and enjoyed the company of people of all ages. I felt young and I looked much younger than my years. Pride, they say, goeth before a fall, so it’s no wonder I fell flat on my face. God, the Universe, or whoever’s in charge out there, apparently decided to pare away some ego-layers and teach me some lessons.

So it was that in the summer of 2002 I was forced to acknowledge that yes, in some ways, I am my body. My body, this physical form, demanded that I give it the full respect it deserves. It stopped working. The timing was terrible – or perfect, depending on your point of view. I had just become a grandmother and was excited and delighted when my daughter-in-law gave birth to twins. True, they lived in New York City and I had recently moved to the mountains of North Carolina, which meant I’d not get to see them as often as I would have liked, but I knew I could travel several times a year, and stay in touch in other ways.

At the same time, I was in the process of buying a house—an enterprise fraught with anxiety, financial concerns not the least of them. So when my body gave out, once again, I “didn’t have time for this.” I tried to ignore the early symptoms of exhaustion, headaches, joint pain, inexplicable weight loss. I was too busy, had too much to do, dealing with the mortgage company, packing, moving, etc., etc. But when I couldn’t pack a box without having to lie down for 15 minutes, I knew something was definitely wrong.

I finally went to the doctor. Iron supplements took care of the severe anemia that was causing my exhaustion. Then a friend, checking the Internet, found a description of all my symptoms. Armed with this information, I went back to the doctor. Through blood tests and an arterial biopsy the diagnosis was confirmed as Polymyalgia Rheumatica with Temporal Arteritis (inflammation of the arteries of the head). I was immediately put on Prednisone, a major steroid, with numerous side effects. I was not happy about it. But the alternative was worse: the Temporal Arteritis could affect the optic nerve, causing blindness…. Prednisone it was. And still is, more than two years later.

The illness persisted through all the months of packing and moving and settling into a new home. Only through the generous help of many friends was I able to get anything done. Even working with a physical therapist, there were still days when my arm muscles were so weak I couldn’t even lift a glass of water. Though I pushed myself to do as much as possible (the house needed many minor repairs and I continued to see clients, teach classes), I was tired a lot, in pain, and angry that my body wasn’t working for me the way it should. I, who believed in the unlimited potentials of mind and spirit, was being held in limitation by the physical body.

As time went on, and I began feeling stronger, I decided to straighten out my office, which had become cluttered with old computer equipment. As I lifted a heavy monitor from the floor and bent over to put it into a carton, I felt (in fact heard) something snap in my back. The pain was excruciating. I couldn’t stand up and I knew I was in trouble. Eventually, of course, I managed to get myself up and moving. And after days of denial, I went to a chiropractor, who, after six visits, admitted he couldn’t really help me. I probably needed an x-ray. Well, I probably should have had that x-ray immediately, but being stubbornly attached to my holistic approach to life, I still resisted traditional medicine.

In any case, the x-ray showed a compression fracture of the spine due to severe osteoporosis. So now, here I was, forced to deal with this physical body in no uncertain terms. Finally I recognized that I couldn’t continue business as usual. There was just too much pain, too much weakness. Everything had to stop.

This time, I realized I was being given a message that something deeper had to change in me.

Now, the journey really began. Not being able to drive, or even walk without a walker, I had to depend on friends for everything, from grocery shopping to preparing simple meals to doing my laundry (there went the last remnants of pride). Learning to ask for help, learning to receive. My face swollen from the Prednisone. My body bent and crippled. I couldn’t lift my arms high enough to style my hair so it just hung there, straight and limp. I, who enjoyed “looking good,” finally learned that “I’m not what I look like.”

This journey has forced me to acknowledge my body as an integral part of my beingness. When severe pain takes over, nothing else seems particularly important. I‘d get e-mails dealing with political and social conditions that I care deeply about, but they became less relevant than not being able to cut my own toenails. I still wanted to make a contribution to creating the new paradigm here on earth, but truthfully, more of my attention went to the challenge of just getting out of bed in the morning. My personal situation had become my primary focus. The side effects of the Prednisone were numerous. I’ve had to deal with constipation, incontinence, nausea, acid reflux, thin, dry, lizardy skin, cataracts. Excruciating muscle spasms in my back and around my rib cage left me groping for pain pills, not caring that they might dull my brain for a few hours.

I had to stop seeing clients altogether and live off savings and the generosity of others. My usual life faded away. I’d read about local events, concerts, theater, lectures that once I would have eagerly sought out, but now didn’t really care about. The truth is, I had no energy anyway. Too much pain, and just too tired. I spent my days reading, doing crosswords, watching videos, playing computer games. I ‘d do my pool therapy, some simple exercises, walk a little around my house, gratefully accept energy healing, massage, prayers, generously offered by friends.

I came to appreciate the gift of a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, friends and family who’d call to see how I was and ask if I needed anything, my neighbor, Susan, who came to take out the trash for me. I had to rely on a local transportation service for seniors. I had to admit that that’s what I am – a disabled senior. I came to view the elderly, with their shuffling walk and wrinkled faces, their unstylish clothing and comfort shoes, with renewed compassion and respect.
Things do often get worse before they get better. The Prednisone caused further complications, namely avascular necrosis, a condition in which the bones of the joints don’t get sufficient blood and oxygen, and they die. This painful condition went to my right hip, my left knee, my shoulders. The medication that was supposed to save my eyesight was destroying my bones.

I found myself unable to walk without the aid of a walker, and then a wheelchair. My right hip became so painful I could no longer manage the short flight of steps leading from my upper level with the bedroom and bathroom, to the kitchen downstairs. My son, Ethan, came down from New York and set up a virtual kitchen for me in my office, with mini refrigerator, microwave, hot plate. I was able to prepare simple meals for myself, but was often too tired to cook. I accepted ‘Meals on Wheels,’ thinking how ironic this was since this was one of the charities I’d always contributed to so homebound people could have hot food. Now I was one of them. For several months I lived in the few rooms upstairs. Fortunately, I have a deck outside my bedroom, so I was able to sit out there and enjoy some fresh air and sunshine. Still, in many ways I was a prisoner in my own home. Oddly enough, I felt so miserable I didn’t even mind.

Many days were spent in quiet reflection, exploring the emotional aspects of this condition. My other two children, Noah and Jessica, came to visit from Austin, Texas and San Francisco. Traveling such a long way to see me. All this wonderful attention — was I creating this illness for these benefits? More cause for self-examination, walking the fine line between blaming myself for being sick, and recognizing deep needs that, perhaps, were being met by having this illness. After doing some honest inner work, I was able to release that and let it go.

Eventually, my misery led me to agree to hip replacement surgery as a step that might bring me less pain and more mobility. Seeking other opinions at the Hospital for Special Surgery in New York, I learned that I had multiple spinal fractures which had to be taken care of before any hip replacement would be possible. I had gone to New York expecting to do consultations and return in a week. Three months and three surgeries later (and thank God for Medicare), I was finally able to return home to Asheville.

Now, after lots of physical and occupational therapy, I finally feel myself on the road to recovery. I no longer need the wheelchair, or the walker, and can manage with just a cane. The pain is greatly diminished, and I’ve been able to gradually reduce the Prednisone dosage. I have had to undergo more surgery – for cataracts (also the result of Prednisone). I’m surprised at how willing I am now to put myself in the hands of doctors, admitting that sometimes traditional medicine does have the answers.

I’m actually starting to feel like a real person once more, even though I have to keep reminding myself that my bones are so fragile that additional fractures are always possible. I have to be careful when bending over, and not lift anything heavy.

My goal right now is to be able to drive again. This will depend largely on how well I can turn the steering wheel since my shoulders and arms still have quite a bit of pain and limited range of motion.

I have great hopes for Infrared Light Treatment which has been known to re-grow bone and cartilage. My knee and shoulders do feel somewhat better. Over the course of this illness, I’ve tried many holistic and alternative treatments, everything from radionics to homeopathy, from flower essences to various herbal and nutritional supplements. Nothing seemed to bring much improvement. But the light therapy has definitely made a difference. (For more info on this check the website: lumenphoton.com)