Adjusting Perspectives

Transformation is not for the faint of heart.  Some days I feel at a disadvantage in this department. 

The diet is hard.  And it's not just the longing for those comfy carbs (my new favorite pastime is 'remember when we ate...'  Remember when we ate chicken fingers and french fries with chocolate malts in Michigan with Uncle Joe? That was good. Really hit the spot.  Remember when we made waffles at the shelter and I ate the first one, golden and perfect, right out of the iron?  That was amazing.  It's kind of like self-inflicted torture...but I can entertain myself for hours with this game).  There are other aspects of the diet that are hard on my body...my stomach, my digestion and my energy level to name a few.  It's quite an adjustment.  It's a lot of food (more calories than I typically eat), a lot of protein, not a lot of fiber, and a lot of unusual flavors (turns out I have a very finicky palette!).  Oh, and did I mention that getting to talk about your bowel movements with total strangers is another daily perk of this experience?  I have no less than three people ask me each day how many poo poo?  It's delightful.

But, leave it to life to rub it in that I am human – with a human body.  Why is it so hard for me to accept this reality?  I find myself continually distraught over the realities of human bodies.  Their functions.  Their shapes.  Their feelings.  I find it all so uncomfortable – and I don't like discomfort.  It dampens my spirit, forces me to sit in reality...and I am not a realist.  I am a dreamer...I thrive on the imagine if and wouldn't it be nice if.  I much prefer the idea of miraculous transformation and the mystical wonders of the world to the science of the human body and how it actually functions.  Somebody once told me that you can manifest any of your desires, but if you want more money you can't just wish it into being...you actually have to put money in the bank.

Well, turns out, if you want to change your body you can't just wish it into being, you actually have to do something different...even if it's temporarily uncomfortable.  I can tell you though...some days it's fricken hard.  You hear all these stories of people who have made remarkable transformations – overcoming injuries, battling diseases, weight loss, you name it – I have so much respect for these people when I think about what they must have endured to get where they are.  But I take comfort in the fact that people do do it.

A big part of this week has been adjusting expectations and perspectives.  This is not a quick process.  This is not an easy process.  When I first arrived I met a woman who was in her last week here and she had this air of disappointment to her.  I remember her husband saying that she was really hoping to be able to walk when she left here, but it's a lot harder for adults to see quick results.  The more time you spend here the more you learn – and it's a lot more realistic to expect improvements over the next 6 months to a year.  This is kind of like a 30 day crash course in a new way of living (a new way of thinking), and then it's up to you to take it home and implement changes in your everyday life that nurture and support the development of your new cells – and hopefully keep them healthy longer – while you continue to rebuild your body.  This is kind of just the beginning.

I was reminded today that I've made it my life's work to help other people change their lives – apparently I'm supposed to know a thing or two about how this works.  One of the things that we know to be true at the shelter is: attitude is everything.  I think I need to take my own advice – everybody has their own program, keep your eye on the prize, be kind to others (and yourself!), try your very best...and take it one day at a time.

Lifting the block...

I've had writer's block.  I've been trying to decide what to write for the last week and I've come up blank every time.  The reason?  I've been in a bit of a funk.  My fellow Pisceans are probably familiar with the phenomenon that is the funk.  Sometimes we just find ourselves in an emotional twist...and it takes a while to get untwisted.  

The good news is that I have some of my kinks ironed out, so now we can talk about how the week has progressed:

Last Friday I had the second spinal injection.  Ironically, the actual injection was a bit rockier than the first, but the aftermath was far less severe.  I could feel this injection more than the first time (they did a second shot of anesthetic halfway through because I could feel it too much!) and I ended up sleeping from 6pm until the next morning.  As a preventative measure, they did an IV the whole night and into the next day and gave me a dose of dexamethasone every four hours.  This seemed to work, as I did not have nearly as much nausea or headache as before.

On Sunday I was feeling well enough that we decided to venture out.  This was pretty much our first time leaving the hospital since we arrived (if you don't include the walk we took around the block on day three).  We treated ourselves to teatime at The Four Seasons (and yes, I cheated a little bit and had a warm buttery scone with strawberry jam...it went quite nicely with my earl grey tea!).  

But, unfortunately, amidst the grandeur of The Four Seasons I was in complete internal melt down mode – and my panic decided to stay for the remainder of the day (and a bit into the next).  Honestly, the problem (in typical AMA form) came back to those godforsaken bathrooms.   Bangkok does not do accessible...not even in a five star hotel.  And while it was still all fine (challenging, but fine), I had worked myself into such a state of frenzy over the entire issue...to the point that I felt panicked even in the taxi thinking what if I have to go to the bathroom, there is nowhere I could go.  In my defense...we all have to use the bathroom, and when you take away the luxury of not having to think about it, and you realize that in an 'emergency' it would probably take a crew of civilians and a complete loss of your privacy to get you to a bathroom...you kinda panic.  Now granted, I definitely went overboard – but it does really make you wonder, what do other people do?  Clearly, as my experience here at Better Being can attest, physical limitations do not discriminate by country – there are people here from Canada, Poland, Italy, Malawi, Chile, and many others.  Surely there are Thai people in Bangkok with physical difficulties...what do they do?

For now, I've decided not to think too much about the next 'outing.'  There is, after all, only so much a person can handle – and I think I have plenty on my plate right here within these Better Being walls.

So, after my extra-large dose of panic, I decided to duke it out with my nemesis: the oxygen chamber.  I lost.  (Sad, I know.)  I was starting to feel rather unwell again, lots of nausea and the pressure in my ears was off.  The oxygen chamber is pressurized and you have to clear your ears a lot on the way up and down...it usually returns to normal afterwards, but something did not feel right after this last time.  So, they gave me the week off from HBOT (secretly, I was sort of thrilled), but I feel like the oxygen chamber won...at least this round.

What's going well, you ask?  There's still a lot of silver linings…if you look for them.  I’ve had to make it my business to look for them.  

The pool is still great…and I’m still in love.  I’ve had a chance to work with quite a few different therapists (Beer, Ploy, Bee, and another gal).  They all have their own styles which is kind of fun.  Ploy and I are stretching…

We went for another walk yesterday and found a small slice of nature and a market that sells everything from Frosted Flakes to Magnum Ice Cream Bars (it’s good to know they’re there…you know, in an emergency)…

And, the staff continues to be sweet, encouraging and attentive.  I have an entourage of supporters that greet me every morning in my room and make me tell them that I’m doing great! (with extra exclamation).

Oh, and I discovered this little gem today...instant silver lining.  You might say it helped lift the block.

Summer Light by The Cave Singers

Winning!

My new motto is fight fight fight!  I feel a little bit like I'm channeling Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail (the answer to your question is: go to the mattresses)...if you don't know what I'm talking about, you should probably stop reading this and promptly find yourself a copy...it's highly entertaining.

Anywho, on Thursday I started feeling like my old self was returning.  We were done with the IVs, the nausea was gone, the headache was mild...and I had an ever so small piece of chocolate (shhhh...don't tell anyone!).  So I decided I needed to get back in the game, and that needed to start with a motivating mantra (I'm big on mantras...I think they're super helpful).  So I said to myself, self, you're just gonna fight fight fight until you get beyond this (and then I had a little vision of Kathleen Kelly pumping her fist in the air with triumph).

And that's how my motto was born.  Since then it's come in quite handy.  I use it when I'm doing occupational therapy and I feel like that pesky headache is rearing its ugly head...or when I'm stuck in that oxygen chamber and trying to keep the panic at bay...or when I am swirling around the pool being asked to do things that defy what I think should be possible.

We’re in it to win it now, so…fight fight fight!

Home

Weight of Your World by Roo Panes.  Not feeling your best...in a foreign country...can make you feel a little homesick from time to time.  This song came on today and it made me miss you.

I miss the smell of fresh air...the feel of sunshine on my face...the sound of birds outside my window.  I miss tea time at Peet's and gelato at Dolce and food – real honest to goodness food.  I miss the smell of clean laundry, my lovely little shower, and the bottle of Crystal Geyser water that sits on my counter at home, beckoning to be drank.  I miss the comfy white chair in my living room, binge watching Gilmore Girls, and a proper cup of tea...in a real tea cup.  I miss the visits with my bestie, the laugh of my buddy, and the sight of my favorite smile peering around my office door.

I think there is truth in needing to be at home within ourselves...wherever we are.  But I am a creature of comfort, a creature of habit, and a creature of simple pleasures...and today I miss my home.  For now I will have to sustain myself on the memory of home – knowing that it is all still there, waiting for me to return.  And THAT fills my heart with such gratitude...what a privilege to have such a lovely home to come home to.

This too shall pass...

I felt pretty okay immediately after the spinal injection.  However, the next day I went to occupational therapy in the morning and there the headache and nausea set in...in a big way.  It's a common side effect and is usually more extreme if the body has difficulty retaining water within the cells.  Apparently, my body has a lot of difficulty with this.

The next few days were rough.  One might say I was down for the count.  The headache and nausea were uber persistent and left me unable to do much other than lie flat in bed.  Sunday rolled into Monday, and with no relief in sight, they gave me an IV to try and help increase my hydration.  I tried to keep up with the therapies (they even brought physical therapy to my room), but any physical exertion resulted in more nausea and headache.

On Tuesday I still wasn't any better, so I had a second IV which included a dose of dexamethasone every four hours throughout the night and into the next day.  I wish I could say I was tough and fought through it like a champ, but I'm a sensitive soul...and the days upon days of feeling terrible, feeling disappointed, and feeling like it was never going to end left me a bit out of sorts.  I tried to stay as positive as I could...but there were tears and a few moments of I just want to go home.  Thank goodness for my lovely ones – and their sweet reminders that I am not alone.

It's interesting to step outside yourself in times like these and observe the variety of experiences occurring simultaneously within – the part of you that is devastated, the part of you that is trying to fight, the part of you that is trying to stay calm, and the part of you that simply endures.  In the end, there's really not much you can do other than let time do what time does best – pass.

And that's when you turn to Alexi Murdoch to help the time pass a little more gracefully.

The Ragged Sea by Alexi Murdoch.  I love this song. It's hard to describe why, but if I close my eyes I feel like I'm walking through a field of golden sunlight, feeling the fullness of life that is present in every moment – the anticipation of new, the memories of old...the loves, the losses – and then holding that feeling with a gentle tenderness, like holding a warm familiar hand.  It makes my heart content.

Spinal Injection Day

Last Friday was the first spinal injection.  I will be having eight stem cell treatments while here – 3 IV injections and 5 spinal injections.

There was a lot of buzz around this first spinal injection (Have you had a lumbar injection before? Is this your first time? Are you nervous? – all followed by Ah, don't worry!). Well of course I was a bit worried...I had no idea what to expect.  I ended up learning what was going to happen as it happened, and the entire process unfolded a little like something out of the Twilight Zone.

The process started at 1pm, at which point I was no longer allowed to eat or drink anything prior to the procedure.  At 3pm the nurses came by my room to start an IV.  Prior to every treatment they do an IV and give you a dose of dexamethasone (to help prevent side effects).  Then there was a bit of waiting (a lot of waiting).  Around 5pm, the nurses came by again and had me swallow a little purple pill (I later learned this was Xanax - to help me sleep afterwards), and then they wheeled me upstairs to the mysterious 4th floor.  We waited in the hallway with several staff and a few other patients...waiting to go behind the closed doors to which various staff members kept coming in and out.  Finally, it was my turn.

Behind the closed doors was a standard operating room...with several masked men (my Xanax was starting to kick in at this point – it all seemed a little surreal).  They hoisted me onto a gurney, had me lie on my side in a tight fetal position, and then did the injection.  They first do an injection of an anesthetic, which hurt for a second but wasn't that bad, and then I felt nothing else after that.  The first spinal injection includes a small withdrawal of your own spinal fluid for testing, followed by the injection of the stem cells.  The total time for the procedure was about five minutes and before I knew it I was lying flat and being wheeled away on the gurney back to my room.  It's important to lay flat for at least four hours immediately following the procedure – to allow your body to realign itself after the disruption of fluid in the spinal column.  So a team of nurses brought me back to my room and transferred me to my bed to rest.  Fortunately for me, I fell right asleep and woke up four later...at 10pm...very ready for dinner!

All in all, I think the anticipation of the event was worse than the actual event...and the best part is, now I know what to expect!

Confession

There is an element of posting all of these pictures that is hard – it's hard to see myself this way – in a wasted body...a shell of what I used to be.  I usually avoid looking at this reality, and live more in my mind and in my imagination – where the dreams of what could be reside.  I think it's a way of coping, preserving sanity sometimes.  

But, again, this is an exercise in my truth, as it is (and it's not always glamorous).  I have a meditation that I like (I've been listening to it since before I came here), and in one of the parts it says: more and more I can appreciate my body, be conscious of it, and fully inhabit it.  This takes on new meaning now.  What does it mean to fully inhabit one's body?  I think it means acknowledging it – not denying it.  It means looking at this person, with all her imperfections, and saying, YES, that IS me.  It means being present in my body – feeling the weakness, not fearing it – and then willing myself to move (no matter how small)...again and again.  Perhaps this process – of fully inhabiting ourselves (our whole beings) – is how we begin to shift out of wishful thinking and into the actual manifesting of our desires (whatever they are).  I've always been curious about this – for it seems that simply wanting something (no matter how strongly), doesn't necessarily create it.  (If you're interested, I find this guided meditation to be really lovely.)

I think I was a little naive prior to coming here about the degree of hard work this was going to take.  I was fully prepared mentally and emotionally to work for it...but it's different to actually be here and experience it.  This is a gradual process...it's about consistency and discipline.  It's not like you get an injection and feel improvement the next day.  You have to start where you are – which can be uncomfortable and hard and frustrating.  Sometimes they ask me to do something that seems so basic – lean forward slightly with the trunk of your body and then lean back.  It takes everything in me, all of my concentration, to make that part of my body move.  But there is great satisfaction in that as well – in giving something your all and feeling those long ignored muscles, as weak as they are, move.

The Philosophy

Functional Medicine is a patient centered approach to health that focuses less on naming diseases and managing symptoms, and more on the functional imbalance of the body.  The Better Being Hospital provides an individualized treatment and rehabilitation program that combines both the knowledge and wisdom of western and eastern medicine – and it follows the principles of the 4Rs:

Replace – recreate balance in your body’s basic systems by adjusting nutrition and nutrient absorption.

Repair – restore the body’s missing elements by stimulating the body’s own healing and regenerative abilities.

Remove – eliminate any remaining factors that intervene with the body’s working processes (for example, unwanted bacteria, toxic or heavy metal, waste that can’t be eliminated by the body, etc.).

Rebuild – find a way to stimulate the system to renew lost cells.

Everything I am being asked to do has a specific purpose and each therapy is being implemented to provide a piece of this larger picture.  I have now had a chance to experience all of the supportive therapies.  I previously shared the Occupational Therapy, Physical Therapy and Aquatic Therapy…here’s a glance at the Hyperbaric Oxygen Therapy, Acupuncture and Nutrition.

The Hyperbaric Oxygen Therapy (HBOT) is well…kind of a trip.  Imagine being Darth Vader…on a plane…trying not to have a panic attack.  That’s pretty much HBOT.

The treatment lasts an hour and during that time you’re breathing 100% oxygen in this pressurized chamber.  The idea is that typically oxygen is only delivered to your body via your red blood cells, but this treatment allows oxygen to enter your whole body directly (central nervous system, plasma, tissue, etc.).  So even areas that are damaged or have decreased circulation will get oxygenated – which stimulates your body’s natural ability to heal.

Acupuncture is a cake walk.  I have had acupuncture before so this was very familiar to me – and I really like it (perhaps I was a pin cushion in another life).  They rotate the areas of your body that will be targeted with each treatment.  We've done the lungs, liver, and immune system so far.

And then there’s nutrition.  As I mentioned, I am on a carb free diet (they call it a ketogenic diet).  The philosophy here is that a nutrient rich diet provides the body’s mitochondria with what it needs for optimal functioning.  Mitochondria are known as the powerhouses of the cell – they act like a digestive system which takes in nutrients, breaks them down, and creates energy rich molecules for the cell.  Since I’m being injected with millions of stem cells while here – this seems like a no brainer.  So far, I have been 100% compliant (no cheating here!).  But some things are better than others.

This was great.

This…not so much.

And then she fell in love...

As a kid I lived in water.  I could spend hours, literally, in the pool or the lake.  I loved it - because I was free.  I would dance and twirl, do head stands and pretend I was a million different things. There were no barriers.  All the things I couldn't do on dry land, I could do as a fish...in the water.

I haven’t been in the water in at least 10 years.  Somewhere along the lines it became too difficult to get in and out of pools and such.  A couple years ago I tried to find an aquatic therapy pool back home, but was unsuccessful.  The closest one I could find was in Huntington Beach, but it wasn't accessible (odd… for a therapy pool) - so my heart continued to long for its old familiar friend.

And then, this happened...

This is the moment I fell in love...again.

Hello Bangkok!

As a city, Bangkok is an interesting place...to say the least.  We've had a chance to meander around our neighborhood briefly and here's what we found.

First of all, the streets of Bangkok are highly inaccessible.  Prepare for a bumpy ride!  There's no such thing here as even-pavement, curb cuts...or often even a cross walk.  If you dare to cross the street you better be prepared to be at the top of your game.  Traffic rarely yields, and the flow of the very busy streets seems to be fueled by an every man for himself mentality.  This does limit quite a bit what we will be able to do or see outside of the hospital, but it has been suggested that we look into a taxi for specific destinations.

Oh, and even if you choose not to cross the street, beware of the scooters and motor bikes that use the sidewalk!

After you digest the busyness and extremely diverse choices of construction (consistency is not one of Bangkok's strengths), the next thing you'll notice are the smells.  It's quite fascinating really.  Just imagine gasoline, pollution, a touch of sewage here and there, a mixture of foods, and then top it off with a couple of unidentifiable odors just for good measure.  It's not surprising that a lot of people wear face masks (I'm not sure what their actual reasoning is, but it seems to be a trend).

I would describe our part of Bangkok as an eclectic, well-worn city.  There's just so much variety to take in.

Bangkok also has its own unique way of addressing power lines.

And if you're in the mood to buy something, there's plenty to choose from without ever stepping inside a shop.

But the part that stands out most, is Bangkok as a community.  There is such a juxtaposition between the people and the environment.  There's definitely a harshness to the aesthetic of Bangkok, but there is a gentleness to Thai people that is really unique.  You can see it in their eyes, in their smiles, in the way they bow in greeting.  Even on our walk - a street vendor making egg rolls stopped and offered to help my mom get the wheel chair up the curb.  People smiled as they passed.  And there's a relaxed-ness a midst the busyness.  People are meandering, napping, lunching, chatting.  I've really never experienced anything quite like it.

Without further ado...

I'm ready.  I'm feeling good.  Everything has fallen into place.  So.....without further ado....let's get started!

Tuesday was my first treatment day, and my first real taste of how it all works.

It's kind of hard to capture what this place is like, but this is what I wish someone had told me prior to coming - I probably would have been more at ease upon arrival.  Everything is onsite.  The day usually starts at 8:00am - breakfast is delivered to your room.  Part of my treatment plan includes a zero carb diet (so I had a salad with tuna and beans for breakfast!).  Sometime between 8:00-9:00am the doctors and staff do their rounds and a nurse comes by to check blood pressure and temperature.  Then your first activity usually starts at 9:00am (or sometimes 10:00am).  When you arrive you are given a schedule for your entire stay, which includes your treatment dates and all the supportive therapies.

Here's how my weeks break down:

Stem Cell Treatment - 2 days per week on average 

Occupational Therapy (upper body workout) - 5 days per week

Physical Therapy (lower body workout) or Aquatic Therapy - 5 days per week

Acupuncture - 5 days per week

Hyperbaric oxygen chamber - 3 days per week

Nutrition meeting - 1 day per week

There's usually an hour break between therapies, and all of the stem cell treatments occur later in the day, between 3-7pm.  Lunch is delivered to your room at noon.  The food is actually pretty good...if you can get past what it looks like sometimes.  Here's what I had for lunch (don't ask me what that floating yellow thing is, I ate around it!).

You're free to leave, come and go as you please, in between your therapies, but we've spent a lot of the down time in our room (the day is pretty exhausting!).  At some point in the afternoon the cleaning ladies stop by and clean your entire room (change your sheets, give you new towels, refill all your supplies...every day).  Dinner is delivered to your room at 6:00pm and a nurse stops by again in the evening to take your blood pressure and temperature.  And that's pretty much how it works!

So today I had morning occupational therapy with Bow.  She was really sweet.

Then I had an acugraph test - pretty cool.  They have a computer program that measures the energy levels in your body's meridians.  They press this device against each acupressure point along all your fingers and toes and it gives the reading for that point.  The doctor then uses this information to develop the acupuncture treatment plan - with the goal of bringing all the energy in your body into balance.

Next I had physical therapy with Beer (yes, my physical therapist's name is BEER).  He's funny and very nice.

Then, I had my first stem cell treatment.  

I was a little nervous because I didn't know what to expect, but it was pretty easy.  My first treatment was an IV injection.  They do the treatment in your room and the process takes about two hours.  Before they deliver the stem cells, they start the IV drip and add a medication to prevent side effects like headache or nausea.  That drips for about an hour and a half, and then they add the stem cells (which are in this pale yellow liquid...for some reason that took me by surprise.  I think I was expecting it to look like blood - it doesn't).  It only takes about 20 minutes for the stem cells to be delivered...and then that's it!  Afterwards I felt relatively normal – I say relatively because I had a few different sensations (like the feeling before you get a headache…very mild tension, and this rushing feeling occasionally in my arms – but I’m not sure If that was just the body receiving all the fluid or me just being hypersensitive with all the anticipation of what is this going to feel like. 

Overall, it was a really good day.  And I have to say I was very impressed with the quality of the physical therapies.  It's extremely comprehensive - it's the kind of physical therapy I've always wanted but never been able to get back home - even if you can't do something on your own they have all kinds of ways to help you do it...so your body can learn how to move again.  Even though it was quite a workout, I had a smile on my face the whole time!

Layers

When I decided to do this blog, I made a decision that I would share my truth, as it is.  We’ve had a full two days to acclimate to being here, and in short everything is going to be okay and I’m okay…but the moment we arrived to this moment now has been, well, challenging.

It’s noteworthy to mention that everything has gone pretty swimmingly.  There have been no major issues and the staff here has been beyond welcoming, kind, and organized.  The challenge has all been within.

There are layers to everything in life, and sometimes when we think we get it (we’ve grown, we’ve learned), life peels back another layer – and it will keep peeling until it has reached the center of your being.  And once there is nothing left to peel, it will ask you to make a choice.

I have never traveled overseas.  I have never had medical treatment on this scale.  So, upon arrival, the reality that I am having medical treatment in a foreign country became very real.  Our first day here, straight from the airport, was Sunday, which is a day off in the hospital, so I was asked to sign a waiver upon arrival and we were shown to our room and given the day to rest and recover from the travel. We didn’t get to meet…or even see…any other patients here.  We didn’t tour the facility.  We didn’t meet with any doctors.  And despite the extremely kind and accommodating demeanor of the nursing staff, the language barrier is a reality.  All of the staff speaks some English.  (The degree of some varies greatly by individual.)  What I did see was a small section of Bangkok that was very different than what I was expecting (I had no reference point on what to expect, but I guess I just pieced something together in my mind that was not matched by what I saw), a hospital that is unconventional by U.S. standards, and a plethora of other unsettling stimuli - a shower without hot water, an unusual looking dinner, a very unhappy stomach, to name a few.   All of this, on first impact, pretty much left me saying, oh my God, what the hell have I done?

Next my mind went into make shit up overdrive.  Oh my god, this is a scam.  I have no idea what they’re going to do to me, everything I read was a lie.  My coordinator was just a salesman…right down to…they’re going to ship me home in a body bag.  Bottom line: I was scared.  I proceeded to cry for the rest of the evening - which for me is a statement in and of itself.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m extremely emotional…I’ve just never been comfortable showing it.  So again, I fight like hell to keep it tucked away (you may have noticed an emerging theme – I have plenty of fight in me, I just fight for the wrong things sometimes).  But this emotion was beyond my control, and out it poured.  My mom calmly and coolly reassured me that I don’t have to go through with anything.  We can leave at any time.  There is still more information to get.  And, don’t forget how this all came to be (she even suggested that I reread my own blog).

You may recall that I previously mentioned my greatest fear in life is death, a topic for another time.  Well, the time is now.   I’ve been carrying around these fears as secrets for years - managing them in my own way, but in doing so, preserving them and ultimately creating a resistance to real change.   I have never been comfortable with the idea of death.  I have absolute certainty that spirit lives on, but the unknown of how and in what capacity is something that wreaks havoc on my internal well-being.  Ninety percent of my anxiety in life comes back to this.  So here I was, freaked out, mind spinning, and feeling like the ultimate question on the table was how badly do you want this - enough to take the ultimate risk?  But, I still wasn’t ready to say this out loud.

I basically cried myself to sleep, woke up in the middle of the night and cried some more, had another pep talk from Rick, and went into the next day hoping to pull it together.  The morning started with having my blood drawn…in my room.  I still hadn’t seen the facility at this point - so I’m in a room that feels like a hotel, in a place that’s called a hospital, and I’m having my blood drawn.  It was just very different from my previous experiences having blood drawn (in tiny white labs in the Kaiser office).  This really didn’t help my stress level.  My mom, the rational one, reminded me that the way they drew my blood was exactly the same…try to relax.

The good news is, next unfolded the first half of what I needed.   Shortly after the blood draw, an entire team of staff came to my room (my attending physician and acupuncturist, a customer relations rep (who’s English was great) and a team of nurses.  I learned that every morning the team does rounds and visits every patient.  We were able to solve the hot water dilemma (there is in fact hot water, it’s just not always available early in the morning or late at night – it’s a Thailand thing).  We had a tour of the facility (which was bustling with busyness - the physical therapy room was full, people were in the pool, there are patients from all over the world and of all ages (approximately 15 patients total and their families), and there are 8 patient rooms here at the facility (the other patients stay at a nearby hotel and commute to the hospital for their treatment).  I had an assessment with my occupational therapist and physical therapist.  I had an assessment with the nutritionist.  I met my Beike coordinator, who told me that it’s very common to have doubts upon first arrival – a lot of people do – and he remained consistent with my original assessment as a kind, helpful and sincere gentleman.  We met lots of other staff (there are a lot of staff here!).  And then, we finally met my head doctor, Dr. Torsak.  I really liked him.  There was nothing he told me that I didn’t already know, and he began his talk with their number one priority – safety.  No one has ever died from this treatment.  And in the last eight years they have provided treatment to 30,000+ people.  I really appreciated this.

Everyone (who is not Thai) has said that Thai people are really the loveliest people – and it’s remarkable to me, that with the degree of language barrier, everyone on the staff who is Thai has consistently conveyed such heartwarming kindness and genuine care…and all in the absence of words.  By the end of the day I was beginning to relax.

Now, I said that the day’s events were the first half of what I needed.  Here is the second half.

The thing that Dr. Torsak said that stood out the most was:

Providing the stem cells is the easy part.  We can do it all day long.  But the other components are equally important (the nutrition and exercise), and that’s in your hands.  There are a lot of unknown variables as to why it works for some and not for others...but what we do know is that we need your cooperation.

I know that my full cooperation requires my full mental and emotional investment.  I know that our thoughts and emotions impact our body’s responses just as much as nutrition and exercise.  You have to be willing to look at the whole picture.

So when we finally retired to our room, I was feeling better but still with this lingering sinking feeling in my chest and the urge to cry again.  I needed to make a decision: Are you going to stop fighting your vulnerability and instead wear it like a badge of your humanness?  Are you going to show up and be honest?  Or, are you going to walk away?

So, I finally said it out loud.  I don’t want to die.  My mom and I proceeded to have a lengthy chat about life and death (no surprise, my mom has no fear of dying).  No one really knows what happens when we die – what does it feel like, what does it look like – and because of this there is never an answer that is completely satisfying.   I have a strong attachment to my identity and a strong attachment to physical life - I am Analisa.  I am creative and loving.  I love beautiful things – the sights and sounds of life.  Sometimes I think about losing these things in death – what is the absence of a physical world like? – and it makes me sad because I would miss so much.  But, at the end of it all, this is an exercise in trust.  It is an exercise in letting go of the ego (the attachment to self) and knowing, to quote The Alchemist again, that everything is written by the same hand.  The same source energy that created me, created everything – including death.  So the question is - Are you going to accept life on life’s terms and just trust?

My answer – Yes.

I know that had I not been jarred out of my comfort zone...had I had the opportunity for this kind of treatment in the comfortable familiarity of the states, I would have kept my secrets and I would have unknowingly kept my resistance.  This experience has one by one peeled away my layers and it left me completely exposed.  And that is why this too is swimmingly.

It's not a coincidence that the key component of rebirth is death.  One cannot transform unless he is willing to change.  And change is to invite an ending...a death...to create a beginning.

So I made my choice.  I choose death.  And because of that, I am already transformed.

Fearless

Despite the revelations in my first post, I am not fearless.  Far from it.  I am a Pisces and we seem to be nervous creatures by nature.  I read somewhere that Pisces come into the world with a subconscious fear (of what exactly I'm not sure...probably anything, and it seems in my case everything) but we have to learn to let it go.  I can relate to this.

It's interesting to me that I'm surrounded by seemingly fearless people...my mom, my brother, my Rick.  They go through life with this grounding trust.  They are rooted to the earth, but not of the earth, and are thus faithful and practical and rational.  They don't worry about things outside of their control...they just enjoy the experience.  I struggle greatly with this.  My method is to fight like hell against the fear and do things anyways, but I have to say it's not always an enjoyable experience.

They say we come into the world with everything we need to be successful in our personal journeys.  I think that's why we're given certain people....to mirror what we need to learn - so we can see it and hear it.  The lesson is to feel it...to know it within ourselves.  Here, I'm still learning.

After I sorted out my issue with dependence, my biggest hang up with actually going and having this treatment has been the getting to and from Bangkok.  It's a 15 hour flight to Hong Kong and then another two and half to Bangkok.  I struggle with flying (and it's not just the bathrooms), it's the whole being thousands of feet up in the sky in a speeding hunk of metal that defies my logic (which is obviously flawed, because clearly this phenomenon is possible).  Anyways, the concept of 15 hours in flight was pretty much unfathomable to me.  I would have moments where I would think everything I've done today - gotten up, gone to work, done a million little things, come home - still doesn't add up to 15 hours, and all this time I would be on a plane.  Not only is there the question of what do you do for 15 hours on a plane, but for me there was the question of could I stay calm for 15 hours.  I know what panic feels like, and unfortunately, even though I am able to recognize the feeling, and sit with it, I can't always make it go away.  And the idea of being in panic mode for 15 hours was, well, making me panic.

I should probably back up and add that last Sunday I hit a pretty big current in my swim.  I got sick.  What timing, right!?  Chills, sore throat, full on head cold.  Nothing about the week prior to leaving went as planned.  I missed my last day of work, I went through all of the final prepping and packing in a fog, and I didn't start to feel well enough to even make the trip until the day before we left.  Plus, you have to be well to have the treatment.  The idea of being sent home after arriving was starting to weigh on me.

My Beth asked me what I thought the lesson was in all of this, and to be honest, I have no idea.  In AA they say: shit happens.  Sometimes you just have to deal.  Everything in life doesn't always go as planned - you have to adjust along the way.  I can assure you I wasn't this rational about it until I started to feel better and after I talked to my coordinator and found out it was okay to be a little under the weather - I could still come.  Before this I was pretty much oscillating between complete devastation and utter frustration, and required a pep talk every 20 minutes to stay on track (thanks Rick!).  But that's why we have people.  Sometimes we just need someone else to say it's all going to be okay.

So, we left.  We made it on board our flight, a red eye with Cathay Pacific, and I have to say the silver lining of being sick was I was pretty exhausted and it didn't leave a lot of energy for freaking out.  I was calmer than I thought I'd be.  I wish I could say I slept, but unfortunately that was not the case - not a wink.  The first few hours were, however, a little rough.  I only started to panic once...and it was about the bathrooms.  I was starting to have doubts about how I was going to get to it, in it and out of it, all while the flight was in motion (even with assistance I'm unsteady on my feet, so imagine adding the motion of a moving plane and a little mild turbulence). But once we did it, and I discovered we could, I felt a lot better.  They have a little on board wheelchair that they can use to wheel you right up to the bathroom.  (As an aside to all the airlines of the world, it's kind of amazing that in this day in age you don't have a larger bathroom, with accessibility in mind.  If either my mom or I were an inch larger in any direction, I honestly don't know if it would have worked - puts a whole new spin on up close and personal.  My mother deserves a medal, by the way...I've never seen a woman work harder to make something happen.)

So this is my favorite part.  A few hours in, I was teetering in my anxiety with flying.  I was given all kinds of in flight entertainment by my dear ones - movies, magazines, games...music.  I was listening to a new playlist, trying to fall asleep (trying to keep it together), and then this happened:

Was There Nothing? by Asgeir.  Right there, I found my peace - and I knew it in the first ten seconds.  This is why music is my soul's love - it can move us to feel things.  And in this case, it could do for me what I couldn't do for myself - calm.

It honestly brought tears to my eyes.  And then I was reminded of one of my favorite books of all time, The Alchemist, and how the old man tells Santiago that the place that brings you to tears is where you'll find your treasure.  I'm often moved to tears. But I guess that's because there is treasure everywhere....even 30,000 feet above the Pacific.  What a peaceful world it would be if I could remember that...all the time.

In the end, our actual flight (the one that existed in reality and not inside my head) was very smooth.  I thought the Cathay Pacific staff was really lovely, and had I been less nervous there were a lot of decent amenities.  The movie selection was nice, they had Haagen Dazs ice cream (I was too nervous to have any) and they gave us lots of little accouterments (blanket...toothbrush...even socks!).  And eventually, we actually made it to Bangkok...safe and sound.