If you could change one thing about your body, what would it be?
I'd ask for different hands, unlike my teenage self who would've said she wanted a flatter stomach.
I distinctly remember the day where I realized how ashamed I actually was of my hands. My mother had just had surgery for a deviated septum and asked me to go with her for her follow up doctors visit. I sat in the waiting room crocheting (not knitting, which involves two needles and which I loathe doing) as we waited for her name to be called. An old lady came out into the waiting room then. Her eyes locked onto the hat that I was working on. "Oh, I used to crochet when I was younger. I miss it a lot, but I've got Rheumatoid. She lifted a hand off of her cane to show me what she meant. Her hands were completely deformed (I think it's called swan neck deformity), mangled much in the same way that you would see in a cartoon where the character's hand was run over by an army tank. I couldn't stomach it. My mother continued talking with her, while I sat there trying to prevent a panic attack. There was a lump in my throat, no air in my lungs. If she stood there any longer, I was going to have to leave the room to hyperventilate.
She finally left. I was ready to faint. My mother saw how red my face is, how puffy my eyes were from holding back tears. Seeing pictures of something is one thing. Seeing it in person is a whole different ballgame. "Medicine has come a long way," Mom said, knowing what I was thinking.
I stretched my hands out in front of me. I wasn't in remission then, and I was living with the idea that remission would never happen and that my joints would continue to disintegrate. I studied my hands intently. They were swollen and red from the heat my joints were throwing off. There were dips in my knuckles from where my finger joints were separating. If I moved one finger, they all had to move from lack of flexibility (it's still really hard to flip someone off). There was no chance of straightening my fingers out, so I was walking around with monster claws. Even though I'm in remission now, the damage that was done to my hands is irreversible.
Is there a little bit of vanity here? Yep. I don't get manicures or wear rings because I'm so self conscious about my hands. I'd rather walk around campus in a bikini. That lady taught me something important though. Why do we let our fears about how we look prevent us from doing the things we love? I don't know how she feels about the way she looks and never will, but she sure as hell wasn't happy with the fact that she couldn't do something she loves anymore.
I worry about how long my hands will be functioning. Will I have to stop crocheting one day? Will I need to give up my jewelry business? What about chopping onions for dinner?
I don't know what the future will bring. My boyfriend asks me all the time why I keep picking up new hobbies. Why not? If I'm not gonna have use of my hands in 40 years, then why shouldn't I try as much as I can now?
Showing posts with label joints. Show all posts
Showing posts with label joints. Show all posts
Monday, November 25, 2013
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
RA Famous
People
glorify celebrities, sometimes to the point of making them seem immortal. But
even famous people have to deal with the not-so-pleasant realities of life, and
that often includes battles with incurable illness.
When
I was first diagnosed I took to the Internet to make connections with other
people just like me. Google suggested that I search "Famous people with
RA." Sure, why not? I was actually a bit surprised by the information that
popped up. I've included a few of these people here:
Lucille
Ball
The
star of the classic TV show I Love Lucy was diagnosed with RA as a
teenager (some sources say 17, others say she was 19). She had to stop modeling
because of a really bad flareup that made it impossible for her to walk. She
launched her acting career after recovering from that flare.
Pierre-Auguste
Renoir
Not even famous painters are safe from RA. RA caused
deformities in his hands that made it impossible for him to paint like a
"normal" painter. He could no longer pick up his brushes and had to
have his relatives tape them to his hands. Renoir's situation takes the idea of
the invisible illness even further. I dare you to try to find signs of joint
deformities in any of his paintings.
Sandy Koufax
The jury is still out for Koufax. The baseball pitcher
definitely had an inflammatory disease like RA, but he was never actually
diagnosed as having it. He eventually had to stop pitching because of the
damage to his elbow.
Christiaan
Barnard
The
first doctor to do a human-to-human heart transplant had RA. Sixteen years
after this feat, Barnard had to retire from his surgical career because he no
longer had the dexterity in his hands needed to operate.
Clearly, people with RA are able to go on and have
successful careers. Having the disease doesn't mean I have to spend the rest of
my life in bed. When I was first diagnosed, I thought that it would be a death
sentence for my writing career. How could I be a writer if I couldn't hold a
pen or type? I realize now that it was a foolish thing to think. If Renoir
found a way to paint back in his day, I can find a piece of technology to keep
me going. Maybe I won't have use of my hands for the rest of my life. That's
all the more reason to live it up now and make the most of it.
Source: http://www.health.com/health/gallery/0,,20496769_4,00.html
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Remission Possible
Yesterday I had my quarterly appointment with my Rheumatologist. I'm not going to lie: I was freaking out. I've been anxious every day since I got my blood work done two weeks ago. I'm always a mess prior to my doctor visits because of the "unknown" that comes with these appointments. I might think I'm fine, but my rheumy might see otherwise as he examines my joints.
My biggest fear was that he would think it necessary to put me on a stronger medication like Methotrexate, which is a chemo drug. That's the last thing I want to put in my body. I already felt awful about taking my prescription anti-inflammatory. I suppose it comes from belonging to a family that believes in the power of homeopathic treatments. Or maybe it comes from all of the black box warnings that come with my anti-inflammatory.
I sat in the doctor's office nervously tapping my foot. Was I about to receive news that would flip my future upside down? Or would I instead be told that everything looks decent enough and that I could stay on my current treatment plan, but that there was no real improvement? The second scenarios is just as frustrating as the first. The second scenario shows no change, no progress. It doesn't bring a person closer to pain-free days. It just means that your medication is doing the bare minimum. The only thing working in my benefit was that I wasn't in pain at that moment in time. I hadn't felt anything more than some random aches for a week.
My rheumy called me into his office then. He asked me how I was feeling, as always. "Better than usual," I said. He took my hands and began examining them.
"Your hands look great," he said, feeling my knuckles, "no inflammation whatsoever. Are you taking your anti-inflammatory?" I shook my head. "That's a great sign," he continued, "no pain?"
"I haven't been in pain at all for a week. I started taking fish oil." He continued examining my elbows and knees.
"Well, I don't know how much the fish oil contributed, but I think you're in remission. Let's look at the numbers." He pulled out my report and started reading off the results, comparing them to the last test. "I think you're in remission. Keep doing whatever you're doing."
Remission. When I first diagnosed, that was the thing I wanted most in the whole world. Now three years to the month of my diagnosis, I've achieved it. I was floating on a cloud, and I wanted to tell the entire world how happy I was. I ran to my one on-campus job just to tell my boss the good news. She had been trying to help me find natural cures. I told every coworker who would listen. And even though I'm not the kind of person who likes to air all of my business on Facebook, I posted about it there too. 70 people "liked" my status and congratulated me. I was touched that people cared, at least enough to comment with congratulations and well wishes.
Now, how did I really know when I was in remission? I knew it was for real when I picked up a skinny Papermate pen and could sign my name without pain. I couldn't hold back the tears anymore. I sat in my room and sobbed. This was real.
I know it's not permanent. Remission isn't a cure, only a period where the disease lies dormant. I may flare again next week. I may not flare for another few months or years. But trust me when I say that I'm making the most of this moment, the fact that I'm in little to no pain, and that I'm seriously loving my life right now.
My biggest fear was that he would think it necessary to put me on a stronger medication like Methotrexate, which is a chemo drug. That's the last thing I want to put in my body. I already felt awful about taking my prescription anti-inflammatory. I suppose it comes from belonging to a family that believes in the power of homeopathic treatments. Or maybe it comes from all of the black box warnings that come with my anti-inflammatory.
I sat in the doctor's office nervously tapping my foot. Was I about to receive news that would flip my future upside down? Or would I instead be told that everything looks decent enough and that I could stay on my current treatment plan, but that there was no real improvement? The second scenarios is just as frustrating as the first. The second scenario shows no change, no progress. It doesn't bring a person closer to pain-free days. It just means that your medication is doing the bare minimum. The only thing working in my benefit was that I wasn't in pain at that moment in time. I hadn't felt anything more than some random aches for a week.
My rheumy called me into his office then. He asked me how I was feeling, as always. "Better than usual," I said. He took my hands and began examining them.
"Your hands look great," he said, feeling my knuckles, "no inflammation whatsoever. Are you taking your anti-inflammatory?" I shook my head. "That's a great sign," he continued, "no pain?"
"I haven't been in pain at all for a week. I started taking fish oil." He continued examining my elbows and knees.
"Well, I don't know how much the fish oil contributed, but I think you're in remission. Let's look at the numbers." He pulled out my report and started reading off the results, comparing them to the last test. "I think you're in remission. Keep doing whatever you're doing."
Remission. When I first diagnosed, that was the thing I wanted most in the whole world. Now three years to the month of my diagnosis, I've achieved it. I was floating on a cloud, and I wanted to tell the entire world how happy I was. I ran to my one on-campus job just to tell my boss the good news. She had been trying to help me find natural cures. I told every coworker who would listen. And even though I'm not the kind of person who likes to air all of my business on Facebook, I posted about it there too. 70 people "liked" my status and congratulated me. I was touched that people cared, at least enough to comment with congratulations and well wishes.
Now, how did I really know when I was in remission? I knew it was for real when I picked up a skinny Papermate pen and could sign my name without pain. I couldn't hold back the tears anymore. I sat in my room and sobbed. This was real.
I know it's not permanent. Remission isn't a cure, only a period where the disease lies dormant. I may flare again next week. I may not flare for another few months or years. But trust me when I say that I'm making the most of this moment, the fact that I'm in little to no pain, and that I'm seriously loving my life right now.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
An Inspirational Athlete
Having RA can be a lonely experience. RA sufferers are a mere 1% of the US population, and we don't exactly congregate on our own little island. Because of that, many of us take to the Internet for support. I'm not sure what I would do without social media, especially on the particularly miserable days where life seems bleak. That's part of the reason why I started blogging about my experiences, and why I spend a lot of time each week reading about other RA patients.
There's a lot of advice out there. Don't run because it'll damage your joints. Just do some light walking. You won't be able to handle intense exercises. Rest a lot. It gives me the impression that people with RA should be lazy, or have no choice but to be lazy. I guess an even worse impression would be that people with RA should just accept that they're not like everyone else and can't accomplish the same things.
Then I somehow found myself reading Angela Durazo's blog, "I Am a Triathlete With RA." The tag line on her blog reads, "I refuse to be a victim," and she definitely isn't. According to the "About Me" section of her blog, Durazo is a model turned triathlete who trains 7 days a week. Her writing chronicles all of her struggles, from finding the right diet to being fitted for a bike that will help keep her pain-free during races. She writes about her agonizing trips to the Emergency Room as well as the physical deformities she's experiencing.
Durazo was pretty much unable to take care of herself when first diagnosed at 20 (which is around the age I got diagnosed). But unlike many (including myself), she didn't let her RA hold her back, because if she did, she probably wouldn't have graced the cover of the last issue of Arthritis Today:
This is the person I strive to be, especially on days when I think I'll never be able to be my old self again. If only we could all have her mentality...
There's a lot of advice out there. Don't run because it'll damage your joints. Just do some light walking. You won't be able to handle intense exercises. Rest a lot. It gives me the impression that people with RA should be lazy, or have no choice but to be lazy. I guess an even worse impression would be that people with RA should just accept that they're not like everyone else and can't accomplish the same things.
Then I somehow found myself reading Angela Durazo's blog, "I Am a Triathlete With RA." The tag line on her blog reads, "I refuse to be a victim," and she definitely isn't. According to the "About Me" section of her blog, Durazo is a model turned triathlete who trains 7 days a week. Her writing chronicles all of her struggles, from finding the right diet to being fitted for a bike that will help keep her pain-free during races. She writes about her agonizing trips to the Emergency Room as well as the physical deformities she's experiencing.
Durazo was pretty much unable to take care of herself when first diagnosed at 20 (which is around the age I got diagnosed). But unlike many (including myself), she didn't let her RA hold her back, because if she did, she probably wouldn't have graced the cover of the last issue of Arthritis Today:
 |
| Taken from Durazo's Blog http://triathleteracingwithra.wordpress.com/ |
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Sincere Thanks to the Conklin Hand Dryers
It's gettin' cold out. As much as I love Autumn for its pumpkin coffee, apple cider doughnuts, and the ability to wear boots at every possible moment, I hate that the temperature is slowly dropping. That means Winter isn't very far behind. I hate the cold weather, since it makes RA symptoms worse. The flares are longer and move severe, and the numbing cold is harder to tolerate. Plus, some people with RA run constant low-grade fevers, which means getting the chills more frequently.
It's definitely the most difficult time of the year to function. The worst part? The cold weather is also right smack in the middle of the school year. Sometimes I wish that my parents took one of the opportunities they were given to move to warmer States.
So, what's a girl to do?
I realized that I needed to be crafty. Stiffness is always unavoidable during the Winter. I needed a quick solution to unfreeze my hands while on campus, since I don't have the comforts of home. I spend most of my time in Conklin Hall when I'm on campus, since I work there. It dawned on me one day when I was in the bathroom: the hand dryers!
Believe me, I’m not as crazy as this sounds. Here’s the thing: when you have RA, you’re in pain most of the time. Even on days when the fatigue doesn’t hit you, you’re bound to have joint pain. Since being negative and complaining about it usually only makes it worse, at least for me, I try to find other ways to find some temporary relief. Along with my daily doses of medication, I’ve noticed that heat does wonders for my joints. Hence the hand dryer. On cold days, rainy days, or any other day that I’m flaring, I go into the bathroom at work every so often just to run my hands under the air dryers. I find that it loosens up my joints just enough to make it easier for me to type. Okay, maybe I am crazy, but I’d rather have people look at me like I’m nuts than not be able to do anything productive all day.
I’m stuck with this disease for the rest of my life. It’s not going to magically get better one day. The best approach to finding relief is a proactive one, whether that means holding a hair dryer to your toes or wrapping yourself up in an electric blanket. Even the most rudimentary methods will help. Trust me.
It's definitely the most difficult time of the year to function. The worst part? The cold weather is also right smack in the middle of the school year. Sometimes I wish that my parents took one of the opportunities they were given to move to warmer States.
So, what's a girl to do?
I realized that I needed to be crafty. Stiffness is always unavoidable during the Winter. I needed a quick solution to unfreeze my hands while on campus, since I don't have the comforts of home. I spend most of my time in Conklin Hall when I'm on campus, since I work there. It dawned on me one day when I was in the bathroom: the hand dryers!
Believe me, I’m not as crazy as this sounds. Here’s the thing: when you have RA, you’re in pain most of the time. Even on days when the fatigue doesn’t hit you, you’re bound to have joint pain. Since being negative and complaining about it usually only makes it worse, at least for me, I try to find other ways to find some temporary relief. Along with my daily doses of medication, I’ve noticed that heat does wonders for my joints. Hence the hand dryer. On cold days, rainy days, or any other day that I’m flaring, I go into the bathroom at work every so often just to run my hands under the air dryers. I find that it loosens up my joints just enough to make it easier for me to type. Okay, maybe I am crazy, but I’d rather have people look at me like I’m nuts than not be able to do anything productive all day.
I’m stuck with this disease for the rest of my life. It’s not going to magically get better one day. The best approach to finding relief is a proactive one, whether that means holding a hair dryer to your toes or wrapping yourself up in an electric blanket. Even the most rudimentary methods will help. Trust me.
Friday, October 11, 2013
A Hairy Dilemma
Recently a friend invited me out for one of our weekly Starbucks runs. Our tradition is to buy our overly priced "handcrafted" coffee beverages and then walk along the waterfront to burn off the high calorie counts while catching up on life. On this particular night, we walked past a group of teenagers loitering around a bench and laughing obnoxiously. They became silent as we neared, and once my friend and I had walked a few feet passed them I heard them whisper, "What a dyke!"
This happens a lot, probably to the point where it shouldn't bother me anymore. I'm sure I give that impression to a lot of people, since I like shaving my parts of my hair off and I'm a tomboy at heart. But no, I'm not gay. It never fails to make me angry, though for more reasons than it would have years ago. These kids were more than likely basing this assumption on the fact that my hair is so short, without ever considering why my hair is short. It's an awful stereotype.
I've always had an interesting relationship with my hair. When I was a Freshman in high school, I decided I was bored with my current hair style and wanted something more daring. On a whim I cut my extremely thick, shoulder-length hair into a very short pixie. It was different, it was easy to manage, and I loved it. I kept it for the next 5 years.
Then I hit my 20s, and I realized I needed a change again. So I decided to grow my hair out. It was a pain, and it involved a lot of patience, headbands, and bobby pins, but I did it and I really loved having long hair again. The options were endless. Bun? Ponytail? Curly or straight? I could now do whatever I wanted.
But then a new problem arose. My new long and thick hair knotted quite easily. I didn't have the strength in my arms to brush out the knots. Sometimes I couldn't even lift my arms up above my head. That meant asking my mother to brush my hair for me every night after I showered. But then I needed to make sure that it didn't knot again in my sleep, which meant asking my sister to braid it (when Mom and I tried, our braids were an awkward mess because of our lack of dexterity).
I was beginning to get really frustrated. I had waited two years to grow my hair out again. I was supposed to be able to use hair dryers and flat irons (nope, too heavy, at least sometimes) without issue.
I realized I had a battle on my hands: my hair versus my freedom/dignity. Maybe that sounds really dramatic, but bear with me here. For many women, hair is a symbol of beauty and confidence. And here I was, with little confidence in my ability to take care of the messy mop on my head. Which in turn toyed with my self esteem. I didn't feel beautiful anymore because I couldn't even do the simplest of tasks. The hair had to go.
The trip to the hair salon was a bit somber. Mom came with me, and when we pulled up to the building I seriously thought about calling it off and going home. But I knew I had to do it. I had picked out a really cool cut, so at least I had something to look forward to.
And so they chopped it all off. I was back to pixie short. I've since gone even shorter, though I'm due for a haircut as of the writing of this post. I miss the length, but now I have something I can manage on my own. I just wish that I could have cut it just because I wanted to, not out of necessity.
This is one of the reasons why I have a problem with these kids. They'd never make fun of a chemo patient with no hair. At least, I hope they wouldn't. But many women out there are forced to chop off their hair because of illness, and they are forced to deal with being insulted by ignorant people on top of dealing with their own emotional insecurities. It's not fair to them at all. I'm used to this sort of behavior from having short hair most of my adult life, but let's try to help those other women out, okay? If you're one of those people making comments, it won't kill you to keep your mouth shut.
This happens a lot, probably to the point where it shouldn't bother me anymore. I'm sure I give that impression to a lot of people, since I like shaving my parts of my hair off and I'm a tomboy at heart. But no, I'm not gay. It never fails to make me angry, though for more reasons than it would have years ago. These kids were more than likely basing this assumption on the fact that my hair is so short, without ever considering why my hair is short. It's an awful stereotype.
I've always had an interesting relationship with my hair. When I was a Freshman in high school, I decided I was bored with my current hair style and wanted something more daring. On a whim I cut my extremely thick, shoulder-length hair into a very short pixie. It was different, it was easy to manage, and I loved it. I kept it for the next 5 years.
Then I hit my 20s, and I realized I needed a change again. So I decided to grow my hair out. It was a pain, and it involved a lot of patience, headbands, and bobby pins, but I did it and I really loved having long hair again. The options were endless. Bun? Ponytail? Curly or straight? I could now do whatever I wanted.
But then a new problem arose. My new long and thick hair knotted quite easily. I didn't have the strength in my arms to brush out the knots. Sometimes I couldn't even lift my arms up above my head. That meant asking my mother to brush my hair for me every night after I showered. But then I needed to make sure that it didn't knot again in my sleep, which meant asking my sister to braid it (when Mom and I tried, our braids were an awkward mess because of our lack of dexterity).
I was beginning to get really frustrated. I had waited two years to grow my hair out again. I was supposed to be able to use hair dryers and flat irons (nope, too heavy, at least sometimes) without issue.
I realized I had a battle on my hands: my hair versus my freedom/dignity. Maybe that sounds really dramatic, but bear with me here. For many women, hair is a symbol of beauty and confidence. And here I was, with little confidence in my ability to take care of the messy mop on my head. Which in turn toyed with my self esteem. I didn't feel beautiful anymore because I couldn't even do the simplest of tasks. The hair had to go.
The trip to the hair salon was a bit somber. Mom came with me, and when we pulled up to the building I seriously thought about calling it off and going home. But I knew I had to do it. I had picked out a really cool cut, so at least I had something to look forward to.
And so they chopped it all off. I was back to pixie short. I've since gone even shorter, though I'm due for a haircut as of the writing of this post. I miss the length, but now I have something I can manage on my own. I just wish that I could have cut it just because I wanted to, not out of necessity.
This is one of the reasons why I have a problem with these kids. They'd never make fun of a chemo patient with no hair. At least, I hope they wouldn't. But many women out there are forced to chop off their hair because of illness, and they are forced to deal with being insulted by ignorant people on top of dealing with their own emotional insecurities. It's not fair to them at all. I'm used to this sort of behavior from having short hair most of my adult life, but let's try to help those other women out, okay? If you're one of those people making comments, it won't kill you to keep your mouth shut.
Monday, September 30, 2013
My Light Rail Dilemma
Every morning I have to take the Light Rail from Penn Station to get to school, and every morning I need to buy tickets for it. But first I need to stop and get myself coffee so that I can stay awake for class. So I go to Dunkin Donuts, grab breakfast and coffee, then proceed down the steps to purchase my tickets.
I buy two tickets at a time so that I have another one ready for the return trip. I use money that I take out each morning from my coin jar. I take that $1.40 in coins and stick them in the front right pocket of my jeans. Anyone who knows me knows that I hate digging around in my bag for my wallet, so I keep that money ready for a quick transaction.
I get to the machine, coffee in hand, and start tapping on the touch screen. Easy enough. But here's the hard part: I now need to get that $1.40 in coins out of my pocket and into the machine. You're probably wondering why I'm making a big deal out of something so simple, right?
Here's how this tends to go. I can easily pull the money out of my pocket. Now I have $1.40 in coins sitting in the palm of my hand. However, I don't have the dexterity to move the coins in such a way that I can accurately get them into the coin slot. So now I need to decide whether or not I want to take the risk of dropping all of the coins on the floor by trying to do this one-handed and fling the coins into the slot, or if I want to try to balance my coffee in between my arm and body to try and make use of both hands. You might be thinking, "Hey stupid, just put the coffee on the floor." I agree that sounds logical, but you're talking to someone that has a vendetta against all germ-y things. And let's face it, train stations and the like are germ-y places.
On especially stiff mornings, I don't attempt the one-handed technique. Instead I will use my right hand to grab the coins, place them in the palm of my left hand, and pick each coin up one by one.
And don't even get me started about what I have to do when dollar bills are involved in this process.
I envy all of you out there who don't need to put any thought into this. The movement just feels too awkward for me. I'm thinking that maybe I need to start buying enough tickets on Monday to last for the entire week, but then I also have to worry about not losing them. Maybe I need some hand yoga. That exists, right?
I buy two tickets at a time so that I have another one ready for the return trip. I use money that I take out each morning from my coin jar. I take that $1.40 in coins and stick them in the front right pocket of my jeans. Anyone who knows me knows that I hate digging around in my bag for my wallet, so I keep that money ready for a quick transaction.
I get to the machine, coffee in hand, and start tapping on the touch screen. Easy enough. But here's the hard part: I now need to get that $1.40 in coins out of my pocket and into the machine. You're probably wondering why I'm making a big deal out of something so simple, right?
Here's how this tends to go. I can easily pull the money out of my pocket. Now I have $1.40 in coins sitting in the palm of my hand. However, I don't have the dexterity to move the coins in such a way that I can accurately get them into the coin slot. So now I need to decide whether or not I want to take the risk of dropping all of the coins on the floor by trying to do this one-handed and fling the coins into the slot, or if I want to try to balance my coffee in between my arm and body to try and make use of both hands. You might be thinking, "Hey stupid, just put the coffee on the floor." I agree that sounds logical, but you're talking to someone that has a vendetta against all germ-y things. And let's face it, train stations and the like are germ-y places.
On especially stiff mornings, I don't attempt the one-handed technique. Instead I will use my right hand to grab the coins, place them in the palm of my left hand, and pick each coin up one by one.
And don't even get me started about what I have to do when dollar bills are involved in this process.
I envy all of you out there who don't need to put any thought into this. The movement just feels too awkward for me. I'm thinking that maybe I need to start buying enough tickets on Monday to last for the entire week, but then I also have to worry about not losing them. Maybe I need some hand yoga. That exists, right?
Friday, September 27, 2013
Yoga No-Go
Yoga is supposedly good for RA sufferers. That's what all of the RA forums, and my weekly WebMD newsletter, told me anyway. "Do yoga, stretch out those joints!" they said, albeit more eloquently. Supposedly I'd feel more relaxed, which would cut down the pain and make me more flexible.
As someone who favors holistic healing over conventional medicine, I try to look for more natural modes of healing myself, though that doesn't mean that I'd ever just stop taking my medication. I had done yoga as a preteen, and I remember enjoying it. I've continued the meditation aspect ever since, but not the "workout" portion. Anyway, the one yoga instructional video that I did own was on VHS. Yeah, that didn't help the cause. Hey, at least I owned a yoga mat.
I did what I thought would be a quick search on amazon. As of the writing of this post, there were 8,055 hits for "Yoga DVD." This was proving difficult. Still, knowing that I am too poor to afford classes, I persevered. My mother knew I was on a yoga quest too, and the other day she came home from Walmart with a yoga block and DVD in hand. Yes! This could work.
And so I popped the DVD into my computer. I sat down on the mat and waited for relaxation and feel-good stretching to start. There was no feel-good stretching.
Instead, I found myself struggling over the most simple positions. I realized that sitting with my legs crossed is an almost impossible task. My knees definitely did not want to bend that way. Switching from a seated position to a standing one, then back down to a kneeling one? Ha. I can only imagine what I would have looked like to a spectator. I'm so glad I picked a time when the house was empty to try this. I found myself constantly pausing the video just so I had enough time to pull myself up into a new pose. I was more out of breath from getting into poses than holding the pose! On the bright side, I guess I got a workout regardless of my flexibility fail. By the end of the 20 minute DVD, that yoga block was being used as a chair.
I think it's going to take awhile before yoga actually becomes relaxing, or before I receive any sort of health benefit from it. I found myself too worried about getting into decent poses without breaking something to actually reap any benefits. I also made the scary realization that my body doesn't move like it used to. The last thing I want to lose is my mobility, which probably means accepting the fact that my joints creak with every Downward Dog and just trudging along regardless.
I could also put pride aside and buy a "Yoga for Arthritis" DVD and roll with the old ladies. On second thought...nah. It probably wouldn't be as hilarious.
As someone who favors holistic healing over conventional medicine, I try to look for more natural modes of healing myself, though that doesn't mean that I'd ever just stop taking my medication. I had done yoga as a preteen, and I remember enjoying it. I've continued the meditation aspect ever since, but not the "workout" portion. Anyway, the one yoga instructional video that I did own was on VHS. Yeah, that didn't help the cause. Hey, at least I owned a yoga mat.
I did what I thought would be a quick search on amazon. As of the writing of this post, there were 8,055 hits for "Yoga DVD." This was proving difficult. Still, knowing that I am too poor to afford classes, I persevered. My mother knew I was on a yoga quest too, and the other day she came home from Walmart with a yoga block and DVD in hand. Yes! This could work.
And so I popped the DVD into my computer. I sat down on the mat and waited for relaxation and feel-good stretching to start. There was no feel-good stretching.
Instead, I found myself struggling over the most simple positions. I realized that sitting with my legs crossed is an almost impossible task. My knees definitely did not want to bend that way. Switching from a seated position to a standing one, then back down to a kneeling one? Ha. I can only imagine what I would have looked like to a spectator. I'm so glad I picked a time when the house was empty to try this. I found myself constantly pausing the video just so I had enough time to pull myself up into a new pose. I was more out of breath from getting into poses than holding the pose! On the bright side, I guess I got a workout regardless of my flexibility fail. By the end of the 20 minute DVD, that yoga block was being used as a chair.
I think it's going to take awhile before yoga actually becomes relaxing, or before I receive any sort of health benefit from it. I found myself too worried about getting into decent poses without breaking something to actually reap any benefits. I also made the scary realization that my body doesn't move like it used to. The last thing I want to lose is my mobility, which probably means accepting the fact that my joints creak with every Downward Dog and just trudging along regardless.
I could also put pride aside and buy a "Yoga for Arthritis" DVD and roll with the old ladies. On second thought...nah. It probably wouldn't be as hilarious.
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