When Lily was first diagnosed, I never, ever, ever said, Lily has brain cancer. I would never say that word. I mocked my mother's whispering of "cancer." I refused to use terms malignant or benign. I did not even want to speak to an oncologist--just a neurosurgeon.
Cancer is something that happens to other people. Not to my daughter. It is something that happens to adults, old people. Not a 14 month old. Plus, hadn't we paid our dues to the universe? Lily was a 29-week preemie (as a result of my preeclampsia)-who spent the first 10 days of her life on an oscillator--not in my arms. Wasn't that enough?
When we were inpatient at CHOP, Mike's Aunt Lydia encouraged us to reach out to other parents. I refused, I never, ever, ever wanted to see any of those people again-those cancer parents. I did not feel dislike; I just decided that I was not a part of their club. In truth, I could not allow myself to love anyone else who had a brain tumor. I could not do it. I was raw. And if their child died, what did that mean for Lily? I could not predict the outcome for their child-therefore--I could not predict our friendship. I had no strength to give.
Then one day, I googled, "Ependymoma and Preeclampsia, " and I found Shanda and her beautiful daughter Calla. Calla, the same age as Lily, was a preemie. She had an ependymoma. And she was okay. It was my first step into acceptance of cancer. Shanda, to me, is a Hero. She knows other cancer moms. She has accepted her membership into the cancer club and in doing, so, she helps someone everyday learn the ropes. She has taught me so much.
Slowly, others have trickled in--amazing beautiful parents of brain tumor survivors. Slowly, I've realized that this cancer club is really a Survivor Club. A club of veterans and heroes. It is not a club of darkness and despair. It is not where cancer is--it is the very absence of cancer. It is where we grow strong and healthy. It is where faith resides.
Last week, I signed up to be a Parent Ambassador for Alex's Lemonade Stand. I am terrified. I don't know the outcome--I don't know if I have the strength. For better or worse, I am part of the club and I know I am not alone.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Skip ahead
I have always been a skip ahead kind of girl. When I play Candy Land with Lily, I always feel a deep thrill when I draw the Ice Cream Cone card and can skip ahead. I hate to rush, but love to get there. In an effort to avoid the rush, I just skip all the steps and head right where I want to be. Fake it until I make it, cross my fingers, stomp my feet, hold my breath and call it a day. My mother always referred to me as confident and imaginative. When really I am just scared and impatient.
It is a terrible habit, one that got me thrown out of architecture school and still stymies me in many endeavors. This is why I need yoga.
As a college freshman, I majored in architecture. My second semester, I sat in studio sketching the space around a dancer. At the time it seemed like the most idiotic and ridiculous thing. I wanted to be sketching buildings or gardens or sky scrapers. The 20 year old spinning around in ballet shoes was the furthest thing from architecture. My eye rolling, blank sketch pad and general aura of disrespect, led me to my professors office and eventually right out of the architecture program.
It took me until today, 14 years later, to understand why I had to sketch that dancer. This afternoon I set off to work on crane pose. Crane Pose is a challenging arm balance that loosely resembles a cross between hand stand and frog stand (remember in your elementary gymnastic days). It is hard. You cannot muscle into it. You cannot just stretch your way into it. You need the perfect balance of strength and flexibility. Over lunch I read what Yoga Journal had to say on Crane, Googled it, searched through my library and then sat on my mat. I centered, meditated and then decided to head right to crane.
I've never actually done Crane before. I've had it taught to me, but I've never really found Crane.
Ignoring everything I read, I just tried to jam myself into Crane. One article wanted me to work through navasana (boat pose); another suggested that I open my hips; yet another prescribed a month-long practice of core and arm strengthening. I ignored it all. After all, I am a yoga teacher. I am flexible. I am strong. I can do Crane.
As you can guess, I couldn't really do Crane. Jamming myself into Crane was ridiculous and frustrating. I walked away from my mat. I only came back because I had a lesson plan to work on. Going through the lesson, writing down some key points for my students--I thought back to that dancer and my ill-fated year in architecture school.
I was a student-a cocky, impatient and scared student. Scared that if I did not rush into "it", some how I would miss "it."
One of my favorite Shakespeare quotes (often used in yoga), reminds us: "How poor they are that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?" We have good days and bad days in life and in yoga class. But, we can't give up because we don't understand or don't have the patience to understand.
Yoga asana is a constant lesson in patience. This afternoon I went back to my mat. I made my intention to forget about "it," to forget about Crane and just follow a sequence of poses and see where I ended up. I did not make it to Crane. It might take 10 years. It might take a month. I have no idea, but now, finally, I have a little patience.
It is a terrible habit, one that got me thrown out of architecture school and still stymies me in many endeavors. This is why I need yoga.
As a college freshman, I majored in architecture. My second semester, I sat in studio sketching the space around a dancer. At the time it seemed like the most idiotic and ridiculous thing. I wanted to be sketching buildings or gardens or sky scrapers. The 20 year old spinning around in ballet shoes was the furthest thing from architecture. My eye rolling, blank sketch pad and general aura of disrespect, led me to my professors office and eventually right out of the architecture program.
It took me until today, 14 years later, to understand why I had to sketch that dancer. This afternoon I set off to work on crane pose. Crane Pose is a challenging arm balance that loosely resembles a cross between hand stand and frog stand (remember in your elementary gymnastic days). It is hard. You cannot muscle into it. You cannot just stretch your way into it. You need the perfect balance of strength and flexibility. Over lunch I read what Yoga Journal had to say on Crane, Googled it, searched through my library and then sat on my mat. I centered, meditated and then decided to head right to crane.
I've never actually done Crane before. I've had it taught to me, but I've never really found Crane.
Ignoring everything I read, I just tried to jam myself into Crane. One article wanted me to work through navasana (boat pose); another suggested that I open my hips; yet another prescribed a month-long practice of core and arm strengthening. I ignored it all. After all, I am a yoga teacher. I am flexible. I am strong. I can do Crane.
As you can guess, I couldn't really do Crane. Jamming myself into Crane was ridiculous and frustrating. I walked away from my mat. I only came back because I had a lesson plan to work on. Going through the lesson, writing down some key points for my students--I thought back to that dancer and my ill-fated year in architecture school.
I was a student-a cocky, impatient and scared student. Scared that if I did not rush into "it", some how I would miss "it."
One of my favorite Shakespeare quotes (often used in yoga), reminds us: "How poor they are that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?" We have good days and bad days in life and in yoga class. But, we can't give up because we don't understand or don't have the patience to understand.
Yoga asana is a constant lesson in patience. This afternoon I went back to my mat. I made my intention to forget about "it," to forget about Crane and just follow a sequence of poses and see where I ended up. I did not make it to Crane. It might take 10 years. It might take a month. I have no idea, but now, finally, I have a little patience.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Engaging
My engagement ring is still beautiful. I don't really know the size or cut or clarity of my ring. I couldn't tell you its retail value. It has not been cleaned since the week before our wedding in 2003. It is a diamond ring; simple, plain jane and sparkles when it gets wet.
Mike and I were engaged a couple days before Valentine's Day. We lived in Vermont. Our unhealthy bank account led us to be creative--we got my ring with cash and credit cards when Service Merchandise was going out of business. Everyday for a week, Mike would go to Service Merchandise on his lunch break and look at the rings; investigating when the final clearance reduction would happen, so we could snag the ring for a rock bottom price.
It was a Saturday. We got the ring--using both our ATM cards to withdraw our daily cash limit, plus a couple separate transactions on various credit cards. The long drive to our apartment felt like an epic journey. Mike had an engagement ring burning in his pocket. He asked if he could propose at a truck stop. (haha) We held hands most of the drive. I kept looking at our hands and thinking-these hands are about to be engaged, what will they look like?
Mike proposed that afternoon in our living room in Fairfax. Our celebration dinner was something from the Steeple Market (a former church turned deli in the middle of town). It snowed.
Eight years later, we are still holding hands, even when in different time zones. And together, we always seem to pull off the impossible--even when it takes 2 bank accounts and a little lunch time detective work.
Mike and I were engaged a couple days before Valentine's Day. We lived in Vermont. Our unhealthy bank account led us to be creative--we got my ring with cash and credit cards when Service Merchandise was going out of business. Everyday for a week, Mike would go to Service Merchandise on his lunch break and look at the rings; investigating when the final clearance reduction would happen, so we could snag the ring for a rock bottom price.
It was a Saturday. We got the ring--using both our ATM cards to withdraw our daily cash limit, plus a couple separate transactions on various credit cards. The long drive to our apartment felt like an epic journey. Mike had an engagement ring burning in his pocket. He asked if he could propose at a truck stop. (haha) We held hands most of the drive. I kept looking at our hands and thinking-these hands are about to be engaged, what will they look like?
Mike proposed that afternoon in our living room in Fairfax. Our celebration dinner was something from the Steeple Market (a former church turned deli in the middle of town). It snowed.
Eight years later, we are still holding hands, even when in different time zones. And together, we always seem to pull off the impossible--even when it takes 2 bank accounts and a little lunch time detective work.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Refuge
As everyone knows, I think being snowed-in is, perhaps, the most delicious treat.
The snow is so quiet. Have you ever gone out in a remote area where there are layers of fresh snow? It is silent. The snow is the most perfect insulation from all noise. It feels like the world has actually stopped. There is no chaos. No sound. No distraction. Just snow.
I think I fell in love with snow (and Vermont) after my first excursion snow shoeing. Two of my best girls Rachel and Lynniare will attest that our snow shoeing was not all peaceful (there was some hysteria about frost bite, night fall and getting trapped/lost on a mountain); but there were these remarkably quiet moments, when no one was speaking and all around me was just snow.
Often, I try to visualize myself back on the side of Mount Mansfield, before the climb got too challenging, right in that moment of perfect peace. The snow was so high; that when I stood on it my head was in the tops of the trees. The climb-up was a struggle. The breaks between the climb were such a sweet reward; the only sound was my breath.
Linda Anderson, the creator of the Mom-to-Mom ministry, says we all need a refuge from overstuffed lives. Anderson says we need "connection amidst the chaos" and to find "islands of sanity and security."
That memory is a refuge from the chaos of my life. Somedays I take refuge in Chloe's laugh. Or when I dance to Cyndi Lauper with Lily. Or on my yoga mat. Or during late night talks with Mike. Or in the car with Pearl Jam blasting. These moments are the escape from chaos. These moments are my pause button. Sort of a mindful meditation amidst my very overstuffed life.
Friday, February 5, 2010
sNOW
I cannot recall ever having cabin fever. Just the opposite: The weather forecast calls for snow and I am instantly infected with a serious case of hyper anticipation. Joy fueled by the prospect of blizzards and snow thunder and 10 foot high drifts and impassable roads and states of emergency. Bring me snow storms. Bring me blizzards. I want to be trapped in the cozy, calm goodness of home. No plans. No appointments. No knocks at the door. Nothing.
Perhaps, I do have some serious issue with Stockholm Syndrome and continue to love anything that captures me. Perhaps I have avoidance and procrastination issues. Perhaps I am a homebody. All these disorders might very well be true: but I know that my deepest struggle is with being fully present.
Ask me what I am thinking-right now--well I thinking that I love Skittles, even though the sugar is definitely rotting my teeth. I thinking that I have to call Lily's teacher tomorrow. And I still have to finish my website. And I have a grant to write for a band in Ohio. And what would I write in my essay to apply to seminary. And the dog needs her nails trimmed. And, and, and, and, and, and, and. . . .I, me, the truest of me is absent. I am not present. I am either in the future or the past. The NOW is elusive.
Being snowed-in is delicious, like when you bite into a fresh apple, right off the tree. For just a split second, you can savor the sweet, crisp flavor. You are totally and completely tasting the apple, nothing else. You are in the NOW and the NOW is the apple.
When snow is announced, I sense a reprieve from all those things that keep me from the NOW. I can't leave. No one can leave. It is like time stops. And I have is NOW. I can just be still. Meditation in the cozy goodness of home. Shoveling, planning, shopping and thinking can wait. I can be my truest and my best, because there is nothing to interrupt the NOW. There is no where to go.
The NOW is always there, sometimes I just need mother nature, a weather man and a couple feet of snow.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Trish Adkins isn't defined yet
Today, I was enticed by a Facebook status challenge:
"Go to Urbandictionary.com, type in your first and last name and post the definition in your status."
I went. Popped in one of many pseudonyms. The variations of my names are endless. Lately, I've been Trish Adkins.
The response: Trish Adkins isn't defined yet.
Seriously? I am so unimportant that I am not defined.
Then I entered in about 33 other variations on my name
Trish A. Adkins
Trish Carrington
Tricia Adkins
Tricia Carrington-Adkins
Patricia A. Adkins
Patricia Carrington
The list went on and on. The response never changed, "not defined yet." I clicked on the hyperlinked "yet" and got a form to define myself. I had no idea where to start. Should I say, Trish Adkins (noun): mom, wife, best friend, super star, something fabulous
or
Trish Adkins (verb): to procrastinate and slouch
or
Trish Adkins (adjective): spirited. grumpy. happy.
I honestly have no idea how to define myself.
Everyday I go to my mat and looking for me. I never seem to find all of me, just the bits and pieces. I discovered this month that my hips are actually naturally flexible and my abs are not as weak as I thought. I've found that I when I feel negatively about someone, I feel negatively about myself. Yesterday, I accepted the fact that I am scared of having my eyes closed for long periods of time--I feel totally out of control. All of these revelations are the pieces.
So for now, Trish Adkins (and all her alternate names) isn't defined yet. And that is exactly how it should be. Otherwise, I could just pack my mat up and do nothing. Absolutely nothing. Then Trish Adkins would be (adjective): dull. uninteresting. incomplete.
"Go to Urbandictionary.com, type in your first and last name and post the definition in your status."
I went. Popped in one of many pseudonyms. The variations of my names are endless. Lately, I've been Trish Adkins.
The response: Trish Adkins isn't defined yet.
Seriously? I am so unimportant that I am not defined.
Then I entered in about 33 other variations on my name
Trish A. Adkins
Trish Carrington
Tricia Adkins
Tricia Carrington-Adkins
Patricia A. Adkins
Patricia Carrington
The list went on and on. The response never changed, "not defined yet." I clicked on the hyperlinked "yet" and got a form to define myself. I had no idea where to start. Should I say, Trish Adkins (noun): mom, wife, best friend, super star, something fabulous
or
Trish Adkins (verb): to procrastinate and slouch
or
Trish Adkins (adjective): spirited. grumpy. happy.
I honestly have no idea how to define myself.
Everyday I go to my mat and looking for me. I never seem to find all of me, just the bits and pieces. I discovered this month that my hips are actually naturally flexible and my abs are not as weak as I thought. I've found that I when I feel negatively about someone, I feel negatively about myself. Yesterday, I accepted the fact that I am scared of having my eyes closed for long periods of time--I feel totally out of control. All of these revelations are the pieces.
So for now, Trish Adkins (and all her alternate names) isn't defined yet. And that is exactly how it should be. Otherwise, I could just pack my mat up and do nothing. Absolutely nothing. Then Trish Adkins would be (adjective): dull. uninteresting. incomplete.
Monday, February 1, 2010
WLFF
Like so many things on my desk, this entry sat in the queue marinating or whatever un-posted blog entries do in their endless spare time. I wanted to write about my victory over Prasarita Padottanasana (Wide Legged Forward Fold).
I really, really dislike this pose. I could strike it from the list of classic asana, erase it form the minds of teachers, eradicate it from all history. All in all, my dislike and desire to conquer is very un-yoga like.
Wide Legged Forward Fold (WLFF) is a foundational pose. You stand with your legs wide and hinge at the hip, folding forward, keeping your spine long, your ribs lifted from your waist and you fold. Fold all the way down, down so your hands touch the floor, your elbows bend and your head is on the floor. You can use blocks to shorten the distance to the floor, placing your hands and head on the blocks.
When I enter WLFF, first my ankles hurt. Then, my back instantly rounds and I can't breathe. Suddenly, my ribs are frozen. My hamstrings scream and threaten to walk out on the job. The floor seems very far away. And I feel ugly. Crunched up, rounded, awkward and ugly.
I've had fellow teachers modify the pose with blocks, chairs and the wall. I get so frustrated that I've been known to cry, throw yoga blocks and take my mat and go home. That ego of mine has led me to whip myself up in handstands and wheel and other advanced poses to prove to WLFF that I am the boss. It is all very sad.
I've stomped my feet (unproductive to say the least). I've heard all the language, watched the demos, but I just can't do it. I can't.
Last week I dedicated my practice to WLFF. I opened my hips, my hamstrings and worked through my pranayama (breathing). I did back bending poses. And then, finally, after all this preparation, I grabbed about 45 yoga blocks, my full length mirror and worked on WLFF. It still looked awful, felt awful and completely shamed me.
Somewhere around hour 7 of obsessing (and calling my long suffering husband 77 times to discuss my hamstrings ), WLFF and I came to an understanding. I ditched the blocks. I moved away from the mirror and closed my eyes. And well, I folded. I have no idea what I looked like. My back was a rounded mess, my head was not on the floor. But I could breathe. And I could smile.
WLFF and I aren't necessarily a match; but we can hang at the same cocktail party. We dislike each other--but that is okay. No ego, no drama, no conquering. No yoga imperialism.
This morning I did WLFF. I just did it. I have no idea what it looked like. It felt great. More than great. It felt like the start of a beautiful friendship.
I really, really dislike this pose. I could strike it from the list of classic asana, erase it form the minds of teachers, eradicate it from all history. All in all, my dislike and desire to conquer is very un-yoga like.
Wide Legged Forward Fold (WLFF) is a foundational pose. You stand with your legs wide and hinge at the hip, folding forward, keeping your spine long, your ribs lifted from your waist and you fold. Fold all the way down, down so your hands touch the floor, your elbows bend and your head is on the floor. You can use blocks to shorten the distance to the floor, placing your hands and head on the blocks.
When I enter WLFF, first my ankles hurt. Then, my back instantly rounds and I can't breathe. Suddenly, my ribs are frozen. My hamstrings scream and threaten to walk out on the job. The floor seems very far away. And I feel ugly. Crunched up, rounded, awkward and ugly.
I've had fellow teachers modify the pose with blocks, chairs and the wall. I get so frustrated that I've been known to cry, throw yoga blocks and take my mat and go home. That ego of mine has led me to whip myself up in handstands and wheel and other advanced poses to prove to WLFF that I am the boss. It is all very sad.
I've stomped my feet (unproductive to say the least). I've heard all the language, watched the demos, but I just can't do it. I can't.
Last week I dedicated my practice to WLFF. I opened my hips, my hamstrings and worked through my pranayama (breathing). I did back bending poses. And then, finally, after all this preparation, I grabbed about 45 yoga blocks, my full length mirror and worked on WLFF. It still looked awful, felt awful and completely shamed me.
Somewhere around hour 7 of obsessing (and calling my long suffering husband 77 times to discuss my hamstrings ), WLFF and I came to an understanding. I ditched the blocks. I moved away from the mirror and closed my eyes. And well, I folded. I have no idea what I looked like. My back was a rounded mess, my head was not on the floor. But I could breathe. And I could smile.
WLFF and I aren't necessarily a match; but we can hang at the same cocktail party. We dislike each other--but that is okay. No ego, no drama, no conquering. No yoga imperialism.
This morning I did WLFF. I just did it. I have no idea what it looked like. It felt great. More than great. It felt like the start of a beautiful friendship.
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