Day 11 Is there yoga after dentistry?
After the usual school run this morning, my day started with a trip to the lab for some routine blood tests. I had a dental appointment at 9 am, and I figured I might as well do all the unpleasant tasks on the same day.
I hadn’t really thought that through. I’m totally stoic for blood draws – I can and have taken my own blood, which freaks my husband out. He thinks this means I’m likely to become a heroin addict. (Which is ridiculous. I can’t afford heroin.) I am, however, phobic about dental work.
I had to skip breakfast for the bloodwork, which would have been okay, but for the dentistry. This wasn’t a big 2.5 hour appointment, like I had a couple of weeks ago and for which I was mildly, but very happily, sedated; this was simply replacing the temporary crown with the permanent. Easy-peasy, right? Except that the temp didn’t pop off the way it was supposed to. Mike, my dentist, got in there with both hands. Nothing. He got out the dental crowbar. Nothing. “Hm. I’ll have to cut it off,” said Mike. “This might be a little… dusty.” A really nice guy, Mike. I always feel bad for hating to see him.
I squeezed my eyes shut, imagining a miniature jackhammer crossed with a circular saw. The sounds and the smell were entirely real, unfortunately, and on an empty and – worse – caffeine-free stomach, resulted in burgeoning panic. I think perhaps I was also missing those four vials of blood they took from me earlier.
Finally that little temporary crown came off in splintering bits and pieces, one of which nearly flew down my throat. “Oops,” said Mike, neatly vacuuming it up, then pulling the suction device off my frozen tongue. “Oh, I guess that’s not what you want to hear from your dentist, is it?”
No, Mike, it’s really not. Of course, I couldn’t answer him. I couldn’t do anything but practice my pranayama breathing, which I wish I could say was more helpful. My hands were clenched so tight, I’ve got neat little smiley faces all across my palms.
Then it was over. I mopped my face with that nice hot cloth, wobbled out to my car and drove home, very slowly and carefully. And then I crawled back into bed until noon.
I went to yoga later, oh yes, Virginia, there is yoga after dentistry. I did okay, until about half-way through the class, the last of the freezing suddenly disappeared. Ouch.
Day 10 and a Surprise
I went to bed early last night, too sore to sit and read, but fine to read lying down. Really didn’t want to go to class today but hey, that’s what a challenge is all about, pushing yourself past your comfort zone.
I started the class discouraged, tired, a bit emotionally ragged, so I made a conscious effort to let my mind go, become calm, empty. I found myself drifting, day-dreaming, meditating even, through the first few postures until suddenly we were into Standing Head-to-Knee, which is currently my worst posture. Ideally, it looks like this:
Now, so far I’ve been able to raise my left knee and even lock it momentarily. I can’t pull my elbows and head down yet; maybe one day. Lifting my right knee, however, is a problem. Locking the right knee parallel to the floor? Uh, not happening.
Until today. It was just a couple of snaps, but I did it. I DID it!! And I can still walk!
The rest of the class passed as usual and I’m feeling better today than I did yesterday. I guess I am making progress.
It made me think of babies, and how often just before those big developmental leaps they often regress in their behaviour or abilities. Crankiness just before they learn to walk. Irritability during teething. Frustration as they struggle to learn to hold a pencil. It’s as if the body has to gather itself back, inwards, in preparation for the leap ahead. I always tried to cut my kids slack when I could see they were about to hit a period of rapid growth, or meet a new challenge.
It’s harder to do that for myself.
To extend the metaphor: Rationally, I know I’m making progress in my writing. I’m pushing myself to do more, try new things, and projects are coming together. But some days, I feel like a toddler throwing down his crayon in frustration because the picture isn’t what he imagined in his head. I’m impatient. Disgusted. Discouraged. I just want to pitch a fit, throw down my laptop and howl.
Maybe this means I’m about to achieve something new, overcome something, work through a plot problem.
If I can touch my forehead to my right knee, I can probably do anything. Even sell a book!
Day 9 Sore and Tired
My car smells like the inside of a gym locker. A boy’s gym locker. And I’m tired. Really, really tired. And my right hamstring is reaching a stage of tenderness that, if it was a roast, it’d be just about done.
21 days to go. Yay.