I find it comforting to believe the common saying that everything happens for a reason. Even making up a good reason (if one is not so obvious) makes it easier to cope with more difficult circumstances.

Just the other day I had another accident. It’s strange how time seems to slow down when my body is falling.  I lose my balance and in the split second it’s happening I manage to process everything that’s occurring: “No big deal,” I was thinking, “I’m falling onto the table, I’ll be safe…just have to put my arms down to steady myself…oops, my arms are buckling, that’s still ok, my body will land on the table and I’ll be able to push myself up from it, it’s all good…o oh, the glass part is tipping over, how is that happening?!!…OH NO!  I’m going all the way down!!”  CRASH (the table hitting the ground), BANG (my head on the floor),…“OWCH!!”

This particular evening I was already tired from lack of sleep and battling a cold. And here I was, wedged between the toppled glass top and a chair.  A kid would have been delighted by this tent-like structure housing my body…not me.  After some effort, I managed to wiggle my way out of the tight spot.  But when I wanted to get into a sitting position, my already exhausted state, combined with the smooth laminate floor and my soft slippery autumn clothing made it too difficult for me to sit up.  And that’s when I thought, “I am SO LUCKY!!!” because I had just put the phone on the charger which sits on a lower shelf (and it’s not often that I do that!) So, just like my students who love to imitate animals during drama activities, I slithered my way around the rug and up to the phone, feeling so very fortunate to be able to reach it from my lying position.

Of course, the first person I called was my friend K.  I was a bit shocked when I heard my ex’s voicemail after the 5 rings.  In a momentary bout of confusion I had dialed the wrong number!  So glad he didn’t pick up.  I then dialed K. (right number this time.)  His voicemail too!  Now what?  I reluctantly tried the superintendent and was strangely relieved that he didn’t answer either.  I didn’t feel comfortable asking for his help anyway.  The only other person who had a copy of my key was my cleaning lady.  When she answered her phone, a feeling of great relief released my emotions, and I started sobbing into the receiver.  It took her a little while to figure out what it was that I needed, but thankfully, she came in less than 10 minutes.

When she entered my apartment, the sight of her tiny frame did not give me much reassurance.  I’m not that large, but it’s very cumbersome picking up a human rag doll from the floor, even for a big guy.  I suggested that we get help from a neighbour, but she wanted to try helping me by herself and almost managed it, but then lost her grip and dropped me to the floor again (more gently this time.)  So I convinced her to get my friendly neighbour L.  who was kind enough to come right away.  Finally, my shaky body was lifted off the ground and plopped onto a chair.

L. and I only know each other as well as our brief congenial chats in the elevator.  She probably had no idea how very amused I was (despite my trembling limbs, blotchy and tear-stricken face, and disheveled appearance) when she said, “I’ve been meaning to get your phone number because I wanted to have you over for dinner, so I’m glad I was able to come and help.”  I too had been meaning to get her number since last spring but I always kept forgetting to ask her.  Everything does happen for a reason, doesn’t it?  This mishap finally got me to exchange numbers with L.  and I’m sure we’ll become much better neighbours and friends from now on.  And simply believing that that was the main reason for the fall has allowed me to continue living by myself as worry-free as I possibly can be.

Still, a few days after the incident, I was going through a rut and feeling quite tired and bothered by the fact that I have to live with MD.  Disappointed with myself and unmotivated with life, I wallowed in this melancholy state a little longer than I should.

My parents’ visit cheered me up a bit.  We ran some errands and did a few things that I can’t do by myself like hanging pictures on my wall.  That night, half an hour after I had hugged them goodbye, my dad returned, frantically knocking on my door.  When I opened it, he asked me in a worried tone, “Why haven’t you been answering your phone?  I buzzed you, I called you from my cell, I was so worried that you had fallen down again!”  Puzzled, I explained that my phone hadn’t rung.

My dad had come back because he had forgotten to return my bankcard.  And how fortunate it was that we had forgotten about my bankcard in his pocket, because had he not returned I would not have realized that my phone was out of order!

After a bit of detective work, we figured out that a wire from a telephone outlet I never use had been frayed and damaged when we had removed the jack earlier that day to place a whiteboard over it.  And that had caused the line to go completely dead.

What if I hadn’t forgotten about my card?  What if my dad had not returned?  When would I have figured out the phone problem and who would have helped me fix it? Things really do happen for a reason…

But then I started thinking: why did that wire get damaged in the first place? What are the odds of that happening and for what good reason?  Maybe because it’s these moments of peculiar coincidences, when I feel rescued by the Universe’s fluky ways—so grateful that I had forgotten about the bankcard or put the phone on the lower shelf—that I’m encouraged to keep following the road of life freely and without fear, because I’m (so obviously) watched over and well taken care of.  Yes, there are some uncomfortable moments at times, but everything I need always comes together at the right time.  And these last couple of incidents did get me out of my rut and have inspired me once again.

I find it fascinating how we develop certain perceptions, some of them valid, some unfounded, that influence our habits in life.

Even as a teenager, I had a deep-rooted aversion to pharmaceutical drugs.  I preferred to suffer a brutal headache rather than swallow a pill.  After the surgery from my first (and largest) muscle biopsy, I agreed to take some painkillers only after I passed out from the pain.  And when my tooth popped out after a fall, it took some forceful persuasion by my scientist cousin to get me to take antibiotics to avoid infection.  And it’s probably a good thing I listened to him; the tooth was pushed back into my gums and healed quite nicely.

When my first neurologist misdiagnosed me with polymiositis, and he prescribed prednisone, I was hesitant at first, then terrified when a little research revealed all the side effects—weight gain, osteoporosis, glaucoma, cataracts, depression, infection and countless others. So my neurologist suggested I get a second opinion, and I’m so grateful he did—years later I found out that patients with some kinds of muscular dystrophy often get weaker and may suffer irreversible damage to the muscle if put on prednisone. 

Since there is no conventional treatment available to me, it is only natural that I would experiment with alternative therapies.  Just trying something, anything, keeps fuelling a glimmer of hope. Ironically, my suspicious treatment of allopathic medicine is counterbalanced by my quick trust (and sometimes gullibility) when alternative medicine is involved. 

I’ve tried different diets, taken various supplements, dripped Unda drops under my tongue, rubbed blessed oil from Syria on my skin, experimented with Reiki, visited two different biotherapists, met with a hypnotherapist and a medium, trifled with NLP, and exposed myself to the healing waves of strange machines.  I’ve read Dreamhealer Adam’s and Jose Silva’s books and combined their ideas to devise visualization routines, and I’ve learned a few meditation tips from a yoga therapist.

It’s really hard to tell if any of it has helped because I don’t think I persisted with one therapy long enough to see results.  It is also possible that had I not experimented with some of these therapies, I might be worse off now.  How will I ever know?

There was one unusual occurrence.  Upon the recommendation of my sister’s friend E., I tried NAET (Nambudripad’s Allergy Elimination Techniques).  It was about 6 years ago, between misdiagnosis #1 and misdiagnosis #2.  I didn’t know I had MD at the time, so I thought why not try it, even if I didn’t think I had allergies.  At that time, I could still walk up stairs, but laboriously, and I could still get up from a regular chair, but with difficulty.  When I first saw the NAET practitioner, he tested me using a special computerized allergy-testing machine.  Then he stimulated various points on my back using acupressure while I held glass vials filled with liquid, (which I imagined contained the allergen.)  It all seemed a bit voodooish and I couldn’t help giggle inwardly during the odd experience.  He finished off with an acupuncture session. I was then instructed to avoid all contact with the specific allergen for 25 hours, which proved to be quite challenging.  Once I had to avoid eating anything with vitamin A, which I realized comprises a lot of my diet and left me with a limited choice of food for a day.   Another time, I had to avoid metal.  Not easy!  I remember going to a summer festival feeling a little silly wearing white cotton gloves to prevent metal from touching my skin.

The evening after my very first NAET treatment I experienced unusual results.  I suddenly felt an inordinate boost of energy.  I tried going up the stairs, and was surprised at how easy it felt.  My boyfriend at the time was just as dumbfounded as I was when I marched up and down the flight of stairs three, four, five times!  Then I sat in a fairly low chair and got up effortlessly, sat again, and got up without any trouble.  I was ecstatic!!!  I started jumping around, going up and down the stairs again, grinning madly, thinking I had finally found my miracle cure.  Unfortunately the effect wore off after a few days, and even after several months of NAET treatments, the incredible surge of strength was never repeated.

Some members of my family think it might not have had anything to do with NAET; they suspect it was really the trial run of an IVIG treatment I was given two weeks prior to the curious incident.  When I mention my experiences to different neurologists, they shrug their shoulders and seem to dismiss what I relate to them as probably my imagination.

I wonder if it was a combination of the IVIG, the NAET and cupfuls of green tea I drank that particular evening.  But I’ll never know, because the doctors are disinclined to try the IVIG again, and with good reason.  It is very expensive.

Just recently, I thought of the NAET treatment again.  My friend D. was telling me about his friend who has a severe case of Crohn’s disease, which affects the gastrointestinal tract.  That’s what my sister’s friend E. had.  After six months of NAET treatments, E. no longer had to follow a restricted diet or take steroids.  Five years later, she’s still symptom-free.  Coincidentally (I love synchronicity!), I was going to see E.—whom I hadn’t spoken with in many years—two weeks after D. mentioned his friend.  So I asked her again about her experience with NAET and found myself interested in the therapy once again.  Maybe I’ll give it another try.

Another treatment I persisted with was reflexology.  The first time I tried it, I was expecting a nice foot massage, so I was unprepared when the little man started poking me in the foot with a rounded stick.  It hurt so much! I found myself squirming in my seat, trying to pull my feet away, whimpering ooos and aaas and ouches!  Meanwhile, Mr. T was cracking me up with laughter as he tried to convert me to vegetarianism in his heavy Chinese accent: “This is Chinese torture!  hehehe! No Pain, no gain!!  Do you eat meat?  Do you treat your body like a coffin?  Your body is a morgue, that’s why your feet are hurting.  Healthy people’s feet don’t hurt as much!”  I couldn’t tell if my tears were from the laughter or the pain.

Despite the pain, I continued seeing the Chinese torturer—as he called himself—for almost two years.  He and his wife were so kind and caring, and very eager to convert me to their belief system.  They often invited me to stay for delicious vegetarian dinners after my treatments.  And within a few weeks, I became a strict vegetarian myself.  I’m amazed how quickly I went from eating just about anything to cutting out all animals from my diet, including cheeses with rennet and marshmallows with gelatin—and I do love a good Rice Krispies square!  At first I did it for health reasons, then my reasons became more spiritual, add to that animal rights and the environment. I had become so serious about my commitment to vegetarianism that I remember once biting into a vegetarian-looking pizza and feeling a sense of shock and panic when I discovered sneaky pepperoni slices hiding under the sauce.

After 4 years of strict vegetarianism, and after carefully considering the advice of several other healers, and after many months of internal debate, I finally have started including some animal flesh as part of my diet, but with reluctance…and respect for the animal.

The two years I saw Mr. T. for reflexology and suction cup therapy, although I did not improve dramatically, I did maintain my strength.  But I also started becoming uneasy with his teachings.  Most (but not all) of his beliefs mirrored my own; yet I felt a sense of discomfort, a feeling that the path along which he wanted to lead me was not the right one for me.  So I stopped seeing him.

There are so many alternative healing options out there, and there was a time I would stress about whether I was trying the right one.  Adding to my anxiety were my well-meaning friends and family who thought I was being duped and often led me to doubt my choices.  People say investing in your health is the most important thing you can do.  But what if you’re using your limited resources to invest in the wrong therapy, and how long should you wait to see results?

I don’t worry anymore.  I just trust that the right healers will cross my path at the right time.

During my fall crisis last year—which I feel was a very much-needed wake-up call—I frantically renewed my search for healing solutions.  A relative mentioned the Bruno Groening Circle of Friends, and I was able to convince a friend to accompany me to one of their meetings.  But the many stairs and late night weekday meetings left me unmotivated to attend again.  Yet, I did benefit greatly from contacting the BGCF: one of the organizers mentioned the biotherapist P. to me.

When I first met the wonderful P. I felt as if the room where he worked his magic was brimming with goodness and uplifting energy.  He and his wife are so warmhearted.  Just to be in their presence is motivation enough for me to face my fears of going to unfamiliar places alone.  The first few times, I drove to the underground parking of their clinic, waited for any person to walk by and—contrary to my nature—I would ask the stranger to help me cross the parking garage.  Most of the time the people were very friendly and helpful.  The last person I asked eyed me suspiciously and reluctantly walked me across to the other side.   I felt bad after that experience, but it didn’t stop me from seeing P. as often as I could during his short stay.  It just prompted me to find a better solution.  I started to plan my arrival during less busy hours when the few parking spots on the elevator side of the garage were usually free.  They were further away from the entrance, but from those spots I could walk along a wall all the way to the elevators.  After my session, P.’s wife would ask one of the other patients to walk me back to my car.

I am so looking forward to P.’s return, not because I need his healing, but because he and his wife are such wonderful people.  In fact, I don’t think I need a healer anymore.  I feel that a switch has been turned on within me—a click of the mind, a shift inside my body.  I really feel that these days I am thinking my way to healing and it’s starting to happen.

I remember vaguely one of the daily Abraham-Hicks quotes saying that a healer’s job is to make the patients believe they can heal.  I always believed, but now I know it and feel it from the depths of my being.

“Know that underlying the storm is peace, and under the chaos is order.   Use the power of faith as your anchor:  faith that there is a reason why things happen as they do; faith that you will make it through a crisis; faith that you are moving forward to a better place.” from Invisible Acts of Power by Caroline Myss

13 years ago, I was living in a cute three-bedroom bungalow in Mexico.  The kitchen connected to a bright laundry room surrounded by large windows, and from the laundry room, a glass door led to the small yard, which was enclosed by 3-metre walls.  One day, my housemate Lisette and I accidentally locked ourselves out of the house.  Of course, I was annoyed.  How could I have been so careless?  I had never forgotten my keys before.  What a hassle it would be to walk all the way to our landlord’s home in the searing heat.  Much better try to break in!  I knew that the laundry room and kitchen doors had been left open, but how to get over the tall walls?  After a few brainstorming minutes, I reached for the burglar bars that protected the front window, shinnied up to the top, and from there, I was able to clamber onto the roof, walk across the rooftop and jump into the yard.   I marveled at how easy it was to break in and made a mental note to keep the laundry and the kitchen doors locked in the future.

That same weekend, Lisette, my other housemate Isabelle and I were on our way out when I realized I had forgotten to lock the kitchen door.  I rushed home, locked it and went on to enjoy the night.  When Lisette and I returned to the house around three in the morning, Isabelle was already home and sound asleep.

As soon as I awoke the next morning, Isabelle asked me if I knew why there was blood splattered on the laundry room floor.  When I went in to take a look I noticed one window had been broken.  A thief must have cut himself on the shards of glass in his attempt to break in.  “So that’s why I heard a strange noise when I was sleeping last night.  I thought I was dreaming,” exclaimed Isabelle.   I could only nod dazedly as an intense wave of relief swept over me.   “Where would Isabelle be now had I not locked the kitchen door?!  Forgetting my keys was a blessing in disguise!”

And sometimes I wonder where I would be had I not developed muscular dystrophy.    It’s entirely possible that the place might not be as rich and enlightening as the one I am in today.

My life has been marked with many fortuitous moments of synchronicity that have kept me out of trouble and opened my eyes to new ideas.  I have come to trust wholeheartedly that in the grand scheme of things, amongst the hassles and mishaps of life, I will always be led to a good place.

Yet, there are days when I wake up in a dark and cloudy mood, in which the slightest frustration will trigger a downpour of angry thoughts.  A couple of Mondays ago, I was staying at my parents’ place and, without my usual surroundings, was having more difficulty than usual getting dressed.  My patience was lacking and all I wanted to do was complain about the pointlessness of this wretched disease. “How can I enjoy this earth when I can barely walk? How can I contribute to this world when I need so much help?  What tasks will I not be able to do when I return to work in September?” muttered my mind.  And like sunrays trying to pierce through the dark mass of clouds, another voice within me piped up, “Be positive Amanda, refocus!!!  Think how lucky you are—loving family, nice home, people who help!  It could be so much worse!”  But all I wanted to do was whine like a spoiled child.  “I’m tired of TRYING to be happy, I’m tired of life!” “No, no, no Amanda, all you have to do is pivot your mood!  Good thoughts!  It will all be OK!”

Sure enough, it was OK.  The storm passed quickly and sunshine has flooded my heart once again.  The question of what I might no longer be able to do (strength wise) in September continues to niggle at my mind, and as a result, I have become even more disciplined.  I’ve been meditating until my limbs go numb, visualizing until my body heats up, and exercising more regularly.  Every night before I fall asleep I embark on a ‘rampage of appreciation’ (as coined by Abraham-Hicks).  It’s already starting to pay off.   I’m feeling pretty good and some tasks have become slightly easier.

In the book I just finished reading, Caroline Myss quoted the author and psychiatrist M. Scott Peck:

“The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled.  For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts, and start searching for different ways or truer answers.”

I realize it’s ok to get frustrated once in a while, and even better when my frustration thrusts me into action.  The good thing is that as I mature, these uncomfortable moments are becoming less frequent and much briefer.  It’s all good.

“And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.” from The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

Saturday evening – A phone conversation with a friend

After she tells me how much she enjoyed my last blog entry I say, “…but I don’t know what I’m going to write next.  I want some adventure in my life, something to write about!…”

Sunday afternoon – A Skype conversation with YouTube John

I mention to John that I can’t sit up from a lying position.  I tell him I watched his video, but I wasn’t successful when I tried his technique on my bed.  I’m so incredibly lucky that the last time I fell, I had collapsed into a sitting position on the floor.  Otherwise I don’t know how I would have been able to reach the phone to call for help.  John shares with me that at one point he couldn’t go up the stairs leading with the left leg; he persisted stubbornly and finally managed to. “You just have to push yourself, you can do it!” he encourages me.

Monday late morning – Lying in bed, deep in thought

Three weeks of vacation have just flown by and I haven’t worked as hard as I should.  I really should push myself more!  Why, I wonder, is it so hard to stick to a proper exercise routine?  I remember in my early 20s how I would get up every day at the crack of dawn to go jogging, and the immense pleasure I felt at witnessing the neighbourhood slowly wake up from silent darkness to birds chirping, dogs barking, store fronts opening, cars rumbling by and the smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the air.  I would finish off with an intense sprint, pushing myself to my limits.  After work I would walk to the gym for an additional hour or two of physical activity.  One year I even joined an exercise class led by a football player who had established a gruelling routine of squats, lunges, jumps, Pilates-like ab work and weights.  I was able to rise from a cross-legged sitting position to a standing one without using my arms and I could give my 6’3” trainer piggyback rides for fun.  Those were my strongest days.  How I relished the feeling of a blood-pumping, muscle-straining, sweat-dripping, vigorous workout. Oh I wish I could feel like that again!  

Monday evening – The universe conspires

I just poured boiling water over the couscous, which I’m going to eat with the salmon-kale-tomato-onion medley I cooked up.  As I’m about to cover the bowl with a plate, I take an awkward step backwards, lose my balance—oh no! this can’t be happening!!—and tumble to the ground.  My first thought is one of wonder at my quick reflexes—somehow I’ve managed to lift a hand to my head, cushioning it as I crashed down.  I’m lying sprawled on the kitchen floor with just a little bump on my chin and a bruised elbow.  Thank goodness for yielding vinyl floors.  My second thought: “If only I had managed to cover the couscous!  I wonder if it will cook properly now?”

For the first time after a fall, I’m completely calm (inside and out).  I do wonder how I will get out of this predicament, and because I want everything in my life to have meaning, I reassure myself that there must be a reason for this accident.  Maybe it’s a test…to show me that I can get up by myself?  Now that would be the perfect adventure to write about!

I twist my body so I’m lying on my side, then somehow manage to prop myself on one elbow, and with the other hand I push with all my strength against the floor, trying to raise myself to a sitting position.  My palms are beginning to sweat and I start sliding. I take a little break, twist a little more, and push, push and struggle harder.  I know I have no choice. I talk to myself out loud, words of encouragement that I can do it.  My whole body is straining, and finally, I force myself up into a sitting position!!  John was right; I can do it! 

Once I’m in a sitting position, it’s easy for me to scoot over to the dining area.  I don’t want to call anybody just yet.  If I can drape myself across a chair maybe I’ll be able to get up by myself.  I rock on my legs to get into a kneeling position, but I keep falling back after a few attempts.  So I grab the cushion on the chair, slide it underneath me and rock again.  I’m finally on my knees, precariously balanced with my arms pushing against the floor.  I try to swing my arm over the chair but my muscles are exhausted, and I fall back into a sitting position.  I rest, and repeat the whole process again, and again.  It’s not working; the chair is a little too high.  So I try to kneel on a cushion to give myself a little extra height.  Somehow I manage, and I experiment with different ways to hoist myself over the chair.  I feel like I’m almost there, I hug the chair, one final exertion, a push, and suddenly…the chair topples over along with my head, which lands with a big thump on the floor.

I’m lying flat on my back, with a banged up head and a sprouting seed of panic.  I rub my eyes and they start to burn and tear.  Oh no!  It’s the onion juice that’s still on my fingers.  Comic relief, just what I need. While waiting for the sting to fade, I lie on the ground, drained.  Maybe my adventure will be more like one of a castaway waiting to be rescued.  I don’t know if I have the energy to try once again to go from a lying position to a sitting one.  I wonder what it would be like to be stuck here until Friday, when my parents and aunt are dropping by.  I’m so tired that the floor actually feels comfortable.  Maybe I should spend the night here and try again tomorrow morning.  But no, a short break is all I need and once again I make another huge, strenuous effort to get myself to a sitting position…and I’m successful a second time.  Yay!

Now it’s time to play it safe so I call my friend K..  In good spirits, I ask him what he’s doing tonight. 

“Why? Do you want to go out?” he asks.

“Well, I’m kind of sitting on the floor right now.”

He’s completely baffled.  The last time I called him after a fall, I was barely audible for all my sobbing.  “But you’re so calm!  What happened?”

I take a few minutes to give him the details of my adventure, I mention the couscous, then we talk about dinner and the conversation turns to French fries and how the smell of deep-frying oil can really stink up your home.

After our leisurely chat, which I enjoyed thoroughly from the rare position of sitting on the floor, he says he’ll be over in half an hour. 

My friend K. really is wonderful.  He’s coming all the way from the other side of the city to my rescue.  What would I do without you K.?

While I wait for him, I drag myself over to the living room and exhaust myself further in a final attempt to get up independently.  I’m not able to, but I can’t complain.  After all, I did get everything I had wished for:  an adventure to write about, the opportunity to get up from a lying position to a sitting one,  and the exhilarating feeling of a vigorous workout.

There’s been a lot of talk about the environment in the last few years: CO₂ emissions and global warming, the giant pool of plastic debris floating in the Pacific ocean, the hazardous substances that leach out from technological waste, and our planet’s future inability to meet the demand of an increasingly consumerist society.

Like most people, I’m trying to do my little part in helping the environment.  I recycle.  I’ve outfitted most of my lamps with compact fluorescent light bulbs.  I drive my small fuel-efficient car to work a mere 7 km away.  I let my washed clothes air-dry.  Unless it’s unbearably hot, I keep the air conditioner off.  I rarely eat meat and I’m buying less stuff.

I hadn’t given much thought to the act of buying less until I had a conversation with my colleague S..  The question of how to support the economy and maintain low unemployment rates while minimizing our ecological footprint was raised.  One answer—a partial solution—is to spend more on services and less on goods.  And that’s what I’ve been doing all this time!!

In fact, many people with physical challenges have become dependent on certain services.  Although it’s never bothered me in the past, now that I see my spending as a way to boost GDP without harming our planet earth, I’m delighted to contribute a chunk of my income to the following services:

Condo Convenience:  Whenever my neighbour from across the hall would see me, he always tried to drag me into a repetitive diatribe against the high maintenance fees we paid.  I explained to him that I was happy to pay for the convenience of condo living (with elevators and winter-worry-free underground parking.)  If he hadn’t moved, I would have added how great it is that part of our fees are paying for the environmentally friendly services of an efficient condo manager and a very helpful superintendent.

Health:  I’ve spent a small fortune contributing to the livelihood of various alternative medicine practitioners and I learned a great deal from many of them.  The one I continue to visit regularly is my osteopath.  I first considered seeing him when I heard how much he had helped my colleague S..  Then when I brought up the subject of osteopathy with a physiotherapist, and both he and an eavesdropping client uttered the name ‘Igor’ in unison, the same Igor my colleague S. was seeing, how could I ignore the signs?!  It’s been wonderful being treated by him.  He’s a peaceful calming soul who in addition to osteopathy also does acupuncture and craniosacral therapy on me.

Grocery Delivery:  When my roommate moved out, I knew it would be impractical to rely on friends to go shopping with me, so I decided to register with Green Earth Organics.  They select a variety of organic fruits and vegetables (locally grown when possible) and deliver them right to my door.  Not only do I feel good about eating organic food, but I’ve also enjoyed chatting with the friendly delivery people.

Housekeeping:  I can still do a lot of the cleaning in my apartment and I’m sure I could find techniques and tools that would enable me to clean more difficult-to-reach areas like the tub.  But it takes forever!  And when I’m working, housecleaning chores fall to the bottom of my priority list.  (They weren’t exactly at the top even when I was fully mobile.)  So I was pretty excited when I saw two phone numbers for cleaning ladies on the notice board of my building last fall.  The first woman I contacted asked me to call back in the evening.  When I called the second phone number, a timid voice answered.  After a brief chat, we agreed to meet that very afternoon for an estimate.  I was a little surprised when I opened the door to a white-haired frail-looking dainty little lady, and for a fleeting moment, a pang of guilt tugged at my heart at the thought of this elderly woman cleaning my home.  She took a look around the apartment, expressing a girlish delight at the sight of my plants and the sunlit living area.  She then told me her price…I balked at the sum.  I didn’t expect it to be so expensive!   So I told her I still had another person to call and that I would think about it.  I can’t remember what she said next, only that there was a slight tinge of panic in her voice, the fear of losing me as a potential client.  After all, she lived in the building beside mine and most of her clients were a one-hour bus ride away.  Something about her moved me and I never did make the second phone call.  I couldn’t be happier with my decision!  Not only does Helen clean more thoroughly than I ever have, but she is a lovely person with a big heart.  One Saturday, when I returned home from an appointment, she asked me about my health.  I told her I felt I was on the right track and that healing might occur one day.  She asked me if I believed in God and if I prayed.  I told her I did (although I think our concepts of God might be quite different.)  I explained to her that I believed everything happened for a reason, that my condition was a good learning experience, and that I felt lucky to have so much support and to still be able to work.  “But I think I’ve learned my lessons and I’m ready to be healed!  I’ve been helped enough and now I want to do some helping.”  I added, all chipper.   And without warning, she burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably: “I don’t understand, I don’t understand,” she cried, “why can’t he make you better? And you want to help!  Why doesn’t he make you better! Hasn’t it been long enough? ”  I found myself trying to comfort her while gently patting her back and handing her the box of tissues.  “It’s ok, don’t cry.  I’m ok, and I’m really happy, really, it’s ok.”  I was completely taken aback and touched by her compassionate outburst.  What a gem Helen is!  The funny thing is that a few months after Helen started cleaning my place, I found a phone number amidst some papers I was sorting out, a phone number I had jotted down two years ago for a seamstress.  It was Helen’s number!  Did I mention I’m a sucker for coincidences?

 I really do feel very fortunate that I can afford all these services, and with a smile.

(Note:  I came across this interesting BBC Green article—after my conversation with S.—about buying less to help the environment: Save Money and the Planet?)

In the last two months, 5 people (including myself) have been having similar dreams about me.  And not just any dream!

1. My mother dreamed (twice!) that I was walking without my cane, quite normally.  She was very surprised and she asked me how I had healed myself. 
2. My colleague P.  dreamed that I was walking confidently and naturally, as if I had never had any muscle problems. 
3. My colleague F.  dreamed that I was running in a field, and he too was astonished at my miraculous recovery.
4. I dreamed that I was running fearlessly on ice- and sleet-covered sidewalks.  I was elated.
5. My sister dreamed that she was about to help me up a flight of stairs at a mall when I pulled away and started walking up the stairs independently, and then running.  We started racing and my sister had trouble keeping up with me.  (And my sister is really fast!)

I think it’s obvious that my muscles are going to get stronger, isn’t it?!

Tell me about a strange coincidence or an unusual occurrence and I eagerly listen, making connections, reading into the signs, imagining a special meaning to it all.  Usually, nothing comes of it; the moment peters out like a deflating balloon.  But those few thrilling moments pondering the significance of such occurrences are worth it—a little spice to my life.

 So when, in the last month, three unrelated people drew my attention to the world of blogging, I thought I should give it a try.  The only blogs I’d read had been my friends’ travel journals.  Actually, I did read one blog about seven years ago; but at the time the word blog wasn’t part of my vocabulary.  It was about a man dealing with polymiositis.  That’s what the doctors thought I had; so it was with avid interest that I read his entries. 

 More recently, my biotherapist lent me a few zines written by Chris, a young man with Duchennes Muscular Dystrophy, which led me to look up his blog.  And once again I was captivated by his reflections on daily life.  I might be 10 years older than him, a woman, and afflicted with a different health challenge, and yet I could identify with a lot of what he had to say.  It reinforced the feeling that we are indeed all connected. 

 Then last Sunday, my yoga therapist suggested I write a blog to keep her informed of my progress.  It seemed like a good idea.  As soon as I received her email inviting me to Livejournal, I started familiarizing myself with it. I was soon overwhelmed by the myriad of features and a little turned off by the blinking ads.

 But then I thought of a date I had had a month ago.  That too is a story of coincidences better saved for another entry.  He is a blogger on wordpress.com.  He writes (so eloquently!) about cuisine and culture.  I explored the site and was impressed by its simplicity.  I started reading different people’s blogs to get an idea of what could be done. I was so inspired that the original idea of blogging to keep my yoga therapist up to date has evolved into something much bigger. 

 This will be my story… my ups and (rare) downs, my highlights and acknowledgements, my challenges and solutions, my moments of synchronicity and unusual occurrences, my musings and reflections, and my progress.

 I like the idea of remaining incognito (at least for the time being), even from my yoga therapist, and my friends and family.  I suppose it gives me the feeling of freedom to write about anything that comes to my mind.

 I enjoy writing once I get started.  But it’s the getting started part that doesn’t always happen—I have a propensity for procrastination.  I think keeping a blog might provide some incentive to write regularly.  And I really do need an enjoyable and productive activity that I look forward to.  I used to occupy my after-work hours with dance, exercise and outings.  But as my muscles got weaker and my angst increased, I devoted most of my time lost in my work.  Then things got a lot worse, so I decided to cut back on my hours at work, and I was left with a little too much free time.  With too much time, my mind tends to wander and dwell where it shouldn’t.  I have a good feeling that blogging will be a positive and worthwhile activity.  I’m not sure if my posts will be read.  But I like the idea that they’re out there, nicely organized and available.  And who knows.  Maybe I’ll hear back from some interesting people.  There’s a whole new world out there.

 For leading me here, thank you to…

1. my yoga therapist,
2. my biotherapist who led me to Chris’ writings, and
3. to my one-evening date. 

 They say meaningful things happen in threes!