Breath
Not a week after my last oncologist appointment, I had one of my regular sessions with Cassandra Wind, who I have been seeing for craniosacral therapy and acupuncture for the last several years. I was feeling stressed out and heavily burdened by my platelet count and the conversation with the doctor that I had hoped would go differently.
It was a day for gentleness. Whenever I go in, she asks me what I need. I do my best to listen in and honor my body with my response. That day, I needed support. Rest. A direction or reset.
Healing felt so far away.
As she began to work on me, she asked me some questions.
“Have you ever been hit in the face with a swing?”
I thought about it, and I didn’t think I had.
“Well,” she probed, “was there ever a time you were hit in a way that took your breath?”
That one I could answer right away.
Four or five years ago, I was competing in a karate tournament. The adult sparring division was small. So small that I was the only woman competing. Which meant that I ended up having to compete against adult men. Every one of the men in the division were men with whom I had taken class for years. They were my friends, and I had sparred against each of them in class many times. I was excited to show that I could hold my own and—if not win—at least score a few points like the badass that I was.
My very first round was against a higher ranking black belt—again, someone I’d sparred with in class many times. What I hadn’t considered is what happens to men in a tournament setting when adrenaline kicks in and they shift into a whole other energy.
Our karate school focuses on point sparring, which is usually more like a game of tag than a fight, but the tournament environment fueled the testosterone and it started to feel more like a fight as the men stepped into the ring and completed their first few rounds.
Then it was my turn.
During my match, all was going well until my opponent and I both advanced to make a scoring move at the exact same time. He was faster, and I took his kick to the diaphragm on my right side. It took my breath away.
After giving me the brief time to catch my breath, the judge made sure I was okay to continue. With a few deep breaths to refocus myself, I chose to continue.
We started back up again, and within a few brief seconds, the same thing happened again. I took his kick to the same spot for the second time. I don’t remember if it took my breath again, but after that second kick, I was done.
With tears leaking from my eyes, I bowed out.
At the time, I was grateful for the experience—even though I was hurt disappointed about not finishing out the match. My opponent found me later and apologized. He is a good man, and to this day I know that he truly never wanted to hurt me in any way. I forgave him, and I decided to be proud of myself for standing in that ring in the first place.
After a few weeks, I gave the whole experience very little thought.
Until last week.
When Cassandra asked me about getting hit, it all came flooding back. And as she continued to work on my body, she talked me through the lasting effects of those two kicks to the chest.
She emphasized how many blood vessels occupy that area. How that spot is a major drainage point for the lymphatic system. How the hits could have knocked my heart out of rhythm along with my breath. The effects on the immune system. How hits like that affect the bones. The spine. The nervous system.
It made a lot of sense, especially in the context of what I’ve learned about the body from working at Connect Chiropractic.
And as she worked on me, I felt waves of release. My side body grew warm in that area. The heat radiated out and down my arm and my leg.
I breathed into it.
I breathed it out of me.
When she was finished, she held up a mirror to my face to show me the changes she was already noticing. My cheeks had color. There was a luminosity to my skin that hadn’t been there before.
And then, as we chatted after the session, I couldn’t shut up. I felt energized and excited. I talked and talked. She told me that she hadn’t seen me this animated in years.
I felt so much lighter.
She told me that there had been something like an energetic cyst stuck in my sternum/diaphragm area for years. She speculated whether the impact from those kicks might have been a key contributing factor to my body’s disruption—to the development of cancer.
I can’t say one way or another what the impact did or didn’t do. What I can say is that I feel noticibly different since that session. I feel more open. More energized. My voice is bigger. My breath flows easier.
I feel more like myself than I have in a long while.
There are so many layers to healing. It’s like an onion. And I feel like a really significant layer was peeled back that day.
The next day, I had my labs redone because my oncologist wanted to make sure that the low platelet count from the week before was accurate. Turns out, it wasn’t. My labs came back with normal platelets and even an improvement in my liver numbers. It was a miracle.
I have learned so much through this process, and this latest experience has helped to validate the path I’m walking as well as given me a renewed sense of hope and assurance that healing is happening—even when it doesn’t look like I might want it to.
I’m so extremely grateful for the care that I’m receiving. I’m overcome with gratitude for my family and friends and everyone who continues to send loving thoughts, prayers and practical support my way.
Thank you for giving me back my breath.
If you’re interested in supporting my healing, you can donate through the GoFundMe below or visit saradeacon.com/support for other options.