Just Breathe.

Breath

The beginning of a life

and the end is marked

by its presence or absence

                                –Heather Meyers

Breath is the most basic function in life. Ironically, though basic, it is at times, the one thing that helps us get through certain moments in our lives.

When I woke from my spinal fusion surgery to correct my scoliosis, I woke from the strangest dream I had ever had. I was dreaming that I was Cinderella and that my step-sisters were putting me into a corset and turning a dial to make me taller and taller. It was so incredibly painful that I was gasping and trying to cry out in desperation for them to stop but I couldn’t speak; however, they just laughed and scoffed at me that now I would be too tall for the prince. (I kind of blame this particular dream on my request to listen to Mozart continually on a CD during my surgery. Though in all honesty, I wonder if that also had something to do with the level of success that the surgeon had in my amount of correction. My Doctor had been enthusiastic and pleased that I was the first patient he had been able to get that close to straight with my degree of curvature…but I digress.)

Once I became conscious and the room was still black to me, which is always how it has been after I’ve been under general anesthesia, I became aware that my husband and my mother were leaning over me with pieces of ice in their hands gently rubbing my face with the cold chunks. I had been laying on my face for over 14 hours with tubing down my throat and in my nose and my face was swollen beyond recognition from the pressure. I felt absolutely dreadful and wanted to cry but my throat was so raw and dry that making sound was unpleasant too. The worst of it was that every single breath was like being on a rack with screws pulling at my muscles and the pain was a sort of indescribable torture.

As my vision returned, my parents and husband briefed me about my surgery and how successful it had been. I was told that my surgeon had felt that this was an extraordinarily successful surgery and that, so as not to mess anything up, I was not to move a muscle until someone taught me how to properly get out of bed. So, by now, because this was my second surgery and those had been my orders three days prior with my first surgery, I hadn’t moved for four days. Oh, and by the way, the surgeon had decided that breaking some of my ribs would help him get better correction so the pain when I breathed might be partially attributed to that. I also had had to have 14 units of blood, 7 units of platelets and 2 of plasma.

I’m not sure how long my family was with me after I had finally come to, but it did not feel long when a nurse came in and commented that visiting hours for the ICU were almost over. I felt helpless, stuck and abandoned.

The nurse invited everyone to leave and explained again that I better not move a muscle. I couldn’t eat or drink anything and that I could only have 30 ml’s of ice an hour (which is about 2 tablespoons). To someone who had such a swollen esophagus, this sounded like a punishment. She left and I was left to stare at the clock in my room for the hour and slowly ration my 30 ml’s of ice.

This night is filed in my memory as “the night I breathed”. I was in so much pain that breathing itself felt like torture. Even the idea of sleeping was impossible because just the act of breathing took so much effort. The nurse would come in on the hour and get me more ice chips or throw out what I hadn’t finished and tell me to just sleep and I would gasp that if I could sleep I would, but I needed to focus on my breath.

I know that I had the thought run through my mind that if I could survive that night there was nothing I couldn’t survive. The mantra running through my mind was “Just Breathe”.

Thankfully, as time passed, the pain lessened as my body healed. Twelve days after I was admitted, I was able to leave the hospital. After twelve days of primarily seeing white walls and windows with a view of another window of the hospital, I was itching to get outside.

I had gone into the hospital on March 25, 2004 and was released on April 6, 2004. I had gone into the hospital at a time of year, in Utah, where everything was grey and cold. It was that in-between time of year when you are caught between winter and spring and it’s just ugly outside.

As I was pushed out of the hospital in a wheelchair, my senses were heightened to a degree that it’s difficult to explain, and I noticed details that I normally would have passed by; the textured pebbly walk-way of the hospital entrance, the glass sliding doors tinged with green.

My parents drove up in their champagne colored Camry and I was eased out of the wheelchair by my husband and into the car. As the car pulled passed the hospital, I realized that the world around me was bursting with pink blossoms.

Everywhere I looked, it was colorful and blooming. My breath caught in my throat and I burst into tears. It was so glorious to see so much color.

I don’t know if it was just that particular year, but to me, that spring stands out as the most beautiful spring I have witnessed. Possibly, it was because I had been in such a sterile looking environment that the contrast made it seem like such a brilliant spring. Maybe every spring was like that and I had never appreciated it fully because I was too caught up in regular life to notice. Either way, as I re-learned to walk and move in my body that now was two and a half inches taller and contained about seven and a half pounds of newly-acquired titanium rods from S1 to T3. I became much more aware of the beauty that surrounded me. Perhaps, it was because I had survived something that had been so painful that my appreciation for the beauty of the world around me increased. Maybe it’s because when we come through a dark night of pain and suffering, the bright days with beauty surrounding us become more breath-taking.

Breath has become a tool that I use daily to increase my quality of life.  It seems so simplistic but one thing we can control (when we are healthy and do not have medical issues) is our breathing and the rhythm of our breath.

When my music students and I discuss what skills to use when we are afraid or nervous about an upcoming performance, breathing is the number one skill I teach.  We talk about when you feel that nervous butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling or the uptight feeling as our body tenses from the fight or flight response, that it is breathing that can help us the most. 

This is the technique I teach:

Practice breathing out for one count and in for one count, then out for two—in for two, out for three—in for three, out for four—in for four…etc. until you reach 7 or ten counts and feel your pulse respond to the relaxing amount of oxygen that is flowing in your veins.

I actually have used this technique to put myself to sleep because it can be so relaxing.  It is also a form of meditation that doesn’t take a lot of preparation and can be done on the fly when you need to calm down.  I’ve literally done this breathing technique minutes before I was going up to perform and it has really helped me.  If you can remember to do it when you are having a difficult time with anything, it can help you slow down and get a handle on the situation—at least mentally because it slows you down into mindfulness.  When we are breathing quickly and our pulse is racing, it is difficult for our brains to focus on anything.  Using breath as a tool really helps to help the mind re-engage in the moment and the task at hand.

It’s maybe silly, but I used this technique this summer when my two-year-old was taking survival swim classes even though it was with a certified, amazing instructor.  It was nerve wracking at first to see my daughter put her head under the water and struggle to get to the edge of the pool and pull herself up.  So, I really did have to breathe through it at first as the instructor and I worked with her to teach her to swim.  At the same age, my oldest had fallen in the deep end at a very crowded neighborhood swimming pool.  Thankfully, I saw the top of his head and dove in and got him seconds after he fell in so he hadn’t tried to take a breath yet.  I still feel my chest tighten when I think about that experience with my sweet baby boy.  I put my youngest in these classes to avoid that same situation but it still made my heart clinch a little in my chest when I would see her in the water—even in that controlled situation.  Being able to breathe through heavy feelings really is invaluable.

Now when I see my little two-year-old swim like a little fishy, I am more taken aback with how incredible it is that little tiny humans can learn to swim.  I’m more exhilarated by the skills she has and I find my chest catch with pride as she happily jumps out of the water declaring that she’s a fish!

Do you have any breathing techniques that you use to help you throughout your days?  If not, I encourage you to give this simple technique a try.  It’s a good tool to keep in your back pocket for when you need a little extra assistance getting through tough moments.  Breathe through the tough times so that when you are through with them, you can be mindful of the magnificent moments that take your breath away.