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Throughout it all, I remained calm. Funny how yoga does that to you.
When other people were raging “I’ve been here for two
hours! Where’s the fucking doctor!”, I
would follow up with triage and say, “Excuse me, I told myself I would only
check in every 90 minutes or so, but would you be able to tell me where I am on
the list? Another few hours to go? Thank you very much”. I spent roughly seven hours in the waiting
room, with one paperback book (The Man Who Never Missed, a kung-fu &
yoga filled sci-fi novel) and a half-charged Itouch. Between chapters I spent a lot of time
practicing pranayama. A lot. Seriously, hours and hours of controlled
breathing, each breath in taking four heartbeats, each breath out four
heartbeats. Since I have a mechanical
aortic valve each beat carries an audible tick that I can always hear, so I
learned over the hours to time my breath to the four beats. Once in an examine room I switched to
meditation, and kept the breath practice between x-rays and blood tests. Around 3am they sent me home with a couple of
Tylenol.
Today I went to my standard Tuesday night yoga practice,
which involved a little less movement than usual and a lot of holding strong
poses. After half an hour or so I noticed
that there was change in the way I held poses.
It was the breathing. The four
beats in, four beats out rhythm that I established to pass the time in the ER
was the same breath that I used throughout my practice.
Sometimes adversity is just an opportunity to learn. Namaste.
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