July 4th, Independence Day: Tomorrow will be one month since my husband’s horrific accident. While vacationing with friends in Bali, the guys chose to spend the day mountain biking the Mt. Batur trails. It was a great time and adventure for them – until their fourth descent, when things went terribly wrong.
A missed jump. A terrible crash. A nightmare transport to a hospital. A fractured cervical vertebrae. Surgery. ICU. Air ambulance to the U.S. Continued hospitalization. Hours upon hours of therapies: physical, occupational, and respiratory.
I sit here in Ray’s hospital room as he naps, deep in thought about his – or rather, our – situation. It feels as though it has been the quickest, yet longest, month of my life. The memory of seeing his bloody and battered face and body in agonizing pain. The nightmare of having to make the decision for the neurosurgeon to perform surgery. Trying to keep myself from falling apart when I had the realization that he actually might not make it. Dealing with a medical system that is decades behind ours. How has it been only one month?
I guess there are as many ways to deal with adversity as there are adverse situations. I know that yoga was our saving grace. Not the yoga you see of bendy yogis in pretzel like postures all over social media (yes, I’m part of that story); I’m talking about the yoga that one doesn’t see with the naked eye. The yoga that allowed me to quiet the emotional storm I was in the midst of so I could make clear-minded decisions. The yoga that wouldn’t let my mind dwell on the energy-sucking and terrifying, “What if?” The yoga that helped me keep my husband and myself calm when he’d awaken momentarily from sedation, trying to fight against the ventilator. The yoga that kept me from lashing out in anger and frustration when the hospital staff offered me a towel to cover my husband when he was cold because there were no more blankets. The yoga that gave me the focus and discipline to aid his body in simple movement after surgery, when I realized he wasn’t going to get much of it until we returned to the US. The yoga that allowed me to forgive myself when I did lash out at a nurse and doctor, when the situation at hand was just too much to bear. The yoga that helps me remain in the present moment so I don’t lose myself to the overwhelming road ahead. And most importantly, the yoga that fills me with gratitude that my husband is still with us and improving daily.
As Ray’s body heals and repairs itself from the trauma, the yoga of breath and focus play an instrumental role in his recovery. All of his movements wouldn’t be as impactful if not linked to his breath. If not for his laser focus, he wouldn’t be making such great progress in his hours and hours of therapy. He’s got his eyes on full recovery, but we know to appreciate the small victories.
Yoga – it has been our savior.
