Very recently, I read the book “When Breath Becomes Air“. It is a slim book written by a young neurosurgeon, Paul Kalanithi, during the terminal year of his cancer journey. What I heard is a doctor explore the question of identity – how it changes when significant health related events happen. He talks at length about his own identity, the one that is inseparable from his vocation, when he is weakened by cancer and can’t be the neurosurgeon any more. The book made me question how my own identity has shifted in time, with changes in my health after five decades of trodding on this planet. I have already lived longer than Paul, much longer. I am healthy. A little worn out perhaps, but who isn’t. Today, I invite you to join me as I undertake a body scan meditation, to observe this health-identity relationship.
Even before I start a body scan, the tinnitus in my right ear wants attention. I have named them Archy in honor of Archy and Mehitabel. Over time, I have noticed the subtleties in Archy’s moods, they are louder at certain times than others like when I am crankier, or fatigued. I have grown to love Archy, they remind me to find melody when all I hear is drone. Right now Archy is gleeful with expectation!
I start the scan with the head. I feel that I am floating in space upside down. The brain feels very heavy in comparison to the rest of my body. It is weighed down by my to-do lists. This year, I decided to see a Cognitive Behavioral Therapist for chronic pain, a condition I have had off and on for last three decades, it has been mostly on since the pandemic. The CBT gave me tools to free myself from chronic pain but gave me a diagnosis of “Generalized Anxiety Disorder”. Oh GAD! For years, I had focused on the biomechanics. So, today, the Ardha Chandra Chapasana is no longer just a twisty pose in precarious balance, it is sugar cane swaying in the breeze on a full-moon night.
The scan moves to the mid section. Hello borborygmus! What a wonderful onomatopoeic word. After years of struggling with a low FODMAP diet, we moved to a plant based diet early this year. The diet has been aided with enzymes and glucose measurement, but it is a gut friendlier diet compared to a low FODMAP one (link). Now when I hear borborygmus, I no longer fear the wrath of Sauron in middle earth, but I imagine a conveyer belt, where the eager bugs are busy processing the food that I send down the belt. They are chomping on the paratha I ate earlier, the hot pepper gave them a pause and now they are cautiously nibbling, now joyous at the purple fingerling, frowning at the kasoori methi, …
The scan moves to lower belly. I remember the marathoner, the reproductive function, that is approaching its last mile. The resulting hormonal roller coaster has induced a mild but persistent depression. I had sought out SSRI. During the first two weeks of SSRI dosing, I had felt as if some balloons were attached to my head, that were helping lighten up the weight of the to-do lists. In fact, I had stopped looking at my to-do lists. But then, a rare side effect had occurred, hives. I had to stop the SSRI dosing. I try listening for the cheer at the finish line, but all I hear is labored breathing. Do mama elephants become hormonal as they approach their grand-maman age!
The scan moves to extremities. They are quiet. No tingling. No pain. Late last year, I had tuned into “The Interstitium”, a Radiolabs podcast. The knowledge of interstitium inspired me to try acupuncture this summer. I am fortunate to have access to a skilled Kiiko Style acupuncturist. Thanks to her needles, I can now go for a few months without the foreign sensations in my extremities.
I end the scan. Tomorrow, if I repeat the scan, my thought patterns no doubt will be similar. The biggest shift in my identity comes from the recognition of the wabi-sabi and the resulting effort in the upkeep. There is yoga, there is meditation, there is walk in the nature, there is acupuncture, there is eating a plant based diet, the list goes on. And staying organized and on top of these lists is taking up a lot of my headspace. These were all optional acts when I was 37 years old, the age when Paul succumbed to cancer. On a good day, a walk in the nature is a glorious opportunity to listen to fog drip. On not so good day, the walk, necessary for hip mobility, is simply a high opportunity cost. Lolling about on the sofa with a book could have happened instead. Or alternately, a get together with friends. In words of Mr. Fawlty – I am constantly refurbishing myself.
Locomotoring 
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