At the age of 30, I was in chronic pain. I had difficulty getting out of bed in the morning. It took 20 minutes to unpack my body enough to stand up straight. At random times throughout the day, without warning, a shearing pain would hit my low back, blaze through my buttocks, and take my breath away. I would freeze. And I was petrified of stairs.
This debilitating back pain could NOT be my future. Or could it?
The Fall
Rewind 6 months. Sam and I are living in Lake City, Colorado (elevation 8,661) and it’s a cold, snowy evening in March. I am scheduled to meet a girlfriend at the local armory-turned-rock-climbing-gym and I am, as usual, running late. I go flying out the back door and, quite literally, I go flying. My slip-on shoes have zero tread. I hit the ice on the back steps and am immediately air born. My midback is the first to make contact *SLAM* with the icy edge of concrete and, like a cartoon character, I go bouncing down the remaining stairs on my back until I finally come to a full stop lying face up in the snow.
Sweet Holy Mother of Jesus, I have never known pain on this level.
In an instant, I am out of my body, looking down at this motionless heap. But in my body the muscles of my lower back, buttocks, and both legs – down to my calves – are in complete spasm. I feel like I am contorting, yet I am motionless on the snow. I am unsure the extent of the damage. Can I move my toes? Move your toes, Lisa, come on – MOVE YOUR TOES!
Yes. Wiggle-wiggle. Thank you, God!
And at that point, I finally I let out a guttural wail of an exhale.
The Delimma
Lake City in the winter is extremely isolated. We’re in the last house on a dirt road. We have no neighbors, there is no traffic. I can hear the stereo playing inside the kitchen, drowning out my screams for mercy. No one can hear me, and no one will be driving by. Within minutes I am shivering uncontrollably – I’m dressed in thin, lycra gym clothes, without a coat. I have just enough clarity to acknowledge that if I stay on my back much longer, I’ll fall into a hypothermic stupor and run the risk of dying. But if I move, I run the risk of damaging my spine. And the pain. Sweet Mother Mary, the pain. As I gasp the cold, wet air between sobs, I weigh my options.
I muster the will to roll onto my hands and knees and the pain takes my breath away. On all fours, I slowly crawl up the steps to the back door where I manage to slap at it with one hand while trying to stabilize myself against the icy stoop with the other. Bawling. At long last Sam arrives at the door and I can’t speak. The sobs, the shivers, and the convulsions tearing down my legs are all too much. I think I’m going to vomit.
The local (volunteer) ambulance team – of which I am a member – is called and we head to Gunnison where I am mildly sedated with muscle relaxers. After several hours at the ER, I am sent home with a bottle of painkillers.
The Rolfer
Six months later, I’m still buckling from the pain and I can’t stand up straight. And I’m pushing through it, because that’s what the women in my family do. Grind your teeth and get back to work. I shudder to imagine my future in this wrecked and wretched body. So desperate am I to be free of this chronic back pain, I turn to rolfing – which is far from painless. Having gone through a “10 Series” before, I returned to the skilled hands of Jani P. who had my full confidence and trust. The moment she looked at my bare body prone on her table she said, “My God, Lisa, what happened to your back?”
I didn’t know what to tell her, I’d actually never looked at my back.
Where there was once a spinous process – that bony, vertebral nub that creates the visual (and palpable) ridge of your spinal column – at T12 there was now a dent. A divot. A depression. So disconnect was I from my body, I had never felt my back with my own hands (and neither had the ER doc). I certainly never looked at my back. Why would I do that? It was behind me. For decades, my head simply sat on top of my neck with no real clue as to what was going on south of the clavicles. Jani had me run my fingers down my spine; she held up a mirror for me to view the indentation underneath my skin. What an eye opener! I told her about the ‘big slip’.
Three weeks later, I reached out to a retired orthopedic surgeon friend. He confirmed what Jani discovered – my spinous process at T12 was a goner. But where did it go? At this point, he told me, who knows? It could be twisted and facing another way, it could have shattered, it could have broken off and gotten lodged in a muscle. There wasn’t really much to be done about it now, almost a year later, but manage the pain. It was time for action.
The Yoga
In those years, yoga was on the fringe – even by Colorado standards. There were no dedicated yoga studios, but there were talented teachers sharing their craft in church basements, dance studios, and living rooms. I had been told that yoga would help with my crooked posture and could greatly reduce my back pain. I’m not much of a group exercise gal, but the pain had worn me down, so I relented. The first yoga class I attended was a complete disaster. It was much too physically demanding for my broken and resistant body. I left feeling inadequate, overwhelmed, and pissed off. Yoga was not for me.
However, a year later I found myself propped up on a blocks in someone’s living room – different style, different teacher, different approach. We used blankets, blocks, bolsters, and straps to support us.
The Plan
I showed up with a list of deterrents and for each one I was provided a solution. For example:
- I can’t touch my toes.
No problem, we’ll simply raise the floor several inches with this wooden block so you can release your hamstrings while being tender with your lower back. - Even the slightest backbends are excruciating.
We got you. Recline over this bolster that is propped up on a block with a blanket under your head. That will lessen the extension in your lumbar while still providing the benefit of gently stretching the muscles along your front body. - It hurts my back to lie on the floor.
Put this rolled up bolster underneath your knees and elevate your feet on these blocks. - My mind won’t cooperate to meditate.
You’re not alone. Begin counting the duration of each breath until your inhalations and exhalations mirror one another. Balanced breath = balanced mind.
The following week, I returned. There was something to this. I was learning to love my body, wounds and all. And I was learning about the relationship between my body, breath and mind. I was fascinated. And this time, it stuck.
The Result
To say yoga has changed (saved) my life is an understatement. Twenty-plus years later, I continue to practice the ethics, the poses, the breathing techniques, meditation – all of it. Faithfully. My desire to unroll my mat sometimes waxes and wanes. But my body, as they say, keeps the score and I don’t wane (or is it wax?) for long. This Sequence for Back Pain is one I return to again and again. This is my medicine.
I’m a feel-good junkie. When I find something that elevates my mind, mood and ability to move – I want more of it. Yoga, when I practice consistently, makes me feel good. It also helps me think good and act good (I know that’s not proper English, but it goes with the flow). So I will keep at it. Yoga works for me. I believe it can for you too.
I am still a little hesitant around stairs, particularly icy ones.
