Does that mean I don’t like Pina Coladas?

I’m only five classes in, so I don’t know if I’d say that I was into yoga.  Since I don’t plan to stop anytime soon, maybe I am into yoga.  However, I would argue that I do have at least half a brain.  Although, I enjoy making love at midnight, the thought of doing it in dunes on a cape makes my little lady cringe.  And, I do live in Oregon, so getting caught in the rain is something that happens because it’s a Thursday.  (Yes, that means that I was caught in the rain last night while heading home from yoga.)

When I moved back to Portland in 2009, my ex- co-workers from Barnes & Noble paired me up with Robyn.  She was (and still is) super into yoga, organic food, and wearing neon yellow short-shorts while biking across town.  Robyn is also the same vegan who raved about things like chickpea cutlets and sheppardess pies.  She was the first roommate I knew wouldn’t touch any one of the five different kinds of cheese I had in the fridge that week or even look twice at my frosting covered sugar cookies.  In short, it was pretty much perfect.

I greeted her with two bitchy cats that had just spent the week in a car.  And, she welcomed me with a yoga mat.

Over the last two years, I’ve pulled the mat out a couple of times.  Once it was to follow along with yoga YouTube videos.  But, it was usually just to stretch in the most unorganized way possible, which is the only way I know how.

Back in October, I had an initial visit with my new Primary Care Provider (PCP).  My deepest and darkest fear was that the pain in my lower back was somehow associated with Multiple Sclerosis (MS).*  It was an irrational thought, but it was still a thought that I couldn’t shake every time I woke up and was in so much pain that I couldn’t stand up.  My PCP did a few resistance tests and determined that I didn’t have MS, but offered to refer me to a neurologist if I wanted to be 100 percent sure.  I reserved the right to change my mind, but declined the referral.  And then the worst thing happened – I started crying uncontrollably.  I was just so…so…relieved.

My PCP was concerned about the pain the hip and shoulder pain I had complained about, and had suggested that I go to physical therapy.  Honestly, I didn’t really think twice about going for the physical therapy.  I was just pumped not to have MS, and I figured that the pain was the result of many years spent sleeping on one bad mattress after another.  So, May rolled around and I went back to my PCP for a physical.

When he followed up on the pain I had mentioned at my previous visit, I tried to shrug it off.  I was much more interested in finding out what was causing my leaky neck.^  My PCP kept me on subject, and then I decided to show him how little it hurt by raising my arm above my head until I heard the all too familiar – POP!  POP!  POP!  POP! – coming from the soft tissue in my shoulder.  This is about the time that he pointed out that he’s concerned I might have trochanteric bursitis~ and since I’m only 29-years-old this is just going to get worse, which is why I should really go to physical therapy three times a week for six weeks.  We then went on to have the most awkward conversation ever.

He stumbled over his words as he said, “There’s one more thing we have to talk about.”

My PCP took the time to sensitively broach the subject.  His concern over how I may react to this matter told me that this was something I had never heard before.  Obviously, I had cancer.  Maybe it was a heart murmur.  Please, oh please, don’t let me be pregnant.  It couldn’t be the gay cancer.  I mean when I applied for life insurance through work last September, I had a blood test that checked for HIV/AIDS and drugs and I hadn’t engaged in any risky behavior since. 

So, I said a silent prayer, “Dear lord, I can barely handle my two cats.  Please, oh, please don’t let there be a mini me growing in my lady parts.”

And, then he said it – the one thing that my overactive imagination hadn’t even considered.

“Some of my patients have found great success with… Jenny Craig.”

OH!  That’s what all of the pussyfooting around was for – I was out of my target weight range and he didn’t want come right out and call me fat.  This is also about the time that I remembered I hadn’t gotten down and dirty with anyone in over seven months.

Son.  Of.  A.  Biscuit. 

I couldn’t figure out whether I should be more upset about my weight or my social life.  And then I realized that I was way, WAY not pregnant – so, things really weren’t so bad.

I knew I had to start hitting the gym with more regularity.  After a phone call to my insurance company, I knew that I couldn’t afford the $450 in co-pays that it would take to get the recommended physical therapy.  I also knew that the physical therapy I would have received would have included a lot of stretching. 

So, I did the math (Gym - $450 + stretching = yoga), and I attended a yoga class the following week. 

I’ve been averaging two or three classes a week for the last couple of weeks.  And, I’ll tell you what – this “active yoga” thing is kicking my ass.  Plus, I end up in some really unflattering positions.  Seriously, the Revolved Triangle Pose does wonders for my hips, but is not a position that I will be adding to my enticement dance anytime soon.

However, I am glad to say that the popping in my shoulders has been greatly reduced and my hips don’t feel as angry all of the time, which is all the motivation I need to continue heading to yoga classes.  And, if Jimmy Buffett doesn’t like it then he can suck it.

* My mom has MS.  She first started showing signs in the early ‘90s.  I was 10 or 11-years-old at the time, so I didn’t really understand what was going on.  One of the first things that I can remember about her illness is that she started having troubles with her back and with walking.  Within a year or so, it got to the point where my mom was wearing a not so sexy white lace up back support under her clothing and using crutches to get around.

^ He had never seen something similar to my leaky neck, and couldn’t tell me if it was a hyperactive sweat gland or a nasal passage that had taken a wrong turn somewhere.  So, I have an appointment with at a dermatologist’s office in two weeks.  Hopefully, that appointment will clear up the mystery that has perplexed the few people who have noticed my little fountain where my right clavicle and sternum meet.

~ Which is just a fancy way to say, “Inflammation of the fluid filled sac (bursa) that goes over the hip bones to reduce friction between the bones and allows free movement.”