I nap, I mean meditate

About four years ago, I discovered that mediation is like yoga, but without the workout. No sweating, falling, or surprise farts. Yet it still gives me something pretentious to say when someone asks what I’ve been up to.

Right now, I am in the middle of one of Oprah and Deepak’s 21-Day Meditation Experience. These free, guided mediations squelch my snark and help me to relax. Deepak recommends sitting to mediate, but savasana was the only part of yoga I actually enjoyed, so I usually lie on my couch. (Why would I lie on my yoga mat when I can lie on a couch?) At the sound of Deepak’s voice, Sancho the Service Dog crawls onto my shoulder and promptly falls asleep. And then, inspired by the mantra of the day, I usually do too. Approximately sixteen minutes later, a bell rings and I wake up alert (possibly roused by skepticism).

So maybe I just take fancy naps. I’m glad I conditioned myself to this routine before my disease got severe. It’s particularly helpful when I have tachycardia as loud as the Tell-Tale Heart. Or when the hard of hearing man in the adjacent ER room is getting his hemorrhoids pushed back in. It doesn’t work with kidney stones though.

P.S. Doga is also an acceptable alternative to yoga. Yes, it is yoga with your dog.


P.P.S. I can’t do doga anymore, because classes are held outside for fear of a doggie accident. (Honestly, they should worry more about me having an accident.) So I taught my poodle how to vinyasa on his own.

WTF Target

Shopping is NOT cheaper than therapy – but it’s pretty effective. Target was my place of healing for many years. I swear I could feel the endorphins and dopamine pump into my bloodstream as I filled my cart.

Today, Target is a grueling excursion, because my bloodstream is loaded with debilitating amounts of mast cell mediators. For many months, I was insecure about my disability parking certificate. Then I realized I was giving myself pep talks in the parking lot just to get from the car to the store. I put off my errands as long as possible, but everyone runs out of toilet paper and prednisone eventually.

Recently, I was hobbling through Target, when a canvas grabbed my attention. The bold, white text stated, “It doesn’t get better than this.”


I read it again wondering if there was a typo or if the Benadryl was interfering with my ability to read. Nope.

I tried to think of who this half-glass empty mantra is intended for. Maybe new parents drunk on baby love hormones? Maybe the baby? I suppose not much is better than around-the-clock room service and some to wipe your butt. A baby’s only expectation is to live. But what happens when the kid grows? And learns to read? Sorry, Timmy, you’ve peaked.

Naturally, I posted this picture on my Facebook. Kudos to Ryan for demanding I go back to the store and place Eeyore next to it. I contemplated going back and buying it at the pharmacy, along with my nine prescriptions. Then I would strap it to the back of my service dog, so that when I go to hospital for reactions, I will have something to hang on the wall.

The truth is it usually gets better than this. And if it doesn’t, I don’t want to know. I try to make the best of each moment with the help of Big Pharma.

What mantra gets you through the day?

P.S. In case you missed it, for actual inspiration, check out my latest post on The Mighty, “Three truths to remember when defending your health”.