Two words for today: HOT. YOGA.
As I drove into town Tracy Lawrence was singing Stars Over Texas. It was nice. Had it been night with a sky full of stars — it would have been perfect.
I’m in San Antonio where I will spend the next two days filming interviews at the San Antonio Breast Cancer Symposium (aka: SABCS). This is my sixth time to attend this conference. I love coming here because I know so many people. Some people I once saw here are no longer with us, and I always think about them, knowing how absolutely blessed I am to have known them.
Cancer really does suck.
I love San Antonio; It’s like an old friend. Whenever I see The Alamo I always think of Mrs. Pearson. She was my Texas History teacher in 7th Grade; she was the best teacher I ever had, instilling a love of Texas history in me that has never left.
I took a Bikram Yoga class (aka: Hot Yoga). My husband and I did Bikram together when we lived in Studio City and loved it. I had not done it in so long, I almost decided to do solo yoga in my room. I’d never gone to a Bikram class without at least two bottles of FROZEN water — so they would thaw during the class and I would have cold water.
But today is day ten, and the mat was calling — so I took my room temperature bottle of water and headed to class.
Sorry to repeat myself but — It. Was. Hot.
I actually thought I was going to be sick, but once I worked through the heat shock, it was like putting on an old pair of jeans. Everything just started to flow.
The intensity level is so high for me in Bikram because of the heat. There are 26 postures in every 90-minute class; they are always the same. At first I was just counting them begging for mercy. The pool of sweat today looked like an ocean around my mat compared to yesterday. I could hardly think about anything except — Good God, let this end. Please let it end.
About half way through the class I started to let go. As one of my friends said today, “Just lean into it.” And the more I did that, the easier it became. Suddenly it was familiar.
I was not fighting myself in my mind today. All the swirling was gone. All the self-doubt was gone. It was just me and the mat — and the giant body water containing all of my anxieties and fears surrounding it. I was completely wrung out as we held our final pose.
While walking out of the building, I was aglow with sweat as my phone rang.
“Hello, Terry. You and your donor have started your cycles, so tomorrow both of you will start birth control together.”
This is the first part of the process. We go on birth control together to sync our cycles.
I stop. Time stops.
I was not sure what to feel. I’m excited, of course — but with this comes the definitive end to my eggs. The swirling starts. Questions and doubts spinning through my brain so fast I can hardly focus. I actually was not expecting this for another month, so I was slightly shocked.
“I’m in San Antonio, can the pills be sent to me overnight here?” I asked.
They are on their way. I guess we are on our way. The Girl Who Loves Chicken n’ Dumplings as much as I do and me; we’re making this anonymous connection. She’s going to help us do something (hopefully) we haven’t been able to do on our own with my old, rotten eggs.
I am so grateful young women like this exist, giving me (and other women like me) a chance to carry a life.
My husband’s Jewish grandmother was born in San Antonio. The only Jewish family I know with Tamale Pie in the family recipe box.
And there I am crying on a street corner in San Antonio as I dial the phone to call my husband.
I climb into the car and George Strait is singing I Saw God Today. I felt like I was in the montage of a Meg Ryan movie, and I started to laugh. Usually that song makes me cry, but today it was so ridiculous to me that it was on the radio at this exact moment — I just laughed. With joy.
We are forging ahead.
Opening your heart to a larger circle is incredibly scary, but I feel more connected now than I have in very, very long time. I feel more open and present to all of it. I’m much more afraid of withdrawing back into myself than I am of possibly having this fail with so many people aware it’s happening.
This is all uncharted territory for me, but to retreat seems counterintuitive; so I will get on my mat, I will write, and hopefully, eventually — I’ll get pregnant.
10 down. 50 to go.