Death By Bra - Pt. 1

Cardiac episode on the highway

I’ve been working to heal my scoliosis for about fifteen years with Resonant Attention and IMT. The process has moved poco a poco, following an upward trajectory that began in my lumbar vertebrae, made its way up my mid-thoracics, then stalled for a while in my shoulders.

One day, a big shift collapsed my hump and left me half an inch taller. It may also have initiated a healing crisis that involved breast cancer. I serialized a memoir about it as The Universe is Generous, which is available to Resonant Attention subscribers

Eventually, my body at last began working to straighten my neck. Little by little fascia released, bones realigned, nerves and vessels accommodated, perspectives changed, realizations were made, and growth happened, both in what I gained and what I let fade. 

Then I hit perimenopause and the heart palpitations I’d had since my twenties, which had improved with IMT, returned, alongside inflammation, fibromyalgia pain, and hot flashes. To counteract these symptoms, I began exercising differently (less running, lifting, and hot yoga and more walking and qi gong), ate less meat and gave up caffeine. Making those changes really boosted my overall health, but only after they initiated what was perhaps another giant healing crisis.

About two weeks after my last morning cup, feeling so much more grounded and present, I felt my neck and upper back significantly straighten. At first, I was elated. Relief and even pleasure poured down my spine. But after a few days, the pleasure was replaced by a plasmic anxiety that discomfited me, as if my body were processing more energy than it had the capacity for.

At the same time, I was also experiencing a lot of stress. My dad was dying and I was driving down nearly every day to treat him. Two of my beloved clients had also just died. And I still had a full schedule, including a homeschooled preteen, and a husband with a high-stress job.  

My dad trying on the crown we wore for my friend and client’s memorial service

One day, driving Cary down the highway to his piano lesson, I hit a familiar wall. I felt so overwhelmed with all I was dealing with, I just wanted to go home and rest. Worse, I knew my son, after his lesson, would want to go home, too. But my dad was really needing my attention and I didn’t want to let him down in his last months or weeks. So I called up reserves I didn’t have and steeled myself for what lay ahead.

Just then, my bra started to seem very uncomfortable. It was an over-the-head type with no underwires, but it suddenly felt too tight. It was so bad, in fact, that I started to get panicky. “Death by bra,” I morbidly thought to myself. With no clasp to pinch and release, there was nothing I could do while driving to relieve the pressure, though, so my anxiety mounted. 

Then my heart began to seize. I’m a nerd about my body, so I noted what was happening with curiosity and exactitude. “I think you’d have to call that a crushing pain,” I remarked to myself, before realizing what I was saying. As it worsened, I got a bit more nervous, especially when the pain moved down my arm and back. “And, gee, that is, in fact, left arm and back pain.” As an acupuncturist, I’d been trained to know the signs of a heart attack. I also knew that women experienced these classic symptoms less often than men. So the fact that they were so clear and present made me very alert to the danger. 

As many of you know, I like to magnify my body’s sensations, allowing them to rise, being present with them as they crescendo, and finally watching them disappear for good. But when I tried that here, the pain was not the subdued and relieving ache of somatized trauma processing through. It was crushing—and focussing on it only made it worse. I wondered if I wasn’t letting fear take over, but then I remembered a Chinese maxim that advised doctors to never treat the heart directly.  

So I desisted and made a quick mental calculation: I needed to get to safety, but I was in the middle of fast moving traffic. I didn’t know how much time I would have. Worst of all, my son was in the backseat and there was no way I was going to crash with him in the car. I debated pulling over vs trying to get to Cary’s piano lesson, but the seizing wasn’t letting up.

Dropping the question of what I might do later, I swung my attention back to the present—and my seizing heart. “No,” I said firmly, and then vigorously swung all my energy and attention away from my heart, forcing it down to my belly, where I commanded my stomach to expand and contract in a slow and steady manner, taking deep breaths as I went. This was all instinctive, but I later realized that, in this manner, I probably oxygenated my blood and, ultimately, preserved my heart muscle. Keeping this rigid attention on my belly and breathing in a full, slow, and steady manner eased my pain. In fact, within two to four minutes, the seizing stopped, though it threatened to return if I took my attention away from my belly breathing at all. 

In this precarious manner, I got to the next exit and drove the few blocks to the home of Cary’s piano teacher, where I pulled over and sat, on the point of tears, trying to figure out what to do next. My bra was a serious problem, I realized. Before doing anything else, I got out of the car, wriggled out of it, and threw it on the ground. That was relieving. 

If any adult had been nearby, I probably would have flung myself in their arms and cried, except that it would have been counterproductive. I still needed to keep my breath steady, since the seizing felt like it was just on the other side of my enforced calm. 

Meanwhile, Cary was realizing that something was up. “Are you okay, mom?” he asked, craning his head out the window. “What’s going on?” 

“My bra is just trying to murder me,” I muttered. Since I’ve been cultivating a ‘Mommy-is-not-exactly-normal’ awareness in him for many years, I thought this might fly, but he wasn’t buying it.

“What do you mean? Are you okay? What’s going on?” 

“Look,” I said, leveling with him. “I’m not exactly sure, but I’ll let you know as soon as I do. Meanwhile, we’re here. Let’s just go into your lesson.” Inside, I meditated while Cary wowed his music teacher. Afterwards, I called my dad and let him know that I wasn’t going to be able to make it that day; I needed to go home to rest. I think he was disappointed, and maybe even fearful for himself, but he didn’t say so. Instead, he just encouraged me to take care of myself and Cary, as he had always done. 

When we got home, I told my husband that I’d had an episode, but I downplayed it. “Maybe one of my ribs was out of alignment? I don’t know.” I think I just wanted to be wrong about it all. While Charles and Cary ate, I begged off and just kept focusing on my breathing. 

Eventually, I slept, but at around 2am, I awoke with a terrible sensation that my heart had stopped completely. “No, no, no!” I shouted, standing straight up on the bed, shocking both myself and Charles. Somewhere in midair, my heart thumped back on and began beating wildly. For the next two hours I sat upright, heart racing, until, exhausted, I finally passed out.

In the morning, I considered going to the hospital, but first I called my friend, Linda, Rhode Island’s own, “Crazy Vial Lady.” Once, when my dog had eaten a half a bag of chocolate and had started to hyperventilate in the backseat of my car, I called her in a panic. “Hold on, I have a chocolate vial,” she said. She then held the little glass bottle and negated its frequency in Inka by holding the vial up to an imaginary image of her and applying trust, belief, and about twenty-five years worth of practice and experience. The wheezing stopped in seconds. 

On the phone with me, Linda intuitively chose a vial. “I went straight to ‘Cardiac muscle,’” she informed me. Then, after doing her magic, she asked, “How does that feel?” 

“Better,” I said, still sort of shocked that this stuff worked. 

“I’m also getting vagus nerve.” 

“OK,” I agreed. When she was done, I felt 80 percent better. I told her I would try to sleep and, bless her heart, Linda said, “Just call me if you need me.”

For the next week and a half, I needed her a lot.