Respiration is a truly remarkable body function. Taking in a breath is the first thing we do when we are born, and the last thing we do at the end of life. The first healing modality I learned when I moved to Boulder, Colorado, in 1981 was rebirthing, which repatterns breathing habits established in infancy. The practitioner would have me lie down and gently talk me into a relaxation trance, dropping my awareness into a twilight state on the edge of sleep. Just when I would start floating off, she’d gently whisper in my ear, “breathe,” and my body would respond with a spontaneous and deep inhalation. This triggered the spread of a deep wave of calm and peace, the kind I imagine a newborn probably feels when soothed by their mother. I left each session completely rejuvenated.
Recently, I went through the most dramatic healing experience I’ve had involving breathing. It happened after open-heart surgery to replace a faulty mitral valve damaged from rheumatic fever I had years ago. It’s hard to convey the intensity of this surgery. A bypass machine pumps blood and oxygen throughout the body, as lung and heart functions are suspended. I was lucky to be treated in a teaching hospital and got the best care from a world-class team.
I remember awakening from anesthesia for a moment, catching a glimpse of hazy figures standing at the foot of my bed, then I quickly slipped back into unconsciousness. The next time I came to, I caught a glimmer of sunlight in the room and heavenly music, then slipped out again. Each time I awoke was about twice as long as the last. Gradually, my brain registered a stream of beautiful outdoor images floating by, and I became aware of a group of onlookers in a semicircle near my feet. I noticed the sunny, light-filled room. I heard serene music. Nature scenes of clouds slowly drifted, brooks babbled, and birds tweeted. The observers patiently hovered around me like a ring of angels. Some part of me really thought I was in heaven.
Knowing that medical professionals are adopting the body-mind skills we are so familiar with in massage and bodywork is heartening.
Eventually, I became aware of my husband, Gary, by my side. He whispered in my ear each time I came to, “When you can breathe on your own, they’ll remove the breathing tube.” I slipped in and out for many cycles, gathering bits of consciousness each time I heard his voice. This went on for a while, until something in my frontal cortex slowly woke up and registered the message. Each time Gary spoke, I found a small sliver of willpower to stay conscious a few seconds longer. I remembered where I was and what happened, but I was still totally unaware of the breathing tubes. After about another dozen times, I had enough willpower to begin forcing myself to stay awake a little longer each time.
The process was similar to waking up from sleep paralysis, only without the fear. Your body is paralyzed, but you find a way to force your brain to stay conscious so you can wake up. When I finally managed to keep my heavy lids open and resist that urge to slip back out, I noticed the TV screen high on the wall at my feet projecting the images and music, the large window on my right letting the sunlight stream in, and the group of doctors and interns in lab coats patiently watching nearby.
“Oh, I remember now, I just had surgery and it’s over and I’m OK,” I thought to myself. “I made it. It’s done. Everything is OK. I’m OK. Now, I just need to breathe.” When I started breathing on my own, I heard Gary say, “Good, you got it. You can do it. Keep breathing. Just keep breathing.”
One of the doctors stepped to my side and spoke, “OK, we’re ready to remove the breathing tube. Now, this is going to feel really strange, so just relax as much as you can. It won’t hurt, but it’s going to feel strange. It will take only a few moments.” Fortunately, I was able to relax as they gently slid the breathing tube out of my throat. It didn’t hurt, and I was back to breathing on my own. I was so grateful! At the time, I didn’t realize how lucky I was. Later, I learned from the nurses that many heart surgery patients have their tubes in for several days until they can breathe on their own.
The whole experience had such a huge impact on me. It was like having one of those near-death experiences, where you pass through a tunnel of light on a journey toward heaven, but in reverse. In retrospect, I also realized I couldn’t have come back so quickly and relaxed into the process without the many hours I’ve clocked in massage therapy, yoga, and meditation. I’m so grateful for all the healing modalities I’ve experienced as both practitioner and client.
The healing environment and communication skills of the medical staff reminded me so much of our massage practices. It was all there: relaxation music and beautiful imagery; patient-centered communication; gentle and mindful pacing; and best of all, agency over how I was treated. It makes me wonder how the medical field has been influenced by the field of massage. Are they integrating our healing practices into approaches for better outcomes? I shudder to think of how awful it would have been had they removed the tube without this gentle preparation. I imagine it happens because I’ve heard horror stories about it.
I spent seven days in the ICU and had the best care. Even though I was surrounded by cords and wires and medical screens, the massage room-like ambience remained. The only thing missing from the equation was a massage therapist and a healing touch.
As a massage therapist, I get so frustrated that we don’t have more credibility in the medical field. Getting access to patients who could really use our help, especially after life-altering surgeries and illnesses where using our skills could really shine, seems like such an uphill battle. Even with integrative medicine, the only hands-on services I found after my surgery in Boulder County were limited to therapeutic touch or reiki offered by nurses. I declined these services because I would have had to pay out-of-pocket for them and my costs were already significant.
Still, knowing that medical professionals are adopting the body-mind skills we are so familiar with in massage and bodywork is heartening. This experience underscores to me how important it is that as MTs we continue to share what we know with anyone going through a health-care crisis and trust that we are making a difference.
