Cold Showers

Living in a Body

Cold Showers

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-8:26

Cold Showers

Episode 64 -- Choosing Calm

Hal Walker

Aug 05, 2023

Hi. Welcome to “Living in a Body.” If you look forward to these posts week after week, I hope you’ll consider becoming a paid subscriber. Special thanks to all 78 of you who have already chosen to support this publication financially. Your support means a lot to me.

Cold Showers

I'm a Pisces. I've always liked water. I like lakes and oceans, quarries and hot springs, float tanks and rain showers. I've been known to throw off my shirt and my pants and walk out into a thunderstorm with nothing but my underwear on. At the lake, I pride myself in being one of the first in the group to dive under, acclimating my body to the temperature of the cold. In 2013, I went through the belly of a dragon and I almost died in the Pacific Ocean, but I survived. (See Bonus Life) Needing work on boundaries, the water sign in me is alive and strong.

After lunch today, I sat on the back porch in my wheelchair with my feet kicked up on the black patio table. As I gazed out at the yard, I began dialing phone numbers. My contact list is full of a 12-step fellowship that offers me a program of abstinence, gratitude and service. Recently, I've heard it referred to as a program of facing reality, no matter how painful that reality is. There's no doubt, my reality is very painful these days. I need all the help I can get to face it. I've found that these outreach phone calls help a lot.

After a couple connections, I came up to my bed to lie down again. As I approached the bed, those familiar uncomfortable sensations came to the forefront of my attention. These days, it's a burning in my lungs that verges on pins and needles. It's a weakness in my arms and an aching in my legs. It's a ringing in my ears and a buzzing restlessness throughout my whole body. When I start to focus on these symptoms, my habitual response has been to go into fear, panic, hopelessness and grief. Crying alone in my room is the daily penance of my life.

My sister Julie has become very familiar with the desperate sounds of my cry during the rough times. Sometimes I call her several times a day seeking comfort. She has a friendly kind of coaching voice and a loving sisterly presence. Lately, I've been noticing that she answers the phone with a certain amount of tentativeness in her voice. She never knows what version of Hal is on the line when I call. Often times, it's the scared little boy version. I so appreciate her willingness to pick up the phone. We always end the call by saying, "I love you." That's kind of a new thing in my family and I like it.

This afternoon, I took a different approach than my usual. I chose calm. As the desire for tears swelled up in me, I sat up from the bed, walked into the hallway and I stood before the full length mirror on the closet door. Wearing nothing but my shorts, I stood strong and tall and I looked deeply into my own face. I took a few calming breaths and I moved my arms in a kind of circular T’ai Chi motion.

In the mirror, I look healthy. This illness is such a paradox in that way. How could I feel so sick when I look so damn good? People are always telling me that I look good. My reflection shows that my hair is trimmed tight and my face is clean shaven. I'm slim with pale and pink skin and just a little bit of a 57-year-old paunch in my belly. With my glasses on, I could almost pass as a shirtless drill sargeant.

After a few breaths, I felt stronger in my body and the symptoms eased up a little bit. Just for a moment, it felt like reality was manageable. Then it occurred to me that it was time for another cold shower. I turned around, slipped off my shorts and walked into the tub. This was probably the 5th or 6th cold shower of the day. I swing the curtain closed, turn on the cold water and I welcome the cool sensations as I turn around in place for about a minute. When the shower is done, I grab the previously dampened towel and I get half dry. With the windows open, the drying happens on its own within minutes.

These cold showers jolt a little life into my body and they help calm me down. I often come out the shower inspired to go on living. In the last few weeks, there have been days when I took probably 10 or 15 cold showers in one day, all the way up to the last minute before bed. I’m grateful for the open windows, the summer air and the fan that runs continually next to my bed.

It was the practicing calm in the mirror and the cold shower at two o’clock that inspired this writing today. I wasn't planning on sending anything this week, but now I'm glad to be sending this. I like connecting with you this way. I like reminding you that I still exist over here on South Chestnut Street. I'm gonna scoot over to the Kent Natural Foods now to buy some sweet potatoes and some brown rice. I think I'll try to practice calm the whole way there. It's probably the best thing I can do for this tender body of mine. I imagine that I’ll take another cold shower before dinner and then another one before bed. Having a cold shower right next to my room is the next best thing to having a lake in my back yard. Maybe tonight’s the night I’ll throw the towel in the washing machine.

Thank you so much for being there. Thank you for reading this and for listening. And don’t forget. Enjoy every minute of living in that body of yours. No one knows how much longer we got. Alright? I’m sending all my love your way. See you next time. ❤️ Hal