I have many martial arts books. Two that I often refer to for Taiji Chuan guidance are Master Jou Tsung Hwa's The Tao of Tai-Chi Chuan: Way to Rejuvenation and Professor Li De Yin's Taijiquan. Passages in them are underscored, chits tucked in among the pages, and notes penciled in the margins. For decades they have helped me navigate and simplify my lessons. Though they are not new (Master Jou's being purchased in the early nineties and Professor Li's in 2009), they are mainstays providing insights into both my Taiji practice and my life.
I was never more aware of this than in 2011 when my life took a dramatic turn. I went from an active sixty-six-year-old doing Kung Fu and Taiji to one who couldn’t walk across a room unaided. But I get ahead of myself. Perhaps it's best to go back to 2010, when things started to unravel.
It began with stiffness in the ligaments on the inside of my thighs. During Kung Fu stretches I could no longer get my leg past 90 degrees when my partner pressed one of them towards my head as I lay on the mat. Previously I could bring each of them easily to a 130-degree angle (at one point to 180 degrees).
Also at this time I became mindful of my left hip. It didn't feel normal. It wasn't holding me up properly when I moved. There was too much give. Sometimes the leg would go into spasms after an evening workout. I chalked it up to muscle fatigue and aging, as well as a need for new athletic shoes, or overdoing it – anything and everything but admitting that there was something seriously wrong.
By 2011 I could no longer deny that there was a problem. People were telling me that I was limping. They also pointed out that my gait seemed off, that I winced during certain moves. I had to admit I was less stable, my range of motion more limited, and that what I was calling discomfort, in fact, was pain. I also had to admit the hard truth: my lessons were becoming less satisfying, less productive. I could no longer do many of the moves.
I made an appointment to see my doctor, who set me up for a cortisone shot. A nurse friend had told me that it often helped relieve the hip joint. It didn't work. Then my doctor sent me to a bone specialist who, after viewing the x-rays, explained that I had osteoarthritis and serious cartilage and ball joint damage in my left femur. He recommended surgery. I wasn't ready. I told him I'd think about it, then took my savings and paid for acupuncture treatments. My insurance didn't cover them at the time.
These treatments would give me a day of relief, then over the months just a half day, eventually less than an hour. These sessions, however, felt wonderful. Mentally they put me in a peaceful place and they were also informative. I learned a lot about the types of food I needed to avoid. In looking back, I don't regret a cent spent on those sessions and would recommend them to anyone in a heartbeat.
Yet I also had to come back to reality. They weren't going to cure me. Also, science has yet to find a way to regenerate cartilage or the end of a femur. It was becoming clear that I needed to consider surgery as an option. I looked into it further.
Some of the things I found were rather frightening. For instance, some implants had been recalled, while one type of prosthetic device (a metal-on-metal variety) was causing blood poisoning. Seeking additional knowledge, I watched three on-line hip replacement surgeries and researched the top doctors and facilities in the nation who performed these operations and what procedures they were using. I also looked for their rating scores and how they fared according to infection rates, lawsuits and patients’ post-op comments.
What I discovered is that my own doctor had been performing this procedure for years without a single lawsuit, and that he used a titanium and plastic implant combination that was considered the safest on the market.
Realizing that no miracle was going to fix my eroded hip, I scheduled surgery for early January 2013.
Long ago, when I was in high school, I wrote about the possibility of lung transplants. Back then it seemed only wishful thinking. Today lung transplants are commonplace. Technology is advancing exponentially.
I had surgery at Albany Medical Center on January 9, followed by two weeks of powerfully sanctioned drugs, which were a definite godsend – like the good friends and family who stopped by. Two of my bedside visitors were my teacher Jiang and his wife Lu. They brought me two colorful Ming-styled vases, nicknamed Yin and Yang, meant for healing.
Family, friends and hospital staff alike helped with my recovery, attending to my needs, overlooking my bad hair days, swollen legs and lips, and they never panicked at the transfusion plugged into my wrist. Their presence and help assured me that I’d be back.
I went home, underwent home therapy, and there followed a period of total exhilaration. I ditched the walker, soon the cane, and eventually could go totally hands free. I had gotten my life back. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean you get to keep it. Sometimes life requires you to be like an Aussie and do a "walk about" first.
At about my sixth PT session at a local facility, something suddenly felt strange in my right hip. It wouldn't budge even under my therapist's expert hands. The femur had seized up and was lodged up into the joint. X -rays later revealed that the right hip had also deteriorated and now needed replacing. Talk about having to switch gears from recovery to further loss. At my post-op appointment I requested surgery as soon as possible. I didn't give a second thought to penciling it in for the end of April.
Meanwhile, my gait deteriorated. I was back to using a walker and riding an electric cart at BJ's, the Chopper and Wal-Mart's. At Babies R US it was different; they had wheelchairs. Still other places had no such aids, which made me keenly aware of the plight of the disabled. I also learned how difficult it is to reach items on high shelves, and that fellow shoppers can be a real boon at these times. Indeed, I became sensitive to many things, including the fact that disabilities come in all ages and sizes. Even people who can stand upright may have compromised bodies that challenge them daily.
After this surgery, I tried to avoid the two weeks of pain killers. But after just a few hours at home, I was calling to be taken to a place the Immortals call home and sent my husband packing to the nearest pharmacy to fill my scripts. You really do need to stay ahead of the pain.
Rehab followed, first at home and then away, this time pool therapy which I found more satisfying and liberating as my body could move more freely in water. I felt ready to return to the studio, even if just to watch. As time went on I was able to do Beginner Qigong, which is pretty much done standing in place.
However, when I moved on to Intermediate Qigong and my Chinese Fan routine (both of which have more involved moves), I began to have doubts as to what was realistically possible. Being able to stand upright didn't mean I was fully mobile, because I still couldn't handle directional changes well. I had to be ever so careful about foot placement and the possibility of falling.
My body was like a foreign country where I didn't understand the rules of the road. It shook my confidence and embarrassed me. Yet as the weeks went by, I noticed that I was moving better. I could even stand on one leg in 32 Form Straight Sword. Granted, I couldn't raise the opposite leg high, but still, it was up in the air. Yet I wanted to do more, have better leg strength and height, so I checked the studio's roster of classes that could possibly fit the bill.
Wu Dang Tai Chi seemed the perfect answer. It's a Tai Chi routine that calls for one leg or the other to be raised and extended forty-two times during a twenty-three minute workout. Seeing that it was included for free in my studio package, I signed up immediately. It was a no-brainer.
Starting Wu Dang reminded me of being a newbie again, though that wasn’t totally true. I was aware of certain important facts already, like my teacher's oft-quoted saying: "You hurt your ligaments, you hurt your bones, you need at least a hundred days." This mantra along with my first visiting nurse's conviction kept me strong. "Remind your brain that you already know how to walk naturally and trust that your hip will hold you up."
The next thing was to rededicate myself to each of my classes. I was determined to work harder than ever. For sure I couldn't do much at first, and indeed wasn't supposed to, lest I undo my doctor's handiwork. So it was a balancing act not to jeopardize my new hips and at the same time place reasonable expectations on them. As a result of this challenge, while I was working hard to duplicate the movements, I was also trying not to lose my balance, or fall.
It may surprise some of you that I wasn't steadier despite now standing on two sturdy titanium rods. Actually they weren't the problem, nor were the cups into which they fit. It was the area around them that was still rather wishy-washy, which made it seem at times like I was a sailor trying to find my footing on a rough sea – one that I understood was going to take a hundred days to cross, if not more.
This is where excellent teachers can prove invaluable. For years proper body alignment has been the cornerstone of my lessons with Jianye Jiang, as it is now with his protégé, Lucas Geller. It was also why I was drawn to Professor Li Deyin's workshops whenever he visited the Capital Region. I liked the insistence they all have that the spine always be centered, that the head, torso, pelvis and limbs keep their integrity with it. Being a stickler myself for aesthetics, I felt that my bionic parts would have a better chance of acting like real ones if I followed these teachers’ leads.
Another aid in my recovery is something Master Jou Tsung Hwa said in his book: "Trust your own common sense; be your own best teacher." This is very practical advice because only you live in your body, only you can know how it feels at any given time. This self-knowledge is an asset I constantly use to my advantage. Trusting in my own ability to set reasonable benchmarks has also bolstered my confidence when they were finally reached.
Master Jou's advice also implies something further: I had to be willing to keep an agile mind and learn how to get out of my own way. Being your own teacher comes with the understanding that every bar set can also be reset, not only up, but down. Ultimately, it requires one to embrace the artful skill of compromise, of knowing when to be water and when to be rock.
Making modifications is common at our studio. Shifu Jianye Jiang makes a point of never embarrassing a student when they have limitations. He often says, "You do best you can." However, I have also seen him refuse to budge on any change if he thinks the student is capable. Like all good teachers who know their students, he takes the measure of each. Following his lead, I took measure of myself and decided that compromising a movement could be looked at differently. It didn't have to mean dumbing it down, but rather that I was understanding myself and it better.
But I'll add this: don't coddle yourself in the process. I'm not saying to be foolhardy; just don't underestimate yourself either. In everything we do, we should continue to test ourselves as to whether we can or should tackle a particular movement at any given time. For example, at every Chinese Fan class, I make a determination as to whether I'll do a half or full squat to the floor.
I let the moment decide for me. Just before I start, I have a head-talk and ask myself the following: Is my body strong and flexible enough now? How is my lower back feeling? Will my legs hold me? Do I feel I will be able to get back up again." If the answers come back yes, I go for it. If they don't, I choose a half-stance. If I find I've made the wrong decision and can't push off with my feet, I simply put my left hand on the floor and push myself up. No big deal. These are the things I focus on given my two hip replacements. How helpful it would have been to be this aware with my original ones!
What I also want to share is that healing continues well past the suggested hundred days; in fact, after two years I still feel I'm improving. Presently I'm back doing all the routines I was doing before surgery, and then some. I am not saying that I do all my Tai Chi and Kung Fu routines as perfectly as I did years ago. Who does? I am saying that I'm perfectly okay with the outcome. I like how my body's tapped back into its earlier muscle memory and created new pathways for the modifications I've had to make. I've even ventured into new projects altogether.
In 2014 I decided to choreograph a new fan routine, titled: Mu Lan Fusion Double Fan. In 2015 my husband made a video of it at our Chinese Martial Arts Academy, then posted it on YouTube. Next I choreographed a Taiji 8 Double Fan form and posted it along with videos of Taiji Yang 8 and Yang 16. These last three were made in the winter, out of doors, just to add to the challenge -- something my own teacher, Jianye Jiang, once did in his DVDs. Only he did his on a frozen lake!
As you can see, I believe in martial arts as a true healing agent. Over 300,000 people have hip replacement surgery annually in the United States. As one of them, I've learned to appreciate technology and the amazing development of human replacement parts. Going bionic has given me back my life. Being disabled for a period of time made me truly appreciate mobility, and empathize with those who struggle with it daily.
As a Tai Chi and Qi Gong teacher, I focus strongly on how both these modalities strengthen and heal the whole person. I like how my students share themselves because teaching is a reciprocal process, as well as a pay-it-forward activity. This is the wisdom I've gleaned from my longtime teacher, his protégé, and the many skilled masters who have crossed my path. Through their workshops, videos, DVDs, articles and books, they all support this sound advice: "Everyday, in every way, look to your health. Only you can do this." (Jianye Jiang)
