early days at the hospital

The studio where I teach is directly above the physical therapy (PT) department at Martha Jefferson' Outpatient Care Center (OCC).  At first the PTs approached me warily thinking I'd set out a shingle as new-age, rehab therapist.  

And like everyone else they wondered how a yoga studio landed in a hospital, plopped down like Dorothy's house in Oz.

Becoming a competent PT takes somewhere between 5 to 7 years of pre-med and graduate medical education.  A PT's knowledge of anatomy and physiology often exceeds a doctor's.   Even as an experienced yoga teacher, I can't touch their level of bio-mechanical and clinical experience. I visit the PT clinic, and related PT/orthopedic websites ... and marvel at their amazing work.  

The head of the PT department, a svelte, smart blonde who is not easily gulled,  was especially skeptical at first.  I appreciated that she at least took me seriously.  Everyone else seemed mildly amused I was there.

We were in the notoriously slow OCC elevator and this was part of the chat:

Her: You do .. yoga here? (politely baffled)

Me: Yeah.  Very breathed-based.  Gentle movement.  Meditative.  Like that. (defensive)

Her: Oh yeah, I know all about it.  My sister does it in California.  She can do all this crazy stuff.  Pretty cool ... (looks at me with knowledgeable confidence; then shoots me a quizzical glance asking how that yoga fits into a hospital.  She pauses so I can fill her in:)

Me: Yeah, not that kind of yoga though.  Real simple.  (trying to get my message in a three-second soundbite as the elevator door opens is NOT EASY).  I can give you and the PTs a demonstration.  

Her:  Huh.  OK.  Sure! (still confused but friendly)

She was true to her word.  I came downstairs to give a demonstration, the PTs enjoyed it very much.  Ellen O.  became my PT buddy, the main referral I used for my students with intractable neck pain, a condition that can elude yoga therapy, except with the most patient students.  Many of my seriously impaired students often need to graduate from PT before they work with me.  Now when I walk into the PT department, with its loud rockn'roll and the octogenarians boogying on the treadmills,  I sail past the main desk, say hi to the therapists (some of whom are students, others friends) and ... strange to say ...  I feel pretty much at home.

Versions of the elevator conversation happened often in the early days.  My not-yet colleagues would move off to real work at the breakneck pace of clinical appointments, as set currently by insurance companies (more on alternative-medicine friendly insurance models in a later post).  

While they were hustling to their next patient,  I seemed to be occupying a completely different time/space, as I retreated in a leisurely way down the hall to my spanking-gorgeous but empty studio.  Initially I got sidelong stares for my teaching uniform: long wafty scarf, loose black stretch pants, black jacket, hospital ID.  No low-cut shirts, no middle-aged ass showing, no tatoos or talismans, but definitely sandals.  I have wide, fin-feet and I hate most conventional footwear.

Not all of my students from my hip, downtown studio were willing to follow me into a new, institutional environment that screamed:  "ALLOPATHICS WHO MESSED UP MY HEALTH: A TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE" or "YOU'RE SICK: NOW PAY UP", or "YOU'RE OLD AND YOU CAN'T DO 'REAL YOGA' IN FUNKY DOWNTOWN STUDIOS".

I knew all these perspectives were wrong but it's hard to explain.  In three seconds or less.

So once again I was in the schitzy position of explaining allopaths to alternative types and alternative practices to allopaths.  

But you know what?  It didn't matter.  I was on fire!!!  This was an assignment I had asked for, and now I had it.  Mike, the OCC developer had handed me the studio space at a ridiculous discount because his wife had cancer, and from their experience, he knew:  Patients need MORE.  

I was so lucky that Ron, a senior VP and Jim, the hospital's president, agreed and wanted yoga in the Outpatient Care building.  At hospital association conferences, Jim actually likes to boast that he has a studio on the top floor. 

We all know it's hard to put a name on what that MORE is, but any of us who have taken care of seriously sick people or been chronically ill ourselves know that this is truth.

Healers and patients both aspire to a truthful, dynamic dialogue about outcomes.  When we're healing we deserve and need that MORE and we should talk about it with our docs and therapists.  

Any effort to bring the two worlds of allopathic and traditional medicine is worthwhile, even when it fails to connect on the first go.   I encourage my students to 'fess up to their docs about their extracurricular  alternative practices (herbs, massage, reiki, acupuncture etc).  Patients need to be heard as individuals, yearning for the MORE.

After the elevator chat, it was clear that the dialogue with my future colleagues wasn't going to be perfect. But at least the dialogue had begun.