Laughter Really Is the Best Medicine

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The last few years have been seriously filled with a million and one utterly beautiful life lessons. I appreciate them with every fiber of my being. And then some. And then more. I have learned so much about myself, the world and my place in it. While going through and earning my PHD – Personal Health Discoveries – I got down to what really matters on every level. I really could not have asked for better schooling to appreciate this world in every minute detail. But here is the thing…like any serious studying with an incredible reward at the end of the tunnel, there has been little to no fun in the process. Zilch. No laughter. No belly laughs. Lots of pulling hair out wondering when it would all finally be over. (Ok…and with Hashimoto’s, it just kinda fell out on its own…) Let’s be frank here, with as much beauty as I have found and discovered in the pain and frustration of autoimmunity, there were vast swatches of sheer and utter suckage. No laughter. Lots of suckage. And I have become determined to bring the funny back. I NEED to bring the funny back.

I  made a pact to have copious amounts of belly laughs this year. Like rolling on the floor, tears pouring down my face, grasping my stomach, practically peeing my pants, stop-I-can’t-breathe kind of belly laughs.  There has been so much tension – physically, mentally….on a soul level. I needed a comic release. Having taken tons of improv classes over the years and even stand-up, I yearned for the weekly hilarity of the classes I used to take, the crazy, brilliant, quick minded individuals I used to improv with at Second City. In the pain, I forgot how to be funny. In the pain, it was hard to laugh. In the pain, it was tons of work trying to move away from the pain. With a broken and foggy brain from Gluten Ataxia and Hashimoto’s, thoughts were not firing the way they were supposed to if they were firing at all. If my legs and arms didn’t know where to go, neither did any glimmers of humour. My funny bone was seriously broken.

This year I have decided to bring on the goofy.  Bring back stupidity. Bring on the fun. Laugh until I cry. Text my friends ridiculous inside jokes. Have funny banter with strangers. Earlier this year, I took a drop-in improv class. After a few simple hilarious warm-up games, my brain was fried. The room was spinning. My body was protesting and was in a lot of pain. It was like a physiotherapy session with tons of hand to eye coordination needed with clapping and memory games. But glimmers of funny came out from hiding. “We’re still here! We’re still here!” I freakin’ loved it. My body and brain may have protested over the next couple of days but my soul determined we were completely on track.

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This was taken on International Ataxia Awareness Day, September 25, 2016, as I tried to leap in the air. It still makes me laugh. Not only was I thrilled to be jumping which has eluded me for years, to be goofy at the same time proves my mind, body, soul and funny bone are all hanging out in the same room again!

I decided on my birthday in May that I needed to bring in the upcoming year with humour. I believe in setting our intentions for the upcoming year on our birthdays. I took another drop-in improv class.  (And umm….I skipped my nieces’ school recital. Yes, I did. I r-e-a-l-l-y needed to get my humour order in….) Best. Idea. Ever. (Sorry nieces. Love you!) The room was still spinning and if you were to see me try to clap you would crack up.  I figured I could make my drunk-like ataxia actions into a fairly hilarious character. Work with watcha got…

I’ve done some more drop-ins and am taking a public speaking course at Second City. And it IS my physiotherapy. It IS rewiring my brain bringing back the funny. It is helping me tell painful aspects of my story with light and humour. It is recharging my spirit. And I have been laughing my ass off as my fellow classmates share their stories, their jokes, their humour, as we share our collective vulnerability whether we present something serious or light hearted. It is a joy trying out new ways of expressing myself outside the confines of my “PHD.”

I can now flash to several times over the last few months in which I have had deep belly laughs. How many times I have had tears pouring down my cheeks dying over something with a friend. Laughter really is the best medicine and a medicine that we need regularly. I aim to embarrass my nieces with my goofiness in public while teaching them that we must honour all aspects of our personalities.  There is a time for seriousness….but having been stuck in seriousness for several years, I really need to honour fun. Laughter. Goofiness. Our souls need it. My soul needs it.

 

 

 

The 7 Year Itch: My Ridiculously Long Road To Paddleboarding

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Today has pixie dust sprinkled all over it. It reeks of rainbows and unicorns. It is sunshine and cake. (Gluten-free of course because that gluten character is a big part of this 7 year itch…) As my friend Shelli always says, “Today is the BEST DAY EVER!” Today is MAGICAL – and yes, I mean to be YELLING! From the rooftops actually. Today, after waiting patiently – and not so patiently – since 2010, I finally – more yelling….FINALLY….got on a paddleboard!

As I head to the beach most days, in 2010, I started to notice paddleboarders on the lake. There were just a few back then as “SUPping” (stand up paddleboarding) was only starting to take off but I was determined to get on one the next summer and was really looking forward to it. By the summer of 2011 I felt lousy, had zero energy and was struggling just to stay awake. I went from working out 5 days a week preparing for my first 5K run to barely being able to get up the stairs. My body was in pain daily.  In September, 2011, I was diagnosed with autoimmune Hashimoto’s which explained why I felt so lousy.  I was determined to make a swift recovery….(insert rolling of eyes and I-know-better-now smirking….)

Over the next couple years, my arms morphed from excruciating daily pain to having very little use of them from the elbows down. My hands and arms working would be a guessing game depending on the day of the week. Everyday activities felt like they were being done with concrete boots on while walking through quicksand. All my energy was going into simply getting through everyday life – sports were impossible.  And being athletic, it was crushing my soul. In September, 2013, within a couple weeks, I could barely walk, talk, chew properly or think. I was stumbling around, could not put one foot in front of the other and was slurring my words. I looked and sounded drunk. I do not exaggerate when I say my brain and body felt decimated. I was terrified more than I let on to anyone. In December, 2013, I was finally diagnosed with Gluten Ataxia, a rare dis-ease in which gluten causes an autoimmune attack on the cerebellum, the part of the brain responsible for motor skills.

Since this all started, I have done everything in my power to make myself healthy. It has taken years to get back muscle strength, balance and coordination.  It has taken a long time to do physical motions without body parts severely cramping up or them simply not remembering what to do or going rogue as I like to call it.  It has also taken a long time to do several movements at the same time. I call it Body Jenga – how many moves can I do before my body stubbornly protests I have pushed too much and it all falls apart? Paddleboarding looks so easy and effortless, yet it’s really rather complicated when your sense of balance caused you to fall over for several years simply by standing still – on land. Last year I was looking into motorized scooter prices.

Every day at sunset when I would meditate at the beach, wishing I could be out on the water, the paddleboarders would glide by.  Some days they brought me comfort. Some days I was so angry and frustrated I wished I hadn’t seen them.  And other days my meditation would involve envisioning myself strong and sturdy out there at sunset casually gliding by alongside them. I finally sat in the energy that they were keeping me company until I was ready to join them.

This month, I finally realized I had enough balance, energy and coordination to get up on a board, hold the paddle and stroke on both sides.   I (hopefully) would be able to get back on if I fell off. I also hoped I could make it through an hour class. I could swim with enough strength to not drown which was an added bonus. You can imagine my excitement to get on a board… And then the weather decided to kick up some windy waves delaying this several times. As I repeated,”Patience is a virtue,” over and over in my mind…I wanted to smack patience with a paddleboard!

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Today at 9AM it was a go. I was a kid at Christmas – a Christmas that had been bumped several times! It was a stunningly beautiful day – a full moon lunar eclipse none the less. There were small waves but it’s September and the clock is ticking on how much more time there is on the lake before it gets really cold and a lot more windy. And you know what? I cannot even imagine a more perfect first experience.  I didn’t care if I stood for one second and then got dumped into the lake – hell, I didn’t care if I even stood up because I did not know if I would have the balance. I was happy to be on that board!

My instructor Gudrun of wsup Toronto was beyond lovely and helpful and guided our group on our Blu Wave Sup boards as we paddled into the sun (gorgeous) and then into a quiet, shallow inlet for us to try standing.  I landed in the lake several times – and loved it every single time. It actually gave my brain and body a break from all the movement and balancing.  I needed it! (Was also very thankful as I explore my new energy to be wearing a life jacket) But I also stood several times and got some strokes in before wiping out. I would have been happy to have stood for one second. Every wipe out was joy-filled!  7 years of waiting joy-filled. I love the shot of me paddling above looking like a badass catching a wave…in fact I was just about to wipe out which will forever make me laugh!

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I floated in the lake after staring at the clouds with a huge grin on my face. Then I sat on the beach warming myself in the sun…and started to cry.  From gratitude. From years of pent up frustration and a finish line that just kept stretching beyond my reach. From utter happiness. From relief. From pride. When I looked at these photos later, I cried again. When I spoke with my mom tonight and told her about my morning, I sobbed with gratitude. How could 7 years have gone by not being able to do something so soul rewarding?  I realize why today was so important. For 7 years this has been the carrot dangling in front of me that I really, really wanted…and was always yanked further out of reach. And today I grasped it.

I sat in deep reflection today.  I didn’t just paddleboard. Parts of me came back together. Today I really felt like me. And I can’t think of anything more amazing than truly feeling like who you really are.