{"id":2815,"date":"2016-11-11T16:55:00","date_gmt":"2016-11-11T21:55:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.med.unc.edu\/iris\/iris\/index\/flip\/beauty-and-terror\/"},"modified":"2018-08-03T13:52:58","modified_gmt":"2018-08-03T17:52:58","slug":"beauty-and-terror","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.med.unc.edu\/iris\/index\/flip\/beauty-and-terror\/","title":{"rendered":"Beauty and Terror"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

by Neha Verma, MS2<\/p>\n

\n

A yoga studio, ten o\u2019clock in the morning. Eight women on eight mats in a circle. Four ceiling fans spinning slowly. Streaks of sunlight coming in through the third-floor windows, like outstretched fingers trying to grasp something out of reach. In one corner, a rack of pamphlets: Cancer Fighting Foods,<\/i> Relay for Life,<\/i> and The American Cancer Society<\/i>.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWeek Three is when your hair starts to fall out,\u201d one woman remarks to another, as they wait for class to begin.<\/span><\/p>\n

A ten-minute drive separates UNC\u2019s Cancer Hospital from UNC\u2019s Cancer Support Program Yoga Studio. Surrounding the studio, there are no ambulances or white coats; instead, there is a Hardee\u2019s, a nail salon, and Mardi Gras Bowling Center.<\/span><\/p>\n

The eight women in the circle come here every Friday morning, or every Friday morning that they aren\u2019t too sick from chemotherapy and radiation. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt helps me make sense of what\u2019s happened to me,\u201d one woman tells me. She wears an off-center wig; her eyebrows are penciled on. She has deep creases around her eyes. \u201cHelps bring me peace.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI think the cancer can make you feel so trapped,\u201d another woman adds. Her thin, pale arms remind me of toothpicks. \u201cYour body is falling apart and that\u2019s the only body you\u2019ve got. Yoga makes me feel more free.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Three of the women are dressed in those loose-fitting floral-print tops that grandmothers seem to love, while one wears a pink Race for the Cure<\/i> t-shirt. Four of the women have short white hair; two have blonde ponytails. The air smells faintly of lavender perfume, and the sunlight from the windows warms the polished hardwood floor.<\/span><\/p>\n

The instructor, Maureen, sits in the middle of the circle. She wears wire-rimmed glasses that make her look stern, but her smile is welcoming. At five after ten, she presses a button on a stereo, and the soft strumming of guitar strings spreads across the room.<\/span><\/p>\n

Maureen\u2019s voice is gentle and smooth as she directs the women through the routine. Her words seem to float in the warm, lavender-scented air.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBreathe deeply and just be,\u201d she tells the class. \u201cJust be.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

Within the first half hour, one woman gets up from her mat and disappears into the adjoining single-stall bathroom five times. During her fifth disappearance, the sound of retching comes through the bathroom door just as Maureen sings, \u201cOmmm<\/i>.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

The woman reappears with a flushed face and bloodshot eyes.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cJust started a new treatment,\u201d she mumbles apologetically. \u201cIrinotecan.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s a tough one,\u201d one woman says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWorst diarrhea of my life!\u201d says another. A third nods in sympathy.<\/span><\/p>\n

When Maureen leads the women into the tree pose, they clasp their hands above their heads. One woman stops with her arms sticking straight out like a scarecrow\u2019s. She turns her head from side to side, examining the arms as if surprised that they are her own.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHaven\u2019t been able to lift them up this far since surgery,\u201d she announces with a grin. The woman beside her starts to clap her hands, and the others follow her lead. <\/span><\/p>\n

Eleven o\u2019clock. It is time for the Savasana, the Final Relaxation. The women lie on their backs with their toes pointing up at the ceiling, and Maureen passes out pillows and blankets. Once the women are settled, Maureen returns to the center of the room and shares a verse from the poet Rilke:<\/span><\/p>\n

Let everything happen to you<\/p>\n

Beauty and terror<\/p>\n

Just keep going<\/p>\n

No feeling is final.<\/p>\n

No one moves or speaks. Rilke\u2019s words hang in the air. After twenty minutes, Maureen announces that the class has come to an end.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou can stand up to go whenever you\u2019re ready,\u201d she tells the women. \u201cPlease take your time.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n

They linger. Their reluctance is almost palpable, as though they are waging a silent protest against the world outside these big third-floor windows and polished hardwood floors. Maureen simply smiles at them in understanding. After the last woman finally ties her shoes and makes her way out nearly forty-five minutes later, Maureen tells me: \u201cI always plan to stay about an hour extra. It can be so hard for them to leave, and \u2013 well, at least in this room \u2013 I never want them to feel like they have run out of time.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

by Neha Verma, MS2 A yoga studio, ten o\u2019clock in the morning. Eight women on eight mats in a circle. Four ceiling fans spinning slowly. Streaks of sunlight coming in through the third-floor windows, like outstretched fingers trying to grasp something out of reach. In one corner, a rack of pamphlets: Cancer Fighting Foods, Relay … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":50983,"featured_media":0,"parent":2610,"menu_order":43,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"class_list":["post-2815","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry","odd"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nBeauty and Terror - Iris: The Art and Literary Journal - UNC School of Medicine<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"noindex, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Beauty and Terror - Iris: The Art and Literary Journal - UNC School of Medicine\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"by Neha Verma, MS2 A yoga studio, ten o\u2019clock in the morning. 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