Healing Heart

Exploring the Emotional Roots of Dis-ease and the Power of Self-Love

In 2013, my husband Maciej underwent open-heart surgery. The Monday after Thanksgiving, wafter we returned to our home in Brooklyn, he visited his GP to check on a persistent low-grade fever. His doctor was so alarmed that she nearly insisted he call an ambulance and head straight to the ER. But Maciej, ever defiant, ignored her advice. Instead, he rode the subway home, packed some clothes, and took the same subway back to the ER.

He was quickly admitted with a diagnosis of pericarditis, placed on intravenous medication, and scheduled for surgery. I remember praying, even though I rarely prayed and considered myself agnostic: “All I want is for his surgery to go well and for him to be discharged in time so we can spend Christmas together.”

Ten grueling days later, I watched as Maciej was wheeled into surgery. I don’t recall how I passed those hours. That evening, I returned to the hospital, but he wasn’t ready for visitors. To calm my nerves, I wandered the East Village searching for a wine bar, convinced it was what I needed. Block after block, I found none and finally settled for a cozy, quiet spot where I ordered a glass of cognac. I don’t usually drink spirits, but I remembered my teacher saying that for very frail patients, a shot of brandy could revive their Yang. By the time I finished the snifter, I received the call: Maciej was in the ICU and ready for a brief visit.

What I saw was surreal and deeply unsettling. He appeared grey and dim, as though his body was present but his essence was elsewhere. To this day, I don’t know why the nurse asked if I wanted to see beneath the sheet covering him, but when she did so, I nodded. She lifted the fabric, revealing an array of tubes in various colors and diameters emerging from his body. I felt immediately nauseous and asked for the nearest bathroom. Once inside, I stumbled into a stall and vomited. (If you’ve read my previous essay, this is yet another example of emotional disturbance disrupting Qi flow and causing my body to reject alcohol!)

On December 18th, Maciej was discharged from the hospital and we finally returned to our small Brooklyn apartment. I was overwhelmed with gratitude, though I didn’t yet realize the six weeks of recovery ahead would be another roller coaster. But I’ll save that story for another time. Today, I want to focus on what I believe caused Maciej’s pericarditis.

Six months before his infection, Maciej’s close friend Piotr was diagnosed with bone cancer and passed away just weeks later. The situation came and went like a tornado. Piotr and Maciej founded and collaborated in their college art group, AWACS, remained close after immigrating separately to the U.S. Maciej was even named Piotr’s power of attorney when Piotr could no longer manage his own affairs.

Maciej was shocked to discover how Piotr lived. His friend, ever the artist, seemed to prioritize his craft above all else. He lived in a modest but sparse apartment with small, cave-like sleeping spaces he had built in his studio. He rented out two of these spaces to roommates, cooked on a hotplate in a makeshift kitchen, and divided his time between New York and Krakow. His marriage, it seemed, was ending, evidenced by the bitter texts between Piotr and his wife.

Piotr was frugal to an extreme, Maciej explained, buying only the cheapest items. Yet he had saved $15,000 in cash, hidden in his apartment for reasons unknown. After his death, his wife came from Poland, taking every object and every dollar. She even claimed a trompe l’oeil painting Piotr had promised me, a piece I’d fallen in love with during my first visit.

I believe Piotr’s cancer had been growing in his body for years, much like Anita Moorjani describes in Dying to Be Me. My educated theory is that his illness was fed by fear. He neglected his well being and deprived his cells, his mind, and his soul of love. He probably decided that he only deserved love when he achieved certain goals in his art career. We can analyze the other factors of modern life—toxins, sedentary lifestyles, social isolation—yet at its core, I believe our cells listen and respond to our minds.

As Peter Crone says, “The absence of love is abuse.” This may sound harsh, but that sharpness stems from our deep conditioning—the belief that we don’t deserve love, that we’re unworthy of it. All dis-ease, in my view, emanates from this lack of love, this abuse.

Maciej was in shock when he witnessed all of this. He did not know how to process the grief and anger that he felt. Moreover he was taxed by unfamiliar responsibilites which suddenly landed on his shoulders, from dealing with Piotr’s affairs to then organizing his funeral. He suppressed the anger and grief in lieu of more pressing matters, and those emotions began wreaking havoc in his body.

Anita Moorjani writes¹,

“Many of us still believe that we have to work at being loving, but that means living in duality, because there’s a giver and receiver. Realizing we are love transcends this. It means understanding that there’s no separation between you and me. If I’m aware that I am love, then I know that you are, too. If I care for myself, then I automatically feel the same way for you.”

In Chinese Medicine, pericarditis is the manifestation of Heart heat. Heat which was caused by emotional distress like anger and grief. This energy, when unexpressed, accumulates into inflammation. At this stage it is formless. When allowed to develop further, the inflammation forms into infection of cells and tissue.

The cure to both of the stories above is love. Self love. There’s no such thing as too much self-love, just as there’s no such thing as spoiling a baby with too much love, attention, or touch.

“Selfishness comes from a lack of self-love. Our planet is suffering from this, along with too much insecurity, judgment, and conditioning.”² I couldn’t agree more. I feel strongly that this is the most important message I can gift to you in this season of giving and restoration.

I wish you & your loved ones all the love that I am and you already are.

1. Dying to Be Me. Moorjani, Anita Page 139.

2. Dying to Be Me. Moorjani, Anita Page 140.