On the day of my very first bone marrow biopsy, the really nice technician en­cour­aged me to relax and to breathe deeply throughout the procedure. I settled down on the table and thanked her for the kind suggestions.

After I asked her to explain the nuts-and-bolts of the biopsy, I immediately stopped relaxing and very nearly stopped breathing. So much for asking ques­tions.

When she eventually pried my hand off of the doorknob and took me back to the cot, she repeated that I should relax and breathe. Relax and breathe. It was then that a long ago memory of Mr. H. and his ‘Philosophy of Breathing’ came flooding back.

It was during my very first private trumpet lesson in junior high school that Mr. H. matter-of-factly decreed:

‘You can stop playing now. It’s obvious that you don’t know how to breathe.’

What? Who doesn’t know how to breathe? Everybody knows how to breathe! I’ve been breathing pretty much since I was a kid.

My mom had abandoned me at the music store that day to run some errands, so I secretly wondered if there was a way to sneak out of the practice studio to find a different trumpet teacher. But, before I could dash away, Mr. H., who was between me and the doorknob, asked me to put my horn down, to sit up straight with­out slouch­ing, and to take a couple of deep breaths.

Wanting to prove his observation erroneous, I sat up, opened my mouth, raised my shoulders, and gulped in enough air to fill a zeppelin -- maybe two. In my triumph, I forgot to exhale, turned beet red, coughed, and nearly passed out. I’m glad that my mom wasn’t there to see that spectacle.

At that he smiled and said ‘See, you don’t know how to breathe. But I can help you.’

I was still dizzy when Mr. H. began to teach me about his Philosophy of Breathing, a simple set of exercises that enabled me to become a much better young trumpet player.

And to my great surprise, they also helped me cope with having multiple myeloma some 35 years later.

That’s right, during an $8, one-half hour music lesson, my junior high school trumpet teacher gave me a strategy to battle a significant side effect of multiple myeloma. What a bargain!

Some of you out in Myelomaville may have experienced the same challenges to breathing that I have faced:

Broken ribs, compressed and collapsed vertebrae, and a fractured sternum made it particularly painful for me to take in deep breaths. Tumors and bone fragments impinging on nerve bundles caused searing pain and, no matter if I was sitting, standing, or laying down, it just plain hurt to breathe.

In addition, my early bone marrow specimen samples showed that squatter myeloma cells, occupying nearly 80 percent of my bone’s prime real estate, had kicked many of my good red cells, white cells, and platelets to the curb.

And who can forget the old losing-height-due-to-vertebral-compression trick which caused my organs, including the lungs, to uncomfortably squish together? I hate it when that happens.

Without enough hemoglobin-rich red cells tooling around my bloodstream doing their oxygen-meals-on-wheels delivery thing, I fell prey to anemia and its incumbent shortness of breath.

If that wasn’t enough, a lack of white blood cells harkened respiratory infections and bouts of pneumonia.

You know, typical multiple myeloma stuff.

Mr. H. kept his breathing techniques simple enough for even this noodle-headed junior high school trumpet player to remember them 35 years later.

He said that proper breathing promotes relaxation, relieves stress, and improves performance. Your breath is the power behind your voice and your music. Master your breathing and you can do almost anything.

Simple, and maybe a bit idealistic, but I still remember it today. Not bad for a guy who can’t remember what he had for lunch.

Mr. H.’s simple exercise for Relaxation is the following:

Sit comfortably, legs uncrossed. Thinking the syllable ‘ahhhhh’, exhale a warm flow of air fully through your open throat and mouth. Empty your lungs.

Without raising your shoulders or tensing your body, inhale through your nose for eight counts while gently expanding your abdomen, ribs, and chest to allow the air to flow in.

Remain as relaxed as possible while holding your breath for eight counts.

Exhale a warm flow of air through your open throat and mouth. Empty your lungs for eight counts.

Repeat.

As time and lessons progressed, he taught me several different breathing exercises that I used through the ensuing years of playing trumpet. After I stopped performing and started producing shows, I never gave the mechanics of my breathing much thought.

That is until myeloma and pain and broken bones and breathlessness came along.

On that day in the biopsy suite, I tried Mr. H.’s breathing techniques to help get me through the procedure. I think that it helped.

Later that afternoon in the MRI room, I concentrated on my breathing again. And then during the PET scan the next morning, and while sitting in the waiting rooms, and riding in the cars, and walking the halls. I pretty much paid attention to my breathing whenever I could.

As the chemotherapy started taking hold, nausea and fevers and heartburn arrived and fatigue overcame me. In contrast, dexamethasone ^[1] (Decadron) caused nightly insomnia which tug-o-warred with the dex.

By that point, I was taking some heavy pain medications and anti-nausea drugs, but I discovered that if I used good breathing practices, the side effects of the medicines and the treatments were better tolerated.

I encourage you to talk with your medical professional about the benefits of using focused breathing tech­niques. The Internet is filled with ideas about various breathing methods.

Even today, breathing exercises help me to relax, sleep better, feel better, fight nausea, energize myself, and improve my moods.

Thanks, Mr. H.!

It was also in junior high, by the way, that Christine R. told me that I didn’t know how to kiss. Now THAT I believed.