It's feeling like ground-hog day. Although the porridge eruptions
have diminished and the rash is fading, the pain that runs through
my nervous system goes on and on. The painkillers aren't helping. In
fact they're giving me stomach ache. It is now nearly four weeks.
Today, I decided I needed to do something different rather than
laying in bed and feeling sorry for myself. A friend sent me a card
with a suffragette's photo. The caption read,
'Things are getting worse. Send more chocolate.'
Taking a tip from what I tell my clients, I'm trying to practice a
bit of mindfulness, staying in the moment, and acknowledging what
else is happening that makes life living ... Boy, that box of Lindor
milk chocolate truffles really helped. Thank you Rhys!
HOSTAGE
TO HEALING
She's awake before me, the third time last night, prodding me in my
back with her electric shock treatment, like an errant cow she wants
to get into the truck, but who's not cooperating. As I turn to do her
bidding, she punches me hard in the ribs, under my left breast, and
into my side. She watches as I wince and try to catch my breath.
Hauling myself up, my hand reaches for my Nokia. An hour later than
it was last time. A peep of street light beneath the white blind. I
fumble for the extra-strength paracetamol, the extra-strength
ibuprofen and swallow hard. Like an illegal immigrant trying to cross
the Calais border she finds her way of sliding in-just beneath my
skin- creeping and crawling into her hiding position. She dribbles
her trail of iced spittle along my inner spine to lubricate herself
into deeper cavities. She reaches my stomach, and turns it sour,
sinking sick.
But she has something else to show me. She squeezes me tightly as we
wander down to the garden entwined in each other. Come on, I
think. Let's see what healing this garden can do.
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