Friday, March 30, 2012

Back from the (almost) dead...

What happened to my hair you may ask. Well, I will tell you: I thought perhaps I had been thrown under a Mac truck in the early hours of Sunday morning. It was my 41st birthday and I woke up all ready for a lovely day with family and gluten free cake, only to discover that I could barely lift my head from the pillow. Too much wine from the night before was my initial reaction, but then my body spiraled into deep aches in every joint and these knives descended into my upper chest with such force, I knew this was no hangover, especially since I don't really drink enough (anymore) to get hangovers. And then my lungs started to rattle and rumble and send me into such hideous coughing fits that my back went into spasm and I'd cry out in pain. Next, the raging fever set in and I shivered and sweat my way through my birthday. Occasionally, this charming little ice pick would leap out of nowhere and drive itself deep into my left hip socket and then magically turn itself into a giant rusty screw and start twisting like a plumber's snake into the bones. That was fun. Oh, and did I mention lava started spilled from my tear ducts across my eyes and my lips started to peel chunks of flesh off for no apparent reason? I could hear my family and friends outside having my birthday celebration lunch in the grotto below and they even sweetly sang me happy birthday to me from the table below when they brought out the cake. All the while, I effectively had locked in syndrome, for I couldn't move or speak or sleep and could barely even breathe - all I could do was wallow in my suffering and long for it to all be over. 

I even succumbed, against all I believe in, and allowed Ben to dose me up with aspirin or ibuprofen in an effort to end all the agony, but all that did was burn a hole in my stomach, despite force feeding myself some repulsive just-for-sick-folk onion, garlic and chicken soup. Whatever this little germ started as, it rapidly turned to pneumonia and all I could do was turn myself painfully slowly like a turkey basting, in an effort to find the least painful position - there were none. Even the effort of whimpering was too much, though I longed for those around to know my true distress. I realised that no matter how much empathy you have for someone, you can never imagine what it is they are going through. I can't even imagine it now as it was, and it was only yesterday for me.

Finally, on day three, Ben was trying to force feed me more hardcore evil pharmaceuticals, so I secretly mustered up all the strength I had to text my homeopath. I told her I was dying. I think I probably was close. I am not telling stories. She recommended which remedy might be my salvation and I started on the course that afternoon. A few hours later, as Ben was insisting he take me to Emergency if I didn't want to die, I turned a corner. I suddenly felt like I was of this earth once more. I was no longer suspended in this weirdly haunted hallucinogenic hell I had been banished to for three days - I was back to some semblance of a reality I recognised. Yes, I felt lousy and yes, my nose was exploding and so was my head and then my lungs started to as well, but it was all good exploding - geting it out exploding which I really really needed.

I kept taking my remedy and every day I have been getting a little bit better. Today is the first day that I have been able to get out of bed. If I am ignoring your emails, you now know why. I am very dizzy and feeling weird and still my head and lungs are too full of goo, but oh, it so good to be healing so rapidly thanks to those trusty little sugar pills. Much love and gratitude goes out to my beloved homeopath, Alison, for the hours she spent getting me through this. Honestly, if anyone doesn't believe in the strange but undeniable power of remedies, I have too many stories to share to leave any doubt. I was at death's door and Bryonia pulled me back from the brink - a poisonous flower watered down to a tasty little sugar pill under the tongue which packs a mean punch. 

So I am inexplicably thankful to be returning (slowly and gently) to a place of health, and am so very close now. What I am not thankful for, is my hair. This gives you an idea of how unbelievably ill I was that I couldn't even lift a finger to look after myself or even let anyone come near me I was in so much pain. I do not even know where to begin. It is in one piece and feels like a brillo pad. Do I start with scissors, a vat of coconut oil, or do you think my talented homeopath will have a remedy for detangling a rat's nest too? xxxx

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