I’m what I call a hippie-girl. I tend towards homeopathy and have for several years. I go about my way telling others, sometimes not even solicited, the natural ways of living.
I’m an oil girl. I love essential oils and have a shelf alphabetized with them. Lavender is great for burns! Turmeric and lemongrass decrease inflammation! Peppermint smells amazing in a diffuser and my coworkers (most) love when I fill the diffuser with an exotic scent to fill our area with tantalizing smells that give us a little extra boost for the day.
I’m a food snob. I will organize the snack drawers at work with an assortment of commercial chips, Little Debbies, fruit snacks and Goldfish crackers, yet I will not eat them because (everyone knows that knows) they are full of rancid oils and endocrine blocking food colors and chemicals. I bring my avocado oil and sea salt chips and Unreal chocolate treats.
I am somewhat of a hypocrite. I am somewhat what I have discovered to be proud. I’m not proud of that.
I had my port put in two days ago. It was my first go at surgery. The experience was much different from this side of the bed as to when I had witnessed my husband or my child having surgery for various things. I think that the observer side is harder in a way. As the patient, I am thrown into unknown territory but supported by numerous very professional and compassionate nurses and staff. As the observer ir is just hard to see a loved one getting poked and prodded and swabbed and carted away.
It is a long winding path down the corridor to the OR. Bright lights (not THE bright light!) and a cool room await you-a mask and some slight burning that once you know is normal, not entering your arm instead of your veins, quickly send you off to a sleep deeper than any I have had and soon(er than you know) you are awakened—well I was receiving a text message from my daughter, not uncommon, when I woke up a little teary and a little shaky. A warm blanket and some chat with the nurse must have sidetracked my body and the teeth chattering soon subsided. It was over. They said I did great. I did nothing. :)
Recovery went well and I was given the hard meds for pain and a wheelchair ride to the door. I spent the next approximately 40 hours in what I thought was a wonderful, prayer induced pain-free zone. I texted my inquiring friends that I was pain free! Patted myself on the back-gently-telling myself this wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t. Until…
I woke the next morning around 5. Turning this way or that was an issue. Whichever way I turned (I sleep on my back) it seemed like my muscles pulled at the port sight. Although not excruciating, it was not pleasant and I had a hard time propping myself up to get out of bed. It was then I decided it was time. Time to take a few tylenol-not the hard stuff haha, so I walked slowly to the kitchen and proceeded. When I returned to bed, I returned to tears. How long had it been since I could even remeber taking a tylenol or over the counter medicine let alone a prescription one! I was the healthy one! I was the one who didn’t even accept the white soda after surgery! Water please. What a hypocrite. I became so aware of my pride and realized it was going to have to go. I had already (thought I had) accepted that in this case, my triple negative cells were not gonna wait around for homeopathy to shrink them. Sometimes, one has to just accept the technology that has saved (albeit under harsh circumstances) so many people just like me. I had accepted that. (Had I?) but couldn’t allow myself 600mg of tylenol?
A few prayers and breaths later. I am trying to kill the pride right along with my bad cells. There is no room for it and I think though I had my strong opinions and still have my preferences, I have no place being judge or jury to those who see it differently. I have no place thinking I would avoid all trouble in life by avoiding canola oil. I will however, be grateful to have been and be a food snob and my choices will be for the healthier versions that present themselves , but for my own reasons not prideful ones. And I will probably be accepting some medicines I never thought would be accepted into my body, (Gotta laugh eh?) and they may even help me get through the next step! Lessons. I didn’t ask for them. (Nor patience, nor joy etc.. because I was always afraid.) This one I learned: God made me and he cares for me. He loves me and my life has nothing really to do with these problems and this body, but what I do with it for Him while I am here. That puts a whole new perspective on living. He has me and this and knowing that is good medicine!
