The Furious Spinner

Tuesday I met with the Integrated Medicine team again, and they gave me their recommendations. Wait two months while I get healthier, then surgery. Afterward Mario and I stopped at Food Front. A dog in the parking lot was howling as we got out of the car. Sounded just like a wolf. I howled along with it. People stopped in the street and looked our way. The dog stopped howling. I kept on. Mario laughed.

Did you notice the Full Moon Tuesday night? I opened the shades and moonlight became my blanket. Cool and light. Every night since I've done the same. Opened the shades and invited the Moon onto our bed.

Wednesday I drove into Portland alone for acupuncture. Afterward I was so exhausted and sick I wasn't sure I could drive home. Called Mario and cried. I'm strong and capable one moment and lost and sick the next. He encouraged me to go into Tao of Tea and eat something. So I did. Dal and rice, salad, Goddess of Mercy tea. It was too much, but it helped. I drove home feeling much better.

Had trouble sleeping. Opened up the shades. The Moon slipped in. Where have you been? Where have I been?

Thursday I went to see the surgeon in Vancouver. I liked her very much. She talked with me a long time. She explained the procedure and how it was so much safer than when they lopped off a part of Bill's Mom's brain. She has been a patient many times, she said, so she understood how reluctant I was. I felt much better about the whole process. We then drove to Portland, despite the bad air alert. I had two other appointments in town. We went to the Tao of Tea on Belmont. I had dal and rice, Mario had chana chaval. Then I went to acupuncture.

Afterward we went to the Naturopathic College so I could do some hydrotherapy which the Integrated Medicine team had recommended. I wouldn't fill out the paperwork; I was too exhausted. I thought I was going in for something simple, and suddenly I felt like I was at another doctor's office. They took my blood pressure (it had dropped even further), temperature, etc. Then someone came and told us to be quiet. Apparently we were disturbing a nearby patient! No one had told us we needed to be silent. They eventually moved us to another room. Then the hydrotherapy began. Hot towels, then cold towels. I had a bit of trouble breathing. When it was done, my blood pressure had gone up. She said that wasn't unusual or worrisome. OK.

In the last month I’ve seen four different M.D.s on five different occasions in four different offices. I’ve also seen two N.D.s, two acupuncturists (at least once a week), two medical students, a trauma therapist (once a week), a chiropractic intern, and various technicians. I had blood tests, two CAT scans, an MRI, and five physical exams (mostly of my head). Geez Louise. Despite all of this—or maybe because of all of this–I feel quite hopeful. As though I’m on an expedition. Or a pilgrimage. Searching for health. Or the soul and body of health. Something.

Last night I opened the shades again. I could not see the Moon, but her light lay on the end of our bed like a discarded robe. I rested my face against the light. I dreamed I opened up a drawer and found a couple of tiny toy pumpkins—not a kid’s toy, more like tiny pumpkin boxes. One was an orange pumpkin; the other was like the lumina pumpkins (white), except it was a bit grayish-green, like a tiny Cinderella coach without the wheels. I picked that one out for myself.

Today no doctors, no nothing. I made some phone calls, sent some letters, then lay on the couch. Everything vibrates. My ears are ringing so badly I want to scream. I'm hoping all that will get better after surgery.

Now it's time to sleep again. I'll try to think of the roar in my ears as the roar of the ocean. Will that make it easier to tolerate? I wonder where the Moon is tonight? Does She long for me, for us, the way we long for her?

May You Sleep in Beauty!

All photographs and written material copyright © 2003-2008 by Kim Antieau unless otherwise indicated. May not be used without permission.