Unicorn Glitter And A Few Pebbles

I promised a post full of goodness last time, unicorns pooping glitter and such.  Here’s a bit of what makes for happiness chez Selden:

• Hanging out with my mom.  Having a glass of wine with her… or two.
• While I might not get there every day, the beach is never more than 15 minutes away.
• Papayas and pink lemons in my backyard.
• Two words: hot tub.
• Two more words: hot hub.
• Theo and Lauren were asked to participate in an advanced reading group at school. So proud.
• The fact that Theo and Lauren are back in school.
• Skittles being part of a dog pack again.  Roxie and Libby missed her so!
• But not as much as Roxie and Libby missed coming inside.  They’re SUPER happy about that.
• Heavy sleeping during a tropical rainstorm.
• Heavy sleeping during a tropical rainstorm in my own bed!
• Petting my mom’s cats.
• Reading books from my own library again.
• Figuring out Pinterest… finally.  (Thanks, Heather!)
• Ceiling fans and a cold drink on a hot day. 
• Cutting perfectly ripe market tomatoes (with a sharp knife) for a salad lunch. 
• Watching and reading political stuff, then insulting candidates as a bawdy Shakespearian.  You can do it too: http://www.buzzfeed.com/txblacklabel/shakespeare-insult-kit-28m7   I’m partial to this one: Thou pribbling, beef-witted, lewdster.  See?  I feel better already.

You must be thinking that my unicorn glitter is pretty mundane, but it’s just the right speed for this time of my life.  As a happy, horned quadruped, I frolic and prance most days.  But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit there were a few sharp pebbles in the magic meadow.  I’m happy to be home, but in a strange way I miss our community at the hospital and at the Ronald McDonald House.  I was chatting with my friend today, another mom whose daughter has cancer.  I admitted how hard it is sometimes to be around people who don't "get it," who can’t, don’t, or are unwilling to understand how altered our lives have become.  It’s exhausting at times.  And then I feel bad because how could anyone know?  The best any of us can do is to listen and try to be supportive of our loved ones.

Rock, meet hard place.  Here’s an example:

Today is Torture Tuesday.  Lauren was upset this morning because she was missing her social studies class.  Funny that, my kid loves school.  So we’re sitting in the little office in the basement of BJ Penn’s gym for a physical therapy appointment.  Mid-session, a mutual acquaintance walks in.  We knew this lady BC (before cancer). She’s sweet, fun, and a little crazy in a laidback-surfergirl kind of way.  Anyway, she asked if we had tried noni leaf to "cure" L's scar and to help “heal the bone inside her leg.”   (If you aren’t familiar with noni, here’s scholarship á la Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Morinda_citrifolia)

Our exchange went like this:

Crazy Sweet Lady at PT: You chew up a handful of young noni leaves, then smear the paste on the wound. Cover with mature leaves.

ME: Umm. She's still got small open parts on her wound. Not sure it would be good to chew it. You know, saliva and such.

CSLaPT:: Oh no, you gotta chew it. It's totally okay. There's something in the spit.

ME, in my head: Yeah... bacteria. That's the 'something' in spit. Why would I put the leaves of something called "dog dumpling plant" in my mouth? And good to know you received a medical degree while we were away this last year. Ahhhh!

ME, aloud: Well, um, thanks. (Weak smile)


I know this woman means well, but she rolled her eyes that I would question natural healing methods.  Ugh!  What does she know?  And in that moment, I inwardly roll my own eyes.

Have I become that kind of person?  Someone jaded. A hardened shell instead of a soul transformed by experience?   Don't blame the noni or its "dog dumplings." It's me.

I used to be cool.  The BC Piper would not have poo-pooed native healing wisdom. I’ve spent my time roaming the aisle of crunchy granola health food stores, burned purifying incense, worn Birkenstocks, and on occasion eschewed a razor.  But this feels different.  Over the last year we've spent too much time "in da house" of Western medicine: antiseptics; colorful, life-saving chemicals in hermetically sealed baggies; reliable pain relievers; heavy-duty antibiotics—you know, pharmaceutical interventions.

Is it paranoia?  I mean, how scary was Lauren’s MRSA infection in January?  We almost lost her. And who knows what could have happened without our pals on the Infectious Diseases team at Seattle Children’s Hospital.  Dr. Bell, Dr. Thor, Dr. Ducky Bowtie, and the drove of white-coated residents, I am forever in your debt and at the same time scarred by it.  My perspective has shifted outside the realm of chewed poultices and healing crystals... so much so that I have delayed seeing my own healer.  Will Jan, the most fabulous acupuncturist/masseuse even recognize me?  I want to believe in a grander, more holistic and encompassing vision of health and healing.  I want my chanting and smudge sticks, along with the rest.  It's too difficult to bridge the gap some days.

Chirping from my phone, a natural sound instead of a buzz or beep. The timer on my phone lets me know that rumination hour is finished.  For peace of mind, I’m back to unicorn romping in my magic meadow.  And to celebrate I will enjoy a pre-romp glass of wine.  Don’t ask how I can do this as a hooved animal.  I’m magical, damn it!