Healing

What a week. Monday my own choice; shamanic healing because neither public service nor private sector are healing this tendon properly, and I am at my wit's end. I may record this experience in another post but for now, fair to say it was interesting and looked at some important issues... just not the one on which I expected to focus.

Tuesday, an eye thing. They put drops in to expand my pupils and have a good look at what's going on. There's lights and stuff and maybe that's the reason I was very nauseous in a too bright world. Ridiculous but that was me KO'd for a lot of the day.

Today the mammogram, which hurt like hell, my breasts stinging and itching even now These people are keen aren't they? First the GP can't find anything wrong but... q the mammogram and next week another doctor who will give me the results, and poke me around even more. This is all made much worse by my inability to lie to my mother. It's not that I'm George Washington or anything, I can certainly lie but it's not second nature to me by a long shot. When it comes to Mum I just feel very wrong about doing it, and I never seem to have enough time to work up a credible alternative story. I have told her two major lies by omission, one I rest easy with because it's not my place to tell her, the other... to this day, she knows nothing about the attack, because while the shock might not kill her, I have no doubt it would send her into a schizophrenic tailspin and she'd be bartering her jewellery for my safety with the voices in her head from now til the day she dies, no exaggeration.

But I wasn't thinking and she asked and I said the truth, so of course here we go. I just cannot, I can't. She's a fear multiplier, and with me already finding myself wrestling for self control in Get your hands off me or I'll punch you mode, I couldn't find the clever words to convince, couldn't muster enough ingenuity to tell a good story. She managed to make her phone work long enough to phone me in the waiting room and demand to know why I was whispering. Now her phone isn't working again (read, she's been fiddling with it or the cable in the night) and she's, oh I don't know, I do not know what she's doing. I have no energy to send that way right now. I need to stop and lose myself in an afternoon's watching North and South again, just so that I can watch Richard Armitage's hilariously brooding hero. I find him most unfortunate, in so much as the woman he wants always seems to catch him beating someone up. My body hurts. Ow.

I found myself in a cab being driven by a taxi driver who has found Alcoholics Anonymous and God together. He was a kind man, and he wanted to talk, not just to be heard, but to feel that he was helping. Maybe he did. What I tried to do, to add to the healing vibe, was really listen. I don't know if it helped me, but I hope it pleased him. Ugh. I am faint and the room is starting to spin, I must stop. Tomorrow DW.