Friday, January 13, 2012


I had a wonderful day today, and I have to thank Dr. Ross and the twenty-four hours of soul-searching he put me through. It's not that I'm following his advice. To the contrary, I've decided definitively and happily to carry on with the Shoemaker-protocol-plus-extra-detox I've been doing for the past four months. Dr. Ross might be surprised if he knew, but my experience as his patient tells me he would entirely respect my decision.

Those who are close to me know I've done my share of complaining about my current medical program, and even as I complained there was this part of my brain going--but weren't you the queen of accepting your circumstances? Didn't you do all that Buddhist stuff so you could get your soul in line with life-as-suffering? Why isn't it working anymore?

Well, for a long time it wasn't. I'd felt so close to completely better that a year ago I said 2011 was the year I'd be through with Lyme. And when Lyme, or Post Lyme, suddenly took over again, I just couldn't get my head around it. At my parents' house for Christmas a few weeks ago, I wept on my mother's shoulder for all those lost hours I'd spent just dealing with being sick.

But suddenly, yesterday, when faced with the alternatives, I felt at the most visceral level how deeply I still needed to keep on the detox plan. Because detoxing means rest and sleep, and I need that more than anything else in the world, more than the happiness writing brings me. or the joy of swing dancing, or the tempting trap of getting on with my life sooner rather than later. So what if there are a few more months when I don't do much besides drink teas and take naps and give myself enemas? Compared to a couple months of insomnia and a possible lifetime of managing sleep disturbance, I can afford to be patient.

Yesterday, something in my spirit just shifted, and my mental battle against the detox tasks melted away. I sank onto the couch in the afternoon and drifted in and out of sleep, I did a water enema before bed and slept soundly through the night, taking my regular dose of Cholestyramine the one time I woke up. In the morning, after the Poet's alarm went off, I stayed in bed, took more supplements and dozed for another hour. When the thought that I might be doing something more satisfying drifted among the half-dreams, I told myself no, this was the most important-- to give over to rest, to retrain my body to sleep all it needs to.

And when I did get up, I had a lovely day. Even though I spent quite a bit of time on detox, there was some time for writing, too. Nothing felt hurried, nothing felt out of joint.

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