Independence. To
be free of tubes, wires, lights meant to heat, heat meant to illuminate, and
free of any machine that rotates, flashes and hums around my body, somehow
mapping my innards which now present with new detours and (dare I say it) dead
ends.
I think I tried everything except running it off. And chocolate. Next time, I’m going jogging with a Hershey
bar.
I do use my cannabidiol (CBD) for these breakthroughs,
but it’s efficacy has become unpredictable: some days a drop or two sublingually
does the trick, others I have to reach for the fast-release oxycodone ---
always effective, but I’d rather be ingesting, shooting, swallowing, rubbing or
inserting an organic reliever versus popping a semisynthetic opioid.
I’m reaching into the Sherman archives, where my
grandma’s formula for good living was simple: “Whatever flips your skirt.”
For now, the docs agree with this approach and
encourage me to use and do whatever works best.
Entering the treatment room, the attending Radionettes again hit my high musical mark. Soon as I climbed up on the terrible table and stretched out in my
mold, they cued up Steppenwolf’s “Magic Carpet Ride.”
On a cloud of sound I drift in the night
Any place it goes is right
Goes far, flies near
To the stars away from here
Any place it goes is right
Goes far, flies near
To the stars away from here
Hmmm … today that may have worked better than running with
chocolate.
More as we go, El