Healing hands

I had the start of another entry typed up here and I've just deleted it to start all over again. Probably just as well because it droned on about someone I know and their boorish comments made yesterday, the problem being, of course, that whilst writing such things in such a public place I run the risk of being 'found out' by this person. That would be bad, partly because it would be offensive to the person involved (when in fact they don't have a clue just how much they upset me) and partly because I'd be on a sticky wicket having to suddenly explain myself, at a time when I had already calmed down and it no longer seemed like such a big deal. All of which goes to prove the following:

(a) This journal is not a true reflection of me and what really goes on in my head, and

(b) I am a wimp who hates confrontation.

Instead I will do my usual and let it bubble around inside me until (very shortly no doubt) it all seems less important and I forget about it until their next crass comment when suddenly my irritation seems to have been magically ratcheted up a notch. Now you know why I have such high blood pressure. This method of dealing with things is, of course, deeply unhealthy but at least it leaves me with the preferred external mask of appearing stoical, sanguine and judiciously wise. (By the way, to the people who know me here I'm sure I actually rarely appear stoical, sanguine and judiciously wise). Those choosing to follow my methodology would do well to have a team of counsellors on hand for the day when they finally crack and completely lose their marbles.

Anyway, on the subject of yesterday's boor and the comments that drove me nuts, my reply to him was:

'No not all. It's other people that seem unable to grasp the nettle and keep asking me damn silly questions'.

If you're a regular around here you will have an idea of the subject matter of the conversation and a rough idea of why I am getting ruddy close to being out and out rude.

Right then, is all of that clear to everyone? Oh boy it's good to get these things out in the open, isn't it? Heh.

To other news...

I visited a chiropractor this week. (For some reason I keep wanting to call him 'the chiropodist' which could cause confusion when I describe the moment when he stuck a finger in my mouth to re-align my bones). The visit to the chiropractor was very interesting actually. Alain persuaded me to go and see him because he has worked miracles with alleviating chronic pain in Alain's back and we've heard similar stories of happy success with other people we know. With pains in my right arm troubling me for weeks on end, and no consistent relief using prescribed painkillers, I was frankly more than ready to try any new alternative.

I went in armed with a detailed medical form that he had asked me to fill in - much more detailed and therefore much more useful than any form I might have filled in at any other medical practice. One of the questions asked me to describe the levels of pain -at best and at worst- that I am experiencing, on a scale of 1 (low) to 10 (highest). This question had caused me a peculiar amount of trouble because I have nothing to compare 'me' with since I have never experienced anyone else's tolerance to pain. This shows you what a complicated soul I am and just how difficult I can make things for myself. It took the family to point out that it's irrelevant how everyone else is feeling, the point is that the scale is an indicator of how I am feeling. Doh! With childbirth as the worst pain I have ever felt I mentally put that as my level 10 and so placed my current rumblings at 5 at best (because it will not go away and leave me alone and is too much to just ignore) and at 7-8 at worst (because sometimes the pain will escalate to the sensation that muscles could be tearing inside my arm against a chipped bone). Get the picture? Well Charles (chiropractor) was most sympathetic and his sweet understanding made me want to start blubbering right there and then because for the first time I thought that a medic was really understanding what I am experiencing. Sally (my physio) recently persuaded me to see a counsellor after I ended up in floods of tears with her but I felt that she and the counsellor involved were more wound up on 'the sense of bereavement that [I] must surely be feeling after the stroke'. I don't think either were really listening to me when I said that I thought I would cope OK if only the pain would stop and I could get a good night's sleep.

Charles came across as pleasant and approachable and after his initial examination was confident that he could make a marked difference in my life. He tried to take the first consultation only as far as was acceptable to me, and explained what was going on. I was interested by his thoughts - that my long periods of inactivity were probably causing problems in specific areas of my lower back, shoulders and chest and that these problems were manifesting themselves in the acute arm pain. This partly tallied with some of Sally's thoughts as a 'mainstream' physio. I have no difficulty in accepting the idea that pain may actually originate in a different area of the body because I have a rudimentary understanding of things like acupuncture - now medically proven to work, according to our westernised ideas. I was therefore happy enough to also accept Charles' thought that some of the bones of my face might need readjustment, hence the fingers in my mouth that I mentioned earlier.