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NAVIGATING HEALTH as an 83-year old “contrarian,” an apparently endless saga

August 15, 2026

Yesterday, I walked over to a nearby IU Health Urgent Care Center to ask a question about my health records. I was referred to “My IU Health patient portal.” So I went into that website today, and all I came across was my wrist fracture from 2024.

The reason I walked there to ask in the first place was because I recently (finally) went to a “holistic” MD to speak to her about my situation: 83 years old, take care of my own health, no meds, no doc, etc. Told her about the (brief, and ultimately absurd), long ago, “health crisis” I underwent, where, after a CT scan, I was told I had “cysts in both ovaries and a large mass in the uterus with a larger blood supply than we’d like to see.” (Plus, it turned out, “a 6-inch growth in the pancreas.” What? No. That was a mistake. It was actually in the liver, “where it’s probably no big deal.”)

I told the holistic doc that this drama began the longer saga of agreeing to see a doc once a year for a pelvic ultrasound: to determine whether or not especially the “large mass in the uterus” was growing. That doc died just prior to my fourth appointment. . .

I had told her from the start that I assumed it was NOT growing, since I had likely had all of these “peculiarities” (i.e., my brilliant body had found these ways of successfully absorbing massive stress) since child-bearing age. . .

— see 89-page e-book On Mothering —

. . . and that I would likely die WITH them, rather than OF them. 

 

I currently seek official records of that strange, unusual for me, long ago medical adventure, and remembered that I had written about it, and what followed, in what transmogrified into a multidimensional, multidisciplinary multi-everything “perspective,” starting back when the event occurred, and writing on and on, for months! Clearly, I cannot help but be interested in, even utterly determined, both personally and culturally, to bridge and ultimately integrate, unify, make whole again, the utterly false and horrifically tragic Cartesian split between mind and body!

BACK WHEN I WAS DYING (1)

Aha! So I see now that happened in 2008, eighteen years ago! Actually, I doubt IU health keeps records for that long.

I had thought I’d see if I could resurrect that old CT scan, because I’m going to have another pelvic exam as soon as a new gynecologist comes to town that the female doc I consulted says is worthy of my trust. Might as well, eh? Even though there have been no changes as far as I can detect.

Just trying to be “responsible” for my health. But actually, maybe I should just forget the whole endeavor. I’ve done so well with non-allopathic ways of being with my body that what am I “worried” about? Or am I  “worried.” No. Not really. I will die when I die. And meanwhile, I will live.

Paralyzed, nerve-damaged, inventor son Colin Cudmore and I will share a meal downtown late this afternoon, to “celebrate”  (the eve of) the three-year anniversary of what I call Colin’s Catastrophe, which occurred on August 16, 2023, the exact day my transit Uranus returned for the first time, to begin its saga of moving over first my Moon, then Uranus (exactly opposite Mars), and finally Saturn — in the 6th (Virgo’s natural) house that governs daily health routines . . . for me, two full hours of “physical culture” (four-mile walk, yoga, chikung, taichi, intermittent fasting 18/6, no processed food, etc.). This eruptive Uranian procession over the most stressful part of my chart (transit Uranus at 5° currently approaching Saturn) not to finalize until March 2028, when we plan to (or finalize plans to) move from Bloomington to be with brother Sean in Colorado.

Two days ago, an astonishing, decidedly unlikely, three hour saga

August 14, 2026

This site was weirdly down yesterday, so I got a reprieve from what had been my intention, to tell the tale of what “happened to me” the afternoon of the day before. So I tell it now.

I had driven to the downtown Bloomington public library, and found all the parking spots taken in the library lot. I would have to park on the street. Okay. Right away, I snagged a parking space on the left side of the one-way street facing the entrance to the library parking lot. Good!

Then I began the process of parking.

And that is where this saga begins.

 

I have never? seldom? parked on the left side of a one-way street. And found myself, right away, having trouble backing in correctly, turning the wheel and slowly going forward again, slowly backing up again, etc. Not getting very far. Still a vast space between my car and the curb. Plus, despite close attention,  I had inadvertently bumped the bumper of the gigantic new black truck behind me.

I got out to check out the situation. At which point, the driver of that magnificent truck, a young man, got out also!

I didn’t know he was in there! Felt instantly guilty!

So of course I admitted that I had bumped him, but that I didn’t see any damage, and he said yes, he didn’t see any either. I then said, but not too strongly, lest I offend him, “After all, that’s what bumpers are for!” Not sure he appreciated that remark, but in any case, we seemed to be getting along. He had obviously noticed my difficulty in parking, and so, without my asking, waited while I got back in and instructed me just how far I could go, forward and backward, just which way to strongly turn the front wheels each time, etc. So that I soon got parked without the side of my car standing out beyond any of the other cars from the street. (Luckily this car, what had been my paralyzed nerve-damaged son Colin’s car, an old VW GTI, is not large.)

I was so glad that encounter was over! Got out, opened the back door to get out the seven books I had borrowed (in case I wanted to read any of them, and I did read two of them), and started lugging them across the street to the library.

Oops! Suddenly remembered that I hadn’t put a quarter in the meter. So doubled back and did that.

This whole time my current highly charged Uranian nervous-system had been triggered, and my not remembering to put the quarter in the meter alerted me to that.

So did the fact that the tremor — which I first noticed over 20 years ago, and keep at a low level with yoga/chikung/taichi — in my right hand amped up, as it always does when I’m stressed, making it difficult to both get out the quarter from the purse and to insert it into the meter.) All of which I’m sure the young man in the black truck behind me noticed.

Okay, so then I walked into the library, put the books I was returning on the desk, and quickly went to nearby standing shelves with “new arrivals,” picked out five, checked them out, and walked back outside. Not even ten minutes had passed. Didn’t want to linger, because “puppy” Scampi was in the car with the windows cracked. (Luckily it was not that hot a day, or I would have left him home.)

I walked across the street to the car, and as I was about to get back in, noticed that the driver of the black truck behind me (I mean a truck so gigantic that its hood was at the same level as the top of the VW) was still inside! His window was open, so I said, “Were you waiting until I returned so you could also help me get out of the parking spot?” I meant this remark to be humorous, but inside I felt a bit weird. What’s going on? Is something going on?

The young man then got out of the car and came up to me, saying, gently, I don’t want to file an accident report, and I don’t see anything wrong, but just in case, I would like to know your insurance. He seemed somewhat apologetic, as if he didn’t want to disturb me further, but this was the right thing to do. “Progressive,” I told him, “though I don’t have the card on me. I can get the info for you if you email me when I get home.” Instantly, he whipped out his phone, and I spelled out for him, both my name and my email address.

Then he again stood guard while I maneuvered to get out of the parking spot without bumping either front or back vehicles. No big deal.

As I drove off, I thought, “Damn! Should not have gone to the library this afternoon. This, what seemed like not a big deal at all — small bumper bump, at a crawling pace, resulting no visible damage whatsoever — may turn into a big legal and/or insurance mess!”

So yes, the entire incident had triggered me.

Okay. What happened next?

Ten minutes went by.

I had just sat down in my usual living room chair when I noticed someone coming up the stairs outside the picture window.  A COP!

As I noticed him, he had simultaneously seen me through the window, yelled: “Don’t worry. You’re not in trouble!”

As I made my way through the porch door outside onto the platformed steps with kiwi vines overhead, I noticed that there were not one, but three cops, from two cop cars, both having swerved to park on the street in front of the house.

 

The first cop was so handsome he could have been Central Casting.

To my confused look of high alert, he first repeated, soothingly: “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble.” And then proceeded to tell me that they had received a call from someone who thought maybe I was somewhat lost and confused. And I certainly was! By the weirdness of the entire experience! Although what they had in mind was dementia. This was a “wellness check” (on an old woman — although they didn’t say that.)

After I told them what the experience was like for me, how kind and attentive the young man was, how I’m not used to parking on the left side of a one-way street, and so on, they relaxed. Then a second cop mentioned the extraordinarily thick vine that grows up on the side of the platform to the plant covering above.

That’s a kiwi vine, I said. And pointed above to a few kiwis above, about ready for harvest.

He asked how long the vine had been there. I responded, “About 15 years.”

“Wow!” He exclaimed; “You don’t often see a vine like that in Bloomington.”

I then proceeded to tell all three of them about the three-homes-plus-gardens known as Green Acres Urban Farm (greenacresvillage.org), what we are trying to do here, establish a tiny template for the transformation of the suburbs.

They were entranced, even thrilled.  Since they were “on duty,” I had to resist the temptation to offer what we call “The Tour.”

After they left, I came inside, feeling utterly and powerfully protected. Both by the young man in his big beautiful black truck who had waited for me to come back out of the library, because, it turned out, he wanted to make sure I was okay, and by the three cops who pulled up to my house within minutes of my arrival back home, and said, right away, “Don’t worry. You’re not in trouble.”

Wow.

 

BTW: not just Uranus is returning for the first and only time since I was born, but two more outer planet transits are occurring for the first and only time in my long life: transit Neptune opposing both itself and the Midheaven, transit Pluto opposing itself. Plus, Laura Bruno just pointed out to me, the transiting nodes have just conjuncted my original nodes, but in reverse: natal Leo north node opposing Aquarius/Chiron south node: transited by their opposites! I choose to focus mostly on Uranus in these posts, because, given its difficult position in my natal chart, my Uranus Return is by far the most obvious, overwhelming me with its eruptive, intensely surprising energy. But I’d say that my likewise intense feeling of protection — no matter what — is signaled by both the Neptune transit as well as the Pluto transit. Plus, now that I think of it, the nodal transit emphasizes the polarity between individual (Leo north node) and community (Aquarius south node). That they were reversed during this event signals to me that I, an individual (Leo North node conjunct Chiron)) who originally felt the need to be healed, am utterly protected by my Bloomington community (Aquarius)!