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.