I woke up this morning and knew it was time to clean the floor of all the strewn, jumbled boxes of medicinals that I had hastily, feverishly pulled from their high shelves in the middle of that first night, seeking relief.

Above:  the final sort for flu and cold meds, from as far back as over two decades ago. Likely some of the tinctures (from Jackson Hole) are no longer viable. Just watched a video to tell me how I’d know. Luckily they’ve all been made with alcohol and stored at a relatively stable cool temp, in the dark, high in my closet. Going through them was, for me, a trip through time, much like going through old photos. I am amazed at their variety: astragalus, echinacea, of course; but had to look up the medicinal uses of some of them: usnea, red root. Other boxes contain first aid, stress relief, deep cleanse materials, Plus lots of essential oils, homeopathics, etc. Archeological traces from five decades of beyond allopathic healing.

I look back on myself as a younger woman — of any age, she’s always “younger! — and am once again struck by how my view of myself has changed. I used to look back with disgust, grumbling to myself internally, “You were such an idiot.” Now I look back with fondness, as if on a fledging, who was just learning to fly, and of course, would stumble, fall, pick herself up, and try, try again.

 

Though it was only four days long (three really, in terms of fever), it’s as if there was a ME before, and now a ME after, with those strange four days constructing a thick, fuzzy border between the them. I wondered: was it always like this when I got sick? I haven’t been actually sick in bed for at least 12 years. This amazing feeling of renewal, rebirth? Well, likely. The painful process of detoxification lightens the load; as if disembodied, I easily move through space.

This morning, on my first walk with puppy Shadow since I went down, I thrilled to the utterly familiar rhythm of walking, deep breathing, flowing through space and time. Daily walking that I have done, without fail, ever since I was a teenager and discovered that if I walked home from my boring summer job (retyping a nurse’s manual on a manual typewriter stuck in a room by myself), it actually defused my pent-up fury.

Walking, day after day, year after year, decade after decade, on trails, hiking through forests and up mountains; walking city streets and sidewalks, around country square miles, inside villages in Turkey, Peru, Greece, England, Thailand; walking through city, state, national parks and wilderness;  on and on, I never tire of this daily ritual which, more than any other single practice, has not just held me together and grounded me into Mother Earth, but uplifted my heart throughout my long life. Walking with a friend, deep in conversation. Walking alone and meeting strangers, soul to soul, for a brief instant, a “hello!” The swoon of roses and lilacs; the whiff of baking drifting from a kitchen window, or a restaurant; meeting birds, as they flow by — a trilling songbird, a murmuration of crows, a single, staring hawk, perched haughtily on tree branch above. Trees wave their greetings, clouds, sun, even stars (when I’m walking early on winter mornings), all blessing, warming, winking, hello, hello: We Are All One.

On this morning’s walk, absolutely nothing internal hindered me. My friend Dan was walking with us. We both could tell that Shadow was thrilled to be walking with his Mom again, and that she was feeling better. I thanked Dan for the stew he sent along (I finished it for today’s lunch.) As I had thanked Marita for faithfully walking Shadow for four days; and Colin, for supplying me with anything I needed purchased until done. And my heart and my gratitude go out to the countless friends and readers here who also sent their best wishes, and to the dear friend who sent Reiki for the entire time, telling me, on the fourth day that “I can tell you’ve been fighting something big because of how the Reiki keeps flowing.”

 

In that same email exchange, I detailed her the following:

This is unlike anything I’ve ever gone through.

Extreme, but not unbearable pain on the second day in digestive tract, up and down for a few hours. (And this was when I had eaten nothing.)

Third day. Extreme, but not unbearable leg pain, making me stir restlessly in bed, again for a few hours. This one brought me back to being in bed as a teenager, same leg pains. Years later I wondered if I was unusually sensitive to the atomic tests they were doing in Nevada which at times blew over southern Idaho.

Fourth day, today. Lying in bed this am with severe but not unbearable pain in liver. Again, a couple of hours.

In each case I knew, even with the first one, that the pain would dissolve in a few hours.

Also, the whole time, tremor worse, which may have to do with hardly eating.

One cup miso, so far, two tangerines, one apple and one pear this morning. I did try stew Dan had sent over, but stopped after about one third cup, yesterday.

Also, have been drinking perilla tea, which grows abundantly and wildly around here.

Due to lack of energy I’ve not been walking or doing my practices. Need to begin again before entropy sets in.

Being Ill at 80 is verrrry different than earlier.

 

I will have one more post-flu post, tomorrow, before resuming on Monday with my bewildered reflections on what seems to be going on in the world.