Beach Sue to the Rescue
Today, in parts, has felt like an endurance test for me. The back did its ‘twanging’ thing this morning and it hasn’t been the same since. It felt like pieces of elastic being ‘stretched’ or violin strings being plucked. No beautiful sound emerged, just me effing and blinding and rolling over in agony. And then the inevitable realisation that this hurts and I need help to put myself back together again. Fortunately my wonderful oestopath was able to slot me an appointment and I’m hoping that soon, I will stop waddling like a duck who has lost her quack, and ‘feel’ myself again.
The back has had lots of adventures into pain and spasm over the years. From a silly impatient me at a road junction at the age of 21, which rendered my car bent out of shape, and me with it. Then the ‘child bearing’ years, and the lugging of baby and buggy and then the Pampered Chef years lugging crates of kitchen tools to ‘kitchen shows’ around the town and beyond. And occasions when laughable domestic bliss like emptying the dishwasher, loading laundry and washing up, have made it go again. I have correlated the back ‘goes’ when I am heavily stressed. And today I have been waiting for the food plan to drop into my inbox and I have been rather fretting about the marathon of changes that are going to be asked of this body and this mind in its quest for healing.
And last night I was incredibly tense, driving in torrential rain on a road surface I’ve coined ‘Pot Hole Nightmare’. And in the dark, the pot holes, or bloody great craters on the roads, are impossible to see in the dark. The bumps and jars are like the landscape of this body and they symbolise the events and situations that I have had to traverse and navigate around. I have felt blind in the dark and I have run over some of the metaphoric ‘holes’ and made more damage than I knew possible. I have, over the years, attempted to fill in the holes, and yet they have just got bigger. And now I am looking directly down the road, seeing all these pot holes, which represent all the things that need fixing. And contemplating the ‘tools’ that I need to employ to fix them. And these changes seem very daunting, and I’m unsure if it will make any difference.
Tonight, we started the food plan. I’m going gently with this because it’s not easy. We had lambs liver and I didn’t like it. It reminded me too much of the dried congealed liver my Mum cooked for my Sis and I when were kids. It tasted like sawdust back then, and Mum would make us sit at the table until we had eaten it. To this day I feel sick when I think of that horrible dinner and no wonder I wanted to eat my Angel Delight first. My family were shocked when I partook of the Angel Delight and Strawberries first. My logic was …. have the thing you like first, and then if you have any room left, then have the other stuff. My sister still laments to this day about my eating dessert first. Yet another time that I didn’t comply to the norm. I think about all of the ‘rituals of conformity’ that I have adhered to over the years and I’m beginning to question a lot of them. It was a joy eating my pudding first and I love that me who put joy before conformity.
The non conforming Susie has saved me so many times in the past few years. She’s the girl that took her 8 year old son to Bournemouth beach one sunny Thursday evening and had a picnic on the beach. She’s the woman that said ‘no’ to the MRnA gene therapy jab, which Mark says has probably saved me from further pain and ill-health, and the me that found RDI to help our little family communicate much better. ‘Beach Sue’ is the fun part of me, the little girl who ate her Angel Delight first, and the woman who has crusaded for answers to life’s challenges she has faced. And I know I need to channel her this year as I take a deep breath and read Mark’s plan to bring health back to this body. And I need a decent recipe to make liver more palatable please!