Bees probably don’t have back problems. Or if they do, we have no way to find out about it.
But people do. When I was in my 40th year, my mother tried to kill me. It was completely unconscious—at least I hope it was—but she turned her car left into the path of an oncoming vehicle and stopped in the middle of the lane.
The door caved in on me.
The funny thing was that it was November in Colorado, and I was wearing a heavy pair of corduroy slacks. A week or so later, back home in Vermont, I looked down at the side of my leg to find blue, purple, yellow, and green-striped bruises in an exact imprint of the corduroy’s wale.
I went to an orthopedist who found that my spine took a rather strange L-shaped bend in the middle, where the top half of the vertebral column was pushed to the left.
A couple of years of pain later, I found a chiropractor and, later still, a neuromuscular massage therapist. Between the two of them, they managed to get my spine back into shape. Thank goodness.
Now I’ve found someone (something) else. And I have to tell another story to lead into this. When I was in my early thirties I became very, very ill. In the middle of one coughing, vomiting bout, I felt something tear inside me. I asked my then-husband to take me to the emergency room, but there was a flu epidemic going around Vermont at the time. He said—and I’m sure he felt this was quite reasonable—“No. They’ll just tell you it’s the flu and send you home. You probably pulled a muscle.” He went back to the TV and I kept throwing up.
Ten days later I took our two small children to a babysitter, told them Mommy has to go to the doctor, but I’ll be back. I then drove myself to our family doc, who diagnosed a ruptured appendix and told me to have my husband drive me to the emergency room. “I can’t,” I said. “He’s at work.”
The doc thought I was crazy.
I drove myself to the hospital, passed out from the pain in the emergency room, and was admitted. They pumped me full of antibiotics overnight and operated the next morning. The after-effects of peritonitis kept me in the hospital for 21 days.
And my kids both developed abandonment issues—I’m sure they must have.
It was a couple of years before I could even touch my abdomen. Although the pain has lessened since then, it’s never really gone away.
Now—and this is the point of all this rambling—I’ve discovered Pam Reagin, who practices Structural Energetic Therapy® in Hoschton, GA. She explained to me that both of these incidents resulted in internal scar tissue, called adhesions. The ones in my neck and spine have pulled one shoulder lower than the other. The ones from the appendectomy have affected my entire belly area.
I’ve had five or six sessions with Pam now. And I can finally touch my belly—push on it even—with no pain for the first time in more than 30 years. Now she’s beginning to work on my neck and collarbone area. I’m looking forward to not being lopsided.
I don’t know what sort of adhesions you have—but you might want to Google Structural Energetic Therapy and find someone in your area. If you’re in Georgia, email me and I’ll give you Pam’s number.
Balance is a good thing.
BEEattitude for Day #586:
Blessed are those who fly carefully, for their wings shall uplift them.
The teeny details:
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