The Worms
Crawl In, the Worms Crawl Out
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Worms, big fat juicy ones, eensie
weensy squeency ones, wriggled and squirmed into my left leg. Each one wrapped
itself around a muscle strand and “Zappo!” Turned my muscles from pelvis to
knee into tightly strung barbed wire. That’s what it felt like.
It didn’t happen overnight. A year
and a half ago, I fell and broke my wrist. A nerve disorder (identified by
initials) set in. Through physical therapy I dealt with it. At the same time,
my hip began hurting. But, hey, who’s paying attention? The major pain was in
my arm. I ignored my leg until I
couldn’t. Once I could no longer “cowboy up” I traced the origin and realized
it was the exact same pain (with initials) as my arm. It happens. By this time
I had trouble walking.
What brought this to a head right
now? A friend asked, “Now that you’re alone, and even the snowbirds have flown
back to the north-country, what will you do in an emergency, like another
scorpion sting?” She planted that thought and my mind, which has a mind of its
own, said to my body, “Let’s find out.”
Tuesday I hobbled my awkward bundle
of laundry five blocks to my neighborhood lavanderia. By the time I had
arrived, I couldn’t take another step. I sat in the plaza to rest. Rudy, an acquaintance
who sells raw opals, greeted me, “Como esta?”
“Mal,” I replied. My face told the
truth so my mouth might as well follow.
He asked what was wrong. I told him.
“You need a massage,” he stated. “I’ll arrange it. Be here tomorrow about this same time.”
Almost in tears, I made it back to
the plaza the next morning. A pulmania drove up. “Get in,” Rudy said. “This is
Carlos.” He introduced the driver. “We are going to see Nana. She is the
best.”
Carlos drove us to Pueblo Nuevo, a
section of town I’d not seen. On a dead-end street near a canal sat a pretty
blue house with a small building off to the side, built in the shape of a
parallelogram, Nana’s massage parlor. Nana motioned for me to come. Immediately
I recognized her, “Medicine Woman,” and gave myself into her hands. She is
ancient, beautiful, austere, strong and wiry. I knew she’d find every knot in
my body. She did. She beat me up good. Extracting barbed-wire worms takes
digging. I could hear them screaming, “Tighten that wire! Tighten that wire!”
With Rudy translating, Nana told me, “Go home. Rest; come
back Friday.” The young men delivered me to my doorstep and helped me
inside.
I slept. Overnight I changed from
workaholic to sloth; I curled my tail around my tree branch and slept. All day,
all night, slept. On Friday, Carlos drove me for a repeat performance. My pain
level had gone from a ten to a seven. Still hurt like crazy. At the end of the
second session, Nana gave me a hug and the same instructions, come back Monday.
Again, I slept. My pain level dialed down to five. Still, I couldn’t walk
without my walking stick. I’ll pick up a colorfully painted cane later, once I
can get out and don’t need it. Monday, Wednesday, each session I am better.
I’m allowed light activity in the
morning; rest in the afternoon. I feel like a Princess. My outlook has
improved. I no longer want to crawl into a cave and let the “worms” have me.
I’ll be up and about in no time.
Rudy stopped by to make sure I’m
okay, to see if I needed anything. He will bring me fresh fruit and vegetables
in the morning. He is about my daughter’s age; Carlos perhaps ten years
younger. I’m sure they will be glad when this abuela is up and about. They seem
to have taken responsibility for me, small-town like.
This is a week of holidays. Cinco de
Mayo on Monday and energy on the street ramped up. More importantly, Mexican
Mother’s Day is Saturday, the tenth. Mothers and Grandmothers are revered in
Mexico. Looking out my back door, I don’t
see cards and flowers. I see the whole town shut down while families gather to
honor mothers. Since I seem to be an adopted grandmother, I get the
splash-over.
A couple lessons from my week: I
never know where I’ll find a medicine woman/man. When my closest friends are
thousands of miles away, help just might come from strangers, and like the
worms in the silly childhood song, “they scramble my heart”.
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
May 8, 2014
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