Poison ivy, Publicity, and Ostriches

Article Tools

Image Gallery

Print

E-mail

Comments

RSS

What was significant about the meeting was that it was a group of predominantly older and ailing members of the community getting together to voice their dissatisfaction with some of the modern medical practices. This was coupled with a desire to seek out healthy alternatives to prescription drugs. More significantly, the meeting reminded us to take responsibility for our own health. Later, Elizabeth assured me that Can- Aid would help my arm and my mother and I split the cost of a bottle. It was no quick cure and to escape my affliction, I biked up Crowfoot Mountain to visit my sister-in-law, Kerry. A diminutive, darkeyed dynamo, she was in her garden wearing a swank strawhat, bandanna, and welcoming grin. As well as a homesteader, Kerry is a performer and environmental activist. Invariably we have a passionate discussion. Kerry winced at the sight of my arm. When she offered to make me a poultice of conifrey leaves (from her garden) and goldenseal, I agreed. I felt genuine relief from the layers of wet leaves. Thanking her, I stuffed spare conifrey in my pack and began to pedal back down the cantankerous mountain road.

The body has its own wisdom, I remembered later as I laid on the naturopath's couch clutching a vial of nettles. The gentle doctor with the trace of an accent didn't conceal his disgust when I told him I had been prescribed antibiotics. He noted that for every poisonous plant there is an antidote growing close by. In this case it was horsetails. However, my infection had gone far beyond a simple poison ivy rash. What I had was an allergic reaction. The naturopath's approach to illness was holistic. He treated the whole body rather than the condition. Beginning with muscle testing, I laid prone and resisted while he pressed my arms downwards. Then pressing various physical centers, he explained that he was stimulating my own immune system to fight the infection. He also had me touch the rash. Prescribing a goldenseal wash followed by a cream of calendula, conifrey root, and coneflower, the doctor warned me that if the infection got into my blood I would have to be hospi talized. I left the office uncertain whether I had been subjected to voodoo or a sophisticated system of healing.

The robust manager of the Golden Pantry health food store had additional advice. He suggested that I mix the goldenseal half and half with myrrh and with cold-pressed olive oil to make it into a salve. His claim was that the goldenseal would heal the surface, but that the myrrh was needed to penetrate the epidermis and draw the bacteria out. He also noted how antibiotics kill all of the bacteria in the body, including the good bacteria, leaving the system defenseless. When I revealed to him my own belief that my body remembered the initial encounter with poison ivy and now was overreacting, the merchant agreed. With significance he added, "Every cell has a memory."

RSS | Comments | E-mail | Print