Update from India January 9
I am really in the shits now. It’s been many days now coming down from jet lag and a really horrendous journey, as well as the beginning of treatments and a virtual wave of toxins passing thru me as I begin to cleanse. It was so bad that I was ready to come home.
Here’s the deal: We are awakened at 6am with medicine. At 7:30am they bring us tea, and at 9 we eat a breakfast of rice cakes and chutney. Mmmmmm. I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night with the most horrible and uncontrollable fear… it’s finally breaking. The doctor thinks it is chemo coming out of me. I certainly hope so. If this was the way I had to feel while here, I wouldn’t make it. The paranoia and fear has been truly awful. Thank god for Anne Wheeler who stands by me and never judges even though I’ve been a real pain in the ass.
We are in the middle of a small village, bordering a river that runs lazily down to the ocean. It is lush jungle… lots of bugs… very, humid and not very fancy. There are huge spaces of time where nothing happens. Nothing. We sit. Bedtime is at 7:30 or 8pm. No wonder I wake up at 3am! The palm trees sway in the breeze and it is jaw-dropping gorgeous. There is a distinct feeling that India is “out there” somewhere teeming with life, but here it is very quiet and remote. I’ve had a lot of problem with my legs swelling and just today we finally got them down and it looks like it’s under control. There is such a different style to the medicine here. My legs were wrapped in a special mud and elevated twice daily, then I was given a milk bath with twelve different root herbs infused in the milk and honestly when it was over my legs were half the size from when we began. Three gorgeous and committed women work on your body at one time. They are listening to music and singing and their hands are so loving and caring, your legs would stop swelling, too.
I found a spider the size of my head last night in my bathroom. Luben got rid of it and called me a big baby head. Yeah.
The people here are amazing. Dr. Seena is a beautiful young ayruvedic doctor that runs this clinic with her father-in-law, Vasu Devan. VD looks like Frank Sinatra. Seena is so elegant and wonderful. She’s really skilled and I feel safe and confident in her care. I’ve been vomiting up some of the medications and it’s not always easy to deal with the way things smell here–even the food–which is prepared according to treatment, so it ain’t exactly delicious. For some reason I’ve just kind of become sensitive to smell here and so I’ve been losing my cookies quite regularly. It will pass. I think most of the negative stuff is passing as I write this, actually. I dunno… there’s just something about the dead of night… pitch black… and you’re in India and it’s so different and so strange and sometimes I just wanna come home. Of course… to what? To chemo? I mean… I’ve got to give this a chance. It’s just that it’s hard. The treatments are difficult too… very rigorous… not at all peaceful… except the milk bath was kinda soft.
I miss you all so much. I so appreciate my home and my family and friends. You have no idea how I cherish you all. I will try to get to the computer at least twice a week. I feel like I am very far away and it is not easy to let it all go and let it all be. I want to know what is going on with all of you so email me and keep me in your thoughts.
I love you.