I should have stuck with the Milkshake dance.
When I was little, Dad threw his arms around me to “squeeze the pickle juice out.” He hummed some unnamed tune and plopped an imaginary scoop of coffee ice cream on my head. I giggled when he squirted invisible chocolate syrup with one hand, twirled me 180 degrees with the other, and sloshed in some pretend milk. He whirled me like a blender until my hair stood out and the room blurred.
Pain continued to cascade down my left leg like a Class 5 rapid. The healer hadn’t helped. I wondered what modality Ira would next suggest. I decided to expand my own research. Once again, I perused the Body, Mind and Spirit online directory and hoped for some revelation. I scrolled by Past Life Regression. As I was about to give up, I zoomed in on Vortex Healing. After reading four pages of information, I interpreted that the divine healing originated from the Merlin lineage.
I had waded through the swampland of diagnosis and trekked over the mountainous terrain of the absurd. Back pain still enveloped me like a cocoon.
After years of jet-setting with the alternative medicine crowd, I was stuck on the runway in pain. Then, a single incident inadvertently catapulted me to my next move.
One summer evening, Jim and I drove home from dinner. As we rounded the corner of our block, a red Subaru careened up the street.