Hello! This newsletter, you may have noticed, is “late.” I usually send this Lunaticle out just before the full moon, but it’s two weeks after the full moon — just in time for the new moon on Sunday, August 4th.
So what’s with the scare quotes around the word “late” then? Read on, Friend, read on.
On July 7th, the energetic gong that is me and my little life was WHACKED by the universe and the reverberations are just now beginning to die down, revealing an entirely different energetic figuration.
BIG OLE SPIRITUAL LESSONS!
You may or may not be aware, but I broke my leg on Sunday, July 7th. I was NOT skating, as it may be reasonable to assume. Rather I was trying to hang a hummingbird feeder from a beautiful big tree in the front yard and I fell. Really hard. I was home alone and it took me about an hour to drag myself the 30 or so feet into the house, shaking and crying and cursing the whole time. I didn’t think it was broken. I thought I could tough it out.
By Monday morning when my mom got up, I was screaming to go to the hospital. I broke my right “tibial plateau” which required surgery that seemed to be kind of exciting for all the young orthopedic surgeons. Good for them!
I spent that Monday night in the hospital. Being the weak-stomached autistic lady that I am, I started vomiting that night at the hospital. The hospital folks kept feeding me Zofran to ease my nausea. They sent me home with some, too. Along with some opioids and blood thinners and a bag of full of other stuff.
I went back to the hospital for surgery on Thursday. I think it went well (I was unconscious, but they said it went well) and now I have metal in my leg so that’s different. But it seems to be healing well.
Back home Thursday night, and one would think it would’ve been smooth(ish) sailing from there, but no, it wasn’t!
The vomiting and nausea continued and by Sunday, a week after the accident, I hadn’t pooped in a week. Sorry not sorry for TMI, we’re all grown-ups here and this is an important part of the story.
I called the nurse line and they said come back to the ER.
This is where things went south in a rather urgent way.
Here’s the letter I wrote to my primary care physician after the fact.
“Thanks for checking in on me. When I returned to the ER 4 days after my surgery because I was so constipated I was sick, I had the worst experience of my life at Denver Health. Not because of being abandoned in a dirty bathroom (on a toilet seat covered with someone else’s pubic hair) while random men from the public wandered in and out. Nah, that’s just standard, as were the other various indignities that occurred at the hands of surly nurses and orderlies.
What was truly troubling was the flagrant disregard of medical contraindications. Although the medical instructions given to me by Denver Health indicated “DO NOT GIVE HER ZOFRAN” because of the duloxotine I take, I was given it frequently and with great abandon. I’ve never felt closer to death, as the “toxicity syndrome” (that the paperwork Denver Health gave me predicted would occur) took hold of my body.
I suppose that I’m grateful, in a way. At the heart of that horrific syndrome that kept me having stomach tremors for days, I recognized the “episodes” that have been plaguing me for years, that flash of toxicity that absolutely brings me to my knees — generally in the morning, soon after I’ve taken duloxotine.
So I’m rawdogging life now, as they say. No Tylenol, no nothing.
I understand that you have to tell me not to quit duloxotine in order to cover your bum and that of Denver Health. You’re not the first doctor to object to me quitting like this, but you’ll certainly be the last.
Thanks again.”
To say this has been a HUGE event in my life is an understatement. And while my ego is very frustrated and cranky, I know that this is a GIGANTIC level-up for me.
I know as a Reiki healer and as someone who’s made it my life to inquire deeply into the truth of our predicament here on Earth that trauma is stored in our joints. I also know that my genetic line has been holding on to generational trauma since the Roman conquest of what is now the UK 2000 years ago. I knew the trauma was too much to pass on, and that’s a large part of why I chose not to have children.
And so I just sort of steeped in the trauma for years, and for over 30 years I had no doubt in my mind that I would eventually end my own life.
But then a miracle happened in 2020 (I don’t know what else to call it) and now everything, absolutely everything, is grist for my mill as I joyfully participate in the sorrows of the world.
And I’ve been doing the work to liberate my soul. I’ve been digging away at the trauma, from both this lifetime and, you know, the last two millenia. But that’s a lotta work for one lifetime, and I didn’t get started until I was almost 50.
The last four years have been incredible — the first “happy” years of my life. And I’ve been doing really deep and hard work of liberating my soul from the aforementioned trauma.
But I guess I needed a boost. Or a whack — it depends on your perspective. And the Universe delivered one.
So…back to the scare quotes around “late.”
Like so many of us, a huge portion of my spiritual work (the empowering of my magical self about which I talk so much) has consisted of tearing down beliefs and rules within myself that have been inculcated by the late-capitalistic, patriarchal death cult in which we live.
In spite of myself, I was hosting an internal cop who was telling me the rules. I HAD TO get the Lunaticle newsletter out at the full moon every month.
See where I’m going with this?
Part of the wonder of the accident was that it seems to have slapped the fuckery out of my internal cop.
So to the idea of my newsletter being late, I say PSHAW!
I look back at my goals, especially prior to 4 years ago, and they were so…the kids have a term for it that I find apropos. I was a “pick-me bitch.” I wanted a partner to pick me. A job to pick me. An agent to pick me to publish my work.
All that takes some undoing! But this recent physical trauma has accelerated the hell out of this process.
Not only am I actively striving to not be a pick-me bitch, I’m not even letting anybody cut my hair anymore (much less paying them to do so!). Here’s a video I made about that.
So I’ve been grounded, for the summer, by the universe.
But I’m so incredibly grateful.
Near the beginning of summer, I fell.
At the beginning of fall, ironically, I’ll rise. Like the very awkward and clumsy but intensely liberated and joyful phoenix that I am.
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