I started out very young with thyroid deficiency and meds they said I would have to take the rest of my life. combined with anemia which didn't respond to the iron I had to take that tore up my stomach. I went through various conditions including hepatitis twice following tetanus shots, until I became deathly ill in my late 20's.

Following the murder of my closest male friend who was also a cousin, and long term family problems, I went downhill and developed clinical depression with worsening phobias and other indications of poor health to the point of attempted suicide. At rock bottom and in terrible physical and emotional/spiritual pain, I at last mentally screamed, yelled, threatened and finally begged, pleaded and bargained with some vague and questionable deity for either a quick death or recovery. Alone there on the vile, foul-smelling carpet of a flophouse room where I had been vomiting up stomach acid for 3 days, I discovered that the GOD I barely believed in apparently believed in me and took away my inner torment right there in that ugly place. And at that moment when my heart got wings but my body was to ill to lift off, a friend followed the inner voice urging her to go find me, and she was at the door coming to rescue me. She literally had to help me up from the floor.

The kind of "ecstasy" one reads about religious zealots exhibiting replaced the mental pain. I had to work very hard to bring myself down out of that exalted, orgasmic state of mind after a few unearthly weeks, but "plummeting back to earth" seems to be a particularly human trait when given such bounty. I did hold on to two of those gifts, however...my sanity, and the understanding that if one is to reach "Heaven" it is necessary to "W.E.A.N." oneself from the earth. That means to achieve the peacefulness that eludes most earthbound travelers, one must Want nothing, Expect nothing, Ask for nothing, and Need nothing. Another little gift surfaced soon after. Precognitive flashes--not at conscious will, and very subtle. One has to learn how to listen to the quiet voice within and sort the real images from the imagination, but I suspect this is not so much a "gift" as a characteristic of the spiritual being one needs to learn to tune into. Maybe the gift comes in the "sight" to see it more clearly.

But, my journey was just beginning. While my emotional health rebounded, my physical health took a rapid nosedive. Around the age of 32, I had arthritis, sciatica, chronic bronchitis, ovarian cysts, a flip-flopping heart, and a terrible gnawing pain in my gut that I began to fear was working towards stomach cancer.

I still remember the last day I spent in Spokane, WA where I was trying to survive as a free lance artist engraving fossil ivory (scrimshaw). A long relationship with a Eurasian man who kept me going with a combination of Oriental medicine and acupressure had ended, and I was too ill to work much. It took a 24 hour period of fitful napping and working to finish and hour or two worth of work to sell. My heating oil had run out and they were threatening to turn off my electricity in the middle of a savage winter. My only heat was the kitchen stove, where I sat wrapped in a blanket trying to force my body to bend over and concentrate on the engraving process. I was in and out of the shower every few hours after finding that a hot shower followed by a cold one gave me a little relief from the pain and misery, but I couldn't keep warm, couldn't keep focused, and I was about out of money for the Margaritas I sipped all day to numb myself somewhat, and for the ingredients of the omelets I had become addicted to after hating eggs all my life. That was thanks to my former companion, who was a talented cook and made marvelous egg dishes and sauces on a daily basis from both Oriental and French cuisine, served with wonderful wines and the ever present whiskey and beer that fueled his decades-long alcoholism, which finally ended the relationship.

By that afternoon, I knew it was over. I packed up what I could in my elderly Volkswagen and was about to abandon the rest when a colleague in the art business stopped by. Why, I never knew. She hadn't been to my house before nor made any personal overtures to me in the past. We just worked together on a project and were acquainted. When she found out I was ill, she told me she had gone through something too and found "this doctor", an herbal doctor or something. That's all I needed--I'd had a belly full of doctoring to no avail and wanted nothing more. I treated her politely and made a show of listening, but needed to get out of there, out of the snow freezing my feet as we stood outside and talked, and on down the road to the childhood home I knew was empty while my parents traveled during the winter.

The electricity was always left on and the house was well-stocked with dried food, canned goods and frozen items in the freezer. They also had a recliner rocker I could adjust to some degree of comfort against the awful pain. I left the lights off, and with snow and fog surrounding the country house, it was something like having a sensory deprivation experience where unusual clarity is achieved. In spite of actually feeling better, I knew I was facing stomach cancer and other chronic degenerative conditions and that I might die. It was a curious thought, but not so terrifying. The thought of actual dying put me off, but curiosity about "the other side" after the experience I had was quite another matter and a little exciting. "On to the next great adventure" I thought, but pain is a great leveler. It kept me firmly grounded. The "great adventure" was something to look forward to. Dying slowly and horribly was not. Besides, I knew something was afoot--some destiny.

My parents arrived home not thrilled to find an estranged and very ill adult daughter in residence. I kept to myself, but the strain aggravated all of us. I left home to escape this father, and his influence over my mother's attitude made it even more awkward and uncomfortable. I took a turn for the worse, until some force literally pushed me down on my knees once again to demand and beg for the same--a quick death or recovery.

An extraordinary feeling of peace came over me and I slept through the night for the first time in a year or two. The next morning I heard my mother on the phone with a life-long friend discussing the fact that the woman's daughter had been scheduled for an exploratory surgery because they couldn't find the cause of her continued illness, but that at the last moment some new doctor had been able to diagnose the underlying cause of her condition. A chill ran over me. When she hung up I asked my mother to call back and get the name of that doctor.

As one might guess, it was the same doctor the unexpected visitor told me about weeks earlier and 200 miles away in Spokane on the day I left--Dr. Harold Dick, a naturopathic physician now referred to by some as a "naturopathic oncology pioneer." I kind of sheepishly looked upward and said, "Ok, ok, I get it."

I was flat broke, but made an appointment with the firm belief that I'd find a way to pay for it, and with a tank of gas, $5 in my pocket from my mother, some food stamps from my angel girl friend, and the address of a women's shelter, I headed back down that uncharted road in search of the rest of my life. I had no idea what lie ahead, only that I had to get on with it. I could almost hear the words, "You go, girl," and off I went to pursue the continuing adventures of an unusually "lucky" life.

Everyone should be so blessed with adversity.

THE NEXT CHAPTER: (it gets interesting) Our Personal Vaccination Disaster  stress