A Million Little Pieces Of My Mind

I tore a muscle in my arm two weeks ago in Hawaii. It was almost healed by the past weekend, when I re-tore it on a whitewater rafting trip. Yesterday was my regular visit to my doctor, and I had to explain why my arm looked like someone had backed over it two or three times with the Chrysler.

"I tore it while swinging from a rope over Kipu Falls on Kauai," I reminded Sean, my student doctor. "Then, when my raft made a violent, nine-foot-drop into Class IV Corkscrew Rapid on the Upper Salt, I almost fell out and when one of the other rafters pulled me back in, it was the same arm and I guess it re-tore. "

Sean looked at me as if I had injured myself during an extreme ironing competition. I had to laugh, because I am so not a danger sport guy. Nothing I had done was really dangerous or even unusual among people who live lives out from in front of the TV screen.

My husband, Michael, is attending medical school and fourth year students staff a clinic under the watchful eye of an experienced doctor. To express my support and give the students a little more experience, I attend their clinic. Usually, that just means a weekly acupuncture session. But they are good for real health issues, too. And, of all the student docs I've met, I trust none more than Sean, who is active in Naturopaths Without Borders and has traveled all over the world to provide free medical treatment to the poorest of the poor in various countries.

So, despite his initial bemusement at a 59 year old who thinks he's still 19, Sean prescribed a homeopathic gel to put on my enormously-bruised arm, and some tiny pills to put under my tongue every two waking hours. And now, slightly less than 24 hours later, my arm already looks a lot better. (Trust me. I was going to show what it looked like yesterday, but the photo rights have already been bought up by Tim Burton for his next horror flick.)