Friday, September 18, 2009

Ask and Ye Shall Receive

an image from one of my favorite movies: Wim Wender's Wings of Desire

I had a conversation with Sophie's homeopath this evening. This is a man I love. Truly love. And not just because he's helped Sophie beyond measure. I love this man because his voice is gentle and he listens quietly. When I ask him a question, he answers the question. He is not emotional but there's something taut about him, willing, and open. I called him this afternoon because I'm worried, again, about Sophie. She's slumping, coming off the benefits we had seen from the remedy change we'd gotten in Arizona. She's begun to have big seizures again, weekly or even twice weekly. Her mornings are agonizing, anchored by a bout of spasms that sometimes go on for more than half an hour. She looks drawn and tired to me and I feel like she is depressed. When the Homeopath suggested another dosage, I started to cry. I whimpered, actually, pleading with him that I didn't have any hope. I might have even said something about how I think, sometimes, that it's all my fault. Before you rush to defend, imagine what it's like to feel despair when you know you must hope, to not have faith that things will get better when you know that having faith, too, is the only way to live. I wonder sometimes where I end and Sophie begins or where Sophie begins and I end. I get confused, wondering whether my own anxieties, even depression, are somehow hers as well. I waver from an instinctual feeling that this has nothing to do with you and you must help HER to this is her journey, her path and you have little control.

So, I'm crying a bit and feeling quite desperate and The Homeopath speaks quietly to me in his dulcet tone and I feel a little better. He doesn't say anything in particular but he laughs gently when I try to make a joke and it feels a bit better. He gives me the plan, which is to change the dosage of the remedy, and then I hang up. I had been watering the plants outside when I was talking to him, so I turned off the water and went back inside.

The phone rang again, and I yelled at Oliver to answer it. It was The Homeopath, again. When he talks, sometimes, there is a smile in his voice. He said, "You're not going to believe what just happened. The Doctor was in the building and is in my office right now."

What doctor? The Great Homeopath from Arizona, the one that we had visited last May (you can read about that HERE). And he happened to be just visiting today and had walked into our doctor's office right then. Evidently, the two had had a short conversation and decided that we should try a different dosage of the remedy for Sophie.

I know this all sounds crazy, but what are the chances?

I know it's a sign. A good sign.


  1. Oh Elizabeth...! I don't even have any other words.

  2. Oh Elizabeth...I am in tears! How wonderful to recieve that answer to your mental question..what a blessing. I hope this works for her - I deeply do!!! I hope it works for you!
    Now that I have read through the books you sent me hon..I have such a much clearer understanding of your struggle day to day! Thanks you! Huge hugs and breathe!!
    Did you by chance read my quilting bee this week? You might pop in and check it out.
    Thinking of you & Sophie, Sarah

  3. I often don't know where I end and Katie begins either, what's hers, what's mine.

    Hope the new dosage helps. I've cared for people who constantly seize, I felt so helpless watching their bodies, unable to stop the seizures.

  4. There is absolutely nothing to say except that I am hoping with you.

  5. Sometimes the stars align! I hope the tweak to the remedy is able to provide benefits again.

  6. probably a million to one .... maybe chance doesn't have much to do with it at all .....

  7. Wonderful needed relief. I'm so glad Elizabeth that you got a needed shot in the to speak

  8. Elizabeth,

    As I read your latest entry, I was reminded of part of a poem that I used to keep on my desk near my phone when I worked at Northwestern. I gazed at it daily in conversations with my neurology patients that were facing overwhelming health issues.It was very simple but succinct- something about "Hope". I wish I could find it, but in the 5 moves that have happened in the last 10 years, I've misplaced it.Anyway, I thought if I could remember part of it I might find it online. I couldn't find it, but found this instead. It made me smile and thought you might too.

    I have heard there are troubles of more than one kind.
    Some come from ahead and some come from behind.
    But I've bought a big bat. I'm all ready you see.
    Now my troubles are going to have troubles with me!
    ~Dr. Seuss

    I empower you to swing that bat with hope and courage!

    Love to you,

  9. I, too, have been desperate and crying at times, only to pull through to get there again. You will too, as you know.

    Thinking of you, Sophie, and the new dosage! Many of us are praying with you.

  10. This had me in tears, starting with you having a homeopath that listens and speaks and cares like that. And then the "coincidence". Wow. I hope the new dose gives Sophie and you some relief.

  11. Such a lovely post.

    This struck a chord with me: " I wonder sometimes where I end and Sophie begins or where Sophie begins and I end."

    This fall I am back working at the deaf school, and I see so many kids with so many challenges. When I work with the I feel the oddest twinge (or maybe frisson?) of maternal concern. Not my maternal concern, but their mothers'. It like those daimon out of Pullman's The Dark Trilogy - for me the spirit of those mothers are always hovering right behind their child, hoping for the best, pleading with me to be kind and patient, and praying I will give their child the very best I have to give.

    So for me too, I sometimes wonder where the child ends and the mother begins.



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