*** WITH AP-DATES *** BELOW *** DOWN THERE, AT THE BOTTOM ***
So I went to see a psychic healer last Sunday.
And I know. I KNOW.
You hear this crap so often from me, it’s like someone else saying, "I walked upright last weekend" or "I exhaled earlier today."
But what can I say? It’s the norm in my crazy family.
Speaking of crazy, my Mom broached the subject of me seeing this particular healer (as opposed to the infamous Master Cha or the Russian healer who convinced her to place a photo (a photo!) of him on her head after she fell and cracked her skull open) by prefacing the conversation with these words:
"He’s a little out there…"
WHA??
Do you realize what THAT means coming from my MOTHER??
"Oh. MY. GOD. Does he have three heads and sacrifice small woodland creatures before the healing session begins?" I asked.
"No."
"Does he speak in tongues and coax snakes from a basket with a pan flute and then make you eat the snakes. WHILE THEY’RE STILL ALIVE??"
"No."
"Does he teleport himself into the room and put you in a trance and use a prob and — "
"—NO. Will you stop this Watson, for crisssakes let me finish!"
"Well, what then? Your definition of ‘out there’ is scaring me, given what you think is normal," I said.
I was thinking of the time in junior high school when she dragged me to this not-so-nice part of town to see a Filipino healer who supposedly did psychic surgery. That is, surgery with just his hands. HIS BARE HANDS. No medical instruments of any kind. No anesthesia. And this really isn’t the time to get into it, but let’s just say that although I’m far from convinced this a real thing, I did see the "doctor" produce some slimy bits of gobbley-gook that he claimed came from my Mother’s stomach.
(GAWD. How often do you get to write a sentence like that??)
Moving on.
Or have you stopped reading? Have I finally crossed The Line? The Line I have skated so perilously close to, so many times? The Line that separates a somewhat entertaining story from a total crap load of bullshit?
For those two or three of you still reading, I swear I only write the truth. I know it sounds inconceivable (which is not an infertility pun, by the way) but everything I write about here actually happened…
Back to my story:
"Humppff," my Mom snorted. "No, he doesn’t have three heads or snakes or probes. He just uses these machines he invented and then takes a reading of your energy and heals you with these crystals."
"Cool. Sign me up. As long as there are no live snakes involved, I’m in."
(Does that mean I would have been up for the probe? Maybe. I guess depending on what kind of weekend I was having…)
I arrive at this woman’s house and a very normal-looking man answers the door. He’s so normal, in fact, that I mistake him for the home owner’s husband and it takes me a few minutes to clue in to the fact that he is the healer.
I have been asked to take my shoes off at the front door, and offered some slippers that are sitting in pairs by the steps. I have very small feet and so as I clumsily put a pair on my feet, I look like I’m wearing clown shoes and I slip and slid down the hall to the room that has been set up.
The guy, Gary (see! Even a normal name!) sort of waves his hands in front of me and asks what health issues I have.
"Well," I start, "I’ve been trying to get pregnant for like FOUR years now…"
He interrupts me to say that I have an issue with my fallopian tubes. (I swear if I had nickel for EVERY TIME a psychic healer told me that, I’d be a rich woman.) He says almost the exact same thing another person told me a couple of months ago, that although I ovulate regularly, there’s something (fluid, scar tissue, paste?) that creates an obstacle for the egg and by the time it gets anywhere, it’s too late.
Remember how I told you that my eggs like to take trips to Tijuana and bargain for cheap serapes and go to the mall? Remember?! Well, that is exactly what’s happening, according to this guy. My eggs start out heading to, let’s say school, but then get all distracted and decide to catch a matinee instead and by the time they saunter over near the uterus, BeBop’s spermies have just given up and gone home. Or died, as the case may be.
So anyway, he proceeds to tell me that IVF will work (YAY!) but that after his miraculous healing I should probably wait and just try naturally for a few more months (BOO!).
The funniest part was when he was waving his hands in front of me, taking a reading of some sort.
Healer Dude: "Okay, blahblah, ooolamamoo, liver, kidney…" he mumbles. "Okay, that looks good. I’m clearing the energy there and healing your organs."
Me: "Okay, errr…thanks?"
He looks to the side, and keeps waving his hands in a circular motion. He then looks past me, over my left shoulder.
Him: "I need some help with this one, guys" he says to someone or something.
Me: [crickets]
Him: "I don’t care…no, you decide. Who wants to help me?" (He’s still staring off into the distance, apparently talking to the someone, or the something, that has joined us in the room.)
"Okay," he continues. "Oh! All of you want to help? Thanks, that sounds good."
Me: "————-"
Then he turned on this little machine that had a crystal on the top and some funky flashing lights. And he held it over my open palms and
VOILA!
I AM HEALED.
Or, at least that’s what he said.
Honestly, I don’t know what my Mom was talking about. In the scheme of things, he wasn’t ‘out there’ at all. The talking to the angels thing was a little weird, but nothing like speaking in tongues or some guy yanking a disgusting, gooey GLOB out of my Mother’s stomach while I sat in the corner and watched.
That, my friends, THAT was weird. And I should know.
——————————————-
What the FRICK is an Ap-date, Watson?? You might be asking, and rightly so.
Well, it’s a combination APOLOGY and UPDATE.
First things first, I want to apologize to Tigger, who commented that my crack about speaking in tongues could be interpreted by some as offensive. I so didn’t mean it that way. My GOD, I am the last person who would be judgmental about another person’s choice for religion, practice, spiritual pursuits, etc. etc. etc.
I mean, have you READ my posts?? Have you read what I write about my own family and the craziness that ensues?? Which includes, but is not limited to, staying in an ashram in India, getting whacked in the head with a peacock feather by an Indian saint, seeing healers and <quote/unquote> psychic surgeons in sketchy parts of town and using adhesive tape to attach ‘magic crystals’ to various parts of our bodies for healing purposes and being hooked up to electrodes while the UPS delivery guy looks on and having the Patron Saint of Infertility watch over our sexy-time for good luck??
And that was all in the LAST WEEK.
(BAH DUH BUM.)
Anyhoo, I think some of us not familiar with the Pentecostal Christian church might call it ‘out there,’ in terms of it being very different from our own experiences. But different isn’t bad, it’s just different. And if my comment sounded lame and ignorant and offensive in any way, I’m sorry.
And as soon as a snake charmer comments that I have offended him or her, I will apologize for that too. And a pan flute player. (Okay. I probably won’t apologize for that.)
Anyway. What I’m really trying to say is that I’m sorry and I only meant to poke fun, mostly at myself. And my Mother, of course.
Moving on…many of you asked what our reproductive plans are in light of the fact that after seeing Magic Hands Gary, I AM HEALED.
Are we going to try naturally for a couple of months, you asked?
How can I express this in a dignified and mature manner, like the delicate flower that I am…
FUCKING HELL TO THE NO. ARE YOU PEOPLE FREAKING KIDDING ME?
Like I have said a million times, there is nothing ‘natural’ about covering the dog with a smelly blanket trapping him at the end of the bed while I complain about how it’s a Thursday night and I’d much rather be watching Grey’s Anatomy than BeBop’s anatomy and I have to get up early for work and WHY OH WHY did you drink that second beer because HOLY CRAP light some candles and not for the romance you jack ass!!!!!
So, NO. No, we are not trying naturally.
We are moving ahead with The Plan. BCPs start next week, followed by the rest of all that stuff that I’m still not very familiar with (but I know includes lots of needles) and that is why I am depending on you lovely people to help me through it.
And that my friends, THAT, is an AP-DATE.
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