In the philosophers hands.

A health centre in Andalucia, Southern Spain. A day I probably won't forget.

After I'd been lying for half an hour on a couch in Spanish Eloisa's physiotherapy /mini gym, she said to another patient - there were 3 of us having either hands or feet 'done' -

 ‘My daughter hasn’t a clue what she wants to do when she leaves school.  And neither had I when I was 15!'

Eloisa paused and grinned.

‘All I was interested in was philosophy!’ 

She laughed and laughed, and smiled beautifully at the same time.

The Elfin like physio looked like she’d just spent the last hour in a hairdressers!  I was thinking I'd love to draw her.  All that curly hair and those twinking eyes.

The other two Spanish women with arthritic fingers chortled. 

I sat bolt upright and looked over at her, completely awed at how her  path could have led her from a passion for philosophy to this pokey room.

She now helps people transform their pain.  Fingers and feet seem to be her speciality.  Or maybe Wednesdays are finger and toe days? 

Eloise fills in more details about her teenage years to the two middle aged Spanish ladies .  I'm still admiring her tiny face and thick ginger hair.  

Her clear voice has a range from super sweet quiet,  to sharp and authoritative.  

‘So,’ I said, after the laughter subsided a little,  ‘did you also write poetry, or paint  when you were a teenager? 

She moved her chair so she could see me.

‘No, no’ she said, continuing to massage her other patients hand.

 ‘And are you still interested in philosophy?’ I asked, genuinely curious.  

 The atmosphere in the mini gym was anything but clinical.

‘OH YES,’ she said, ‘I love to read .’  I felt a blog coming on.

But it’s too soon to write a blog.

My body is lamenting. My spirt is struggling to be brave.  The outlook is like a heat haze . I can’t see ‘the road’ ahead.   

My 'penguin' foot (temporairily paralysed after the hip operation) is a very serious problem that will take a long time to correct. Many muscles have atrophied. I'm not complaining.  At least I can walk again.

Eloisa is shocked by my foot. I'm shocked by her reaction.

Pic thanks to Pinterest.

During the chemo last year posting personal things like this felt  safe to share.  You were all so supportive.

Over this past year many local people whom I don’t really know have asked to be FB friends with me.

I've hesitated as I’ve used FB gratefully as a huge support network.

So, if you are reading this and  feel you  don’t want to be part of my support network that’s  absolutely fine.  Please just silently unfriend me now.

I write in order to understand how I feel, not to be told what to do, or to get sympathy.

I want to keep on seeking out beauty and attracting angels of  kindness everywhere.  I love to share the positive and the beautiful and the hopeful in life. 

Today, my personal hope for a full orthopedic recovery has been battered , and my body is truly  lamenting. I'm weeping on the inside.

However, it couldn’t have happened in better or more lovely hands.  The philosopher  physio will see me again next Monday, at midday. 

In the  meantime I will continue to try to expect the best (not the worst) from the news that my foot is in  extremely  bad shape, that some of my  muscles just don't work.  Yet!

I’m going to continue to ask to be a magnet for kindness and miracles for myself, and of course also for all of you.

A few days ago a parcel arrived from the US. 

The words on the new pillow say  : Believe in  Miracles.

 I do.

Poscript, one day later.

The pain after the session with Eloisa yesteday was terrible, but this morning I've  been able to abandon both the crutch and the walking stick, and for the first time in 4 months walked unsported around the market.

A new chapter has opened. Thank you Eloisa.  Thank you Universe. Thank you friends for your wonderful encouragement.

Three weeks later.

The foot is no longer sticking out like a penguins.  It's not quite right but it's nothing like it was.
Three more sessions with Eloisa and an excercise  regime of swimmig every day has helped tremensdously.
After each session with her I was wiped out and in agony the next day, but just being in her prescence was healing on another level.

A final note.

One day the man who makes guitars in the village came to have his hand worked on.   How could he do his work with only one working hand I wondered. He looked so sad.

Shyly, in his good hand, the ponytailed Anthony Hopkins look- a- like  handed Eloisa a yellow flower, well, more a small branch broken off a tree.  She put the gift on a narrow table behind the  screen where she hangs her handbag.

Thank you she said.  He smiled.

It joined her lunch box and a small collection of other wilting  yellow branches, all exactly the same.