The Sauna I Once Loved

Like an old lover that must fade into the background of new life

My sauna must go forth to its new owner, leaving me FIR behind.

She needs it to arrest the cancer in her own body and that of her Mom,

Imagine that: a generational curse that threatens the life between them.

I am happy to pass to them this box of promise, of hope

Bringing them much relief as the toxins melt away with the wavelengths of light.

As for me I am melancholy this day, this night

For I thought I would fare better for the investment therein.

The last of my inheritance was spent the year the Sunlighten entered our home

Hopeful with the promise of a cure from what all ailed me at the time: at first, it was great.

The warmth was undeniable especially on cold Indiana nights

When nothing else would do . . . no nothing else at all.

But did it help purge the alleged chronic Lyme embedded deep within

The bacterium, the viruses, the fungal creatures claimed on imperfect tests?

I may never know as the onslaught hath continued from the rigors of this life

From living in a fallen world hell-bent on our demise, our redemption one day for us all.

Just don’t see how this tool that I once loved, held so much promise

Is worth holding onto longer when all it collects is dust in our living room now.

So onto the next thing I shall be: from the consult of last week to the specialist to come

When in the meantime I know it’s the Lord that is my Great Physician and yours:

The object of my greatest love indeed.

Gyrations of health: a Testimony

If a cyanobacteria exposure in a reservoir creates the same biotoxin illness as mold exposure, then why did I not tolerate the Shoemaker protocol to recover from both?

Tis the gyrations of health, I guess, like a drone spinning out of control from the pond beyond to the one drowning in our own backyard.

If latent Lyme disease reared its ugly head but resisted treatment with 3 increasingly costly protocols over 5 years, then why do I keep barking up this fallen tree anyhoo?

Tis the juxtapose of stealth bugs who hide, change their DNA, become resistant or move from my big toe to deep within the brain raising havoc all the while.

If a chain of serious viral infections can hang their shingles on my weakened frame at Christmastime, then why does not 30 days of treatment make barely a dent in one of them, huh?

Tis the nature of complex illness when antibiotics awakens a sleeping class of infection, pushing me to a sideline call more spectacular than a Super Bowl play in overtime.

If heavy metal toxicity met its match with the best testing, detox protocol, and success, then why is it still possible that more mercury, lead, and maybe aluminum may linger undetected in me still?

Tis the nature of blood, urine, and hair sampling that only captures that which is circulating or secreting not the poisons imbedded in tissues only a needle in a haystack would find.

If I can gain 34 more diagnoses with one trip around the calendar trying to get well, then why would we even question that there’s a need for a new tune, a break, and yet more prayer?

Tis the nature of hopes dashed while waiting and seeing what may come (not wasting time asking “why” instead of professing “I will trust you Lord.  Show me how.  See me.  And love me through it too.”)

If when married in the past and health challenges that now look like child’s play came but crushed life as I knew it, then it would be many years later that my intended beloved would show me true love:  how true faith conquers all, overcomes.

Tis the nature of fake religion which fails when life gets hard.  A God-fearing man seeks the Lord.  A God-fearing woman does too and this will be our calling card when this chapter of our lives is through.

And if my writings, my research, the doctoring, trial-n-error, or treatments really worked for something good, then why the heck would I still be seizing each day with “the flu” and pain that has marked 5 years of disabling suffering?

Tis the mystery of bothering to recover, trusting in the Lord who has saved me from far worse knowing that one day we shall rejoice, you and me Gentle Reader, if we but hang in there a little longer with hope beyond the gyrations of this life.

I’m in.  How ’bout you?  JJ