Dancing with Death

This week I met death, or should I say, I re-met her. She is personally all too familiar to me at this point in my 31 years of life. I’d like to have only met her once in old age but that is not my path. She haunted me for many years teasing me, enticing me to choose to join her … I resisted with the exception of one failed attempt at the age of 12 to be her permanent companion.

Again she graced me with her image staring back at me in the mirror of a dirty bar bathroom, my face dripping with blood. The wake-up call to get off the high speed-train of destruction I was on at 25.

Once more she made a grand gesture for my attention at 27 when she sent me speeding into the side of a car on my motorcycle. Tearing my flesh and grinding my bones, she begged me to be still and to be present with her. This time, I listened fully. I lied in bed with her for months unable to walk or even bathe or use the bathroom without the assistance of loved ones. I had no choice but to listen. My heart stopped twice in those first six weeks - once just briefly from blood loss and the second time for what was long enough to speak to God. The sensation was like being inside a warm gold bright light wrapped in the hug of your favorite person, the voice said “you can stay here with me OR you can return, but know if you return there is much work to be done”. My soul responded with a clear unwavering “I will go back” and I returned to my body.

I know death intimately now - she is beautiful, warm, infinite love. She does not wish to harm you, only to encourage you to live your life completely. YOUR life, not one the world has planned for you but the one your soul chose when it decided to embody a human vessel. She does not want you fear her, she wants you to respect her and in that respect yourself. She is cheering for you and she welcomes you with sweet relief when it is time to return to her.

I visited with her again last week. On the Scorpio New Moon of course. Cloaked in darkness of a blanket of stars and the ceremony of ancient rituals across cultures during this time of year. It was 4 am, a baby had just been born to a magnificent 14 year old woman. I say woman because she is deserving of the title. She hummed and danced through each contraction with ease. Even as the sensations intensified and her baby grew closer she remained focused and sturdy. Her perfect baby girl received into the Mama’s arms as she stood in her full power.

We left her to rest with her little one and we began to prepare for the New Moon ceremony. I had already been anxiously anticipating this ceremony; the exhaustion from the birth and a sleepless night made this ceremony even more daunting. This ceremony was a welcome ritual for a new baby boy born a month earlier. A sort of blessing and initiation to the community including a bath, a song, a dance, and gifts. Lovely sounding with the exception of the purging ceremony that opens the container. A requirement for all those who attended the birth to clear the energy of birth from their bodies - literally. It consists of drinking an herbal potion that instigates intense vomiting and wreching. I HATE vomiting… not that anyone loves it but it honestly terrifies me. So I decided to watch the others go first to see how they tolerated it. It honestly didn’t look so bad. Most people drank the drink with ease, did their business and returned to the circle. “I can do that” I thought. Besides, how many times had I drank myself to to point of vomiting in my life before for much less noble causes?

I sat to receive my blessing and then my serving of the drink. I stared into the hollowed out fruit that fit perfectly in my two palms. It was full of white foam… I drank. The warm liquid didn’t have much flavor… maybe a little earthy. I took gulp after gulp until I gaged and then took two more. I ran for the bushes expecting some grand release but what came was more like a sad, half open faucet. I paced in discomfort for a bit and then rejoined the group. I listened as the others went with exclamatory release. A sister asked me “how do you feel?” I responded “incomplete”. She suggested I go back and try again with the assistance of a leaf to jab in my throat. 🫣 I tried with success, a cascade of vomit followed by some gnarly dry heaving. Yay! I did it! It’s over! Right?!

What a beautiful picture I’m painting of this place, please stay with me I promise there is gold here!

By this time it was 7 am, we were going to bed. I made it to my room only to lie down and immediately feel the urge to vomit again while also feeling the itch and burn of my mosquito bite painted legs. I couldn’t get the nausea and pain to stop so I desperately wandered to the community kitchen. Too exhausted to ask for help, I laid my head on the table and began to audibly sob. Nelva called for the Mamas to help. Four of them yelling in Spanish attempting to locate the source of my pain.

“Is it the bites? Is it your head?”

The only words I could utter … I (breath) don’t (breath) know (breath). Carlota grabbed my face looked me in my eyes and said “can you hear me” - “yes” - “what hurts” - “my stomach”.

The mamas proceeded to give me sugar water to chug and then held me in my chair and prayed over me as I vomited more and more…and more. Finally relief! They walked me back to my room and I slept, finally.

I wish I could say that was the end of the encounter with my dear friend Death, it was only the beginning. When I finally woke around noon I spent the remainder of that day in a haze of nausea and itching/ burning exhaustion. I zombied between the kitchen and a pallet of mattresses we had setup in the Center to lie in misery communally. It looks like we’re all feeling like crap so I guess this is normal, I laughed.

As soon as the sunset I had my heart set on a full nights rest. I excitedly went to bed but had been feeling feverish so I took my temperature just incase, 101, not terrible I’ll just sleep it off. But sleep didn’t come, I tossed and turned growing weaker and hotter. 102, 103…104!! I wondered if I was hallucinating, I’ve never had a temp that high before. I sobbed and vomited the entire night and into the next day. The Mamas brought me herbs for my stomach and for the fever. The women held me and spoke encouraging words. I have grown to see this group as my family, they have cared for me in ways only few others have before in my life. I began having fever dreams, some waking some sleeping.

Dreams of a doctor coming and giving me a terminal prognosis as the Mamas prayed over me and I FaceTimed my Dad. I instructed him carefully as to my Will - everything goes to Brittney I said. 🤣 I dreamt of an evil curse being cast over me to cause me suffering. Of a dead decaying black snake coiled inside me where my liver was meant to be. Of dark energy coursing through my veins like tar. Not even sleep could bring me relief.

I was alone again but the sun was not yet up. I gasped for air positioning my pillow under my shoulders to allow for an easy open airway, a fully open mouth. Repeating the mantra to myself - “breathe”. The energy of my step mom entered the room and intubated me … in my dream space of curse. I thought “will I die here… what will everyone think if I did? Will they blame Ecuador? The Mamas? I cannot die because I cannot risk bringing them shame”.

The sun brought with it a relief of my temperature dropping back down to a tolerable 101 and a blessing of sleep, finally. The entire next two days consisted of a rotation of treatments from the Mamas primarily teas to break the fever and herbal balms for a rash that had taken over my lower left leg (the same leg injured in my previous accident).  I left my bed only to pee and get water.

By Wednesday night I felt almost completely back to normal, a slight headache and extremely exhausted but no longer sick. The rash however persisted. For obvious reasons, I’m extremely cautious about anything happening to my left leg - she’s been trough a lot and I’ve worked hard to keep her. I began to research rashes - the unique smooth marble pattern brought up only one match, Cellulitis. I’d never heard of this and immediately went into a google frenzy and in true Doctor Google fashion I was presented with words like “fatal”, “narcosis of tissue”, “amputation”, “bacterial infection”, “MRSA”, “Staph”. Great! I thought! Can the mamas treat this? Could it spread into my blood? Could I loose my leg?

I decided that night that I would feel most comfortable if I could get blood work to hopefully disprove my self-diagnosis. At the hospital the next morning I was given the results of a blood test, unfortunately I was correct. I had Cellulitis, the Staph strain, it was bad. I was grateful for the explanation of the vomiting, high fever and rash. The doctors informed me that without treatment of IV antibiotics I would risk further damage to my body. I agreed to stay at the hospital and receive treatment.

I’m writing this from the hospital bed, my 3rd night here and one more to go. My experience has been incredible, the facilities are clean, the staff is lovey, the food is amazing and most importantly I’m healing. My leg is almost completely back to normal and I have virtually no pain. It’s been very triggering for me to be in a hospital as I have avoided the medical system at all costs in the years since my accident. The holistic self-healing path is not only my calling but my way of life. I’ve found that the medicine of this is experience has been the invitation to loosen my grip on my black and white ideals about allopathic medicine.

I had an astrologer tell me once that the placement of my Chiron in Cancer meant my soul had chosen to embody the literal “wounded healer”. That my karma was to learn to heal myself so that others may see their path to heal through witnessing mine. This reading sent truth bumps through my entire body and the recognized truth of it burned like a bitter Wormwood tincture to swallow. My thought: “You must be wounded to heal! How much more wounding can I withstand?” My life has challenged me in many ways all of which I welcome as opportunities to know myself deeper.

I think the future of medicine is one in which we find a way for ALL healing modalities to work in harmony. For sovereign individuals to have a buffet of accessible options of care at their disposal and choose what works for them. What if we all stopped demonizing our differences and started appreciating our uniqueness? The specials things that we each had to offer? Am I still writing about medicine. 🤔 Yes and I’m writing about humanity. Isn’t it the same thing?