Tish had experienced chest pains before, little darting stabs over the heart. But this was much more intense. It went on and on, and hurt to move her left arm. “Fortunately, I’m already in my leather recliner,” she thought. “What a convenient place. I’ll just stretch back a bit and wait till it passes.”

A voice of conventional wisdom, muffled somewhere in her head gave thoughts of, “Call a doctor, the hospital, an ambulance…” But that wasn’t her way. “Why should I give over my power to someone else, after all these years of work to align with it?” Chants, prayers, herbs – these made as much sense as tubes and needles and captivity in a hospital bed.

Her father had died with orderlies jumping on his chest to bring him back to life. She thought how much better if he had been allowed to spend his last hours at home with someone telling him they loved him.

When her mother was in intensive care some years later, she had pulled the tubes from her body and tried to escape, so weak she could only crawl on the floor where the nurse found her. Tish wanted to know more dignity even in her worst state.

The pains continued and Tish eased her body deeper into the chair. She remembered a quote by Voltaire:
The practice of medicine is to amuse the patient while nature cures the disease.
So, it been known for centuries…..what has taken her twenty years to learn has been know all along. The intense pain subsided into a warm fatigue.

It was not a bad state to be in. These occasional chest pains were notes to be more aware of every moment, certainly every day was to be lived fully, not wasted. Priorities were so much easier.

The premature death of her sister was due at least in part to misdiagnosis, and a turn for the worst in reaction to the wrong medication. In their last phone conversation, Tish had told Ima to just get well enough to get out of the hospital. The day she was to have been released, the family was attending her funeral instead.

No, Tish saw no succor in hospitals and slow-dripping IV’s. Better to call on shamanic force – it made at least as much sense. This vulnerable state made her more aware, receptive to spirit, and appreciative of the gift of life. She wanted to live her life with three days packed into one, no wasted time in hospitals or the slowed-down pace of waiting rooms.
“Let me bite into the ripe peach of life, she thought, “and stand with the juice running down my chin – messy, and grinning.”