I lay on the floor and with what words I could utter, I asked my son to run get help. He was twelve, not yet a man. He was frightened. Not knowing exactly where to go in the dead of night, in a small village, in a foreign country, he managed to bring back a local doctor.
As I lay half conscious on the floor, I could hear the doctors words. I could see him prepare yet another injection of God knows what. With what energy I could salvage before slipping out of consciousness, I reached up with my hand to stop his arm and said, “no more shots!”
I made it through the night. The next day I knew without a doubt I needed to find another way. Another way to take care of my physical and emotional well-being. I took a bus to a near by village and found the herbalist shop. I told them all my symptoms and health issues and asked for help. I was given herbs like oat straw to support and strengthen my kidneys, St. John’s Wart to calm my nervous system, and herbs to strengthen my weakened immune system.
My new pathway was laid out before me. I had no idea where it would lead, but I was positive it would be better than the roads I had been taking. I have never looked back.