Potatoes and Frankincense . . .

Every night, Cecily prepares and applies a “cast” of shredded taro potatoes to the areas of my body that are known to harbor tumors. Proponents of this healing method allege that as the potato paste dries, it draws out fluids and toxins from the underlying tissues.

Now before those of you that are right-wing medical conservatives get overly concerned that my navigator is a left-wing, dirt-worshipping nutcase, please note that she is also a strong advocate that I do some form of chemotherapy and that I meet with the cardiac surgeons in San Francisco. But remember when I promised “wacky and wonderful”? All decisions are ultimately mine and mine alone. If the day ever comes that I relinquish that authority or responsibility to anyone else, that’s the day that you will know that I’ve thrown in the towel.

Last night was the tenth consecutive night of sleeping outdoors. Cecily applied the taro cast to my heart, gut, and left buttock. It’s a freezing cold shock when it first goes on, then the ginger root begins to itch, but after a few minutes everything settles down.

I also began absorbing essential oils “a la Brit” for the first time last night. Yep, rectal retention. It seems reasonable that if the oils are of any benefit, they may as well be delivered to the front lines. So Cec prepared a suppository of grapeseed oil and frankincense and handed it to me with clear instructions as to how this bullet was to be loaded. And yes, frankincense, the same oil that the three wise men bestowed upon the baby Jesus.

At some point in the middle of the night I had to pee. Cecily is still concerned about bobcats and coyotes, so she asks me to mark off our territory by peeing on various landmarks in the vicinity. But as I stood there peeing into the darkness, farting bible stories while dried potatoes crumbled off my ass, I wondered just what these wild animals make of me. And just what has become of my life. If nothing else, it’s certainly been turned upside down.