This week I've spent a lot of time in hospitals. Unlike past hospital experiences, I've been blessed with healing and am not the patient, but this time, the visitor. Truthfully, I can't say which experience is worse, that of the patient... frightened, expected to trust unfamiliar faces every day, alone, and in pain, or that of the loved one, who must sit at their side helpless, as they are expected to make impossible choices that they have no idea how to make.
It is impossible to sit in a hospital chair watching the ones we love suffer connected to wires in a cold, sterile room and not ask ourselves if there isn't a better way. This week, I visited several terminally ill loved ones in the hospital, and I came to several conclusions. The first is that there is nothing I can do to help them. This is a hard realization to come to. I don't know about you guys, but I know that after seeing the amazing power the macrobiotic diet had to heal my body, I felt like I had an "in," a special knowledge that there is healing possible, even from the most grim prognoses.
While I still believe this is true and have shaken the hand of people who should have died 20 years ago, this week, the lesson for me was that for all of us, there is a time to heal and a time to die. Sometimes the best we can hope for as those who understand the healing properties of food, is to bring some comfort and alleviation of pain to those who are terminally ill.
I'm writing a series on beginning the macrobiotic diet that I hope you, my regular readers, can forward it to friends who are curious about beginning the diet. I hope it will answer some questions and will lead them to seek out a macrobiotic counselor who can help them begin this lifestyle.
For every one of us, there comes a moment when our life could truly, radically change. My life changed last winter, and I've never looked back. I hope that these posts can help someone else get curious about changing their own life.