My childhood friend M replied to the way of the feather shaman post, "If all that wore my ass out reading it, I can only imagine what it must be like living it!!!”
New acquaintance R also replied to that post.I must read more about this and write more sometime. Last Monday I had no less than seven appointments at the Mayo Clinic. where my Doctor son works. Already, having read only part of this, I have a remarkable number of connecting thoughts, starting with not being sure people know what they are saying, and for that matter understanding what they read or hear.
BTW. The Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville. is fantastic. I know it is a little far from BHM both worth it because of their current knowledge, and the personal and clear efficient you attention I have received,BestR
7 is a heap of doctor appointments, I hope not very serious. In my sprit code, 7 is the mark of God on an event or person.As often happens to my dismay, I found some typos in what I emailed out, and I slightly revised a few parts of it, and If you feel like reading more of it, you can use this link: the way of the feather shaman
My oldest Bashinsky first cousin was born with a congenital heart defect, which caused him to turn blue when he exerted himself physically, and he probably didn’t know from one day to the next if he would wake up in the morning. His father was maybe the best pediatrician who ever lived, and he is the 3rd hero in A Few Remarkable Alabama People I Have Known
Around age 18, my cousin went to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN, and had heart surgery that changed his life to the extent he became a long distance jogger for a while.
The father of my law partner Bob Kracke ran the Alabama School of Medicine in Birmingham. One day over lunch at Michael’s restaurant on 20th Street, across from the Parliament House hotel, my father said my law partner’s father was that guy at the medical center with all those funny ideas? I said his funny ideas made the Medical Center one of Golden Flake’s largest customers. My law partner’s father lured James Kirkland and other Mayo doctors to Birmingham, with a promise that a medical clinic would be built around his work.
Two years ago, I went to Kirkland’s gastroenterology department to get a second opinion, and I was assigned a young lady doctor who was born and raised somewhere in Africa. She met with me briefly and referred me to a nurse practitioner, who after hearing my IBS story, did a physical rectal exam and told me my anus was closed when it should be open, and she referred me to a physical therapy clinic, where they helped patients train their bodies to work differently. 3 different physical therapists, the last was a wizard, were not able to help the IBS, but they helped me with back spasms the IBS caused. The 3rd therapist referred me to a chiropractor. I had used chiropractors often in the distant past, but this fellow’s methods were very different, and he really helped my entire spine. My L-4 and L-5 had fused naturally after a rough injury in 2011, which ended my golfing days in this life.
About a month ago, I tried to get the African doctor to do a colonoscopy exam, but she was booked solid into early next year, when I was to see her again. A nurse practitioner scheduled me for a colonoscopy exam on October 25, to be done by another gastroenterologist at Kirkland. A good friend got me an appointment to see a private gastroenterologist in Homewood, who did surgery also, and that’s where I went yesterday, and got an appointment for a colonoscopy on September 11.
Three nights before 9/11, a familiar voice asked me in my sleep, “Will you make a prayer for a divine intervention for all of humanity?” I woke up wondering what that was about and made the prayer. A few days after 9/11, as I walked out of a US Post Office, the same voice told me, “America needs to get out of the Middle East altogether and let Israel and Islam fight it out, or work it out, and in that way learn which, if either, are God’s chosen people.”
I had very good experiences with Kirkland’s dermatology clinic, and a throat doctor in Kirkland’s Otolaryngology/EN/t clinic, who had invented a laser surgery technique to remove growths off the larynx. Before him, an ENT doctor in the Florida Keys had cut back a benign growth on my larynx, and an ENT doctor at Kirkland later did that twice, and then this laser doctor came to Kirkland and I was put with him, and he’s done the procedure three times now. It’s about like going to a dentist. Walk in, walk out, but I can’t talk for a while afterward. But for those doctors, I would have lost my voice, which I imagine would not have upset everyone I knew.
Around the time of first larynx surgery, in the Florida Keys, I was shown in a rather convincing way that the benign growth was karma for promises I made to a high school girlfriend, which I did not keep. Not all medical difficulties have spiritual roots, but many do, which was the point of the way of the feather shaman post. I have known two physicians who knew medical problems can be caused by something not recognized by medicine.
Perhaps a woo woo medical story will interest you?
My wife in Boulder, Colorado very much wanted to have another child, but I’d had a vasectomy when I was practicing law in Birmingham, because I was in lousy health and I didn’t feel able to try to raise another child. My oldest Bashinsky cousin’s younger brother was a pediatrician, who recommended the urologist described in the post you read some of, who had retired. I called him and he said he had learned a microsurgery technique that greatly enhanced the chance of reversing a vasectomy, called vasovasostomy. I flew to Birmingham and he did the surgery at St. Vincent’s Hospital, where the internist had saved me from dysentery and my daughters were born. He told me after the surgery to come see him in 3 days.
The night before I was to see him, a familiar voice told me in my sleep,”You need to go back to the hospital so that your surgery will be successful.” I then felt like I was going under general anesthesia and I blacked out in the dream and woke up ejaculating. I feared my doctor’s micro stitches had been blown out. When I saw him later that morning, I told him that I’d had a wet dream and he said he said the subconscious has a mind of its own and he wasn’t worried about it.
I flew back to Boulder and my testicles started swelling and turning dark blue and then black with blood clotting. The left testicle swelled the most, almost the size of a baseball. I called my doctor and told him what was going on. He said he’d never heard of that kind of reaction to a vasovasostomy. I still did not tell him about being told I had to go back to the hospital. My wife was a licensed clinical social worker. She was as convinced as I was that angels, or something, and performed a second surgery, because that was the only thing that could explain what had happened to my testicles.
By and by, she played nurse and collected some of my sperm in a condom, and I took it to a lab in Boulder, and they sent the results to my doctor in Birmingham and he called me to say I was fertile. Yet, my wife did not conceive. There were issues with her son by her first husband, and other issues, and I felt neither of us were ready to bring a baby into this world. She did not like hearing that, but she also was having not of this world experiences, and so she was constrained to say I was nuts. But she was not constrained to decide she wanted to separate over something that made no sense to me other than she needed an excuse.When we met new people, who asked me what I did (for work), I looked at her and she told them, “Sloan’s the mailman.” When they asked what that meant?, she said, “He delivers the message. I don’t know how he does it, but he can see around corners and through buildings.”One warm April day in 1994, she and her son and a licensed clinical social worker friend of ours, who had told me I. should read up on St. John of the Cross, were sitting chairs on the side patio of our home. I chanced to look up and saw a white oval shaped spaceship parked beside a cloud about a mile up. I told them to look up at the spaceship parked beside a cloud, and they said in unison, “Yeah right, Sloan.” I told them again to look up at the spaceship parked beside the cloud, and heard the same thing. The spaceship darted behind the cloud, a maneuver no human aircraft could have done. I told them about that, and came back, “Yeah right, Sloan.” The cloud started being stretched across the sky like a giant vapor trail, and I told them to look at that, and heard the same thing back. I asked them again to look up and see what the spaceship was doing to the cloud, and there was silence.That night, the boy came to me alone and asked me if I had seen a spaceship? I asked him if he had ever known me to make up something? He said, no. I said, “You didn’t look up because you were afraid what your mother and our friend might think about you.” He said, “Yes” I said, That happened for you, because I already knew about ETs, and I bet the next time I tell you to look up at a spaceship, you will do it.” He said, “Yes.” But there was no next time for him while I was with them.It dawned on me last year that the spaceship event was my clue to pack my bags and leave Boulder. Had I done that, it would have saved me a lot of heartache and money. It took me a long time to get over how Boulder ended. Angels and new women helped me with the mental, emotional and spiritual trauma. Inheritances from my father finally got me off the homeless rolls for good. For I was blocked by something from making a living wage doing what I knew how to do, and I am still blocked. That used to really worry me, but I slowly got over it.My father thought I had a lot more funny ideas than Dr. Kracke at UAB Medicine. Yet after my father and I parted ways in the human sense in the fall of 1995, he started coming to me in my dreams and advising me and being the father I really needed. He still comes around every now and then in a dream.Sloan
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