The "Magic Touch"

It's completely OK if you don't believe me.  If I hadn't experienced the following for myself, I probably wouldn't believe me either.

That being said:

There is a man up near my grandmother's house in Massachusetts who can heal by touch and gentle exercise.  Due to lack of consent to use his real name (not that he refused, and in fact he would probably agree; I just forgot to ask), I will call him "Samuel."

I came to "Samuel" in tremendous pain.  I almost don't need to say that part; if you've been reading this blog for any length of time at all, you know how bad I've been feeling.  For three days, I allowed "Samuel" to work his "healing magic" on me: gently touching the parts of me that hurt, and having me move around, mostly while lying flat on my back.

Oh.  My.  Lord.  And I don't say that often.

After three sessions with "Samuel," I am very nearly pain free.  I have kept my bedtime medication regimen the same because I know I need to sleep, but I have not touched pain medication during the day since the day before I saw him.  This is not some great act of will power; I simply haven't needed it.

I am back to full Sarah walking speed; I haven't moved this quickly or freely since pre-RSD.  I don't mean pre-diagnosis; I mean pre-RSD.  That's nine years, people.  NINE YEARS.

And the best part? It is easy to keep his results in place.  All I have to do is lie on the floor, with my head cushioned, and move my hands and feet freely...for twenty minutes a day.  That's it.

"Samuel" is a worker of miracles.  My gratitude to him, and to the God that both he and I believe in.  Miracles.