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8802RE: [anthroposophy] Medicinal Compound

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  • Maurice McCarthy
    Jul 1, 2003
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      Dear Jan,

      The medicinal compound was a Victorian green ointment which she used many
      purposes "most efficacious in every way", as the song goes. It smelled
      coffee-like and I made the mistake of asking her what it was made from. She
      exploded in anger, "No one robs my knowledge to where it may be abused! You
      will be told what you need to know and no more. ... Everyone gets a
      snippet." The last was said as she calmed down. Weeks later she made an
      unwarranted comment about my daughter and I turned on her. I was staggered
      at the fearful recoil this produced from her. Yet, from these unseemly
      beginnings, a mutual respect and trust formed very quickly.

      She was no anthroposophist, had not even heard of Steiner and there was
      once only that she mentioned the spirit. My first wife's mother had been
      having increasingly bad dizzy spells until she almost collapsed and the
      doctor was called he gave three possible causes, the most unlikely being a
      intermittent blood loss in the brain. As time went on she became more ashen
      and grey. Within three weeks she was taken in for diagnostic tests and the
      whole family knew it was serious. My wife pleaded for Heather to come and
      she her. She dropped everything and came right across the country. Carrying
      a brew the main ingredient of which was golden rod, "Nature's soldering
      iron." She forced four or five glasses down her throat. Within minutes it
      was obvious that she was incapable of keeping her eyes open. I seen and felt
      this effect before. There was nothing soporific in the potion but the body
      was so starved of living food that it overcame the soul to repair itself, or
      that was how I rationalised it.

      We went back 4 hours later. She had not looked in such radiant health in two
      years. Her cheeks were glowing pink and she was walking around the ward as
      nothing was wrong at all. "Now listen to me," Heather said, "You are not
      cured. You've had first aid and no more. Now get yourself out of their evil
      clutches and come down to The Fens for a few weeks until I sort you out."
      Elaine objected that she had far too many obligations to be doing such. "If
      you start submitting to radiation tests then don't come calling on me!"
      Heather grabbed my wife's arm and took her to one side, "Your mother is
      weak, a Pisces who want to swim both ways. I warn you now, get her out of
      here. I've told you many times, hospitals exist to have power over people
      not to cure them. Then want to prolong death not give life. You've got to be
      her backbone." We knew very well that all others would disagree. Hospital is
      the "best place" when you're ill.

      She submitted to the tests which showed up an aneurism. Even though she was
      over 70 the surgeon considered her general condition, especially her blood
      to be so good that an operation to insert a titanium clip was the best
      course. To please the rest of the family she agreed again. It was a triple
      aneurism and it burst upon the insult to the brain. She only just lived,
      stirring just once into consciousness before relapsing into a coma for 10
      days. The surgeon called in the family to tell them to expect the worst and
      in the unlikely event that she lived her left arm was almost certainly
      paralysed and she may be mentally impaired. We asked him to allow Heather in
      but he said it was against the hospital regulations. Upon insistence he put
      it to the Director of Ethics who bent the rules for us.

      I'll never forget the sight of Heather sauntering down the hospital corridor
      two days later. She was carelessly chewing nuts as she meandered down as if
      not a thing in the world bothered her. Tweed skirt, grey hair, tartan
      woollen socks (on a warm summer's day!) and a shawl. The head nurse and the
      director saw her in private first before allowing her onto the intensive
      care ward. She came out shaken but unbowed after half an hour. There had
      been a battle. Like an old soldier she refused to speak of it. "Let's go see
      Elaine."

      She was introduced to the ward staff and went to the bedside putting her arm
      around the patient's feed line and drip to hold her head gently in the crook
      of her arm, as she always did to assess a patient. Her eyes closed as she
      concentrated and they fluttered behind the lids like REM. I had seen this so
      many times before. As she closed the curtains round the bed she said, "Bring
      your daughter in." She gently massaged the upper chest then moved her hand
      down the right arm about an inch above it. Elaine's arm 'kicked' as if it
      had had a small electric shock. The legs kicked more violently. The legs
      kicked more violently. Then astoundingly the left arm moved. "What are
      doing?" asked my daughter. "Just putting some electricity back into the
      body. Anybody can do that its easy."

      Elaine stirred but maybe I was mistaken. "There's no more we can do just
      now. Tell the doctor I want to feed her through the nasal tube." The surgeon
      still had care wanted the hospital "filth" still to be served but the
      director over-ruled him again, for now at least. We shot off to collect and
      found yarrow in the hospital grounds themselves. We stopped two miles down
      the road. There was a reason but I don't remember. "Look allheal! That's
      rare. It's the most powerful of all to stop bleeding." We gathered some up
      and went on, stopping now and then for her to look around. "There must be an
      old church yard somewhere. They are usually good places." So shot off to St.
      Peters. Crab apple, elder, shepherd's purse, this, that and the other. We
      went next door to the park looking for nettles but they'd died back. She saw
      a great patch of dock leaves. "We'll take those instead. ... I've been
      looking at trees, you know. ... Pick some oak leaves." The tears welled up
      in my eyes. The mighty oak, defender of whole ecologies, was being called
      into service. No one, surely, ever administered oak?

      It all went back to the house and we put on the kettle. "Put some oak leaves
      into a teapot. ... No, no not too many." My wife did not pick it up but
      Heather was experimenting. Still learning. All instinct said go with it. She
      let it steep for 10 mins and drank half a cup full; then the rest and
      another. "Put a good handful of oak into the tea pot. It insulates the cell
      nucleus from drugs. Then get out the juicer." We broke three juicers that
      week. Concoctions such as I've never seen were made. Thick slimy and green.
      Garlic, peppermint, sage, rosemary - just a little, dandelion, couch grass
      and only Heather knows what. Within three days Elaine was sat up in bed and
      lucid, fully compus mentus. The left arm was not perfect but it was usable
      and could get better. The ward nurses were astounded. "I've never seen
      anything like this. Can you bring her (Heather) back again?" Heather could
      see the words on my lips. She whispered in my ear, "Don't boast. The spirit
      doesn't like it."

      The story ends unhappily. The eldest son now took objection. It was obvious
      to him that his mother cannot have been so ill after all and he wanted
      Heather out. After all no quack can cure anything. He went to the hospital
      principal later in the week who hit the roof with the Director of Ethics.
      Elaine relapsed and lost control over the most of her left side and became
      feeble minded. She never left hospital and died 10 months later. Heather
      never saw another patient. I never saw her again. Self-absorbed in the death
      throws of my marriage I did not know she had succumbed to cancer until it
      was too late. Her young niece Paula looked after her in her final days. In
      great pain she refused point blank to admit a doctor even on the day she
      died. "The best thing for a doctor is a gun. You can shoot him as he comes
      over the bedroom door," she had once said.

      Heather had a fine feel for the Ahrimanic in medicine, "the biggest Satanic
      cult in the world. Sleep deprivationation, massive indoctrination, strict
      hierarchy of authority - the hallmarks of a cult - this is a medical
      school."

      Maurice McCarthy
      home email <maurice.mccarthy@...>
      work email <maurice.mccarthy@...>


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