There was a time when I could assume that all the parts of my body would work. Such a glorious symphony of cooperation.

That is what the doctors are relying on when they subject me to this cure. This strong poisonous medicine that is meant to kill the cancer disease dead, but which also damages a lot of the necessary parts of my system.

These medical people check their checklists. But their concerns are not the same as mine. They want to keep me out of their red zones.

But as I am a human figure, shifted in perspective and dissembled like a Picasso painting, I have to examine the pieces of myself and fit them back together into a mostly functioning whole.

This makes me think of witches. It’s the wisdom of Old Wives. Those stories…rub butter on a burn. Garlic helps with infection, you know. Ginger is good for digestion. There are many more of these tricks and cures.

Each self is unique, and what is bothersome to one is tolerable to another. The attention to the tiny details and comforts is the domain of loving relationship.

Also, someone who is willing to test out the cures and pay close attention to how it works.

Trying things with myself is a good start. Does this cure the itch? Does this help me sleep?

Then taking care of little children gives a lot of chances to take care of the little problems and learn their solutions.

I have to identify what’s not right in myself and practice the witchcraft science of following the clues of what’s worked for others to find the things that help me. I have to define what is wrong and then go on a quest to find what will make it right.

So this week I’m eating liver. It turns out that anemia is not just bad in my doctor’s opinion. Once I got some iron-rich liver in me I felt a lot more energetic.

Seems strange to me that the doctor left it to me to come up with that solution.

But the old wife in me met the challenge quite well.