Life Sat Me Down

"So naturally, the Universe decided my next lesson would involve lying down and doing absolutely nothing. Apparently there are easier ways to learn patience, but they weren't available to me. Life threw me a curve-ball."

A Blog by Sally Richards

• Craniosacral and Massage Therapist

• Natural Medicine Practitioner

After a mixed bag year in Tasmania, Hugh and I decided to buy a property on the Mid North Coast of NSW, and began the next chapter we'd been dreaming about for so long that didn't quite work out the way we had planned for Tassie. A place to call Home!

We arrived full of excitement, plans, energy and inspiration. A new home. A new community. A beautiful piece of land to care for. Gardens to build. Fruit trees to plant. Dreams to bring to life.

If you've known me for any length of time, you'll know that sitting still has never been one of my greatest gifts. I like projects. I like building things. I like helping people. I like being useful.

So naturally, the Universe decided my next lesson would involve lying down and doing absolutely nothing. Apparently there are easier ways to learn patience, but they weren't available to me. life threw me a curveball. 

On the 5th of June, while working from home, I started feeling a little strange. A little off. A very noticeable electric tingling sensation up the left side of my neck up into the back of my head. Later that day I discovered a tiny white tick attached near my left  shoulder. Hugh removed it and, like most Australians probably would, I didn't think too much of it at the time.

By the next morning, I woke with a sore lower back. At first, I thought I had slept awkwardly. Then each day things got worse. Saturday, sore. Sunday, sorer. Monday, worse again. By Tuesday and Wednesday I was rapidly declining.

At first, I assumed I had simply strained my back while unpacking, gardening and settling into our new home. Later scans showed a bulging disc at L4/L5, along with what appears to have been a significant strain and sprain through the muscles, tendons and supporting structures of my lower back and pelvis. But looking back now, I don't believe the story starts or ends there.

After the tick bite I experienced periods of feeling unusually unwell. Chills. Headaches. Fevers. A strange feeling that something wasn't quite right in my body. Then I started noticing another pattern. On two separate occasions after eating beef, I experienced a return of those same symptoms.

That led me down the rabbit hole of Alpha-gal Syndrome, a tick-borne condition increasingly recognised in Australia, where a tick bite can trigger an immune response to mammalian meat and animal products.

I don't yet have all the answers and I'm currently undergoing testing and researching, but the experience has opened my eyes to just how much impact something as small as a tick can potentially have on a person's life. Growing up, ticks were always just one of those annoying little things you pulled off and forgot about. Not anymore.

Whether the tick directly contributed to what happened to me, it triggered a weak point that was already there, or whether the timing is simply coincidence, I have a whole new respect for these tiny creatures and the illnesses they can carry.

What I do know is that within days, my life changed dramatically.

And then there was the back pain. Nothing could have prepared me for it.

I've had injuries before.

I've had aches and pains before.

But I have never experienced pain like this.

The kind of pain that makes getting out of bed feel like climbing a mountain.

The kind of pain that reduces your world to the distance between your bedroom and the kitchen. The kind of pain that makes you understand why people become exhausted, emotional and desperate for relief.

At my worst, I couldn't stand upright.

I couldn't walk without crutches.

I couldn't get off the couch.

I ended up in hospital after reaching a point where I could no longer move independently.

I remember sitting there wondering how my life had changed so dramatically in such a short period of time.

Only days earlier I was dreaming about gardens, food forests and all the projects we wanted to create on our new property. Suddenly my biggest achievement for the day was making it to the bathroom.

Pain has a way of humbling you.

It strips away all the unnecessary things and leaves you with a deep appreciation for the simple gifts we often take for granted.

Walking. Sleeping. Standing in the shower. Putting on socks. Making a bed. Bending over.

Things we rarely think twice about become extraordinary when they're taken away.

And then there are the unexpected heroes.

For me, one of those heroes has been a $7 grabber claw from Bunnings.

Honestly, if anyone from Bunnings is reading this, I'd like to nominate the claw for Australian of the Year. I've become completely dependent on it.

A dropped sock? Claw.

A tea towel on the floor? Claw.

A pen? Claw.

The TV remote? Claw.

At one point I dropped the claw itself and found myself staring at it on the floor wondering if this was how the story ended. Thankfully Hugh was nearby.

Without that thing, anything that hits the ground basically becomes part of the landscape.

"See you in six weeks, spoon. You belong to the earth now."

It's amazing how quickly your standards change.

Three weeks ago success looked like building gardens, unpacking boxes and transforming a property. This week I was celebrating putting my own undies on without requiring a recovery nap afterwards. Perspective is a funny thing.

But what challenged me most wasn't actually the physical pain.

It was the loss of momentum.

We had just arrived at our new home. I was full of ideas, inspiration and excitement. I wanted to be outside planting trees, building gardens, exploring the property and creating our next chapter.

Instead, life sat me down. Hard

For someone who loves being productive, contributing, helping others and bringing ideas into reality, being forced to stop was incredibly confronting.

Perhaps even more confronting was being forced to receive help.

I've spent much of my life being the one supporting others.

Suddenly I was the one needing support. Needing help to stand. Help to move. Help to navigate everyday tasks.And if I'm honest, that has not been easy.

But perhaps that was part of the lesson.

Maybe healing isn't always about doing. Maybe sometimes it's about allowing.

Allowing ourselves to rest.

Allowing ourselves to slow down.

Allowing others to care for us.

Allowing life to unfold in a way we didn't plan.

These last few weeks have reminded me what it feels like to be on the other side of the equation.

One of the unexpected gifts hidden within this experience has been a completely new level of empathy for my clients and people in my life. For years people have shared stories with me about chronic pain, injuries, arthritis, inflammation, muscle spasms and nerve pain.

I've always listened. I've always cared. But now I understand something I couldn't fully grasp before.

Pain changes you. 

It affects your sleep.

Your mood.

Your confidence.

Your relationships.

Your ability to show up in the world.

It can make you feel isolated, even when you're surrounded by people who love you.

I have an even deeper appreciation now for what so many people are carrying behind closed doors. This experience also gave me a first hand opportunity to compare different approaches to pain management.

I was prescribed Endone and later Panadeine Forte.

But for me personally, the experience with Endone was awful.

I felt nauseous.

Dizzy.

Disconnected.

Foggy.

It was as though I had traded one problem for another.

Throughout my recovery Ive utilised various medicinal cannabis formulations that I have access to. For me personally, the difference was significant.

The support I experienced wasn't just physical. Its helped me rest. Its helped me manage muscle spasms. It helped me cope emotionally with what was happening. It allowed me to feel more connected to my body rather than disconnected from it.

Also along with Cannabis I have used other natural approaches. Castor oil packs. Far out what an unbelievably cheap and easy to find thing and the relief was significant. Comfrey infused into lanolin, rubbing that on my back. I feel has repaired and help bind my soft tissues back together faster. Bath with Eps and salt with a cannabis oil in the bath has been honestly life changing through these weeks. Sitting in the Sun. The sun is so so healing I instantly feel better the moment I step outside in the sun and just sit in the rays listening to healing meditations, lifted my spirits so so much. Everyone is different, and every person's health journey is unique, but this experience reinforced once again  that plant medicines and natures gifts have an important place within a health and wellness approach.

One unexpected discovery through all of this is that I apparently have far more appreciation for my arms than I ever realised. For the last few weeks they've been doing the work of an entire support crew. Lifting me out of bed. Pushing me off chairs. Helping me stand. Supporting me on crutches. Launching me from the couch like a reluctant rocket.  At this point my arms deserve their own thank you speech. I spent years thinking my legs were the stars of the show. Turns out the arms were quietly waiting for their moment.

One of the biggest realisations throughout all of this has been about my parents.

As a child, I watched both Mum and Dad struggle with significant back pain at various times in their lives. I saw it.

But I never truly understood it. Not really. Now I do.

Now I understand the courage it takes to keep showing up when your body hurts.

I understand the frustration. The exhaustion. The vulnerability. The invisible battles people fight every single day. I see them both in a completely different light now, and I have a deeper respect for what they carried through those years.

Most of all, I am grateful for Hugh, my mum and my community.

This move, this injury, the uncertainty, the hospital visits, the tears, the fear, the setbacks and the small victories. Through it all, they have been my rock.

When I couldn't stand, they stood beside me.

When I was scared, They reassured me.

When I felt defeated, they reminded me that I would get through it.

Watching them step up time and time again has filled me with an enormous amount of gratitude. I truly don't know what I would have done without them.

And I suspect wedding vows should probably include a clause about helping your partner off the toilet when they throw their back out. If that's not true love, I don't know what is.

The beautiful thing is that I am improving.

A few weeks ago I couldn't imagine writing those words.

The first few walks around the house looked less like rehabilitation and more like an audition for a zombie movie. Every step was awkward, cautious and accompanied by sounds I didn't know I could make. But movement is movement, and I'll take every win I can get.

Today I can walk. Slowly. A little crooked. With all the grace and elegance of a newborn giraffe trying to figure out how legs work. But I'm walking.

And after where I've been, that's something worth celebrating.

As I sit here writing this, I can hear the birds outside our new home.

The gardens we dreamed of creating are still waiting.

The fruit trees will still need planting.

The land isn't going anywhere.

The weeds, unfortunately, are doing exceptionally well without me.

But for now, healing is the project.

For now, my job isn't to build the dream.

My job is to heal.

And perhaps that's enough.

If this experience has taught me anything, it's that health is not something to take for granted. Community really matters. Asking for help is a strength, not a weakness.

Love has the power to carry us through some incredibly difficult moments.

And every challenge carries an invitation to learn something about ourselves.

I'm not entirely sure yet what all of those lessons are.

But I'm listening.

For now, I'm focusing on one day at a time.

Healing.

Learning.

Growing.

And trusting that when the time is right, I'll return to the work I love and the life we're creating here with an even deeper appreciation for the gift of simply being able to move, breathe and participate in this experience called life.

Sal xo