Herbs Past and Present by Charles Garcia
Swine Flu, Grey Skies, and Della
I am waiting for winter. The grey skies of autumn have broken me. The cold air of El Nino chills the house, dampen my spirits, and outline my sadness. There has been too much death this season. Pets have died, church members have died, and too many of my clients have died. The flu struck down some. Old age and HIV were two invitations for the flu to do its dirty work.
I was hit with the swine flu and bronchitis. I fought back with hot soup, garlic, cayenne, vitamin C, and lomatium seeds in honey.
My adopted daughter in Baltimore suffered much as I did, but weathered it a bit better, but not by much. An emergency package of Wild Ginger tincture cleared her lungs of brown and greenish phlegm.
And then there was Della.
I met Della almost ten years ago, originally when she living in the Albany landfill with several other homeless citizens I was ministering to. She was called Dangerous Della because of her beauty. Her skin was dark brown, and her face had the shape of an Egyptian princess. Her eyes were stunningly expressive. An hour with Della would give a man “dangerous” thoughts. Her name was apt for another reason. Della occasionally suffered from severe fits of anger. She could and did become violent, though never in my presence, and never in front of her friends. She had spent some time in prison for assault. To this day I believe she suffered from a rare form of epilepsy that caused these uncontrolled rages.
At the landfill Della became, for all intents and purposes, my de facto nurse. She kept me abreast of the health conditions of the other denizens of the dump, especially the women. While most women will not share gynecological information with a male herbalist, they will talk to another woman. Though I always counseled my female clients to go to the Free Clinic in Berkeley, sometimes that was not feasible. As a stopgap, I taught Della how to make up soothing douches with mallow and fennel for vaginal irritations. In a clean bottle, Della would mix boiled water, Mallow root and leaves, plus crushed fennel seeds. After an hour or two, a green tinted, slimy concoction would form in the bottle. She strained out the mallow and fennel with cheesecloth and rebottled the hideously looking medicine. The douche was ready to be used full strength. From all reports, it was successful.
For a year Della peppered me with questions concerning herbs and their applications. Recently I learned she also made an effective cinnamon douche for yeast infections. I guess she really was listening to my rambling lectures.
I lost track of Della and most of the others at the landfill after the city closed it to illegal camping. Though the city offered relocation programs and work counseling, for those who could not function in normal society, it was a meaningless gesture.
A week ago I received a call from a local hospital. Della had been attacked with a knife and was currently having a psychotic episode while undergoing treatment for infection. She had also contracted the flu. My name and phone number had been found in her personal effects. She had been calling for me. She had been calling for almost a week. Unfortunately she had transposed two numbers and had failed to reach me.
The person I saw at the hospital did not resemble Della. Her face was contorted in rage and she was tied to the bed. Antibiotics were flowing into her veins. Uninvited, I checked her chart. She had also been given Thorazine, a powerful tranquilizer given to psychotics. Despite its well-deserved reputation of being able to calm a raging bull, it had done little for Della.
The doctor in charge was not happy to see me. She was tired and overworked. Her mood was irritable. Doctors also hate to think that anyone has more knowledge of sickness and healing than they do. Especially a layman. I truly believe that many doctors are so conditioned to believe themselves right, they would rather see a patient die than change treatment and be proven wrong. If this is a harsh judgment on the medical profession…so be it. I’ve run into it too often.
The nurses on duty had justified calling me by convincing themselves I was a spiritual counselor. The doctor saw my malachite necklace and doe-skin medicine bag, and asked if I was, “some kind of (deleted) street medicine man?” I agreed that I was, “some kind of (deleted) street medicine man, so let me take care of my client!”
She informed I had no right and certainly no knowledge that allowed me to be there.
We then began the century old battle of the academic whizzing contest. I asked for her bonafides. Then I gave mine. Lecturer at the Joint Medical Program, University of California Berkeley, School of Public Health, University of California, School of Medicine. Lectured at San Marcos State University, Department of Medical Anthropology, Instructor and lecturer, American Red Cross, Wilderness First Aid program. Finally I added that I had been consulted by physicians at Kaiser Medical Center. She stomped off.
Della and the nurses had observed this with some amused reactions. I told Della to stop thrashing. To help her, I placed my hands on her forehead and prayed silently. Maybe it was the touch of another person, or the smile I tried to keep on my face, but it worked. Della calmed immediately.
I asked that the restraints be removed. I burned a bit of white sage around Della and blew a bit in her face. The nurses were rightfully unhappy at this action. I apologized and asked them to consider it nothing more than religious incense.
Della’s fever went down and her abusive manner changed dramatically. I kissed her on the forehead and told her to be good to the nurses. She smiled and was asleep in minutes.
The next afternoon I was again called by the hospital. Della had woken that morning, eaten a small but good breakfast, joked with the nurses and took a late morning nap. She died peacefully in her sleep.
Friends and family have consoled me by saying that at least she died unrestrained, fed, and warm. Around her were people who were taking care of her. She was ready to go home.
I am not necessarily a religious man, though I devoutly believe in a Creator. And I am certain the Creator knows this about Della: Della was not a criminal. She was homeless. She was not a parasite. She helped those that she could.
She was one of God’s creatures. And He won’t let her be homeless any longer.
In the meantime, I wait for winter. Autumn has broken me.
As in all things, moderation and knowledge is suggested in the use of herbal remedies. Please contact an herbalist or knowledgeable physician concerning herbal treatments.
