BE CAREFUL . . . Of what you wish for.

The following story is in response to the question I am most often asked regarding Berkana Farm. The Why?

Humph.. this is not what I had in mind…. not even close but it is exactly what I wished for. Surreal… I think living in the moment suddenly has merit.

What was I thinking… I keep asking this question… and there are no answers… only silence.

It must be raining out, I feel rain on my face. I am sooo cold. I just want to get warm. I want to feel safe. I want to feel love. I look around and I see a door. The door is at the end of a narrow hallway. I start down the hallway. Ohhhh it is warm, I am enveloped, cocooned. So blissful, so serene. Why have I not known about this place I wonder. This is heaven. I keep going. With each step, my burdens are washed away. I am getting lighter. I close my eyes and feel the peace. I move toward the door, my hand touches the knob. I’m here. I have never felt this way before. It is like all the baggage I have been packing around is gone. No worries, no cares, just beauty, serenity, peace, comfort and warmth. I pull open the door. A hand is reaching for mine and I link my hand into his. I look up and am so happy to see Fred. I snuggle in close. He leads me around the corner, and my heart skips a beat. A room full of my friends…oh how I’ve missed them. I am hugging Al when suddenly I realize… these are all my dead friends.

“HOLD IT!!! Stop everything…. I am not ready to go there!!!” I shouted. I sat bolt upright and in doing so scared the be living daylights out of the ambulance attendants.

“Don’t move me, my eye feels like it is falling inside my head, I need to sit up”, I am yelling. The pain is beyond my imagine and believe me I have had lots of pain in my lifetime, but nothing to prepare me for this. I try to focus my breathing. My eye.. oh my god… it feels like it is hanging on a cord and bouncing around in my head. They slide the spine board into the ambulance. The light is so bright it slices through me and I writhe in agony. I scream. Where is all this water coming from, I wonder. I feel it running down my face. My hands are anchored, I can’t wipe it away. I feel trapped. I can’t breathe. OMG… WTFIGO….

Each bump sends me into another moment of living hell, soon they are all strung together. I surrender.

The room is white. Someone is asking me “did you lose consciousness” I shake my head.

Your name….. I answer

What day is it…… I answer

Who is the Prime minister…. I answer

There is a bustle of movement, I keep asking for someone to look at my eye and no one does. I drift…. I start thinking about work, my staff, my animals….MY DOG!!! Where is my dog? I jerk alert. I am frantic. I can’t see, it is blurry.

“Kizmit, Kizmit…”, My heart is pounding, I can’t catch my breath. My chest feels like it is going to blow up. My throat is dry.

“Slow down girl”. I know that voice…. the ambulance attendant…lucky me… I get an ambulance attendant I know. He places Kizmit my 3.5 lb Yorkie on my chest. I close my eyes and relax.

I hear heated conversation. I am trying to make sense of what I hear. The voices sound garbled , distorted. I listen. I concentrate.

“She should not be released, you didn’t see the truck, the headrest, or her vitals 2 hours ago. I know her and she is not okay!

They must be talking about someone else….This is just a blip in my radar. Back to the grind tomorrow for me.

A police officer is suddenly standing at the end of my bed speaking my name in a loud commanding way. I have to fight the impulse to kick him. I can’t stand the noise it is too loud.

Of all things… he is telling me to move my truck from the scene of the accident. How is this possible I wonder, how did I get here and how on earth can I deal with this right now. I am suddenly overwhelmed, I feel sick to my stomach.

To this day I have no idea, how I got home or how I had my truck towed to the body shop, or for that matter how Kizmit got to the hospital.

I rented a truck the following day and went out to the campsites I was managing. The trip was terrifying. Vehicles were pulling out in front of me, giving me the finger, blowing their horns. something out of a horror magazine. To top it all off, each site I visited I had my staff telling me to go home, I should be in bed. I can tell you this much, I really wasn’t looking forward to the drive home after what it took to get here.

Fast Forward . . .

. . . to present day. The accident was in 1998. I was rear-ended by a fully loaded 5-ton truck hauling frozen fish. The truck behind it veered out into oncoming traffic to avoid rear-ended and as a result, a woman was killed. This story is just a small segment of a book I am writing titled “Me and Who?” I was diagnosed as having an MTBI (moderate traumatic brain injury).

The accident brought about this huge interest I have in health and healing, both in the physical and in the spiritual. I have no Ph.D.’s, in health. Everything I have learned is from the school of hard knocks. I got it in my head that if I found the right way to feed my body it would heal itself and the terrible nightmare would be over. Some might say I succeeded as today I am walking and talking normally and this was something I was told I would never do.

Over the course of this journey, I had many setbacks due to the advice and treatment by physicians.

I ended up with serious maladies (on top of all the symptoms of the MTBI)……

Ulcerative colitis

fungal infections

knee replacements

hysterectomies

and the list goes on

As a child I was the “fixer”. It is important to me to leave this world a better place and to have made a difference. If I can provide just one person with the knowledge they can use to have a better life for either themselves, a loved one or their animals, I am happy.

Jim (partner and spouse) and I are owners of Berkana Farm. there would be no Berkana Farm without Jim…he fills in to make everything possible regardless of the problems I still face with the MTBI.

Berkana is Gaelic for “New beginnings”.

Will you join us on this journey to make a difference?

Invisible BIP
The Hitchhiker