Today I went to the park with my cousins, and after rejecting the entry fee to the science museum my mom and I proceeded to wander through the groves and gardens aimlessly. I looked at this adventure as two of my three walks and an appropriate exercise in endurance, but as boredom set in my sciatica happily joined it. Frustrated, I found myself in the rose garden, solely with the intention to kill time in a place that I had formerly loved. Then, after twenty minutes of rose-viewing, my sciatica was gone.
I love roses. I have a thing for color, and immersing myself in swirls of vivid petals is my idea of a good time. I did not notice anything happening, nor did I believe that I would feel better - I had, in fact, resigned myself to blindly coping with the pain until I had access to an ice pack. But when I consciously thought about my body again, my leg was beautifully clear of pain.
I have an insane disease. I often liken it to the hydra - cut off a head and three more grow in its place. Today I learned a valuable lesson - when you are dealing with pain of mythological proportions, there is no room for cynicism. Especially when a proposed solution is as simple as opening an art book and soaking in Monet's brush strokes. Every little bit helps - even if it is as small as a flower.
photo credit: http://www.mooseyscountrygarden.com/rose-garden/pink-garden-roses.jpg

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