Blind spot

The gorgeous sandy beaches of Varkala, that wound around the cliffs as far as the eye could see, were reached by a few hours' drive from the Sivananda ashram. I booked into a retreat a few minutes’ walk from the sea that offered Ayurvedic food and had an adjacent health clinic. Freshwater ponds interlaced with luscious tropical plants that insatiably helped themselves to the free space of land surrounding the little cottages inhabited by guests.

I was utterly depleted after Panchakarma, and unfortunately, a day after arriving, developed a fever and was confined to my cottage for the majority of the time. Thankfully, it had a veranda with a view of the pleasant setting where I could relax in peace, since I was barely able to read or move beyond its doors. Luckily there was an Ayurvedic doctor on site, a kind, tiny, lady who’s fuss of me was at first a relief that grew into an over attentive driver of anxiety. Before I knew it, I was being encouraged to go to the hospital for a full blood count and urine test. Flashbacks of hospital trips in Ghana loomed. Could I take this? The results revealed I had a urine infection, bacteria and a parasite. Plied with an armful full of natural medicines, I ended up staying in this state, alone, for nine days, contemplating the urge to pack it all in and be home for Christmas. Each afternoon, I mustered enough energy to sit on the sandy beach and watch the sunset, drinking a coconut. One time, I was freaked to stand on a puffer fish buried in the sand. On the tenth day, the doctor’s assistant, quite helpfully, told me to stop being a baby. Though I never did see much of Varkala, I felt ready; I packed and headed for the station. Probably the less said about this week the better; when I look back at the trip over my shoulder, I think this episode will be the blind spot that I don't see.

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