For those of you who are sceptical about things like alternative medicine, please look away now. Go and have a cup of tea and some valium or something and come back when normal, cynical service has been resumed.
As you know, I am quite uninspired by the NHS. Don’t get me wrong. I feel that doctors are all well and good should you happen to saw through your arm during an unfortunate DIY incident, or shove a broad bean up your nose in a spirit of scientific enquiry, and I am a huge fan of pain relief in all its many and various forms. I do however, think that like the education system, the general day to day machinations of the NHS leaves a lot to be desired, and wherever possible I avoid using its services.
I am sure the NHS minions will have no beef with me regarding my reluctance, as they are woefully understaffed and have extremely limited resources. The fact that I am not beating the door down with my crutches and producing buckets of effluvia as evidence that my small, snotty child has got beri beri, and what are they going to do about it, is a blessing in disguise. I leave that to other, more dedicatedly ill people.
I am however, a reasonably unhealthy individual, as discussed in these pages on previous occasions. The Chaise Longue of Death (TM) is never far from my side, and about the only thing I am sure I am not suffering from is consumption, as I am far too rotund for such a wasting disease.
Despite the evidence of recent weeks, my children are disgustingly healthy, for children. Yes they get conjunctivitis and vomit a fair bit, but I am rarely forced to take them to the doctors, they have never had any of the classic childhood ailments except chicken pox, and if they have had antibiotics more than half a dozen times between them in the last ten years I will eat my thermometer. I put it down to their excessive fondness for filth, which has instilled in them a fine and thriving immune system, and my complete failure to be a good nurse which means there is absolutely no benefit to their being ill whatsoever.
On the rare occasions that they are stricken, and the numerous occasions when my middle aged, over tired, under utilised body fails to perform on demand, we tend to poke around in the world of alternative remedies as our first resort. I have a very fantastic homeopathic first aid kit, which even my cynical, doctor loving husband, is a fan of, and the rate we go through arnica I ought to buy shares in an arnica mine.
I have also in these last few months, become a devotee of the Hopi Ear Candle. Now, I used to be very cynical about these sticks of wonder, and have been known in the past to refer to them as ‘Hopi Arse Candles’. Which title has amused me greatly. I am now, I am forced to say, going to have to eat my words. Because dearest reader, whether I like it or not, they are bloody good.
I suffer from sinusitis. It is a horrible thing. I once read that Sylvia Plath suffered from it, and that may have been a major factor in her decision to stick her head in a gas oven and cut short her glittering career in poetry. I don’t blame her. It is incredibly painful, extremely persistent and on the couple of occasions I have been in such pain that I have sought the advice of a doctor, they have been both unsympathetic and entirely unhelpful.
Over the counter cold remedies that contain things for congestion do not even touch the sides. Anti histamines help a little. Avoiding dairy products and bananas (both of which produce snot, fact fans) help a little. Clutching hot water bottles to the face and howling helps a bit, and so does reaming out your sinuses by snorting saline (but it hurts). Someone suggested ear candling as a much less terrifying alternative. Given the choice between that and sniffing up the sea, I decided to try the candles.
Now I don’t care whether they were invented by Hopi Indians, as their packaging suggests, or whether they were (and this is much more likely) invented by a man called Dave in his shed last Thursday. It matters not. What matters is their effectiveness, and I have found them very effective indeed.
Basically for those who have no idea what I am blithering on about, they are long, hollow tubes of waxed paper which you stick in your ear. Here is an artistically rendered shot of some nestled on a bed of silk.
Naturally I always keep mine in such a way, ready for any stray photographer who may be passing. It explains why my house is such a nightmare to clean, clumps of ear candles on rippling sheets liberally strewn around the house. Still, if that’s what it takes one must suffer.
In order for them to work properly you must take them lovingly off of their bed of silk and ram them into your ears. One at a time is the best, otherwise you tend to look a bit like Frankenstein’s monster, but with the bolt in the wrong place. You also have to lie on your side, mostly to stop your shoulders catching on fire. Then you light the top end (furthest away from the ear, please) and lie there while the thing sputters and fizzes away, all the time sticking out of your ear hole, and rendering you an object of ridicule to your entire family. Like this:
I would just like to add that you will not look like the corpse of Gloria Hunniford if you do this. I promise. That is, unless you are the corpse of Gloria Hunniford, in which case, there is nothing to be done.
While you are lying there looking like a fule, it burns away and gently, through its current of warm air, blah, blah etc, pulls a load of wax out of your ear. It doesn’t hurt and you stop before it burns your hair and/or face off, which is good, because otherwise it would be a bit drastic.
I have found it best to have a glamorous assistant for the general lighting and monitoring of the candle. The candles are quite long, and difficult to light in situ unless you have monkey arms grafted on for the purpose. There is usually a little line to indicate when you need to stop burning them and start ripping them from your head. If you want to do it on your own, a mirror helps, but it is better to have someone else to shout: ‘Take it out now! Quickly! I’m sorry. I got carried away watching Family Fortunes and now your hair is on fire… Arrrrghhhhh!’
You then douse the still burning end of the thing in water, let it go out and unwrap the bit that’s left, exposing the disgusting, waxy mess that was once in your head to your horrified, yet fascinated gaze. It is almost as satisfying as being a child and pulling the scabs off your knees (and if you were a grotesque child, eating them. I do not recommend eating the earwax. Or the scabs for that matter.).
It has really helped my sinuses, and if you are desperate, I recommend you give it a go.
I’m sure I have written about these before, but I do like to repeat myself and have a very limited social life, so there is nothing much else to report. Plus, I have been suffering so much recently, that I am doing them once or twice a week. I had to do them again last night as I was slightly deaf in my right ear, and it was driving me crazy. I was like the lunatic grandmother from ‘Allo Allo,’ having to shout: ‘Eh? Hein? Quoi?’ all the time. When I started shouting: ‘Renee! There are two airmen hiding under ze bed…’ I knew that things had gone too far and I needed the power of the candles. Not the ones with the handles. (sorry for all of you who were not forced to watch grim televisual farce week in week out in the nineteen eighties. Count yourself lucky).
It’s amazing how much crap is in my ears. Honestly, I have come to the conclusion that my skull must be about 40% brain, 60% wax. No wonder I have been having headaches. It’s all the wax, squeezing my brain out and down into my boots. It must be.
I’m wondering if they do eye candles? It may be one way to cure Jason and the kids.
If they do, I promise to bugger the anonymity thing. I will be posting photos.
