h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

I wanted to go to the beach with the dogs, but you had a job to go to, so we went along with you in the Jeep, helped you carry things in, then went for a walk while you installed the woodwork you had made for the people in the house. Later you laughed at the huge piece of driftwood I carried back, so big I had to balance it under my arm, on my hip, like a surfboard, the dogs' leashes run through my belt to keep them from running away.

Months later I went to see the horses at the stable where they're boarded, and found you'd made a rack for their tack out of that piece of wood. Tied to the end of it was a big red bow, no card, just the bow. You'd oiled that piece of wood, over, and over, until it shone, until every bit of the grain stood out and blended in, all at once, until your hands had brought it to life.

Not a day goes by that I don't love your hands. It's a gift you have, bringing out the best in everything you touch: wood, the house, the animals, me. Thank you, for everything.

We're here. Though it's hard to concentrate on writing anything between calls. I suspect you'll all have gone to bed by now, sorry we missed you. Love, Pferde.

It seems that in spending more time in the Garden with my herbs I have missed the troubadours' lays not once, but several times. Pity, for I love to hear him sing, and play his drum one-handed, and tell tales of worlds I've not seen, battles, mountains tall, far seas.

In the evenings, though, when he leaves the Great Hall, he comes to my little house on the side of the village, where I brush out his hair for him, and braid it, as he cannot, one-handed as he is. We drink our hot cider, talk into the night, doze by the fire. In the morning, he holds my face gently with one hand, and kisses the top of my head, and is gone.

In the Garden I sing a new song to the herbs and flowers, a chorus of birds accompanying, bees and butterflies dancing the tune across the beds of green and red and purple. I send blessings to the traveler, and wait, content.

You are beautiful. Thankyou.

*kiss*

==C.

Truth:

Nor time, nor place, nor name, nor language changes this:

Nothing can make me leave you.

There was smoke, and people were hurt, and we were crying with the noise and the uncertainty of it all. You were hurt, and I was frightened, no one stopped to help us, everyone was scared.

I found something, some strip of something, and bound it round your wound, and held you, and loved you, until at last we slept. When we woke they were there to take the injured for care, and the uninjured for--something. I never found out what, because I wouldn't leave you.

I don't remember which war, which time, which place. All I know is, once I find you, I don't leave you.

I never have.

I never will.

Have had a brief contact with Erik, which again puts in my mind the difficulties of time-zones and distance. Work this evening, Saturday, and Sunday, thus have no idea what time-tone I'll actually be in in relation to you and yours.

Time seems oddly narrow and tight today, rigid, brittle. Uncomfortable. Inflexible. Ell leave pbbles along the path; follow them, and we will meet when we do.
H.

This afternoon while you took care of things before your busy weekend I went with a friend to her job counseling appointment. First one, she was nervous, optimistic, but nervous.

On the way over we talked about a lot of things, her work, my writing, her children, my penchant for gathering 'stuff', and how those things coincided, resonated. We spoke in Spanish, talked of lost work and friends, admired the beautiful weather, and breathed.

I lent her phrases, English and Spanish, she sang to me, kept me company. We'll collaborate on two pieces of writing: a picture book for parents and children about hospitals, and a story about friends, separated and reunited.

When we got home, she dropped me off, saying she had some things to do. I came in, and came to find you. You greeted me with your lovely smile: my day was complete.

We've talked about it before, where did we come from, how did we get here, what makes us sure. There're books we read, stories we hear, that give us clues, make us almost sure we're not crazy.

Then a story like this hits the news, and I know in my heart for a fact: I was here. Those are my pots, my salves. I'll tell you how they were made, where I grew the herbs, ground the seeds, whose flesh that is on those bandages. All you have to do is ask; I think to myself, as I read about the researcher. All you have to do is ask. I'll tell.

Our monks worked with us; they owned the land, we owned the ideas. They called us when they had a question: this herb? that tincture? In return they kept us safe, didn't tell where we kept ourselves, didn't report our quiet festivals, our nights under the moon. They let us tend our wounded, bring comfort to those who lost loved ones, bring others into and out of the world.

Perhaps it wasn't me, not on this world. Perhaps. Then it was my sisters on this world, and I was here, with them, with you, my red-headed warrior, while we were there, where we were together. Because the story doesn't change, does it? Not really.




http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/3745498.stm
The medical world of medieval monks
By Jane Elliott
BBC News
Anaesthetics and disinfectants are thought to be a modern medical invention but evidence is coming to light that medieval doctors knew of them too.

Evidence found at the ancient Soutra Hospital site, in Scotland, suggests the medieval Augustine monks also knew how to amputate limbs, fashion surgical instruments, induce birth, stop scurvy and even create hangover cures.

The excavations at Soutra has also unearthed fragments of pottery vessels that were once used for storing medicines such as an analgesic salve made from opium and grease and treatment for parasitic and intestinal worms. Dressings have also been found, some still with salves or human tissues attached and the scientists have discovered a mixture of Quicklime (calcium oxide) which scientists believe was used as a disinfectant and a deodorant.

Research

The hospital, high in the Lammermuir Hills, near Edinburgh, was dedicated to looking after the poor, travellers and pilgrims as well as the sick and infirm. Dr Brian Moffat archeo-ethno-pharmocologist and director of investigations for the Soutra Project, studies clumps of seeds from the site. "We are in the unprecedented position to evaluate this system of medicine recipe by recipe - and ask, did all of it - or any of it - work?"

He said the scientists trawl literature of the period to try and identify remedies the herbs could have been used to create. They then search the site to find medical waste evidence to support their theories. He said that, using these methods, they had made a number of extremely significant finds and are regularly turning up new evidence about how ailments were treated during medieval times. "We reckon we have stumbled upon a means of reconstructing medical practices."

Texts

He said that the methods used were considered controversial by some archaeologists, because they do not find direct evidence of the medicine in use, but their findings were always corroborated by other experts.
When ergot fungus and juniper berry seeds were found at Soutra scientists were intrigued about their use.
Searching the historical texts suggests they were used to help induce birth, despite a ban on men in holy orders assisting in any aspect of childbirth. "When we looked at the site we found the still-born bodies of malnourished babies nearby so it is impossible not to link them," Dr Moffat said. "There was a ban on men in holy orders from interfering in childbirth, so any pregnant woman was left in the hands of an experienced village woman, but this would have been unacceptable to certain powerful people who wanted their wife or daughter to be looked after by physicians."

Another find revealed clumps of watercress lying close to a pile of teeth.
"There was no sign of forcible extractions on the tooth. So we searched the waste to see what might have been thrown out alongside the teeth and we found a small mass of watercress. We realised that watercress is very rich in vitamin C and we began to think that the watercress was being used to ease scurvy. Then we found one of the medieval texts which said lose teeth can be 'fastened or secured' by eating watercress. We consulted the World Health Organization who confirmed that a boost of vitamin C would stop teeth falling out from a bout of scurvy. They had noticed that scurvy is reversible if they took certain vitamins."

Hemlock

One of the exciting finds was of the abundance of hemlock in the drains. Scientists think the monks had used this as a painkiller before carrying out amputations.

Next to this they found the remains of the heel bone of a man. Tony Busettil, regus professor of forensic medicine at Edinburgh University who corroborated the Soutra find, said the bone had ridges on it, which indicated that the man had walked on the side of his foot. "It showed that the person appears to have had a limp so they could have been suffering from some sort of congenital palsy. Next to it they found evidence of very strong pain killers."

Dr Moffat said the monks' knowledge of herbs was so great it could be used to influence medicine today.
"You would not bother with strange plants at a monastery unless they were going to be used and these medieval brothers knew what to do. They knew more about plants than anyone alive today," he added.

No matter where we are, the story remains the same.

I don't remember our first meeting, fevered as I was for days following the battle. There had been another doctor first, but his hands were rough, his manner sharp, and it was a blessing when we moved on again. Though I was slipping in and out of consciousness I knew what had been done to me; the smell of cauterised flesh still lingered in my nostrils and haunted my fevered dreams.

You tut-tutted at me as I came around, but your hands on the dressing were gentler than those of the other doctor. I thought you were Arhuaine, until I saw you. "Welcome back," you said. "What a mess they made of you," you added, a smile masking your concern. "Blades and fire instead of a healer's hands."

Battlefield surgery is unpleasant at the best of times and infection had set into the bone. A lesser man, a human, would have died, and so would I have, except that you saved me. A herbal draught put me to sleep and when I awoke again there was another two inches gone from my right arm. Not that two inches mattered a great deal any more, when half of it was already lost. This time the wound was neatly stitched and dressed in clean bandages. The infection, and the worst of the pain then was gone.

You stayed with me, me and Ulrik, all that summer, even when I was healed and well again. Even my sour moods did not deter you. "It will be no life for you, tagging along with soldiers," I said. "Go home, Henlith."

But you refused. "Nonsense. Where else is a healer needed the most, except with men who put themselves in harm's way for a living?" Then you leaned forward and kissed me. "I'll not leave you, my red-haired warrior." I'd heard those words before.