Oil Me Up

I am not terribly natural. I’m mostly a ball of stress and caffeine getting through the day on lorazepam and Advil until nighttime and my lover Unisom comes to call. (We’ve been together since my pregnancy with Joey, but he still gets me into bed every night.)

I asked my OB if I could have an epidural at the curbside when I got to the hospital.

I have a patented cold cocktail of drugs that I take every time my nose starts to itch and yeah okay I’ll probably die of an ulcer, but it’s like my sinuses don’t even exist anymore! Yay!

I don’t like feeling..well…much of anything, and certainly nothing unpleasant.

And I tend to think that the best ways to get through those feelings are chemicals. Tasty tasty chemicals that they put into pill forms and I can wash down with a glass of white wine from Aldi.

(I’m KIDDING. I don’t have a problem.)

(Except that I only buy my wine from Aldi.)

So I am not crunchy. I’m the opposite of crunchy. I’m like a barely cooked chocolate chip cookie, which is oddly also how I make my chocolate chip cookies. (Or Seared Dough Balls, as my loving husband calls them.)

I have heard people tell of essential oils and their benefits. My sister loves them. A bunch of people I love and respect love them. I was sure they were lovely, but why am I gonna fool around with lavender and witch hazel when I have a perfectly good analgesic RIGHT HERE y’all. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Well, last week, I was desperate. I went to Dermy for the most hallowed of traditions for the Irish, right up there after Holy Mass and dinner with mam…the shave biopsy.

(Pasty girls say hey!)

Anyway, it wasn’t healing the way it should because I’m a bleeder and have awful skin and my bra was rubbing on it and wow, you do not need to know all this stuff about a random part of my side. But it was PAINFUL. And even more painful, I was thinking I was going to have to go back to the doctor to see what to do about it and then I’d have to drop the kids off and take a shower and make an appointment and ugh, I’d rather die of sepsis.

So I was whining about this to my sister, because at approximately 50 weeks pregnant and mother to the most…um…high maintenance toddler on the planet, she really needs to hear about how my bra is bugging me because it’s rubbing a cut under my arm. I don’t know why she likes hanging out with me.

And she was like, “You’re not going to like what I have to say.”

Ugh. I know. I have to go to the doctor.

“Oils.”

Ugh. Worse.

But again, desperate. So I let her mix me up a little jar of something and something that smells like incense during Holy Week and I slathered it all over my weeping wound and went to bed like, “Hah! I’ll show her. This is ridiculous.”

And damned if the thing wasn’t, like, healed by the morning. And the secondary wounds that the bandaids gave me (because I have super sensitive pale skin, just to up the sexy quotient) were totally gone too.

So it took me like twelve hours to be converted to essential oils.

I was like scanning my body, looking for things to oil. I considered throwing away my Mucinex for a bottle of coconut oil and something. I put it on cold sores and eczema and that weird crusty spot on my scalp and…ugh oh man, I’m all about the essential oils.

Ugh. My sister was right. Again.

I should give Poldark another chance.

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