Personal Narrative Essay: A Short Story: Pennine Day
Ellie sat on the hard, wooden floor of the village hall, knees up to her neck struggling to put her left foot on her right leg as directed by her yoga teacher. There was no chance. Her knees were hot and tender, her hips ached and she was sweating profusely. Nothing would move. Never mind water lily, her lotus was more tightly budded rose.
It was utterly dispiriting and had been for several months now as her arthritis worsened. Her knees grated bone on bone like a creaky door, as she tried to lower into the downward dog position, but her dog resolutely refused to move south.
It was a far cry from last year when she’d managed to walk the entire length of the 253-mile Pennine Way in June with her grand-daughter, Michelle. Walking was a lifelong …show more content…
‘Haw, Ellie, you must bring some of those delicious brownies you made last time with you on Friday. Soo gorgeous. I felt marvellous- you must give me the recipe. Don’t forget now, ciao.’ Then she was gone, gambolling out of the hall, down the steps and along the road to her car.
Ah yes, the brownies. Well, thought Ellie, she couldn’t possibly make those again. She’d have to think of some excuse as to why they weren’t going to taste the same at this month’s meeting. A different brand of chocolate or …show more content…
That was how she found out about alternative medicine to help with the arthritis. And an ‘alternative’ to the alternatives. Tweeting that the pills her doctor prescribed were useless and did anyone have any ideas, suggestions flooded back. Try turmeric or cinnamon, someone said. One tweet was from a sufferer who recommended cannabis as a form of pain relief.
She’d thought he was having a laugh and wasn’t it illegal? But her new-found internet skills unearthed an overwhelming amount of information and on finding out that it wasn’t breaking the law to buy seeds, she’d just gone ahead.
It was easy to get them online from somewhere in the Netherlands. Suddenly Ellie hadn’t felt so alone and even felt a little frisson of excitement at the illicitness of it all, coupled with frustration at the failure of conventional medicine.
It’s not that she hadn’t tried to persuade Dr Barratt to help. She’d made an appointment at the practise in the Market Square, and sat in a waiting room full of wheezing asthmatics, sniffing children, pregnant women and reluctant farmers, accompanied by their
It was utterly dispiriting and had been for several months now as her arthritis worsened. Her knees grated bone on bone like a creaky door, as she tried to lower into the downward dog position, but her dog resolutely refused to move south.
It was a far cry from last year when she’d managed to walk the entire length of the 253-mile Pennine Way in June with her grand-daughter, Michelle. Walking was a lifelong …show more content…
‘Haw, Ellie, you must bring some of those delicious brownies you made last time with you on Friday. Soo gorgeous. I felt marvellous- you must give me the recipe. Don’t forget now, ciao.’ Then she was gone, gambolling out of the hall, down the steps and along the road to her car.
Ah yes, the brownies. Well, thought Ellie, she couldn’t possibly make those again. She’d have to think of some excuse as to why they weren’t going to taste the same at this month’s meeting. A different brand of chocolate or …show more content…
That was how she found out about alternative medicine to help with the arthritis. And an ‘alternative’ to the alternatives. Tweeting that the pills her doctor prescribed were useless and did anyone have any ideas, suggestions flooded back. Try turmeric or cinnamon, someone said. One tweet was from a sufferer who recommended cannabis as a form of pain relief.
She’d thought he was having a laugh and wasn’t it illegal? But her new-found internet skills unearthed an overwhelming amount of information and on finding out that it wasn’t breaking the law to buy seeds, she’d just gone ahead.
It was easy to get them online from somewhere in the Netherlands. Suddenly Ellie hadn’t felt so alone and even felt a little frisson of excitement at the illicitness of it all, coupled with frustration at the failure of conventional medicine.
It’s not that she hadn’t tried to persuade Dr Barratt to help. She’d made an appointment at the practise in the Market Square, and sat in a waiting room full of wheezing asthmatics, sniffing children, pregnant women and reluctant farmers, accompanied by their