“It doesn’t look pretty , but it doesn’t have any sugar, any alcohol, any chocolate, or any gluten in it, so fuckin’ Eat it!”
Such was the little Pep Talk I was giving myself while cooking an innocent omelette this morning. I used to like omelettes. But today is the first day of what may be a very long lifetime of omelettes - living without sugar, wheat, gluten, oats, alcohol, dairy, and a whole bunch of other things I really liked. Amazing how much the sexy omelette loses its appeal when you think you may see nothing but for breakfast for the rest of your life.
I tossed Colin’s plate to him in bed. “It’s not pretty…” I started.
Noted: Maybe I shouldn’t have started a major change in diet simultaneously with PMSing. I’ve always thought dieting is like monogamy. It’s like, now you can see that chocolate cake and the sweet, juicy mango and the candy corn on the other side of the kitchen, but you can’t have any. Some days it’s easier than others.
“…so fuckin’ eat it!” Colin is a smart lad. He shows no outward sign of having any problem with the omelette. In fact,the sausage on the side is a bonus as far as he is concerned.
A few hours later, I visit a friend who’s recently done a juice cleanse. She has some left over. It doesn’t have any sugar, alcohol, wheat, etc… in it, so I figure what the hell. By three o-clock my stomach is doing flip flops.
Despite the fact I feel I’ve over-stayed anybody’s welcome in her office, I email my Nutripath. For the last 45 minutes of our 2 and a half hour appointment this week, there was another patient waiting. It just takes that long to get through my health history.
That, and she has personal questions, like what was my role in my family? Does anyone have a 10 second answer for that? Maybe they should be my guru. Then she starts asking about goals, and personal and professional success, and fear of failure and fear of success. I found myself babbling, at something of a loss.
And it wasn’t until after I left the office that I thought, well, of course. Asking me, or anybody else with chronic pain about visions for their future is like asking somebody who has an elephant standing on their foot what they want for breakfast.
I don’t care what I have for breakfast. Right now I just want this elephant to stop standing my foot.
Thus I might have answered. But I have a writer’s mind; I think of these things when it is time to write, not when it is time to speak, and so my Nutripath still thinks I have a fear of success. Or failure. Or something.
We’re hitting it hard. I’m a little sore because I’ve hit it hard before – the anti- yeast diet, the gluten free diet, the separate-your-carbs-from-your-proteins diet… But I’ve never done it like this. I’ve never put in stuff while I’m taking stuff out. As advised by a professional. This time, at the same time I cut out the wheat, gluten, yeast, etc….I’m adding in a really good probiotic, colloidal silver, some herbal tea from the amazon, and possibly some antioxidants, if I tolerate them.
I have equal belief that is will harm me as that it may help, because, well , that’s been my experience. But as long as there’s one iota of chance that it could relieve me of the dizzying array of wild and crazy illnesses which migrate like gypsies through my body on no particularly organized rotation, I’m willing to give it a try.
I thought one of the hardest parts to staying on this regime would be Colin. Raised only three hours from New Orleans, Colin likes sugar. And dairy, and fat, and everything tasty and nice. He likes his ice cream before bed routine, his cookies after meals routine, and wheat crackers and cheese in between.
But Colin has been demonstrating his skills as an empath. When he needs a snack that’s vorboten to me, he’s been kindly shoveling it into his mouth in the kitchen while I’m in the living room. And to my surprise, he’s actually been eating – and liking- the food I prepare for myself. He had to keep himself form eating all the nutty rice crackers so there would be some left for me. He has no issues with switching to goat cheese, and the shepherd’s pie was a big hit.
I’m left with the daunting task of continual food activity. I spend most of my day preparing what I eat, shopping for what I eat, thinking about what I’m going to eat, writing down what I eat, cleaning up what i've prepared to eat and eating what I eat. In some respects a detail oriented closeted anal retentive individual, I do not enjoy being anal retentive about food. The Dali Lama said we should eat and love with abandon, and that’s always been my motto, too.
But I want the elephant to stop standing on my foot. I’ve tried hitting it, coaxing it, and ignoring it. I’ve called in specialists and trainers of all shapes and sizes. I’ve X-rayed, MRI’ed, yoga-ed, P.T.- ed, scoped and shocked it. So far nothing has worked.
I don’t have any more time to write. Gotta drink my Spirutein.
P.S. Playing the role of an OB-gyne in a reading tonight. Always wanted to be able to examine myself to save the trips.
