Since the start of the summer I have cut down most of my supplements by half or more. Half the iodine, one third the Vitamin D, one third the zinc, one third the herbs for my liver. Before I’ve cut my vitamins down and then just had to increase them again a few weeks later when my symptoms flare up, but this time that hasn’t happened.
In fact, I am feeling better and better. After four months on Rocephin, things that used to tire me simply don’t, and my energy feels steadier throughout the day. I go to the gym and push myself and instead of collapsing later, I can feel my endurance improving.
I have moments when I catch myself in the simple reassurance of the strength returning to my body, and realize I have an unquestionable feeling this strength will get me over this illness. I imagine myself free of taking pills around the clock and going to doctors, and I wonder if I dare to trust that life will come through, just this once, on the promise it holds out to me. And then it turns to a prayer: O please, let things be straightforward this time.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
TASTE BUDS
Carolyn Humpreys once sold me a fermented soy liquid that she considered an elixir. She had just received a shipment of this brownish grayish drink and told me I should try it for whatever problem I had at the moment. “It’s so nutritious. It stimulates your body to take care of whatever’s wrong,” she said.
My attitude towards supplements is mixed. On the one hand, the right supplement can work wonders for all sorts of problems, from headaches to insomnia to bad breath. On the other hand, once you’re up to twenty different supplements a day, the cost adds up as does the hassle of remembering to take them all at the right time. So when the prospect of taking a new supplement arises, I think twice.
In this instance, Carolyn’s enthusiasm for the soy elixir was so great that she won me over.
“The people I’ve put on it are doing really well. You might even be able to drop some of your other supplements just from being on this.”
I bought two bottles and put them in the refrigerator when I got home. When I opened one, I found the taste was a mix between old gym socks and cat piss.
Over the next week I tried to remember to take the soy stuff at the right time—or at any time. But since it was out of sight in the refrigerator, and since it tasted so disgusting, it was easy to forget. In the end I decided to accept reality: I wasn’t going to drink this stuff.
Carolyn was completely understanding at my next appointment, and took back the unopened bottle for a refund, but what to do with the opened bottle? I knew she couldn’t give me money for it, but I suggested she might have another patient who would want it—the stuff was expensive and I didn’t want it to go to waste.
“I’m not allowed to do it for health reasons,” she said. “What about the Poet?” The Poet [my boyfriend] was also Carolyn’s patient and just so happened to be out in the waiting room.
“But he doesn’t have Lyme. It can help him with ________?” I asked.
“Oh yeah,” Carolyn said. “It helps with all sorts of problems.”
I was still skeptical. “I don’t know, given the way it tastes it’s going to be hard to get him to take it.”
“You never know. Some people love the taste.”
“You’re kidding,” I said.
“No, if your body needs it, your brain can sometimes help you out. I have people who swear this tastes like chocolate. All kinds of people tell me supplements taste like chocolate.”
Feeling a bit like I was in a Life cereal ad, I followed Carolyn out to the waiting room and offered the soy beverage to the Poet.
“You might really like the way it tastes,” I said helpfully. He looked interested. We poured out a tablespoon and he put it to his lips. He swallowed.
“Well?” I said, eager to see if Carolyn’s theory was true, if this was a real elixir that would solve all the Poet’s problems, make his brain turbo charged and his body full of energy, sleeping soundly at night and waking each day full of happiness, and if that were the case, would his taste buds tell him the drink was like chocolate and cry out for more?
“Well?” I asked again.
“That’s disgusting,” The Poet said.
Carolyn nevertheless told him what a panacea it was, and since the price was right (free) he was enthusiastic about it. He even, if I recall correctly, gave me some money for it. We took it home again and he finished the bottle, and perhaps, among the other supplements he was taking, it contributed to the gain in health he had while he was going to Carolyn. Who knows.
Last night I remembered Carolyn and this incident. Around 10:30, I mixed up a drink of filtered water, powdered algae (cracked-cell-wall chlorella to be specific), a few drops of silica with sunflower oil, and a few drops of electrolytes. I drank it, as I do every night at bedtime.
Throughout my life I’ve had many memorable drinks: a Newcastle Brown Ale after a long rugby game, dark hot chocolate for breakfast at a hotel in Paris, the grapefruit soda sold at street stands in Buenos Aires, and in Mexico I liked to sweeten my café con leche with the full-flavored black sugar I found at the market. But last night as I drank the mix of algae and silica, I thought, that tastes really good.
And then I realized that I had just thought that— about algae. It didn’t taste like chocolate, but it was good. I actually enjoyed it. Carolyn’s theory must be true after all.
My attitude towards supplements is mixed. On the one hand, the right supplement can work wonders for all sorts of problems, from headaches to insomnia to bad breath. On the other hand, once you’re up to twenty different supplements a day, the cost adds up as does the hassle of remembering to take them all at the right time. So when the prospect of taking a new supplement arises, I think twice.
In this instance, Carolyn’s enthusiasm for the soy elixir was so great that she won me over.
“The people I’ve put on it are doing really well. You might even be able to drop some of your other supplements just from being on this.”
I bought two bottles and put them in the refrigerator when I got home. When I opened one, I found the taste was a mix between old gym socks and cat piss.
Over the next week I tried to remember to take the soy stuff at the right time—or at any time. But since it was out of sight in the refrigerator, and since it tasted so disgusting, it was easy to forget. In the end I decided to accept reality: I wasn’t going to drink this stuff.
Carolyn was completely understanding at my next appointment, and took back the unopened bottle for a refund, but what to do with the opened bottle? I knew she couldn’t give me money for it, but I suggested she might have another patient who would want it—the stuff was expensive and I didn’t want it to go to waste.
“I’m not allowed to do it for health reasons,” she said. “What about the Poet?” The Poet [my boyfriend] was also Carolyn’s patient and just so happened to be out in the waiting room.
“But he doesn’t have Lyme. It can help him with ________?” I asked.
“Oh yeah,” Carolyn said. “It helps with all sorts of problems.”
I was still skeptical. “I don’t know, given the way it tastes it’s going to be hard to get him to take it.”
“You never know. Some people love the taste.”
“You’re kidding,” I said.
“No, if your body needs it, your brain can sometimes help you out. I have people who swear this tastes like chocolate. All kinds of people tell me supplements taste like chocolate.”
Feeling a bit like I was in a Life cereal ad, I followed Carolyn out to the waiting room and offered the soy beverage to the Poet.
“You might really like the way it tastes,” I said helpfully. He looked interested. We poured out a tablespoon and he put it to his lips. He swallowed.
“Well?” I said, eager to see if Carolyn’s theory was true, if this was a real elixir that would solve all the Poet’s problems, make his brain turbo charged and his body full of energy, sleeping soundly at night and waking each day full of happiness, and if that were the case, would his taste buds tell him the drink was like chocolate and cry out for more?
“Well?” I asked again.
“That’s disgusting,” The Poet said.
Carolyn nevertheless told him what a panacea it was, and since the price was right (free) he was enthusiastic about it. He even, if I recall correctly, gave me some money for it. We took it home again and he finished the bottle, and perhaps, among the other supplements he was taking, it contributed to the gain in health he had while he was going to Carolyn. Who knows.
Last night I remembered Carolyn and this incident. Around 10:30, I mixed up a drink of filtered water, powdered algae (cracked-cell-wall chlorella to be specific), a few drops of silica with sunflower oil, and a few drops of electrolytes. I drank it, as I do every night at bedtime.
Throughout my life I’ve had many memorable drinks: a Newcastle Brown Ale after a long rugby game, dark hot chocolate for breakfast at a hotel in Paris, the grapefruit soda sold at street stands in Buenos Aires, and in Mexico I liked to sweeten my café con leche with the full-flavored black sugar I found at the market. But last night as I drank the mix of algae and silica, I thought, that tastes really good.
And then I realized that I had just thought that— about algae. It didn’t taste like chocolate, but it was good. I actually enjoyed it. Carolyn’s theory must be true after all.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
TIME
When I started this blog, I imagined I would write things in real time. The problem with this idea is that real time is happening in real time. When David visits, I am face to face with my limitations, and also the breakthroughs I’ve had since his last visit, and I want to write it all down, but there isn’t a moment to make it to the computer. Likewise for so many days and moments, and this has been my pet frustration as I slowly, steadily recover from this terrible illness: not enough time to write. Days are still full of the hassle of being sick and having to constantly take care of my body, even as I have more strength and feel better throughout it all.
In DC Last week, amidst a few days of nausea, a weekend trip to dear friend's and packing my small personal pharmacy to head back to Seattle, I managed to do something I’ve been postponing for a long time: put together the two quilts I have been working on. This requires floor space. That is, somewhere besides my tiny apartment, so I got it done during the stay at my parents’. I asked my mom to take a picture, and haven’t had a chance to post it until now.
I highly recommend anyone who is sick take up some kind of craft activity. Quilting was great for me because I could do it in bed during the long dark years when I spent most of my time there. It was the one thing I could count on to keep me calm and happy, no matter how bad things got. Now it still brings a sense of solace and accomplishment to stitch for half an hour before I go to bed, especially after a long hectic day of appointments and sorting out miscommunications between doctor’s offices and pharmacies.
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