Liverish

Tired of the constant pain in my side, I decided that if Western medicine can’t help me, I’ll try homeopathy! My bones have been scanned, my back has been x-rayed, I was issued gigantic pills which might really be horse tranquilizers, and I have no solution to my situation. The net result is that I've been scanned more times than international luggage. So I thought I'll go all natural.


A friend of mine went to see a doctor, who is not only a fully qualified MD, but also a doctor of homeopathy, acupuncture, reflexology, the whole nine yards. He is a walking talking health spa.  I decided, this was the person who would give me answers (I'm optimistic on the inside although I'm pessimistic on the outside).

He had this wonderful machine that told me (or him rather) everything that is wrong with me, whether I liked it or not. All I had to do was hold a metal cylinder with my right hand while he put some pen like gizmo at key points on my hands and feet. I was intrigued at first, worried about my pedicure (because who isn’t vain in medical moments like this)  the next minute, and stunned at the end of it all.

Turns out my body is completely out of whack! The computer even spewed out ailments I wasn’t thinking of complaining about, like occasional dizziness. It was amazing! Who needs boring old stethoscopes and tongue depressors? Doctors should walk around with this machine.  Diagnosing illnesses would be a breeze.

Long story short, turns out my liver is in bad shape. I thought that was rich considering I don’t drink. I mentioned this and pointed to the spot that was giving me the most pain. He politely smiled and said patiently ‘yes, that would be where your liver is.’.

This is what happens when you don’t pay attention in high school biology class. But in my defense, I kept telling my overly practical spouse, P, that the pain was due to an internal organ. Sadly, he does not regret rolling his eyes at me in my many drama queen moments where I was trying to convince him my gall bladder was about to go kaput. I wasn’t too far off—I think the gall bladder is near the liver?

Any old how, the problem it seems, comes from my fondness for all things sweet, fried, spicy, and artificially enhanced.  Decades of doing bright things like gobbling can loads of Sour Cream N’ Onion Pringles and drowning everything in Ranch dressing has taken a toll on my system. Preservatives are the enemy and my liver is protesting!

While the doctor went to get me some medicine, I was left to repent for my poor choices, but not for long, as I have the attention span of a gnat.  I was soon imagining the doctor ferociously pounding a mortar and pestle and whipping up exotic ingredients, possibly with the use of a cauldron. As my imagination went wild, he walked in and gave me not one, but six bottles of medicine!

That’s when I realized this is serious business. I have a strong gag reflex for things that don’t taste good, such as cough syrup and raw vegetables. I listened diligently to his instructions to put thirteen drops from each bottle into a glass of water, but in my head I was thinking, if it tastes like a newt (not that I know what newt tastes like--bitter I presume), I’m likely never to drink the tonic.

I was also put on a depressing diet that left me unable to eat any of what I consider to be the basic food groups. No nuts (except crazy relatives & almonds), nothing from a cow or goat (meat & dairy), no soymilk (what?), no caffeine, no citrus fruits, no fun, I mean no sugar, and (gasp) no chocolate. No chocolate. 

P blanched. No chocolate means trouble for all.  I was snappier than a starving alligator stuck in sewer for the first few days. My mouth, now idle since a lot less chewing is taking place, has taken to spewing out lots of whinging and complaining.  I hid under the covers when I had cravings for a cookie and ordered my brain to shut down and got to bed. It didn’t work.

Even my nutty sister, who calls daily either to speak to my four year old, Lanes, or to torment me, was silent for the last two days. When I called to see what was up she said she was waiting for P to tell her I have broken down and had a spoon of ice cream before calling because she was scared that she might be told off. Wonderful.

Things are so sad for me now that I'm debating taking children’s gummy vitamins to get a sugar fix. To make matters worse, I was told to walk for an hour everyday. I tried it a little. It’s exhausting and I’m not sure I’ll be able to stick to it.  By sticking to it, I mean actually doing it properly, if at all.

I never realized how long an hour could be. Maybe an hour has more than 60 minutes when you have to do things like exercise to save your liver. I’m sure there that must be it—some untold secret of the time/space continuum.

On Saturday, it was raining and P was home so I left Lanes in his care and went off to the mall for my ‘walk’. It’s amazing how much easier it is to spend an hour walking when you have options to flex your muscles pulling out your credit card!  I was very good and restrained myself, but I sure did a lot of window shopping. Makes a girl tired!

When I got home, I was hoping P would get the full Lanes treatment. I thought that he would be a little worse for wear so that he gets to see what I do while he is at work. No such luck. She was an angel, ate all her food, and did not use him as a jungle gym. As my sister says, they always save the drama for the mamma.

Whenever P gets home from work, my hair, which defies gravity normally, is sticking up so much that it could pick up signals from out of space. In the few hours after Lanes is home from school and before P arrives from work, I’m exhausted between attending tea parties with stuffed rabbits, having my hair yanked playing beauty salon, and participating in marathon coloring sessions. This is in between wrestling with Lanes to get her to take a shower and have a snack.

When I got home from the mall, I expected to find P with barrettes in his hair and some of my lipstick all over his face. Instead Lanes was peacefully having her milk and he was on the sofa with a book in his hand--a book for him, mind you, not for Lanes! Some guys have all the luck.

Meanwhile, I'm struggling with remembering to take the medicine. The liquids are colorless and don't taste too strong--a mild alcohol flavor. However, I'm finding administering exactly thirteen drops a challenge. Invariably, sometimes I put in fourteen. Or fifteen. I'm hoping that's not a bad thing. 

The doctor also gave me a book about homeopathy. It's handy for dimwits such as myself who go around envisioning bat's wings and cauldrons. Apparently, homeopathy works very slowly and requires patience. 


Also, symptoms get worse before they get better as toxins try to leave the body. Or something to that effect.  I read random sentences from the book and pretended I got the gist of it.

Charming as I am, I guess I'm going to be even more fun to have around in the next few months! Like sunshine on a cloudy day, no doubt. On that bright note, I better go catch my forty winks--if I can count that properly. I know it's really late because Lanes has already migrated to our bed and is currently talking in her sleep.


I better sign off before my spot on the bed gets invaded and I find myself either on the couch or Lanes' twin bed. More musings from BC next week...