For years I've told myself that I was open to the world around me, feeling its vibrating core and filling myself with its life source but when all of that life source started giving me horrible bloating that the general medical profession could not diagnose, I went to a homeopathic healer - Don't Get Me Started.
I've always had a "sensitive" stomach. Could it be all those years of feelings bottled up with my, "let me please everyone else at the expense of my own identity?" Another story for another time.
It was a not so dark or stormy night when I went to bed and soon after felt as though I was about to give birth. I was so bloated that I was sure the men were on their way to attach strings to me so that they could walk me down Broadway as a part of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. The next moring I was at the doctor. It was diagnosed as an intestinal infection, I was put on antibiotics and the dreaded colonoscopy was scheduled.
As everyone will tell you, it's not the colonoscopy it's the humidity - the sweating and chills during the day before preparations. The procedure is nothing, as they put you out, it's the drinking of Satan's juices to "clean you out" and running non-stop to the bathroom for the jet propelled expulsions that eminate from your deepest bowels the day before that could kill a person. Bottom line (excuse the pun) was that they found nothing which was good and bad news.
And so it began, my quest to have a normal stomach. The medical professional had failed me so it was on to what I lovingly call, the Zoom Gali Gali world. It was time for the homeopaths!!
Now I lived with Betsy for several years and she always swore by the crystals, the chakras and the nayonaise (mayonaise substitute made from bark or something). I had poo poo'd it to say the least. I mean, I take vitamins but the whole, let me hang a crystal over your body and it will tell me if you have cancer or a hang nail has always felt about as accurate to me as a Quija board. You know where you're always asking, "Are you moving that?"
Well desperate times call for desperate measures. So there I was at the nutritional homeopath, letting her take blood from my finger, put it on a slide and then telling me what she sees in her crystal microscope. Then all the testing begins. For those of you have never had an opportunity to do this, they put various supplements on your body and then ask your body if you need it by touching a part of your body, asking and then as you resist they proceed to try to lower your raised arm. As far as I can make out, if your arm lowers, you need the supplement. It's a bit like an old fashioned cash register or slot machine. They pull the handle (your arm) and you pay! The really hysterical part is when they "ask" your body how many you should be taking every day. As they push on your arm they count until the arm lowers - this may also correlate to the amount you'll have to buy in order for the "practitioner" to pay this month's rent on the office.
Now let me say that part of what they tell you is that you have to "believe" in order for all of this to work. Now I clapped to save Tinkerbell, I believe in fairies but some woman who looks as though she was a librarian who took a trip to Sedona and found she was a healer at a Native American ceremonial dance she paid $200 to attend and then took the course online? To be fair, some of the drops for stress I must admit have worked great. But it all comes with the whole, change your diet, don't drink caffeine, spend your life looking for all things organic. Who has time for this other than the people who work at Whole Foods, secretly grabbing the organic papayas off the truck before anyone else can get to them?
Side story have you ever noticed that everyone who is into the whole Zoom Gali Gali organic thing look as though they already have one of their overgrown toenailed, Birkenstock feet in the grave? What is up with that - do they not see themselves? I aspire to be gaunt too but would it kill them to, as my grandmother used to say, "get a little color?"
So I bought the twelve hundred dollars (exaggerated figure - don't want you to think I'm THAT stupid) worth of supplements, I've been on them for three weeks and guess what? Every day at 5am I hear the Macy's Parade people coming in my dreams. That's right, I'm still bloated.
Now perhaps I'm just not humming correctly for the convergence or my Chi is at Starbucks instead of running through me but whatever it is, it hasn't quite worked. Of course I'm still on the supplements - I am a complete rule follower and also I don't want the supplements to become like the product graveyard I have in my bathroom of all the hair products that didn't give me more "volume", "lift", "shine" or hair like the Abercrombie Fitch boys.
Okay so a change in diet, exercise and not letting things bother me is what I would prescribe. I'm becoming like my mother who is an A.A.D. = Almost A Doctor. This is what one of her doctor's called her once when she was ill and came in with a medical journal to share her diagnosis, which was correct.
It's just the doing it that is the problem. But I'll try, I'll try...and if you all clap your hands really hard to show that you do believe in this fairy, maybe he won't end up dressed like Tinkerbell, floating above that famous parade route and his stomach will finally unbloat!!