Feb
08

Flotsam–Now With More Oxygen!

I was going to spend the weekend writing, reading blogs, and catching up on email, but instead I spent it taking Advil, watching Law & Order: Criminal Intent, and sitting on the couch. In keeping with my inability to go even one day without being beset by minor tragedy, I fell on the ice on Saturday. Although “fell” doesn’t quite capture the drama and (according to the Nearly) hilarity of the scene.
We were on our way out for breakfast, and I was carrying a bag of urine-soaked cat litter to the dumpster, when my feet flew skyward so precipitously that had I not been weighed down by the bag of excrement, I maintain that I would have done a cunning back-flip and landed back on my feet. Unfortunately, encumbered as I was, I got no further than horizontal before I plummeted back to earth, landing flat on my ass. The Nearly tells me that in the process I executed a stunning high-kick, but as I lay on a bag of shit staring up at the sky, that was little comfort.
I woke up the next morning feeling like a Tyrannosaurus Rex, unable to do anything with my upper body save flail my wrists in the direction of whatever I wanted (cheese, the remote) until the Nearly fetched it for me. Typing was out of the question until yesterday. I have no idea what I did to injure my arms and shoulders during the fall, but there you are. My ass, incidentally, is just fine, save a bruise shaped precisely like Virginia (I would post a picture, but this is not That Sort of Blog). Thank god I had the foresight to gain all that weight this past year in order to pad my fall. I’m always thinking ahead.

So! Yesterday I went to a naturopath. This was difficult for me as—and I’m sure this will come to a complete shock to all of you—I am a skeptic by nature. The fact that this particular man comes gushingly recommended by my therapist, who specializes in infertility, did nothing to allay my fears. My skepticism increases with the level of success promised. Not that the man himself did a lot of promising, but several of my therapist’s clients have gotten pregnant by seeing this naturopath. Said naturopath (we’ll call him Not-A-Doctor) has treated about 100 infertile women. All but two conceived—this includes one woman whose periods had stopped due to menopause. In short, it sounded so enticing, I couldn’t help but disbelieve.
So why did I go, you ask? Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps I am tired of feeling that I am helpless to control my unruly body, or that my only option is medicines that make me perilously ill (or “diet” or “exercise”—but do not speak to me of these things). Or maybe I just needed an excuse to spend my flex day driving to a far flung suburb instead of at my desk, writing.
It doesn’t matter why.
The point is that I went, and was accosted by a frighteningly earnest receptionist who urged me to have a glass of water from the complicated-looking water-cooler, and when I demurred, shrilled “It’s OXYGENATED!!” at me (I think she might have been a little “oxygenated,” herself) until I obligingly drank a cup. After which I found myself saying “Mmmm!” out loud and smiling at her, like I was in a goddamn Tang commercial.
Eventually I was ushered in for my two-hour long consultation. Which was…weird. It involved me being hooked up to a computer and “meridians” and all kinds of odd things I don’t feel comfortable talking about, because you will laugh at me. To my relief, however, there were no crystals involved. Although I wouldn’t be surprised if NAD had a few of them hidden away, somewhere. At least my appointment wasn’t conducted in a geodesic dome, or I would have suffered flashbacks to my childhood so intense I might never recover.
Disturbingly, NAD was very accurate. So much so that I wondered if there wasn’t someone in a van outside whispering my medical records into his invisible earpiece. (Ed. Note: There were no vans in the parking lot, I checked.)
Anyway, I ended up with some truly foul-smelling pills to take. I looked at the ingredients, and with the exception of a few (freeze-dried spleen?!?) they are recognizable and seem like things that may be helpful. Don’t worry, I don’t plan on attending any drum circles in the near future.
If you have anything to say about natural health-y matters, please do comment. I am interested in your experiences—delightful or not-so-much.

p.s. I have much more to write about (Decisions have been made! Obstacles have been thwarted! Horrible things have been worn by persons in my close proximity!) but I am too shamefully behind on other blogs to be allowed to take up any more of your time. More tomorrow…

By Alexa | Posted in Ceci N'est Pas Une Ecrivaine |