The human body is a pretty amazing thing. The only thing more astounding to me is the mind. We are exactly what we THINK we are. You know the old universal saying, “Perception is reality”? Well my reality and sense of self were pretty skewed for a long time.
Looking back (and when I say back I mean as early as my adolescence and as recently as two years ago), I don’t fully understand how I came to allow myself to feel so badly on a regular basis. I know the reason. I can justify it, as the day is long. It was easier to adopt and accept what I thought other people’s viewpoints of me were rather than sit up and form my own sense of self. But what I ask myself now is WHY??? Why do we do this? Why did I?
We are too immersed in a world where what everyone else thinks matters. It’s stupid. It’s unnecessary. Sure we need to make good impressions to get jobs, perhaps influence others and all that jazz. But why do we as a society take to heart what everyone else thinks about us, not only giving credence to it but also allowing it to form how we see ourselves? Does anyone else see the insanity in this? Total bullshit, that’s what it is.
If you are reading this saying to yourself, “I don’t care what anyone thinks of me” you are a liar. Fuck you, you lie. We all care to one degree or another. And most of us are ashamed to admit it. I had this epiphany about six months after I was released from the hospital. To fully illustrate the epiphany, you need the back-story…
For those of you who know me personally, you know I have made a great deal of lifestyle changes since being hospitalized. I have always been a relatively healthy person, but I was (and still am) a beer and coffee snob. I enjoyed fine ales and varieties of good food. I would exercise on a semi regular basis and began to dabble in yoga when I was in my late twenties. Although I was carrying extra weight I felt like I was on a good track. So all in all I was content with my behaviors and lifestyle. Looking back, I simply sat on the fence and tried to maintain the status quo.
After I emerged from the hospital in February of 2010, I went home in a pharmaceutical haze. It was not a pretty place to be. Fifteen oral medications daily I had to throw down my gullet on top of stomach injections twice a day to assist in the transition of blood thinners. From what I remember, it was fabulous. (For those of you who may be slow insert sarcasm here) My husband, Keane, who was my nursemaid, cook, housekeeper, PR person, advocate and everything else you can imagine, saw my displeasure in the amount of medications I was obligated to take and knew how much I wanted to be mobile again. I wanted out. Out of the non-functioning, bloated, immobile body I was trapped in. So we called in Rhondalynn.
Rhondalynn is a fabulous person and one hell of a doctor. We went to Chatham College together and were good friends. She was a senior when I was a freshman but we were both loud, crazy, and liked to say “fuck” a lot so we hit it off splendidly. Anyhow Keane kept her in the loop while I was sick, as he did half the universe (that’s a story for another post), and she offered help if and when I was ready for it. Rhondalynn is an MD who is also an ND. In short she is an ND who practices anthroposophical medicine and uses natural methods of healing. Yeah I know sounds hokey. But little did I know how she would help me change my world and how I viewed it.
There was no magic pill. It was food. Foreign food. Organic food. Natural food. Expensive food. Food that is hard as hell to find in Central Pennsylvania. Rhondalynn told me for six weeks I had to give up the following: dairy, gluten (in all forms), eggs, corn, soy, tomatoes, citrus fruit, died fruit, all processed food, chocolate, pork, white potatoes, rye, soup, any and all artificial food colorings, sugar, alcohol and worst of all caffeine. This was the basic list of things I had to let go. The specific list is much longer. There was also a list of herbs, supplements, and daily rituals in which I had to partake along with these dietary changes.
Fuck me. Fuck me hard.
Needless to say I was not enthusiastic. I would have rather eaten a daily regimen of dogshit that give up bread and coffee. Bread, cheese, tomato sauce and coffee. I am Italian; these were staples in my world from birth. Yet I was desperate to get my body back and was willing to give it a try. I knew it was gonna suck but it was better than being dead or worse, in a body that didn’t work.
As Keane and I embarked on my culinary nightmare there were definitely trials and errors. Keane cooked and I bitched. The first thirty days were excruciating for us. On top of loosing all the comfort and enjoyment in food I had known my entire life, I was going through intense caffeine withdrawal. Now let me say this. Caffeine withdrawal has been compared to heroine withdrawal. I have never done heroine, and after the experience of purging caffeine from my body, I never would. It was awful. I coughed, sweating like a pig in a mud sauna, not being able to stop the uncontrollable trembling I did for a several days straight. Not my best moments. But that’s what happens when you get rid of a two pot of coffee a day habit since the age of twelve, cold turkey.
I survived the six-week regimen. By week five I was actually enjoying a lot of the food as Keane was really making strides in preparation and it was delicious. Then after six weeks, Rhondalynn told me the truth; this was not a six-week detox project. It was the beginning of my change in lifestyle. I had to eat this way forever.
Fuck me. Fuck me hard, again.
After the shock and disbelief (which did not last as long as the first time this was introduced to me) I accepted that it was going to get me to a healthy place I had never fully been. I decided to remain open minded. I liked a lot of the food and was already feeling much better. Hell in the six-weeks I ate this way I managed to eliminate half the pharmaceuticals I was ingesting on a daily basis, so something was going right here.
With this new lifestyle I began integrating myself back into the real world. Going back to work part time, seeing people out again, accepting more visitors to the house, and getting back to more of my outwardly social self. That’s when I got the wake up call.
Let me say this “wake up call” did not and does not apply to everyone in my life. But it was apparent and prevalent. When I would reconnect with people on a normal level, meaning I wasn’t doped out on meds or half cocked in pain and could carry on actual conversations, I told them about my strides and how my recovery was accelerated by this lifestyle change. Everyone thought it was great. I was amazing to them. My dedication to my health and recovery was inspirational. How I was able to make such difficult, drastic changes for the sake of my well being was astounding.
Until the phone stopped ringing.
I became invisible to people who were supposed to be my “friends”. “Call me when you are off that crazy diet and we will go out for dinner”. “Let me know when we can go drinking again”. “Oh we’d love to come over for dinner but we are so busy next week”. I wasn’t fun anymore. I wasn’t desirable to be around because I could not partake in the regular social norms that surrounded food and drink. I was convinced everyone thought we ate cardboard and rodents. At times I could laugh at it. But mostly I found myself feeling lonely.
And here we are again, looking inward judging ourselves because of how others treat us. But for me this time was different. I felt good. Physically and mentally. Emotionally I was hurt and disappointed but anyone who expected me to compromise my health for their company was, well, a fucking asshole in my book. Enter the epiphany. The problem wasn’t me. It was them! I didn’t suddenly become not fun. Even though I felt like a leper I wasn’t one. And in that moment, how I felt became separated from who I WAS. I have this one chance to be healthy. This one body to care for. A second chance to have a life I really shouldn’t have gotten. No one was going to allow me to feel bad for taking care of myself despite how unpopular the methods.
In the months since, and to this day, my dearest and closest friends come to visit me and eat what I eat when they are here. Of course it never hurts that my husband is an amazing cook. And when I visit them, they make every accommodation to assure I have what I need to eat. If they cannot they don’t give me shit about bringing my own food. Even though those individuals are ridiculously few and far between, I love and appreciate them with all my heart.
I can’t really say what it was. Maybe it was the food, the lack of caffeine or just some simple clarity and common sense. My days of seeing myself through other people’s negative viewpoint were over. Good, bad, or indifferent I was looking in the mirror after 35 years and was really ok with who was looking back. Little did I know she would only get better.
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