I went back to my naturopath today, all a-twitter because I thought I was on the cusp of being diagnosed with a big, scary, thyroid-related autoimmune disease. (My hormones have been running amok for the last year, and it's only gotten worse). As it turns out, it may not be a thyroid problem after all, however, the tests showed that I do have a ton of vitamin deficiencies, so inevitably, she wanted to twist the whole situation around into a discussion about my diet. I mumbled that I ate pretty okay, I guess, most of the time, and but she wasn't haven't any of it.
"What did you eat yesterday?" she demanded.
"What did you eat for breakfast?"
"Well, um. Some leftover fried rice. And a glazed donut."
"The thing is, is that lunch wasn't really typical yesterday..."
"What did you eat for lunch?"
"Dill pickles and some pretzels dipped in cheese sauce."
"Some of my husband's onion rings, a beer, and some bacon at Zak's. Oh, yeah, then gummy bears."
Come on, people, it was the weekend, okay?
Anyway, the upshot of it is, in addition to a magical tincture that has to be specially concocted for me at Bastyr by a team of highly skilled herbalists, and some super-charged vitamins, I am now supposed to eat almost entirely "whole foods."
I know, I know. I get it. Please note that nothing, and I mean nothing is more eye-crossingly, fist-gnawingly dull to me than discussions of the health benefits of "whole foods", so please, just don't say it.
I suppose I'm willing to try it if it helps me feel better, but....I sort of don't know how to cook, for one thing. Tonight, full of resolve, I marched off to the store and came back, my arms full of dry beans, Quinoa, and brown rice, and I really have no idea what to do with any of it other than boil it. Also in the mix was a bottle of sesame oil, a lemon, and some elephant garlic, because I had vague notions of making my own salad dressing. I bought some fish, too, since I'm supposed to chill on the "animal protein." Of course, the
Ugh. I just hope this heals me up, because it's going to three months of supplement-gobbling, tincture-guzzling, carrot-munching joylessness. Huzzah.