April. I went to my Metaphysical/Intuitive/Aura-reading/Psychic Shrink (MIAPS). Well, I didn’t tell you the whole story …
MIAPS, reading my cards: “Mmm … karmic debt.”
Me, concerned: “What? What is it?”
MIAPS, sighing compassionately: “You’re here for the summer for your family.”
Me, sighing relieved: “Ooh.”
We’re both thoughtful for a moment.
Me, resigned: “Okay. Then it’s okay. I’ll stay.”
I’d told her how I’d figured out a way to get back to California earlier (as in right this minute) than my previously scheduled fall return. I had planned on applying for an easy breezy education course—you know, the kind where they overcharge for slack services in exchange for looking the other way should one miss a couple classes not to be noted on the update forms for the Student stay-a-whole-year-woohoo!-US-Visa program. I wasn’t sure I wanted to head south right away. Something was holding me back. That’s when we asked the cards and got the whole karmic debt bit.
But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.
Someone in my family (not blood related) is less than completely well. She has the C word. Not the vulgar word (c*nt) or the other really bad one (c3llullite), but the no one wants to get but one in two point six now do. Yes, that one. (Thank you for your concern.) The prognosis is good and the doctor is optimistic, but there will be chemo and there will be radiation and there will be surgery. (For privacy sake, further details will remain vague.) Nonetheless, she is a trooper and the silver lining is that our family has rallied together in loving support.
However! Because this snuck up on her: a seemingly perfectly healthy fit eats-right, exercises-daily, young-ish woman—it’s freaking me out! I’m a seemingly perfectly healthy fit eats-right exercises-almost-daily young-ish woman! Which is why I’ve been to the doctor and the shrink and the acupuncturist and the naturopath and the transformational healer and even the chiropractor!
I go to my doctor (‘free’ medical in Canada, just saying …).
Doc, confused: “You don’t have a family history of anything related so we don’t generally prescribe colonoscopies.”
Me: “But doctor, I really want one! Plus my pH is low.”
He assures me it’s no big deal. I’m leery.
A few days later, I hit the shrink with: “How’s my health?”
She pulls up the cards, and they’re clearly good.
MIAPS: “Well, it looks like you’re perfectly healthy, though maybe a bit tense.”
I’m almost disappointed. If there was something, then I could look for ways to fix it. If you haven’t noticed I’m a fixer of sorts. Since I don’t have a man to fix at the moment, and I’m feeling generally pretty Zen in the spiritual department (meditating and praying daily, details to follow) and financial department (I’m broke, but I’m not willing to work harder to make more, or more accurately: make any) and I don’t have (nor do I want) an intimate relationship at the moment (refer to as of yet unshaven legs—it’s become a science experiment and possibly a second income if I go into basket weaving). Then—maybe—there’s something in my physical area to improve. I’m the all-about-personal-growth-and-self-improvement gal, after all.
On my next visit to the acupuncturist, I give him a list of my concerns:
“So, let’s go top to bottom, ‘er, I mean feet, not bottom. Per se. Anyway. Okay, my neck is always sore, probably from ergonomically incorrect posture in front of my laptop … Write that down … Thanks. Okay, also because of that, my posture is starting to suck. I don’t want to end up a hunched over old lady when I’m clearly not old yet.”
He nods, pen poised.
I wait. He writes.
“Next, my skin. It’s actually better since I switched to more veggies and coconut oil—hmm? Oh, I lather my face before bed with it. I thought it would make me all greasy but—surprise!—it doesn’t! But I still have clogged pores, if you get really close you can see. Don’t get too close. I use those Biore® strips pretty much all over my face—what? … Oh, they’re these face strips you put on, uh, never mind, I think it’s because of my pH. My pH is too low. Can needles fix that?”
If he thought there was an ounce of sexy left in me, now it’s gone for sure.
Him, “Acupuncture will help balance your whole system but herbs are better for that. Um, pH?”
Me, “All diseases—dis-eases—start with low pH, you know.”
Him: raised eyebrow.
I work my way down describing my ailments, skipping my female parts (the naturopath already has me on probiotics to keep that fresh and fruity), and reminding him about my obsession with my splaying right foot and generally crappy circulation in my feet. I ask him to throw in balancing all mid-parts “just in case.”
After an excruciating manual-manipulation neck treatment with a lot of unladylike vocalizations and numb arms flopping about, he proceeds to poke me from forehead to feet with not less than 14,000 thin needles. I want to see them but am afraid to move my head. Shallow breathing ensues to ensure inadvertent Kegels do not resume. He leaves me to ‘saturate.’ (I’m sure he used an actual ancient Chinese medicinal term, but I’m too focused on my breathing to pay attention.)
Amazingly, and despite the guffaws heard through parchment walls from the gun store next door, the ocean sounds CD puts me to sleep. Later, at home, within 2 hours of the treatment, I need another nap and, by 8:00pm, I’m holding my eyelids open with toothpicks. I relent and go to bed envisioning pH readings of “at least seven, Lord, please just give me a seven.” (Note: Healthy pH levels are around 7.35; I’ve been in the 6s. Apparently, health is that finicky!)
I’ve already been to the naturopath who promptly shot me in the butt with B12 and who prescribed eggs (yippee!) and—for the aforementioned keep-it-fresh fallopian fix—probiotics. She ups the recommended dose since being a Vegan I’ve been off the ‘naturally occurring good for your cookie’ stuff found in yoghurt.
“One capsule twice a day for the first week, then one a day thereafter.”
(I’m on Week 3 taking three a day instead—both eggs and capsules.)
Then the naturopath does some kind of pressure point treatment on me where I lay face down on the massage table, and she acupressure-pokes me in inappropriate places. I lay there some more while I saturate again. It’s not painful like acupuncture, but it does tickle in places I’d rather not have tickled by a woman (been there done that—saving for another memoir: “The Naughty Years”?)
“Do you have anything for pH?” My voice muffled through the bed’s paper covered breathing hole.
I leave with another bag of goodies.
The Transformational Healer (TH).
Ah, yes, how to explain? Well, basically, this is a man who is going to clean out the emotional blocks in my chakras that are creating negative effects in my life (and possibly body) so I can have smooth flowing energy, vibrant health and spiritual enlightenment! Here’s how it goes down …
He does a muscle strength test to get a base line, then while I hold different vials containing ‘emotions,’ he muscle tests me again to see which ones are stuck and what age I was when they got stuck there (curiously accurate). I repeat affirmations until I get unstuck. (Note: Sometimes one stuck comes from another stuck, which may come from another stuck, which sucks because then there are a lot of affirmations to get unstuck.)
TH: “Because I give my inner voice room to express itself …”
Me: “Because I give my inner voice room to express itself …”
TH: “… I feel understood and heard.”
Me: “… I feel understood and heard.”
TH: “Allowing me to release my tendency to overdo everything …”
Me: “Allowing me to …” etc.
He gives me something for pH.
I go home with homework to repeat these affirmations daily for 3 weeks. I do one better: I sign up for Deepak Chopra’s daily meditations and Paul Seele’s paraliminal hypnosis! I add a little “Dear Lord, please give me thick, shiny lustrous red hair and plump alkaline red blood cells.” I’ll meditate my body back to perfect pH with a side of at-home hypnosis and pretty-please prayers. (Overdoing it, my ass. Pfft.)
(Quick side note: When does one know when to let go and let GOD or to DIY?)
The chiropractor just cracks my neck and tells me about her photographic art collection of tutus she’s made and her clinic’s overhead expenses.
I’ve also tried the Infrared mat and the whole body vibration machine; have done kidney, parasite and liver cleanses; and have read every article within a 30-page Google search on the subject of pH, alkalinity and natural healing. (Hashtag OCDme.)
Between my LMLotFM’s in-home vitamin store and the arsenal of supplies I’ve secured, the dining room table, kitchen counter and refrigerator look like an Olympic-sized pharmacy. Now all I have to do is make a spreadsheet of when to eat what and whether with meals or between and directly on the tongue or under the tongue and don’t forget to eliminate sugar, dairy, wheat, gluten and acid-forming foods (mostly everything other than organic leafy green vegetables) and remember to breathe. There’s also a lot of conflicting information out there in cyber-clinic, but all sites seem to agree the safe foods are broccoli, cucumber, garlic and sprouted anything all of which go into a morning fresh-juiced tolerable beverage topped up with silver water. Parasites beware—if there’s a bug in my bowels it better hold on for dear life because there’s a freight train of fibre coming through!
What have I (re)learned?
I can’t grow wheatgrass for the life of me or the life of anyone else apparently. (My sister is taking over.)
I can sprout lentils!
Exercise causes lactid acid; cortisol causes acid. Acid lowers pH. Bad for me.
The stress of all of this is, I’m sure, sending my cortisol levels heaven high.
There’s a private clinic in Vancouver that offers MRI’s (only $2,400.)
I’ve gone from Botox to Biotin and from lash enhancer to “What’ve you got that’s anti-cancer?”
I’ve invested more money in shorter order on my insides than I ever did my outsides. (Now who’s the dummy?)
It’ll be at least 3 weeks before I get my spit test results back from Ontario.
At least I have eggs!¹
Never mind my breath (garlic), now I’m hairy and gassy. Charming.
1. My sister eats comfort food (read: garbage) all day yet has the blood pressure of a pro athlete—WTF? She does laugh a lot. Hmm. Prescription: laugh more.
2. My LMLotFM eats regular food (even non-organic) and her pH is perfect—WTF? She visits my sister often. Laughter is contagious. Hmm. New prescription: visit sister more.
1Eggs are super acid-forming but they’ve been prescribed by a health care practitioner so suck it, dirt bag. (Sorry, side effect of cortosol is crankiness. Or maybe cause of. Eh, shrug.)