I’ve been having some health issues lately and when modern medicine failed to provide definitive answers, I sought the help of a doctor of homeopathic medicine. The good news is that what I thought was wrong is actually pretty minor. The bad news is that I have some other issues that could become chronic if I don’t get serious about preventative care. The really bad news is that I have to cut coffee, wheat, dairy and corn out of my diet.
Coffee. Just writing the word brings tears to my eyes. This is day 3 with the new dietary restrictions and I feel like I’m going crazy. One minute I’m super optimistic and positive about my health and the next I’m bawling my eyes out. I’ve never had an angel and devil fight it out so hard in my mind, even when I stopped drinking. I don’t think I felt like this much of a victim when I realized I could no longer have alcohol. I was never this psychotic and bat shit crazy. At least, I don’t remember it being like this. Maybe it’s like childbirth. We forget how bad it really was.
I’m coherent enough to Google the symptoms of wheat/dairy/corn/coffee withdrawal and am comforted by the thought that I won’t feel like this forever. For now, I’m trying to convince myself that Teeccino with soy creamer is just as good as coffee and that I didn’t eat that much bread anyway. I won’t panic about not being able to order my favorite taco/tostada combination at Paco’s anymore because I can still have rice and beans. Incidentally, when my husband asked our 3-year-old daughter what little girls are made of she answered, “Beans and rice and everything nice.”
There are physical and emotional changes whenever we drastically alter what we do with and put into our bodies. Intellectually, I can accept this. I have a toolbox of tools that I can use to help me get through this, if I can just remember where I put the damn thing. I know things today that I didn’t know yesterday. Like that it’s probably a good idea to let my husband make the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for awhile. My mouth watered uncontrollably as I felt the squishy, moist bread in my fingers. The crusts I cut off almost didn’t make it into the trash.
One day at a time. One hour at a time. One minute at a time. I can do hard things.