This is about how many vegetables I'm supposed to eat each day. (Image via Wikipedia)
I’ve had enough with feeling down, and with feeling anxious, and with hormone fluctuations. So, I went to the acupuncturist today.
Right now, if my brother’s reading this, he’s rolling his eyes. Despite the fact that he’s never tried acupuncture, he’s pretty sure it’s a load of crap. My brother knows a load of crap when he sees one. (Yikes, did that sound mean?) OK, enough poking fun at my baby brother.
The bottom line is, my family practice doctor, nice as she is, doesn’t have any suggestions to offer me that I’ve not already tried, and the acupuncturist has helped before, so that’s where I went today.
He felt my pulses, looked at my tongue, asked me some questions, and declared that my adrenals were “fried” and that my liver was “hanging on by a thread.” I can only assume these are highly technical terms he learned in acupuncture school.
His recommendation for strengthening my liver: a diet that includes pretty much as many vegetables as I can possibly consume for two weeks, but no grains or sugar or alcohol or coffee. Luckily, I still get to eat eggs and fish because I’m nursing and need that extra protein (just between you and me, I might sneak in some brown rice every now and then, too).
When I first read the list of OK foods and the list of not-OK foods, I felt cautiously optimistic. I have a green smoothie every morning. I don’t eat dairy or gluten. I’m already at least three steps ahead of the average person on implementing this diet.
When I got home, the sitter was still with the kids, so I snuck upstairs with two cookbooks (Feeding the Whole Family by Cynthia Lair and I am Grateful, the Cafe Gratitude cookbook), my laptop, and a couple of sheets of paper. After forty-five minutes, I had a page and a half of lunches, dinners, and snacks that would be compliant with the diet. (Well, except for the three dates in the raw molé that goes with my stuffed avocados. I decided that was a tiny cheat and so didn’t count at all.)
After clearing my dinner ideas with my husband (I think it says something about the frequency of my harebrained dietary schemes that my husband endorsed this plan with a hearty, “I actually don’t think this is crazy.”), I got the grocery list, a bunch of cloth grocery bags, and my car keys, and headed out to the new Whole Foods. I filled my cart with greens and nuts and seeds, apples and squash and pears, parsley and sage and eggplant. I grabbed a few bags of frozen berries and a half-gallon of cow’s milk (for the rest of the family), tossed a couple of packages of raw flax crackers on top, and headed to the checkout. Surveying my purchases inching along on the conveyor belt, I felt incredibly optimistic.
“I can do this,” I thought. “This is going to be easy. This is going to rock. In a few days, I’ll be feeling awesome. AWESOME!”
This feeling lasted until I pulled the car into the garage, opened the car door, and swung my legs out of the car. The moment my feet touched the concrete, reality hit.
“Oh, shit,” I thought. “I’m going to be prepping veggies non-stop for the next two weeks. No! That’s not even true. I’ll be prepping veggies and soaking nuts and cooking beans and straining nut milk and not drinking coffee. My children will eat me alive!”
“But,” my optimistic side piped up, “you can drink all the herbal tea that you want! You can make up a big jug of it in the morning and just sip it all day!”
My freaking-out side wouldn’t even dignify that with a response.
But, here I am. I’ve got my cranberry/lemon/apple cider vinegar drink mixed and in the fridge. I’ve got the veggie drawers filled to overflowing and bags of nuts falling off of the counters. I’m doing this.