It may interest you to know that my period came today. And this is especially riveting because I am happy about it. Happy. Happy! Do you know what that means? My dark descent into depression is reversed. Why, I feel positively alive. And no longer desirous of wading into the San Diego Bay.
Despite my husband’s constant urging to keep a journal that records my eating habits and menstrual cycles so I could chart a possible correlation between my psychotic fogs and PMS/nutrition, I’ve come to rely instead on this public forum and its archives. In fact, San Diego Momma’s previous posts have illustrated once and for all that PMS is a randy bitch. Of course, I don’t mean to downplay this, because I still have my anxieties and freaky nature and moodiness and psychoses, but darn if it’s not all exacerbated tenfold by hormones.
I suspect I’m in perimenopause, as so many of you helpfully suggested. I’ve always suffered from intense PMS, but this recent stuff is especially traumatic. If I had to personify PMS, I’d say that it were a big crabby giant and I was a flimsy fast food napkin and PMS’s gargantuan man hands crumpled up the flimsy napkin me, shredded me into teeny bits, then spit monster loogies on my papery remnants.
Wait. I can do better than that. PMS is the mean blonde girl in high school and I’m the little nerd in glasses innocently walking by PMS. PMS’s laser eyes spot me, although I tried to be invisible, and she snaps my bra, throws me in a locker, then mercilessly drags me out again for a pig blood bath. Oh! And the whole time, my husband is crying in the corner.
I’ve brought this increasing hormonal freak-out to my doctor’s attention, but as you probably know, it’s hard to find a good medical practitioner, and after just one test to check my hormone levels, she called me “normal,” and said I was “fine.” Not wanting to spend money to find a better doctor, I just went with it, and tried to ignore the ever-encroaching premenstrual darkness.
But as luck would have it, a few weeks ago, my hairstylist (God bless you Amber. And Aaryn.) told me about a homeopath she visits. She regaled me with stories of changed lives, and better hair and cleared skin, and knocked-out PMS, and soon I found myself powerless against these testimonials.
So I made my appointment and went to Dr. Gary this past Monday. He listened as I told him about the last two years, when I first began to notice an organic shift in my body, the one which caused my hair to thin, and my sinuses to thicken, and my skin to crepe and congest, and my mood to fluctuate. He then pricked my finger and examined the blood under a microscope. I could see the individual components that comprised my blood projected on a screen, and I listened as Dr. Gary showed me that my red blood cells were clumped together, which suggests I’m not properly digesting food and nutrients, and as he pointed to the fat globules in many of my cells, indicating that my liver is sluggish (I’ve heard this from many an alternative doctor), and as he circled the candida yeast and bacteria floating in my plasma. His diagnosis? That my ileo-cecal valve is incompetent. The valve, located between my small and large intestine, is not working properly and is regurgitating waste byproducts into my bloodstream.
He could also tell that my pancreas, gallbladder, and liver weren’t living up to their ends of the keeping me healthy bargain, and so refused to digest proteins and carbs efficiently, leaving those things to raise and lower my blood sugar levels indiscriminately. Then, after a reading of my irises to confirm these diagnoses, I was on to hearing about the supplements that’d make me feel better.
It’s true that Dr. Gary had a captive — and desperate — audience. I’m not usually one to buy what’s recommended to her. I don’t do it at the hair salon, and I don’t do it with alternative doctors. But I thought maybe I should give this stuff a try. Perhaps if I don’t write this off, if I’m consistent and patient, I’ll notice a change. So I left my appointment with a blood cleaner, digestive enzymes, and a few minerals to boost my immune system. I’m also supposed to massage my ileo-cecal valve twice a day, which looks exactly like intestinal masturbation, and eliminate dairy and wheat, which raises my mucous levels and makes my life a living sinus hell.
So I gotta say, so far, so good. I feel better now that I have a plan of some sort. I’m also taking walks, listening to my music (which heals me each and every time), and trying to be less of a pain in the ass to everyone everywhere. Thanks for all your loving and supportive comments (I responded back to you in that post’s comment section) and meanwhile, I’ll keep you posted on my homeopathic journey. (Oh! And I’ve GOT to tell you about my smelly bellybutton. I think all my blood’s waste is expelling through my umbilicus.)
But for now, until the next mental breakdown, I remain yours truly,
San Diego Momma
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