For those of you who’ve been paying attention, you’ll know
that I’ve been battling with an eye infection for almost two years. Yup, I’m
such a good hostess that the little nasties don’t want to leave. They stick
around through concerted efforts on my part to eradicate them with cortizone
and other drugs.
The last round of drugs included four weeks of cortizone and
about as many weeks of anti-inflammatory pills. It’s left me an
unholy mess (and my medical aid struggling to stagger across the finish line). I’m not sleeping well, although I suspect that can be partly blamed
on stress. I’m always tired and lethargic. I’m cranky and prone to bouts of
weeping with or without apparent reason – again, partly stress related.
My dearest mom suggested I make an appointment with a
homeopath and see if there wasn’t some way to put things back in balance after
all the prescriptions I’ve filled over the last six weeks. Sounded like a good
idea, so I made myself an appointment with a lady in Lonehill. And what an
interesting appointment it was.
I sat perfectly still for sixty seconds while her little electromagnetic
box scanned my insides. Aside from the physical stuff, it told her that my
creativity and intuition are really strong and that I’d had a really bad day the previous day. I’m also emotionally stable; she wouldn’t have
said that if she’d seen me about 18 hours earlier, yelling at the only thing in
my house - fresh air - and fighting back tears. That little box knows more than it lets on.Basically, all my problems, she says, can be blamed on an under active thyroid and bad eating habits. Who knew? Ok, I knew about bad eating habits, but I never had the energy to care much. The eye infection, the lethargy, the depression, the irritable bowel (apologies for TMI), the weight – all thanks to a lazy thyroid that no doctor had ever thought to check. Or, if they did, they couldn’t find any irregularities.
I left her office with a programme that should deliver a
swift kick up my thyroid’s pants and an eating plan THAT DOESN’T INCLUDE
COFFEE. Kill me now. Considering my next option is to crawl into a hole and just
give up, I’m all for this plan. I’m going to drink water until my eye balls
float and my kidneys go on strike. I’m going suck down meal replacement shakes
and other supplements with a smile. I’m going to walk holes in the soles of my
Reeboks. And probably inflict physical violence on anyone who brings coffee
within smelling distance. I’m giving it eight weeks. If there’s no indication
that it’s going to work after eight friggin weeks, I’ll start looking for that
hole.
