Reader Friend, there’s something I haven’t been telling you–I must confess. I changed what I eat, a lot. It has to do with an obscure health issue I may or may not have.
Ideally everyone would enjoy great healthcare, regardless of income level or employment. Especially a country rich with innovation, oil, “freedom,” natural beauty, and money should have basic needs met for its humans, right?
No, health is reserved for the rich. Health is like a mink coat, pearls, and a yacht. It costs as much as a yacht! It’s only for the good people, who worked hard at being born to the right parents who had wealth to build wealth with.
Where was I. Oh yeah, and if you’re crazy and fat, it’s really pointless. Every doctor looks at me and sees a lost cause. They think I don’t care about myself, so why should they? They see a failure who will be dead soon. Medicate me and push me out the door.
I wish people were smarter than that. They think I’m watching bad tv, eating big macs, collecting welfare, and crying myself to sleep. They’re not imaging pleasurable trike rides, many kinds of service, unshakable well-being in the form of deep spiritual connection, community, anarchy in action, freedom, many moments of bliss. I have a life better than they do.
Doctors are extremely invested in being right and having power. They jumped through the hoops, so they get everything good. It’s a zero sum game. We’re not collaborating on collective liberation, all winning by sharing. It’s a pie–they give me a sliver out of the kindness of their hearts, but the pie is almost entirely theirs.
As a poor fat crazy woman, I’m easy to dismiss. If Ming comes to an appointment with me, his apparent man-ness helps a doctor take me seriously a little bit, as there’s a witness who’s a real person who matters. If Ming lets slip that he’s a nurse, a doctor will sometimes behave another layer of decent. But it’s to appeal to Ming, the actual person. I’m a lump of reprehensible irresponsibility, the problem in the room.
Ideally, I could go to the doctor with a health issue and be taken seriously. As it is, they run tests and tell me they don’t know. Your numbers are pretty good. I don’t know what’s wrong. Let’s keep an eye on it.
If I bring up ideas I researched myself, I’m a hypochondriac googler, annoyingly undermining the doctor’s expertise. If they listen at all, they think they deserve an award. It’s easier to avoid the doctor, much of the time.
I have all these foods I don’t eat now; it’s been about a week now, a huge change. I’m cycling through five meals: rice with eggs, quinoa with garlic, sweet potatoes with tahini, smoothie with approved fruits and hemp seed, and amaranth porridge. I’m getting tired of it.
My favorite food is avocados, which are really bad for me, if indeed I have the health issue I’m afraid I have. No wheat, so I can’t have bread for sandwiches. No cheese, yogurt, or pasta. Well, I think I could have non-wheat pasta. I haven’t ventured into that.
I also can’t have my favorite veg which are eggplant, tomatoes, peas. Spinach. God I love spinach.
I feel confused because yeah, I’m doing better lately, but I also cut out sugar, when I changed what I eat. Maybe that’s why I feel better. I eat fruits and a little juice sometimes, from the approved list, but I was addicted to chocolate apparently. I didn’t know until two days in.
Realizing I was addicted to chocolate, I felt like an addict cliche. I was trying to figure out a deal, how it could make sense for me to have some chocolate. Arguing in my mind with someone who doesn’t exist and losing.
It’s called bargaining. Like when someone dies, a stage of grief, trying to make a deal with God, but it’s decided already. There’s nothing you can do, really. There is no loophole.
Also I don’t eat anything product-y, so I’m not eating preservatives or artificial flavors or all that. I make everything. Wow, no restaurant food ever.
That’s partly why the pesto I made for Lammas was so amazing. It’s not chocolate, but it’s as rich and flavor bursty. And I never made it before, so I didn’t take it for granted.
Well, now you know. Thanks for listening to my confession, reader. I’m glad I told you. Cheese sandwiches, avocado toast, and chocolate were a huge coping mechanism for me. I didn’t even know.
This is a pain, but if I can save my life by not growing another huge ulcer in my stomach, that would be nice. I want to live to be 85, so I’m trying.