I saw a naturopath, and I have to be honest, I don’t think I’m going to go back again. I just didn’t like the way she made me feel. Like, don’t tell me i’m an alcoholic and have diabetes and too much copper in my blood. It’s rude.
Apart from these diagnoses, she proceeded to give me advice about not drinking so much, by diluting my wine with tap water. This woman looked like she takes an IV of homemade kombucha and gets nourishment from correctly guessing the color of your chakra.
She then asked me about my relationship with my parents, and asked me if I ever thought about ending my own life. The answer at that moment, was a big fat YES.
She also gave me a reflex test. Which I guess is pretty standard, but she hit me with the mallet and I jump back in pain, and look at her shocked. She smiles, you guys, the smile of someone who spends their free time floating around as an orb of light in another dimension, and she says, “I know, you probably weren’t expecting that.”
No, bitch. I know how reflexes work. I frankly would be more shocked if my leg didn’t have a reaction. That would most likely be something we would need to address. The reason I am so up in arms right now is because I JUST told you 3 minutes ago that I had surgery on that knee because it was broken into four different pieces. I would appreciate it if you didn’t HIT IT WITH A FUCKING MALLET.
So the reason I go in is to get a food allergy test, to confirm my suspicion that I’m allergic to gluten. And I know, I know, gluten is this huge blown up thing and half the people that say they’re allergic to gluten are really just ex-south beach dieters, but my situation is a little different.
I have a bite of toast and then immediately shit my pants. Sometimes even looking a bowl of cereal will set me off. I once had a boyfriend cut me out of a pair of shorts because I couldn’t get them off fast enough…..we are no longer seeing each other.
So I thought…maybe I should get that checked out.
After proving that I am in fact, not a zombie, and my legs do move after being hit with a hammer, I proceed to get my blood drawn by the designated phlebotomist.
Now, I’m not squeamish about needles. I in fact find it interesting that someone’s entire job in the medical profession is to take the life blood of another human being and put it into tubes. It seems counter-intuitive, really.
But you guys, this monster, took 6 vials of my blood. 6!
I see my entire life replay in these moments. I see me as a baby, me getting ready for prom, getting my college degree, and I start to close my eyes and accept that death is near, and it is inevitable.
But then I see this large ball of light that is coming towards me, but it’s just my doctor in her natural form. She slaps me on my broken leg and hands me a prescription for 16 different supplements she recommends for my copper blood.
I try to shake off an hour’s worth of traumatic experience after traumatic experience so I can walk out of there without these dementors knowing I lost my cool.
I get the results back the next week, and it turns out I’m allergic to corn and cinnamon.
XOXO,
The Weekday Hangover
milky feelings 