Tag Archives: doctor

Grapefruit Juice: Even God Hates It

juice-73768_640My doctor ordered me to drink a glass of grapefruit juice every day.  Sure, I could just pretend I’m doing what he told me to do but actually keep drinking Sunny D.  Aside from my fear of turning orange from the beta carotene, though (and, yes, that happened.  To someone else, totally not me), I’m also terrified of my doctor.  He was in the army when he was younger, and he gets this look in his eyes from time to time that makes me think he didn’t serve in a medical capacity.  So now I drink a glass of grapefruit juice every day.

This raises a problem that I can’t ignore, however, and it’s not that I’m more scared of my doctor than I am of finding out that Johnny Depp hates my blog.  My fear of my doctor is probably the healthiest thing about me.  The problem is that I hate grapefruit juice.  I hate it with the burning, white-hot heat of a thousand suns.  For those of you who’ve seen the movie Clue, which I highly recommend by the way, my feelings for grapefruit juice make me think of Madeline Kahn’s character saying “I hated her SO… much… it… it… the… it… the… flames… flames… on the side of my face… breathing… breathless… heaving breaths…”  That’s exactly what it’s like for me, except that I haven’t murdered my grapefruit juice in the study with a candlestick (mostly because I can’t figure out how).

Grapefruit juice hates me back, incidentally.  I’m staring at a glass of it right now, one I tried to make more appealing by serving it over ice in a fancy wine glass and throwing in some grapes and a couple of cherries.  Every time I do that, though, I eat the grapes and cherries first; then I put in some more grapes and cherries, and then I eat those; then I let the ice melt; then I put the glass somewhere I can’t see it so I won’t feel guilty while I do pretty much anything else; then I sullenly unearth the glass, pinch my nose, and drink the juice.  Then I tell the remaining citric effluvia how awful it is, with references to reality television and Fifty Shades of Grey.  It’s hardly surprising that the juice resents this a little bit, especially given what happens about an hour after I drink it.

non-judgment-801268_640 2My motto has always been, drink a glass of grapefruit juice first thing in the morning and nothing worse can happen to you for the rest of the day.  I’ve lived by that motto for years, starting every morning by not drinking a glass of grapefruit juice right after I get out of bed, no exceptions, no matter what.  Then, when bad things happen during the day, I’ll think, “At least I didn’t have to drink a glass of grapefruit juice this morning,” and it all seems a little easier.  It’s been a touchstone of my adulthood, a way to know if I’m headed in the right direction.  When I don’t know what path to choose, I ask myself, “If I take this road, am I more or less likely to end up drinking grapefruit juice?”  It’s the reason I didn’t major in Business.  It’s why I broke up with the guy who wore suits on weekends.  My hatred for grapefruit juice is essential to who I am.

I tried to explain this to my doctor so he would understand that telling me to drink grapefruit juice really means ordering me to contravene the dictates of my soul, and could he truly want such a thing?  That’s when he got that look in his eyes and said something I won’t quote directly because I like you and I don’t want to scare you, but the gist was this:  “Sometimes in life, we all have to do things we hate—things we can’t forget, things we still see when we close our eyes, things that will stay with us even as we lie in the sweet embrace of Death.”  He kept twisting the cord of his stethoscope as he said it, too.  I’m not saying that has any significance, it’s just the kind of thing you notice.

So now I have a new motto:  Do what your doctor says unless you want to gaze upon the ruins of your life and weep bitter, pink, grapefruity tears.  And then publish a blog post about it and nothing worse will happen to you for the rest of the day!  I hope.  I mean, what are the odds that my doctor reads this blog, right?

 

[all images are in the public domain via pixabay, with modification]

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The Stress (Fracture) Is Really Getting To Me

limpingchickenSo I may or may not have a stress fracture in my foot.  I may or may not have had it for a few days now.  I’ve had them before, and I’m pretty sure that’s what’s going on now, but I don’t really know because…ahem…I haven’t been to the doctor.  I think I’ve blogged before about my dislike of going to the doctor.  It’s like some weird cult: they strip you down, clothe you in a shapeless one-size-reveals-everyone’s-backside garment, take your money, say a lot of strange-sounding words you don’t understand, and expect you to nod obediently.   The x-rays and scans and suction cup machines never show anything concrete, so you have to take it all on faith, and you keep getting bills for about four months.  Though, come to think of it, cults just take all your money up front, so that last part is not very cult-like.  But it is very doctor-like.  So, I’ve just been walking around on a (probably) broken foot.  It’s (probably) fine.

Actually, it’s really starting to hurt.  But I’m kind of getting into it.  “Check me out, I’m a tough guy!  I walk around on a broken bone like it’s nothing!  I chew gravel for fun and I laugh at pain!  Not only can I walk on a broken foot, but I can do it in heels–watch!  Oh, God…”  In retrospect, not the best idea in the world.  My office wife is pissed at me, mostly because she’s the one who has to drive me around while I heal.  Also, it’s getting more difficult to find work-appropriate shoes that will fit around the swelling.  And the top of my foot is starting to turn colors.  Still, I have not gone to the doctor.  I keep hoping it will go away on its own, not unlike my last few relationships.

Drinking-BeerI’ve been trying to take it easy once I get home.  Prop up my foot, maybe put a pack of frozen peas on it, crack a beer–nature’s painkiller–and watch a movie.  Except, I just realized I’m out of allergy medicine, there’s no one around to drive me to the store, and the nearest store that sells my medicine is four blocks away.  That sound you hear?  That’s my office wife laughing her ass off.  Well, maybe the non-stop sneezing will distract me from the throbbing pain in my foot.  Or maybe I’ll forget about how miserable my allergies make me when my foot falls off.   I’m all about the positive.  And yes, Office Wife, I will call the doctor tomorrow.

Oh, God.  I’m out of beer, too.  Now that’s a f*cking emergency!

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No! Take anything you want, but spare the caffeine!

Old Man Grieving - Vincent van Gogh

Old Man Grieving – Vincent van Gogh (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As yet another part of a well-meaning attempt to preserve what vision I have for as long as possible, my doctor has finally gone too far:  he has ordered me to give up caffeine.

Now, there are a few issues this raises.  One of the first that may strike you is–how can my doctor order me to do anything?  The answer is that he was in the army before he went into private practice and, although he doesn’t say anything, I’m pretty sure he knows at least ten different ways to kill me with his bare hands.  I know he has a very pointed look when he asks if I’ve been eating enough green, leafy vegetables.  There are very few people who scare me, but he’s one of them.

The second, and ultimately more important issue is, is it actually possible for me to survive without caffeine?  I know there are people who can, but I think at this point I may be physically composed of caffeine in significant amounts.  I’m not saying giving up caffeine would actually cause my body to shut down, but I’m not eager to find out.  I don’t have the courage to say this to my doctor, however, so the caffeine (I can’t believe I’m saying this) has got to go.

Today is my first day without caffeine.  I found myself, once I was able to reassemble and reattach my skull, experiencing some unfamiliar emotions.  Thoughts popped unbidden into my head.  I started thinking, “I don’t really need to give up caffeine.  I’m fine!  Why is this happening to me?”  I progressed from these thoughts to ones such as “Stupid doctor!  It’s not fair!  This is his fault!”  From there, I went to “Maybe if I just offered to eat more fruit,” and “I’ll donate my life savings to charity if I don’t have to give up caffeine.”

I finally realized what was going on:  I’m going through the five stages of grief.

  1. Denial.  “I don’t really need to give up caffeine”
  2. Anger.  “This is my doctor’s fault!”
  3. Bargaining.  “Maybe if I just ate more fruit”

This leaves me with two more stages:  depression and acceptance.  I’ve already progressed to the depression stage.  “It doesn’t matter, nothing matters anymore.  Life is meaningless without caffeine.”  Wikipedia has this to say about the depression stage of the Kubler-Ross model of grieving:

During the fourth stage, the dying person begins to understand the certainty of death. Because of this, the individual may become silent, refuse visitors and spend much of the time crying and grieving. This process allows the dying person to disconnect from things of love and affection. It is not recommended to attempt to cheer up an individual who is in this stage…. It’s natural to feel sadness, regret, fear, and uncertainty when going through this stage.

Sadness, regret, fear, and uncertainty.  This is what I feel when I contemplate a Monday morning without caffeine.  A tad dramatic, you say?  Just imagine Monday morning at the office, in heels and hose, checking the seventeen messages that have accumulated over the weekend and remembering all those things that got put off from last week because it would all somehow be easier this week.  Now, add caffeine withdrawal.  Doesn’t that make you feel sadness, regret, fear, and uncertainty?

I look forward to the acceptance stage.  I’m told that’s when I come to terms with the tragic event.  Caffeine, you’ve left me too soon.  When I think of all the manic unfocused energy you gave me and the sudden complete physical collapse that came as you wore off, it’s hard to imagine my life without you.  But our time has passed.  And, to be honest, I doubt I’ll lose any sleep over you.  That was kind of the problem in the first place.

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