Alternate working title: “A tour of the emergency room”
Oh where do I begin?
First off, this is one of those posts that I feel the need to post a stern warning. So if you are of the male persuasion, please move on. There’s nothing to see here.
Only another woman will understand the depths of my despair as I come to terms with what this 7 day juice fast/cleanse did to my delicate system. Because we women can discuss sensitive topics such as the one I’m about to discuss. Without batting a mascaraed eyelash.
What I hoped to accomplish during my cleanse (insert liberal use of air quotes) was to infuse my system with healthy fruits and vegetable juices, rid myself of toxins, jumpstart my immune system, and be left feeling more energetic and better than I have for years.
Instead, I was plagued by a lower right hip muscle spasm that by day 7 of my cleanse, had rendered me completely useless. I could not move without a stabbing pain causing me to utter some of the $5 curse words under my breath. A discussion with my doctor on Friday raised some concerns about a possible kidney stone.
And on top of this, as though it wasn’t enough, I wasn’t really cleaning out the toxins, but rather holding onto them. As it were. In other words, I was completely stopped up. No matter how much fiber I added to my juice.
For a freaking week.
Fiddledaddy, ever on top of investigating whatever ailment ails me, via the internet, offered a number of solutions. One of which was to drink 4 oz. of OLIVE OIL. FOUR OUNCES. Straight. With no salad to accompany it. I complied, in my desperation.
NEVER AGAIN WILL I DRINK STRAIGHT OLIVE OIL. EVER. I have taken his computer away from him. But not before he found a youtube demonstration of how to massage your own large intestine. Not even kidding.
Next up, he broke out the enema bag. You know the one. It’s pink with a long hose attached to an attachment, that, well, makes me shudder to think of it. I’m not exactly sure why we had such a thing in our home. Except that I vaguely remember buying it last year when researching Lyme Disease cures. I never had the nerve to actually open the box.
My mother had one of these things that hung in our bathroom all throughout my growing up years. I never asked her what is was for. I thought every bathroom in America came equipped with one.
And now it was up to me to negotiate this contraption. I’ll tell you in the spirit of full disclosure, I’ve only had two enemas in my entire life.
The first was accidental, and occurred the first and only time I ever tried to water ski. The second was inflicted upon me prior to surgery for endometriosis 20 years ago. The happy byproduct was that I lost 3 pounds in the span of five minutes. A personal weight loss record.
I don’t need to go into any great detail, but my execution was only marginally successful. So Fiddledaddy put Plan B into action. He made an appointment for me to have a professional colonic. That’s right. And rest assured that he didn’t just open the yellow pages and say HEY, THAT ONE LOOKS GOOD. He got a referral through a trusted family member. Who espouses this sort of thing.
Now remember, at this point I’m desperate, so I’m game for nearly anything. Early Saturday morning we dropped the children off at the grandparents and headed for an establishment that announces HAPPY COLONS! I requested that we park a few doors down so that no one notices our van, but because of the back spasm, I was moving at the speed of smell. Time was ticking.
Again, no details needed here. Suffice it to say that the woman was very professional and put me at ease. As much as I was ever going to be put at ease considering what was about to happen to me. The most difficult aspect of the whole thing was negotiating the table, what with my muscle spasm and all. I chose not to view the instruments to be used, because ignorance is one of my best coping skills.
Let’s just fast forward to the part wherein she tells me at the end of the session, “Well, sometimes it takes up to 3 sessions or so to get relief.”
Then someone is just going to have to shoot me.
The afternoon progresses, and I am barely able to move. This had everything to do with the muscle spasm, which was worsening. And this is the point that Fiddledaddy decides to take me to the hospital, because he’s fearing a kidney stone.
We loaded up 3 starving children and headed for the emergency room of the new hospital facility that has opened near to our home. Fiddledaddy drives up to the entrance to drop me, while he parks. A kindly orderly takes pity on my and comes to my aid with a wheel chair. I was taken to a sparkly clean examining room. The children were outfitted with cable television and popsicles in the waiting room, so that Fiddledaddy could join me. I’m instructed to wear the required hospital gown, opening to the back, and asked to deposit a specimen into a teeny tiny vial. NOT THAT KIND OF SPECIMEN. I look at the bottle. SERIOUSLY? Because I am never able to perform on cue, all I could manage was about 3 drops, which they seemed happy with.
We wait for what seems like an eternity, and are treated to the very personal argument that comes from the cubicle next door. Finally I persuade Fiddledaddy to take the children to the snack bar, because the last thing we need is to be kicked out of the hospital because our starving children set something ablaze in the waiting area. He complied. And of course in his absence, the doctor appears to examine me.
Honestly, it was over before I knew it. I could barely get a word in. He determined that my pain was entirely muscular, and that I needed a mild pain killer and muscle relaxant. Which was to be taken 3 times a day FOR 10 DAYS. Oh. And I was to be confined to bed rest all of Saturday and Sunday. HAPPY EASTER. He didn’t want to hear about my juice fast, my issues with constipation, my Lyme Disease, or what color I prefer. He did set my mind at ease in that he was certain that it wasn’t a kidney stone.
Finally Fiddledaddy came to collect me. Armed with prescriptions we set off once again.
At some point on Saturday afternoon, the colonic must have had some affect on me, and I was able to deliver. Somewhat. But about an hour after that, the muscle spasm began to subside.
My Easter Sunday was fraught with nausea and fatigue, so I did indeed have to stay in bed for the entirety of the day, but thankfully my children were able to attend a fun family party.
The back spasms have ceased. I’m still feeling, well, a little full. But I’m hoping that by returning to a modified regular diet that will come to a blissful conclusion. And no, I’m going to stay away from the muscle relaxants. Save them for a rainy day.
I’m not blaming the 7 day juice fast. Really. I think that I have had so many toxins built up over a long period of time that my body went into shock, what with all that vegetable/fruity goodness. I’m still juicing 1 to 2 meals a day, and taking it awfully easy with water soluble foods.
And despite everything, I lost 5 pounds. So see. There is a silver lining if you turn everything over and dump it out.
Which reminds me of a joke. Fiddledaddy called me a few weeks ago, desperate for a joke that he had to tell during an audition. This was all I could think of. Because I’m 5:
“What’s brown and sits on a piano bench?”
“Beethoven’s last movement.”
Your welcome. And Happy Easter, everyone.