imaginary magnitude

I went to a naturopath because I’ve had a nasty ongoing bout of eczema. I was tired with visits to my GP that always ended up with me getting medication that neither necessarily works well nor is without long-term side effects (like, say, cancer). Say what you will about Canadian health care – and the fact that we *have* health care is something to say – I just don’t see how a GP can give anyone any sort of personalized care when they “see” you for all of 10 minutes, sometimes with as many as 30 other patients booked after you. So, with the retirement of my long-term doctor and her replacement with a replicant from Blade Runner, I took the opportunity to check out just what exactly naturopathy could do.

There were two sessions: the first, a consultation, with the second being a post-diagnostic set of recommendations. It went very well, going over my medical history etc., and resulted in her suggesting I start with a detox/reduction diet under the suspicion that my eczema was part of an allergic reaction.

So, a few weeks ago I cut out caffeine, sugar, alcohol, gluten (bread, white rice, etc.), milk, eggs, red meat…and anything else on the list she provided. Most vegans don’t even have a diet this strict. I was to do it for a week (at least) and then slowly add things back to see if my skin flared up.

The process was pretty incredible – in the sense that you don’t realise how many of these things are part and parcel of our everyday (and sometimes every meal) diet. Try going into a restaurant – try a vegetarian restaurant even – and count how many dishes don’t have gluten. You cannot believe how frustrating it is to go out on a lunch break only to find that there’s nothing out there outside of a salad that isn’t going to have bread attached.

The first couple of days were tough, but surprisingly I didn’t miss coffee that much. It was days three and four. No energy, no concentration. I could only focus on a couple of tasks at any given time without being totally useless.

Things are better now. As it turns out, gluten seems to be the bad guy, however I have yet to find out if beer can be ruled out (I pray), since it has yeast. But the process itself was the valuable thing – you pay attention to your body when you detox. You pay attention to what goes in your body and the pace of your metabolism. Particularly when you rule out gluten, you realise how much of a filler it truly is. You value fruits and vegetables, and my water consumption has certainly skyrocketed.

I think a detox/reduction diet is something everyone should try, if just once. However, I do also strongly believe that it should be partially supervised by a health professional.

[if you’re on Facebook, you can check out my Detox Diaries – at least the first five days]

[UPDATE]: I found the solution (for me, at least). It was cutting out (or at least down) processed sugars. I drink a fair amount of coffee and since I always have a teaspoon of sugar, I found this to be the main culprit. After searching long and hard (stevia, maple syrup, etc.) I found agave nectar – yes, the very same plant that produces tequila also produces a sugar-like nectar. In short, not only does it taste like sugar, but it has eliminated my need for sugar or other substitutes. For your reference here is one brand, and another. I recommend either.

I’m extremely pleased to have found a way to combat eczema that doesn’t involve medication, tinctures, or cremes. It may not work for some (or many), but the ideal way to solve the issue to deal with it through your diet, and not through a supplemental ointment.

Today marks the one-month anniversary since my wife and I moved to a new apartment. Normally not something to crow about, it’s a night/day change for us. Our previous place was convenient, if slightly pricey, with a number of condo-like amenities.

But, from our first day there, there was something about it which bugged the hell out of me – I just couldn’t pin it down. It was nice enough, sure – recently renovated with new fixtures, free microwave, gas stove, storage, etc.. But I couldn’t write there; I can count on one hand the number of times I did substantial work in that place – and it was probably in the dead of winter, on a Sunday. Otherwise, I preferred to leave the place and go to a nearby bar.

In the summer months, when I’d be on my way home from work, I’d call my wife and we’d make plans to have a drink. Away from the apartment. When we had parties, or simply a few friends over, we found ourselves hyper-focused on what kind of cheese we were serving, rather than, say, having a good time and enjoying the company. I hated that. I didn’t like what we were turning into, and I was afraid that it was us. Us getting older, us giving up on the fact that we were actually artists and not…well…people who worried about what kind of cheese we were serving at parties.

It was mid-way into our second year there that I called it. My wife had brought up some things about the place she had trouble reconciling: the fact that it was stone cold in the winter (this, with two heaters provided by the landlord and radiators that were “timed” to kick-in), that the only significant sun shone through a single window in the kitchen, that we inexplicably couldn’t jell with the other tenants, and that, finally, we felt like outsiders in our own home. I told her the ugly truth: it was a suburban apartment. A bland hole with aspirations about as sickeningly bourgeois as the new bathroom fixtures. On a street increasingly being poached by real estate jackals, flipping postage stamp bungalows for $450,000. And this was Queen and Bathurst!

We made the best decision since getting married: we got the hell out of there.

Fast-forward to now. We ended up finding a new apartment: smaller, not-inclusive, electric stove, a dripping roof, an Alpine-esque staircase, traffic that makes our building rumble, and no storage. Perfect. We have skylights (sun!). We have a patio with a magnificent view of Toronto. We pay less rent. It may sound strange, but we couldn’t believe the difference it made to our outlook. I write at home now. Both my wife and I finally feel that we’re in our element. We regularly have friends over, cheese or no cheese. I’ve traded a few words with my downstairs neighbour, more than I did in two years at the previous place, and he seems like a nice guy. The neighbourhood – on Ossington Avenue – while “up-and-coming” is not in a rush to be at home to Starbucks any time soon. I should hope it never happens.