Gentian Magic

I can't promise a weekly posting schedule, but I'll try to update as often as significant events happen in my allergic life --good or bad, big or small, etc etc.

As much as I tried to spin a silver lining on my Thanksgiving weekend, I'll be the first to admit it was also kind of horrific. The night before I wrote my last post, I had some kind of episode that happened while eating. I associated it not with the beef, but with the act of eating itself. So, I slept it off. Then, while writing, I snacked on some sweet potato. I was fine.

After posting, I hit up the fridge for some leftover ground beef, and the same kind of episode was triggered. This fit consisted of an immediate drop in my blood pressure, ears ringing, getting hot all over, and an intense need to vomit. Oh yeah, my lips also felt weird (could have been the grease factor, though). Typical symptoms like swelling, itching, wheezing, even cramps, were all absent. Yet, it was only triggered by the beef, and it was within two minutes. Sorry, but what the fuck?

This beef I ate was from a local farmer who I spoke to personally about her practices: grass-fed, grass-finished, no spray, hung dry to age. No wash. Nothing. I mean, I guess I should ask her who butchers the meat and ask them about their hygiene practices on site . . . but am I really that contact-sensitive now? I just don't know. You know?

This reaction --whatever it was --coupled with a strange feeling in my throat from honey (allergy? Again, not sure), was a huge blow to my progress as a whole. Not only did I just add these two foods to my super-depleted diet, these were the only foods I was actually enjoying. Not to mention, honey gave me quick calories and beef gave me much-needed protein and fat. How am I supposed to get better with no fuel? The bone broth was so promising, and that promise was broken now. I cried literally every hour for two days. I wanted to drop dead, but I was too scared that I actually would.

Fast-forward to Thursday: my emergency appointment with a local herbalist had finally arrived. I hadn't eaten yet, and I slept like shit. But I was excited.

I walked up the ramp to his front door. I remember there being shrubs growing somewhat wildly around it; it was like I was crossing a bridge into the fairy realm, a world between worlds. In my tachycardic heart, I knew some magic was about to happen.

On the upper level of the old Victorian, his office was a room full of stocked shelves. Bottles of tinctures and bags of herbs filled the tall and narrow room. I curled up in the soft chair, and got to talking about my condensed medical history. Mast Cell Activation Syndrome, Endometriosis, Fibromyalgia, Celiac Disease, you name it. I got to pee in a cup, and he even let me watch as he tested it with a lab kit. When I'm not busy being squeamish, I'm actually super into body healing science stuff! Turns out I have a UTI or something. Sigh.

He kept apologizing for the state of his place. "It's not usually this messy," he assured me. But I secretly loved it. To me, it signalled a methodological madness. He had been through similar sudden anaphylaxis with no childhood history, too. That's why he turned back to herbs, to the earth, to healing, in the first place. This guy was a genius, and one who actually cared, too. No one, not even my naturopath, really understands the urgency of my whole situation. But this herbalist, after testing my urine, feeling my pulse, and inspecting my tongue, knew. He knew that there was really a chance I could drop dead after all.

"I want to try something."

He explained to me that bitter herbs can often help kickstart a frozen digestive system. My gut was barely moving, and we needed to give it a little heat. From one of the top shelves, he pulled down a bottle of Gentian, and deposited about three drops straight into a little medicinal shot glass. "Okay."

Now, if you know me, you know I'm nothing short of absolutely terrified of trying any substances. But sitting there in this herbalist's home office, I gulped, knowing that healing often means surrender. I am afraid of surrendering to surrender. Oh boy.

"Is it . . . okay if I hold your hand?"

"Yeah!" I remembered back to the time a doctor let me hold her hand in the ER a few months ago. It did wonders for my rising terror. Touch is transformative, friends. I put the cup to my lips, and swallowed.

EEUUUUUUGKJHGHSHDG

Well, he did warn me it was gonna be gross. He laughed, and I let go of my grip on his palm. "The fact that you reacted that strongly tells me your body really needed it." I guess he was right; within a minute, it felt like the sky of my belly had opened. Ineedtofuckingeatrightnowohmygod

So I munched on carrots as we continued to chat. He prepared some herbs for me to take home and drink in tea form, a gentler approach than what we had just done. I felt a slight buzz from the alcohol --shut up, I don't process substances normally, I KNOW. I wasn't worried about corntamination though. This guy uses an alcohol that's not derived from any grains, especially not corn. Maybe when I'm ready to bake again, I can get some vanilla extract from him. I miss cake . . . but not as much as I used to. You see, the Gentian awakens the patient's bitter palette. My crisis-level sugar cravings were diminished (almost) entirely.

I walked to meet a friend, giddy but dizzy. Was this how normies felt when they didn't eat enough? My sympathetic (Fight or Flight) nervous system is so chronically activated that it takes me a LONG time to feel dizzy from not eating. This whole "Rest and Digest" thing is foreign to my body. In fact, I spent the last two days, except today, feeling like I was going to fall over. How could so much blood move so fast in my veins holy shit?????

While the circulatory effects were kind of unpleasant, I noticed some good things. Really good things. My guts were actually moving food through. I've been feeling so many sensations in my tummy, and none of them bad. Sure, I'm a bit gassy, but not bloated. I haven't had a single narcoleptic attack since. I actually slept. Did I dream last night? Probably. Do I remember? Nope! Slept like a brick. Maybe the most profound effect of all has been on my mood: I feel surprisingly stable and centred. Able to enjoy things. Whoa.

As we stood in the kitchen-lab tinkering with my pee, my herbalist said something to me. "All this stuff, you know, it's borderline witchcraft."

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe there's nothing borderline about it.