Reese’s peanut butter cups and Wheat Thins – I’ve eaten bags
and boxes of them both. In my thirties, I’d come home hungry from work or
grocery shopping. Instead of preparing a salad or normal dinner for myself, I’d
feed the kids, then curl up with the bag of peanut butter cups. I’d ball up
wrapper after wrapper and toss across the room for fun. Eventually I’d collect
them and dump them into the trashcan. I’d tally 20 or more of those babies
without a shred of guilt. Physically, I felt fine, afterward; no stomach ache
and no significant weight gain (since I had skipped NORMAL dinner.) It was
practically a Friday night ritual. In later years, while I waited for my
husband to come home from work, I’d snack. I arrived home shortly after 5
o’clock, but he had a one hour drive, so I’d start dinner, wait, and graze . .
. one glass of Rex Goliath Chardonnay and a handful of wheat thins.
A big ol' bite
Then,
I’d repeat the process. Wheat thins – those lightly greasy, nutty-tasting,
seemingly healthy crackers that were actually coated in preservatives and
teeming with ingredients such as corn syrup and fructose. Yeah, those little
seeds in there fooled me, too.
Lethal
It was after a few years of the wine and wheat thins
practice, that I visited my doctor for an overdue physical. Scolded for my
poundage overage, I was encouraged to take brisk walks. The doctor took vials
of my blood for analysis. It turned out
most of my numbers were good. Except for my thyroid, which was elevated to
astronomical levels. I didn’t know the difference between 2 and 10 when it came
to thyroid levels. But I’m a quick learner, especially when it comes to my
health and how it affects my body.
I’ve read that hypothyroidism is common in women my age, but
just because it’s common, doesn’t mean I needed to accept the anomaly or tolerate
ill health. And I wanted a holistic cure. After all the crap I had ingested
over the years, I was searching for a natural means to control my wacky thyroid
levels. Even the local energy healer in my Vermont village was
adamant. “Thyroid is not something you can ignore, the hormone must be
replaced.” So wow, even my
chakra-balancing spiritual guru said I should take the pill.
Nooooo! No way, not me. I’m going to heal myself with diet.
Yeah, right. The diet that messed me up in the first place?
And put me at risk to the point where I now required medication to control a
part of my endocrine system? If I
refused this medication, ultimately I would die. Supplements, a veggie plate
and many glasses of water could not substitute for the thyroid hormone. So I began
taking levothyroxine. Yum. And then I tried natural compound, and it worked. My
levels lowered. Occasionally my naturopath and I need to tinker with dosage,
but I’ve accepted the fact I was out of balance.
How did this imbalance occur in the first place? It was one
of my first questions after diagnosis. I hit Google and examined my eating
habits. I wanted to blame the environment. I blamed the food industry. Bu it
was I who had to take responsibility for my health, after all, it was I who had
consumed massive quantities of peanut butter cups laden with soy lecithin and
dextrose. Those bottles of wine in our recycling bin were testimony as well. A
nice table wine is essential to any household, my friend used to say. But
back then, 2 ½ glasses seemed like nothing. Did I really have to eat when I got
home each evening? No. And if I did, perhaps I could make wiser choices. Which leads me to the notion of longevity. I
hope I haven’t ruined this possibility for myself. Like my next-door neighbor, Leo. He’s 97
years old. He might drink wine now and
then. But I’m pretty sure he didn’t sit on his ass at the end of each day and
down glassfuls of sweet Chardonnay. Leo
eats food he farms himself. He puts much of it up for the long Vermont winters.
Instead of plopping down on a sofa, he cleans up his yard, cans vegetables and skis.
Practical beauty
The cats and I notice the activity outside our window. Leo
cutting back the tomatoes. Leo pruning the squash. Leo pulling the tarp over
his plants when frost is predicted, Leo carrying buckets to his compost out
back. It has been a long season for Leo. It’s a little late, but maybe not too
late for me. If I start right now.
Share the wealth
