Detox me

I decided to do a detox diet. I've always been devoutly anti-detox but my "lifestyle choices" (read: drinks like a fish) and the new found knowledge that bowel cancer is in my family tree got me thinking about making some changes. I decided to make a fresh start, give my body a clean out and ditch some bad habits. I investigated what detox diets were out there and discovered that as I had always suspected, most of them are a crock. There's the lemon detox - you pay a fortune for a syrup mix of maple syrup and palm sugar that you make into a drink with lemon juice and live on that for a few days. Sounds ridiculous, and dangerous. Then there's the herbal concoctions that apparently remove the "plaque" from your bowel - people on this detox poo out black stringy stuff then photograph it. I searched the medical journals for this plaque and could find absolutely no reference to it anywhere. It doesn't exist. The black stringy stuff is probably just a product of the herbal mix. Then I remembered that a friend of mine swears by the Blackmores detox. So I researched it and it actually made sense. It's a regime of digestive bitters, milk thistle and acidophilus capsules and skin exfoliation while eating a wheat, dairy, red meat and processed food free diet. Milk thistle has been shown to have beneficial effects on the liver and acidophilus is good for your gut, exfoliating makes sense too as you excrete a lot of stuff through your skin. So last Saturday I went and bought the kit, studied the menus, wrote out a shopping list and went to the market. The next day I began:
Day 1. 15 minutes before breakfast take 5mls of digestive bitters. OH MY GODS! That is the foulest tasting stuff I have ever experienced! And the taste lingered, but wait, while I was screwing up my face and going "ug!" my stomach started to feel really good. It felt settled and calm and comfortable. OK then, maybe that stuff is worth the horrible taste. So on to breakfast..two poached eggs on rye bread. Nice, add some smoked salmon and hollondaise and it's even better. I rationalise that the smoked salmon was in the fridge and was going to go bad and the husband won't eat it and it would be such a shame to waste it.
By 12 the caffeine headache kicks in and of course I can't take anything. I try to appease the pain with dandelion tea, add soy milk and it's still yuk, so I add forbidden honey.
Lunch is a chicken and salad sandwich with rye bread. Nice.
15 minuted before dinner take the horrid Bitters again, my hopes that I would get used to the taste fade. Dinner is chicken and veg stir fry on brown rice. Again, very nice but needed chilli and soy sauce (forbidden as it contains wheat)to make it interesting. So, day 1 went OK, some deviation but not tragic. I can't find the exfoliation glove that came with the kit. Before bed take a spoonful of Colon Cleanse, which is awful, but not as bad as the Bitters.
Day 2. Muesli for breakfast, chicken and salad sandwich for lunch, mango chicken and brown rice and steamed vegies for dinner. All good. I'm struggling without my morning coffee and mid afternoon can of diet coke but I'm determined to do this properly. Still very headachy.
Day 3. Berry smoothie, rye toast with cashew nut spread for breakfast, pumpkin soup for lunch, veg and tofu stir fry for dinner. About mid afternoon I get wind pain that has me doubled over at my desk, but otherwise I'm going good. The headache's gone!
Day 4.Scrambled eggs on rye bread for brekkie, salad and goats cheese for lunch, chicken and veg stir fry for dinner. I have now purchased some tamari so I can season the stir fry legally. Generally I'm feeling pretty good, getting up earlier each day and not being so sluggish in the mornings. Still can't find the exfoliation glove.
Day 5.Buckwheat pancakes with strawberries and yoghurt for brekkie - I could get used to this. At lunch a girl I've been helping in the lab insists on buying my lunch as a thank you. We go to the Asian place and buy some take away, I try to be good - brown rice, steamed vegies, stir fry tofu and then at the last minutes 2 dumplings because they are so yummy. I take the food back to my office and the girl who bought it for me gets called away. I now have a choice - I can put the purchased food in the bin and eat my salad, the girl who bought it would never know and she feels she's done the right thing by buying my lunch and I can stick to my diet. I rip the lid off the food and eat it.
Salmon patties with tabouleh for dinner. It occurs to me later that this is contrary to the no wheat rule, I make a mental note to ring the help line and ask them what the deal is with that one. I find the exfoliation glove in the back yard, ripped to bits. Apparently Bela wanted to help me.
Day 6. Muesli for brekkie again, the salad I should have had yesterday for lunch and I'm feeling really good. I feel virtuous and in control. I have energy, I've lost some weight and I start thinking I could eat like this all the time.
That afternoon I get a message from my Mum, I ring her and she tells me the oncologist has upgraded her cancer to grade d and says it's aggressive. They want to begin chemo as soon as possible and he suggests that my sister and I get colonoscopies too. What was a probable good outcome has suddenly become a very serious situation that might all go horribly wrong. I'm shocked, I'm scared and I don't know how to deal with it.
I go home and have spicy wedges with sour cream for dinner, drink two bottles of red wine, eat half a packet of raspberry shortcake biscuits and a freddo frog. I watch silly chick flicks, immobile on the couch until the husband makes me go to bed and I pass out.
Day 7. I am hungover and my head is killing me. The husband lets me sleep all day and takes care of the home and the children. I spend $200 that I don't have on a psychobilly swing dress with petticoat and a handbag on ebay. I have a burger and wedges for dinner followed by a chilli hot chocolate and resolve to start detoxing again tomorrow. Or maybe on Monday. Read more!

It doesn't rain...

The next time I complain about being bored I want someone to slap me.

Three weeks ago my Dad was walking my brother's dogs (don't get me started on that one) and the pit bull (again..) crashed into him and knocked him over. Pit bulls, as anyone that has ever met one knows, have a specific gravity of 27.9 (lead being 11.35) and the crash resulted in a fractured fibula. Six titanium screws were required to put the bone back together.
Two days later my Mum was diagnosed with bowel cancer and scheduled for surgery. Being a dutiful and loving daughter I donned my saintly robes and an hour on a plane, two hours on a bus and 20 minutes in a taxi later the girl and I arrived at my parent's house.
The first few days were spent cleaning, cooking, shopping and visiting my Mum. It became apparent that asking my brother to chop wood was a futile past time, so I began a morning routine of walking the dogs, feeding the horses and then chopping wood for the slow combustion stove. After a couple of mornings of this I started to feel more confident with the wood chopping and decided to try using the splitter. It was very cold so I was wearing gloves – the splitter got stuck in the wood so I was using the axe, upside down, to hammer the splitter. The axe bounced, my grip on the axe slipped and the axe head landed on my left index finger which was on the splitter handle. At first I thought “it’s OK, I’ve only knocked it, it’ll stop hurting soon”, but when the pain only got worse I thought I had better take my glove off to have a look. My fingernail had been completely ripped off and the nail bed and part of my finger was mashed. I put the nail back and holding my finger with blood dripping I went into the house to call an ambulance. I called the husband while I waited and he was horrified that I was going out in public wearing grotty old trackies and insisted that I get changed immediately into corset, boots and full make-up. He then flew into a rage about why was I chopping wood and he threatened to get on the next plane and smack my lazy brother in the mouth. I didn't argue.
Four hours later I walked out of the emergency department, still in my grotty trackies, and crossed the road to visit my Mum. She was finally recovered enough to laugh at my bad jokes and it was really good to see her smile for the first time since I’d arrived. Not quite worth maiming myself for, but good.

That night my brother-in-law came over and chopped a heap of wood, enough for the rest of my stay. That was a huge relief. I began to understand why I was such a moody, disagreeable teenager: I was cold! My parent’s house is uninsulated with poor window coverings and the only source of heat is the slow combustion fireplace in the lounge room.
I had suffered the cold for two nights and then told the girl to move over and got into bed with her. We topped and tailed in the single bed for the rest of the two weeks, she would snuggle up to my feet in her sleep and I was glad of the warmth.
On Saturday I took my Mum’s car, a white Mercedes may the Gods of Goth forgive me, and drove to Melbourne. We went to my house, which is now occupied by the older step son and his friends. We checked out the new lounge suite that I had bought on ebay and the girl got to see her old bedroom.

She doesn’t remember much about the house and was excited to see the colours and sparkles on the walls of her room. I reminded her that we used to put fairy lights around the ceiling and her face lit up when she discovered that she did remember her little room. Her Dad arrived to collect her for the night and I headed over to Northcote for an evening of catching up with dear friends, good food and lots of wine. My friend and I sat up drinking and talking until 6am and it was just what I needed.
On Sunday, after too little sleep and feeling more than a little seedy, I went to a cafe in Brunswick to meet up with more friends – this time the ones with babies. There has been something of a baby boom amongst the gang in recent years and it’s so nice to see the next generation emerging. And I must say - we've all made some good looking kids! The food was excellent and reasonably priced. I wanted to steal a menu to take back to Blandberra to show people and say “look! This is what proper cafes serve!” Our previous attempt to go out for breakfast in Blandberra resulted in us being turned away from a cafe at 11:30am because “breakfast is over!” Seriously, everybody else on the planet has been doing all day breakfasts since the 90’s, I guess it’ll be the 20’s before Blanberra catches up.
Driving back to Ballarat I was pulled over into a breathalyser stop. I was scared shitless – I was sure I’d still be over the limit. But apparently I didn’t even register and was thankfully free to continue.
The next morning I was in at the hospital at 8:30am to talk to the surgeon and the oncologist and then Mum was able to come home. She has had over half her large intestine removed, which contained a large tumour, and also 27 lymph glands 9 of which were malignant. She will need chemo every two weeks for the next six months once she has recovered from surgery but her prognosis is good. We are optimistic.

At home I got frustrated with my Dad for being so helpless and demanding (e.g. "..for breakfast tomorrow I’ll have a poached egg on toast, cheese on the other piece, a glass of milk and a coffee and half an orange cut into thirds..") and my Mum for insisting on doing too much. I threatened to break her leg too if she didn’t rest more.
My list of things to do became significantly smaller with my injured finger hampering my efforts to clean. At one stage I dragged out the vacuum cleaner, discovered it had the little upholstery attachment on it. Apparently they had been using the 8cm piece for two years! I exclaimed “what do you mop the floor with? A toothbrush?”. “No”, my Dad replied indignantly “we have a mop”. I had to remind myself it was their house and their lifestyle and if I didn’t agree then I should get myself a big dose of Shut-The-Fuck-Up.
My sister had been dropping her kids off at 8:15am. The story was that she started work at 8:30am and the school bus didn’t arrive until 8:40am so Mum had been driving them to the bus stop. I had inherited the job - without being asked or thanked I should add. When I discovered that the reason she did this was not because her boss was an unreasonable arse but because that way she could have a full hour for lunch my head exploded. The next time she arrived I ripped into her and told her exactly how full of shit she was. Having previously screamed at my brother about his dogs and his parasitic girlfriend I AGAIN reminded myself to calm down. I informed my mother that she should stop letting her children boss her around, me included. I figured it was time to book some tickets home. Meals on Wheels and Home Help had been organised and I had the freezer well stocked with frozen meals, soups and casseroles. I had cleaned and organised as much as I could, stocked the fridge and shown Mum how to grocery shop online and set up an account for her. Another friend that I had managed to catch up with was travelling from Ballarat to Melbourne that Friday with her two girls and offered to give me and my girl a lift. I was very grateful as we both had big suitcases and the thought of struggling on trains and trams sent my anxiety levels soaring.
The X, who was in full sympathy and what-can-I-do-to-help mode was picking us up from my friend's house (friend 1) and dropping me at another friend's house (friend 2)on his way home with the girl. It was all sorted and went mostly to plan.
As we were leaving friend 1's house friend 2 sent a text asking where I was. We were running a bit late as X had wanted to chat with friend 1 and the girls were playing. I replied to the text that we were on our way and as I pushed send the two little girls collided in the hallway and much crying ensued. Once we had calmed the girl we loaded her into the car and set off. The X dropped me at friend 2's house and drove away. It became apparent that she wasn't home. I pulled out my phone to ring her and discovered a second text informing me they were leaving in 5 minutes. Of course I hadn't heard Worf announce that I had a message as I had a wailing child in my arms at the time. Still, I had said I was on my way so I thought to leave without me was just plain rude. I had travelled 150km with a small child, relying on two other people for transport, through Melbourne peak hour Friday night traffic - and they couldn't wait 15 minutes? I was angry and hurt and rang the husband to say I was getting a taxi to go to an expensive hotel and order room service and that my friends could all go fuck themselves. He said if that was what I really wanted to do then OK, but then reminded me that I was already over $600 out of pocket with groceries and plane tickets and maybe I should take a deep breath and think for a minute.
So I handed myself yet another dose of STFU and made my way to the bar. After a few drinks I was calm and forgiving and even enjoyed myself.

Finally back in my own home, with my gorgeous husband who had cooked me a curry and filled the fridge with my favourite things including cherries (in the middle of winter, what a luxury - and I don't care if they are imported from the USA) and sparkling shiraz. What a joy, to finally be the one being cared for and cared about!

So I have learned that most of my family are useless and selfish, most of my friends are wonderful but have selfish tendencies, my X can be a decent person in spite of his past selfishness and that my husband, above else and all, loves me.
On Monday morning I took the girl to school, came home and crawled back into my big, warm, comfy bed and finally, thankfully slept.

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No, this is wrong.

My Mum has bowel cancer. I feel numb, like I'm on auto pilot. This shouldn't be happening, it's not right. The surgery is on Tuesday, I'll be there to look after her while she recovers, because she will recover - right?? Read more!

Hey!

I fixed the comments thingy. So go on.. Read more!

Time off

With the Girl safely in Melbourne with her Dad for the school holidays, the husband and I are trying to enjoy some adult time. Unfortunately the 'flu (oink oink) has also decided to join in. Just as I went into recovery the husband crashed. We did manage to get out on Saturday night to my friends (a Mum from school) 40th birthday party. I got wasted and sang karaoke for hours with another wasted Mum with a night off from kids. It was fun. The husband was mortified but showed good grace and didn't disown me - which would have been difficult as the only two Goths in a crowd of 50 middle class Blandberrans. I'd bought a new shirt, paid WAYYY too much for it, but it's purdy and shows off my boobs. I spent the next day feeling guilty, thinking about the other Mum that I had led astray and how bad her hangover must be. I was relatively OK, having the tolerance of a third generation alcoholic, but puppy school at 8:30am was something of a chore.
The dog training school we are going to uses the clicker method of training. Basically, every time the dog does as it's supposed to you click the clicker then give a treat. This worked fine until Bela realised that he could either work for a tiny bit of dried liver or he could partake in the duck poo smorgasbord all around us for no effort. So I stood there in my hangover haze while he wandered about eating poo. The trainer was not impressed and I had a flashback to the back row of physics in high school. Unfortunately Bela gets car sick so on the way home he sprayed the backseat with a mix of semi digested duck poo and dog food. It made me thankful for the faux leather upholstery in my car.
During the week I watched the latest Torchwood mini-series. Damn it's good, but unfortunately the last one since most of the characters have been killed off. On Saturday we went to the market and bought all our favourite foods: the husband bought oysters and steak and I bought 4 cheese ravioli and a duck breast. We had a gorgeous meal and enjoyed each others company. This morning I woke and thought "well, I better go to puppy school" but looking at the clock discovered that puppy school was over, so snuggled back for several more hours sleep. What a fabulous luxury. We eventually emerged from the house and went out into the world to go see the new Transformers film. It was utter rubbish, but highly entertaining. Apparently it was nuclear family night at the cinema and we were the only couple there without a disgruntled child with them. But we enjoyed the film and saw ads for the new Where the Wild Things Are film (one of my favourite books as a little kid) and Coraline, which look good. We struggled to find a bottle shop and take away that was open, I mean, it WAS after 8pm (my gods this place shits me) but managed to arrive home with a bottle and a semi decent chicken laksa.
So life goes on. We are well rested and well fed and have new movies to look forward to. The dog isn't learning much but the backseat of my car is very clean and I can add "unresolved classrooms issues" to my list of neurosis.
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The City, the girl, the life.

I've just watched the Sex and the City movie - twice, I also saw it at the cinema about a year ago. As unrealistic as it is, it resonates. For the first 20 years of my life, I was convinced I was a country girl. I was raised on a farm and I loved the farm life. For the next 20 years I was convinced that I was a country girl living in the city. My dream was to buy some land and live self sufficiently (a.k.a. The Good Life). The film made me realise that I am a city girl that happens to have been raised in the country. End of story. Having spent a large proportion of my childhood and early adulthood with no close friends I was also convinced I was totally self reliant and a loner. I'm not. I miss my friends with an ache that gnaws at me - hence this blog - it's my substitute for conversation.
Living in the 'burbs has been like living in exile. For as long as I can remember I have stated, vehemently, that to put me in a brick venereal house in the suburbs would be my death. Yet here I am, have been for two years. The fact I am still alive and not in jail for homicide, is a testament to my strength of character. I look at the girls on Sex and the City and I look at myself and I say "this is not the script I wrote for myself". My unhappiness is explained. I'm not saying I want to be a stick thin, horse faced fashion victim that spends endless hours in cafes whining about men - but I need people around me - girl friends who understand and sympathise.
This past weekend one my dearest girlfriends came to stay. The husband was away at a course (learning how to counsel people to give up smoking and brushing up on his hypocrisy) so S flew up to keep me company. The husband left on Wednesday and was due to return Sunday night. I asked the girl if she would mind sleeping with me so S could have her bed. She was overjoyed and started sleeping with me from Wednesday night even though S wasn't arriving until Friday.
The weekend was it's usual manic mix of gymnastics, piano, puppy school and domestics except for that weekend I had adult female company. It was utterly wonderful. On Sunday night, after S had gone home and the husband had missed his plane, I had a night to myself and I watched Sex and the City and cried my eyes out.
The scene where Carrie beats Big with her bouquet and screams "I am humiliated!" and her friends gather her up and whisk her away, scowling at Big, protecting her - it gets me every time. When they are sitting in the restaurant in Mexico and Carrie is venting "he couldn't get out of the car! I put a bird on my head!" is another beautiful scene. That exclamation typifies the extremes women go to in their deluded attempts to please their men. I could exclaim "I watched cricket!" or "I drove a Barina!". We put birds on our heads and still it's not enough, our men won't even get out of the car.
Many months ago the husband and I had a huge fight and I jumped in the car and drove off. I got about 5 km away and wondered where the hell I thought I was going. I was wearing nothing but a bath robe, not even shoes or undies. I had no money, no ID and no ideas. I suddenly became concerned that the cops would pull me up and I'd have a lot of explaining to do. I drove to the lake and parked for about 30 minutes. I tried to sleep but it was too cold and eventually I needed to wee so I drove home. If I'd been in the city I would have had a choice of places to go, friends who would have not only given me clothes and money but much sympathy and a place to stay. I guess the point of that story is I miss having options. I feel trapped here.
And now the local council are delaying my return to the city - the longer it takes to get my house done the longer I have to live in exile.
I moved to Blanberra, I put a bird on my head, I need to leave and get back to the city before the bird starts crapping on my shoulder. Read more!

By the way

Does anybody read this anymore?? Leave a comment. And here is the rest of it. Read more!