I love food.
And not just because it tastes good. The physical act of eating takes the pain away; at least until you get fat.
When other kids were outside playing, I was glued to "The French Chef" and "Dark Shadows". Food and drink.
My joints were too swollen for me to tie shoe laces never mind work out at the gym, singing lessons gave me an initial cardio workout, but I still needed more.
My sister Kris told me about "The Blood Type Diet" and gave me a book about it. I collect cook books and diet books. This "Eat Right For Your Blood Type" book is unlike all the others. It not about calories or grams of fat; it is about what foods are most beneficial for your blood type.
The science behind it is gorgeous, if you're into that stuff. The anti-inflammatory protocol for my blood-type is complicated and I am still learning it, but it is well worth the effort. I felt a difference right away by just avoiding a few things that I had always considered wholesome and healthy. The food lists are different for everyone, so I won't go into it here. If you're curios, search it.
I took the diet book and a bag full of nutritional supplements to a couple of different Doctors. I was a little pissed neither of them were aware my prescriptions all came with literature advising this practice. I was the only guy asking all these questions and, wrongly, my questions were unwelcome. I enjoy righting wrongs.
My rheumatologist had been to my rodeo before, so he opened with his best shot,
"What's all this shit?" He complained about the book and bottles on his desk.
After just a few a few minuets, I busted this bronc.
He admitted he had been dismissive of "The Blood Type Diet" and churlish, but the fact was he "couldn't comment on it", because he wasn't trained to. I read between the lines: "or insured to".
He was none-the-less confounded at my transformation. This was just the beginning, and already more than he had hoped for, I was using my hands and on my way to walking un-aided. It's hard to argue with success.
For me, it's just plain hard not to argue.
I had insulted and threatened this guy in a fearful rage only weeks ago, now I was his pride and joy. This is an uncomfortable role for me.
"Keep doing your own research, and don't apologize for being angry", he told me.
"Angry patients get better, proactive patients get well, keep doing what you're doing"
In exchange for his reluctant approval of my diet regimen, I allowed him to drag me around the hospital, introducing me to his colleagues and showing me off to his friends. Frankly, getting escorted off the property by security would have been less awkward for me.
I realized they don't have a lot of wins in the medical biz. The whole staff wanted to meet me, to shake my hand. I was taught to fan my fingers out so no one would be tempted to squeeze my fragile bones.
Dr Kay was not an all knowing oracle or a soulless bureaucrat. He's just a guy, and that's scary. He was proud of me, the patient from Hell. That's an odd kind of sad.
You might as well try the blood-type diet; you've tried everything else!