We’re Breaking Up. And it is DEFINITELY You.
I opened the door and immediately my eyes fell onto those chiseled features, the shapely lines that defined a godly physique. I exhaled instantaneous defeat. Those hours of practicing in front of the mirror just got thrown out the window. This was going to be harder than I imagined.
“Look, I’m glad you’re here we need to talk.”
We sat at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. So many happy… wild and happy memories here. You could cut the tension between us with a knife, though looking upon that expressionless face, watching, waiting for me to speak ,it felt more like you could cut the tension in me with a knife. Our lifetime rolled along in a mental zoetrope as I tried to recall where to start. How to make the words easier. Gentle. Less… catastrophic. I had to remind myself why we were here, at this point of our relationship.
“I think we need to break-up.” There I said it. No response. Nothing. But I wasn’t expecting anything less.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I offered, anti-climatic considering the PIT of dread that I had formed in my stomach, “why break a habit of a lifetime, right?” Oh, snap. This could be easier this way – the emotional distance I was looking for could be what I needed to see this finally through.
“We’re just not right together. We’re unhealthy,” the words poured forth uncensored, “You’re charismatic, we like the same wine, the same foods, we enjoy the finer things together, but I need to move on… fuck… I can’t take how you make me feel anymore, okay?! It’s like all these years you’ve just had this control over me – like a drug, y’know. And that’s not right. It’s like you’ve slowly got in there and twisted everything inside to be about you. It’s always about what works for you.”
I opened the door. “Well it’s over with. You’re no good for me, and it’s been great, and you go great with everything, but it’s time to say good-bye.”
I put the cheese back in the fridge and walked out of the kitchen. Yeah, I could do this.
I just broke up with one of my favourite foods at lunchtime. DAMNIT.
Thus it began. You can insert the jump-cut edit montage to some poignant indie song of all the foods I have broken up with this past week, forcefully closing the refrigerator door time after time. Cheese, rib-eye, eggs, corn, beans, nuts, oranges, grapefruit… add those to the ones I was already avoiding and you are looking at a gluten-free lactose-intolerant non-meat-eating no-animal by-product person who could use a stiff drink. I’ve not said good-bye to alcohol. I think I would literally die if I did.
So to answer “Why?” let’s roll-back a couple of weeks.
It’s mostly coincidental I had the flu for a couple of months. Or maybe it isn’t and my immune system is just run down for reasons we’ll find out about later when none of this has worked. But I digress. Coincidental or not, after getting over the flu, seeing a doctor for maybe-maybe-not lingering symptoms, having scans, talking about family history, we all came to the conclusion that my gallbladder needed to be removed. Quite frankly it’s not working, it’s just hanging around pretending to do its job and liable to start harbouring vagrant nasties that could pimp the place up and take me for a ride. Having a Laproscopic Cholecystectomy sounded fair.
“It’s how much now?”
Was a question I would be asking a lot as I looked into the costs and time-frame for surgery in Dubai, in the UK and in New Zealand. Let this be a warning to you: if you’re out of your home country for too long, don’t have a regular address, or any proof of residency then you could be in for a nasty shock should you ever need surgery or specialist healthcare. Do some research now. Thanks to the kind people at the NHS, I was informed that I’d been out of the UK for too long to qualify anymore for NHS, and in New Zealand they said much the same thing only with a prettier accent.
My other option was going private. A little research revealed that I would be looking at figures ranging from £6050 to NZ$10,000 to “maybe” AED30,000 depending on where in the world I wanted to be. It’s a routine procedure with mostly outpatient care required – all included in the price-tag.
This required a little more thought. I went to see Mr. Google. Casting aside the debating between naturopaths and mainstream medicine on how beneficial surgery was to quality of life down the line; shoveling through the ENDLESS supplements on the market for “removing toxins”, “rejuvenating tonics” and the slew of “LET ME HELP YOU CLEANSE YOUR GALLBLADDER AND LIVER FOR 3 EASY PAYMENT OF JUST $99” all over the place, I knew I had really only two options:
Option 1: Doing my own surgery.
Option 2: My Way.
So whilst I wait for my instruction kit off the internet, I decided to do what they always tell us to do and take control of my symptoms. After looking into all the foods to avoid, all the scientific reasons behind chemicals, amino acids, trans fats, bilirubin, and metabolism I realised I wasn’t really that far away from using food as a means of symptom control. Having one type of allergy meant I was overcompensating with other foods and now it is a matter of tweaking to find a balance.
My Way involves removing certain foods, putting some back in, testing what works and doesn’t work which ultimately has me in a sort of gluten-free vegan type place. With wine.
I’m sorry, I just gave up cheese. I HAVE MY LIMITS.