So I can eat all the corn chips I want, but an apple is RIGHT OUT?

Good morning!

Let me start by saying I am NOT mocking people with food allergies in this post.  I know a lot of people who have legitimate food allergies, and I respect them.

What I am mocking in this post, ultimately, are those who don the name "Doctor" and then spout some wildly weird stuff at you, and part us from our money by putting fancy words to very simple truths.

Oh, and I'm mocking my mother.


My mother, who has been rail thin her entire life, but has been battling my father's weight for almost as long, decided one day to visit her chiropractor.  (I'm not mocking chiropractic care.  When I have 30 minutes every other day and $30 every other day for ten weeks, I go to a chiropractor myself.)  While there, her chiropractor...and woman I'll call Dr. MAMIE, because 1) it rhymes with her real name and 2)  It's annoying to me when doctors who don't work with children insist you call them Dr. First Name.

so she went to her chiropractor, and I may never know how it came about, but she emerged from that appointment with fist full of brown glass bottles bearing hand written names of their contents, and a whole new attitude about food and why my father and I need to avoid it.

Since I'm 44 and live in my own house, I tend to not listen to her, but after months of gentle reminding  (nagging)  she offered to pay for my own very trip to this Dr. Maime who was going to put a vial of corn on my belly button and cure not only my fat, but also my arthritis.

I'm not making this up, this is what she told me.

(At least the Soggy Bottom Boys got $10 to sing into a can.)

So like I said, after several months of gentle reminding, (nagging)  I called Dr. Maime's office and spoke to Flick  (not his real name, but close enough) who set up an appointment for 8 AM today, Saturday. 

8 Am.  And Flick said, "BE EARLY."

So I filled out the paperwork, which didn't seem at all interested in my diet, and showed up at 7:45.  Flick took my paperwork, and directed me to a room.  Where I then sat for 25 minutes.

Making Dr. Maime ten minutes late.

We are not off to a good start.

The other thing I noticed about this nutrition guru, the woman who was currently charging my parents heaven knows what for treatment and for those glass bottle of voodoo, is this:

SHE'S FAT!

Yes, take dietary advice from him.

She's not just fluffy.  No, my friends, this woman could be my partner on Biggest Loser.  She's MY BEFORE PICTURE.

Now you all know I have long beat the drum of equality for fluffy girls.  But there are just some jobs a fluffy girl may not be best suited for.  Like a woman shouldn't do those movie voice overs for disaster movie trailers, a fluffy girl should not be billing people's insurance for her dietary expertise. 

So after talking to her for several minutes, she says,
"So do you want chiropractic care, or RT?"

I'm not sure what RT is, so I said, "My mother told me you were going to put a can of corn on my belly button and cure my arthritis."

Rather than correcting me for being wrong she said, "Oh, well we are in the wrong room."

Chalk one up to Flick for not listening to me on the phone.

We get to her room and she talks about food and nutrients and how bad the American diet is.

She and I would be a great poster to prove that point.

Then she holds up a rubber band and lubes it up with aloe. She invites me to hoist my shirt and bra while she puts on this "heart monitor."

Then she makes me like completely flat, completely still on a table. Then she makes me stand completely still. She then reads a computer screen (There's a clothes pin on my shirt attached to the computer...it's not touching the rubber band around my boobs, so I'm not exactly sure how my readings to in to the computer.) She then tells me that I'm blocked and switched and my body has no reserves in case I need to move quickly.

Well, I don't know what the first two things mean, but as for the part about no reserves for moving quickly...DUH!  I'm old and I'm fat and I have lousy hands and feet.  I'm not going anywhere quickly.

So then she removes the rubber band and has me lie on the table.  No crossed legs, no touching myself in anyway because she's going to touch me all over and she doesn't want my body confused.

Um....my body might not be confused, but I'm starting to wonder if I should be looking for a hidden camera because it's starting to feel like one of those movies...you know....

She then tells me I have to hold my left arm straight up.  Keep holding it that way and she's  going to apply pressure, not a lot, but a little and I'm supposed to match her pressure.

Well I do, except it's starting to dawn on me that she's working the algebra problem backwards.  She's already pretty sure what she's going to tell me, now she needs to perform a couple magic tricks to prove I need her treatment.  First, let's get the fat girl to hold her arm up in the air while she's already uncomfortable lying flat out and let's see how much pressure we can use until her arm falls down. 



"Well," says she, "You're definitely blocked, but you can be successfully tested this way.  So that's good. Now we need to see how you're switched and what organs are involved."

I came in because my hands hurt.

Then she gets a couple little jars.  I can't see them, because I 'm supposed to have my eyes closed.  She puts them on my stomach and does the arm test.  By this time my left arm is very sore and very tired, so I'm pretty much proving her point simply because I'm uncomfortable and tired.  She's touching me in sort of a soft creepy way, not like a medical doctor who would actually, you know, try and put pressure on an organ to see if it's inflamed or something, no she's more just pointing to them and pushing on my arm.

She has me press my right pinky to my thumb for a good part of the test.  Not sure what that has to do with it, but it hurt and I informed her of that.  She poked my zipper  (why, I don't know) and said, "I know.  We're almost done."

Uh, if a nutritionist is fumbling around your jeans zipper I'm thinking you ARE DONE.

She then says, like she's a genius, "Do you work near a computer?"

"You know I do.  We talked about that."

"Oh well your thyroid doesn't like that."

"My thyroid is going to have to get over it."

"Yes, well, I do have a necklace I wear to protect me from the harmful rays of computers, cell phones, all those waves in the air.   I forgot to wear it today."

You also forget to tell me if and where I can get such a magical necklace

Turns out, I have a sensitivity to mercury and cadmium.  Now I don't know a human person who DOESN'T have a sensitivity to mercury.  And apparently, those three fillings I have in my teeth are part of the reason I'm fat and have arthritis.

Finally, it was over.  And, after all that, she was very gleeful in her diagnosis.

"You need to stay away from all sugars."

Well, this isn't a body built by carrots.

"No cookies, no candy, no cake."

Why...so you can have it all?  (Sorry, that was mean...still, she's the one telling me what I need to do to lose weight.)

"And no fruit."

Uh...what?

"No fruit.  No fruit juices, no fruit."

"Wait,"  says I, "So it's not corn, it's not gluten.  It's sugar."

"No problem with corn at this point."

Right, until she tells my mother who will probably tell her to tell me I have a problem with corn.

"You can have honey, but no other sugars, especially not fruit."

So you heard it hear first America....and other countries.   I can eat all the Cheetos I want.   But a bowl of raspberries will keep me fat forever.

Darn it...I really want a raspberry!

I'm not taking child rearing tips from
Kate Gosslein either.