Cheers!
Monday, December 24, 2012
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Lough Derg: A Bird's-Eye View of the River Shannon
Hello, Friends,
I think I've made it fairly clear (!) that I'm championing the saving of Ireland's River Shannon. But from what?
From Dublin's plans to pump mega-amounts of water from the River Shannon into Dublin City. This could prove to be an environmental disaster for the River Shannon and all the beauty, fishing, boating, tourism, art, and folklore that surrounds her.
Toward the end of encouraging others to help Ireland preserve the Shannon (see topmost link on the upper right sidebar), I found a most unique video to share with you. To my eye, it's really something special. It's got a personality all its own. As I watched, I could just feel the expanse of the water all around me, as though I were right there in the water. Breathtaking views!
Nature lovers, please take note! This is the Shannon lake, Lough Derg, from which Dublin seeks to extract 350 million liters of water per day:
Please link this page to others!
Thank you, and . . .
Cheers!
~ Daisies [Carolyn]
I think I've made it fairly clear (!) that I'm championing the saving of Ireland's River Shannon. But from what?
From Dublin's plans to pump mega-amounts of water from the River Shannon into Dublin City. This could prove to be an environmental disaster for the River Shannon and all the beauty, fishing, boating, tourism, art, and folklore that surrounds her.
Toward the end of encouraging others to help Ireland preserve the Shannon (see topmost link on the upper right sidebar), I found a most unique video to share with you. To my eye, it's really something special. It's got a personality all its own. As I watched, I could just feel the expanse of the water all around me, as though I were right there in the water. Breathtaking views!
Nature lovers, please take note! This is the Shannon lake, Lough Derg, from which Dublin seeks to extract 350 million liters of water per day:
Please link this page to others!
Thank you, and . . .
Cheers!
~ Daisies [Carolyn]
Saturday, December 15, 2012
How It Feels to Have MCS (Daisies' view)
Hello, Friends,
My two posts, "Daisies" and "Daisies - Part II" were detailed and admittedly grueling to write, but I wrote both with the purpose of telling you a significant part of my own chemically afflicted background -- and to make it perfectly clear why I recognize homelessness as being the looming threat that it is to all chemically sensitive people.
Likewise, I've detailed my recent experiences with iodine as they relate to my present health status -- again with the hopes of plugging into something that might possibly be relevant to other chemically sensitive individuals.
Having said that, I would like to explore the topic of how it feels to be a toxically injured/chemically sensitive person --- and how it feels to write or talk about chemical sensitivity. As each chemically sensitive person is unique and varies from the next person in background and emotional makeup, I wish to stress that, of course, I realize I can speak here only for myself.
My predominant emotional reaction to my own chemical sensitivity is a disgusted despondency, a self-conscious embarrassment. Not embarrassment about the reality or nature of the affliction, itself, but embarrassment at being forced to speak about myself in this way to another person, merely in order to mitigate or eliminate something that makes me feel, for lack of a better word, "sick." My own social code, otherwise, would propel me away, far away, from having to direct any attention to myself in this manner -- often upon just being introduced to someone, or upon seeing someone again after a long time . . . And the topic is so unattractive, so seemingly ungracious. It's a blot upon social loveliness.
In short, chemical sensitivity causes me to appear to misrepresent myself, and my idea of social graces, right off the bat.
I also feel extremely mortified every time I write a post, here, relating to myself or my physical condition. I try to put that sense of mortification in the back of my mind, but I tell you honestly, I find the concept of detailing these things odious, ugly. I forge my way through it with the hopes of ending it as quickly as possible and getting onto a more desirable topic.
But I know how very much the smallest details of other people's histories can, at times, beam an unexpected bright light into a very dark and bewildering experience. If other people had not detailed their own agonizing experiences to what I'd generally consider a potentially "mortifying" extent, then I might never have realized what, exactly, afflicted me. The same goes for mothers of sensory-challenged children, as another example, who might initially have no idea of what ails their child until they read the painstaking details of another child's story, written by his parent(s). I also consider, as one more example, the mind-bending awakening of parents who realize, suddenly, through the smallest details of stories told by another parent, that their child might actually be on drugs.
Details matter.
The sad fact is that, while diligently compiling and transmitting details, the chemically sensitive person runs an extremely high risk of being misinterpreted and having his otherwise intact credibility being swept away by others' misunderstanding.
In colloquial terms, this knowledge leaves me with a weary, despondent feeling of, "Yes [deep sigh], I'm one of those persons." Meaning, I'm one of those persons who are often mistakenly thought to be a little bit "off" in the head, a little paranoid, a little bit . . . let's say it: crazy. Oh, others may be nice about it, because they don't think you're really that far off the beam -- but, well, just a little bit off to the side somewhere. But you're still lovable, although you really must be taken with a grain of salt . . .
So there is often this subtle, polite, guarded mistrust on the part of others. A chemically sensitive person who has had to squeeze through this invisible barbed wire knows well the sense of this.
There are, in this world, persons who are truly hysterical hypochondriacs who see doomsday at every turn. I cannot tell you who they are and who they aren't. But we humans know that these "afflictions of the mind" exist. And simply knowing that hypochondriacs exist is enough to inspire in anyone a fear of being considered one of them.
Consequently, I often experience a sinking, "drop in the stomach" feeling at the thought of my own writing on this blog. Every time I write a post, I experience an internal flinch, a quick flash of "subclinical" terror in which I ask myself, "Will I survive this post?"
Translated: "Will others now believe I've lost all my credibility? Will they tune me out?"
Many will.
But some won't. And those "some" make this blog well worth the writing.
Cheers!
~ Daisies
My two posts, "Daisies" and "Daisies - Part II" were detailed and admittedly grueling to write, but I wrote both with the purpose of telling you a significant part of my own chemically afflicted background -- and to make it perfectly clear why I recognize homelessness as being the looming threat that it is to all chemically sensitive people.
Likewise, I've detailed my recent experiences with iodine as they relate to my present health status -- again with the hopes of plugging into something that might possibly be relevant to other chemically sensitive individuals.
Having said that, I would like to explore the topic of how it feels to be a toxically injured/chemically sensitive person --- and how it feels to write or talk about chemical sensitivity. As each chemically sensitive person is unique and varies from the next person in background and emotional makeup, I wish to stress that, of course, I realize I can speak here only for myself.
My predominant emotional reaction to my own chemical sensitivity is a disgusted despondency, a self-conscious embarrassment. Not embarrassment about the reality or nature of the affliction, itself, but embarrassment at being forced to speak about myself in this way to another person, merely in order to mitigate or eliminate something that makes me feel, for lack of a better word, "sick." My own social code, otherwise, would propel me away, far away, from having to direct any attention to myself in this manner -- often upon just being introduced to someone, or upon seeing someone again after a long time . . . And the topic is so unattractive, so seemingly ungracious. It's a blot upon social loveliness.
In short, chemical sensitivity causes me to appear to misrepresent myself, and my idea of social graces, right off the bat.
I also feel extremely mortified every time I write a post, here, relating to myself or my physical condition. I try to put that sense of mortification in the back of my mind, but I tell you honestly, I find the concept of detailing these things odious, ugly. I forge my way through it with the hopes of ending it as quickly as possible and getting onto a more desirable topic.
But I know how very much the smallest details of other people's histories can, at times, beam an unexpected bright light into a very dark and bewildering experience. If other people had not detailed their own agonizing experiences to what I'd generally consider a potentially "mortifying" extent, then I might never have realized what, exactly, afflicted me. The same goes for mothers of sensory-challenged children, as another example, who might initially have no idea of what ails their child until they read the painstaking details of another child's story, written by his parent(s). I also consider, as one more example, the mind-bending awakening of parents who realize, suddenly, through the smallest details of stories told by another parent, that their child might actually be on drugs.
Details matter.
The sad fact is that, while diligently compiling and transmitting details, the chemically sensitive person runs an extremely high risk of being misinterpreted and having his otherwise intact credibility being swept away by others' misunderstanding.
In colloquial terms, this knowledge leaves me with a weary, despondent feeling of, "Yes [deep sigh], I'm one of those persons." Meaning, I'm one of those persons who are often mistakenly thought to be a little bit "off" in the head, a little paranoid, a little bit . . . let's say it: crazy. Oh, others may be nice about it, because they don't think you're really that far off the beam -- but, well, just a little bit off to the side somewhere. But you're still lovable, although you really must be taken with a grain of salt . . .
So there is often this subtle, polite, guarded mistrust on the part of others. A chemically sensitive person who has had to squeeze through this invisible barbed wire knows well the sense of this.
There are, in this world, persons who are truly hysterical hypochondriacs who see doomsday at every turn. I cannot tell you who they are and who they aren't. But we humans know that these "afflictions of the mind" exist. And simply knowing that hypochondriacs exist is enough to inspire in anyone a fear of being considered one of them.
Consequently, I often experience a sinking, "drop in the stomach" feeling at the thought of my own writing on this blog. Every time I write a post, I experience an internal flinch, a quick flash of "subclinical" terror in which I ask myself, "Will I survive this post?"
Translated: "Will others now believe I've lost all my credibility? Will they tune me out?"
Many will.
But some won't. And those "some" make this blog well worth the writing.
Cheers!
~ Daisies
Saturday, December 8, 2012
"Daisies" - Part II
Hello, Friends,
Something is definitely happening from my giving up gluten and dairy while maintaining/increasing much-needed iodine levels. Firstly, my chemical sensitivity reactions continue, for the most part, to be muted in their intensity.
Secondly, speed is coming back into my life. I'm no longer slumping around the house feeling like sludge. I'm skittering. The sensation of lightness and coordination in my feet -- this is a sign. It's a sign because it's happened before when major wellness was returning after a long, bad bout of something or other.
Yes, I can tell you exactly when this happened before!
It happened when we landed here, in this fresh-air house, the week I and my family had to leave our natural-gas-fueled log cabin because I could not breathe (see my earlier post entitled, "Daisies"). I went, literally overnight, from a person who could not bend over to pick a sock up off the floor without practically keeling over to a person who was nimbly racing up and down the staircase, here, doing one task after another. I was already several months gluten-free at that time -- my first attempt at a gluten-free life. But I hadn't been able to reap the benefits due to heavy vapors in the air from the natural-gas-powered appliances.
When we arrived here, however, despite the inglorious state of the house at that time, I began to thrive.
As the years went on, however, I began to doubt my gluten status and relaxed all my dietary restrictions. I also began to consume dairy much more heavily -- which has turned out to have been a big problem. And, as I've just recently learned, my iodine level was already plummeting. The longer it plummets, the worse things get. One problem feeds off another.
So, although the air quality here is superb (from my point of view), my entire system had recently been clogged with things I could not really tolerate . . . while I also lacked sufficient iodine. On a systemic level, this is metaphorically like having no kindling for a fire and inhaling only the smoke of the embers. A wood fire is something I can still tolerate, so long as I'm not close to it -- or to its smoke -- for long ("long" being a relative thing).
This thought, however, leads me back to the topic of chemical inhalation -- and how my getting away from a toxic mix of gaseous vapors in our previous home was absolutely essential, not only to keeping the "spring" in my step, but to keeping me alive. I had apparently become sensitized to natural gas and its combustion byproducts.
The week we ended up leaving our old home, nine years ago, I'd already gone to the emergency room twice for oxygen. The oxygen not only helped -- it helped tremendously and basically "cured" my faintness/weakness and breathing difficulty.
The first day I'd arrived at the ER, the hospital staff assumed that the oxygen saturation monitor on my finger was "broken" because my reading was in the 70's. Meanwhile, I was in a state of thinning physical alertness and near to collapse as I sat there with my frozen-feeling finger (I was cold and barely circulating). The hospital staff's next assumption, for lack of a better conclusion in sight, was that I was experiencing a peanut allergy. I had, therefore, perhaps the only peanut allergy on record to be cured by oxygen administration alone. I had refused all drugs. And, as a matter of interest, I eat peanut butter to this day.
By the third day (that same week nine years ago) that I felt strange and faint and started gulping for air, I wanted to go back to the ER for more oxygen. However, I'd been filling out an application to visit a highly recommended alternative-medicine center -- and this application right in front of my face was asking me if I used natural gas appliances in the home. Why, yes, I did use them! In fact, at that very moment I was cooking pinto beans and onions on the stove (one remembers one's "last meal").
I was determined to complete that lengthy application while, at the same time, I was beginning to gasp for more air, feeling increasingly labored and stressed -- a sweaty, "you're on a treadmill getting nowhere" feeling. When I arose from my chair to phone my husband about going to the ER yet again, my breathing worsened. I told my husband, on the phone, about the natural-gas question on my questionnaire, which was nowhere near completed. He looked up "natural gas" on his computer at work and located those few precious links I've included in my "Natural Gas" tab, above.
Based upon what he was reading, in sync with the importance of natural gas being on my questionnaire (natural gas being viewed by this alternative-medicine center as a chemical hindrance to good health), my husband urged me to open all the windows immediately and leave the house for fresh air rather than sit in the hospital for another five hours. In light of this new information about natural gas, my husband's idea seemed a reasonable option. I didn't really want to be in the ER again. Who does?
The problem was, I now had trouble putting on my socks and sneakers. When I went to aim my foot into my sock, I was no longer able to do so in the way I was accustomed. Each foot just floundered in the air, unable to reach its intended destination. I had to make several tries. My coordination was deteriorating. I struggled until somehow I got the aim right, and I squeezed my feet into the sneakers as fast as I could. I then went to comb my hair in the bathroom. As I looked at myself in the mirror and went to lift the comb to my hair, to my horror, I couldn't lift my arm to the level of my hair. My arm had mysteriously become far too heavy. It just "stopped" in mid-air. The air felt like quicksand all around me. This was a moment I would never forget.
I was now seriously unable to inhale whatever it was that I needed from the air. Every breath was a labor, and it felt truly as though I were holding my breath while trying to breathe. I finally made it out the door.
During the remainder of that day and a bit into the next day, I recovered my lung capacity. Oxygen would have speeded this up nicely, but the goal was, indeed, met -- albeit in a much slower fashion -- by simply leaving the house. It was hard, but my breathing recovered, progressing little by little, hour by hour. I spent that day in my car in various parking lots, just breathing and breathing. (It was cold and very windy outside, and I didn't want to be in any natural-gas-heated buildings). As a matter of record, there were no peanut products implicated in this episode. My system had been clear of them for a few days.
At this point, I'm making a special note here to you, my readers, as well as to myself: Please make an effort to preserve, for yourselves, the text of the "natural gas" links in my tab, above. A few of the original articles have already disappeared over the past few years. I believe these links to be extremely valuable -- and rare -- resources. I've not yet found any other such links, since then.
In summary, an innocuous-looking little question on an alternative-medicine application may very well have saved my life. I say "may" in order to state things in a more scientifically accurate manner; however, on the personal level, I'm quite convinced that it did, in fact, save my life. That little question -- plus the invaluable links on the health hazards of natural gas documented by the concerned residents of Nova Scotia.
May this information help many, many others.
Cheers!
~ Daisies
Something is definitely happening from my giving up gluten and dairy while maintaining/increasing much-needed iodine levels. Firstly, my chemical sensitivity reactions continue, for the most part, to be muted in their intensity.
Secondly, speed is coming back into my life. I'm no longer slumping around the house feeling like sludge. I'm skittering. The sensation of lightness and coordination in my feet -- this is a sign. It's a sign because it's happened before when major wellness was returning after a long, bad bout of something or other.
Yes, I can tell you exactly when this happened before!
It happened when we landed here, in this fresh-air house, the week I and my family had to leave our natural-gas-fueled log cabin because I could not breathe (see my earlier post entitled, "Daisies"). I went, literally overnight, from a person who could not bend over to pick a sock up off the floor without practically keeling over to a person who was nimbly racing up and down the staircase, here, doing one task after another. I was already several months gluten-free at that time -- my first attempt at a gluten-free life. But I hadn't been able to reap the benefits due to heavy vapors in the air from the natural-gas-powered appliances.
When we arrived here, however, despite the inglorious state of the house at that time, I began to thrive.
As the years went on, however, I began to doubt my gluten status and relaxed all my dietary restrictions. I also began to consume dairy much more heavily -- which has turned out to have been a big problem. And, as I've just recently learned, my iodine level was already plummeting. The longer it plummets, the worse things get. One problem feeds off another.
So, although the air quality here is superb (from my point of view), my entire system had recently been clogged with things I could not really tolerate . . . while I also lacked sufficient iodine. On a systemic level, this is metaphorically like having no kindling for a fire and inhaling only the smoke of the embers. A wood fire is something I can still tolerate, so long as I'm not close to it -- or to its smoke -- for long ("long" being a relative thing).
This thought, however, leads me back to the topic of chemical inhalation -- and how my getting away from a toxic mix of gaseous vapors in our previous home was absolutely essential, not only to keeping the "spring" in my step, but to keeping me alive. I had apparently become sensitized to natural gas and its combustion byproducts.
The week we ended up leaving our old home, nine years ago, I'd already gone to the emergency room twice for oxygen. The oxygen not only helped -- it helped tremendously and basically "cured" my faintness/weakness and breathing difficulty.
The first day I'd arrived at the ER, the hospital staff assumed that the oxygen saturation monitor on my finger was "broken" because my reading was in the 70's. Meanwhile, I was in a state of thinning physical alertness and near to collapse as I sat there with my frozen-feeling finger (I was cold and barely circulating). The hospital staff's next assumption, for lack of a better conclusion in sight, was that I was experiencing a peanut allergy. I had, therefore, perhaps the only peanut allergy on record to be cured by oxygen administration alone. I had refused all drugs. And, as a matter of interest, I eat peanut butter to this day.
By the third day (that same week nine years ago) that I felt strange and faint and started gulping for air, I wanted to go back to the ER for more oxygen. However, I'd been filling out an application to visit a highly recommended alternative-medicine center -- and this application right in front of my face was asking me if I used natural gas appliances in the home. Why, yes, I did use them! In fact, at that very moment I was cooking pinto beans and onions on the stove (one remembers one's "last meal").
I was determined to complete that lengthy application while, at the same time, I was beginning to gasp for more air, feeling increasingly labored and stressed -- a sweaty, "you're on a treadmill getting nowhere" feeling. When I arose from my chair to phone my husband about going to the ER yet again, my breathing worsened. I told my husband, on the phone, about the natural-gas question on my questionnaire, which was nowhere near completed. He looked up "natural gas" on his computer at work and located those few precious links I've included in my "Natural Gas" tab, above.
Based upon what he was reading, in sync with the importance of natural gas being on my questionnaire (natural gas being viewed by this alternative-medicine center as a chemical hindrance to good health), my husband urged me to open all the windows immediately and leave the house for fresh air rather than sit in the hospital for another five hours. In light of this new information about natural gas, my husband's idea seemed a reasonable option. I didn't really want to be in the ER again. Who does?
The problem was, I now had trouble putting on my socks and sneakers. When I went to aim my foot into my sock, I was no longer able to do so in the way I was accustomed. Each foot just floundered in the air, unable to reach its intended destination. I had to make several tries. My coordination was deteriorating. I struggled until somehow I got the aim right, and I squeezed my feet into the sneakers as fast as I could. I then went to comb my hair in the bathroom. As I looked at myself in the mirror and went to lift the comb to my hair, to my horror, I couldn't lift my arm to the level of my hair. My arm had mysteriously become far too heavy. It just "stopped" in mid-air. The air felt like quicksand all around me. This was a moment I would never forget.
I was now seriously unable to inhale whatever it was that I needed from the air. Every breath was a labor, and it felt truly as though I were holding my breath while trying to breathe. I finally made it out the door.
During the remainder of that day and a bit into the next day, I recovered my lung capacity. Oxygen would have speeded this up nicely, but the goal was, indeed, met -- albeit in a much slower fashion -- by simply leaving the house. It was hard, but my breathing recovered, progressing little by little, hour by hour. I spent that day in my car in various parking lots, just breathing and breathing. (It was cold and very windy outside, and I didn't want to be in any natural-gas-heated buildings). As a matter of record, there were no peanut products implicated in this episode. My system had been clear of them for a few days.
At this point, I'm making a special note here to you, my readers, as well as to myself: Please make an effort to preserve, for yourselves, the text of the "natural gas" links in my tab, above. A few of the original articles have already disappeared over the past few years. I believe these links to be extremely valuable -- and rare -- resources. I've not yet found any other such links, since then.
In summary, an innocuous-looking little question on an alternative-medicine application may very well have saved my life. I say "may" in order to state things in a more scientifically accurate manner; however, on the personal level, I'm quite convinced that it did, in fact, save my life. That little question -- plus the invaluable links on the health hazards of natural gas documented by the concerned residents of Nova Scotia.
May this information help many, many others.
Cheers!
~ Daisies
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Fixing What Can Be Fixed - The First Step
Hello, Friends,
Today begins a new journey. I'm hoping to be feeling much better soon. Cured of my chemical sensitivity? Probably not. But feeling much, much better.
Forced by circumstance to see a physician for a note of exemption due to my chemical sensitivity, I chose an alternative physician -- a true M.D. -- of excellent repute. I learned yesterday that I've been barking up the right tree, taking my Liquid Kelp iodine. I need more! My thyroid, the physician believes, is running on "low." This has caused systemic discombobulation.
Now, I have the blessing of being supervised in my iodine dosage. I'm to increase it a bit, very gradually to avoid detox reactions. As for dairy and gluten -- I was told I must do without. All dairy -- cow, goat, and sheep. This was as I had suspected -- but one doesn't want to embark on a program of considerable self-denial without being absolutely sure it's necessary. This physician was absolutely sure. I also have my own vivid recollection to consult on this point. When I did without dairy for a few years back in the late 1990's, I was slim without any effort and had the vibrant energy of a 12-year old returned to me. And that was just the elimination of dairy -- no total gluten elimination, and no supplemental iodine. Apparently, I've been iodine-deficient since the 1990's, at least. That's a long time for the thyroid gland to starve.
I ate my last morsels of gluten last night.
The elimination of gluten and dairy, to which I'm apparently sensitive, will serve the function of allowing my immune system to revive in a more normal manner. The elimination of both antagonizing food groups should have an anti-inflammatory effect. I've become physically reactive left and right -- hives for touching wheat, hives for touching plastics, hives for walking into a scented room. I, who characteristically had such low blood pressure that I nearly passed out and was more than once advised to ingest more salt, had a reading of high blood pressure yesterday. This is very bad. I mentioned a few posts back that I felt a racing heartbeat after exposure to scented fumes from a dryer vent. I suppose that's now a truly dangerous thing, seeing that my baseline heart rate and blood pressure are running high at present. Things are really off the track.
I'm on inflammatory, toxic overload. The overload is so comprehensive, so vast, that to try to specify precisely which food -- or which chemical -- is causing a particular bout of hives is utter insanity. The entire body load of poorly metabolized food toxins, to start with, must be dramatically reduced. The hives, themselves, are no catastrophe. They have been, however, a red flag of persistent systemic imbalance.
The silver lining -- and the very good news, to me -- is that my posts on this blog have been running in an accurate direction. The iodine is truly needed and helpful to me, the heart (judging by my elevated pulse and blood pressure) is truly a concern -- especially in the face of chemical exposures which affect it adversely. And detoxing from foods that are harming me is an urgent need.
So what began as a dreaded medical appointment, yesterday, turned into the greatest blessing. The doctor and staff were perfectly cheerful and kind. The office was overwhelmingly peaceful. The advice was calm and clear.
I write this post for you, today, to provide an update to my earlier posts on these topics, and specifically for any others out there who might benefit from looking into these things for themselves, with their own medical practitioners.
And now that I've written this down, I must find the strength to adhere to it. One day at a time. It's the only way.
Cheers!
~ Daisies
Today begins a new journey. I'm hoping to be feeling much better soon. Cured of my chemical sensitivity? Probably not. But feeling much, much better.
Forced by circumstance to see a physician for a note of exemption due to my chemical sensitivity, I chose an alternative physician -- a true M.D. -- of excellent repute. I learned yesterday that I've been barking up the right tree, taking my Liquid Kelp iodine. I need more! My thyroid, the physician believes, is running on "low." This has caused systemic discombobulation.
Now, I have the blessing of being supervised in my iodine dosage. I'm to increase it a bit, very gradually to avoid detox reactions. As for dairy and gluten -- I was told I must do without. All dairy -- cow, goat, and sheep. This was as I had suspected -- but one doesn't want to embark on a program of considerable self-denial without being absolutely sure it's necessary. This physician was absolutely sure. I also have my own vivid recollection to consult on this point. When I did without dairy for a few years back in the late 1990's, I was slim without any effort and had the vibrant energy of a 12-year old returned to me. And that was just the elimination of dairy -- no total gluten elimination, and no supplemental iodine. Apparently, I've been iodine-deficient since the 1990's, at least. That's a long time for the thyroid gland to starve.
I ate my last morsels of gluten last night.
The elimination of gluten and dairy, to which I'm apparently sensitive, will serve the function of allowing my immune system to revive in a more normal manner. The elimination of both antagonizing food groups should have an anti-inflammatory effect. I've become physically reactive left and right -- hives for touching wheat, hives for touching plastics, hives for walking into a scented room. I, who characteristically had such low blood pressure that I nearly passed out and was more than once advised to ingest more salt, had a reading of high blood pressure yesterday. This is very bad. I mentioned a few posts back that I felt a racing heartbeat after exposure to scented fumes from a dryer vent. I suppose that's now a truly dangerous thing, seeing that my baseline heart rate and blood pressure are running high at present. Things are really off the track.
I'm on inflammatory, toxic overload. The overload is so comprehensive, so vast, that to try to specify precisely which food -- or which chemical -- is causing a particular bout of hives is utter insanity. The entire body load of poorly metabolized food toxins, to start with, must be dramatically reduced. The hives, themselves, are no catastrophe. They have been, however, a red flag of persistent systemic imbalance.
The silver lining -- and the very good news, to me -- is that my posts on this blog have been running in an accurate direction. The iodine is truly needed and helpful to me, the heart (judging by my elevated pulse and blood pressure) is truly a concern -- especially in the face of chemical exposures which affect it adversely. And detoxing from foods that are harming me is an urgent need.
So what began as a dreaded medical appointment, yesterday, turned into the greatest blessing. The doctor and staff were perfectly cheerful and kind. The office was overwhelmingly peaceful. The advice was calm and clear.
I write this post for you, today, to provide an update to my earlier posts on these topics, and specifically for any others out there who might benefit from looking into these things for themselves, with their own medical practitioners.
And now that I've written this down, I must find the strength to adhere to it. One day at a time. It's the only way.
Cheers!
~ Daisies