Going Caveman

The sphygmomanometer inflates, deflates and flashes a number at me that I don’t really like.

It’s back on the program once again.

There is something in my nature that hates doing what I’m told – absolutely hates it. So when the doctor told me a few years ago that I should be on blood pressure medication, it was with a great deal of trepidation that I took the prescription, filled it at my local chemist with a whimsical ""Ευχαριστώ" and started taking the drugs. Two weeks later, I was back at the doctors complaining that the medication made me feel like crap – I was a walking zombie – couldn't function, couldn’t think, lost my libido, wanted to eat and cry all the time – plus I had a hacking cough.

She changed my medication.

Script in hand, back to the chemist with a doleful 'παρακαλὠ'  as I handed over the script and the money, I dutifully took the meds – only this time, after three days, though I was no longer walking around like the living dead, but I’d shoved on a couple of kilograms in weight and it felt like I had cankles – my legs were heavy with fluid, my ankles, the pride and joy of my lumpy body, felt like they belonged to an elephant.

Not impressed, I went back to the doctor, who said my ankles looked normal. When I said that they were normally the most emaciated part of me and that I could feel the skin stretching, she suggested coming off the drugs and try another sort of blood pressure medication. It was at that time told her politely where she could shove her medication and that I was going to find another way of managing my blood pressure issues.

Which has lead me to the four year health and fitness journey I’ve been undertaking. It’s meant shedding weight. It’s meant taking up running. It’s meant that I’m a local at my gym. It means when I feel symptomatic with hypertension (headaches, palpitations, hot flashes and other general malaise) I traipse back to my lovely hippy doctor (naturopath) who gives me some herbs to drink to flatten it out again and I go all hard line with my diet and exercise to reign things back again.

I’ve learned in the last few years that I can only eat cheese in strict moderation – cheesy pizza sends me sleepless with palpitations for a few days. Alcohol can also be taken in moderation - a glass or two a week and I have no ill effects. A bender every so often - but that is it - none of this 14 glasses a week for me. I have to be careful around sugar and processed foods. Chocolate is not my friend. Salt is the enemy as well.

Then again, on the good side, daily exercise helps keeps things in check – which isn’t a problem at all as it works on so many levels – it keeps me from feeling strung out and depressed too.

Which leads me to where I am now. With a blood pressure reading that the doctor would be shouting at me for and the knowledge that I’ve packed on a couple of kilos as a result of negligence and a stressful sedentary job,it’s time to get back on track again. It’s time to get with the program. It’s time to release my inner cave man for a few weeks.

Yeah, just call me Alley Oop or Captain Caveman.

It’s time to detox and go Paleo for a while. Time to embrace my inner cave man.

Thinking about it, I’ve been quite fond of cavemen in the past. I have dim memories of grunts of ,“Woman! Come here, woman! Woman, good! ” as you’re dragged off to some foul smelling pit for fifteen minutes of sloppy kisses and rough cuddles. Okay, cavemen lack a bit of finesse, but you know where you stand…)

Alas, this caveman isn’t a hairy beast who has a need for food and sex. It doesn’t mean I’m going to look like a caveman either, stopping waxing my legs and eyebrows, grunting after my morning coffee and not bathing.

It’s back to the Paleolithic diet. Bye bye dairy and grain, hello protein, vegetables, fruits and nuts.

The concept is fairly simple. Reindert and my naturopath have been suggesting it to me for ages – go back to basics. Lean proteins. Lots of green vegies. Fruits. Nuts. A hunter-gatherer diet. No processing. No salt or sugar. This time, for the first 28 days, no legumes either. Just meat and vegetables and a few nuts - after a four day detox to set everything back to zero again.

In other words - eat like a caveman for a month, after four days of purging the crap out of my body.

What's the bet that my blood pressure is back to my form of normal (130/80) by Wednesday next week.

This is also a good chance to the exercise regime back on track. I've been decidedly slack over the last few weeks - still fit, still strong, but I feel myself slipping.

I've put myself in a race a month for the next few months. The 10 km Run Melbourne, where I would love to run the distance in under an hour. There's the Sydney City to Surf in August, the City to Bay in Adelaide in September and the Melbourne Half Marathon in October. Lots to train for, not just for time, but for my health and happiness. 

So here it is. Back on the plan. Back to being a slave to the weights room and the treadmill and the juicer and the like. 

Broccoli is my friend. Goodbye macarons for a little while.

My one wish is that I could get rid of this bloody ear worm that has been in my head for a few days on knowing that I'm going on the cave man lark. I'm showing my age. I reckon my father used to play this to me as a kid.

Harnessing the Inner Hippy

"Hello. My name in Pandora and I am a sugar addict."
"Hello, Pandora."
"It's been eighteen hours since my last sugar hit."
There is a round of applause. The throng nod in aknowledgement, muttering support and encouragement.

I'm coming  to terms with my sugar addiction, made more painful and prominent after a trip to the naturopath yesterday.

A bit of history - I suffer from hypertension, or high blood pressure. I've had this condition for years and it's something that I keep an eye on. It's a bit of a pain, but it's also not normally a problem. It's when it gets out of control it's really inconvenient, which it has been over the last few weeks. Getting symptomatic is a pain - normally I'm not like this, the hypertension has no effect on my daily life. However, being symptomatic, the hot flashes, the headaches, the lethargy, the palplitations - it's crap.

The last time I got symptomatic I went and saw the doctor. After a day attached to a sphygmomanometer having it go off every half hour and getting the diagnosis of mid-range hypertension, I was put on blood pressure medication - and there the horror stories start. The first lot my doctor tried me on made be feel comatose and it gave me a dry, hacking cough. The second lot of medication made me out on three kilograms in two weeks and my legs felt like somebody had run a couple of litres of water down my legs - it was dreadful. It stopped my life - I couldn't exercise, I couldn't think, I couldn't concentrate. She offered to try me on some other types of meds, but I promptly told her where to go. Nicely, of course.

On gaining her begrudging consent, I went off all medication and went to my naturopath, who brought the blood pressure down to acceptable levels in a few weeks with the use of herbs and some natural remedies.

We worked out that most of my hypertension triggers are stress, saturated fat, shock, salt and alcohol.

Eliminating as much salt and alcohol has been okay. There are lapses. It's the main reason I drink in strict moderation (along with the fact that too much grog starts depressive cycles). I try to manage my stress and suceed for the most part. Shock is a bit harder as there's no control over this - and my aunt's death a few weeks ago is one of the main reasons for this episode.

Calculating that the last time I got symptomatic, my uncle had died, things were crap at work, I was smoking and drinking too much... cleaning up my life, giving up smoking, curbing my alcohol intake to less than a glass a week, exercising more, losing weight. You get the gist. After a month, things were back to normal.

Two weeks ago I went back to the naturopath feeling like poo. The hot flushes were driving me up the wall - I was sleeping under one blanket in the middle of winter - just getting too hot at night. Other nasty things were happening too. After a salty, cheesy meal cooked by a friend, with a glass of wine, I was up with palpitations for most of the night. Stuff like that - it's horrible.

Two weeks back on the herbs - not much difference in the blood pressure but the symptoms have gone away. So it was back to the naturopath again. So now is time to go hardcore.

Part of me wants to berate my naturopath, Marta, for being a heartless hippy. Then again, I know what she says will help me. It also makes a modicum of sense what she says.

For the next month I have to follow the following regime:

• No processed sugar
• No red meat
• No salt
• Nothing processed - or if packaged, with as little sodium content as humanly possible
• No eggs
• No ham
• No cheese
• No alcohol
• No artificial sweetners
• No starchy foods - white rice and potatoes are out
• No additives if it can be avoided.

Add to this, dairy in moderation, limited fruit, keep bread to a minimum... And beans are good. Lots of beans.

I told you my naturopath was a heartless hippy.
Actually, she isn't. Really, it appears I have a hypersensitive system that needs some TLC.


It's a recommendation to keep me off of the blood pressure meds for the long term. If I can get on top of the triggers it will be better for me. And in her defence, I can still eat fish and chicken, yogurt and some low fat milk is okay and I can have my daily cup of caffiene  - just one cup, but she's aware that I need a vice - and coffee is my vice.

But no ice cream! My one staple comfort vice has been taken away from me. I did manage to con one macaron off her a week - but generally the rule is to eliminate as much sugar, sodium and saturated fat for the next month.

I know I could take an easier route. Go to the normal route and go to the "proper" doctor, go on the meds and eat what I like. I can't do that to myself - not after the last round of meds. Besides, once you're on them, getting off them is next to impossible. I don't want to be on medication which the long term effects aren't really understood, with side effects that are revolting. Stuff it. This is the way I have to go.

On the good side, my weekly grocery basket is a lot cheaper. I went to the check out today with such goodies as quinoa, freekah, aduki beans and lentils. I can have a  tablespoon of honey a day - that's allowed. At the checkout I looked at my stash and thought that I wouldn't be out of place in a health food shop. I even bought a cauliflower. It's not my favorite vegetable - up there with zucchini as a pointless vegetable.

I still have no idea what I'm going to do with the cauliflower - there is no dripping cheese sauce to go in it - but I've made it my mystery vegetable for the week and we will see what happens.

Dinner tonight was chicken chilli con carne with quinoa - the spice mix which worked well was a blend of cumin, coriander, a spot of smoked paprika and black pepper, garlic, bay and oregano.... just no salt.

Lunch will be taken to work for the most part. I have a few dinners to go to in the next month where I'll have to either be the restaurant client from hell or just order a side salad and eat later.

It will work out. I'm adamant that it will work out. I'm doing everything right - bar the ice cream.

My biggest surprise has been how crabby I've been about having to give up ice cream. I feel deprived, upset and just plain shitty about this. I know I crave it. I know it's easily available. It's my drug of choice.

It also appears that it may be a drug that I've overdosed on and it's slowly wrecking my internal health.

Wish me luck - and be pleased you don't have to follow me into the bathroom.

So along with all the dietary changes, I have to come to terms with the fact I'm an addict - a sugar addict.

Let's hope the come down isn't too bad...

The Waiting Room

93 Days to the Mount Desert Island Marathon

And I spend the afternoon in the Accident and Emergency Ward of St Vincent's Hospital.

Over the last few days I've had an off again on again pain in my lower stomach which was getting worse. Last night it woke me up - which is unusual. It hadn't done that in the past. On arriving at work, I told Popeye about the pain. He then marched me over to the local doctor for an appointment.

It's not like it's bad pain. More growly, grumbly pain that is bearable, but there. Nothing too bad. The Nurofen I took in the morning didn't touch it, but I wasn't doubled over - just uncomfortable.

So, 11.45am, off to the GP across the road from work - not my lovely GP near home. This guy has little bedside manner to speak of - you only go to him if really necessary. He had a prod around my belly, stuck a thermometer in my ear, took my blood pressure and announce that I'd better get myself over to St Vincents for the afternoon - something was going on, but what he couldn't tell. Ovarian cyst? Appendicitis? It needed to be investigated.

Joy.

Back at the office I collected my things, the spare clothes I keep in my desk, my mobile charger and a hairbrush. I could survive a week in the Sahara with these objects. By 12.45 I was being assessed by the Triage nurse across the road.

Hospital waiting rooms have to see the most diverse tangents of society. St Vinnies, which sits at the edge of the city, next to the once notorious Fitzroy and the occasionally seedy Carlton, sees its fair share of junkies, nutters, waifs and strays. Saturday night, it's Loony Central.

I've been lucky with hospitals. In my adult life I've never been admitted - only going to the emergency room once for suspected pnuemonia and once when I was bleeding out of both ears after a really nasty virus. Though I can cope with hospitals, I'm not fond of them.

Looking around the room, the prefab chairs took the weight of the every section of humanity. Under the light of Oprah who was being projected onto a wall sat the elderly with their wheelie walkers, a hunchback in a wheelchair, a young lifeguard sat holding her stomach, weeping. Mothers and daughters, fathers and sons. Greek, Chinese, Arabic, bogan were being spoken. A real melting pot.

From my perch at the back fo the room I watched as people came in and out, trying to ignore the increasing pain. A good looking man in a road crew vest asked for some attention to the laceration on his face. An old man with his zimmer frame stared at his foot encased in a plastic bag. An old Greek couple sat quietly, holding hands.

Some were angry, some dejected, some just wanted some attention. Some demanded loudly. Others just asked quietly.

I just felt a bit useless. I wasn't ill. I just had a pain in my tummy. All I wanted was something to eat and drink, which as I hadn't been diagnosed, was not allowed.

An obese woman, greasy hair, thongs, ill fitting clothing came in and out of the sliding door, popping outside for a cigarette ever half hour, on the half hour. The occasional yell. A drug fuelled rant. The squelch of sandshoes on linoleum. Names called. People shuffled by. People in lanyards and scrubs walked with purpose - different to the folks waiting for their attention.

The prefab chairs filled and emptied, filled and emptied once again.

After an hour or so Reindert came to sit with me. He's cried of a couple of meetings to be there. The phone ran hot. How was I? Where was I? Did I need anything? Standard answers. Ok. Still waiting. No needs, other than to get this over and done with.

Four hours later, things started to happen. Reindert returned to work - but his company until then meant the world to me. Ultrasounds with earnest, intelligent young women phographing me from the outside in and the inside out. More prodding and poking. More questions.

Finally, five and a half hours later, I was seen. I got my own cubicle, something to lie on, a curtain, an powerpoint to charge the phone and some privacy. A lovely German doctor, Sebastian, got to have a look. A flamboyant queen with a tyre rim in his ear took my bloods. More questions. How much do I drink? Smoke? Exercise? Questions of a more personal nature. Nothing really added up. I'm in shockingly good heath and live a rather stupidly healthy life.

At six-thirty, finally, they let me have something to drink. And I started to feel a bit better. Combined with the opium derived pain killer he gave me, things calmed a bit. Never doubt the power of a good narcotic.

They let me go at eight 'o' clock, just as Reindert and the Grounded Dutchman came to see me.

The diagnosis - ovarian pain to be investigated. Definitely not appendicitis. Not Ovarian cysts. But something that will need investigating in the weeks to come. I've been given some antibiotics to kill the inflamation. Got told to take it easy for a bit.

I'm just really glad we have access to a wonderful, free, health system over here.

I'm also glad I wasn't dying. After witness the full brunt of Accident and Emergency it's not somewhere I want to go back to in a hurry.

Reindert took me home, gathering some necessary dinner on the way. The calls to family and friends have been made. Viv, my dream group's leader made the comment. " Right ovary. 31st Path. You're not using your intellect enough."

She might have a point.

I'm just glad to be home, safe, in some minor discomfort - with the knowledge that I'm going to be okay.