Day 13

Day 56 of eating straight eggs for breakfast.  Literally, 56 straight days of eating eggs.  And only eggs.  No toast.  No bacon.  Sometimes an avocado.  One day I made coconut flour pancakes and pretended they were amazing.  And one day I made chia coconut milk pudding, and decided that eggs were actually a gift from Jesus himself.  "Oh but Foxy, chia pudding is amazing!  So much health in one little cup."  Yeah, well.  did your pudding have delicious things?  Like berries and chocolate wisps?  And some honey or maple syrup?  And some fairy wing sparkles and unicorn dandruff?  Well, mine had some unsweetened coconut milk, chia seeds and a few twigs and 14 pebbles.  I gagged most of it down, focusing on the health benefits.  But it literally tasted like cow snot.  So it's eggs over here.  Tomorrow it will be day 57.  Thank you Jesus for chickens.

I continue to poop.  I continue to assume/makeup/wish really hard, that the white things I see embedded in the poos are the cursed wildebeest worms.

Yesterday my mood was significantly low and testy.  I also didn't poop.  There is a large and significant probability that holding onto all those toxins for an extra day did NOT help.  I wish I had realized this before I went to bed.  Next time, enema for sure.  Guys, for real.  Toxins don't just affect physically, but also emotionally.  I also was dealing with a lot of anxiety.  Because basically I'm going to die any second.  The anxiety could be coming from thyroid, candida, wormlies, adrenal, just pick one.

Talking about adrenals.  Do you guys even know you have something called your adrenals?  They sit on top of your kidneys.  They're a pretty big deal slash, important.  I'm going to add this article.  Because I think Dr. Axe makes it's pretty simple to understand.  And then this article mainly because I liked the picture.

My poor poor adrenals.  I think they're about as dead as doornail.  I even read that it's really important to not watch tv shows that are exciting.  That's like everything I watch.  So I'm not watching anymore.  I guess it's going to be me and Doc Martin for awhile.  That and medicinal, unsweetened tea.  And a granny bedtime of 9:00.  And a silky soft pastel pink nightgown that goes down to the floor.  With puffed sleeves and 17 pearl buttons that go up the front, clear to my adams apple.

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Guys, my beautiful Queenie got married this weekend.  Big D and I went sans babies.  First of all, it was 401 degrees.  And I was pleasered than a punch bowl that I wore a shorter dress.  But it did make it awkward when beads of sweat starting running down my legs.  That happened.  Also, with my ridiculously ridiculous diet, I had to leave the reception to go eat a boring piece of meat at the local pub on the corner. . . ... .... . .  So much fanciness I had to pass up.  "Ma'am, would like a whole bunch of fancy drenched in something you can't eat, topped with the devil himself?"  Oh the Self.  Re.  Straint.  I had to maintain.

Also, one of the best parts happened all too quickly.  Big D and I were trying to dance.  I say "trying" because we're old.  And this new music they have out there is stuff that makes dancing hard.  For old people.  But let me tell you, there were some not old people who were dancing just fine.  Anyway, so we're out there.  Clapping off beat.  Clucking our tongues.  Trying not to step on the 47th wine glass that got dropped.  Attempting to shake our skeletal money makers. . . . .. And this magical thing happened.  This drunked girl grabbed Big D and threw him into this mini dance circle.  2 guys and 1 girl and Big D crammed into the middle.  There was so much grabbing and twisting and humping and grinding and touching.  I thought it was the most spectacular event.  And over all too soon.  And Big D almost started crying. 

I need to wrap this up because I'm starving.

Dinnner
A plain burger on a bed of greens topped with sauteed onions
Asparagus
Boiled potatoes and carrots drowned in butter - not for me, of course.

And on an ending note, a question for all of you from Ed. Who is 5.
"What's worse than fake rocks at San Diego?"  His answer is bad angels.

The end.

Day 2

I'm still alive.

But never have I ever walked around with tighter/flabbier clenched buns.  The whole point of a worm infestation cleanse is to get rid of the worms.  And I'm walking around keeping them in like they're the greatest.  Or something special.

Petrified.  To release my anal sphincter.  I did it.  Twice so far.  I did find that having a stool under my feet (like the squatty potty) encouraged relaxation.

Poop 1
I got out of bed this morning feeling tired.  And wouldn't you know, I'm stumbling around trying to find dirty clothes on the floor to put on, and a hairbrush to brush my remaining 103 hairs on my head - those worms start knocking.  HELLO!  Let the girl put on some deodorant before she has to face the fangs.

I clenched real good till I was ready for the day aka the worms.  I even frushed my teeth.  I was completely ready.  Like, if the UPS man came - I was that ready.  And then I answered the call of the wild worms.

It doesn't do anybody any favors to whip their body around after every ker-plop.  It's a fine way to have to clean the bathroom a few times a day.  Patience is a virtue.  And a fine virtue to put into practice.

Alas, I saw nothing.  And was completely relieved.  And completely disappointed.

Poo 2
Every time my poo stalls, I imagine a long worm stuck, half in-half out, writhing wildly.  Guys, fangs are real.

  So, yup.  Moving on.

Anyway, I consorted to patience this time.  And when I was done I saw lots and lots of tiny, minuscule white line thingsies. Complete satisfaction knowing that something was dying.  Smug.  And pleased.

How I'm feeling:

Day 2 was when others started to feel gross from the toxins starting to multiply due to worm death.  I am pleased to say that I feel no different minus being slightly more tired and slightly nauseous.  Sounds like I'm pregnant.  Maybe I am! (with worms)  I've been following my tea and crumpet aka worm killer pills schedule like a kindygartner.  And once again feeling smug that I have managed to stay on track for 1 1/2 days.

Dinner?

Lets talk about last night first.  Chicken and beans are a common occurrence around here.  But throw in some rutabaga soup and literally, batten down the hatches, secure your valuables, life is no more as it once was.  Big D threw an entire chopped up jalapeno pepper in his small portion.  Murn ate hers for breakfast with much lamenting.  Ed cried and gagged his one required spoonful until daddy bribed him with a whole chicken leg if he finished his 1/8 of a cup serving. (Didn't you know that chicken legs are cool?  And worthy of gagging and choking down 4 spoonfuls?  They are.)  WW wasn't even offered any.  And I ate my bowl, pleased as punch, knowing that I was killing off candida.

Big D called me this morning (because we never see each other) to ask how I felt.  Awkward, and what is that supposed to mean . . . ? Well, somebody had a tummy ache and wasn't feeling very well and wanted to know if it was the soup.  *Why yes!  You figured out my life squelching secret - I was trying to poison you all with rutabaga soup*  2 things:  a) maybe your tummy doesn't like the entire pepper you crammed down your throat or b) maybe when I said you have too much yeast in your body, maybe I was right.   Those are my best two guesses.  All other guesses are not my best.

But dinner tonight?  It's going to be equally as awesome.  As dinner is, every night.

Creamy chicken soup

Sahwid with avocado green goddess dressing aka tear and gag-reflex inducing pig slop

Grain-free bread

Takeaways

1)  When naming a blog, be wise.  Never name it something you'll regret.  Like, "Whispers of Love" or "The Witherhalls's Happenings" or "Bluebirds Sing the Beauty of the Earth".  You're going to wake up someday and not want to talk about how love whispers anymore.  Or fun zoo trips.  Or how you gathered a whole bouquet of wildflowers on your evening walk.  Maybe you'll wake up some day with your mind a fizzled mess of slow fog, and the best you can do is talk about poop.

2)  Life is a continual of changing seasons.  Really really embrace each one.  I know that I won't be talking about poop forever.  Someday I'll have life altering epiphanies and wisdom words and life giving faith speaks.  But that's not today.  And I'm ok with that.  And you should be ok with the season that you're in too.

Mountains and Day 1 and Worms

Guys it's been so long that I totally forgot how to even find my blog, to write a new blog.

Anyway, I found it.

So remember when I had WW and stopped writing all together?  Yeah, he was kinda the straw that broke the camels back aka my body.  He didn't sleep for 22 months.  Which meant that I didn't sleep for 22 months and that mixed with life and lifestyle habits and stressors, and food that was poisonous to my body led me to a whopping case of hypothyroidism (possibly and most likely hashimotos) a delightful overgrowth of candida and a delicious batch of over aggressive parasites.  Not to sound like I'm cool and special or anything, like I'm the only one - 70% of the population has an overgrowth of candida and 90% of the population has awesome parasites.  Mine just all collided at once and started to attack my thyroid.

I went to the mds after a week of what felt like a hangover.  They took a lot of blood and clarified that my thyroid was dying and I was doomed to medication for the rest of my life.

I did some research and some talking, some webinar watching and more reading and decided that I wasn't going to take that as the final answer.  One person telling me that meds is the only way doesn't seem to fit my bill, and I decided to go see a Naturopathic dr.

(I should have been blogging this whole journey, because there are so many good stories to tell)(But I didn't - because I couldn't, because my body was a shell of a human)

Long story short - I'm on the Candida diet.  I cried much when this became a reality.  I literally went through a week of mourning food.  I mourned.  And was angry.  And cried, alot.  And I'm not a big food person.  I don't love food.  But I found out that I survived many mothering moments with food.  A glass of wine at night.  An ice cold vanilla coke mid afternoon.  Ridiculously creammmy mac and cheese for lunch (always homemade) The weekly Friday night take out dinner, mom doesn't have to cook meal.

All of that was taken from me with this new diet.  I needed to starve the overabundance of yeast in this old temple.  So, I'm allowed to eat non-starchy vegetables, chicken and beef, eggs, quinoa ..... yeah, that's about it.  A few things here and there:  some nuts, olive oil, avocado, Mmmmm and water.

So I'm doing that.  Yes, I've lost weight.  I had finally learned to love my extra, thank you WW, weight - and now it's gone.  So I'm back to learning to love my newold self.  The granny nips are hard to get over though ..

I'm taking a thousand supplements to boost and support and give strength to, and ease, and betterment, in Jesus name.

Anyway, now that my brain fog is S-L-O-W-L-Y lifting, (did I mention "slowly"?) I want to blog this mountain.

I said mountain because - In the very beginning, when it was so dark and bleak.  When I had no idea what was going on or what to do or who to see - I woke up one morning with the words, "greet the mountain with joy".  OBVIOUSLY I knew that it was God giving me these words.  But it really bothered me that he said "mountain".  Singular.  Why not mountainS?  Did I say "bothered"?  I meant pissed.

It took me a few weeks to realize that THIS, this awfulness that my body was giving, was the mountain.  God specifically told me to walk through the absolute worst part of my life thus far, with joy.

I would give myself a C-.

Oh, but the most important thing right now is that I'm on a parasitic cleanse.  I started today.  I am petrified of what is going to come out of my anus.  Somebody wrote about an inch long head with fangs that came out.  I am nervous.  Frightened.  Scared to death.  (say a prayer for me please)

Remember that time that I named my blog "Undignified Mutterings"?  Yup, I'm going to talk about poop for the next month.  And I can, because I already warned the world that I was going to say a bunch of undignified stuff.  Also, I can write my sentences anyway I want to.  In any which format punctuation order feels best.

It's kinda like that time that I was a kid growing up, and my mother made me put the clean silverware away perfectly perfect.  And she always said, "when you have your own house you can do it anyway you want to."  Well, every freaking time I have clean silverware to put away now, as a full grown 34 year old - I stick it to my mother and any other person who has to have neat silverware, and I throw, *ahem* dump the silverware into the drawer.  I can.  Because it's my own house.

On to day 1

I am a nervous wreck.  I feel tired, with a very low, light, slight, stomach ache. (Please be dying worms)  My poop was quite green in color.  No worms yet.

I'm nervous about getting the tea and the worm-killer pills all right at the proper time.  If I don't, severe nausea will ensue.  And the worms won't get the proper killer dosage.  And then I'm just wasting my time . . .

What's cooking for dinner you ask?
Rutabaga chipotle soup
Crockpot rotisserie chicken
Green beans

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Was this a mess of a first-back-at-it-post?
Yup.  I guess that pretty much sums me up right now.  An absolute mess.  Trying to do it with joy.

Takeaways:
1) ...blah ... there's so many, but I guess I'll give you this one:  try a new vegetable this week and say a prayer for me while you choke it down :)