I woke up with a phrase in my head about trying to get my body back. Back from my father. Except, I don’t know if I’ve ever had it. Not in all the ways I need.
I woke up with a phrase that became a whole paragraph, but what was it? There was confidence there too, confidence that I would succeed. Even if right now this horrible intestinal bloating pushes my whole midsection out in pain, and now I’m treating some dysbiotic flora, as they say, klebsiella pneumoniae, whatever that is, something that could be causing all this pain or could be causing nothing. Remember, I treated parasites, and the parasites went away, but nothing ever got better. Nothing.
In fact, I got much worse, and never recovered.
This time, though, at least I can treat with grapefruit seed extract and caprylic acid, not so harsh as the dreadful Flagyl, but did I tell you this whole thing I went through with a new naturopath, the new naturopath who’s nice enough but I’m not sure how knowledgeable, anyway she was convinced that I had small intestine bacterial overgrowth, which I’ve already tested for, and remember the protocol for the test made the bloating dramatically worse, and then the test came out negative.
But she says all my symptoms point in that direction, so maybe we should just treat it anyway. What’s the treatment?
But wait, I just told you I treated the parasites with Flagyl, and nothing ever got better. Nothing. If I had small intestine bacterial overgrowth, and Flagyl makes it better, then obviously that didn’t work.
Life-threatening. What a phrase. What isn’t life-threatening, when you feel this awful all the time?
Maybe the phrase was: I will get my body back. Except then I started wondering if I’ve ever felt embodied in all the ways that I want, and this wasn’t overwhelming, so maybe that’s a start.