DO NOT EAT IT!

Wit and Wisdom

by Beth Broderick

I recently underwent a “Lactulose Breath Test.” The doctor who prescribed it believes that I may have an infection caused by the medication that I take for another condition. That’s how it is these days. In the attempt to fix one problem, modern medicine often causes a different one. Still, thank GOD for it. I would likely be in a whole heap of hurt were it not for the breakthroughs in the treatment of Psoriatic Arthritis. If a mild and treatable infection is the result of taking a “biologic” injection once a month, I am all kinds of okay with that.

^{JUST KEEP ME WALKING, DOC!}

Here is the diet I was restricted to for twenty-four hours prior to the test, which involves breathing into a bag every fifteen minutes for about two hours.

• ^{Seasoning limited to salt and pepper only}

• ^{Eggs (may use olive oil or vegetable oil
  but not butter)} 

• ^{Poultry, fish, beef, or pork} 

• ^{White rice} 

• ^{Any kind of potato} 

• ^Water 

• ^{Coffee/tea with no milk or cream (dairy or non-dairy)}

^{Again, if it is not on this list… DO NOT EAT IT!}

*They did let us brush our teeth which was a blessing as this whole ordeal takes place in a group setting.

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“Did everyone follow the diet?” the nurse asked as she led four of us to the GI Motility room, on the morning of the actual test.

“More or less,” sneered a, middle-aged man to my right, with a dismissive wave of his hand. He was a white guy, tall and slender, and tense as a tick.

“Now, I was told I would be able to work while I am here,” he barked. “See my computer? I need to do my job!”

The nurse was a lovely black woman with a mane of curly hair who sported a nifty pair of olive-green eyeglasses. She quickly cased the guy and dropped him off in a private cubicle before escorting the rest of us to the exam room. I assume this was for our sake. Anyone could tell that he was… well… one of those, and since he did not follow the guidelines, his test was going to be a bust anyhow. I hope he at least got some work done.

I followed the instructions to a tee. I actually found it kind of fun trying to figure out how to make the allowed foods into something palatable. I fried up a ton of potatoes and topped them with an egg for breakfast, and then a sautéed chicken breast at lunch. The potato thing got old, so I made some plain white rice at dinner time and studded it with tiny bits of chicken and egg. Sort of a bland diet version of Tahdig, a Middle Eastern dish which is delicious (mine was NOT), but it was edible, and yay for that!

I am someone who, for many years, did not ever have to diet. Full disclosure, I also had personal trainers, avoided dairy, did food combining, and ate Hollywood style, which is to say not a heck of a lot. But I was never tied to a program like Weight Watchers or restricted in any real way. I struggled to be consistent in my twenties, but after the age of 30, I found my stride and weighed 118 pounds for years and years, occasionally dipping a tad lower or higher under stress. But I was most reliably at that exact weight.

Then, I hit sixty and the worm turned.

“Sizes still the same? Hair color? Can she wear 27-inch-waist jeans?”

This was a recent query from my modeling agent for a client who had booked me for a job.

“Yes, absolutely.” I wrote back and then raced for the measuring tape and leaped on the scale. Four days of three-hour workouts, plus countless “steps”, and a spartan diet and that answer was true long enough to shoot the job. Then I dove smack into a gorgeous meal of “Moules Frites” and that ship sailed.

Now, at the age of 64, I know that I am still in good shape, but 118 pounds is an impossible and—let’s face it—ridiculous weight for an older gal. No one needs to appear willowy at this time of life. My dear bones are breakable as it is, and I have had to give up the “Twiggy” bit in order to stay in one piece.

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^{STRIKE A POSE.}

A friend’s daughter was recently diagnosed with an eating disorder.

“Doesn’t every American woman have an eating disorder?” a mutual friend asked upon learning this.

Well, honestly, we sort of do. We certainly have a preoccupation with our weight, and it has led many of us down a dark and difficult path. My sister Sarah recently sent me this, which, to my mind, says it all:

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Of course, they had me at Chablis. I love me a glass of Chablis! I am a tad worried about the breakfast serving, but you’ve gotta admit it sounds like a fun way to drop the poundage. If only it didn’t also sound like a good way to earn a stint in the emergency room. There is a very real chance that I would eat one egg and drink a glass of the good stuff, then fall down, hit my head, and break one of my not-so-strong bones.

^{FOOD FOR THOUGHT.}

So, darn it, I cannot be “en vogue.” Will have to pass on that. I’ll just keep trying to stay upright and maintain an exercise and diet routine that is reasonable and, most importantly, ENJOYABLE. I am happy to meet the occasional challenge or abide by some difficult restrictions, when they’re called for, but I ain’t gonna live that way.

After that test, which seemed to go on and on but was really only a couple of hours, I headed straight for Swinger’s coffee shop, (the one immortalized by the movie of the same name.) I ordered the gluten-free waffle with a side of bacon and, boy howdy, was that tasty! I then had a light lunch of the leftover plain chicken for penance because… waffle. That night I took a good long walk to meet Jeffrey for a sumptuous dinner at Twin Dragon.

Life is long if we are lucky and finding our balance is key in more ways than one. At any age, at every age. Cheers to that!

On we go …

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