Vitamins! and Vacation! To Buffalo in February!

Why the hell I am flying to Buffalo and back next Monday:

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/20051730

http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2014/01/140127164557.htm?utm_source=hootsuite

Those are clinical trials, if you don’t speak Google self-doctor. And they are giving me hope as I struggle out of this setback.

Shit! The doctors are inside.

One strange synergistic detail here is that for someone who can’t even go to a single damn supermarket without two children in tow I’ve somehow managed to go away on trips by myself three Februaries in a row. Two years ago I went to triathlon camp in Florida. Last year I went on a press junket to a five star luxury hotel and spa with gourmet meals and oceanfront suites and a massage. This year I’m going to Buffalo, New York to see a doctor. Do you see a meaning here?!?!?

And in more fun self-doctoring, I apparently overdosed on blood thinning vitamins in my attempts to take every supplement ever speculated to help concussion recovery. I got a nose bleed, a broken blood vessel in my eye and then a microscopic cut on my chin was like profusely bleeding for no reason. So the moral of the story is don’t take lots of fish pills AND turmeric AND Choline CDP because they all interact to essentially become a prescription blood thinner I never needed. So I stopped all vitamins. I can be pretty dumb sometimes. Vitamins!

My plan to correct my over-correction is to drink a lot of kale smoothies. What could go wrong? Last night in an attempt to assuage my panic (it’s hard being a borderline hypochondriac) I microwaved an entire family-sized bag of spinach, threw some salt and pepper and butter on it, and ate it. I actually brought it upstairs and shoveled it in my gullet as we put the kids to bed, so I was eating a half warm trough of spinach at 9 p.m. off of my daughter’s pink plaid comforter. My husband didn’t even say “I told you so,” with words, he just SMIZED IT AT ME.

He was the original voice of reason when I started my supplement regime. Pshaw, right? Then to make everything exponentially weirder, Henry trundled over and requested a bite of my bitter medicinal meal. I figured he would spit it out, right? He’s 16 months old and all. But, no. He helped me finish that shit right off.

It remains to be seen whether I will survive my next menstrual period. Stay tuned.

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