Excuse me, but are these strawberries organic?

There are some things I absolutely never thought I’d do or say.  Among them?  Asking a man in Whole Foods where the organic strawberries were.

I’ve always thought organic food was a load of crap.  I come from the Penn and Teller school of thought, that organic doesn’t make it better for you or taste better.  And it doesn’t mean pesticide-free, it just means free from some pesticides.  It’s not necessarily better for humanity or the world at large.  It’s mostly just better for Whole Foods and people who like to make money.

And yet…

Yesterday, my doctor told me I have to go through another 30-day period where I only eat certain foods, as I’m hypersensitive still.  (Remember the ER debacle from a week or so ago?  Turns out the likeliest cause was horseradish in the fridge cross contaminating the apple I was eating, and my body is just overreacting to things.  It’s like my body has decided to be a 15 year old girl whose boyfriend didn’t call her back or meet her at the mall or whatever).  So a part of my new and improved diet is to eat the organic versions of the fruits and vegetables on my list, and still peel them.

Suddenly, I’m the bitch in Whole Foods who buys quinoa and ancient beans from Mayan times and dried pineapple and organic strawberries.  And absolutely no processed foods, heaven forbid.  I threw in some Iceland water in my grocery purchase just to a)continue with the theme of regular things like tap water not being good enough for mankind b)support the water that supported me as a child (have no fear, we’ll get to that story) and c)start a trend for the other Whole Foods shoppers who love their raw foods and organic lifestyles.

There’s a lesson somewhere in here along the lines of don’t bite the hand that feeds you (literally?) but I can’t quite get there, because there’s such a large part of me thinking, “Really, Cinds?  Organic fruit from Whole Foods? Try not to hang any tapestries from your wall and/or invest in Birkenstocks and a Prius.”

Steroids, Part Deux.

I just got back from the hospital a little bit ago.  Because I decided to finally do the right thing and take care of myself when I’m having a reaction.  Fine, I decided a little too late – should have gone at around 6:45 when the hives (hives!!! haven’t seen those in forever!) started and the throat started closing.  But benedryl helped until I ate again at dinner time at 8:30.  One of my hives started burning like crazy – had to ice it to stop the pain – and my throat started closing again and I got weak and tired and couldn’t speak easily.  But I could breathe just fine, so…

After much debate and two more benedryl, I made my way to the hospital at 10pm.  Was taken kind of quickly, got a snarky, “So what do you eat?” from the triage nurse, so I responded as though it was a typical question on her form, because I don’t have time for that rudeness, and was ushered off to the “chairs” in the ER.  Because there weren’t enough beds.  Two hours and only one nurse later, I still hadn’t seen a doctor.  And my swelling was subsiding by this point but I knew I’d be screwed for the next few days for not taking care of this sooner.  So I approached the bench, if you will, and talked to a doctor who was doing paperwork.  She said she understood, and ordered some steroids (Prednisone) and Pepcid (an antihistamine that blocks stomach histamines, as opposed to benedryl which blocks other histamines).  Easy as pie.  Because she and I both knew what I was there for.  I was alive, just needed medicine, and doctors don’t prescribe meds in the middle of the night except in ERs.  I waited about half an hour for the prescription to be filled, talked to a resident soon after, and he monitored me for an hour – wherein I got a rash all over my stomach and back (what is with these skin reactions?) but he said it was no bigs and as long as my throat wasn’t worsening, I could go.  So now I’m on the steroids for the next few days (just in time to stay up all night retelling the story of the Jews’ exodus from Egypt, woot Passover! Maybe I’ll pull a Rabbi Tarfon and stay up until the zman comes), more pepcid, more benedryl…

Guess I won’t be trying wheat on day 30, which is tomorrow.   Not sure if this month of a cleanse has been successful or not. I guess I learned that I’m not crazy and that I can take care of myself and how to do so, but I don’t know if I narrowed my allergies at all.  Because I didn’t positive to apples, and all I ate at 6:45 was an apple…so…something is amiss.  But we’ll figure it out.  This’ll end.

Anyway, things I overheard in the emergency room:

1. “I smoked marijuana before I came here because I was nervous about the surgery.  So I thought that if I was gonna die today I may as well enjoy myself and go out with a bang, I was so good when I got here but I’ve been waiting so long it’s all gone now.”

2. “She found the knife, was playing with it, and then tased herself.”

3. “I’m not going to pee in a cup. I don’t have to pee.  I feel like I’m going to throw up, I’m not here to pee.  I’m here to sit down.  And get better.”  BEAT. “I have another cup in my purse from the last person who told me to pee.  I’ll pee when I have to pee.”

Let me tell you, it was no Grey’s Anatomy.  I was dying for Lexie or Christina or someone but mostly it was a bunch of tired NYers who are total honey badgers (ie: don’t give a fuck).

And yeah…I’m awake.  That’s what ‘roids and 5 hours in a hospital will do for you.