Tag Archives: Dr. Oz

Mastering the Art of Self-Diagnosing: A Cautionary Tale

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There’s always something going down in the body department. It’s  constant pain in the ass it is to be alive, that’s for sure. If you are lucky, there might be maybe a couple of days in any given year where nothing is noticed, all orifices are clear and everything is copacetic and in reasonable working order. Most of the time some kind of alarm is going off and for me, the list reads as such:

A motherfucking hangnail!

Annoying mouth canker, a crusty bitch of a cold sore in the corner of the lips

A stiff neck crick, a delicate tenderness underneath the wing part of the right shoulder-blade, hurts to back out of a parking spot

Throbbing headache, double vision, halo vision…hallucinations of a faerie-type-being or ghostly apparition coming from behind as if out of nowhere, whispers sweetly in my ear “don’t sweat it,” but sweat it anyway

Peripheral-only vision, a stubborn floater that doesn’t actually “float” per se, but sits in the way in plain sight, right in front of everything important making it impossible to read anything on the Internet

Stiffness in previously broken big toe, shooting pain in the foot arch, comes and goes

Itchy vagina

Sore lower back, throbbing tailbone STILL from that drunken bike spill in 2003

Scratchy throat the morning after eating Krinkle-cut Kettlechips, hurts to swallow

Flaming butthole, churning stomach, cramps, bloating…

Super farts!

No bladder control whatsoever, I’m sure we’ve talked about this before, this is only going to get much, much worse

Creaky knees

Slippery grip

Night sweats, emotional distress, insomnia

Impromptu nosebleed!

Ass cheek chafing, strange butt rash

Tender titties,  achey ovaries, Aunt Flo left the building 6 months ago but left her pet fish, Mojo and Moodswing, and they fight in public

Tightness in the ribs due to inflammation of the organs (prolly)

Heartache, memory loss, ennui, no interest in socialization, huge interest in BBC when the moon is full, no appetite, voracious appetite, angry self-inflicted flesh wound

Gluteal muscle strain, HURTS TO SIT ON TOILET

Charlie horse in the middle of the fucking night!

The Fear first thing in the morning

Excessive sneezing second thing in the morning

OCD hair twirling (chews hair but won’t admit to it, shhh)

Poop smells “chemical”

Poop formed itself  “in a weirdly shaped ominous symbol of Satan”

Poop is Pantone’s Colour of the Year!

Recurring dream of teeth falling out

Tiny white bumps on arms

Giant hives everywhere there is hair, including head, armpits, pubes, and eyebrows, tongue too big to fit in mouth, swollen cheeks, after touching a peach at the Farmer’s Market, would be scary if face didn’t look sooooo comically funny

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I file these things in the back of my head so when I go for my annual checkup, I have something to tell the doctor. She enjoys my stories and in particular, my Yelp review of my colonoscopy. I will probably not tell her about my hangnails or my full moon activities (never mind, yes, I will) but! I will stress my insomnia and anxiety hope to gods of benevolent pharmaceuticals she finally gives me some drugs once and for all. Jesus Macauley Christ, I am the only adult I know who doesn’t have a prescription to some Xanax-type drug in order to cope, holy shit. A couple of weeks ago, Bob gave me one of his magic pellets, miraculazipam, and yes, please, I should have my own stash. I fell asleep easily, like I normally do, at around midnight, woke up at 3 a.m. like I normally do BUT! this time I didn’t toss and ruminate about sheep inventory for 3 sweaty, pillow-beating hours, I FELL RIGHT BACK ASLEEP IN A FIVE SECOND FINGER FAP OF A LAMB’S TAIL. And! This is the clincher: Woke up at 7 a.m. without The Fear. Sign me up, Dr. McC. Please.

I know what you’re going to say; “Xanax is addictive, blah blah, Big Pharma is evil, blah blah, unpronounceable chemicals, blah blah blah… try rosehip thistlewort and wild boar dingleberry dust from the Wiccan Farmer’s market or you can get it on-line for $400 USDs per gram plus shipping. Yes, holistic bitch, whatever you read from the Food Babe’s blarf must be true. Or! I can get Valium or one of its sexy cousins, and guess what, yo? There’s no chemical I can’t pronounce, I am that articulate.

But you know what? I am really bad at going to the doctor and probably will just let it all slide, like my inflamed organs that I am going to cure with tumeric tea, which I have yet to buy, much less brew. I am a lazy Wiccan like that. Yes, I really do wish dried herbs would trump chemo to cure cancer, but it just won’t. I will google but with circumspection. I have learned the hard way.

So here is the cautionary tale that I should share with you before you self-diagnose, like I do, and fail to read instructions, because who reads instructions:

Last year, during the Victoria Day holiday weekend, I had an ear infection. I’m a pro at these and you do not need to know what exactly caused it. I’ve had them a million times before, I know the drill. You don’t bother calling your actual doctor because you have to pay for parking. It’s Canada, land of socialized medicine, you go to a drop-in clinic, you get probed then you get a prescription for whatever putrid discharge is putting a damper on your day. For some reason, I was probably drunk like patriotic Canadian should be on May Two-Four, I thought: “Oh, no clinics will be open, but didn’t Dr. Oz have a show on home remedies, like onion and garlic are natural antibiotics?” Yes, I was really thinking this through thoroughly, I type sarcastically. I did not google for confirmation like a sensible Wiccan would. I just went into the kitchen and peeled out a sliver of garlic and gingerly placed it in my ear and went back to drunkytime holiday activities. Well, in no less than two minutes, there was a burning sensation that aggressively took over the pain sensation which in my mind means it’s working, like the way Vicks Vaporub clears out those petrified snot barnacles….dat smell, yaaaassss.

Stoically I kept it in a little longer until I was yowling in pain. I took the clove out. THEN I googled. It’s garlic-infused oil, not garlic that you are supposed to use. GARLIC INFUSED-OIL, AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT. Even had I read it first, I still would have stuck the clove in there to save time. What, really, am I going to marinate garlic in oil and not get to put it on lamb kebabs? Why would Dr. Oz not warn people: DO NOT STICK A CLOVE IN YOUR DUMB FUCKING EAR, YOU COULD POP OPEN YER EARDRUM. Btw, did you know you can remove a plantar’s wart with a clove of garlic? You know how salicylic acid (sound it out, Food Babe, take your time: sal-i-sil-ic) barely works, I’m not naming any brands, those fuckers stay around forever unless you go to a doctor and pay for parking and whatnot…trust me: garlic vapour will excavate a hole beyond your skeleton and down through your family roots find its way to the first amoeba that ever walked the earth. It’s that strong.

The next day, I went to a drop-in clinic. I did not say a word about what I did but , the doctor on duty gave me ear drops for 7 days. The whole thing went awry. The pain was gone but  I can’t even describe what was happening inside my ear….oh, yes I can, it was like stinky cheese fondue from another country where the cows eat cabbage. It was disgusting and amazing at the same time. Then some lady who I now actively hate at my gym overheard me talking to someone and she chimed in and said her son had the EXACT SAME issue (I don’t think so) and he went to such-and-such a clinic, I won’t point fingers (oh yes, I will), and he got his ear “pumped out” and it was fixed right away. I am such an idiot for not going to my actual real, beloved associated-with-a-reputable-hospital pay-for-parking (suck it up) doctor straight away, but I went to this other clinic instead. I looooove having my ears pumped out and the other doctor wouldn’t do it even though I begged her. For a good reason, it turned out. This doctor was insane, he wore blue shiny, silk suit and spoke no English. He irrigated my ear, old school-style, which cleared it out and confirmed that yes, there was a hole but now  it was probably even bigger, and some of the fondue went back inside my head. It was most wretched and the party lasted for days.

In July, after two months of garlic-induced, cheese-reeking deafness, I finally went to my real doctor and paid $4.50 for parking. I got referred to and ear specialist who never asked what actually happened but probably has her own juicy 50 Shades of Pus book to write. I fell in love with her during the time she spent probing my canal. She babied my ear like it was her own for months., monitoring the hole, vacuuming out the fondue (which was developed into more like a delicious poutine over time), making sure I was keeping it dry, so it would hopefully close on its own. It almost healed but never did entirely. The solution I chose, if I ever wanted to swim again, was to operate: Slice a skin graft from the back of the ear, and seal the hole with the flesh and hopefully everything will be restored, hearing-wise.

That was two weeks ago, I’m still kind of deaf but now my ear feels like it’s going to pop any minute, kind like being on an airplane, so I’m chewing gum, like my mama told me, long before the Internet and Dr. Oz fucked me over. And never stick anything smaller than your elbow in your ear. That’s what she keeps saying. LOL. As if.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Change Has Come

My new brokerage:  Core Realty at 747 Queen Street East

Don’t skip this post thinking that’s it’s going to be all about me and my new exciting brokerage that I just joined today.  I promise the next paragraph gets more juicy because it is sweeps month and I’m still trying to get my readership up.  But first this little news nugget:  for a few months, one of the brokers from the show, The Agents, has been trying to get me to give up that hideous ochre blazer with C21 logo on left pocket and join her hip, new boutique brokerage in the heart of Riverside or Leslieville or whatever you want to call it.  But I had just changed earlier that year to join a partnership which turned out to be a disaster and I was left standing alone under a yellow umbrella that matched the blazer.  And the office was in deep, dark, Scarborough, even farther than that area where they sell discount mattresses and electronics.  So finally on Monday afternoon, when I was I at such a dark, low point, I was craving a now extinct KFC Double Down but settling for a Wendy’s Bacon Mushroom Melt, I ran into the two Core Realty brokers in the parking lot.  “Come join us!”  they yelled for the last time.  I figured it was a sign for change, and it’s kind of nice to be wanted.  Anyway, I love everything about the Core Brokerage, it seems like all the best words start with “C”, don’t they?  The office is really styling, the people are so nice, the logo is cool and everyone has the same business cards, there are no embarrassing headshots.  The office participates in a lot of community events AND best of all:  they are going to have me write a blog for their website, which I will keep you updated on.  “Centered Around You” is their motto.

And speaking of centered, did you happen to see Dr. Oz last week?  You know how he loves to keep you hanging during commercial breaks by warning you what you see next will shock your mind and then it’s something lame like sneezing can lead to nosebleeds?  Well this episode was all about the G-spot which totally had my attention.  He showed this device called a We-Vibe, that looked like a rubber clamp and that claimed to stimulate the spot amongst other things.  You can buy these kinds of things on-line, but I like to look, touch, and smell which why I don’t go on dating websites, I have learned the hard way that an aura of crazy is something you can only detect in person.  So off I went on a field trip to Come As You Are:

Come As You Are, 701 Queen Street West

And I’m glad I did because as it turns out, the We-Vibe is a couples toy and I’m looking for solo action.  The sales girl was really helpful because there is a plethora of things that rattle and hum in that place.  I ended up getting a Rock-Chick, which is a thicker version of that We-Vibe.  Their website is under construction so I’m not really sure how to use it, the diagragm on the package makes me sick and I can’t tell what’s up or down.  It’s soft and flexible and kind of fun to play with so I’ll just have to poke and prod until I hit the G-note and my life changes.  But until then, I will embrace my new career change and centre around you!  P.S. I never actually wore a yellow blazer…please.

Men Who Will Save The Day (Sigh)

 

Some wood left behind by a man, and not the good kind

Men.  They come and they go, that’s for sure.  Some of them leave without a trace more or less (maybe a dab of DNA), others bolt and they leave drywall dust and debris behind.  And their dander, yuck…as Dr. Phil would say: “Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out!”  And in my case, in my backyard last week: 6 giant elevator doors (don’t even ask) and two piles of wood blocking the driveway were my souvenirs from a hoarder with the organizational skills of Martha Stewart.  Also, in my basement are piles of useless items, bungee corded, Rubbermaided,  and labeled, laid out from tall to small still remain living a life of limbo.  To trash or not to trash.  Ebay or Craigslist.  Help me, Jesus.  Who’s going to save me now?  Certainly not my beloved Dr. Oz, he doesn’t know I exist.  If I set it all on fire, the firemen will come (hot) but so will the police (not hot).  Ladies, you can have your conventional hero fantasies, but  the fuel for my mojo are the Weir brothers from 86it Junk.  As far as I’m concerned, men who will take your crap away far out-trump men who can teach tennis, shuck oysters, play doctors on tv, ride horses, swallow fire, etc.  See what the Weir brothers can do for you, click here.

Taking it all away

Sean and Kevin are super polite and prompt and they will take anything away at a reasonable price, 416-310-8686.  So my advice is not let that junk multiply in your backyard or basement.  As I have always said, a man with a truck is a mighty thing.  But two men with a truck and some gloves are worth serving lemonade to!

The Summer of Honey

Farmer’s Market at the East York Civic Centre

Yay!  Starting today, every Tuesday, the Farmer’s Market comes comes to the East York Civic Centre (on Coxwell Ave at Cosburn).  The East York Civic Centre is one of those handy places to know about where you can get your driver’s license updated and a flu shot.  And now that it is mid-May, the market is there once a week as well.  It’s still kind of early, so if asparagus doesn’t rock your boat, all the vendors aren’t set up yet.  The marble rye/poppy seed loaf people are there (try the honey garlic sausages, yum!).  And speaking of honey, the honey people are there too.  I got a honey skin cream that is supposed to be good for any skin ailment from diaper rash to eczema.  It smells fantastic, I’m putting it on my baggy neck right now, maybe it will look normal again or at least some vampire will want to bite it.  They have loads of flavoured honey.  I got the ginger infused one which is soooo delish and I am having right now in my tea.  You know, Dr. Oz approves of honey, it’s his Number One Pantry Healer.  I’m going to make this sticky honey soy chicken wing recipe, click here to watch the lady make it on you tube.  What did we do before you tube?  So much easier than reading a recipe and getting the pages all stuck together.  The cute boys who run the south side of market are back and they had the super skinny asparagus which I am more partial to than the big fat ones, oddly enough.  Roasted asparagus is a reason to buy that super expensive sea salt that looks like shaved flakes.  I’m going to try drizzling some of that ginger honey on them, bet that will be a taste sensation.  Mmmm, honey….oh, and here’s a recipe for a honey martini that’s supposed to be an aphrodisiac: 1.5 oz of rum, 1 oz honey, lemon squeeze, splash soda water, and serve with a honey stick (the farmer’s market had them!). You know, I would add some mint and call it a honey mojito…in fact, I declare it to be the Summer of Honey!  I’ll be trying out all the flavours, see you next Tuesday!