I ate three small Trader Joe’s chicken nuggets last night.
I don’t really like chicken.
But I’m sick. My head is full of cotton. My nose is dripping Niagara falls of green goo. And my neck feels like it could heat a small house on its very own, although its neglecting to keep my own spine warm.
So I was craving chicken-y things. Soup would have been nice, but I didn’t have it around. So part of my daughter’s dinner was the next best thing.
It was a bad idea.
I am clearly still not capable of digesting animal proteins the way a body should. But here’s where my mantras came into play and saved my sorry ass.
I got part way through the second Bourne movie before the familiar sensation of my body’s rebellion began. I stood and walked calmly through my house reciting: Release, Welcome, Balance. Release, Welcome, Balance. I stopped occasionally and set myself in goddess pose but with my hands thwacking together in front of me as a reminder of the balance I know I own. When my body finally agreed to release and I sat myself on the porcelain throne, out of my mouth came several unexpected sustained oms followed by an impromptu elongated chanting of Release, Welcome, Balance. When I continued to pace with a cold cloth on the back of my neck my legs held the familiar shake of a nervous system swamped in toxicity.
But it passed, as it always does. And it passed with relatively little drama or trauma.
I did, of course, stay up far into the night to finish my Bourne marathon so that I could fall into bed and sleep without laying there in fear of a relapse. But, this too, is a coping technique that works for me. And it did.
So now chicken, in all its forms, is permanently off the food list until further notice.
Wow…I can’t even imagine. The crap I’ve eaten already today would probably land you in the ICU…I’m so sorry.
I’m sorry, lady. Sounds like you handled it brilliantly, though. Feel better…
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