KnitWerk

Today was my weekly visit to the chiropractor for treatments designed to cure me of allergies. Husband and I refer to her as “The Voodoo Doctor;” traditional Western medicine doesn’t acknowledge this as a legitimate treatment, but I know a couple of people who’ve had good results. Hey, it’s Northern California, after all.

I’m allergic to a million things. I have a hard time imagining what my life would be without them – it would have a lot fewer headaches, I’m sure. Skeptics would say that it’s this promise that keeps me going back every week to shell out another 50 bucks. Could be I’m a sucker – who knows? Because I have so many sensitivities, I’m supposed to do this full, 13-week treatment for nutritional and environmental substances before we can even think about getting to cats (issue Numero Uno, IMO). Skeptic in me has already calculated the price of suckerhood to be at least 14 x $50, or a cool $700 of uninsured medical expenses. But the optimist chimes in right away, “But think of all the money you’ll save on allergy medicine! And no more skull-crushing headaches – ever!”

The treatments go like this: I hold an offending substance in my hand, chiropractor does some voodoo over me, I avoid the substance for 25 hours after treatment, and I’m cured for that substance.

This week the substance is metal. Do you know how hard it is to avoid metal? Plastic gloves are recommended. I look like this today:

“You’re lucky,” says Dr. VooDoo. “Your meridians will clear up by midnight.”
(Sara’s note: “!!”)

This, I learn, means that I can finally lose the gloves when I go to bed, so I don’t have to do the full 25 hours. Thank goodness. Until then, I have weird, alien Smurf hands. Willie, the reason for all the sneezin’, is deeply suspicious.