If our hearts were meant to be coddled and not overstimulated, and our livers were the organs we should exercise, I likely would have been a model of perfect health. Like, make room, Michelle Obama (and no, I won’t do push ups with you).
Turns out though, much to my chagrin, that only some of me appreciates stillness and whiskey. The other parts, not so much.
My ticker, bless my heart, aches for movement and my detoxifier for a break. Bodies are so needy.
And this is what makes chronic illness such a Catch-22: exhaustion and pain beg for rest and numbing, but rest and numbing can worsen exhaustion and pain.
This conundrum has left me feeling a bit stuck, if I’m being honest, but a second trip to the National Institutes of Health in lovely Bethesda, Maryland, last month just might have unstuck me.
I was back out at the NIH to do a battery of tests for a study within the study I’m in that’s researching the rare inflammatory autoimmune disease I have, relapsing polychondritis. The researchers mine my body for information and I offer it willingly, in return for the hope that their better understanding might inform new treatments or even unearth a cure. Poke and prod away, docs; I’m all yours.
While looking for certain things, however, they found others — one nugget of information being how significantly illness and long-term steroid use (the anti-inflammatory kind, not the try-and-get-buff kind) have damaged my liver and bones. Crap.
Since drinking can compound those, and alcohol is the one liver bully I have much choice over, I’ve eliminated it from my routine.
I was kind of upset about it at first because, well, the bad news made me wonder how close it was to 5 o’clock, and also because I feel like I have lost enough — and now some of my favorite beverages, too? What would Passover be like without wine? Or celebrations without champagne?
Bad days, good days, dining out, cooking meals, winding down, gearing up, sports, concerts, parties, travel. Society has woven booze into the fabric of our lives, and the unraveling feels intimidating.
But a most miraculous thing has happened in these short weeks of being alcohol-free: I’m getting really good sleep. And the ripple effect of that restorative rest is a gift better than any flavor, ritual or buzz.
Both my body and my mind seem to be doing the backstroke in this pool of rejuvenation. I think I even felt my liver do a little scissor kick of appreciation the other day. I have more energy, less pain, more hope and less worry.
My timing is kismet, because boozelessness has become quite en vogue (though, here in Utah, that train was already packed with lovely passengers), and the zero-proof beverage industry is rich with delicious — although sometimes terrible — concoctions that scratch the itch for a sophisticated or hoppy drink.
I don’t know if this will be my path forevermore or not, but it’s the well-traveled trail I’m enjoying at the moment. So, cheers to health and happiness from my kombucha and me.
Marina Gomberg is a professional communicator, a practicing optimist and a lover of love. She lives in Salt Lake City with her wife, Elenor Gomberg, their son, Harvey, and their dogs, Mr. Noodle and Gorgonzola. You can reach Marina at mgomberg@sltrib.com.
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