Kissing a Butterfly

A few weeks ago as I was hurrying to leave for work, I opened the front door, took one step outside and saw a beautiful butterfly in my path. A range of emotions flooded over me. Many years ago when my grandmother passed away, someone told me that birds and butterflys are symbols of loved ones who are communicating with us from the other side. That December, on a cold winter day, I was amazed to find a beautiful butterfly flying around my living room. I watched it in awe and then, after a short time, it just disappeared. In the spring, when I stood on a ladder to retrieve a child's ball from the roof, I looked over the ledge and came eye-to-eye with a little blue parakeet. Amazed, I picked him up and brought him into the house. One day, I took his cage outside and it inadvertantly opened. In an instant, the little bird flew away into the sun.

Last summer, a huge, beautiful, white butterfly was sitting on my porch when I opened the front door. I froze when I saw it, but when I walked towards it, it flew away. This day, the butterfly allowed me to approach and I knelt down to the sidewalk. I touched my finger to it's foreleg and it crawed up my hand. We talked for a while. I took pictures with my cell phone. I had to go to work (did I really?) but the butterfly didn't want to leave me.

And I didn't want to leave it either.

After a while, I nudged it onto the flowers. My husband, who I thought was sleeping, told me that evening that he had been standing at the front door and watched the whole encounter.

Kissing a butterfly.

Whatcha talkin' about Willis?

Babies like pacifiers, toddlers love their blankies, and Willis, well, he loves his orange. It's a family joke. As soon as we all sit down to dinner, five minutes into our conversation, Willis starts whining. If we ignore him, he starts kicking his full water and food bowls upside down. Clunk! Crash! Spill! If that doesn't get our attention, he starts barking in our faces. What does he want? An orange. A small clemantine, cutie-pie one that will fit into his little Bichon Frise/mini-Doberman Pinscher mouth which he holds there for a few hours...until just the right time to eat it. And don't come near him once he has his fruit either. He will bare his teeth at you and growl to protect his treasure. (This is where his wolf ancestry instinct kicks in. He behaves as if he's protecting his hunt. But hey, someone try to tell him it's not a rabbit. It's an orange.)

In lieu of oranges, sometimes tomatoes work. Willis developed a taste for cherry tomatoes from the garden where he learned to pluck them off the vine and eat them. He also likes apples which use to fall into our yard from a neighboring tree. But truly, he prefers oranges. In a later blog, I will explain how Willis sleeps on top of his cheeseburger toy, but that's for another time. And for those of you who have been enjoying Willis' antics for the past 12 years, yes, this is the same dog that used to entertain the whole neighborhood by climbing up trees in his younger days to retrieve...what else?...fruit.

Diff'rent Strokes!

Listen up, Fatsos. YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT!

My grandpa told me. My mother drummed it into me. And now holistic nutritionist Gillian McKeith from BBC America is stalking British fatsos in the malls and grocery stores of England and shaming them into reclaiming their health. Some of these obese people actually contact her directly out of sugar induced despair and she makes home visits. Bellies unbarred, we see the parents modeling their rotund profiles in underwear, bulging guts hanging over their waistbands. The man-breasts are usually as big as the woman-breasts. And then there's the children, all beautiful, overweight, lethargic, and on their way to becoming fatsos too. Everyone has headaches, joint pain, constipation, and a multitude of health problems related to "fat-filled, overly salted, processed convenience foods, and take-out". The kids can't concentrate, don't exercise, and are in a doughnut glazed stupor playing video games. The whole family is genuinely clueless that their diet is toxic. So what does Gillian McKeith do? She drags their sorry asses into a room spreadout with all the food they eat in seven days. One look and the family is almost as aghast as she is. The table is literally overflowing with pounds of sugar, mountains of deep fried chips (french fries), sweetrolls, cakes, white bread, gobs of butter, fatty, processed lunchmeat, chicken nuggets, frozen pizzas, massive quantities of red meat and bags & bags of high fat "take-away" fast food. There isn't a fruit or vegetable in sight except for the catsup. And if that isn't enough to shock them into nutrition submission, the coup d’état of disgrace is when Gillian makes each family member save a "poo" sample in a tupperware container in which they must smell and view the bacterial laden, undigested, sorry states of their gluttony. They get a lesson in what a healthy poo is and it ain't that! "You must be farting and belching all the time! And your breath must stink!" Gillian snaps. Both parents are stunned with embarrassment, but nod affirmatively.

Back at the lab, a doctor is busy analyzing the family's blood samples. Inevitably everyone is malnourished and vitamin deficient. It's mind boggling that Gillian has to take these ostensibly normal intelligence, middle class people to the grocery store and introduce them to the produce department. For the next 8 weeks, the family must follow a vegetarian menu and prepare every meal from scratch. No takeout. It's all fruits, vegetables, whole grains, legumes, and nuts. No sugar, white stuff, or caffeine. And guess what happens? Everyone drops 2 clothing sizes, gets healthy, feels great, and has a ton of energy. The families emerge from their junk food comas committed to sticking with the plan, exercising, and loosing more weight. They look like different people.

Why do I watch this show you might (or night not) wonder? For one reason, I'm intrigued that any first world country could actually be in worse health than the United States. It's hard to watch sometimes, but the subtle British humor on the show punctuates the absurdity of the Brits' eating habits while the commentator's syrupy sweet sarcasm describes the deplorable burden obesity is placing on England's health care system.

Truth be told, however, the real reason I watch this show to motivate myself. When I'm having the late evening munchies, I watch one or two of the several episodes my cablebox has recorded that day. Within 5 minutes, I've lost my appetite and feel inspired by Gillian McKeith to skip the snack. It works every time.

Barak Obama will be appointing a new surgeon general any day now. I propose that his first priority be to insist that Americans start taking responsibility for their own health. (Sanjay Gupta, are you listening?) We have to force a nutrition revolution here in America. Half of the people waiting in line in the emergencies rooms right now should instead be waiting in line at the salad bars. They're reliant on expensive, unnecessary health care instead of diet and exercise to maintain their health. I propose we collect all the sugar, processed foods, and white stuff in America and ship it to the Taliban in Pakistan and Afghanistan. In six months, they'll all be fat and sick from hypertension. In a year they'll be obese and dying from heart disease. Then we can bring all the troops home.

America is in a health crisis. Insurance premiums are astronomical, and it's not just because the CEO's of the health insurance companies are making million dollar salaries. The insurance is paying for hospitalizations, medications, and the care of millions of sick people who have preventative illnesses that are directly related to poor life style choices.

Nearly everyday I see patients in my clinic who are 70 to 100 years of age. Some are vigorous and healthy. Many are sickly and decrepid. I'm often reminded that "An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure."

Think about it.