The Not-So-Common Cold

Hi, I’m Terrie. It’s been thirteen months since my last cold.

Yes, I still cough a lot and sleep a lot because of a lung condition. But I’m doing far better than others with the same malady and have taken fewer sick days than I used to. For the past seven years, I have averaged one cold per year or less, where I used to think three or four each year were normal. As I write this post, it’s been thirteen months since my last one. (Now just watch, as soon as I hit “publish,” I’ll be flattened by a nasty cold or flu to keep me humble. I’ll risk it.)

What made the change? I can think of a couple of things.

Seven years ago, I began seeing local naturopath, Dr. Lisa Graham. She taught me a lot of tricks for building one’s immune system. Although I have not frequented her clinic for a long time, a few of the lessons she taught me stuck. 

I learned to look at food differently. I began to realize every bite I take is either fighting disease or feeding it. Seriously. Every bite. Although I gave up the vegan diet for the sake of marital harmony, I do eat a lot more fruits, vegetables, nuts, and beans than I used to—and a lot less sugar, gluten, and dairy.

Now that Canada’s Food Guide is finally catching up to what naturopaths have been saying all along, the next generation of Canadians should see a turn-around in obesity, allergies, diabetes, and cancer. This sounds like bad news for beef ranchers and dairy farmers if people stick to more plant-based proteins. But our economy can only benefit if people stay healthy. Maybe now’s the time to diversify into legumes or lettuce. 

What I think has really boosted my immune system, however, is the last thirty seconds of my daily shower. I do enjoy a hot shower, but just before I’m done, I turn the water to straight cold. Brrr, right? Am I insane? I don’t think so. The Finnish are on to something with their hot saunas followed by a plunge into icy water. 

Here’s how Dr. Lisa explained it. Well, sort of.

Think of your immune system as your body’s military, your antibodies the tiny soldiers waiting to be called up for duty. The warmth of the shower lulls those little soldiers into complacency. It tells them, “All is well. Relax. Save your strength.” 

Make a habit of that and your entire army will be fast asleep when needed. Unless…

BAM! Whoa! What’s that? Alert, alert! Send help! 

A message is sent to your command center, the brain. Something big is happening in your body’s core, the part requiring the most protection because that’s where the enemy bugs grow. Of course, you know you’re not truly in trouble—it’s only cold water. But your tiny soldiers don’t know that, so they jump into action. They muster all the troops to fall in, strengthen themselves, and prepare for battle. The first threatening bug to come along gets it. POW! Next day you do it again. And again. Soon your army is so well-equipped it can tackle the toughest bugs.

That’s my theory and I’m sticking to it. Of course, none of that will work without the support of healthy food, adequate sleep, and exercise. But still. I’ve discovered that when I skip this thirty-second cold blast, I step out of the shower with all the vigor of a used tea bag. I miss it because it leaves me feeling awake, alert, and all a-tingle.  

I dare you to try it for a month. Then a year. Count your colds. Let me know what happens.

A Real Doll

I might be in big trouble with Mattel Toys. Using their raw materials, I invented the “Dr. Lisa Doll” and soon everyone is going to want one. 

Our infamous Dr. Lisa Graham celebrated a birthday recently and I thought she might find it fun to own a doll fashioned after herself. With no ability to start from scratch, however, I went on the hunt for existing Barbies. Unfortunately, the only “doctor” Barbie doll I could find had blond hair. That wouldn’t do, not when the real live version wears a gorgeous head of brown tresses only God could create. So I bought two Barbies—the blond pediatrician in a white lab coat, stethoscope, and pink mini-skirt (what else?), and the brunette princess in a fancy ball gown and tiara. I figured I could simply remove the tiara and swap the heads. Easy-peazy, right?

Who knew Barbie doll heads didn’t simply pop on and off like they did when I was a kid? Though Heaven knows, I tried. They just don’t make things like they used to. Bummer. (Although on a side note, I do appreciate Mattel adjusting the impossible figure of yesterday’s Barbie doll to something slightly more realistic in terms of human measurements.)

With the heads refusing to budge, the only thing to do was swap the dolls’ outfits, which took a lot longer than one might think. At least two things haven’t changed: her shoes still don’t stay on her feet, and those blasted little high heels still hurt when you step on them.

And let’s not forget the accessories. The pediatrician Barbie came with a little baby in her arms. Although Dr. Lisa certainly treats several young patients, the majority are adults. So I removed the baby and replaced it with a stack of miniature white towels made by cutting up a washcloth. Those of you who frequent the clinic will know all about the white towels. Some like ‘em hot.

 

For her second prop, the Dr. Lisa doll holds a teeny version of the Forks Over Knives cookbook. This was easily accomplished by snagging a picture of the book from Amazon.com, printing it, and cutting it out. 

I then attached a tiny pink “Dr. Lisa” name tag to her white lab coat, and back into the box she went, the word “Barbie” now covered by the words “Dr. Lisa” on the front of the box. I gift-wrapped it before Mattel Toys Inc. could catch up with me.

Of course, that left me with a blond princess wearing a tiara and holding a tiny baby doll for the remaining box. I’ll save her for the day somebody needs a Prom Queen Mommy doll.

My intent was to sneak the gift into Dr. Lisa’s office anonymously, but she’s too clever a sleuth. Or I’m too dumb a sneak. Anyway, she knew it came from me. But that’s okay, because she loved it and this way, I get to blog about it.

Mark my words, this doll is going to take off. I’m sure all Dr. Lisa’s patients will want one of their own. (Admittedly, a few might want one merely so they can stick pins into it when she prescribes an end to their cupcakes, but I can’t help that.) 

Do you suppose Mattel Toys will give me my fair share of the profits? Yeah, me neither.

Saxophone? I Can Barely Use a Telephone!

Well, it’s official. I am out of my mind.

I have taken up the saxophone.

My now-famous doctor of naturopathic medicine thought I should take up swimming to strengthen my lungs. “Frank Sinatra was a swimmer,” she said.

Sinatra swam underwater to develop his lung capacity — which enabled him to continue a musical phrase through a stanza without pausing for breath.

“I’ve always been more of an artist than an athlete,” I argued. “Couldn’t I try something else, like, oh, I don’t know, saxophone?”

Immediately, Dr. Lisa saw no reason I couldn’t do both. That girl thinks I have 26 hours in my day.

I procrastinated for weeks. For one thing, saxophones don’t come cheap. For another, I’d be lying if I said I’ve always wanted to play one.

Finally, I put out a tentative query on Facebook: “Anybody know where I can find a bargain on a used saxophone? Quality not important. It will be played by a 53-year old beginner with weak lungs.”

My odds were pretty slim, right? I felt safe.

An answer came shortly from the most unbelievable source. My own son-in-law had an alto sax collecting dust in his storage space. Who knew Kevin played in his school band for a year in Grade 5? His wife would be happy to let me use it.

What had I gotten myself into? What if I hated it? What if I couldn’t even get a squeak out of the silly thing? Did I really need one more thing to do?

Lucky for me, it was several weeks before we collected the instrument from their home in Calgary. Kevin gave me a quick lesson while my daughter chuckled and chortled. The next day we travelled home with the shiny Yamaha in its velvety-lined case. All I needed was a pair of shades and a hat and I was set.

I put out a new query on Facebook: “Anybody know a local, affordable saxophone instructor willing to take on a 53-year old beginner with weak lungs and a low frustration threshold?” I figured my odds were pretty much one in a million.

But within half an hour, my first lesson was booked with a guy who is proving himself the best music teacher ever. I’m not making this up. Ritchard Wiebe is a wonderful saxophone player, a patient teacher, and a generous encourager.

More importantly, he and his lovely bride Liz both laugh at my jokes.

(On a side note, at the risk of sounding politically incorrect, every person I know born with the name “Wiebe” arrived on the planet with music seeping out of their pores. Have you noticed?)

So I’ve been blowing my horn half an hour a day for six weeks now, convinced God will eventually reward my longsuffering husband. As for the neighbours? It’s a good thing I’m starting in winter when all the windows stay closed.

Having taken piano lessons as a kid, I can tell you a saxophone is completely illogical. On a piano, the notes appear in nice, neat order. When you hit a key, it will always play the same note no matter what you do with your lips, your cheeks, your tongue, or your eyebrows. 

Not so with a sax. The notes don’t follow any predictable pattern. Alternative, convoluted methods to play many of them must be learned. And just because you’ve placed your fingers on the correct buttons doesn’t mean the note will come out right. 

So maybe I won’t be the next Lisa Simpson. But guess what? I’m having fun! I can play Jingle Bells, Jolly Old St. Nicholas, and Good King Wenceslas, all at the same volume: LOUD. Why no one has booked me for their Christmas party is mystifying.

This whole scenario of finding both a sax and a great teacher is something we in Christian circles like to call “a God thing.”

You can call it what you want. Just don’t accuse me of tooting my own horn. Technically, it still belongs to Kevin.