The Wellness Bitch

There’s a lot of discussion and griping about how wellness is only for the wealthy.

That the poor are so desperate to feed their families, that they have no other choice than to buy cheap imitation grape drink and Dollar Store brand cheese doodles. That the poor don’t have the benefit of spending time in Barnes and Noble browsing through Michael Pollan books. That the poor are so tired from working two jobs that they can’t summon up the strength to do more than throw some canned franks and beans into a pot to warm.

I’d like to know how those people– those compassionate champions of the working poor — how do they explain it when middle class Americans…or even upper class americans with nannies and luxury cars …make those same choices? Because they do. I see it all the time.

I walk into a $1 million home to pick up my kid from a playdate and find him eating rainbow goldfish crackers.

I see nannies pushing overweight kids in stroller. And moms in designer shoes handing their two-year-olds mocha frappaccinos to sip on.

I’m not a cold-hearted bitch. But I don’t think eating or living well really takes much money, brains, or higher education. Clearly, if that’s all it took, we wouldn’t be seeing commercials for Abilify, alongside ones for Macy’s One Day Sale.

Hey. Come a little closer. I’m going to let you in on a little secret.

I’m not rich. I put on a good show with my nice house and leased mini-van. My kids in their hand-me-down Old Navy clothes. My mock designer hand bag from Target.

But we’re struggling. We have debt. We count our pennies.

I don’t have the money for a gym membership or a trainer or even to go to weekly yoga classes. I take books out of the library or buy them second hand on Ebay.

But don’t cry for me. And don’t think I’m complaining that my life is so hard.

But, I think that bad lifestyle choices aren’t reserved for the poor.

And it’s about time we stop having that conversation and move on. Frankly, it bores me.

Your sympathy and your outrage would be better spent WAKING UP our government. And our schools. And your neighbors.

Epidemic is one of those scary medical words. Make me think of smallpox or avian flu or pus-filled postules.

But, really an epidemic is an illness (or anything really) that is widely prevalent or spreading rapidly.

I first heard the term epidemic used in conjunction with childhood chronic illness when a friend recommended Dr. Kenneth Bock’s book, “Healing the New Childhood Epidemics: Autism, ADHD, Asthma & Allergies.” His explanation of why and how these illnesses are becoming epidemic really made sense. And turned me into a bitch on a mission.

I want people to start friggin’ listening to parents who know that something is wrong with their kid.

And I want the people in charge to start taking these epidemics seriously the way they would a mass influenza outbreak. I’m not looking for masks and yellow jackets, per say. But a pamphlet or a PSA would be nice. Or how about a statement from the AMA or the AAP?

Recently, I started reading a new book on the subject: “A Compromised Generation: The Epidemic of Chronic Illness in America’s Children” by Beth Lambert. I’m still only in the introduction, but already the author has shared a really, relevant, and aptly stated WAKE UP CALL:

All children exhibit occasional temper tantrums, hoarding of toys, constipation, and hyperactivity… However, it is not normal when children exhibit any of these symptoms chronically or with particular intensity and severity…

Below is a partial list of the 50 or so symptoms Beth Lambert includes in her book that, if occuring with regularity, should serve as WAKE UP CALLS for parents and practitioners.  So many people I know (including the best and brightest doctors) tell me that the symptoms below are not a big deal. And, as the author says, “because these are normal child behaviors they are often dismissed.” Personally, I have been dismissed by my child’s doctor for colic, IBS, gas, runny stools, heartburn, and eczema.

Which of these symptoms has your child’s doctor pooh-poohed?

• Red cheeks after eating
• Chronic runny nose or cough
• Red or hot ears after eating
• Chronic or recurrent ear infections
• Chronic strep or sinus infections
• Frequent diaper rashes in babies
• Cavities or excessive tartar, or bad breath despite proper dental hygiene
• Dark circles or bags under eyes
• Mood swings
• Tummy aches
• Distended pot belly
• Constipation
• Excessive gas or flatulence
• White coating on the tongue
• Frequent loose stools
• Recurrent urinary tract infections or yeast infections
• Excessive hyperactivity
• Sensory seeking behavior” always looking to crash into people, objects

WAKE UP. All are potential symptoms of a bigger deal. Just because they have become so prevalent, doesn’t mean they are normal.

I offically apologize for the vast wasteland that has been The Wellness Bitch blog over the past few weeks. And, trust me, I kept making myself wrong about it.

Why don’t you eavesdrop on my inner dialogue with myself this summer:

“You better go bitch about something.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t feel bitchy today.”

“Impossible.”

“Really? Fuck you.”

“No.  Fuck you. Okay, fine, that was a little harsh. But seriously, you have nothing to rant about? No magazine articles to bash? No doctors to trash? No friends to out? No secrets to tell?”

“Honestly? I feel overwhelmingly calm and content.”

“Really? What’s THAT all about?”

No, I haven’t wandered off to a mountain retreat in India. I’m not sitting cross-legged with my Buddhist friends. I haven’t even been to see Eat, Pray, Love.

But summer has a way of washing over me.

Of making me feel like everything is right with the world; as opposed to everything being wrong.

Don’t worry. I haven’t made my grand ascension yet.

Autumn and a new school year for my kids will likely bring with it plenty of germs, problems and ignorant people. But until then, I will try to practice what I preach.

Breathe deep. Enjoy the peace. Embrace the silence in my head.

There. I said it. The “F” word. Or at least one of them.

In her recent article for The New York Times Magazine, Daphne Merkin assigns “F-word” status to “flesh.” But what she’s really talking about is fat. And our obsession with it.

Our obsession with carving away the fat. Our “collective fear” of gaining weight. Our disgust with women who choose to bear their flesh.

She remarks how interesting it is that we wax nostalgic for days gone by — days when Joan from Mad Men was seen as a sex goddess and Marilyn’s curves were envied– and yet we’d never in a million years approve of someone carrying that look today.

She’s right. And I’m completely 100% guilty of being part of that “collective fear.”

I’m probably one of the more fairly healthy obsessors. I do watch what I eat, but moreso to prevent unwanted belly rumbles and trips to the bathroom. But, I still frown at the leftover belly fat from three pregnancies; the cottage cheese thighs I inherited from my grandmother; and my disproportionately round ass. I don’t see those features as luscious curves. I see them as warning signs.

When speaking of wellness, we’re often careful these days to take into consideration emotional wellness. True, obesity statistics are climbing to outrageous heights, but so are eating disorders and mental illness related to body image.

What the F are we supposed to do?

How do we bitch about obesity, but be compassionate and understanding of various body types? How do we get people to care about the fat on their body without making it so they obsess to the point of mental illness? How do we instill a message of nutrition and healthy diet into our children without creating a generation of children suffering from new, mutated versions of eating disorders?

F if I know.

But I do know it’s something we can’t ignore for much longer.

I just got back from a trip to Canada, but I feel like I am returning from an alternate Universe. No, this has nothing to do with the fancy way Canadians speak their “Os” or their love of beer or how damned polite they all seem to be.

Canadians have made health-consciousness and green living accessible to everyone. Yes, I repeat. Canadians…even the poor and disenfranchised…choose to be healthy and earth-friendly.

Okay, maybe it’s a bit of a wide-sweeping generalization. I saw plenty of unhealthy looking, obese people driving with Canadian plates. But an awareness of good health and green living has seemed to penetrate Canadian culture, with help, love, and support from the government. Imagine that!

So much so that even McDonald’s appeals to this underlying desire to be healthy. On a poster ad for Happy Meals that dressed a store window in a McDonald’s in Guelph, Ontario: “Protein Powered! Vitamin Enriched!” I can’t quite say that I believe the claim that Canadian chicken Mcnuggets are any healthier than the crap they serve in New Jersey, but clearly McDonald’s Canadian marketing department thinks that their consumers will a) know the benefit of eating protein and b) care.  Amazing.

On our drive up from Niagara Falls to Southampton, a small town of about 3000 people along Lake Huron, we passed by the most beautiful farms offering organic produce and grass-fed meat (many organic and grass-fed by default, without certification, because “hey! that’s just how we farm!”)

In downtown Southampton, residents buy their groceries at Harrigans 100 Mile Market, one of a large group of Canadian supermarkets committed to ”providing farmers, producers, growers and artisans within 100 miles of a metropolitan centre, a year-round, seven days a week channel of distribution to urban consumers seeking healthier, more nutritional alternatives to food processed, chemically treated, packaged and shipped thousands of miles before it reaches their table.”

On the main drag alone, there was a chiropractor’s office and a naturopathic doctor. This, in a town of 3000!

My friend Alison, who has spent her summers in Southampton since she was a kid (and so graciously invited my family to vacation with hers…S.W.A.K) told me that the town has placed a premium on garbage collection so that community members will recycle. Each bag of garbage costs $1.50 (that’s Canadian dollars). You have to buy these garbage stickers at the grocery store, and place them on your bag, or the truck won’t take it. And guess what? Recycling is collected free of charge. In Ottawa, where they live the rest of the year, composting is supported and encouraged by the city!

On a personal note (and I know many readers might not necessarily agree with me), most schools in Canada are nut-free and my nut-allergic family has never been so well-taken care of in restaurants as we were by friends and strangers in the Great White North.

In one pub in Fergus, when the chef heard my son was allergic to peanuts, he came out of the kitchen to not only reassure us about the safety of my son’s meal, but to warn us about a bowl of peanuts at the bar, in case my son had airborne reactions.

Why does Canada feel that it’s appropriate to impose such “restrictions” on their residents? Why don’t they care about the potential outcries of “privacy” and “choice?”

Thinking about it now, it’s funny how much time Americans spend knocking on Canadians. It’s eerily reminiscent of the schoolyard bully who always picks on the smart kid.

I’m not moving to Canada any time soon, but I do have to wonder how Canada seems to get it so right. And America, so far, still manages to do it so wrong.

My friend Judie and I were joking today that we’re like yin and yang. She’s a fitness goddess…running two marathons in the last week or so. I, on the other hand, had to check the dictionary to make sure I was using marathon correctly in a sentence. (I’m still not sure.)

Whereas I know every last ingredient in every piece of food I’ve eaten over the last three days, focusing particularly on whether or not the ingredients were organic, whole grain, or gluten-free; Judie says she could slack less and commit more to buying organic for her family.

Who’s healthier?

Depends on who you ask. Or, more likely, it’s a trick question and the answer is “both and neither.”

In a perfect world, Judie and I would take each other on as pet projects. She’d goad me into running with her and I’d clean out her pantry once a week. I don’t think that will happen. But, I do think that subconsciously we’re inspiring the other to take on areas of our lives we should be looking at more closely.

I’m not quite ready to train for a marathon (though I promise it’s on the half-assed version of my imaginary Bucket List), but I’m getting a little closer.

Would it be way too trite for me to say “Knowing is half the battle?”

‘Cause it is.

Plus, it doesn’t hurt to have friends on your side.

The second half of the battle?  Choosing to advance…and then pushing through.