Tag Archives: Naturopathic Doctor

Celebrating Diversity, One Glass of Kombucha at a Time

Kombucha (2)

My New Year’s resolution is to be more tolerant.  I am going to celebrate diversity, even if it makes me vomit.  Case in point, my sister.  I was recently helping her move some stuff out of her car when I came across a bottle filled with yellow liquid.  My first reaction: My sister has turned into one of those urine drinkers.  You have to know my sister.  She puts the “alt” in the term alternative medicine.  I confronted her with the bottle, and she gave me some cover story about it being a concoction called Kombucha.  It’s supposed to be good for your digestive track.  I told her it was okay to admit she was drinking her own urine.  I wouldn’t judge her.  I was going to celebrate diversity this year.  I told her that I might even put one of those annoying bumper stickers on my car.  But she stuck to her story.

I popped out my iPhone and asked Siri to give me the scoop on urine drinkers.  According to Wikipedia, urine may be the best thing since the discovery of aloe vera.  We should be rubbing a little behind our ears each morning.  Urine drinking has a bunch of fancy names.   (Let’s face it.  This is a tough marketing gig.  You’d better have a compelling name to cajole some poor sap into tipping back a glass of this golden elixir). They call it Urine Therapy, Urotherapy, Uropathy, or my favorite, Unrinotherapy.  (It also has an old fashioned name, which I am hesitant to mention because it might seem like I’m being intolerant – Human Waste.)  People use it for both medical and cosmetic purposes, by drinking it and massaging it into their skin.  The pleasant odor is a bonus.  You’ve got to wonder what genius decided to harness The Power of Urine.

As a non-urine drinker, I have a number of questions.  For example, how is it served? Hot like tea?  Cold?  Maybe over ice?  Is it appropriate to doctor it up a little with sugar or perhaps a sprig of mint?  What’s the lunch room etiquette?  Is it okay to pour up a frothy glass in front of coworkers?  Is it ever appropriate to offer a glass of your “homemade” others?  Someone really needs to write a book on this.  They can titled it Urine Drinking Does and Don’ts.

I’m surprised we haven’t heard from the whole recycle-reuse-renew crowd on this.  Where’s Al Gore?  You’d think they’d be jumping all over it like ticks on hound dog.

As for me, I am fully committed to celebrating our differences and keeping an open mind no matter how disgusting the idea may be.  The mere idea sickens me.  It makes me want to vomit my guts out.  But hey, this is the new millennium.  Don’t be a hater.  Keep an open mind, and celebrate these extremely uncomfortable differences.

As for my sister’s suspiciously yellow “Kombucha,” I only have one question for her: Do you drink that hot or cold?


John Grisham was Right

Final Fresh Nectarine!

I offer Exhibit “A.”  Proof positive that most people don’t choose their jobs as much as their jobs choose them.  Exhibit “A” is a vocation smack atop the ‘Who in the world would chose that job?’ employment pyramid.  No, not portable toilet cleaner.  No, not North Korean Dictator Kim Jong-un’s food taster.  It’s a job no high school student on this planet has dreamt of holding (yes, even the ones smoking dope behind the gym).  The job is prestigious; nonetheless, it’s often quite literally the butt of the joke.  Bingo.  You got it.  I speak of the lonely, and much maligned, proctologist.

On the first day of medical school, when the professor asks for a show of hands on the interest in various specialties – neurology, pediatrics, dermatology, do you see any hands rising for proctology?  Do you see one hand?  Is it even on the list?  Do you see one brave soul raising his hand for “other” and announcing, “Proctology, Sir”?  (Remember, each of these students is going to choose a lab partner to share a cadaver.  First impressions count.)

So when exactly does someone take the sharp bend in the road that leads to the glamour of proctology?  I have a theory.  It’s actually one I stole from John Grisham’s book, The Rainmaker.  I would like to say it was based on careful peer-reviewed research, but that would violate my policy against doing research.  I avoid this drudgery with my own brand of “research,” which I refer to as “Research-lite.”  (Yes, maybe I have been drinking too much Miller beer).  My policy is that if I can’t find an answer on my iPhone in under eight seconds (I was going to say ten, but who’s kidding whom?)  I make it up.  Try it.  It’s great.  Example – 38% of all professional baseball players drive American made cars.  (Sounds authoritative, doesn’t it?)  For all I know, 90% of them drive Yugos.  Back to my John Grisham inspired theory.  In Grisham’s The Rainmaker, a doctor tells the protagonist that one of the reasons he went into oncology was that there wasn’t much competition.  I mean how many people want to drop the Big News on one poor soul after another?  So I figure the same goes for proctology.  I’ve heard that the process of trying to land a residency in neurosurgery is practically a knife fight.  On the other hand, the proctology department is no doubt serving tea and cookies to coax students into their program.  The waiting room during interviews is probably a ghost town.

Think about it.  There are only a couple of ways for a proctologist to view the “subject” or “target” as it were, and they both require that the doctor either sit on one of those little stainless steel stools, or crouch down for a good look.  (And to think that I once quit a job because I didn’t like the view.)  Amazing.  After sweating the grades through primary, middle and high school, and then skipping all the parties in college to get the grades for medical school, this is your reward.  Don’t get me wrong.  I’m sure it’s deeply fulfilling in its own way.  I’m serious about that.  I SAID I’m serious about that.

That said, while some folks are able to steer their vocational ship in the general direction of their interests, the wind blows where the wind blows.  (And most proctologists hope the wind doesn’t blow, if you catch my drift).  We’re all along for the ride.  So there you have it.  Exhibit “A.”  Game.  Set.  Match.  Edwards.

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