Crunchier than ever

how to make your pulmonologist roll his eyes

I’m not sure when it happened, but I think it began the day my daughter Deborah stood at our open refrigerator and declared to the whole house, “There is not one thing in here that is not genetically modified.”

At the time, I didn’t even know what that was, but over the next year of Deb’s studies in treating health issues through nutrition, I began to learn. That was twenty years ago.

Time has flown and the internet has made gaining knowledge easier and faster, and now here we are buying heirloom seeds to grow vegetables in mushroom compost and raising our own grass-fed beef and milk. I’ve become a crunchy mom.

It hasn’t been hard to make some pretty significant changes, and Ben has been on board with all of it. But I’m figuring out I’ve been oblivious to a few things that have led to the diagnosis that is just now beginning to settle in.

Photo by Sarah Kilian on Unsplash

If you were here last week, you know I was told recently that I have adult-onset asthma. Now that I’ve had time to chew on it, I realize it was so surprising to me because I’ve never had any chronic anything in my whole life, despite a refrigerator full of GMOs.

And as a little side track, I’ve realized that, although I have not been much of a runner in the last few years (mostly because of neck pain I was trying to deal with) deep down I still think of myself as a runner and runners don’t have asthma. It seems the nail has been put in that coffin. (Although if I’m honest I do still hold out hope for a little light jogging here and there.) (ETA: I did, in fact, jog 1/4 mile the day I wrote that just to prove I could.)

The first thing I did after I was diagnosed was begin noticing all the sensations I’ve been either ignoring or chalking up to “getting older.” Breathe a little harder walking up stairs? It’s because I’m out of shape. It’s so hard to get my walking in when it’s this hot out. I’m so busy! (Take your pick.)

Hear myself wheezing? I must have pneumonia (even though the X-rays are clear). There’s so much pollen in the air (until there’s not). It’s the chicks in the basement (except they’ve been outside for six weeks). Even I am impressed with my ability to live in denial.

I tried all of two inhalers and decided I would be trying no more. The list of side-effects is enough to scare me away. That leaves figuring out how to manage this on my own, so I did what everyone does: consulted Dr. Google. “How to manage asthma naturally” yielded exactly zero good advice.

Next I turned to Instagram stories and Substack notes, thinking surely I have some crunchy friends who have experience with this, and they did not disappoint. I heard stories (from people I know!) of controlling childhood asthma with Doterra’s Breathe blend (which I have and love when I’m sick and am currently wearing on a lava bead around my neck). I was told about nebulizing colloidal silver (I have not tried this yet). I was told to move to the beach (my favorite advice yet). One specific supplement was recommended multiple times (I have already ordered it).

Somewhere in there I decided to Google the best places to live if you have asthma. Did you know the #1 place is Provo, Utah? Third is Colorado Springs, which could work because I have grandchildren there. Also near the top was Virginia Beach, which would be great if about a million people moved away from it.

Then Ben had the great idea to actually go to Virginia Beach on Saturday. I needed a break from all the researching and obsessing over the new, semi-overwhelming thing in my life. And do you know what happened? From the time we got out of the car on 19th street after paying $45 to park (I am not making that up), I coughed almost not at all. I could breathe deeply, even when we walked all the way to Rudee Inlet and back. It was amazing and I was ready to sell the farm and buy a beachfront condo so I could open the windows and breathe that air all the time. But that might be a little excessive since I’ve only just begun my asthma journey.

At home the next day, Ben suggested that he should care for the chickens for ten full days and see if my being away from them helped. Maybe I’m allergic to them? That would be tragic.

Finally, I pulled out the big guns. I talked to my daughters, whom Ben refers to as the “family witchdoctors.” If there is a natural way to deal with a health issue, they either know it or will learn about it posthaste. They are better than eight years of medical school and faster than the Shinkansen bullet trains in Japan. In less than 24 hours I have a handful of recommendations, with studies to back them up.

A friend asked me yesterday if I felt compelled to do what they say. I thought she was asking if I felt compelled to do what the doctor said, and I answered, “Oh, no. I’ve become very good and telling them they might think I’m crazy but I’m going to try XYZ.” I leave a trail of doctors rolling their eyes.

What she meant was did I feel compelled to do what my daughters suggested. I also said that no, I didn’t feel compelled, but that their suggestions were always good ones that were well researched and helped in the long run. I believe in my witchdoctors.

One daughter talked to me about the possibility that at the beach, I was barefoot, in direct contact with the ground the whole time I was there, and she explained about the relationship between “grounding” and reduced inflammation (asthma is inflammation in the lungs). See this study. The other daughter said she had heard good things about people using milk kefir and fermented foods (but especially fermented dairy) to improve gut health, and that improved asthma symptoms. See this study. That made me realize that in the last six months, I have taken two courses of antibiotics for what was presumed to be pneumonia, since I could hear myself wheezing. Of course my gut microbiome is wrecked.

So today I will be picking up some milk kefir grains and ordering a grounding sheet for my bed. I’ve ordered the supplement that was recommended, and I have mullein tincture brewing. I am researching homes for sale in Navarre Beach, Florida. I can’t wait to tell the pulmonologist.