A bladder’s retrospective
After a week’s break due to a visit by Aunt Flo, I’ve restarted my urine therapy campaign for weight loss. Actually it’s not really a campaign so much as it’s evidence that a snickering dark lord on Planet Pull My Finger has robbed me of my brain and left a warm pile of batshit in its place.
I haven’t gotten up to drinking it straight, because of course, that’s the goal. Everyone should have goals, right? I’ve advanced past the “you’d-hardly-know-it’s-in-there” homeopathic dose, and this morning I gingerly put a finger in the collection jar and put a drop under my tongue.
There was no taste whatsoever, which is surprising because it certainly smelled like ammonia. In fact, after a few more drops I had this hit that it was amniotic fluid. Around the 4th month of pregnancy, amniotic fluid is basically composed of fetal urine. And I had this Wohhhh moment, like I was taking myself back in time, back to the beginning of me. And then I thought that there must be fetal LSD in this stuff because I was tripping myself out.
And then a few hours later, whilst blogging the previous post, a most unusual taste arose in my mouth. This singular taste was none other than that of Erythromycin, an orange-colored antibiotic my mom gave me for chronic ear infections when I was young. The taste was unbelievably strong, and I wondered if I was still carrying around its residue. I flashed on a class I’d taken at the Learning Annex years ago, where reknowned medical intuitive Caroline Sutherland had told me the root of my food and chemical sensitivities was all the antibiotics I’d taken in my youth. For indeed, antibiotics will damage the gut lining. Thankfully though, urine therapy claims it can heal it. (I’m just so lucky that way.) However, after 10 drops I started to get a headache right between the eyes, which urinophiles will tell you is a detox reaction. Um, yay?
Not long after my Erythromycin-spiked walk down memory lane, I hopped in the shower and unconsciously began singing. In fact, I didn’t realize what I was singing until I was belting out the chorus to 867-5309/Jenny.
Oh my gawd. Urine therapy is taking me back to high school. Now that’s repulsive.
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