Stumbled onto homeopathy

 

In case people get worried, I would like to state I am in full support of western medicine. Sure, I have taken the odd Echinacea and tried eating an apple a day rather than taking vitamin supplements, but I am no hippie; I have been vaccinated is what I am trying to say. Nonetheless, for the last two years I have been struggling with eczema, which is painful, annoying and very much not flattering. And while cortisone does wonders for a couple of days, it does nothing in the long run. So after having visited a couple of dermatologists, I gave in to my mother’s wish to try homeopathy. It has been an odd experience. What is most odd, though, is that it fucking works.

I was very, very reluctant to do this. My mother, the true culprit behind this experiment, had even come with me to the appointment to make sure I actually go through with it; that’s how reluctant I was. I, eventually, found out the homeopath had indeed studied medicine and lots of my acquaintances with skin conditions had turned to homeopathy, so I gave in. My one-on-one with the homeopath felt like an uncomfortable interview with a therapist; uncomfortable being the key word here. My visit was nothing similar to a visit to any doctor I had ever been to. Of course, I was initially asked about mine and my family’s medical history, about my skin condition, when it started and other normal questions of the sort. I am convinced these introductory questions were nothing short of a diversion; this was all to make me think this homeopathy thing was going to go smoothly!  The rest of the questions, though, were very peculiar. I was first asked to describe myself, which may sound simple, but really isn’t. I mean ‘I’m relatively nice, maybe a bit introverted’ is basically what I said. And what’s worse, she was clearly not satisfied with my response, so much so that at the very end of our meeting she called my mother in her office to describe me instead! My mother concurred and assured her that I was a good student. I think that’s when the homeopath felt utterly defeated and realised she wasn’t going to get a very saucy description out of either of us.

Back to the one-on-one part of my visit. I was next asked what sort of foods I probably wouldn’t eat. Again, this may sound simple, but I was clearly not getting it right! I said I would have a hard time eating deer or reindeer, which is very hypocritical because I eat beef just fine. She looked at me with despair and explained she was looking for more taste-based aversions rather than ethical ones. I then proudly proclaimed Brussel sprouts, because they are disgusting; this hardly needs further explanation, I thought. Once again, she did not seem very fond of my answer and explained that she was looking for more general categories of food. But who has a problem with whole categories of food, if not for ethical reasons? Like, who hates all vegetables? Surely you like beetroot, or tomatoes, or cucumbers, or avocados, or even celery, if you have malfunctioning taste buds.

She then started asking me about my relationships and feelings, which is the worst thing anyone can do to me, unless we know each other for a good while. Sometimes even I find it curious that I chose to study psychology. These emotional questions were somewhat expected; I had also concluded that this skin situation was anxiety related, considering it showed up during an extensively anxious time in my life. I had calmed down since, but the eczema decided to stick around; seems I was a good host. However, the epitome of uncomfortableness came when she asked me about sex. Sorry, not exactly sex, per se. Even more inappropriate and uncomfortable than that! I will try to describe my ordeal in a chronological manner. For that purpose I will need to initially give you the first half of her question, literally break a word in half, I will then need to describe my state of mind  when I assumed I had correctly predicted where this was going, and finally provide you with the rest of the actual question. Now that I have sucked all the interest out of the cringiest bit of my visit, I will proceed.

‘So when did you first have sex-‘.

Okay. I am a repressed and introverted person and having a random stranger asking me about the first time I had sex literally made my skin crawl. But this was a doctor, of a sort, and sometimes questions like these could be included in a medical history questionnaire. I personally don’t see why, but that much I could accept. So, I summoned all the nonchalance I could find, I briefly double checked with myself that I got the age right and was finally ready to respond. But obviously that wasn’t the question.

‘-ual desire?’

What?! Dumbfounded is how I would describe me. And now it is my turn to ask; who would know the answer to this question? Is it even normal to be able to pinpoint the exact time in your life? I am not even sure I properly understand this question; it is not quantifiable. And if there is one way I would describe myself in addition to ‘nice’ and ‘a bit introverted’, is that I like things to be quantifiable. And then anxiety kicked in. What if I had misunderstood and chose an age that was either too early or too late? I would be wrongfully labelled a weirdo. Or what if I had understood correctly, which I hadn’t because to this day I am not sure what she meant, but still the age I said was either too early or too late? I would be rightfully labelled a weirdo, but it being rightful does not make it any more pleasant. I momentarily decided my best bet was to say ‘never’ and deal with those consequences instead. I think I gave her an answer, but my brain has made sure that answer is no longer accessible to myself or others. I have a very efficient brain as far as repression is concerned. Or don’t want to disclose this information on this blog. Believe whichever you must.

After I had failed to convince her I could either describe myself or foods I hate, she gave me a prescription. This felt normal; this felt familiar. I was in shallow waters once more. Then I realised, as I should have done earlier, that this prescription did not correspond to any medically approved substances, but rather to something that the pharmacist would put together on the spot. So I was asked to trust two strangers and ingest pills, without the safety net of a big corporation that I could later sue if I grow an extra pair of ears. I was feeling very uneasy as it was, but then the doctor said that if they had to mail me another dose while I was abroad, they should conceal them in a pack of biscuits or something, in case customs inspect the package. And may I remind you, it is my mother who is trying to get me to do all this!

These concerns are of course the exaggerations of a hypochondriac; the main principle of homeopathy is giving the patient a very weak percentage of active substances that will most likely do nothing. If it does do something, though, it initially amplifies the issue before it eventually subsides. Something both the homeopath and my mother failed to mention! I spent a month freaking out and flirting with lathering cortisone all over my arms. I was also asked to stop drinking coffee, even decaf. I could have something like a cup per week. And might I add, coffee was not one of the foods I mentioned as taste-aversive. This was very unfair, I thought, but I was cleared to drink as much Gin as I wanted, so I decided to compromise, quit coffee and become an alcoholic instead.

And then, against all odds, the eczema did actually disappear. Like clockwork too. I was told I would have a spurt of eczema for about month (which I did) and then it would retreat; all of my eczema was essentially gone by day 38! I don’t know how and I don’t know why. I was so ready to discredit all of this ‘pseudoscience’ and I still am; the moment I get the opportunity I will readily do so. And thankfully, I have since developed a different sort of dermatitis on my hands that homeopathics have not yet tackled. However, I haven’t acted yet, as there is a slight chance these might be more related to the 137 times I wash and disinfect my hands per day. Slight.

I want this remedy to end; I miss my daily decaf coffee. Laugh all you want but the 3% caffeine in decaf coffee works just fine for me. I also miss being able to praise western medicine and western medicine only, without secretly and shamefully using homeopathy to be able to wear short-sleeves without looking like Ser Jorah Mormont. But for the time being, I have come across really nice caffeine-free tea varieties that I might bore you with in a subsequent blog post where I haven’t come across anything of proper interest. Or otherwise dig up other year old experiences that would have best remained personal and confidential.