In Hot Water

Hot water is a bit of a luxury in India; we don't have it in the kitchen or in our bathroom sinks, but we do have it in two out of the three showers, provided by the ever reliable 'geyser.'  In the UK/India, a geyser, pronounced 'geezer,' is your water heating system, a small tank of water that you have to switch on to heat about 15 minutes before you need to bathe.  However, in the US, a geyser is pronouned 'geye-zer,' and is a gushing hot spring.

Well our Indian geyser was certainly a gushing hot spring today; in fact, in less than 90 minutes of us being out of the house, it had erupted and gushed gallons of water an inch deep in virtually every room in the apartment.  Thank god for tiled floors.  Thank god for inexpensive rugs.  And thank god for saddle blankets which soaked up a lot of it in one of the rooms!  It's not the first time the geyser has erupted, but it's certainly the most dramatic.  In the course of two years in this apartment, we've probably had each one repaired in some manner about half a dozen times.  And we will again on Monday!

The whole drama reminded me of the confusion over the US/English word geyser/geezer and its pronunciation:  Our friend Ben was visiting NYC from the UK and couldn't stop laughing when he saw the brand of water 'Crystal Geyser.'  Pronouncing it the US way, geye-zer, it doesn't sound funny; switch it to the UK way, geezer, and pair it with the word's other meaning, 'old man,' and you can see why Ben decided it was a great name for a bad drag queen.  I have to agree, although the name of the world famous Tupperware sales person, drag queen 'Dixie Longate' is certainly high up on the list.  Say it a few times and you'll get it...

It's in my genes...

It's official.  I can't help being sarcastic, insulting, or just wholly inappropriate.  It's in my genes! News just out proves it:  British Humour Dictated by Genetics.  So, apologies to my global brothers and sisters, but I now officially have a get out of jail free card for some of my off-colour remarks and 70's sitcom style quips.  As Bette Midler (funny for an American) famously says, and I wholly concur:  "F@#% 'em if they can't take a joke!"

Size Matters Stateside

Supersize me is an expression associated with the US and it's never more apparent than when you've been away from it for a while.  Everything is bigger - coffee cups, food portions, buildings, and of course, people.  I read only yesterday that with more than 50% of New York residents being either overweight or obese, the city is funding 'fruit carts' for poor neighborhoods so they can get some good food vs. junk food.  While we are big, I don't think we are 'supersize,' although living in Asia is interesting for a couple of six footers like us.  I can't buy shoes here as my size 42/43 is tooooo big (but I can have them hand made for next to nothing, so that's a plus!) and clothes shopping is a nightmare for someone with long limbs.  Even sports clothing is difficult:  Adidas sells 'Asian' sizing, and their Asian XL barely covers my midrift!  My husband has problems too:  a slim fit Anokhi shirt?  Forget it.  Despite his recent 10kg weight loss, the shape is just not right.  He has a great solution - Custom Made!  Shirts, suits, pants; all very well made and very inexpensive.  Will he ever be able to live in the West again???  His current trip to the US brought home a very real fear we both used to have when flying internally.  No, not terrorist attacks.  Or even bad airline food.  The fear that the 'supersize person' would be seated next to you!  By 'supersize', I don't mean a few pounds overweight, I mean obese; the 300lb+ man/woman who will spill over into the adjoining seat and need the seatbelt extension designed for moms with babies.  We have all done it.  Sat cowering in our seat as the overweight person walks up the aisle looking for their seat number; a sigh of relief flooding over us when they sit down before our row, or pass us by altogether.  So, my 'large in Asia, small in the US' husband was particularly chuffed when boarding a flight in the US to be told by the passenger in the seat next to him, "thank god you're sitting next to me, you're thin!"  So, while in Asia, we may be 'supersize,' back in the good old U S of A, we are mere small fries.  

A is for Appendix...

So, today I had my stitches removed. All seven of them spread across three tiny cuts. Very neat. So as the physical pain subsides, the mental pain of our healthcare claim begins. For those NOT familiar with the US system, you have a kind of healthcare insurance that you pay monthly but there are so many rules: you have to visit a doctor within their network, or pay a lot more to go 'out of network,' which obviously we do as we are VERY out of network; you have to get 'precertified' before you can have a procedure, which means getting an approval code from them, even if it's an emergency, and that can be tricky in another time zone; and there are code numbers for EVERYTHING which, without, it becomes tricky to claim. So, last night, we bit the bullet and called up to get our post-op pre-approval and while the customer service people were lovely, if their questions are anything to go by, we could be in for a loooong claim process:

Them: "What was wrong with you?"

Me: "I had acute appendicitis."

Them: "How do you spell that. I'm not a medical person."

Me: " A P P E N D I C I T I S."

Them: "What happened?"

Me: "I had it removed."

Them: "What's that called? Wait a minute while I consult a nurse...."

Me: "Appendectomy."

Them: "How do you spell that? I'm not a medical person...."

Me: "A IS FOR AAARRRGGGGH...."

The Bottom Line

Having returned to Bangalore from a month-long trip to the US and the UK, I can now reflect fondly on one of the more bizarre activities I undertook, namely colonic irrigation, or 'colon hydrotherapy' as it is more trendily known now.  The practice of cleansing one's colon gently with water has been practiced for centuries, but probably came to prominence in the '90s went many celebrities, e.g., Madonna, extoiled its virtues.  I've also known 'real' people to have amazing results; a couple friend of mine who were getting married undertook a series of three sessions each (less painful than a pre-nup, perhaps?) and waxed lyrical about its weight-loss, skin-purifying, and all-round-invigorating properties.  So when my New York friend was raving about her experience at The Great Jones Spa and urging me to try it, who was I to 'poo-poo' it?

The process goes like this:  Arrive at fabulous downtown spa, get in robe, go to small room equipped with bed, 'poop-removing machine', and curtained-off toilet, switch robe around so it opens at the back (don't be alarmed, the PR says, "Client modesty will be preserved at all times...'), swing up onto afore mentioned bed in foetal position and get ready for 'warm water to be gently infused into the colon while your therapist uses special massage techniques to stimulate the release of stored matter...'  Of course, to get to this point, a very sterile, brand spanking new poop removing pipe (not official terminology) has to be inserted into your butt.  Enough said.

I am told that the process - which lasts up to an hour - can be quite relaxing, cathartic, and even enjoyable.  My first experience left me wanting to curl back up into the foetal position and go home.  But I stuck with it.  And came back for a second time.  And a third time - at which point, I'm told, the real old stuff that's clogging up your colon will start to come away.  By this time, I was an old-pro and having many successful 'releases', as the therapist calls them.

It's an odd feeling laying there with a tube up your butt as someone massages your tummy, talks about dairy producing 'toxic mucus', and watches bits of you float past at high speed through the window on 'poop-removing machine'.  

What is in there?  I've heard stories about parasites as long as your arm coming out (none seen by colonic-expert of many years, Brigit Krome), or whole mushrooms appearing more than a week after consumption, and even twizzler-type shapes whizzing past (hence the more affectionate term used by me to describe this activity - twizzling).  The scariest moment had to be when I used the in-room loo pre-my first session, only to see a whole Metrocard down the pan!  If that's not the strangest thing to come out of someone, I don't know what it.  Man, that must have been hard to pass.  Sadly, I think it really fell out of someone's back pocket, but we can dream...

So, after all this twizzling, what were the end results you might ask?  Well, with the help of this and some aptly named supplements called 'The Mover' things are going pretty well in the bathroom department.  Note: Brigit says you should go after EVERY meal...  And I honestly do feel lighter. The fact that after a month of traveling, no real exercise, drinking every day, and eating out, I haven't put one lb on will vouch for that.  

Would I do it again?  You can bet your bottom dollar!