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Resolution regret

Intestinal therapy for 2002

By Leigh E. Rich

New Year.

New colon.

At least that’s the way my roommate sees it.

Instead of making half-hearted, life-long resolutions neither of us ever intend to keep—fortunately, for most of you out there, as my last resolution was to be meaner—she has convinced me to partake in a “therapeutic diet.” This six-week course in cleansing includes gulping 30-plus supplements a day, literally billions—billions!—of gut-friendly microorganisms, and excluding anything that remotely resembles food of any sort.

Three times a day, she and I huddle by the kitchen sink while sucking down five capsules of L. acidophilus and five of caprylic acid. The former is supposed to “nourish” the gastrointestinal tract and “assist” in maintaining the normal growth of yeast and bacteria; the latter is a fatty acid with anti-fungal properties. After this thrice daily mélange of pills, I’m beginning to resemble a jar of Blue Star ointment.

The reward? Balanced intestinal micro-florae that promote “good” digestion.

Morning is our favorite time, however, standing around in our PJs (sorry, guys, no lingerie/pillow fight parties for us) and dreading the titanic of all supplements—the hallow-tipped, green as Godzilla, all-in-one vitamin bullet that could, quite frankly, blow the … well, you know … out of any GI tract.

As for food, if you can call it that, we’re allowed non-processed meats and a short list of veggies. Yup, that’s it.

And—the kicker—absolutely, for (intestinal) goodness sakes!, no alcohol. None. Zippo. Squat. Oh, this’ll be a piece of cake (mmm, cake), as yet another semester of school is preparing to porno-slap my ass.

My roommate has decided to go one step further: No dating. She attempted (in vain) to get me to go along with this masochistic plot, but I figure if I have to give up carbs, why deprive myself the company of sweet, luscious, protein-rich men?

Besides, I can’t have chocolate and that spells disaster.

C’mon, dessert surely must be more than a cornucopia of little critters.

A week into the “inner cleanse,” however, I’m surviving quite well—though I find myself absent-mindedly gnawing on cardboard throughout the day to keep my low-blood-sugar, inner bitchiness at bay. The corrugation—chock full of fiber—is reminiscent of crème-filled wafer cookies.

Hey, it’s my delusion and I’m sticking with it.  

Rich, L. E. (2002, January 23). Intestinal therapy for 2002. CU-Denver Advocate.

Second Place – Humorous Columns – Colorado Press Women – April 2003

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