Eating David Wolfe’s hat

Eating David Wolfe’s hat

I don’t think I have an appropriate hat to eat, so I think I will have to eat Wolfe’s hat instead.

This week, as a result of the constant bitching about my mother’s diet, I re-introduced meat in the form of a cooked Scottish breakfast.  This made the NHS nurses very happy.  I was having to ensure that my mother had a full mission jar of supermix before and after it to counteract the injection, of course, but in the middle I presented them with a picture of a woman stuffing her face with a variety of animal products.

Imagine my surprise when after only three days of this, her urine test, which I now do daily, came back with a positive for a UTI.  She had been clear of these for two whole months, which is something of a feat, whilst consuming her supermix diet plus eggs and some smoked salmon to balance her electrolytes. (sorry, Wolfe, but I just don’t see the point in fish oil tablets when she could just enjoy some fish with her salt.  She gets both anyway.)

So, it seems we have a fresh and unexpected addition to the many validations I have bestowed on Wolfe over the last few years.  The tiny bit of inflammation caused by eating meat and raising her acid levels by only a small fraction was enough to suppress her immune system and bring on another infection.

Needless to say, I stopped this immediately and put her back on Supermix only.  She has now, for the first time in a decade, beaten her infection.  She had her supermix with the juice of 20 peaches yesterday, consumed the lot and is doing fine.  Clear-headed, and pissing like a fountain.

So, after many years of wrestling with low carb versus raw, I am now of the opinion that although you can get away with alkaline foods alongside your raw diet, meat is indeed the devil’s work and damages you slightly every time you consume it.  It probably won’t stop any committed meat eaters.  I should know, I was one for years before I tried being raw in the first place.

That is not to say that this is the only diet that is worth doing.  I have not yet experimented with kim-chi or fermented foods, and I am not sure I want to.  However, I think the raw ‘vegans’ (they aren’t really vegan in many cases, but it is a useful way of telling people just to give you a salad rather than try to fit you around their dinner party table) are somewhat vindicated in terms of an almost complete diet (B12 is too important to omit when you are 90)

Otherwise, I am happy to say she is doing very well.  She is having Black Forest Gateau flavour supermix today, and I am sure she will continue to enjoy whichever flavour I choose to evoke tomorrow.  Mine of course, is cucumber and spinach, and considerably less glamorous.

The social worker came today, and asked about the dietician.  I explained that she did not know very much and that the NHS apparently believe that nutrition and medicine are separate things, which does not make it easy to explain my mother’s diet at present.  I know it is expecting a lot, but they could at least try to understand.

 

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Mindfulness and my male brain

 

Apparently the latest in marketing bullshit involves introducing stressed men to the concept of mindfulness.  Mindfulness, as it turns out, appears to be the new word for meditation, or as my friend would say ‘switching everything off and concentrating on thinking about nothing.’

Personally, when I need to make space for extended periods of military ‘regrouping,’ I make something.  Depending on how complicated the (usually emotional) issue is, it can take from two to six months to figure out.  Switching off involves creating something.

I find the idea of making nothingness a thing a bit ridiculous to be honest, I prefer a good blow-out in the form of tantrum, followed by activity of some kind.  This may seem ridiculous, since I am not really achieving anything these days, but there it is.  I apparently believe relaxation is time-wasting.  This, according to these articles, is my male brain talking, however I have never noticed a particularly negative gender divide when it came to meditation.  It is second only to yoga for people who like getting touchy feely with relative strangers.

Speaking of time-wasting, I have declined the Microsoft contract and am working on the games instead.  It took only three hours before I realised what a huge mistake I was making in terms of potentially giving up twenty hours a week to do a job comparing search engine results instead of building up Ina.  There are a couple of other companies interested, so we will see if they have something less tedious on offer.

I spent years doing terrible jobs, I have nothing to show for it apart from some pretty mediocre memories.  The only thing that has been good about my current predicament is that I have had time to do other things.

So, today I went to university and sorted out my campus passes to renew my research for the Boris book.  I resigned, in true prisoner style, and I drank a lot of supermix.  The supermix appears to have removed the giant emotional lump in my chest, which meant that I was weeping rather a lot last night.  It is as big a mystery to me as anyone why thinking about Wolfe, even briefly, causes such grief.

I imagine it is similar to a former friend, who told me that he could not grieve for his grandparents, but became hysterical over some baby mice that failed to survive two months later.  The difference in this case, is that I am grieving for my sick family, lost potential and lack of power to do anything about it as long as I am the best option for taking care of my mother. I am terrified to leave her side at the moment as we have been under such scrutiny for the last couple of months.

I also purchased some Gynostemma pentaphyllum and some rosehip, with a view to promoting some AMPK.  Since I cannot afford the extracts, we shall see if the combination helps with promoting youthful cell renewal.  Nearly bought some Griffonia seed, but I think it can wait a while as my problem appears to be low dopamine rather than low seratonin. I am quite the fan of Durk and Sandy.

 

 

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About thinking positively

I have to be honest with you, memes like this drive me insane.  Especially with that stupid name tagged at the bottom of it.

Let me tell you a story about positive thinking, and how complicated it gets.

If you particularly want the background to this story, I am sure there are plenty previous posts on it, but to cut the preamble very short:

Seven years ago I was huge, even bigger than I am now.  I was extremely ill and I have an old video somewhere of my sounding rather drunk, although I had stopped drinking several years before.  That is how damaged my liver was.

One of the old boyfriends, that I had been very fond of at 16 or so when he went off with someone else, randomly decided that he wanted to see me.  I panicked, as he had posted a picture of himself at 18 online and I assumed that like me, he looked pretty much the same apart from weight.

So, I decided to create a database of health options for losing weight and solving the health problem, still undefined, that was causing me to be exhausted, covered in psoriasis, enormous and basically struggling with my workload, which at the time, since it was just after my father, best friend, and uncle’s deaths, was considerable.

I had created an exhibit for Patrick McGoohan online, and his family had been kind enough to acknowledge it, which was basically all I had going for me at the time.

In the course of researching my database, I came across Wolfe, and as I worked on my exhibit, laughed over several of his videos.  The database then transformed into an academic treatise on how obesity became desirable to Western economies, how much you are manipulated emotionally into following standard behavioural pathways, and how to rebel with a view to a more ecologically friendly version of capitalism. Naturally I assumed that Wolfe would be interested in this.

When I went to his facebook page, I was surprised to find him actually on it.  Over the next several weeks I was warily cheered up somewhat (I won’t go into it, but he can be very entertaining in his own way) It got me through an extremely stressful situation when my family was stabbing me repeatedly in the face for looking after my mother.  Apparently if they are selfish, everyone has to be selfish.  Having been told to give up any idea of a family or future to take care of her and my father, I do not know why they then decided they wanted me dead or destroyed for actually doing it.  That is the reason for Ina Disguise.  If I had done anything under my own name it would have been destroyed by now.

Stupidly, I put together a film offering quite an extensive critique of him and Durianriders, using the footage of my transformation thus far, with three months of research into 801010 and the superfood approach thrown in.  Unlike Harley, I am well aware why different people have different nutritional requirements, and unlike Wolfe, I just do it for a laugh.

He blocked me, and the rest is history.  I was broken hearted, although I did not quite understand why at the time, and it was probably three years later before another ex came to visit bearing cake.

I am still of the opinion that if there was a person I should have been with it would have been Wolfe.  I staked my remaining six boyfriends on it, and it is not a source of regret.  Too bad, how sad.

The reason I am writing all this down is because of this notion of ‘positive thinking.’  I was sufficiently positive to take care of myself briefly, because I thought that I deserved better from life.  I did not.  When I determined that I did not, there followed a titanic struggle to decide if I really wanted to be healthy and extremely lonely on a permanent basis.

It isn’t as if anything in my life went the way I wanted it to.  I was obsessed with work, and my parents’ illness, alongside the economy and my inability to appear mouldable enough for your average (very average) employer, rendered that a non-starter after my education.  I wanted children, and I failed to meet anyone because I have not had a social life since 2003.  I wanted to use my education to write a great book, and in the course of my musings on Wolfe, I determined that nobody would be at all interested in reading it unless I had an established name, or offered sufficient entertainment.

So, the struggle became a case of – if I think positively, I am stupidly in love with someone I never really want to meet and I stay healthy on that basis but nothing actually changes.  If I allow myself to be broken by this, I do a lot of sewing, give up writing anything weighty and either way I carry on taking care of my mother.  I was running out of time to have children anyway, and I never see anyone, so it was not as if anything was likely to change.

However, being in love is not useful.  It uses up a lot of capacity which is more helpful for doing other things.  If you allow it to run its normal course, there should be a period of hatred, and I was not at all interested in hatred.  I blow hot and cold as a matter of course, and that course has not altered.

Anyway, as you can see by the website I took option 2 and developed Ina.  Apparently she is fairly stylish.  Nothing that I wanted to happen is going to happen in my life, and this is regardless of meeting anyone or changing my perception of anything.  All that remains is the small things, and perhaps that is just as well.

I am sure that some people would say I have achieved a lot over the last four years in terms of self-development, and I am sure that is the case.  My friends would tell you that I have always had a masterplan of some sort that I am working towards.  I get side tracked a lot (an example being the computers to Gambia project) but I always finish things eventually.  Is it useful?  Probably not.  The book I would have written when I met Wolfe would have been, but considering that it was a labour of love, it would have been a waste of my time as even the one person I wanted to read and use it would not have done so.  Had I been thinking positively, I would have wasted years of my time on maintaining my health in order to have a longer period of extreme poverty in later life, and for what? Trying to impress yet another unimpressable boy?  What on earth is useful about that?

So, I have to say, I am not a fan of endless positivity.  Had I taken the positive route I may well have been beautiful by now, but there would have been nobody here to look at it, and I don’t spend a lot of time looking in the mirror.  I would also have been stark raving bonkers to remain in love with somebody that repeatedly blocked me even for asking a question about his charity.  As it was I pursued that line of thought for far too long, although Wolfe has had some small benefit out of that.

I am unusually clued up about why people respond to him the way they do. I took a variety of lines of investigation into the emotional triggers they are experiencing.  Apart from the fact he has made a niche subject extremely entertaining and courted as much controversy as possible to attract more attention to it, which personally I regard as a stroke of genius, some of his speaking techniques have led to considerable leakage in his commercial catchment, besides the errors that everyone makes on a similar trajectory.

So, although nobody is interested in this knowledge apart from me, I have got to the end of that line of enquiry.  I am left wondering why I would spend 8 or 9 years bothering to sort this mystery out.  I am still rather entranced by the methodology, but I didn’t have the time for this really. It gave me something to think about apart from the horror of finding out my family were quite so vicious, and it got me through a difficult time because of the sheer distraction of weeping about something else.

In terms of myself, I still don’t rate myself highly enough, and thinking positively is not something that is likely to help.  Positivity involves hope, and hope is not useful when it has already gone.

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Practicality and a bit of Depression

The last four months has seen me persuading the eleventh doctor that I had asked about my mother’s leg to put her into hospital for a much-needed urgent scan, persuading a consultant to scan her because they had decided not to bother after an intestinal bleed, persuading the GP that she did not need four medications and re-formulating her diet to ensure that she would not require further interference, which at this point means that anyone prescribing to her is likely to put her at risk.

We have always followed a policy of ‘the less medications the better’ as my parents were brought up pre-antibiotics, when two of our family doctors were also trained homeopaths who in their later careers still avoided prescribing antibiotics.

Our lives are no longer private.  From a peaceful existence in which we made our own decisions and managed despite the lack of help from so-called-professionals, we are now at the mercy of people who did a course a couple of decades ago and think they know how we should live.  It is frankly a miracle that my mother made it to 90, I am considered so incompetent.

In any case, I can no longer sew in the same room as her, for fear of being accused of making a mess or neglecting her by not standing over her bed.  I cannot leave the room when the nurses appear to give her a five minute injection.  If anything changes overnight I am responsible for it, and if anything improves I am obviously nothing to do with it.  As you can imagine this is intensely annoying.

In the meantime, the longest meeting in history is still being held about my mother.  The system is such that ten people that do not know my mother and who could care even less sit and try to make decisions based upon no relevant information.  I have to tolerate endless visits from people I do not wish to see, and if I try to input any relevant information it is to be used against me, as per the policies of the social work department.  It is not helpful, and it is not very pleasant.

So, as you can imagine, I cannot get much work done at the moment, and since my mother is at risk, I have had to take on some more conventional work in case I end up having to pay for the house.  I am behind with some administrative tasks due to threats made by the ‘professionals’ and I cannot really do anything without someone else knowing about it, which I object to.

Taking care of other people involves giving up control over your life in order to improve somebody else’s.  When you are able to make some decisions this is tolerable, but when these decisions are put in the hands of a random stranger, life becomes less bearable.  I have managed to prevent some of the worst implications of the intrusion into our life, but inevitably something has to suffer.

Particularly with sewing and textile work there is no point in even starting if you are in any way stressed.  Since she came home I have been unable to get to the studio, as I am now keeping it firmly locked, unable to work with chemicals, in case it affects her, and unable to sew because I am so tense that nothing will sculpt correctly.  So, I have taken a sub-contract with Microsoft which does not involve the same level of dexterity.  This is depressing in the extreme, as it means that all future project completions are on hold.

I can only hope that the misery of having to do this will spur me on to finish the games and get them out.  As all the work I did on my own health is now effectively being used on my mother I cannot really afford to keep working on me.  I am very tired, to the point of sleeping if I lie down at all, and I am experiencing headaches and sore limbs because I no longer have any freedom at all.  The room I used to sit in and sew with my mother is now devoted to medical equipment, and so you really want to avoid it if you can.

Even this has been used as a weapon, they tried to insist that I put the furniture back in it before the equipment arrived.  They prevented me from getting her out of bed, and every time any progress is mentioned, somebody has a negative comment to make about it.  Depressing in the extreme.

As my birthday is coming up it is time to take stock, and as such I find I have not done as much as I wanted to do this year.  There are at least three books on hold, two games, the collection for Boris, and the courses I was doing in an effort to create something much bigger for Wolfe.  Nothing is as it should be.

So, my conclusion is to work for a few months, put some money aside to render us a bit safer, and if I am still well enough after that I will recommence what I was doing.  Who knows, perhaps being bored out of my mind doing a job I don’t want to fund our lives despite the interference of a bunch of bitching strangers will spur me on to achieve more in terms of the courses.  Who cares about my health anyway?  After my mother dies nobody.  Nobody considers the loss of control involved in caring for other people, and nobody points it out.  It is a blame game, in which the carer always finishes last.

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David Wolfe ‘Woo’ versus the NHS Dietitican


So, let me get something straight before I start, since readers now are obviously not the same people who were reading me before.

I owe Wolfe a favour.  I owed Wolfe a favour before we even spoke.  After I got a seemingly rare glimpse of a real person, he decided I was a threat to him and so we have established that Wolfe and I do not get on.  If you take a look at the other pages on the site, you will see I have devoted my recent artwork development phase to Wolfe, simply to get his name on about fifty more sites in the course of advertising my books and artwork.  So, I have sort of returned my favour, although Wolfe certainly didn’t make me feel particularly valuable as I did it.  So, despite the favour being my mother and I being alive, as such being a pretty big favour, I feel I have sort of worked a bit to pay it off.

Since I have never paid him a penny for anything, I am sure Wolfe will feel that this is debatable, but fuck it.  I may not have finished the blockbuster due to general self-doubt, caused in no small part to Wolfe being a paranoid dick, but I have done what I can with the emotional baggage available to me.

Having said all that, here is a typical article from a rational person about Wolfe:

http://theunapologists.com/dont-cry-wolfe-con-artist

 

Feel free to read this, and the follow up before you continue with today’s post.  It is the usual superficial understanding of what Wolfe does, whether it is witting or unwitting on his part.  Yes, he is driven, yes, he likes money, yes, he has the toughest shell I have ever come across but here’s the thing – if Wolfe was not spectacular, obsessed and an ardent follower of the Jim Rohn school of shameless self-promotion, I would never have heard of him.  I and thousands of others would never have had the confidence to spend several hundred hours researching nutrition, and I am sure I am not the only person who would have suffered as a result.

No, life isn’t perfect and yes, natural health is an expensive habit to get into.

However, if you rely on science, conventional medicine and labels to tell you what is and is not good for you you are likely to have a shorter and more miserable life.

This week, I was sent an NHS qualified dietician to tell me that I was not feeding my mother properly.  You can see in the previous posts what has just happened with my mother.  She was sent home to me dying, on the basis that she would be here for a few weeks and then be taken off to be sedated to death under the NHS ‘Liverpool’ care plan.  She had lost contact with her legs, her organs were shutting down, her white cell count was on the decline.  She was not in a good way.

The Social Work Department have made a point of not understanding that it is her unconventional diet that has reversed this, to the point that she is now functioning better than she has in years, on a nutrition plan which was devised partly from my dear friend Wolfe, and partly from my own interest in herbalism and nutrition via wherever I can get relevant information.  So, she has Ayuverdic, Chinese medicine, Middle Eastern, and bodybuilder’s approaches in her mix.  She is now able to communicate with her legs, she has formed muscle where there was merely teabag skin and bone, and she can do sit ups.

Because the district nursing service and social work department have never come across a 90 year old getting well, it has taken two months even to get the services I do want.  I have finally scored a physiotherapist to inspect my work and hopefully enhance it in a couple of days time.  The dietitian however, was sent to stop me feeding my mother properly.

I am told that old people eat mince and potatoes. My family apparently believe that my mother eats this.  As a former Michelin level chef, my mother has not been fed crap like this at home for two decades, even as she sneered at me for being a raw foodist.

“Your diet is unconventional.”  the dietician tried.

“So what?  How many 90 year olds have you come across that get 7-8 portions of fruit and vegetables per day as a nutritional bottom line?”

“None.  Have you tried peanut butter?”

“Peanuts are legumes, and are acidic.  Furthermore they encourage fungal infections.  She gets three different nuts in her drink every day.  Did you know that one Brazil nut contains your entire daily requirement of Selenium?  Do you know how important Selenium is?”

She looked blank.

“I also have a very high grade B12 supplement which she takes under her tongue.”

“All old people have a B12 deficiency, we don’t bother about that.”

WTF  The NHS does not bother about B12 deficiency?  I also had the GP ask me where the carbohydrates were in a drink consisting of Superfoods, fruit, vegetables and honey.  What the actual fuck are they teaching these people?

“You do know that the stuff they tell you, that dairy products are for calcium and meat is for iron and protein is all shite don’t you?”  I tried “I was anaemic and covered in psoriasis until I tried upping things to ten a day?”

She looked blank again.

“Besides which, my mother is neither vegan nor vegetarian.  Her diet is based on raw food principles because that is the better diet. What are you finding unconventional about this?”

Much as I would like to say that veganism suits everyone, generations of meat eating has made the Scottish person more capable of functioning best at about 80 percent, with a bit of fish on top of your raw diet.  This, I had imagined, would render my mother safe from the bullshitters that the NHS apparently employ.

“Where does she get her protein?”  At last a sensible question.

“Apart from the eggs and fish, she has chia, hemp protein, pea protein, spirulina, linseeds, ground flax in case she cannot crack the linseeds, pumpkin seeds, three kinds of nuts per day.  I am also tweaking her amino acids and hormone levels this week in an effort to encourage her to absorb more protein, since you are still hassling me.”

“Your mother likes cake.”  she finally tried, after whispering to my mother in an effort to force a confession that indeed, she would rather be over medicated and murdered by the NHS than eat properly.  Having ascertained that my mother does indeed hate mince, and lentil soup, she was reduced to accusing me of failing to feed her sufficient cake.

“Her drinks taste of cake every day, they are quite sweet you know.”

“Oh, do they taste different?”

So, the educated dietician had apparently assumed that a drink made from fruit would taste like a juicy fruit chewing gum, apparently.  Such is the level of salad dodging in the UK.

After an hour of this bullshit, she gave up and told me that she could find nothing wrong with my mother’s diet, but that she was not allowed by the NHS to say so.

As Wolfe says, medicine that you put in your mouth or on your skin is food, just as eating deep-fried candy bars fails to heal you, medicine does not always do what it says on the tin. The consultant from the hospital who prescribed my mother a pro-inflammatory antacid to counteract the effects of an acid promoting injection to clear her clot, knowing full well that this would require a painkiller and precede a death spiral, did so on the assumption that people just cannot be bothered taking care of their loved ones.

Sadly, this is true in the case of my disgusting family, and so I tell them as little as possible.  I can see that the NHS is set up for unmotivated, stupid people who do not want to invest money in health, but I am not one of those people and I refuse to become one of them.

Thanks to the tireless work of the so-called-scammer Wolfe, I am entirely happy to take the NHS on on the basis of their minimal understanding of how the body works when given the correct nutrition.  If he wasn’t the exuberant, scatty, shameless self-promoter that he is.  I would not have this confidence and ironically I would not have taken my own knowledge seriously.

I am, after all, just a little fat woman on a permanent quest to avoid death.  How do I compete with someone who has been trained for years to dispense crap medication and terminate members of the public who live too long according to public health policy?

 

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Mother’s diet, the saga continues

Mother’s drink incorporates over 80 superfood and wholefood ingredients from all over the world. It includes ingredients to improve mental performance, efficient energy use, the construction of proteins to improve her skin, hair and veins. It is antacid, alkaline and anti-inflammatory. It is designed to use blood to repair using the body’s own defences, and therefore contains a very high level and range of antioxidants. It is very expensive for me to produce.

It is the result of years of observing and testing the ingredients on myself. It is extremely safe and is regularly checked against her medication to make sure it does not clash with her current medication. It incorporates traditional ingredients from all over the world related to the brain in addition to a worthy boost in macro and micronutrients. She is currently getting around 1500 calories per day, and smooth transit is assured via a detox mechanism contained in the drink to dispose of unpleasant elements contained in anyone who has ever been on a ‘normal’ diet.

It replaces Ensure, a disgusting plastic food which the NHS has on contract, which supplies 250 calories from a mixture of salt, sugar and 24 vitamins and minerals (inclusive)

It is also sufficiently powerful to replace the double dose of Omeprazole, a drug which was leaching magnesium, causing pain,confusion and hallucinations. It has also saved her from unnecessary painkillers, which would have hastened her end.

Further, there is no need for the double dose of laxative which accompanied the 500 calories of Ensure supplied to allegedly sustain my mother from the hospital.

As my mother’s appetite recovers, she sometimes wants ice cream, which is supplied from the freezer in the form of a Cornetto, eggs, brioche or trout. She only wants to do this every second day, but this is OK because her nutritional needs are more than being met by taking three of her drinks per day. She is also getting around 8 portions of fruit and vegetables in her drinks, and I have discussed all of this with the dietician who called three weeks after her return from hospital on the off-chance that she was still alive. She was very happy with what I had to say. Likewise the doctor was extremely impressed with her blood test results.

If you don’t like or understand it, I frankly don’t care. She does, and she is doing very well on it.

In the event that you still have a problem, I suggest that you find a senior consultant nutritionist and ask them if they can come up with something remotely comparable that a 90 year old will readily tolerate. When they say no, feel free to drop dead of whatever unspeakable disease your ‘normal’ diet gave you.

 

I have made this sign for my kitchen, they are still trying to say there is something wrong with it.  Her oedema is gone and she is now able to stand up.

Sigh

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Dementia and diet

Since the initial success of my mother’s new regime, I have been investigating natural approaches to dealing with dementia.

Although she has physically improved, she is childlike and mischievous, which is likely to cause more problems, although I am glad her condition generally is much improved.

So, this weekend I have been studying approaches to dementia, to see if there is anything I can tweak to improve her mental state.

Obviously, over the sundowning years, I had cause to use valerian a couple of times, although over the last ten years medical thinking has come around to my way of seeing it and you are now given miniscule doses of diazapam rather than chemical coshing, at least with responsible doctors. Up until now, there was little I could do about her diet, which was not great as she had always been able to eat pretty much what she wanted, unlike me.  If I ate like my mother, I would be even more ill than I usually am.

Anyway, as I have outlined, she is on a super-comprehensive vitamin, mineral, antioxidant, anti-inflammatory, antacid, alkaline diet at the moment, so when I saw that medium chain fatty acids could potentially reverse her dementia, I was immediately interested and sought out exogenous keto products to see if I could check this out, with a view to her taking on a diet more in line with mine.

After much searching, I finally found a product that can put her in ketosis instantly, and which does not cost a fortune.  There is a small hazard of the product being a bit acidic, but I think if it reverses her memory problem it is worth trying once. I was a low carber long before I tried raw and explored other health options so it is not difficult to come up with a plan.

Then I had a look at the counter arguments, which basically consist of her diet already being optimal.  Taking her heart and arterial problems into account, she could not be on a better diet than she is currently.  Are medium chain fatty acids and ketosis worth the risk?

It really depends on how long you want to live and how much you want to remember.  If you want a shorter life, in which you remember more, then go for the low carb option.  It is still possible to do this as a vegan or plant based eater.  If you have heart or artery problems however, it is probably advisable to hedge your bets and go for high antioxidants and perhaps a teaspoon of MCT oil rather than the two tablespoons of coconut oil advised by those who have experimented with diet as a method of helping loved ones with dementia.

I will try the exogenous product and see if I see some improvement over a three hour period.  If so, then she will be living on nuts, seeds, berries and vegetables, which I have done and which is perfectly reasonable. The tricky part will be maintaining her weight on a ketogenic diet, especially once the exercise programme is in full swing.  If it doesn’t work, then it is a very simple case of giving her a nice fruity drink.

Basically, the important thing to learn here is that you mustn’t jump on every bandwagon without checking the counter arguments.  Low carbing for my mother is not the best option for her heart.

So – long life or sharp brain?  Which is best in this case?

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Proof of your raw diet and superfood habit

This week, I had an NHS nurse becoming irate because Supermix and the raw diet has healed my mother’s stage 4 pressure sore.  It seems to be working on one problem at a time, and this week it decided to heal my mother’s foot before it did anything else.

The first thing it did was work on my my mother’s skin, which was like a teabag when she came out of hospital, thin and full of holes. My friend, who is a retired nurse, topically treated it with a common emollient in addition to her diet.  As a result she is still under all the rules for fragile skin, despite having healed serious bruising from the canula in hospital and having been given sufficient nutrition to ensure that her skin is now back to a glossy and healthy normal.

It then worked on her torso, and she is now moving spontaneously again for the first time in months.  She was always very contemptuous of my raw diet, so it is particularly ironic that it is now the only food she can tolerate, and that it is making such a difference.

Towards the end of week two of supermix and a raw diet, she talked about her brother in the past tense for the first time in nine years.  Whilst we are not seeing huge progress mentally quite yet, she is now capable of pulling herself from lying down to a seated position and completing any exercises I give her.

So, now, with the help of my friend, we are restoring her contact with her legs. Supermix, has, however decided to target her feet and lower legs first, so we still have one wasted thigh to restore to its proper size.

We mentioned the sore to this nurse, who told us to leave it alone as it could not be debrided outside hospital and must be left for months.  Two days after talking about it, the necrotic tissue vanished by itself.  She is literally self-repairing from the inside out, and the NHS, according to this nurse, do not like or believe it.

To the credit of our doctor, I received a phone call this week almost as if she were talking to a colleague.  She had received my mother’s blood test results, taken because I had taken her off three unnecessary and harmful medications and replaced them with Supermix.  She did not need disgusting replacement food because supermix is better.  Once on that, she did not require a laxative or a surgical grade antacid which was causing pain and confusion.

The row started because I refused to allow painkillers for her problem legs, which were wasting due to neglect in hospital. (contracture)  I have now isolated the wastage to the right leg via massage, and we are performing massage and stretching to restore her communication with her legs.

All of this is time consuming and requires knowledge that apparently the NHS does not rate.  I am supposed to be a bad carer, because I did not listen to people who wanted to over-medicate and basically sedate my mother to death.

When the blood test results came in, I told the irate nurse.  I wasn’t triumphant about it at all.  My mother is undergoing full spectrum antioxidant therapy with supported mineral and vitamin enhancements thanks to wholefood solutions as a result of Supermix, and there is no point in trying to explain this to someone who is trained to administer commercial medicine.  My mother’s results are apparently spectacular enough to shock the doctor.

So, evidently all these people who cry ‘Wolfe’ about science, and how health promoters are just trying to sell product, are likely to lose their relatives to conventional medicine and its many failings.

Shit happens.

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A crippling workload

A crippling workload

Hurrah, the posts from 2016 were unexpectedly being stored on Goodreads, and so I am replenishing the new site with the old posts.  If you are interested, you can now scroll back for a year so far, but as there are so many posts, I don’t think I can do them all in one night.

As regular readers will know, the furniture collection has been very expensive to produce, which has caused major hold ups.  I am seeking a contract or two to finish off the first few pieces, so that I can get on with Lucifer Ogilvie.

In addition, complications regarding my mother have meant that I am unable to do as much work as I have in the past, it is now turning into a huge legal conundrum which I am strangely unphased by.  So far, I have had to sit in a room full of people who have either already lied, or are in the process of lying because I am such a horrible person for taking care of my mother and avoiding people.

What is most irritating about this, is that people who don’t actually know what has been said or done are now jumping on the opposing bandwagon on the assumption that I have somehow forced a career driven carer to lie about my mother, and a pair of vile nurses to assume that because I am very polite, I am also a pushover.  Imagine their surprise when I chased them from the house shrieking thank you, thank you!

Anyway, for the raw foodies watching this saga, my mother now has proper arms again, and I am working on reinflating her legs after the concentration camp style nutrition in hospital.  She is not hugely conversational at the moment, but as you all know, detox involves a lot of sleeping.  I am restretching her muscles at the moment as she was suffering from contracture.

According to the vile nurses and her doctor, this means crushing her legs even more and drugging her so that you don’t hear her scream in pain as her muscles waste.  Instead her legs are gently being stretched with a fierce rub of menthol to restore her muscles in much the same way her arms have responded.  At 90, she has in three weeks recovered her ability to sit up by herself, so I look forward to seeing how these legs turn out when they are done.

The NHS seem to be genuinely offended by her recovery, which is most upsetting. Not quite as upsetting as her absent children’s wish to kill her in a care home.  Yes, looking after her is blisteringly hard work.  No, I do not begrudge it, although I certainly should given the family dynamic she set up in advance of her dotage.

Anyway, I am thinking I should get on with the shoe collection to pay for more resin, and I need to work on the computer games.

 

Toodle pip,

 

Ina

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90 year old is now a raw foodist

90 year old is now a raw foodist

My mother returned from hospital dehydrated, sleepy, with a prescription for a double dose of ensure, which is a particularly horrible plastic food they like to give old people, a double dose of a surgical grade antacid to counteract the effects of an injection to dissolve her giant blood clot and a double dose of laxative.  She had been on a saline drip which had caused her right arm to basically be one huge bruise.  She lasted about two days before starting to sleep constantly again.

She has been back for about three weeks now.  Yesterday I got a call from a dietician who had been assigned to her in hospital, who had now gotten around to actually dealing with her case.  She seemed unsure if my mother was actually still alive, and referred to her as ‘being home for a short while.’  She asked when would be suitable to come around?  That is what is best for my mother, after all.

“Actually” I said “I have been kind of passively studying herbalism and wellness for most of my life, and I have put her on a high calorie alkaline diet.  She doesn’t need ensure, she doesn’t need laxatives, and she really doesn’t need the antacid, which in its description includes sore joints, confusion and a contraindication with her heart tablet.  So we really don’t need you.”

“What is she eating?”  the dietician seemed concerned.

“Raw chocolate, various grasses, a few seaweeds and some herbs.  She also gets seven portions of fruit and vegetables a day.  She has put on some weight, her skin problems have improved, she is alert, and she is no longer screwing herself up to the right.  We are doing fine.  She tried some porridge the other morning, but she really prefers what I am giving  her.”

The dietician seemed dumbfounded.  “Does she have a choice?”  She tried to regain control of this dangerous situation.

Given that my mother had stopped eating altogether, this seemed a bit cheeky, so I salved her ego by prattling on about holistic treatment of dementia, and how my mother has not only surpassed the expected life expectancy by five years, but retained her capacity until very recently.  She has always been rather dismissive of my health interest.  She is really quite keen on it now that she is drinking a drink that tastes of salted caramel (today, tomorrow’s is cherry bakewell flavour) but actually contains a host of supernutrients and the optimum antioxidants possible, in addition to her seven a day.

My mother has improved by the day, to the point that memories from nine years ago that she has never acknowledged have returned, and she now asks for things and has regained her grip.  All because I made a giant vat full of supermix when I was raw.  It is the best four hundred I have ever spent.

Supermix has 80 ingredients, a mixture of Wolfe suggestions and old European remedies.  I really made it for me, since she didn’t like the idea of health food, and when I lived on it for 5 weeks my very grumpy neighbour told me it was the best I had ever looked.  Evidently I did something right.

My friend, who was also disparaging about my brief healthy period, is now building up his own supermix, and I am in the process of discarding the ‘normal’ food and trying to regain my former glow.

It just goes to show, when people ignore what you are saying, belittle your attempts to take care of yourself when you are taking care of others, and participate in their own bullshit, you really should just shut the door and get on with it, because usually, you are right.

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