First, Dear Listener, I must apologize for any hoarseness you hear in my voice. Of course, if you're reading this tale on my website rather than listening to the podcast, that opening line makes no sense.
D. K. Wall:In your case, Dear Reader, I can only suggest you add a certain raspiness to the internal voice in your head. Think Tom Waits, but less musical.
D. K. Wall:You see, this is the height of allergy season for me. I can't say with certainty whether the beautiful tulip poplar trees are to blame, but the timing of their falling blooms always coincides with what I will generously call the pinnacle of my sneezing, coughing, hacking, and wheezing during our twice a day dog walks.
D. K. Wall:I hate taking allergy medicine. I don't like the way it makes me feel. Somewhere between a zombie and a dried sponge. Instead, I embrace an old wives' tale. Each morning, I add local honey to my toast. Not sure if it helps, but at least it tastes good.
D. K. Wall:Some of you allergy sufferers hole up indoors during pollen season, but that isn't really an option for me. Many years ago, during my time in the corporate world, our team took one of those psychological profiles.
D. K. Wall:My outdoor score was nearly off the charts, a 99 out of 100. The evaluator said that showed not just a desire to be outdoors, but an actual need for fresh air and sunshine.
D. K. Wall:I pointed to one of my colleagues who had scored a 49 in that category. Brian, I said, loved golfing, playing softball, and other outdoor activities. How was I that different?
D. K. Wall:The evaluator thought for a moment. You enjoy hiking in the mountains, right? When it rains, what happens? I shrugged. I get wet. He raised an eyebrow. Most people would say I seek shelter. That possibility never even crossed my mind.
D. K. Wall:Over time, I developed a deep understanding of what that score truly meant. Much of my corporate work involved meetings on the road, often held in hotel conference rooms that all shared one common feature, a total lack of windows.
D. K. Wall:I'd grow anxious, pace, and struggle to concentrate. At any break, I'd bolt for the nearest door like a Siberian husky who had heard the word snow.
D. K. Wall:So, I choose sanity over breathing and suffer through the pollen. What's worse is that some people grow out of allergies. Mine get worse year after year. Just one of the many ways my body is slowly staging its rebellion.
D. K. Wall:Each morning, for example, I do 50 deep knee bends with a dumbbell in my efforts to avoid a knee replacement. If genetics have anything to do with it, I am doomed. My parents have had four out of four knees replaced. The odds are not in my favor. I'm basically a walking parts catalog.
D. K. Wall:When I discuss these frailties with my doctor, his answer always involves the phrase men of your age. Of course, he's young enough that he bears a striking resemblance to Doogie Howser, which makes the phrase harder to swallow. Sort of like his latest suggestion for my particular age group, adding fiber to my diet.
D. K. Wall:I already suffer through a bowl of oatmeal every morning prescribed by my last doctor. But apparently that isn't enough. At a daily dose of psyllium husk, he said. What is that? I asked. A pill?
D. K. Wall:He smiled. That evil look a doctor gets when telling you to do something you won't enjoy. It comes in capsules, he said, but it's most effective as a powder. Just mix it with water and drink. He paused and then added quickly.
D. K. Wall:I learned the reason for that ominous adverb soon enough. Let me do my best to explain. Psyllium is hydrophilic, a great vocabulary word, meaning it attracts and binds to water.
D. K. Wall:In practical terms, adding psyllium husk to a glass of water produces a gelatinous blob. Probably the inspiration for the old Steve McQueen movie titled aptly enough, The Blob. Don't talk to me about the remake. No one should ever mention that disaster again.
D. K. Wall:The good news? That blob, just like in the movie, binds with anything in its path. In this case, as it travels through your digestive system.
D. K. Wall:The benefits are numerous. Regularity for sure, but also lowering cholesterol, improving glucose levels for people with type two diabetes, and perhaps even weight loss.
D. K. Wall:The bad news? Swallowing it is vile. On my first attempt, my mind flashed back to a dinner in China that included jellyfish. Not deep fried, like we Southerners do to anything with questionable flavor, but wobbling on the plate, daring me to swallow without gagging.
D. K. Wall:That jellyfish certainly ranks in the top 10 worst things I've ever eaten. Don't ask about the others. I've traveled all over the globe and my adventurous palate has regrets.
D. K. Wall:But seriously, let's think about this. Psyllium is used in the production of mucilage, an etymological skip and a jump to the word mucus. Drinking a glass of psyllium is essentially drinking a glass of phlegm. During allergy season, I already produce enough of that on my own. Thank you very much.
D. K. Wall:There had to be a better way. Off to the internet I went. The first, most obvious solution? Buy the orange flavored Metamucil.
D. K. Wall:But that required going into a store and purchasing said product from some teenage cashier who would roll their eyes at the old man in front of them. Well, at least in my vivid imagination.
D. K. Wall:I could buy the generic psyllium husk instead. They wouldn't know what that was. Right? Besides, I had an entire bag already sitting on my counter and I'm too cheap to throw something out.
D. K. Wall:Then I spotted a possibility. Mix it with oatmeal. Since I was already choking down a bowl every morning, what difference could it make?
D. K. Wall:For those of you with long memories, you'll recall I have quite the history with oatmeal. One morning, in a hurry, I opted to microwave it on high rather than the 50% power the instructions called for. 100% power for half the time equals 50% power for the full time. Right?
D. K. Wall:Nope. I was introduced to the concept of exploding oatmeal. After spending the next hour scrubbing the microwave before my ever patient partner in life discovered my latest disaster, I at least salvaged one benefit.
D. K. Wall:I decided exploding oatmeal would make a great band name. And so it became one of Mad Maverick's bands in my novel, Sour Notes.
D. K. Wall:But now I discovered something worse than an eruption of oatmeal. Adding psyllium created the slimiest, most disgusting concoction I have ever put in my mouth. It knocked jellyfish down a notch in my all time worst top 10.
D. K. Wall:I briefly considered whether it might also make a good band name, Gelatinous Oatmeal Blob. Too many syllables doesn't fit on a T shirt.
D. K. Wall:And so I researched further. I found a note about cranberry juice, something about the acidity keeping the psyllium from congealing as quickly. And I can get it down before it goes all, well, mucousy. Won't find that one in the dictionary, but you know exactly what I mean.
D. K. Wall:And so now it's part of my daily routine. I must say, it works. I can't speak to the cholesterol or glucose or weight part of it yet. But the regularity? Let's just say things are moving along. And let's not discuss that any further.
D. K. Wall:Instead, I'm now searching for a concoction to make my allergies disappear. That honey isn't cutting it, though I am certainly not cutting the honey. If anyone has suggestions, you know where to find me. Outside. Sneezing.