I have always hated taking medicine.  My childhood memories surrounding illness are not any different than my adult behavior.  I throw a fit when I have to take medicine.  If it is a pill, it often gets stuck in my throat and I can barely swallow the nastiness, and if it’s liquid… oh goodness that is a process.

That being said, since I first visited the hippie doctor I have convinced myself to put two drops of liquid nastiness under my tongue (by the way, Nathan it’s a good thing I love you so, because it DOES taste disgusting), take a whole bunch of pills in various sizes ranging from teeny and manageable to horse sized with an aftertaste that I burp all morning.  And, as the icing on the cake, I give myself an inter-muscular shot of B12 every day. 

However, as much as I hate to admit it, the hippie doctor has given me what western medicine hasn’t been able to provide for the last 5 years – relief.  I feel amazing.  But don’t take my word for it.  As proof, Daddy made an appointment with the hippie doctor for himself about his allergies!

That kind of makes me giggle because for the first 48 hours after leaving my first appointment with the hippie doctor, I heard nothing but jokes about sacrificing chickens and sprinkling voo-doo powder around me as he chanted.  Guess the proof really is in the (gluten free) pudding.

It’s not just the crazy vitamin regimen either.  My shampoo is made of grass and other things I normally plant in my herb garden.  My skin care could double as a salad, and I am pretty sure I am going to buy a pair of Birkenstocks before the summer is over.

It’s official: I’m a hippie.

And I’d ask the Lord for help, but based on typical pictures of His only son, I’m guessing He’s into that sort of thing.