But, it’s the poison that poisoned me. Poisoned my already delicate nervous system. I remember when I had my consultation with Michio Kushi in 1975 - my husband had just been named Vice-President of the East West Foundation, a macrobiotic org, and I was asked to see Michio, our mentor and teacher, for a health consultation. I was ushered into the elegant, serious study in his old fashioned home. I sat down and faced him, a small, thin man in a dark suit and tie. He took one look at me and said, “No stimulants!”
Outwardly, I nodded. Inwardly I thought, “Oh, dear. We’re going to have a problem.” As a writer I feared I would not want to live without coffee or wine!
If you read my blog post, Anxiety Now! You already know how I was poisoned. Martinis. A very sophisticated and elegant stimulant, loved by writers for decades. I used to have about two, maybe four a year, on special occasions, in equally elegant restaurants. But, since COVID, I’d been making my own at home. Two a night. (A doctoral thesis could be written about the comfort foods of COVID and their often terrible effects on human health!)
Since two months of martinis, my husband, daughter and I noticed a huge increase in my anxiety that was making sleep impossible. Even when I wrote Anxiety Now! I hadn’t known exactly what had happened to me. Something kept nagging at me. Something, I thought, must be IN the martinis. What was it?
It had to be in the vermouth! I researched the mysterious, bitter, spicy vermouth, googling the ingredients - cinnamon, cardoman, ginger, cinchona, chamomile, and there it was - the same ingredient that had once been (and still was!) used to make the infamously poisonous absinthe that the French writers, poets and artists had taken to flirt with death and insanity - granted it was prepared differently - but, there it was - wormwood.
Wormwood, often called artemisia, whose side-effects are seizures, muscle breakdown (rhabdomyolysis), kidney failure, restlessness, difficulty sleeping, nightmares, vomiting, stomach cramps, dizziness, tremors, changes in heart rate, urine retention, thirst, numbness of arms and legs, paralysis, and death.
As described on BBC Culture, “The spirit [absinthe] was a muse extraordinaire from 1859, when Édouard Manet’s The Absinthe Drinker shocked the annual Salon de Paris, to 1914, when Pablo Picasso created his painted bronze sculpture, The Glass of Absinthe. During the Belle Époque, the Green Fairy – nicknamed after its distinctive colour – was the drink of choice for so many writers and artists in Paris that five o’clock was known as the Green Hour, a happy hour when cafes filled with drinkers sitting with glasses of the verdant liquor. Absinthe solidified or destroyed friendships, and created visions and dream-like states that filtered into artistic work. It shaped Symbolism, Surrealism, Modernism, Impressionism, Post-Impressionism and Cubism. Dozens of artists took as their subjects absinthe drinkers and the ritual paraphernalia: a glass, slotted spoon, sugar cubes – sugar softened the bitter bite of cheaper brands – and fountains dripping cold water to dilute the liquor.
Absinthe was, at its conception, not unlike other medicinal herbal preparations (vermouth, the German word for wormwood, among them). Its licorice flavor derived from fennel and anise. But this was an aperitif capable of creating blackouts, pass-outs, hallucinations and bizarre behaviour. Contemporary analysis indicates that the chemical thujone in wormwood was present in such minute quantities in properly distilled absinthe as to cause little psychoactive effect. It’s more likely that the damage was done by severe alcohol poisoning from drinking twelve to twenty shots a day…”
As a student, we were told of raging artists running mad through the streets, and I confess to the urge to leap from the bed and run screaming through the house, something to the effect of “I don’t even waaaant to sleep!” But, I didn’t want to drag my family into my horror. I took comfort and still do in the fact that they were sound asleep. I was so glad it was me and not them.
The Chinese have a word for it - though it’s not exactly what I have, it’s close - they call the phenomenon, “Revenge Bedtime Procrastination” or the desire to delay bedtime while you enjoy the pleasures of light and daily activity. Something about control. But, add old age to the equation and you have the terror of death in which the darkness - which we need in order to make melatonin, that chemical that naturally closes our eyes and brings on the mystery of restful sleep - becomes death, particularly if you know you are in the last room of your life. It’s a beautiful room, but I must learn to embrace death. The movie “Dr. Strangelove or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb” comes to mind. Even the cold assassin, Judberg in “The Edge of Darkness” feared the dark - “something about the dark,” he said. I’ve been using screen time, watching reassuring movies and shows that I have seen many, many times to lull me to sleep. I pause the scene and hold it there all night to comfort me that I am not alone. Screen time pollutes the eyes with light and tells your body to not go to sleep. I can’t help it. I need to see Carrie Bradshaw - she tries so hard - or Mary Spaulding - she’s so smart - or Olivia Benson - she’s so fearless - that they are with me - and then, I can close my eyes.
It’s a point of pride with me that Virginia Woolf was also diagnosed with a “no stimulants” delicate nervous system. She was a marvelous writer, whose prose was sheer poetry - deep, clever, courageous, profound, and beautiful. But, I don’t want to end like her. If you know her, you know that she saw “the shark fin on the horizon” and wanted to spare her family from further pain. However, though she wasn’t allowed alcohol, Virginia consumed copious amounts of stimulant in her daily tea. We all know that the English drink very strong tea and take it for everything from wet, cold feet after a walk to something to calm the nerves after trauma. Hmm. The shark is in the hen house.
I’m continuing my journey to freedom from wormwood. I tried Tylenol PM for nearly two months - it worked wonderfully! Till I got a few nasty side effects that I am still dealing with, mostly from dehydration; I couldn’t drink enough water! Now, I’m trying melatonin, which, after asking out on Facebook for help, I discovered most of my friends are already taking in 5mg to 10 mg form! I’m only using 1 mg and so far so good…like Steve McQueen says in “The Magnificent Seven” after telling the joke about the man who leapt off a four story roof; at each floor people heard him say, “So far so good!”
***Disclaimer: Patricia Goodwin does not blame or endorse vermouth. Many people may enjoy vermouth with no adverse effects. She wishes them bon appetite and bonne santé!
Patricia Goodwin is the author of When Two Women Die, about Marblehead legends and true crime and its sequel, Dreamwater, about the Salem witch trials and the vicious 11-year-old pirate Ned Low. Holy Days is her third novel, about the sexual, psychological seduction of Gloria Wisher and her subsequent transformation. Her latest novel is Low Flying, about two women suffering psychologically abusive marriages who find and nurture each other. Her newest poetry books are Telling Time By Apples, And Other Poems About Life On The Remnants of Olde Humphrey Farme, illustrated by the author, and Java Love: Poems of a Coffeehouse.
Within this blog, Patricia writes often about non-fiction subjects that inspire or disturb her, hopefully informing and inspiring people to be happy, healthy and free.
***Disclaimer: The information on this blog is not meant to substitute for medical care. Please consult your physician before beginning any new dietary guidelines.
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