Bring on the stomach bacteria

After at least 7 years of unrelenting stomach problems (actually, problem, singular, that has persisted the entire time), I finally have a diagnosis: SIBO - Small Intestine Bacterial Overgrowth. When my wonderful doctor (no joke, she's the best) tested me, my results were off the charts. Literally. I have such a high concentration of unhealthy bacteria in my guts that the laboratory that processes the test gave me free test kits to use for the duration of my treatment. The lane will process my results free go charge. will continue to process free of charge so they can track the results. Who knew?

My doctor knew. And she's the first doctor who has cared enough to keep exploring after she ruled out all of the classic stomach issues. She also knew the diet to put me on and the 3 rounds of two antibiotics to prescribe to get my guts back to normal. And she told me it would be challenging. She wasn't lying.

So here I am, in week 4 of a 6-month treatment plan. And here's what I've learned:

I have to cook. A lot. Like every 1 to 3 days.
No more packaged, processed, quick, easy food.

My diet is called the Specific Carbohydrate Diet. It dictates the source of all carbohydrates I consume: fruits and vegetables. Only.
I can get calories from meat.
I cannot get carbohydrates from any grains (including rice. yes, even brown rice), starches or complex sugars (no, not even agave).
Eggs are permitted in the Specific Carbohydrate Diet, but they give me hives that progressively get worse the more eggs I eat (think, red, intolerably itchy bumps on my chest, ear and face. Fun, right? They're pretty, too.)

So I spend exorbitant amounts of money and time buying and preparing fresh produce free of any sugars, starches or carbs. It's hard work. It requires a lot of creativity. It's really alarming how many products in the grocery store, even the fancy healthy one, are made with sugar or corn syrup.

Since this diet is the bane of my existence, and since there has already been at least one cooking fiasco that ended in a teary mess of inedible mush, I've decided to start blogging about the things I successfully make, in hopes of helping out some other poor dears who are put on this diet.
#SCDforLife … just kidding. #SCDNowForHopesOfEatingWhateverIWantIn6Months

Why I love it here. Even in the middle of winter.

     Over the past couple of months, many people have asked me how I like Portland. Most recently, my first response usually has something to do with disliking the climate. However, that is misleading. For awhile now, I've had a sneaking suspicion that it isn't the climate as a whole I dislike (as in the seasons, temperature, humidity level, etc); it is only the limited amount of sunshine. In fact, I actually enjoy the cold. I like winter. I was pleasantly surprised to revel in this today. 
    When I try to touch on the highlights, I rarely can put into words how magical my neighborhood feels. Today I tried my best to capture it. It is currently 34 degrees and sunny, and I chose to bundle up, put the sweater on the dog, and go for an hour long walk. The winter sunshine casts such a beautiful light on everything - it practically made my favorite parts of my neighborhood seem magical and new all over again. So I took pictures.
     Now, I have no photography training, nor do I have a fancy camera. My tool of choice was my iPhone. Four, not five. That may limit the magic exuded from these photos, but it certainly didn't make our walk any less magical.

South east Portland is a spectacular place, and the Ladd's Edition neighborhood feels like stepping into a fairy tale. Hopefully you'll catch a few glimpses of that in these photos:

Wool fair-isle tights and a gray and red sweater. 

Twinsies green and red.

Fairy tale cottage.

Trees for days and a curious find.

Whimsical peaks.

Perfect gate.                                             All tucked away.                                   

Two Chimneys for you, and a bench made for two.

Doll house, gum drop and rest for the weary.

Door and a porch. 

Yard with a house.

And this one's my home.

Perspective.

Today I was dressed like an Eskimo (or what an Eskimo with access to the Columbia outlet might dress like). I wore knee socks under my rain boots, jeans (electric blue skinny ones, of course), a camisole, a long sleeve t-shirt, a zip up fleece, my Columbia jacket with the lining zipped in, a scarf and a hat. This was my attire to trek to the bus stop (3 blocks), get off bus 1 and walk to bus stop 2 (1 block), then get dropped off at the corner of the building in which I work. I was outside for 15 minutes max. It was 42 degrees and drizzling.

Remember the days when I lived in Chicago and 42 degrees in November was totally bearable because we all knew the 20's were coming in January? California baby-fied me. My tolerable temperature zone ranges from about 60 - 75, a mere 15 degrees. That's it. I better toughen up or move back to San Diego... how many years of school do I have left in Portland? Yikes.

While waiting at the bus stop (crabby, of course, because it's a cold, wet morning and I'm not in my bed), a lady on a bike rode past. Picture this: Bike with a wheel-barrow type basket built into the front of the frame. Basket is covered with a clear plastic rain shield with bright yellow trim. Lady peddling the bike is wearing a bright pink jacket, a cute hat and little brown pig tails peeking out the sides. Just too darn cute for a late November morning in Portland. As she rides by my bus stop, I look in the basket and see two equally cute kids riding along with Mommy. Just adorable. It made me want to stop being crabby. And take a picture. (Sadly, I knew I wouldn't be quick enough so I didn't even reach for my phone.)

But for reals - different perspectives on the same situations - not even the same, because my commute required far less effort than hers - and she was so cheerful that it showed. Time to take notes. 
Not time to let the Portland weather get me down!

Time for an outlet. I can't guarantee it will be coherent, but I can guarantee it will not be academic and will certainly not involve a single diagram of the laryngeal structures. Also, I will change grammatical tenses intermittently, with no recognizable pattern.

     This evening I wore Minnie Mouse ears and a shiny red belt while I studied. I try extra hard to win over the barista at my local coffee shop because I get the impression that he doesn't like my kind (you know, the conventional Californian in me, the one who isn't an angsty and organic Oregonian). He's warming up to me. An almost-affectionate look washed over his face as I ordered my standard "mocha that's as sweet as a hot chocolate, please." ...Or maybe his smile was a smirk because I'm 26 years old and donning over-sized sequined black ears with a sparkly red bow in the middle, while ordering a very grown-up beverage. Either way, we'll be friends soon.
     At 10:37 pm, the girls behind me and I simultaneously concluded our study sessions. In our moment of solidarity, we exchanged the details of what we were studying. They are studying Chinese medicine, how fascinating and non-traditional of them. As we parted ways, they donned their bicycle helmets and bike lights to trek home on their ten-speed street bikes in the rain. I got in my Nissan Sentra to drive home, warm and dry. It's not that I don't like biking, it's just that in my oh-so-conventional ways, I moved to Oregon with a one-speed beach cruiser with the only gear being slow. That's why they study Chinese medicine and I study speech pathology. But, hey, this is Portland, so we're all cool with whatever.

Oh the joys...

And we're off...
I've learned that I cannot have a healthy acceptance of the events and occurrences in my life unless I have an outlet to vent, rant and be blatantly sarcastic. Only then can I learn to laugh about things and let them go, instead of keeping a long list of pent up frustrations. So, just one day after the anniversary of my 3rd month in Portland, I feel it is appropriate to let the venting begin. You may be my facebook friend, and you may have seen minute glimpses into my interesting encounters here in Bridgetown/Stumptown/Ripcity/whateveryoucallPortland, but here is a place where I will really lay it all out. Be warned.

Jennifer Bieda

16 hours ago near Portland

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Thoughts I've had today:
1.) The English language offers many acceptable verbal space fillers (uh, um, so, like, etc). F*ckin' is not one of them.
2.) I am inconvenienced when 1 person takes up 1.5 bus seats. Do I squeeze into the vacant .5 seat, or do I stand on the bus ride home from a doctor's appointment for which my chief complaint was dizziness?
3.) If you're going to cross-dress, fine. But don't stare at me waiting for my reaction. I don't care enough to react. Really.

Like · 

• Dustin Smith, Jonathan Lindblom, Danielle Carenza and 4 others like this.

• 

  Jennifer Bieda 4.) If you don't pay my rent and I didn't invite you over, don't stink up my bathroom.

  16 hours ago · Like · 1

• 

  Jennifer Bieda 5.) I must be really crabby today.

  16 hours ago · Like

When people are in an academic setting, I would prefer if they sounded mildly intelligent. I don't believe using f*ckin to fill the silence while you compilate your next speech segment is an excellent way to sound even remotely capable of any type of intellect.
I don't mind if people are larger than me, but I do mind being forced to stand when I'm so dizzy I forget what I've stood up for.
I moved to Portland for a number of reasons, one of them being, I'm not homophobic or even cross-dress-ophobic. So please stop staring at me Sir/Mam.
Today I had to clean up soiled toilet paper that didn't quite hit the mark (i.e. make it into the toilet bowl). I'm not even going to speculate about who threw fecal matter on the bathroom floor, but I know it was not me or my housemate with whom I share the bathroom. Sickening. This even, however, forced me to lighten up and enjoy the rest of my evening. It was either that or cry. I chose to go out for sushi with my roommate.
The end.

shared life

I worry that no one I know will actually want to do life the ways I would like to do life. I don't want the American Dream and the independent self-sufficiency that comes with it. I want community, interdependence, cooperation, common goals, common visions, common space and common meals. I want housemates. I want neighbors. I want community to be real, alive, vital. I want community to be intricately woven into my very existence. I don't want to own a single family home. I don't even want a "single family." I want to share life.