I haven’t exactly been feeling my best lately – low energy, dull skin tone, regular menstruation, etc. All the signs that a good old-fashioned cleanse was in order. To celebrate, I went over to my tattoo artist’s house and got myself some new ink made from only the finest all-natural organic vegetable oils and flower pigments. It’s something in Sanskrit. I don’t know what it says, but Skid Mark assures me it’s something deeply spiritual. I trust his linguistic knowledge.
Freshly decorated, I set out to make my insides match my outsides. I mixed up my signature detox formula: a combination of cabbage leaves, lemon juice, cayenne pepper, and a proprietary blend of dried roots plucked from the deepest enclaves of the Himalayas (according to the lady on the boardwalk.) I stuck it all in a blender, and got to sippin’.
It started working immediately, which was surprising, because it usually takes a day or two for the effects to really take hold. My heart started beating out of control (there’s the cayenne pepper!) And I started to feel the lightheadedness that signals a higher state of consciousness, the removal of heavy metals, and a lack of real food. I figured that this abnormal receptiveness meant this was exactly what my body needed and went about my day, treating myself to a glass of cabbage water every now and then between knitting the celebrity dog costumes that I sell on Etsy.
Within a few days, it was clear that my body was really responding. I was sweating out buckets of toxins, wrapping myself in the handmade quilts stitched by spiritual elders in India to replace the heat from the fat cells that were clearly leaving my body. My breathing bordered on hyperventilation as I reached what was obviously an ecstatic peak of purity. I even stopped peeing, no matter how greedily I chugged the cleansing mixture, having achieved a state of spiritual awakening that transcended mortal bodily functions. Or so I thought.
As much as I longed to remain still in my rapture, especially because it was becoming increasingly difficult to move, those dog costumes weren’t going to ship themselves. I gingerly gathered myself and my boxes and began making my way to the UPS store, but on the way to my apartment’s parking garage, I was overcome with spiritual revelry and also a distinct blackness. I collapsed.
Some nice passersby, unaware that everything was working exactly as it should, called 911. I awoke in the hospital sometime later. Hours? Days? Time had no meaning in the dimension to which I’d been transported. I informed the doctors that there had been a mistake and I was simply experiencing a bodily and spiritual transformation, and they told me that I had sepsis.
They started asking me a bunch of questions. Was I aware of a previous infection? Any recent illness or injury? New tattoos, piercings, etc.? Well yeah, I said, but it’s an all-natural organic artisanal tattoo. By definition, it can’t be bad for you. I showed it to them, and a nurse fainted. The doctors said that even organic flower pigments can transfer infection if proper hygiene practices aren’t followed, that they’re actually much more susceptible to decay, have I considered going to a licensed tattoo artist, etc. All kinds of Western medical nonsense. Still, I graciously allowed them to pump me full of antibiotics and other patent poison, just to make them feel better. Also, they said I couldn’t go home until they did, because I was, like, really close to dying.
So I guess the moral of the story is don’t mix cleansing with FDA-unapproved body art, because you might mistake septic shock for perfectly healthy toxin flushing. Who knew they had so many of the same symptoms? Anyway, I have to go now. I’m going to give Skid Mark a piece of my mind.