Low fat witchcraft

At the start of my second appointment with naturopath Elizabeth Gibaud (see previous posting of 8 April), I realised my first instincts had been right. I really didn't like her one little bit. We started off our session with a heated debate on panic attacks with her telling me that what I had been having for the past four years were not panic attacks - enough to send me spiralling into a bit of a panic on the spot.

Oh really Elizabeth? Well, don't tell me about panic attacks. I know all about them having suffered them, having been scared witless for the first two years because a range of eminent 'ologists failed to diagnose them, having had just about every medical test known to man to eliminate all other nasty possibilities and having researched, written, published, read, spoken, lived and breathed them and been for endless therapy and alternative treatments. We found ourselves spatting about the symptoms with her telling me that, for example, the chronic chest pain I suffered mid-attack was not part of panic syndrome. I resolved to print out some up to date information and present it to her on my next visit but to get off the subject before I punched her in the mouth or wasted any more of my time during the short appointment.

So, I'd lost 8lb which was fan-bloody-tastic and now (she said) I must stay on the detox for the following week except that there were a few more things to exclude. I shouldn't eat lettuce or celery or even look at rocket. I mustn't touch a sweet potato or be tempted by avocado. I should continue with the eighty three supplements she had prescribed, try to factor porridge into my breakfast (no way was I going to do that, I hate porridge) and cut down on the fruit allowance she had previously allowed. Why, I asked her? What harm could celery do? It's too salty dear, she said. Where do you think celery salt comes from? I didn't bother to ask about lettuce and rocket as the explanation was bound to disappoint.

I left her feeling pretty miserable about the prospect of the coming week. I had some social arrangements involving eating in restaurants and was worried about coping with those. Ordering plain chicken or fish with no seasoning whilst all around me scoffed things with sauces and chocolate desserts was, even at this early stage, getting horribly boring. Still, I resolved to continue as the results were showing on the scales - her scales, I never weigh myself at home lest I should be discouraged.

It was a hard week. Two dinner dates and a family gathering meant that my self control was stretched to the limit. As I'm a person who can resist anything but temptation, I was really proud that my resolve was steady and I barely strayed from the Elizabeth's restrictions, barring the odd bit of unavoidable lettuce in my undressed salads.

I arrived at the third appointment with a feeling of trepidation. I didn't think I'd lost that much more weight although I was holding the panic attacks at bay and the reflux hadn't bothered me at all. I jumped onto the scales to find I'd lost another four pounds. That was a total of twelve pounds in two weeks! I could have wept with joy.

What was Elizabeth going to tell me to do next and perhaps she's a witch I thought.