My Immune System was Trained by the German Imperial Army

It's January and the rains have not missed their cue.  Weeds are popping up, joyfully coating Southern California everywhere in a haze of unexpected green.  Green everywhere and it's pretty for a moment until you blink and they've grown up into stinging nettles and the molds are proliferating with the best of them.  I mean really, they put rabbits to shame.  And it just so that happens that I have begun expressing my appreciation for this season by sneezing.

Mornings usually being worse, I have been known to wake up and declare with only a hint of melodrama that I am allergic to the entirety of Southern California.  On most days I have a fine vocabulary for expressing a great many sentiments.  But sometimes when my allergies are overwhelming I have no patience or brain power left to employ it and I curse my allergies with invective that could shock sailors.

Now don't go and misunderstand me.  I love my immune system.  It keeps me reasonably healthy and it has fought off all the crazy things that life and coworkers keep throwing at it.  I know that immune systems are complex and difficult to understand and I do appreciate that mine is tirelessly working to keep me healthy and happy.

What I have a problem with is its training.

Yes, training.  You don't think that the little army of immune responders called your immune system got to where it is today without training, do you?  They drill and practice and work.  They keep themselves in trim fighting condition all year round.  They are trained, tireless, professional killers in the defense of my immune system.  They are trained in the style of the German Imperial Army of old and they are extremely efficient.  And that's the problem really.

My immune system doesn't have that much to do.  I don't generally eat gently poisoned foods or sit around drinking mildly toxic water or have prolonged chats with infected herds of sheep for really any length of time.  So, without any real threats, they drill.  They are constantly on high alert for practically no reason.  They've read the manual; I could be subjected to typhoid, mumps, cholera or trench fever at a moment's notice.  And so they march, with a long list of rules and no credible attacks of dysentery in months and they are extremely bored.  So they begin to frisk everything that crosses the borders out of sheer lack of something productive to do.

Molds and pollens accidentally land on my body due to the fickle air currents that brought them nearby.  And my immune is waiting for them at the border in orderly lines and pointed helmets dating from the first world war and belonging to the German Imperial Army.
"Vat iz your name and rank!" Barks the leader of my immune responder patrol.
The harmless pollen blinks at them blankly.
"Vell, it must be a foreigner.  Ve vill bring you to Herr Colonel"
My little Immune Colonel sees a foreign body and consults the manual.  "Vell, vell vat do ve have here.  Dis leeddle pollen seems to be having ze fun with us.  Diz pollen does not have ze papers for being in dis area."
"But vat does ze manual say, Herr Colonel?"
"Ze manual says that all foreigners are invaders."
"Das ist richtig"
"Vait, vat iz dat?" A helpful immune soldier shouts, "Ze pollen iz bringing his friends."
"Dis iz definitely an invasion!" Herr Colonel says excitedly.

My immune system patrol falls into place behind the Colonel in perfectly distanced rows.  Helmets gleaming they await the commands.
"Rechts!  Rechts!" shouts Herr Colonel.  And they stride off on their right foot in perfect order.
Herr Colonel begins a World War I version of beat-box and using only his God-given talents he sounds a trumpet tune mixed with a drum beat for their march.  It would be enough to fill any military heart with pride.

And so my immune system, trained by the old German Imperial Army organizes itself thus.  It puts on its pointed helmets every morning.  The trumpet is sounded.  It marches in orderly lines.  The manual is consulted and everything that even looks like a pollen or potential invader is attacked.  I appreciate the sentiment and devotion to my well-being.  I really do.  But I don't care much for the result.  My body has decided, on the advice of my German Imperialist Immune System I might add, that the pollens and molds must be toxic and I should attempt to expel them with vigorous sneezing, eye-watering and a delightful but as yet not appreciated general itchiness.

Have you ever seen the film Those Magnificent Men and Their Flying Machines?  If not, you should.  Not only is it hilarious, it is filled with amazing and terrifying old flying contraptions.  If you are wondering what this has to do with this post you should simply watch a portion of the clips that deal with the German flying team.  You will know exactly what sort of thing my immune system is doing over here.

A sample of the German Imperial Army's finest trumpet/drum beat-box moments and a sample of what my immune system looks like while trying to maintain my good health.

Rabbit Food and Ruffage

I came home this evening at a quarter past ten in the evening and in sheer desperation I ate two tomatoes.  Yes, two.  I picked up first one baby tomato and then another and chewed them up whole, unceremoniously and completely unmasked by other foods, flavours or tastes.  What has happened to me?

Photo Source: flickr by Swaminathan

Perhaps I should explain that I have always hated vegetables.  And just like everything else in my life it was not a casual dislike and reluctance.  I don't do things by half measures.  I have always hated vegetables with a passion that stemmed deep from my five year old soul.  I declared them rabbit food and refused to eat them.  I am not a rabbit so why should I eat rabbit food? Do people eat dog food or cat food I ask you?  NO.  Nobody would reasonably expect me to eat a dinner comprised of bird food.  I didn't see why the delicacies of rabbits should ever be placed upon my plate.  I wasn't an ambassador to the rabbit population of my town, or any other town for that matter.  I didn't need to improve human rabbit relations by symbolically accepting them and their culture by dining on their foods.  No, I didn't eat rabbit food.  I waged war on it.

Smart cat knows if he waits by the rabbit food the rabbits will come to him.  Cool as a cucumber he waits.  I bet you can't get him to eat rabbit food.      Photo Source: Flickr by Psyberartist

It was ruffage.  Or more properly spelled, roughage, and roughage is defined as "the coarse indigestible constituents of food".  Indigestible!  And you want me to eat it why?  Ick.  No thank you.  Now people will tell you that tomatoes are good for you.  That tomatoes are a fruit.  But they also come from the night shade family and are therefore a nightshade food. Nightshade foods produce these things called alkaloids that can affect the nervous system and digestive system.  You see alkaloids can inhibit this enzyme, cholintesterase, which is found in nerve cells.  If it is very strongly inhibited it can disrupt the nerve-muscle system and cause trembling, twitching, paralyzed breathing or convulsions.  Great, right?  They say that these certain nightshade foods do not block the enzyme to a great enough degree to cause any trouble.  Yet, there is no definitive research on the subject.  Some researchers recommend cutting it out of the diets of those people with arthritis and other joint problems.  And there are many individuals who swear that nightshade foods do cause them joint pain.  

Do you know what foods are nightshade foods?  It may surprise you to find that the list includes:
Tomatoes
Potatoes
Eggplant
Sweet and hot peppers (bell peppers, and cayenne etc.)
Ground cherries (not real cherries, whatever a ground cherry is...)
Tomatillos
*And a few others. This is not an exhaustive list of nightshade foods.

Some researchers claim that the level of alkaloids in nightshade foods are too small to have any real effect.  Yet the alkaloids do exist in these foods and can be shown to inhibit cholintesterase at least to a small degree and cooking only reduces the alkaloids by 40-50%.  So, you can make up your own mind.  Don't believe me, check out more reputable sources and ask your doctor.  But I will argue that these nightshade foods are poison.  So, these "oh so healthy for you" tomatoes could in fact be poisoning my body and ruining my joints.  Why should I trust your health advice after you advocate poison and indigestible foods.  No, thank you, I'll pass. Or at least that is what I used to say to myself.

Look at all those colorful poisons!         Photo Source: flickr by moon angel

Yet desperate times called for desperate measures and there I was standing in my kitchen munching down tomatoes.  What on earth was happening?  I was starving and it was the only food in my house that could be eaten post haste without any cooking, preparation or waiting-time involved. There was no extended longing for that moment of sweet delight when your food is done and you nibble on the first mouthful.  No, immediate gratification was what I needed in order to satisfy the monster growing restless and growling from deep within.  But it did not end there.  The monster demanded a further sacrifice.  It demanded I give up my cause.  It demanded I eat... a salad.  Yes, a salad.  complete with leafy green lettuce and carrots, a rabbit couldn't have been happier.  I, the Madder Hatter, the crusader against people eating indigestible rabbit food, succumbed and ate not only two tomatoes but also an entire salad.

I can almost hear myself, that logical side I try so hard to suppress, saying desperate times luv, in a Yorkshire accent of course.  But this does not excuse my behavior.  It is a mere platitude.  Who I am?  What have I become?  There is no going back from what I have done.  What will happen next?  I may be lead inexorably downward.  Next I could be eating dog food, or bird food.  Why stop there?  I could move on to worm food and just eat dirt.  But there is something else about it that is bothering me deep down.  It is the slippery slope to all things bad.

Not only do I feel like I have abandoned my morals (see my struggle with technology) I feel I have also lost my identity.  I am no longer a rampant ruffage destroying, rabbit food protesting rapscallion.  I'm becoming something else. Dare I suggest it, an adult?  Gasp, the reality of such a concept is too horrible to even contemplate for one instant.  The unadulterated boredom of responsible adult life swept over me for the milisecond I even considered considering that thought. Cringe. No, no, that can't be it.  I'm still five.  I must be turning into a rabbit.  You are what you eat, right? I'm sprouting whiskers and a little bob tail, aren't I?  That is the only logical explanation.  I'd better do some research on rabbits next.

Smart cat guards the rabbit food knowing I must come for it.  He is waiting.  He sees through me.  There is no escape.       Photo Source: flickr by Psyberartist