My skin stopped itching when I cut eggs from my diet

I have always been able to eat anything I liked - no allergies, no food sensitivities, a cast iron stomach.

But after I turned 50 things started to change. 

If I ate a heavy meal after 7pm - or even 6 pm - I would wake up in the night with a feeling of drowning. My throat hurt and swelled, so much that I finally consulted my GP who sent me to a specialist. Acid reflux, he said. He prescribed medicine and early, light dinners, and after about a year things settled down again.

But then there was the rash. My skin started prickling. Hot showers only made it worse, with an itching so intense it was nearly impossible to resist scratching. Sometimes, especially after breakfast, my stomach swelled and hurt. I thought it might be the bread  and tried to avoid toast (which I loved). But the swollen, uncomfortable feeling and the itchiness just got worse.

I was getting frightened. Imagining terrible, perhaps fatal diseases.

A dermatologist said not to worry and gave me some cream. And an antihistamine.

When the itching went away on my forearm it popped up again on my thigh, or on my shoulder, or my stomach. Tiny bumps that turned red when, unthinkingly, I scratched them, bruising.

I didn't know what to do.

A friend whose life had been turned upside down by the sudden appearance of allergies listened to my story and suggested allergy tests.

"But first," she added, "it might help to try eliminating certain foods from your diet. One by one. Just to see if there's any improvement. There's no risk, no cost, and - who knows - it might help." And then, as an after thought: "And try drinking more water. My skin is sensitive to dehydration, yours might be too."

I went home, drank a glass of water and searched the internet for the most likely culprits. For a woman my age, bread, sulfates in wine, eggs, rice and aspirin were frequently mentioned. I already eat very little bread, and I enjoy my nightly glass of wine, so, by process of elimination, I decided to start with eggs.

Fried eggs, scrambled eggs, eggs in omelettes, quiches, flans - I eat a lot of eggs. Nary a day goes by, in fact, when I don't have two eggs.

Some people can get away with oatmeal or cereal for breakfast, but I tend to get weak and fluttering if I don't have something more substantial. So, just for good measure, I replaced the egg with meat. After all, I wasn't dieting - just trying to find out if I had a reaction to eggs.

The first day I cut out eggs nothing happened. I drank more water than usual, and, without really meaning to (all that water) drank no wine and took no aspirine.

The second day I cut out eggs I noticed the rash receding. Even hot water provoked less of a reaction.

The third day, my skin is noticeably smoother. And, I realized with relief, I had slept through the night, uninterrupted by the need to scratch.

It might not be the eggs, it might be all the water I'm drinking. Or perhaps the fact that I've unintentionally reduced the wine. But, whatever it is, my skin is improving. And I'm hoping that, if I stay away from eggs for a little while longer, my skin will recover completely.


Submitted by Carol Dougall, New Jersey

health - menopause - skin - food - diet - allergies - over50 - women - health tips - living

Dining Etiquette for the 21st Century

A flurry of new books have hit the market promising to initiate the reader into the secrets of fine dining. Most of them are silly. Or obvious. Fork here. Elbow there. Don't talk and chew. Be clean. Yes. Here are FIVE TIPS for being a pleasant dining companion, whether in the fanciest restaurant or at home.

1) Don't talk on the phone.
This should be a no brainer. Sitting at the table carrying on a conversation with someone who is not there while ignoring your compagnons is worse than serving yourself mashed potatoes with your bare hands in our book. Yet a surprising number of people who view themselves as "civilized" will think nothing of receiving - or even making - telephone calls while sitting at the dinner table. RULE: if you must take a call, excuse yourself politely, get up, and go away. Do not come back until you are finished.

2) Put away the tablet/computer/video game and other attention grabbing electronic devices.
Even if they make no noise because you have earphones. It's simply rude.

3) Don't eat directly out of the serving dish. 
Put the food on your own plate with the serving spoon. And then, with your own fork, put it in your mouth.

4) Don't talk trash or call names. 
Even though every TV show talks constantly about human sex organs as proxys for courage, motherhood, masculinity, femininity, and just about every human emotion or situation, there's no reason for pottymouth at the dinner table. See if you can tell a funny joke without referring to a sexual organ. Make it a parlor game.

5) No screaming please.
Yes, the elections left more than half the country with PTSD. Yes, families disagree as ferociously as during the Civil War (though we had less weapons then). The dinner table is a time to come together, not stick forks into one another. If you can't talk politics politely, don't talk politics at all.

Bon appétit!!

about the author:
Geena Heart's Lifehacks for Over Fifty will be released in 2017.

The Time I Sent The Fish Back

"Is the cod fresh?"

The waitress, who is blonde and sweet and young, beams with pride. "Yes, of course it is," she says. "Just in this morning."
I order the cod. It arrives steaming hot, with perfect mound of mashed potatoes. I poke it with my fork. The fork sticks in it, quivering.
I lift it to my mouth, waiting for the flaky goodness to melt on my tongue. It does not melt. I chew. After concerted effort, it separates into stringy fibers. This is not fresh, unless fresh now means freshly defrosted.

What to do?

The girl looks so sweet. Somebody's daughter. A student maybe. Possibly waiting tables in order to pay for her degree in nuclear engineering.We are in New England. With clean salty ocean air only minutes away.

"Is the fish ok?" she asks. She looks worried. She should look worried. Still, I hesitate, not wanting to hurt her feelings. "If it's not," she adds, "you can have something else. It's really not a problem."

Remorse. The girl is dying with remorse. She knew the fish was frozen. But she lied about it. Now she wants to make amends.

"A salad," she suggests. "Would you like a salad? I'm really sorry about the fish."

"Thank you," I say, gratefully. Glad for the both of us.