Brad and I spent four long hours at the clinic today. He got a peripheral line for IV antibiotics placed and guess who gets to try her hand at giving him a treatment tomorrow? I wish the answer were my sister, Jill, because she’s an RN with skillz.
(In fact, one day she noticed the drug she was about to administer was the wrong dosage, so she alerted the management at her clinic and saved lives. Well, I don’t know if it was a life or death situation, but in my mind Jill is always saving lives. Anyway, the clinic was so proud of her they took her picture and made a poster of her to hang in all their clinics in Bozeman as a reminder to other nurses to be diligent about checking meds and their dosage. Like I said, skillz. My sister is on a poster and that’s DELIGHTFUL. And my parents have a postcard version hanging on their fridge and that’s DOUBLE DELIGHTFUL.)
But alas, Jill lives in Montana so tomorrow at lunch, this girl–who is an editor by trade and whose closest contact with science is following the Curiosity Rover on Twitter–is going to give an IV. Pray it goes well and our nerves stay calm. Because we do have some nerves going into this. We’ve spent most of the past six years choosing treatments specifically to avoid exactly this treatment. Antibiotics are hard on the body; IV antibiotics come with a line that needs to stay sterile, two other medications to keep the line clean and protect a precious organ, and time away from work for both of us. Plus, sometimes we’re still a little heartsore that nutrition and other natural methods weren’t a miracle fix. We so wanted that and still firmly believe those steps haven’t been a waste. I mean, look at all the good that’s come from them: We’ve procured a Vitamix (and persuaded at least five of our friends to do the same)! I know how to fill capsules with powders! We eat liver almost once a week! Even in California, we’re some of the weird ones! And (and this can’t be discounted), I’ve been known to cut so much sugar from recipes that Brad has to ask me to add some back in. (!) (!!!!)
Since Brad has been allowed raw milk again, he’s had cravings for cereal. Guys, sometimes–like once every six weeks or so–we eat Panda Puffs. IT’S TRUE. I’M SORRY. We excuse it by saying it’s because neither of our moms are here to take care of us. So we eat cereal. Lately, I’ve been making granola to handle those cravings more responsibly. The first time I made granola (based on Megan Gordon’s Marge recipe), I cut the honey to barely 1/2 cup for a double recipe. My husband, who doesn’t do sugar, actually added more honey to his bowl. So this time, I added some of it back in. But not all of it. I don’t want to undo all the good work of the last six years.
based on Megan Gordon’s recipe on The Kitchn
makes roughly 8 cups
6 cups old-fashioned rolled oats (we found gluten-free oats at Trader Joe’s)
2 cups cashews, smashed into chunks
1/2 cup chia seeds
1 cup sprouted (or not) sunflower seeds
1/2 cup sprouted (or not) pumpkin seeds
2 teaspoons Himalayan pink salt
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon allspice
3/4 cup coconut oil
1/4 cup butter
3/4 cup honey
1-1/2 teaspoons vanilla
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.
Mix oats, cashews, seeds, salt, and spices in a large bowl. Heat the coconut oil, butter, and honey on low just until melted. Pour over the oat mixture, add vanilla and stir until completely incorporated.
Spread mixture onto two parchment-lined baking sheets. Please don’t forget to line your pans like I once did. MISERY. Bake for about 40 minutes, stirring every 15 minutes. Once the nuts start to blacken on the edges, take it out even if the oats in the center of the pan are still wet. They’ll crisp up (or they’ll get delightfully chewy and you will think you are the granola-making bomb).
If you like, stir in raisins or other dried fruit just before serving. Store in mason jars on top of the refrigerator because that’s what you have right now.
image: Earlier tonight, Brad was astonished and jealous that I can easily fit my hand completely into the jar to grab granola. Here, he demonstrates his frustration.