An Imbalance of Humours

Dearest Rachel –

This is something of a delicate topic of discussion, but it is rather the one unusual thing that’s been going on within me – quite literally – the last couple of days, so I’m going to try to tread as carefully as I can in describing the situation. I’m not going to come right out and say certain things, but I know that you would understand what I’m talking about in context, especially since this is a situation that you dealt with a lot more frequently than I did. Anyway, let me get on with it.

It may not be the first thing that comes to mind out of the blue, but I think that you’re familiar with Galen’s theory of the four humours; those various fluids and semi-fluids that course through the circulatory, digestive, and respiratory systems of the human body that supposedly regulate its entire function, even to the point of being the basis of a form of proto-psychology. Blood was the first of these fluids, and formed the basis of what was referred to as the sanguine temperament; this is where the concept of being “hot blooded” (and cold blooded, for that matter, although the former is more reflective of this temperament) comes from. To be sure, those considered sanguine were better characterized as being cheerful and extroverted. The truly hot blooded – which is to say, angry and violent – were those described as choleric; these were said to be this way, due to an excess of bile, which is still considered roughly equivalent to ‘venom’ in humans when speaking figuratively. The melancholic temperament is also based on a form of bile, but specifically black bile (you might recognize the first part of the word being the root of the term melanin, which is the chemical that determines the color of one’s skin), as opposed to the yellow bile predominant in the choleric. Those whose personalities are built on this form of bile have a tendency towards sadness and gloom – in a word, melancholy. And finally, those of the phlegmatic persuasion have an excessive amount of, well… phlegm. They tend to be easy-going and laid-back, but also lazy and easily pushed around.

It was generally held as received wisdom that any health issues with a patient had to do with an imbalance of these humours within them. As those that were in apparent short supply couldn’t feasibly be added to the body, those considered to be in excess were – as best they could, given the tools of the time – removed from the body. Bloodletting was a common treatment, as were various purgatives. I don’t know of, anyway, to reduce the amount of phlegm in one’s body; perhaps by the drinking of liquids, but the most common potable of the time, beer, would likely simply have added to the patient’s phlegmatic tendencies when consumed in quantity, so that was probably a no-go. Then again, apart from slothfulness, it’s possible that an phlegmatic temperament would be considered utterly unobjectional.

Anyway, that’s a quick rundown of the various humours and their corresponding temperaments that were considered to be medical gospel for over a millennia. For what it’s worth, I suppose it may partially explain why you made a point of carrying a water bottle with you wherever you went, and donated blood regularly – you seemed to be a combination of sanguine and phlegmatic in terms of temperament; perhaps you were unconsciously trying to reduce the impact of those particular humours? By contrast, you didn’t appear to need to get rid of black bile as often as I did – and still do; if a morning goes by without me doing so, I consider it cause for concern.

All of which brings me to the events of this week, and the situation I found myself in. Thursday morning had me up early, hitting the gym, which is outside of my normal weekly routine. However, since I was walking with Lars on Wednesday – and planning to meet him for a late lunch on Friday – I had to get my workouts in on the odd days, instead. Moreover, after working out and washing up, I headed directly to the convalescent home, to be with Dad, further scrambling what passes for my ‘usual’ routine. Really, I barely noticed what hadn’t been done that day; and the fact that I only ate a single meal that day (to make up for the fact that I had eaten three the day before) probably didn’t help. I think my body assumed that the calories that had been burned off weren’t being replaced, and decide to simply hang onto as much as it possibly could.

And now that I think about it, it probably wasn’t the wisest decision to make that single meal a sandwich, laden with several of my Christmas gifts – sausage and cheese, in particular – that I thought I should use while they were still at peak freshness. I’ve been told that cheese, in particular, has something of a… binding effect.

In any event, Friday morning came and went, without any indication that I was returning to my ‘usual’ morning routine. Now, I wasn’t in pain, or even uncomfortable, mind you – probably no more so than you ever were, which might’ve explained why you were always perplexed at my consternation when you would go several days without – but I was starting to get concerned. After all, the longer this went on, the more difficult (and, quite likely, the more painful) it would be to inevitably resolve the buildup of black bile. Additionally, this also left me feeling full on the very day Daniel and I would be joining Lars and his nephews for an all-you-can-eat Japanese shabu-shabu meal I had recommended to them (the boys, in particular, wanted to meet the robots).

Fortunately, that very fact proved to be a solution to my problem. You might remember that I’ve long had issues with undercooked beef; while I enjoy it rare, my body doesn’t appreciate it the way my palate does. Aside from the beef tartare I had in Basel (and no, I don’t know why it made an exception for that; if I did, I’d make a point of factoring that je ne sais quoi into every opportunity I’ve had to have my dishes cooked rare, or at least medium rare, ever since), it generally insists on moving such meat out of my system as quickly as possible. So, I got my tastiest meal in a long time out of the event and solved my problem involving this imbalance of humours at the same time. It isn’t often that things work out like this.

And now, things are back to normal; except now, I’m reluctant to step on a scale and find out I’ve ventured back over the two-thirty line. I think I’ll go back to my usual fasting routine over the weekend, and report back to you once everything’s stabilized.

Until then, honey, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck; I’m going to need it.