Hunting and fishing quests for better health

By By Otha Barham / outdoors editor
June 14, 2002
Okay, I've had it, alright? Doctors have restricted my diet to the point that I will die of starvation before my time. Is it just me, or does everyone over 50 get a printed diet from every doctor they visit? Actually they aren't really diets, they are lists, interminable lists, of things not to eat. I have a whole filing system set up to catalog these lists of edibles that are not good for me.
As a result of my trip to the urologist last week, every single thing I like to eat has now appeared on my lists of forbidden foods. All that is left to deny me are the few remaining things I don't like anyway.
The foregoing complaining having been conveyed for effect, I must admit that upon combing over the lists of health-jeopardizing foods, I have so far managed to identify three things on this earth that I can eat without fear of dying soon and thus denying my doctors continued financial benefits. They are venison, fish and that breakfast cereal that consists of squares of toasted twigs that are pressed together into brittle blobs that float in your milk; milk that would support my cereal if I could have milk, which I can't, and that possibly could be swallowed with the addition of sugar if I could have sugar, which of course I can't.
The straw (appropriate word) that broke the back of my camel was the diet which my urologist produced last week when I asked if he was going to prescribe something to prevent my constant production of kidney stones. He smiled as he pulled out the sheet of forbidden foods from a file drawer. I looked. "Nuts?" I whined. "Must I give up nuts? I eat a handful in my cereal every morning and I like nuts!"
There's more
But on the way home, it occurred to me (belatedly as many obvious conclusions do these days it seems) that this list represented the only food groups that remained that were not already forbidden by other doctors! I began to laugh uncontrollably but nervously, and when I got home and checked the diet files, here is what I found.
The heart doctor says no fat meat, no butter, nothing fried, no avocados, no caffeine, no alcohol, nothing remotely related to any of these and no high-calorie anything. And if I should find the rare item I like that is not on the list, I must be sure not to put any salt on it lest it taste good.
The diabetes doctor took away the starches, sweets, even the tasty fruits, and all related foods – which are legion and formerly made up the bulk of my diet, (along with fat meat.) How I miss French fries, yeast rolls, pecan pie and Reese's peanut butter cups. I suffer in the absence of sweet tea and regular R.C. Colas.
Even my dentist joins the physicians' chorus against sweets. And my internal medicine doctor restricts my intake of cheese, a staple on every pizza, the food of kings. And now, vegetables are thrown out the window by the urologist!
Remaining morsels
So if I am to survive these assaults on my ravenous appetite for the rest of my physician-abbreviated life, what remains for my subsistence is the compressed dry twigs, venison and fish. Foregoing the twigs, what I have left is venison and fish.
But there lies a silver lining in this cloud of woe. I am taking these circumstances to be a sign from above that I am to spend more of my time hunting and fishing. Yes, I now see the deeper meaning of my early and continuing passion for the outdoors. Little did I know that my pre-teen urges to camp, fish and hunt, stimuli that have never left me, would one day be the road map to my well-being.
So I am combing over game and fish regulations from several states, other than those where I already hunt and fish, planning enough trips afield to be sure I have an adequate supply of nourishment to sustain good health. Packing food for these junkets will be simple. Deer jerky and canned tuna will have to carry me over if the game is uncooperative and the fish don't bite.