“Can I still have red velvet cake on my birthday?”

My new best friend, The Dietitian, knows a thing or two about what I should put inside my mouth. Six seconds into our meeting last week, which eventually lasted for over an hour, I knew I’d hit the jackpot. Hundreds of books, several degrees, and over a dozen certifications in medical nutrition may seem like overkill to people who get meal ideas from Anthony Bourdain, but I was thrilled.

I only take nutritional advice from registered, certified smartypants. If this lady was going to get inside my digestive system, she would have to be thin, healthy, and well-read. Let’s face it. I’m coming at her with Skinny Bitch in one hand, Prevention in the other and just enough information to be dangerous.

This particular dietitian liked my meal diary and seemed to enjoy my tales of victory over partially hydrogenated oils and high fructose corn syrup. When she asked about my knowledge regarding nutrition, I told her I did the opposite of whatever Paula Deen recommended and would seriously leave my husband for Dr. Andrew Weil.

She smiled.

“I’ve been lucky enough to work with Andy in the past. He’s terrific.”

How badass is that?

You might be asking yourself, “Kate, why is a skinny young thing like you visiting a dietitian?”

First of all, what’s your number?

Secondly, I’m not that young. Turning forty in November.

And recently, after several blood tests and rather intimate pokes and prods, my primary care physician determined that my health is most excellent except for an out-of-control immune system that 1) eats up platelets and 2) farts loser dust all over my thyroid.

That’s right. My platelets are disappearing faster than common sense at a Tea Bagger’s event. Right now, there are still enough platelets hanging around that I don’t need meds. But after my thyroid appeared to be as sluggish as my college friends and I once we discovered the magic of hydroponics, Doc wanted me on Synthroid.

“The last time I popped a pill without proper research, I spent two hours on my back and woke up nine months later with twin sons. This time, I want a second opinion.”

I gathered my lab results, checkbook, and a few recommendations before visiting this superstar dietitian. Researching online yields great information, but it’s also unnerving. Every woman is her own unique story. No one has the same cholesterol, protein levels, deficiencies and strengths. I wanted to find out, from an expert, what I needed to eat and what I needed to avoid. Food is medicine we put into our bodies every day and I thought maybe I should try to help myself before giving in to a lifelong relationship with medication.

Dietitian had some ideas. I thought for sure dead animals would be a part of it.

Not necessarily, she said.

She did recommend eggs, but otherwise believes my plant-based diet is superior for many reasons. I’ve been healthy and symptom-free and it probably has a lot to do with what I eat, what I don’t eat, and how I shake my groove-thing for at least a half-hour every day.

Her suggestion? Avoid gluten and soy.

I sighed, shook my head, and thought, “My poor mother.”

It took her fifteen years to get used to the “no meat” thing.

“Can you cut gluten and soy out of your diet for 3-4 weeks to see if it helps your thyroid work more effectively?” Dietitian asked.

“I’d swallow Glenn Beck’s semen if I thought it’d help me avoid pharmaceutical intervention.”

Dietitian did give a hesitant endorsement of certain fish (wild-caught as opposed to farmed), but she mostly stressed walnuts, legumes, almonds, cruciferous veggies, and fruits low on the glycemic index.

Combine this advice with regular doses of certain vitamins, minerals, and her advice seemed grounded in common sense, designed to help me live the healthiest life possible.

After two weeks of altering my diet, my TSH, and other important levels, came back normal. I’m going to stick with this plan and test again in about a month. I might end up taking meds sooner or later, but at least I’m improving my health and feeling better every day.

Helen Keller was right – whether we are talking about our country or our bodies – “I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something; And because I cannot do everything I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.”

Power to the people, bitches.

Always.