WASHINGTON (Reuters) Nov. 20 - People who get migraines have structural differences in their brains notably in the cortex area that processes pain and other sensory information from the body, scientists said on Monday.
The researchers, whose findings were published in the journal Neurology, said it is unclear whether these brain differences actually cause migraines or are themselves caused by these severe, recurrent headaches.
The researchers performed brain scans on 24 people who had a long history of frequent migraines - about four per month for 20 years - and 12 people who did not get migraines.
The somatosensory cortex - the area of the brain that detects sensations like pain, touch and temperature in various parts of the body - was 21 percent thicker in the people who got migraines compared to those who did not.
The biggest difference was in the part of the cortex responsible for processing sensory information from the head and face, Dr. Nouchine Hadjikhani of Massachusetts General Hospital, who led the study, said in a telephone interview.
Hadjikhani said the study illustrated the seriousness of the migraine. “It has to be taken seriously because it can induce changes in your brain,” she said.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Might be gettin' offa da dope
Been on "dope-a-max" since July.
August: Lost 6 lbs
November: Gained 4 lbs
No considerable weight loss IMHO to justify being on this for weight loss purposes.
The 24/7 lethargy is not a good trade off for the 1-2 debilitating migraines I was having per month.
When I see the neuro at the end of December, I'm going to consider getting off the junk.
I'm so ambivalent, I can hardly function.
Not so much ennui anymore, it's evolved into "Shititis." As in... I could give a shit-itis.
ReproEndo guy counselled me on Fatty Liver Syndrome and N.A.S.H. Trying to scare me straight to dump off the weight. Nutritionist... trainer... ya ya ya. I'm made of bucks, don'tchaknow.
I started taking spirulina tablets (on my own), and drinking a few glugs of a B-vitamin packed berry smoothie (non dairy) before leaving the house in the a.m., feebly attempting to get something natural in me.
The days I am "noncompliant" with the dopamax... I feel somewhat more human.
It's dragging me down, and I don't know how much more of this I can stand.
August: Lost 6 lbs
November: Gained 4 lbs
No considerable weight loss IMHO to justify being on this for weight loss purposes.
The 24/7 lethargy is not a good trade off for the 1-2 debilitating migraines I was having per month.
When I see the neuro at the end of December, I'm going to consider getting off the junk.
I'm so ambivalent, I can hardly function.
Not so much ennui anymore, it's evolved into "Shititis." As in... I could give a shit-itis.
ReproEndo guy counselled me on Fatty Liver Syndrome and N.A.S.H. Trying to scare me straight to dump off the weight. Nutritionist... trainer... ya ya ya. I'm made of bucks, don'tchaknow.
I started taking spirulina tablets (on my own), and drinking a few glugs of a B-vitamin packed berry smoothie (non dairy) before leaving the house in the a.m., feebly attempting to get something natural in me.
The days I am "noncompliant" with the dopamax... I feel somewhat more human.
It's dragging me down, and I don't know how much more of this I can stand.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Aftermath of Today's Visit w/The Specialist
I've been diagnosed as having Fatty Liver Syndrome. This is nothing new.
Today, my "ReproEndoGuy" discussed N.A.S.H. with me.
Blessed be the Google Gods...
A gf met me in the city after the visit with the specialist, and we went to Intimacy to get our bazongas properly sized (for years I have been wearing a 44C, when I should be wearing a 42E--when the gal who was sizing me helped me into the proper sized bra, I tell you the ANGELS SANG! I had to buy at least two bras to get myself started (not cheap), and when I go back to the specialist in February, I'll buy several more.
We then walked about 20 blocks to grab a bite to eat at Burger Heaven (I needed to drown my sorrows, post-specialist visit, with a burger-induced FoodGasm. Once we hit the 70s, I started chanting "Burger Heaven" over and over again--I lost track of where it was, thinking it was in the 80s-70s, NOT the 60s. My heel spurs are in agonizing pain at the moment as a result. But the burger was worth it. After our meal, we took a cab back to GCT, so we could take our respective trains home.
Not the best day in NYC, not the worst, but made considerably better because my gf was there to distract me from dwelling on the doctor's visit.
Today, my "ReproEndoGuy" discussed N.A.S.H. with me.
Blessed be the Google Gods...
Nonalcoholic steatohepatitis or NASH is a common, often “silent” liver disease. It resembles alcoholic liver disease, but occurs in people who drink little or no alcohol. The major feature in NASH is fat in the liver, along with inflammation and damage. Most people with NASH feel well and are not aware that they have a liver problem. Nevertheless, NASH can be severe and can lead to cirrhosis, in which the liver is permanently damaged and scarred and no longer able to work properly.
NASH affects 2 to 5 percent of Americans. An additional 10 to 20 percent of Americans have fat in their liver, but no inflammation or liver damage, a condition called “fatty liver.” Although having fat in the liver is not normal, by itself it probably causes little harm or permanent damage. If fat is suspected based on blood test results or scans of the liver, this problem is called *nonalcoholic fatty liver disease *(NAFLD). If a liver biopsy is performed in this case, it will show that some people have NASH while others have simple fatty liver.
Both NASH and NAFLD are becoming more common, possibly because of the greater number of Americans with obesity. In the past 10 years, the rate of obesity has doubled in adults and tripled in children. Obesity also contributes to diabetes and high blood cholesterol, which can further complicate the health of someone with NASH. Diabetes and high blood cholesterol are also becoming more common among Americans.
Click here for more information.
On a personal note, we're watching some of my enzymes for a bit, and he's not sending me in for a liver biopsy--yet.
Downnote: I gained four pounds.
Upnote: blood pressure is down to 125/70. Fabulous for this fat-ass.
He did recommend getting a personal trainer (I'm a "governmental" worker--where will I have the funds for that?), and a nutritionist. One of the last visits I had, he suggested getting those Zone meals delivered to my home ($$$); and then another suggestion was a recommendation that I attempt to make an appointment with Dr. Stephen Gullo, author of The Thin Commandments.
If I thought the Zone meals being delivered would be cost prohibitive, the fee to see Dr. Gullo indeed was beyond what my wallet would allow (sorry, I can't see taking out a personal loan to justify going to a doctor for this--if I were to spend that much money, I might as well go in for the gastric bypass surgery, at least I would know with some level of certainty what the results of that would be). And even if I *had* the funds for such an endeavor, the waiting list to get in to see Dr. Gullo was something like 6-12 months. Sorry, this is my health--not some vanity trip I'm on.
I go back in February.
A gf met me in the city after the visit with the specialist, and we went to Intimacy to get our bazongas properly sized (for years I have been wearing a 44C, when I should be wearing a 42E--when the gal who was sizing me helped me into the proper sized bra, I tell you the ANGELS SANG! I had to buy at least two bras to get myself started (not cheap), and when I go back to the specialist in February, I'll buy several more.
We then walked about 20 blocks to grab a bite to eat at Burger Heaven (I needed to drown my sorrows, post-specialist visit, with a burger-induced FoodGasm. Once we hit the 70s, I started chanting "Burger Heaven" over and over again--I lost track of where it was, thinking it was in the 80s-70s, NOT the 60s. My heel spurs are in agonizing pain at the moment as a result. But the burger was worth it. After our meal, we took a cab back to GCT, so we could take our respective trains home.
Not the best day in NYC, not the worst, but made considerably better because my gf was there to distract me from dwelling on the doctor's visit.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Wishing I Were Numb
Still processing... he called me a... "Fuck."
Is it *ever* appropriate for a husband to call his wife a "fuck?"
For the first time in my marriage I called him what I thought of him at that moment, "You fucking asshole."
Q: If the tears are still able to come after my "alleged loved one" calls me a "fuck," does that indicate that I am not completely dead inside?
And yet he gets indignant about how I don't want to exist anymore.
Is it *ever* appropriate for a husband to call his wife a "fuck?"
For the first time in my marriage I called him what I thought of him at that moment, "You fucking asshole."
Q: If the tears are still able to come after my "alleged loved one" calls me a "fuck," does that indicate that I am not completely dead inside?
And yet he gets indignant about how I don't want to exist anymore.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
A Week Before Specialist Visit--Doesn't Bode Well
That whole line of bullshit I was fed about topamax helping me to dump off a shitload of weight was just that... bullshit.
I hopped on my scale yesterday and didn't see a marked decrease in my gravitational pull.
All the sluggishness and fatigue I've felt, both mentally and physically have been for nothing...
However, I must admit I haven't had a debilitating migraine in months.
PS: Aunt Flow is coming due for a visit. Splendid! Better get compliant with my lexapro before the emotions get out of whack!
I hopped on my scale yesterday and didn't see a marked decrease in my gravitational pull.
All the sluggishness and fatigue I've felt, both mentally and physically have been for nothing...
However, I must admit I haven't had a debilitating migraine in months.
PS: Aunt Flow is coming due for a visit. Splendid! Better get compliant with my lexapro before the emotions get out of whack!
Friday, November 02, 2007
Tired of Being Tired
Tired of being tired.
Which is to say, I'm also tired of being "compliant."
I feel so un-refreshed, it's amazing I can function. Amazing how the brainstem continues plodding along, functioning when the rest of me feels like giving up physically.
It's not so much depression talking. I walk around feeling so fatigued, like something inside me is knotted up and blocked, preventing a flow of energy, I suppose oxygen. I feel like I am slowly choking, and alternately having the marrow in my bones slowly slurped out with a Crazy Straw.
No amount of sleep nor caffeine is changing this.
Last night and the night before, I cut back my topamax from 50 to 25, just to see if there will be a change. I'm not taking this for seizures, but for migraines, so I don't see the harm. The neuro wanted to try and cut me back last month, and I held out, thinking I haven't even started really benefitting from the "appetite suppression" aspect of it, so I figured I'd hold out a little while longer to see if I can dump off any more weight--since the ReproEndo guy wanted me on this for that exact reason, not for my migraines, even though that is why I went to the neuro in the first place.
My migraines were debilitating. I was losing not just a day or two of work a month due to them; I was losing a day or two of my life each month as a result. Being overweight might be debilitating in the long run, but not on this very tangible level.
So last night I rolled up a heating pad and stuck it in the nape of my neck, right where my "bulge" of my herniation is. I've spent far too much time doing transcription work and too much time farting around online. The heat took effect immediately. That "knot" I mentioned above shifted a littled.
So this morning I woke up in not-so-much-of-a-haze as I normally do, and spent the time it takes the husband to shower, tractioning my neck on my foam wedge for that purpose.
The result of all this?
My right eye isn't drooping like it was, and I feel like I am on the path back to the "Land of the Living," or some facsimile thereof.
I think.
But it wouldn't be the first time my judgement has sucked hairy hobo taint.
Which is to say, I'm also tired of being "compliant."
I feel so un-refreshed, it's amazing I can function. Amazing how the brainstem continues plodding along, functioning when the rest of me feels like giving up physically.
It's not so much depression talking. I walk around feeling so fatigued, like something inside me is knotted up and blocked, preventing a flow of energy, I suppose oxygen. I feel like I am slowly choking, and alternately having the marrow in my bones slowly slurped out with a Crazy Straw.
No amount of sleep nor caffeine is changing this.
Last night and the night before, I cut back my topamax from 50 to 25, just to see if there will be a change. I'm not taking this for seizures, but for migraines, so I don't see the harm. The neuro wanted to try and cut me back last month, and I held out, thinking I haven't even started really benefitting from the "appetite suppression" aspect of it, so I figured I'd hold out a little while longer to see if I can dump off any more weight--since the ReproEndo guy wanted me on this for that exact reason, not for my migraines, even though that is why I went to the neuro in the first place.
My migraines were debilitating. I was losing not just a day or two of work a month due to them; I was losing a day or two of my life each month as a result. Being overweight might be debilitating in the long run, but not on this very tangible level.
So last night I rolled up a heating pad and stuck it in the nape of my neck, right where my "bulge" of my herniation is. I've spent far too much time doing transcription work and too much time farting around online. The heat took effect immediately. That "knot" I mentioned above shifted a littled.
So this morning I woke up in not-so-much-of-a-haze as I normally do, and spent the time it takes the husband to shower, tractioning my neck on my foam wedge for that purpose.
The result of all this?
My right eye isn't drooping like it was, and I feel like I am on the path back to the "Land of the Living," or some facsimile thereof.
I think.
But it wouldn't be the first time my judgement has sucked hairy hobo taint.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Is This The Year My Cooter Needs An Overhaul?
Not only did the Vagina Whisperer shake my confidence I had in my ReproEndoGuy;
Not only did he leave me defeated by suggesting I was, in fact diabetic just by looking at my cooch;
Not only did he send me home last week with a scrip for some Diflucan and some antifungal vuvular cream;
This week?
Turns out on top of the yeasty-beasty, I've also got a case of bacterial vaginosis.
I think I need one of these... preach on, Sistah Wanda!
Not only did he leave me defeated by suggesting I was, in fact diabetic just by looking at my cooch;
Not only did he send me home last week with a scrip for some Diflucan and some antifungal vuvular cream;
This week?
Turns out on top of the yeasty-beasty, I've also got a case of bacterial vaginosis.
I think I need one of these... preach on, Sistah Wanda!
Monday, October 15, 2007
My Gynecologist: "The Vagina Whisperer"
There I sat, clammy and clothed in my uber-chic paper gown and drape, waiting entirely too long in the exam room; much as I waited entirely too long in the waiting room staring at pictures of babies, obviously happy additions to now happy families.
Each moment ticked by with me talking out loud to myself, about how the doctor is probably with a patient, a pregnant patient, obviously more important than fat, infertile me. It's not as if MY time has value. Too much free time, no reading material, no crochet to occupy me, and the emotional downward spiral was set.
As cheerful as my gyno is, he totally unravelled all confidence I have in my endo, who is a leading endo in the field of reproductive endo-stuff-ology.
The Vagina Whisperer thinks ReproEndoGuy is a "cowboy" who is overlooking simple stuff, even though in August he claimed I was out of the bracket for "pre-diabetes."
The Vagina Whisperer thinks I, in fact, AM pre-diabetic, if not actually DIABETIC, due to my near constant bouts with yeast.
And with that, I just couldn't hold it together a moment longer and sobbed.
And at this point, it's not even about the idea of not having a choice in the matter of my own fertility, or whether I will have a flesh and blood child of my own. It's about how very alone I am. How truly alone I am. Alone to struggle and flounder and fail, and rather than be "picked up" and comforted by my mate and made to feel as if "it's okay, we're together, we can get through anything," I'm made to feel as if I have failed once more.
Each moment ticked by with me talking out loud to myself, about how the doctor is probably with a patient, a pregnant patient, obviously more important than fat, infertile me. It's not as if MY time has value. Too much free time, no reading material, no crochet to occupy me, and the emotional downward spiral was set.
As cheerful as my gyno is, he totally unravelled all confidence I have in my endo, who is a leading endo in the field of reproductive endo-stuff-ology.
The Vagina Whisperer thinks ReproEndoGuy is a "cowboy" who is overlooking simple stuff, even though in August he claimed I was out of the bracket for "pre-diabetes."
The Vagina Whisperer thinks I, in fact, AM pre-diabetic, if not actually DIABETIC, due to my near constant bouts with yeast.
And with that, I just couldn't hold it together a moment longer and sobbed.
And at this point, it's not even about the idea of not having a choice in the matter of my own fertility, or whether I will have a flesh and blood child of my own. It's about how very alone I am. How truly alone I am. Alone to struggle and flounder and fail, and rather than be "picked up" and comforted by my mate and made to feel as if "it's okay, we're together, we can get through anything," I'm made to feel as if I have failed once more.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
This Won't Ever Exist For Me
Heaven/Where True Love Goes
(Yusuf)
The moment you walked inside my door
I knew that I need not look no more
I've seen many other souls before -- oh but,
Heaven must've programmed you
Themoment you fell inside my dreams
I realized all I had not seen
I've seen many other souls before -- oh but,
Heaven must've programmed you
The moment you said, "I will,"
I knew that this love was real.
And that my fate was sealed -- oh!
Heaven must've programmed you
The moment I looked into your eyes
I knew that they told no lies
There would be no goodbyes --
Ah, 'cause
Heaven must've programmed you
I go where True Love goes
I go where True Love goes...
(Yusuf)
The moment you walked inside my door
I knew that I need not look no more
I've seen many other souls before -- but,
Heaven must've programmed you
The moment you fell inside my dreams
I realised all I had not seen
I've seen many other souls before -- oh but,
Heaven must've programmed you
Oh, will you? Will you? Will you?
I go where True Love goes
I go where True Love goes
I go where True Love goes
I go where True Love goes
And if you walk alone and if you lose your way
Don't forget the One Who gave you this today
Follow True Love, follow True Love
Follow True Love, follow True Love
Oh, will you? Will you? Will you?
I go where True Love goes
I go where True Love goes
I go where True Love goes
I go where True Love goes
And if a storm should come
And if you face a wave
That may be the chance for you to be saved
And if you make it through the
trouble and the pain
That may be the time for you to know His name
I knew that I need not look no more
I've seen many other souls before -- but,
Heaven must've programmed you
The moment you fell inside my dreams
I realised all I had not seen
I've seen many other souls before -- oh but,
Heaven must've programmed you
Oh, will you? Will you? Will you?
I go where True Love goes
I go where True Love goes
I go where True Love goes
I go where True Love goes
And if you walk alone and if you lose your way
Don't forget the One Who gave you this today
Follow True Love, follow True Love
Follow True Love, follow True Love
Oh, will you? Will you? Will you?
I go where True Love goes
I go where True Love goes
I go where True Love goes
I go where True Love goes
And if a storm should come
And if you face a wave
That may be the chance for you to be saved
And if you make it through the
trouble and the pain
That may be the time for you to know His name
The moment you walked inside my door
I knew that I need not look no more
I've seen many other souls before -- oh but,
Heaven must've programmed you
Themoment you fell inside my dreams
I realized all I had not seen
I've seen many other souls before -- oh but,
Heaven must've programmed you
The moment you said, "I will,"
I knew that this love was real.
And that my fate was sealed -- oh!
Heaven must've programmed you
The moment I looked into your eyes
I knew that they told no lies
There would be no goodbyes --
Ah, 'cause
Heaven must've programmed you
I go where True Love goes
I go where True Love goes...
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
On Noncompliance.
What I refer to as "remiss" in taking my Lexapro every day, has a technical term: "noncompliant."
Up until last night I was about 2-3 days non-compliant.
Last night he "treated me" to dinner. So we drove out of our way. I'm famished. Muttering to myself, "holy fuck am I hungry" over and over (because he INSISTED on packing my lunch--of course too light in the calories for me, leaving me totally empty and my sugar bottoming out)... until he venomously flipped out as if I am nothing but a complaining gadfly, and it was like this surge of heat forming a fist from his tongue to my solar plexus. I could hardly park the car fast enough before I started sobbing uncontrollably.
Lately, all I am able to say to myself over and over again like those silly chanty things folks say to themselves when they get so overwrought they talk to themselves all snotted up and upset... I don't want to be married anymore.
He flips out about when I make a statement about how hungry I am, or if I'm exhausted... which I am constantly thanks to the topamax... imagine if I let loose.... I mean really let loose about all the injustices I've experienced in this life. The biggest one, I'm afraid, is being married to a man who doesn't love me unconditionally.
I don't know if he's capable of it actually.
If he's not I don't know what to think of that, either.
But I do know enough to realize it won't be solved with another husband.
The idea of cutting and running, cutting my losses and enjoying what is left of my life while I'm still young... I'm past the point of running.
I await death.
Up until last night I was about 2-3 days non-compliant.
Last night he "treated me" to dinner. So we drove out of our way. I'm famished. Muttering to myself, "holy fuck am I hungry" over and over (because he INSISTED on packing my lunch--of course too light in the calories for me, leaving me totally empty and my sugar bottoming out)... until he venomously flipped out as if I am nothing but a complaining gadfly, and it was like this surge of heat forming a fist from his tongue to my solar plexus. I could hardly park the car fast enough before I started sobbing uncontrollably.
Lately, all I am able to say to myself over and over again like those silly chanty things folks say to themselves when they get so overwrought they talk to themselves all snotted up and upset... I don't want to be married anymore.
He flips out about when I make a statement about how hungry I am, or if I'm exhausted... which I am constantly thanks to the topamax... imagine if I let loose.... I mean really let loose about all the injustices I've experienced in this life. The biggest one, I'm afraid, is being married to a man who doesn't love me unconditionally.
I don't know if he's capable of it actually.
If he's not I don't know what to think of that, either.
But I do know enough to realize it won't be solved with another husband.
The idea of cutting and running, cutting my losses and enjoying what is left of my life while I'm still young... I'm past the point of running.
I await death.
Monday, October 08, 2007
Still Here. Somewhat.
Haven't had my menses since June, as I started taking the Topamax for my migraines and my fat-itude in July.
From July until August, total poundage lost was 6. Uncertain of any subsequent loss since.
Sunday, menses returned with a vengeance. Of course, because I had a gynecologic appointment on Monday. Rescheduled for the following Monday. Let's see if it abates by then.
Not sure what the lapse in menstruation is a sign of. Any kind of medicinal tinkering and it throws my feminine parts into a tailspin.
Haven't been compliant with my Lexapro, been trying to see if I can get by just on the Topamax as the neuro claims it's good for mood (but it's not, it just fatigues me even more and weirds my mood out). Got into a fight with the husband today as he mindlessly took our dining room closet door off the track... again. That thing (the closet door) is an INSTANT fight starter. The EFFing thing is installed poorly, he refuses to indulge me in a pair of "pocket doors" which would eliminate this problem, as well as be another INVESTMENT in our home, I've got perspiration trickling down to my asscrack, him getting snotty with me, me getting huffy and slapping him, him insulting me, and all this is before I can even take my first cup of tea and my blood pressure pill for the day.
Me without Lexapro? Not a good thing. I went into my den, and sobbed and silently welped out the words, "I don't want to be married..." to myself, rocking myself, sobbing, saying it over and over until it was more like echolalia than actual thoughts, and then the condo manager appeared (to help install some duct work for our bathroom ventilation fan), and I didn't even disguise the fact I had been crying.
I'm almost to the point where wanting to shout how alone and abandoned I feel (emotionally) off the rooftops isn't *RIGHT THERE* in the forefront of every moment. But it's there in the background.
I smile.
I laugh.
I distract myself with friends and my hobbies.
But those who know me... and there aren't that many who truly DO know me, who have taken the time and have the fortitude and have the unconditional love to know me... they know otherwise.
And we smile.
And we laugh.
And we distract each other with our hobbies.
Because we know all too well what each other is going through, and know all too well we cannot take away each other's bag of sorrow and regret and pain.
We can only hold each other's hand...
Whether in thought or in deed
And hope for the very best.
And smile...
Was supposed to go get some blood work today and then the gyno.
That can wait til next week. I need a mental health WEEK this week; but I'll settle for one day... next Monday.
From July until August, total poundage lost was 6. Uncertain of any subsequent loss since.
Sunday, menses returned with a vengeance. Of course, because I had a gynecologic appointment on Monday. Rescheduled for the following Monday. Let's see if it abates by then.
Not sure what the lapse in menstruation is a sign of. Any kind of medicinal tinkering and it throws my feminine parts into a tailspin.
Haven't been compliant with my Lexapro, been trying to see if I can get by just on the Topamax as the neuro claims it's good for mood (but it's not, it just fatigues me even more and weirds my mood out). Got into a fight with the husband today as he mindlessly took our dining room closet door off the track... again. That thing (the closet door) is an INSTANT fight starter. The EFFing thing is installed poorly, he refuses to indulge me in a pair of "pocket doors" which would eliminate this problem, as well as be another INVESTMENT in our home, I've got perspiration trickling down to my asscrack, him getting snotty with me, me getting huffy and slapping him, him insulting me, and all this is before I can even take my first cup of tea and my blood pressure pill for the day.
Me without Lexapro? Not a good thing. I went into my den, and sobbed and silently welped out the words, "I don't want to be married..." to myself, rocking myself, sobbing, saying it over and over until it was more like echolalia than actual thoughts, and then the condo manager appeared (to help install some duct work for our bathroom ventilation fan), and I didn't even disguise the fact I had been crying.
I'm almost to the point where wanting to shout how alone and abandoned I feel (emotionally) off the rooftops isn't *RIGHT THERE* in the forefront of every moment. But it's there in the background.
I smile.
I laugh.
I distract myself with friends and my hobbies.
But those who know me... and there aren't that many who truly DO know me, who have taken the time and have the fortitude and have the unconditional love to know me... they know otherwise.
And we smile.
And we laugh.
And we distract each other with our hobbies.
Because we know all too well what each other is going through, and know all too well we cannot take away each other's bag of sorrow and regret and pain.
We can only hold each other's hand...
Whether in thought or in deed
And hope for the very best.
And smile...
Was supposed to go get some blood work today and then the gyno.
That can wait til next week. I need a mental health WEEK this week; but I'll settle for one day... next Monday.
Monday, September 10, 2007
For Jocularity, Go Elsewhere.
I don't know why it bothers me so much. Why it matters. *IT* of course being the notion of perimenopause, the notion of the polycystic ovarian syndrome, the notion of never having a choice in the matter of whether I would have had a flesh and blood family of my own. Adoption has been pooh-poohed by him. And the older I get, the less patience I have for things, the more I need to heal myself, and the more I am aware of how very little I have left to give a child... or anyone else. *IT* is all just so incredibly sad. So when one spiral happens, it unlocks that lock... and it all tumbles out, in an uncontrolled, never-ending, and never-comforted, deep seeded, primal wail, which eventually trails off to a noise that only dogs and aliens can decipher.
The rage over never having had a choice, and being oblivious of the point in my life when the option ceased being mine to make... *IF* it were ever mine to make in the first place.
Then the existentialist bullcrap kicks in over, who am I? Who am I supposed to be? If not a mother then who? What is the point of my existence? My purpose? Because at the moment, I vascillate between feeling like a life-support system for my cunt, and the rest of the time, I feel like a 260 pound shit, methane, and carbon dioxide making machine. Surely there is more to my existence than my carbon footprint, isn't there?
And here I sit, in a termite riddled wooden row boat, sans oars, adrift in a pea soup fog of sadness, tears, confusion, and very little else.
The rage over never having had a choice, and being oblivious of the point in my life when the option ceased being mine to make... *IF* it were ever mine to make in the first place.
Then the existentialist bullcrap kicks in over, who am I? Who am I supposed to be? If not a mother then who? What is the point of my existence? My purpose? Because at the moment, I vascillate between feeling like a life-support system for my cunt, and the rest of the time, I feel like a 260 pound shit, methane, and carbon dioxide making machine. Surely there is more to my existence than my carbon footprint, isn't there?
And here I sit, in a termite riddled wooden row boat, sans oars, adrift in a pea soup fog of sadness, tears, confusion, and very little else.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
Pharmacy Snafu Rectified
Current Dosing: 4 Met XR tabs in p.m. with dinner.
Menses Still MIA.
That is all.
Menses Still MIA.
That is all.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Monday, August 20, 2007
The Post-Specialist Post
Good News:
No shit.
- 6 lbs lost since starting Topamax over a month ago.
- BP: 117/70 [Last: 138/80].
- Hemoglobin A1C: 5.5 [Non Diabetics <6.0%]>
- Cortisol, total serum: "In range," 11.3
- LDL Cholesterol: "In range," 122 [<130>
- HDL Cholesterol: 34, "Low," [>/=40 mg/dL]
- T4, total (Thyroid Function): "In Range," 8.5 [4.5-12.0 ug/dL]
- Menses still MIA. [Though starting to spot 8/24]
- Glusose, fasting: 108, "High," [65-99 mg/dL]
- Insulin, serum: 22 [ <17>
- Uric Acid still elevated. [9.7; Range: 2.5-7.0 mg/dL]; Still concerned about possibility of Gout.
- Fatty Liver Syndrome still a concern:
Triglycerides: 238 [<150 mg/dL]
AST: 55 [10-30 U/L]
ALT: 114 [6-40 U/L] - Discussed "gravel" stones in Gall Bladder.
- Double up on Tricor.
- Continue taking Topamax for migraines and hoping for best with appetite suppression.
- Follow up w/Neuro re: Topamax [might increase due to mild breakthrough headaches].
- Gradually switch to Metformin XR, since my evening ones are appearing in morning stoolage.
No shit.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Now, A Rant.
Hey asshole:
So yeah, we were rolling around, playfully on the bed tonight. And holy shit you had a huge boner. And yeah, I thought about letting you roger me with it.
But you kept yammering.
I was still willing to "take one for the team," and let you slap a jimmy on and hit it with some lube and just whale away on my hole, doggy style, as you always want it. Doggy style. It could be any anonymous twat being offered up for you to pump away for all of what... five minutes, and at the end you act as if you did me some great favor.
But you kept yammering.[about how you need foreplay too, when I said I needed it, that I needed to get warmed up; yet there you were, fully engorged, and ready to go]
If it's at all possible, I could feel the membranes of my vagina dehydrate as you reminded me of how when we got married I foolishly said how I'd never "deny you love." All I wanted tonight was a definition of what you thought "love" was. Apparently it's: penis inserted in vagina until it emits a viscous load. Funny thing is, way back in the day when I foolishly said I'd never "deny you love," you were still somewhat interested in whether or not I achieved an orgasm, or at the very least, if sex was somewhat satisfying for me. Luckily for me we live in the electronic age, and I've got Billie Bob... my back massager, who I might add, does not yammer.
NOT.
ONE.
WHIT.
So, with that being said, as you came in here, and interrupted me pecking out this rant to "request" access to my squish mitten, only didn't even sweet talk me, I believe the term was, "I want to stick it in," was met with me admonishing you with, "Hey, you had your chance. I was going to take one for the team, but you wouldn't shut the fuck up," and you said that you were going to stick it no matter what...
Newsflash...
I'm going to sleep tonight with an old fashioned, spring-loaded mouse trap.
We'll see who's laughing in the morning... or on the ride to the emergency room.
WHICHEVER COMES FIRST.
Signed,
Underfucked & Overfrustrated
PS: I took Friday off for a long birthday weekend--and I think the first gift I'll give myself will be the best multiple orgasm that alternating current can provide. He who laughs last, laughs best... and has the best orgasm. Try to top that!
------------------------------------------------------------
This is devastating to me actually. Always been a very affectionate and very sexual person... for my sex life to suck so royally... it's like a little piece of me dies every day. And the way he talks to me... and despite me being as blunt as blunt can be... I cannot for the life of me convey to him what his words and actions do to me.
Honestly, I sit at my desk and simply make a prayer "I don't want to be here anymore." I say this everyday. And by here, I mean existing... AT ALL. The deep dark nothingness that awaits after my last breath has got to be a lot more peaceful than this.
In my first marriage, which had its own set of faults and flaws, I never sat down and analyzed every little transgression, every little hurt word; and yet, in this marriage, I analyze everything, and see a pattern of verbal and emotional abuse, which in hindsight parallels the abuse and feelings of being unwanted that I suppressed or disregarded in my first marriage.
And I am so impotent, flailing about, crying on the inside, feeling trapped, and unloved...
Only this time, I'm five days shy of 39 years of age, by all accounts an old woman
A fat, polycystic, possibly infertile/perimenopausal, old woman, whose husband only views her as nothing more than a burden half the time, and the other half the time, a life support system for a glory hole.
So yeah, we were rolling around, playfully on the bed tonight. And holy shit you had a huge boner. And yeah, I thought about letting you roger me with it.
But you kept yammering.
I was still willing to "take one for the team," and let you slap a jimmy on and hit it with some lube and just whale away on my hole, doggy style, as you always want it. Doggy style. It could be any anonymous twat being offered up for you to pump away for all of what... five minutes, and at the end you act as if you did me some great favor.
But you kept yammering.[about how you need foreplay too, when I said I needed it, that I needed to get warmed up; yet there you were, fully engorged, and ready to go]
If it's at all possible, I could feel the membranes of my vagina dehydrate as you reminded me of how when we got married I foolishly said how I'd never "deny you love." All I wanted tonight was a definition of what you thought "love" was. Apparently it's: penis inserted in vagina until it emits a viscous load. Funny thing is, way back in the day when I foolishly said I'd never "deny you love," you were still somewhat interested in whether or not I achieved an orgasm, or at the very least, if sex was somewhat satisfying for me. Luckily for me we live in the electronic age, and I've got Billie Bob... my back massager, who I might add, does not yammer.
NOT.
ONE.
WHIT.
So, with that being said, as you came in here, and interrupted me pecking out this rant to "request" access to my squish mitten, only didn't even sweet talk me, I believe the term was, "I want to stick it in," was met with me admonishing you with, "Hey, you had your chance. I was going to take one for the team, but you wouldn't shut the fuck up," and you said that you were going to stick it no matter what...
Newsflash...
I'm going to sleep tonight with an old fashioned, spring-loaded mouse trap.
We'll see who's laughing in the morning... or on the ride to the emergency room.
WHICHEVER COMES FIRST.
Signed,
Underfucked & Overfrustrated
PS: I took Friday off for a long birthday weekend--and I think the first gift I'll give myself will be the best multiple orgasm that alternating current can provide. He who laughs last, laughs best... and has the best orgasm. Try to top that!
------------------------------------------------------------
This is devastating to me actually. Always been a very affectionate and very sexual person... for my sex life to suck so royally... it's like a little piece of me dies every day. And the way he talks to me... and despite me being as blunt as blunt can be... I cannot for the life of me convey to him what his words and actions do to me.
Honestly, I sit at my desk and simply make a prayer "I don't want to be here anymore." I say this everyday. And by here, I mean existing... AT ALL. The deep dark nothingness that awaits after my last breath has got to be a lot more peaceful than this.
In my first marriage, which had its own set of faults and flaws, I never sat down and analyzed every little transgression, every little hurt word; and yet, in this marriage, I analyze everything, and see a pattern of verbal and emotional abuse, which in hindsight parallels the abuse and feelings of being unwanted that I suppressed or disregarded in my first marriage.
And I am so impotent, flailing about, crying on the inside, feeling trapped, and unloved...
Only this time, I'm five days shy of 39 years of age, by all accounts an old woman
A fat, polycystic, possibly infertile/perimenopausal, old woman, whose husband only views her as nothing more than a burden half the time, and the other half the time, a life support system for a glory hole.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Friday, August 03, 2007
Hate to say it...
But despite his best intentions to the contrary, my husband is the "trigger" for most of my depression related outbursts and sobbing episodes. And rather than listen to me when I speak, he zones me out.
Lucky for me I have very sharp knives, because tonight when he refused to stop pestering me while I was cutting some chicken, I cut about 1/8 of my fingernail off, right out of the nail bed, a whisper more keratin more, and it would have exposed all the nerves under the finger nail.
I sobbed that I'm empty and that I want to die. And he just doesn't get me at all. He comes in all kissy kissy thinking that he can cute his way out of anything, and when I am still a quivering mass of tears and sobbing and wailing in a primal way, unresponsive, he then gets indignant, when all is required is a sincere, "I'm sorry," and just holding me, rocking me, in silence.
Lucky for me I have very sharp knives, because tonight when he refused to stop pestering me while I was cutting some chicken, I cut about 1/8 of my fingernail off, right out of the nail bed, a whisper more keratin more, and it would have exposed all the nerves under the finger nail.
I sobbed that I'm empty and that I want to die. And he just doesn't get me at all. He comes in all kissy kissy thinking that he can cute his way out of anything, and when I am still a quivering mass of tears and sobbing and wailing in a primal way, unresponsive, he then gets indignant, when all is required is a sincere, "I'm sorry," and just holding me, rocking me, in silence.
Souvenirs From The Blogathon...
Here are some posts I posted at my other blog to raise awareness of PCOS. I'm dismantling the blogathon portion of my other blog, as this is something very personal, and not everyone knows of my PCOS blog, so I figure I'll just slap all the posts herein... hopefully everything will travel well from one blog to the other. If not, I'm ambivalent at this point, as I doubt if anyone truly reads this blog anyway.
#44: Think You Have PCOS? Get These Two Books!
#43: Where We Left Off In Post # 32 -- Another Pictorial
1987-1988?
2007:
Tipping in at "two and a half bucks... and then some."
#41: Feelings That Seem To Come Out of No Where
A few days ago, out of the blue, I came to discover that a close friend is pregnant for the second time in as many years. And though I am happy for her, abundantly happy for her, and though it has absolutely nothing to do with me, I cannot help but feel defective.
Reproduction was always something I took for granted; as a teen I always worried I'd get pregnant. Little did I know how very moot that would be, thanks to PCOS.
Next month, I'll be 39, and from my point of view, I'm burnin' daylight on my ovaries from a reproductive standpoint.
Will I end up being my generation's "Odd Aunt Out" who never had a child of her own?
At times I kid myself into a false sense of ambivalence (or is it?), thinking "If it happens, it happens," and all those other things folks tell themselves to prevent themselves from going into a full on melt down.
The one thing in this life that I am fairly certain I would be talented at, is being a mom.
Given my situation, and another health situation unrelated to PCOS, which would no doubt prevent me from using fertility drugs etc, the notion of IVF is nothing more than a pipe dream, and even if it were an option, I would not open myself up to the possibility of that heartbreak.
So it is with a head full of this type of stuff this week... and then I received an email from the Maharajah informing me he booked our big vacation for next year, another cruise. This time: the Mediterranean.
And not-so-suddenly the thoughts of those tears I was going to shed for those babies that I haven't had yet, dried up. And in its place are thoughts of Barcelona and Rome and Nice, and miniature sandwiches, and Vatican City, and excursions...
#35: Increasing Your Word Power: "Omentum"
[Greater] Omentum: is a large fold of peritoneum that hangs down from the stomach, and extends from the stomach to the transverse colon.
[ED: Mind you, this is not to be confused with a Pannus.]
Check out this link to "The Biology of Blubber" over at Oprah's site. Fabulously informative!
#30: Where We Left Off In Post #23 -- Maintaining My Weight & Potentially Destroying My Epiglotis... Two Fingers At A Time...
Oh I discovered the purge aspect of bulemia very appealing. My family seemed either incapable or unwilling to get me the help I needed, but hell, I was out of control at that point. At one point my mother claimed she was going to send me to a shrink, and I blasted her back (me, age 16) telling her I'd go only if she herself went, too. At this stage in the game, I'm sure she'd deny that conversation ever took place.
And for one reason or another, I found myself as a senior in high school, with zero prospects, zero possibility of college (I've blogged extensively about this--I'm too lazy to search and hyperlink at the moment), and the military was the only other option for a middle class girl like me.
My moment of reckoning regarding my bulemia? I was in the barracks for one reason or another after being at the mess hall, and I thought I was alone, and took advantage of having the latrine all to myself instead of having 30 or so women buzzing about, and I unleashed for the first time in four weeks, only for my squad leader to find me, emerging from the stall, wiping the vomit from my face; and asking me if I was okay.
My eyes were sunken, my skin was sallow, and when I returned home after my Basic and Advanced Training, that would be the last I'd see of a size 10.
At the time, I was struggling to keep my weight under 125
The weight started its ascent, and nothing from my bag of tricks worked anymore, and perhaps it was at this point my PCOS started to assert itself with a vengeance.
[To be continued...]
#23: Where We Left Off In Post #17 -- "The Metamorphosis"
Eighth grade portrait, taken beginning of year
I was one desperate thirteen year old, and I had been screaming for help it seemed forever. Funny, when you're a kid... two years can seem like forever.
As I alluded in post #17, junior high was torturous unto itself: cruel girls, eand even crueler boys. I did not "fit in" anywhere. Harrassed at every turn. Homelife could best be described as "chaotic" and disconnected. As a result for two of the three years in junior high, I ended up in remedial reading and math. I just lacked motivation and focus. Pretty hard to be motivated and focused when all you want to do is simply not exist.
If there were a diet out there, I tried it, and did so in private. No one in my family knew what I was doing until or unless someone saw me exercising, but all the internal number crunching, and eventual destructive behaviors... not until later.
I pilfered my mother's AYDS Appetite suppressing caramel chews and her Cambridge shake powders. Eventually I hit a plateau.
This was 1981, and Richard Simmons had a great t.v. show. Part talk show, part cooking healthy, and exercise. I watched it, regardless of what time it came on, even if that meant waking up at 4 a.m., to do so.
I became obsessed with exercise, and kept a little notebook with me, keeping track of every calorie consumed, and by extension, every calorie burned.
I ran. I biked. I jumping jacked. I sat up. Aerobics. You name it.
I eventually got to the point where I was weighing myself at the nurse's office at the junior high school every day, because I thought that scale was more accurate than the piece of shit scale we had at home.
The nurse never thought to tell my mother of this obsessive behavior.
Another plateau...
Then Dexatrim! Way back in the days when it had the "good stuff" in it. I'd go to school like a zombie, still don't know how I functioned, but I did.
Then laxatives!
And lastly, when I hit that one final plateau before the end of the school year, I had this brilliant idea: "I wonder if I could lose weight if I vomit after eating..."
I can remember coming home from church one day, during my freshman year, and catching hell from my mother, because some ol' blue haired biddy confronted her about my response to the query, "How are you losing so much weight?" Apparently, no one took the reply, "I'm killing myself," seriously.
From the middle of my eighth grade year until September when I started my freshman year I went from 160 pounds to 109.
Lord only knows what kind of damage I was doing to all of my systems back then, and what consequences of those actions I am dealing with today...
Junior prom portrait
#17: Where We Left Off In Post #7
To be honest, I didn't think I was all that fat to begin with, yet junior high was hell for me. On the surface I've always been a very vivacious, gregarious person, but at my heart beats a sensitive soul. And every day for three years of junior high was just torture.
And regarding "that which soon flowed" soon thereafter that summer," click here.
In stark contrast it made the traditional garbage of a freshman year in high school to be a cakewalk in comparison... but only after the metamorphosis took place, and it started in the middle of my eighth grade year.
#16: Mind If I Check Under the Hood?
For those folks reading this for themselves, or perhaps a loved one in mind, be forewarned, modesty goes out the window after a while.
So when I say they'll need to check under the hood, I don't mean the family mini van. Unfortunately. Oh no!
It is precisely what you think it means, checking under the clitoral hood, to rule out pheochromocytoma (see previous post for definition).
For women who have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome who also have high blood pressure and also have elevated levels of DHEA, a good way to detect if something is wrong with your adrenals is an examination of your clitoris. DO NOT ASK ME WHY. I DID NOT CREATE THE HUMAN BODY. But through some mystery the clitoris and the adrenals are somehow related, and can tell the endocrinologist a bit of information about your adrenals when a full blood test/panel is unavailable.
Just make sure that whomever is performing this exam is board certified and has a nurse or physicians assistant in the room with you, and has warm hands, and I think you'll be alright!
#11: PCOS NOT So Fun Fact -- Hypertension
On top of all of the prodding and poking and scoping and lab work involved in the proper dianosis and management for Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, one also needs to have a good head for facts, a good notebook or at the very least be a savvy Google-r.
As someone being treated with this disorder, I know that every day that elapses and it is left UNTREATED, it causes cellular damage. Being fat is simply and cosmetically the most superficial and obvious of the problems.
Some (I don't know if most) women who have this have hypertension, and as a result you have to discuss with your physician what is the right course of action. I only know what worked best for me.
I went to my reproductive-endocrinologist, who suggested I go on an ACE inhibitor type of blood pressure pill. I've heard the terms before: Ace inhibitor; calcium blocker; beta blocker; however, I never knew what they meant, other than having a suspicion as to they react differently with each person?
I went back to my standard endocrinologist to write the scrip for my blood pressure pills and refused.
I then went to my internist with the idea of switching me to an Ace inhibitor. My internist is a great doc, who doesn't view me as "Just an HMO number," and truly listened to me, as he knows I do my homework, and wanted to know what I researched.
I came up with two different scenarios:
He went with the later of the two. Aldactone is something they tend not to give women if they suspect they might end up getting pregnant, out of a concern for the fetus. However, much is written about its therapeutic benefits, how it is a potassium sparing diuretic, and how it is great for suppressing certain androgens in women with PCOS.
All I know is after several months of amenorrhea, I was back on schedule again. I never went back to my regular endocrinologist again, and my reproductive-endocrinologist is now working hand-in-hand with my internist as my primary healthcare provider.
#7: Diana Prince's Alter Ego Compells Me To Share This
Found this artwork over at: BBWW: The Fat Wonder Woman Blog.
The blog does a fantastic job of being a collection/clearinghouse of creativity
as it pertains to artistic renderings of an icon for many of us, Wonder Woman.
In many instances, the versions represented on Jamar's blog
are colorful and voluptuous. You can tell that
the artists had fun with the subject matter,
whether it be Wonder Woman specifically
or conceptualizing her as round-bodied.
And yet, no less powerful.
However, as a child in the late 1970s, Wonder Woman, to me, will always be
the version portrayed by Linda Carter.
#44: Think You Have PCOS? Get These Two Books!
Great wealth of information to be had in these two books!
The first book is written by one of the leading experts in the PCOS field; and the second is a great book written about an approach towards healthier eating, as it relates to the Glyemic Index.
I highly recommend both.
The first book is written by one of the leading experts in the PCOS field; and the second is a great book written about an approach towards healthier eating, as it relates to the Glyemic Index.
I highly recommend both.
#43: Where We Left Off In Post # 32 -- Another Pictorial
From this...
1987-1988?
Weight: Roughly 175
2007:
Tipping in at "two and a half bucks... and then some."
#41: Feelings That Seem To Come Out of No Where
A few days ago, out of the blue, I came to discover that a close friend is pregnant for the second time in as many years. And though I am happy for her, abundantly happy for her, and though it has absolutely nothing to do with me, I cannot help but feel defective.Reproduction was always something I took for granted; as a teen I always worried I'd get pregnant. Little did I know how very moot that would be, thanks to PCOS.
Next month, I'll be 39, and from my point of view, I'm burnin' daylight on my ovaries from a reproductive standpoint.
Will I end up being my generation's "Odd Aunt Out" who never had a child of her own?
At times I kid myself into a false sense of ambivalence (or is it?), thinking "If it happens, it happens," and all those other things folks tell themselves to prevent themselves from going into a full on melt down.
The one thing in this life that I am fairly certain I would be talented at, is being a mom.
Given my situation, and another health situation unrelated to PCOS, which would no doubt prevent me from using fertility drugs etc, the notion of IVF is nothing more than a pipe dream, and even if it were an option, I would not open myself up to the possibility of that heartbreak.
So it is with a head full of this type of stuff this week... and then I received an email from the Maharajah informing me he booked our big vacation for next year, another cruise. This time: the Mediterranean.
And not-so-suddenly the thoughts of those tears I was going to shed for those babies that I haven't had yet, dried up. And in its place are thoughts of Barcelona and Rome and Nice, and miniature sandwiches, and Vatican City, and excursions...
#35: Increasing Your Word Power: "Omentum"
[Greater] Omentum: is a large fold of peritoneum that hangs down from the stomach, and extends from the stomach to the transverse colon.
[ED: Mind you, this is not to be confused with a Pannus.]
Check out this link to "The Biology of Blubber" over at Oprah's site. Fabulously informative!
#30: Where We Left Off In Post #23 -- Maintaining My Weight & Potentially Destroying My Epiglotis... Two Fingers At A Time...
Junior Prom Portrait
Weight: 109
Oh I discovered the purge aspect of bulemia very appealing. My family seemed either incapable or unwilling to get me the help I needed, but hell, I was out of control at that point. At one point my mother claimed she was going to send me to a shrink, and I blasted her back (me, age 16) telling her I'd go only if she herself went, too. At this stage in the game, I'm sure she'd deny that conversation ever took place.
And for one reason or another, I found myself as a senior in high school, with zero prospects, zero possibility of college (I've blogged extensively about this--I'm too lazy to search and hyperlink at the moment), and the military was the only other option for a middle class girl like me.
My moment of reckoning regarding my bulemia? I was in the barracks for one reason or another after being at the mess hall, and I thought I was alone, and took advantage of having the latrine all to myself instead of having 30 or so women buzzing about, and I unleashed for the first time in four weeks, only for my squad leader to find me, emerging from the stall, wiping the vomit from my face; and asking me if I was okay.
My eyes were sunken, my skin was sallow, and when I returned home after my Basic and Advanced Training, that would be the last I'd see of a size 10.
At the time, I was struggling to keep my weight under 125
The weight started its ascent, and nothing from my bag of tricks worked anymore, and perhaps it was at this point my PCOS started to assert itself with a vengeance.
[To be continued...]
#23: Where We Left Off In Post #17 -- "The Metamorphosis"
Eighth grade portrait, taken beginning of yearWeight: 160
Most anorexics don't set out with that as a goal. Usually it manifests itself out of desperation; as an outward sign that they're in denial. Denial that they are in control.I was one desperate thirteen year old, and I had been screaming for help it seemed forever. Funny, when you're a kid... two years can seem like forever.
As I alluded in post #17, junior high was torturous unto itself: cruel girls, eand even crueler boys. I did not "fit in" anywhere. Harrassed at every turn. Homelife could best be described as "chaotic" and disconnected. As a result for two of the three years in junior high, I ended up in remedial reading and math. I just lacked motivation and focus. Pretty hard to be motivated and focused when all you want to do is simply not exist.
If there were a diet out there, I tried it, and did so in private. No one in my family knew what I was doing until or unless someone saw me exercising, but all the internal number crunching, and eventual destructive behaviors... not until later.
I pilfered my mother's AYDS Appetite suppressing caramel chews and her Cambridge shake powders. Eventually I hit a plateau.
This was 1981, and Richard Simmons had a great t.v. show. Part talk show, part cooking healthy, and exercise. I watched it, regardless of what time it came on, even if that meant waking up at 4 a.m., to do so.
I became obsessed with exercise, and kept a little notebook with me, keeping track of every calorie consumed, and by extension, every calorie burned.
I ran. I biked. I jumping jacked. I sat up. Aerobics. You name it.
I eventually got to the point where I was weighing myself at the nurse's office at the junior high school every day, because I thought that scale was more accurate than the piece of shit scale we had at home.
The nurse never thought to tell my mother of this obsessive behavior.
Another plateau...
Then Dexatrim! Way back in the days when it had the "good stuff" in it. I'd go to school like a zombie, still don't know how I functioned, but I did.
Then laxatives!
And lastly, when I hit that one final plateau before the end of the school year, I had this brilliant idea: "I wonder if I could lose weight if I vomit after eating..."
I can remember coming home from church one day, during my freshman year, and catching hell from my mother, because some ol' blue haired biddy confronted her about my response to the query, "How are you losing so much weight?" Apparently, no one took the reply, "I'm killing myself," seriously.
From the middle of my eighth grade year until September when I started my freshman year I went from 160 pounds to 109.
Lord only knows what kind of damage I was doing to all of my systems back then, and what consequences of those actions I am dealing with today...
Three years later...
Junior prom portraitWeight: 109
Noteworthiness: I could count my ribs
[To be continued...]
Noteworthiness: I could count my ribs
[To be continued...]
#17: Where We Left Off In Post #7
To be honest, I didn't think I was all that fat to begin with, yet junior high was hell for me. On the surface I've always been a very vivacious, gregarious person, but at my heart beats a sensitive soul. And every day for three years of junior high was just torture.And regarding "that which soon flowed" soon thereafter that summer," click here.
In stark contrast it made the traditional garbage of a freshman year in high school to be a cakewalk in comparison... but only after the metamorphosis took place, and it started in the middle of my eighth grade year.
[To be continued...]
Eighth grade portrait, taken beginning of year
Weight: 160
Weight: 160
#16: Mind If I Check Under the Hood?
For those folks reading this for themselves, or perhaps a loved one in mind, be forewarned, modesty goes out the window after a while.So when I say they'll need to check under the hood, I don't mean the family mini van. Unfortunately. Oh no!
It is precisely what you think it means, checking under the clitoral hood, to rule out pheochromocytoma (see previous post for definition).
For women who have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome who also have high blood pressure and also have elevated levels of DHEA, a good way to detect if something is wrong with your adrenals is an examination of your clitoris. DO NOT ASK ME WHY. I DID NOT CREATE THE HUMAN BODY. But through some mystery the clitoris and the adrenals are somehow related, and can tell the endocrinologist a bit of information about your adrenals when a full blood test/panel is unavailable.
Just make sure that whomever is performing this exam is board certified and has a nurse or physicians assistant in the room with you, and has warm hands, and I think you'll be alright!
#11: PCOS NOT So Fun Fact -- Hypertension
On top of all of the prodding and poking and scoping and lab work involved in the proper dianosis and management for Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, one also needs to have a good head for facts, a good notebook or at the very least be a savvy Google-r.As someone being treated with this disorder, I know that every day that elapses and it is left UNTREATED, it causes cellular damage. Being fat is simply and cosmetically the most superficial and obvious of the problems.
Some (I don't know if most) women who have this have hypertension, and as a result you have to discuss with your physician what is the right course of action. I only know what worked best for me.
I went to my reproductive-endocrinologist, who suggested I go on an ACE inhibitor type of blood pressure pill. I've heard the terms before: Ace inhibitor; calcium blocker; beta blocker; however, I never knew what they meant, other than having a suspicion as to they react differently with each person?
I went back to my standard endocrinologist to write the scrip for my blood pressure pills and refused.
I then went to my internist with the idea of switching me to an Ace inhibitor. My internist is a great doc, who doesn't view me as "Just an HMO number," and truly listened to me, as he knows I do my homework, and wanted to know what I researched.
I came up with two different scenarios:
Quinapril with a separate diuretic such as spironolactone (aka "Aldactone")
OR
Quinaretic (which is a combination Ace inhibitor antihypertensive & diuretic tablet)
He went with the later of the two. Aldactone is something they tend not to give women if they suspect they might end up getting pregnant, out of a concern for the fetus. However, much is written about its therapeutic benefits, how it is a potassium sparing diuretic, and how it is great for suppressing certain androgens in women with PCOS.
All I know is after several months of amenorrhea, I was back on schedule again. I never went back to my regular endocrinologist again, and my reproductive-endocrinologist is now working hand-in-hand with my internist as my primary healthcare provider.
#7: Diana Prince's Alter Ego Compells Me To Share This
Found this artwork over at: BBWW: The Fat Wonder Woman Blog.
The blog does a fantastic job of being a collection/clearinghouse of creativity
as it pertains to artistic renderings of an icon for many of us, Wonder Woman.
In many instances, the versions represented on Jamar's blog
are colorful and voluptuous. You can tell that
the artists had fun with the subject matter,
whether it be Wonder Woman specifically
or conceptualizing her as round-bodied.
And yet, no less powerful.
However, as a child in the late 1970s, Wonder Woman, to me, will always be
the version portrayed by Linda Carter.
Underoos?
Remember them?
"Underwear that's fun to wear?"
They even had a line of swimwear.
And yes, I had a Wonder Woman bathing suit,
as I just about lived in the swimming pool that summer.
But how does any of this relate?
Wonder Woman?
The bathing suit?
That summer?
How does any of it relate to PCOS?
It's important because everything else that *ahem!* flowed sometime soon after that summer, changed everything, and set forth my hormones on the slow acting avalanche I am dealing with today, 27 years later.
Last picture of me before "hormone hell"
took over, and before a lifetime of
dieting & eating disorders took over my
adolescence & early adulthood.
On the demise of my Wonder Woman bathing suit...
CLICK HERE.
Remember them?
"Underwear that's fun to wear?"
They even had a line of swimwear.
And yes, I had a Wonder Woman bathing suit,
as I just about lived in the swimming pool that summer.
But how does any of this relate?
Wonder Woman?
The bathing suit?
That summer?
How does any of it relate to PCOS?
It's important because everything else that *ahem!* flowed sometime soon after that summer, changed everything, and set forth my hormones on the slow acting avalanche I am dealing with today, 27 years later.
Last picture of me before "hormone hell"took over, and before a lifetime of
dieting & eating disorders took over my
adolescence & early adulthood.
On the demise of my Wonder Woman bathing suit...
CLICK HERE.
Monday, July 16, 2007
It's 11:15 -- Do You Know Where Your Synapses Are?
Week Three of Deep Fried Insanity (or as I've been wont to describe the sensation of having my brain replaced with a 50/50 mix of helium and dog shit).
Today I titrate up, again. This time, the "one more pill" is done during daylight hours. Actually popped it right before starting this blog post. I go to the neuro this week for my three week follow up to see how well I'm tolerating the medication.
In the last week or so I have:
Today I titrate up, again. This time, the "one more pill" is done during daylight hours. Actually popped it right before starting this blog post. I go to the neuro this week for my three week follow up to see how well I'm tolerating the medication.
In the last week or so I have:
- Sung a line from Ashford & Simpson's "Solid As A Rock";
- Hummed "The Chicken Dance Song" whilst heating up some chicken noodle soup;
- Did the "Cabbage Patch" (albeit poorly);
- Channeled the ghost of Edith Bunker and shriek-sang the word, "Shish-keee-bah-beeee" repeatedly;
- Sang what I refer to as the "Papaya" song;
- Sang "Mr. Bifurcated Penis... More than meets the eye," as if it were a new super hero;
- Before getting into the car this morning, I LITERALLY screamed out the words "DEEP FRIED INSANITY!!!!!," and the Maharajah in true blue fashion, did not raise an eyebrow, nor did he admonish me, let alone react in any way whatsoever, as if it were the most normal thing;
- And lastly, today I sang the words "Blue Blocker," only to realize I did it to the same jingle/lilt as the "Hot Pockets" jingle.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Monday, July 09, 2007
Sunday, July 08, 2007
BMI: What Is It Good For... Absolutely Nothing
Lowest BMI, 1982: 17
Highestet BMI, 2007: 41
Classified as "extremely obese."
The twisted thing here is, my mother, who is easily tipping in at an extra buck (100 lbs) than me, falls into that same classification.
And THAT, THAT! That pisses me off.
Highestet BMI, 2007: 41
Classified as "extremely obese."
The twisted thing here is, my mother, who is easily tipping in at an extra buck (100 lbs) than me, falls into that same classification.
And THAT, THAT! That pisses me off.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Day Three
All I want to do is sleep.
No erratic behavior.
No out of ordinary change in appetite (to my knowledge).
Mild case of dry mouth.
No erratic behavior.
No out of ordinary change in appetite (to my knowledge).
Mild case of dry mouth.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Day 1: Roughly 10 Hours In
Took my first 25 mg dose this a.m. at 2, before I went to bed. About a half hour after taking, I noticed, in the mirror, my pupils doing a weird dilation thing.
Sleep Observations:
Slept soundly. Woke up fitfully. As usual. No out of the ordinary complaints from the husband about my snoring.
Dietary observations:
I cannot tolerate drinking my beloved low sugar cran-grape juice drink. It was totally foul. Putrid even.
However, my life's blood, COFFEE, remains pleasantly neutral on my tongue. No adverse taste problems.
Same thing goes for peanut butter.
Mental State:
Neutral. Pensive, yet not necessarily in an anxious way. Slight problem with typographical errors, but I'm at least aware of it. No difficulties recalling personal or workplace passwords.
Midday Analysis:
Optomistic. So-far-so-good.
Sleep Observations:
Slept soundly. Woke up fitfully. As usual. No out of the ordinary complaints from the husband about my snoring.
Dietary observations:
I cannot tolerate drinking my beloved low sugar cran-grape juice drink. It was totally foul. Putrid even.
However, my life's blood, COFFEE, remains pleasantly neutral on my tongue. No adverse taste problems.
Same thing goes for peanut butter.
Mental State:
Neutral. Pensive, yet not necessarily in an anxious way. Slight problem with typographical errors, but I'm at least aware of it. No difficulties recalling personal or workplace passwords.
Midday Analysis:
Optomistic. So-far-so-good.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Prelude: "Dope"amax
Tonight will be the first dose.
I'm approaching this experiment with great trepidation.
I'm approaching this experiment with great trepidation.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
It's All In The Subtext
Redux
Side effects: "Spontaneous lung collapse or death."
Subtext: It's better to be dead than alive and fat.
Xenical/Meridia
Side effects: "Greasy stools, anal leakage."
Subtext: It's better to wear a diaper or shit yourself at work than be fat.
Gastric Bypass*
Side effects: "Dumping, and 10% risk of dying during surgery."
Subtext: It's better to shit yourself or risk dying an early death on a surgical table, than be fat, alive, and die a natural death.
*Believe it or not, I'm not fat enough. One has to be over 300 lbs to be considered a candidate.
Topamax
Side effects: "Dulls the personality, hair loss, et al."
Subtext: It's better to be a medically induced balding moron than be fat.
I went.
I saw.
I've got a starter pack of topamax (against my gut instinct).
I've got migraines.
I need a mood enhancer.
I'm fat.
Hell, by actuarial schedules, I'm obese.
Perhaps "morbidly."
Just for edification and extrapolation, TWENTY POUNDS overweight is the threshold for obesity.
At this point, I don't know what my BMI is.
At this point, I don't care, as it's some abstract thing in my head related to futile, unattainable goal.
Monday is going to be my mental Funday, as I'll be starting my titration schedule.
This may very well be the last cohesive thought I will have for a while.
Side effects: "Spontaneous lung collapse or death."
Subtext: It's better to be dead than alive and fat.
Xenical/Meridia
Side effects: "Greasy stools, anal leakage."
Subtext: It's better to wear a diaper or shit yourself at work than be fat.
Gastric Bypass*
Side effects: "Dumping, and 10% risk of dying during surgery."
Subtext: It's better to shit yourself or risk dying an early death on a surgical table, than be fat, alive, and die a natural death.
*Believe it or not, I'm not fat enough. One has to be over 300 lbs to be considered a candidate.
Topamax
Side effects: "Dulls the personality, hair loss, et al."
Subtext: It's better to be a medically induced balding moron than be fat.
I went.
I saw.
I've got a starter pack of topamax (against my gut instinct).
I've got migraines.
I need a mood enhancer.
I'm fat.
Hell, by actuarial schedules, I'm obese.
Perhaps "morbidly."
Just for edification and extrapolation, TWENTY POUNDS overweight is the threshold for obesity.
At this point, I don't know what my BMI is.
At this point, I don't care, as it's some abstract thing in my head related to futile, unattainable goal.
Monday is going to be my mental Funday, as I'll be starting my titration schedule.
This may very well be the last cohesive thought I will have for a while.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Today's Email To The Specialist
I have an appointment with a neuro tomorrow to follow up regarding my migraines. Although I doubt if the neuro will do anything other than take an assessment tomorrow, I still require something for my mood. I am managing well with my Lexapro.
Although I do not take it every day, I'm averaging every other day at this point. I believe I don't require a full dose at the low dose. I experienced this a few years ago when I was on Celexa, as well.
My question to you is, how seriously do you think topamax will help me? I have been using the last month or so to give a lot of consideration to this. The bottom line is, I don't want my brain to suffer on topamax the way my colon and my pride did when I was on Xenical.
As it stands, I feel I'm on entirely too much medication, and it's getting tricky for me to space things out to avoid interactions etc. Just as a reminder, I believe I am passing some of my metformin pills out, undigested.
I do not know what to say other than I'm not looking for a miracle pill to make me dump off scads of weight--because I know there is nothing out there to help me. Arrogant? Perhaps. Is it my depression speaking? Perhaps. I can't help but view the whole weight loss thing as an exercise in futility and failure.
Metformin was supposed to help with my weight and it hasn't.
Xenical was supposed to help with my weight and it hasn't.
I just don't know what to say or think at this point. My depression (and joint and back pain) is keeping me from being more active, and my fat is keeping me depressed (among other things).
Monday, June 25, 2007
Received in the In-Box, Re: Xenical/Meridia/Alli
"Miracle": Weight loss drug Alli delivers more than you bargained for (diapers optional)by: Mike AdamsWhen people ask, "What can I do to lose weight?" what they're really asking is, "What can I do to lose weight that doesn't require exercise or giving up all the junk foods I eat?" When it comes to weight loss, consumers are looking for a magic bullet -- a miracle pill that eliminates the responsibility of having to actually make adult decisions about their own health. GlaxoSmithKline has delivered the pot-of-weight-loss-gold at the end of the rainbow in the form of an over-the-counter drug called, "Alli." http://www.youtube.
Alli is bound to be a huge market success. Consumers are rushing to buy the latest fad drug in a desperate attempt to lose weight without having to give up their Krispy Kreme donuts or -- God forbid -- engage in physical exercise that might actually cause them to sweat (there is a great fear of exertion in America today). But while Alli will no doubt be a huge commercial success, it will prove to be an utter weight loss failure. Even in clinical trials, the drug only produced a few pounds of weight loss per year. You could lose more by walking five minutes a day, or drinking half a can of soda less than what you do now. As a serious weight loss aid, Alli falls short. Very short.
Speaking of shorts, Alli has some very entertaining side effects. The drug can cause explosive oily stools to involuntarily eject from your bowels. While that may sound like fun if you're at a frat party, it's certainly not an enjoyable experience when commuting, driving, or hanging out at the office. Dirtying your britches is bound to make the gossip rounds in mere minutes, earning you new nicknames and a repulsive, date-spoiling reputation that will be difficult to overcome. The manufacturer of Alli actually recommends that consumers "carry an extra pair of pants" with them at all times, just in case the side effects kick in. Why not just wear diapers?
Alli takers who brown their britches are the lucky ones, by the way. Imagine what happens when these side effects kick in while you're in the hot tub! Better yet, see the video:com/watch? (it's called "Hot Tub Mishap").v=r7JMzDjIkVc
One mishap like that and you'll literally have to move to a new city and try to make new friends who hopefully haven't seen your video on YouTube. Yep: All it takes is one Alli accident + some creep at the office with a web cam mobile phone, and your ass is all over the internet in a very humiliating way.If you don't believe me, check out "Karate Guy Craps In His Pants" at http://www.youtube.com/watch? v=PZLq90YeNNg
Just think, this could be YOU!
I find it interesting that this weight loss drug makes adults need to wear diapers. It's quite appropriate, actually, since people who take these weight loss drugs are acting like babies about their own health. Americans just need to grow up and start acting like adults for a change. Put down the ice cream, turn off the TV and go bicycling for goodness sake. No, your mommie isn't around to MAKE you do it, you have to do it all by yourself. (And take those training wheels off the bike while you're at it.) Tie your shoes! Clean up your room! Don't eat the entire box of ice cream! Jeez...Nutritional deficiencies
The dirty-your-britches side effect isn't the only thing about Alli that makes me wonder what kind of desperate weight loss newbies are going to pop these pills: I'm also concerned about the fact that the drug interferes with the absorption of essential fatty acids. Given that most overweight people are already extremely deficient in omega-3 fatty acids, DHA and other healthy oils, this Alli drug is likely to put them in an even worse state of deficiency.
The drug works by interfering with the digestion of dietary fats, you see. That may sound great if you're eating a diet of fried foods, hydrogenated oils and processed meat products, but even if you block the absorption of those obesity-promoting fats, you're still left in a state of deficiency concerning the healthy oils like omega-3 fatty acids. And if you eat more flaxseed or take fish oil capsules, guess what? Alli will interfere with those, too, causing you to miss out on at least some of their benefits.
What an incredibly genius idea for a drug! Transform adults into diaper-wearing little children, then leave them in a state of nutritional deficiency. Only a drug company could have thought of this one! (And only a desperate, gullible public could actually believe the hype on a drug like this...)
If you're considering taking Alli, you can save yourself the money by following these three simple steps: 1) Sit on the toilet. 2) Do NOT pull your pants down. Leave them on. 3) Go to the bathroom anyway.
Like magic, you will experience the same side effects of Alli, which will gross you out so much that you won't even feel like eating for several hours, which means fewer calories! Repeat this each day and in a year, you'll lose weight! Be sure to stock up on extra undies before attempting this miracle weight loss recipe, because you'll need lots of spare laundry.
Alli is the only weight loss drug I know of that causes you to lose more self respect than body fat. Maybe it should be marketed as a "self image loss" drug instead of a weight loss drug.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Apropos of Something
Haven't and won't weigh myself for a few weeks.
Why ruin the afterglow of a fairly enjoyable vacation?
I mean, even Aunt Flo made it a point to not
darken my doorstep until two days after I returned from sea.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Day 7 of a 9 Day Cruise
I ran low on metformin, thanks to the EFFing insurance company who wouldn't allow me to refill it a few days earlier. So I'm left to titrate down, just so I don't go completely cold turkey without it. Titrate down = from 2500 mg daily (the norm) to 1K mg daily (if that!). The moment we dock in Brooklyn, two days from now, I'll have to call the pharmacy from the boat and see if they'll refill it for me THAT DAY.
Today was the first day I felt like I was slightly spiralling down, mood wise, despite the sunshine and L*xapro. Don't know if it's exhaustion or something emotional/hormonal, but since I have run low of metformin, it's not too much of a stretch to think the mood shift is hormonal.
And thanks to having to titrate down, it'll take a week or two for me to recover from this mishap.
OY!~
Today was the first day I felt like I was slightly spiralling down, mood wise, despite the sunshine and L*xapro. Don't know if it's exhaustion or something emotional/hormonal, but since I have run low of metformin, it's not too much of a stretch to think the mood shift is hormonal.
And thanks to having to titrate down, it'll take a week or two for me to recover from this mishap.
OY!~
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
I'd Gladly Lance My Own Boil Than...
...Deal with these cramps.
Wish this happened before my visit to the endo.
Wish this happened before my visit to the endo.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
5 lb Gain
Without fanfare, I went to my specialist. I don't know why I hardly told anyone where I was going... didn't even mention it to my folks when I visited them. The appointment didn't go too hot, or at least from my point of view it wasn't good.
The doctor was alarmed at my response to the query of, "tell me honestly how are you feeling?" I replied, "I'm a big, fat, EFFing failure." He said he didn't want me to talk about myself like that, and I replied, "Why not? It's as authentic of an emotion as any. I could understand gaining weight if I were eating bucked upon bucket of fried chicken, or pizza or bagels or anything else which I'd prefer." Imagine what he'd think of my mood/emotional state if I actually told him, "No, no. Today's a good day. Most days, before my feet hit the floor, I think to myself, "Oh shit, I didn't die in my sleep."
Plan of action: We're going to explor Topamax for my migraines/obesity/depression. I am a bit concerned though, considering it is an Rx also given to epileptics. Needless to say I've got to Google it more thoroughly.
Question: Is this a fair enough trade-off? Possible kidney stones and foggy mental state, rather than having an extra 100 pounds on your frame? Kinda reminds me of the early 1990s when a doctor wanted to put me on Redux. When I read the pamphlets for the drug, some of the side effects included "Spontaneous lung collapse... or death." Quite the message received. Better dead than fat.
The doctor was alarmed at my response to the query of, "tell me honestly how are you feeling?" I replied, "I'm a big, fat, EFFing failure." He said he didn't want me to talk about myself like that, and I replied, "Why not? It's as authentic of an emotion as any. I could understand gaining weight if I were eating bucked upon bucket of fried chicken, or pizza or bagels or anything else which I'd prefer." Imagine what he'd think of my mood/emotional state if I actually told him, "No, no. Today's a good day. Most days, before my feet hit the floor, I think to myself, "Oh shit, I didn't die in my sleep."
Plan of action: We're going to explor Topamax for my migraines/obesity/depression. I am a bit concerned though, considering it is an Rx also given to epileptics. Needless to say I've got to Google it more thoroughly.
Question: Is this a fair enough trade-off? Possible kidney stones and foggy mental state, rather than having an extra 100 pounds on your frame? Kinda reminds me of the early 1990s when a doctor wanted to put me on Redux. When I read the pamphlets for the drug, some of the side effects included "Spontaneous lung collapse... or death." Quite the message received. Better dead than fat.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Meh...
Blood drawn today.
Flo's late.
Specialist's appointment on the 14th (five days from now).
Feeling mediocre, health-wise. Status quo. No harm, no fowl.
Meh.
Flo's late.
Specialist's appointment on the 14th (five days from now).
Feeling mediocre, health-wise. Status quo. No harm, no fowl.
Meh.
Monday, May 07, 2007
One More Week Til The Specialist
Groggy.
On the agenda: Plenty of dumping to artificially decrease my weight for my weigh-in.
Attitude/Mood: EFF U.
On the agenda: Plenty of dumping to artificially decrease my weight for my weigh-in.
Attitude/Mood: EFF U.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Friday, April 20, 2007
Milk
Isn't it amazing that something as simple and nuturing as a pint of milk can elicit guilt from me?
Sure my breakfast of sausage, egg and cheese on a poppy seed roll isn't the "healthiest" thing to consume, but it certainly is the most portable and convenient to eat at one's desk in a rush. But to drink a pint of milk with it... THAT is what made me feel guilty.
Two years of Atkins and being completely off drinking milk, has left me with a taboo feeling when I drink the occasional 8 oz, or in today's instance, a pint, of milk.
I'm of a primal mindset. If my body craves something, I'm assuming it knows better than my brain, what it needs. Vitamin A, D, calcium... the sense of well-being milk gives me... in a somewhat drowsy way.
I need sunshine!
Sure my breakfast of sausage, egg and cheese on a poppy seed roll isn't the "healthiest" thing to consume, but it certainly is the most portable and convenient to eat at one's desk in a rush. But to drink a pint of milk with it... THAT is what made me feel guilty.
Two years of Atkins and being completely off drinking milk, has left me with a taboo feeling when I drink the occasional 8 oz, or in today's instance, a pint, of milk.
I'm of a primal mindset. If my body craves something, I'm assuming it knows better than my brain, what it needs. Vitamin A, D, calcium... the sense of well-being milk gives me... in a somewhat drowsy way.
I need sunshine!
Monday, April 16, 2007
Pictures "Before and After The Accident"
Neither of my two weddings could compare to my junior prom pic, May 1985.
That day, I felt truly beautiful, despite being a full-on anorexic and bulemic.
Say what you will about anorexia, it does make one a bit more "camera friendly."
So does having such yummy "arm candy" like I did that day.
Believe it or not, we were BOTH each other's "back up" date for the prom,
as both of our dates bailed on us at the last moment.
And here is my senior portrait for the yearbook.
What lies out of sight are my white cotton running shorts and bare feet,
as this picture was snapped while a friend and I were headed to do some
canoeing on Beaver Dam Creek.
I remember what I ate that day, as well.
Doritos with a grapefruit juice chaser.
I don't recommend that menu if you plan on canoeing on choppy water.
And here is what I refer to as the "After the Accident" picture, after
seeing such lovely pics, the ONLY surviving pictures of
my teen years.
This is the picture which serves as an epilogue to the other two pictures
featuring me as a healthy LOOKING anorexic and bulemic.
I can't help but think folks think of that joke:
"I am still a bulemic, I just am too lazy to puke anymore."
Only the joke isn't effective, as I never was one to binge,
then, or now.
Yet, here I am... weighing in at twice what I weighed
in those first two pictures.
And if need be, I can still vomit at will.
Remind me again, how or why I should NOT feel like a failure?
Even chubby, middle-aged gals have vanity and pride.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Still Depressed. Still Fat. Barely Functioning.
So if you read all of my blogs, you'd know I posted about receiving this DVD in the mail the other day over at my yoga blog, Chakra Blah Blah. Still have yet to break the cellowrap on it. I also ended up getting The Fiber 35 Diet book, too. Same thing. Haven't cracked the binding. What's the point? None of it's going to work.
Had a fight with the husband today about getting "in shape" for our cruise in June. I was fat when he met me. I was fat when he married me. I had no idea when I promised him before we got married that I'd adhere to a set weight loss goal, that I would be so challenged in getting my weight off. It seems so impossible. Some days I just sit at my desk at work and sob. Some nights when we are out to dinner, I have to excuse myself to go to the rest room to sob.
I don't know if it registers with him.
He claims he loves me.
I wish he'd just kill me. And no, he's not a physically abusive man. Every gray hair on my head were put there with each put down, with each argument we've had, with each tear he's made me shed.
I don't think he realizes how much I think simply not existing would be a fine substitute for what I am doing right now. I think he might view everything herein (assuming he snoops, which is a crapshoot at this point) as me crying wolf.
L*xapro only goes so far. I wish I were truly dead inside. I wish I were already zombi-fied. I wish none of this mattered to me anymore. I wish the tears did not come anymore. I wish I could make my peace with this.
I'm wondering how much of this emotional disturbance is due to the PCOS, or if I have something actually chemically wrong with me, or is my husband TRULY THAT disgusted with me.
I live every day of my life knowing how embarrassed he must be by being married to me. He claims he isn't... but I live every day of my life knowing what a fucking disappointment I am.
Normal people, they wake up refreshed, thankful for a new day to be experienced.
I wake up and my first thought before my feet hit the floor is, "Oh shit... I didn't die in my sleep."
I broke a promise.
So did he, he claimed to love me, honor me, cherish me...
The only time he truly acknowledges my presence is to use me like his own personal glory hole or to berate me about my fatness.
250+ Pounds isn't "Oh She'll Need a Piano Case for a Casket Fat." Yet somehow...that thought, that feeling is bubbling beneath the surface.
I am the one living with this extra weight on my frame. I am the one who worries about what kind of life will I have when I am older, because I see the writing on the wall. I see how my mother is, struggling not only with her weight, but also with the secondary problems of her obesity, primarily her Type II diabetes and her cellulitis (on top of her lymphedema and rheumatoid arthritis, et al).
Every day it's a struggle for me. I'm not a glutton, despite what my husband and others might think when they look at me. Had I known five nearly six years ago the level of disdain my husband would have towards me due to what he views as me breaking my promise to him, I doubt if I would have married him.
There I said it.
And couple all of this up with the fact that over 30+ years of my life, I had been trying to survive the swirling vortex of dysfunction that is my family and my own depression... then the disharmony in my workplace... struggling with my feelings of invisibility and suicidal fantasies... knowing that my home and my husband are NOT my sanctuary, what IS the point in living?
I don't do a damned thing about it because I am a coward, or I might just be as lazy as the husband claims I am.
I have stockpiled enough of my blood pressure medication... however, I don't know how much would be sufficient to do the job... assuming I weren't such a whimp about it. With my luck, I'd take enough to make me a vegetable, but not OFF myself completely. Just what I would want, right? To spend the rest of my life in a state hospital, drooling on myself as I sit in a shitty diaper with bedsores the likes of which you can ram your fist into.
Actually, I think there you have it. The REAL reason why I don't off myself, being in a "permanent vegetative state."
Not cowardice.
Not laziness.
Not fear of eternal damnation.
**Update, 10:09 p.m.**
Barely speaking to him.
Showered.
Went to Barnes & Noble to buy one of those Bunny Suicide books.
Self-medicate at the Chinese buffet.
Came home in time to see the Sopranos' season opener...
Monday, March 19, 2007
3/19/07
Menopause hasn’t even hit me, yet.
I’m 38; hopefully I’ve got a few more years
perhaps a decade or so more before I
morph into a different phase of my life.
Yet, somehow I feel obsolete already.
Invisibility is the best way to express
how I feel and how I think the world
perceives me.
Useless.
Obsolete.
Invisible.
Burdensome.
I spent the first 15 years of my life
adapting and conforming, to survive
my family environ. Be someone
other than who I am, just to fit in,
just to be noticed; and in doing so
my fleeting childhood and teen years
disappeared.
I spent the next 15 years of my life
floundering while trying to remain
attractive or magnetic for men. Men,
who in turn used me for their own gains.
Me, a need, to someone else’s end.
Impoverishing my bankbook and my soul.
Useless.
Empty.
The next 15 years should be, or should
have been years nurturing a child, my
child, and in doing so, repair my inner
child, and re-experience childhood,
experience things I should have
experienced in the first place.
Instead I am in a no woman’s land
Fertile? Infertile?
Menopause? Perimenopause?
Useful vs useless.
On the precipice of invisibility and oblivion.
And no one gives a shit about it, but me.
I can’t wait for the day when I just
surrender, when I just don’t care anymore,
because honestly, this struggle,
this fight, these demons
are the only things I truly own.
Menopause hasn’t even hit me, yet.
I’m 38; hopefully I’ve got a few more years
perhaps a decade or so more before I
morph into a different phase of my life.
Yet, somehow I feel obsolete already.
Invisibility is the best way to express
how I feel and how I think the world
perceives me.
Useless.
Obsolete.
Invisible.
Burdensome.
I spent the first 15 years of my life
adapting and conforming, to survive
my family environ. Be someone
other than who I am, just to fit in,
just to be noticed; and in doing so
my fleeting childhood and teen years
disappeared.
I spent the next 15 years of my life
floundering while trying to remain
attractive or magnetic for men. Men,
who in turn used me for their own gains.
Me, a need, to someone else’s end.
Impoverishing my bankbook and my soul.
Useless.
Empty.
The next 15 years should be, or should
have been years nurturing a child, my
child, and in doing so, repair my inner
child, and re-experience childhood,
experience things I should have
experienced in the first place.
Instead I am in a no woman’s land
Fertile? Infertile?
Menopause? Perimenopause?
Useful vs useless.
On the precipice of invisibility and oblivion.
And no one gives a shit about it, but me.
I can’t wait for the day when I just
surrender, when I just don’t care anymore,
because honestly, this struggle,
this fight, these demons
are the only things I truly own.
Friday, March 09, 2007
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
On Being Criminally Fat
Inspiration for this post (which also was posted as a comment elsewhere): Obese child deemed victim of neglect.
Obesity = neglect = crime?
Genetics (MY Vast-Sweeping Over-simplification):
The Fat Man's Economics--The Cliff Notes version:
How is governmental interference and intervention on behalf of obese children not Eugenics? From that link on Wiki:
NOW! WITH MORE HYPERBOLE!:
What is next? Rounding up all the fatties, Stepfordizing the rest, and relaunch "New! And Improved! Soylent Green! NOW WITH HALF THE CARBS!
Obesity = neglect = crime?
Let's bust up a loving family because their only crime is that their child/ren is/are fat.Question: Why are more people not up in arms about the implications of this?
Genetics (MY Vast-Sweeping Over-simplification):
Face it. Some kids are (either knowingly or unknowingly) genetically prone to getting fat. Yes, skinny parents can have a fat child. Recessive genes anyone? Yes, fatness, just like blue eyes, are recessive, inheritable traits.
Let's take a look at the economics of it. Some folks who subsist primarily of fatty cuts of meat or carb laden foods because it's inexpensive, and they cannot afford healthier foods. (Freshman 15... Top Ramen... anyone?Obesity---------->= crime?
I know from first hand experience what "government subsidized foods" are like. Gubm'nt cheese anyone? [ED: Oh and by the by, "da cheeze" is greasy, fatty and binding, and decidedly NOT health conscious!]
It's not a stretch to suggest that the same parents who could not afford leaner cuts of meat, or scads of fresh fruits or veggies, cannot afford gastric bypass surgeries for their kids. Hell, this article about a little boy who died because of a toothache/abcess and his family couldn't afford proper medical care is another indication of what's wrong with our society.
Add to the genetics, the economics and the environmental, you've got a health crisis on your hands.
As laughable or inconceivable as it may seem, Child Protective Services taking away children who are obese due to some perceived notion of neglect (let's face it, children can be willfull as all get out, despite the very best intentions of their parents), I don't like the message it's sending.What about our Fourth Amendment to Privacy in our homes?
Ever see this "surveillance campaign" over at ACLU, where it uses the premise of ordering a pizza? It's only a matter of time before obese people are taxed or otherwise penalized* for their girth, and I am not implying merely higher medical insurance premiums, either.The Fat Man's Future: MY Hypothesis
*See Eugenics
[...]Historically, eugenics has been used as a justification for coercive state-sponsored discrimination and human rights violations, such as forced sterilization of persons with genetic defects, the killing of the institutionalized and, in some cases, genocide of races perceived as inferior[...]
What is next? Rounding up all the fatties, Stepfordizing the rest, and relaunch "New! And Improved! Soylent Green! NOW WITH HALF THE CARBS!
Monday, March 05, 2007
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Mental Health Day
Has anyone ever "Called In Depressed?" If I had balls, that is what I would have done instead of copping out and saying, "I feel dizzy."
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Email Exchange With Sis
From Sis:
HEY HOW ARE YOUFrom Me:
I AM NOW WORRYING ABOUT YOU
I THINK YOU NEED TO EVAL ALL THOSE FINDINGS WITH YOUR PRIMARY, IREALLY THINK HE MAY BE OVERDOING IT. HE SEEMS TO BE TREATING THE SIDE EFFECT OF ONE MEDICATION WITH ANOTHER MEDICATION.
I JUST AM SO TIRED WHEN I GET HOME I CANT EVEN CALL, I REALLY MEAN TO I LAY DOWN WITH BABYGIRL AND AM SOUND ASLEEP EVEN BEFORE SHE IS NEXT THING I KNOW IT IS LIKE 4AM.
I MISS YOU AND SO DOES BABYGIRL, THE LETTER OF THE WEEK IS S SO SHE SAYS "LIKE AUNT S." I AM STILL RECOVERING FROM THE HERNIA SURGERY. I AM SO AFRAID TO DO CERTAIN THINGS, I NEVER WANT TO HAVE ANY TYPE OF SURGERY LIKE THAT AGAIN
WORK IS WORK, NOTHING NEW WITH THAT. NOTHIN NEW WITH [HUBBY]
ARE YOU COMING DOWN FOR EASTER PLEEEEEASSSSEEEEEE!!!!! I WOULD LIKE TO HAVE AN EASTER EGG HUNT, AND YOU CAN HELP BABYGIRL AND I MAKE A BUNNY CAKE..........
I HOPE YOU AND [HUBBY]
ARE DOING OK, I AM FAT AND OLD AND SLIGHTLY DEPRESSED
SO HOW IS YOUR DAY GOING?
SIS
Why worry? The eczema hasn't changed, and I go for regular mammos, and nothing turns up with them, other than our lumpy boobs we inherited from mom. No change, no discharge, just an insane itch at times.
If you're fat and old... what does that make ME? I'm soooo relating to what you're going through. And the depressed, shit... I feel like a failure most of the time, and the rest of the time I feel like a loser who just wants to be loved and no one knows how to love me.
IS THIS WHAT MID-LIFE IS SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE? [I'm 38, She's 37]
I'm hoping that once I go thru a sleep study to address the snoring and what I suspect is apnea, and once I get myself properly oxygenated while I sleep, and hopefully start to get some restorative sleep... maybe I'll start feeling better.
I thought once [HUBBY'S] his parents went back home, I'd start to feel a bit back to normal, or at least "normal for me," and to be honest, I have no energy for anything. If I miss my Lexapro by a day or two, I start the crying jags all over again.
I am sure the bitter cold weather is not helping matters.
My specialist talked with me about how I'm feeling and especially the feelings of depression and failure... and he told me not to be so hard on myself. That PCOS brings a lot of emotional baggage, and for me not to be so hard on myself about not losing weight... it's an uphill battle.
I can intellectualize what he said, but still, I just want to spend my time curled up in a ball.
[HUBBY] doesn't really help matters either.
I know he loves me. (Why ELSE would he be with me?) Yet...
I know he's incapable of loving me how I need to be loved. If I think about this too long, I'll just start to cry at my desk here. I love him. He loves me. But ... there should just be "so much more." My life is really lacking. And I just wish there were a way for me to figure out what it is I'm supposed to be doing. I wish I could just gain some control of this.
As far as the overdoing it with medications... I'm really not on that many meds. I'm on my metformin (2500 daily), my quinaretic in the a.m., my quinapril in the p.m., and my lexapro. So he's changing me from the regular meformin to the XR, and adding something for the triglycerides because of his concerns of my fatty liver syndrome.
I know next time I see him, he's no doubt going to send me to a renal guy [due to elevated uric acid level], and perhaps back to Mt. Sinai for another abdominal ultrasound with their liver & pancreas specialist. I'm fairly confident I am going to the right guy for what ails me. And somehow... getting pregnant isn't that big of a motivator for me.
I can't seem to get motivated to lose the weight. I'm at a standstill. And honestly, I just don't have it in me to try the next great thing to see what works.
I just feel blah. Unloved. Lonely.
I better quit typing about it... or else I'll start sounding like dad...
Regarding Easter... I should be down. [HUBBY], eh... well you know him. It was a big deal for him to come down for the xmas party. And I won't force him. I just wish that one day he'd wake up and realize that his attendance isn't for others.... it's for me. I didn't get married to do things alone, and damnit if that's what I'm doing... being alone.
And I have just about shut down at home. All I want to do is sleep. I feel neglected in general, after almost six years of marriage I feel like I'm married to a stranger who doesn't know me, and I know he feels neglected by me.
And somehow I gotta keep everything afloat by myself... mercifully I don't have to worry about keeping things afloat financially... but still...
there's got to be so much more to this... isn't there?
Friday, February 16, 2007
Somehow I Have To Crap Out 10-15 Lbs, I Just Know It
Monday I go back to the specialist.Been struggling with my depression and motivational issues.
Haven't been on any type of "diet."
Been laxe at times about my evening medications (regret this in the a.m., with the pounding headaches).
Don't know if it's the depression/blues talking, but I wonder if my lack of motivation, actual RESENTMENT about the notion of diet and exercise, is an indication that I simply do not have THAT strong of a drive to become pregnant. I'm very l'aissez-faire about it. "If it happens, it happens." What a cop out I've been feeding myself, no?
I need to schedule a sleep study. I hope getting what I suspect is apnea, diagnosed and treated (with CPAP), hopefully will help.
It's hard to be motivated to do ANYTHING. Bathe. Get dressed. Get out and do SOMETHING. When you do not wake up refreshed and renewed in the morning.
Fortunately, I have a job, and that's the excuse I convinced myself of, that is the impetus for me to get up, bathe, dress myself, and get out and do SOMETHING, to interact with others (even on a minimal level). The weekends however, are a crap shoot.
I am my own worst enemy.
Days like this, I feel like such a loser.
Doesn't matter what else I've accomplished prior to today. I feel like such a loser.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)