Pharmacy Snafu Rectified

Current Dosing: 4 Met XR tabs in p.m. with dinner.

Menses Still MIA.

That is all.

Funny, I Never Equated My Self Image With That of Shrek...

What Not To Wear (If You're Fat)

The Post-Specialist Post

Good News:

• 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]
  

Bad News:

• 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.
  

Plan of Action:

• 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.
  

Specialist is concerned about my depression and how I'm "not myself."

No shit.

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.

Menses Missing in Action

July's never came.

Next specialist appointment: Aug. 20th.

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.

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!

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.

#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 year

Weight: 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 portrait

Weight: 109
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

#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.