So...
I eventually screwed up the chutzpah to call the surgeon's office. They require that I view their online seminar prior to making an appt for consultation (of which, I wouldn't meet w/the surgeon, but some other medical professional on staff).
The seminar consisted of six or seven videos. At the end of each video, I was required to take a "quiz." After I finished viewing all videos and taking all the quizzes, I then had to print up a "certificate of completion," which I then faxed to his office along with my registration form, and insurance card information. I was told I would hear back in 24-48 hours in regards to scheduling the consultation.
I faxed everything in on November 27th, nearly two weeks ago. Haven't heard a peep from them. It took every ounce of grit in me to even get "this far." Their inaction is unnerving me. And yet, I don't want to follow up. I'm resistant. I can intellectualize I "need" the surgery; however, I know the moment that the consultation is made, my life for an entire year is not going to be "my life" for an entire year. I get depressed thinking about all the appointments and demands put on me, both pre-op and post-op. I get even more depressed thinking about the post-op.
I'm miserable now.
I'll be miserable if I have the surgery.
I'll be miserable if I DO NOT have the surgery.
I continue to see my psychotherapist every two weeks (of which makes me anxious, because of scheduling all THIS time off from work, given how short-staffed my office is, and I do not see that changing any time in the near future).
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Friday, December 04, 2009
Courage Is Under-Rated
I finally finished viewing the online seminar, containing 6-7 videos with accompanying quizzes.
I finally printed out the "certificate of completion" to verify that I saw all the videos and took all the quizzes.
I printed out and filled out the "registration" form.
I photocopied my insurance card, front AND back.
I faxed all this shit to the surgeon's office, with the expectation that within 24-48 hours I would receive a call back to schedule a consultation, of which I would not meet with the surgeon but someone else, perhaps a "liaison" of sorts. Perhaps a physicians assistant or a nutritionist.
Amount of time which has now elapsed since I jumped through all these hoops and faxed out the necessary paperwork: One full week.
My mind was made up to go thru with this surgery last year. Then dad died, and I gave myself a year to cope with the loss. The topic is now front-and-center and needs to be addressed. Sure, I could have had all this done last year, so then when the year was up, I'd be "on deck" and ready for surgery. However, I was barely functioning last year. If I could not manage to get my act together and remember to re-up for the flexible spending account for my medical reimbursement for 2009, I doubt if I would have been salient enough to jump through all these hoops.
So yes. It's a mind fuck. The surgeon's time is too valuable to deal with me directly on this level, so I have to jump through hoops and wait for them to respond. And yet, my time has zero value at this point. If I think about this any longer, I will probably explode with rage due to the fact that their inaction, their devaluing MY time and my effort and the sheer CHUTZPAH it took to do all this, to attempt to get this process started, only furthers the agony of my obsessing on how horrible it all will be: all the ADDITIONAL pre-certification firey hoops I will have to jump through; all the pre-op firey hoops I will have to jump thru; and all the post-op firey hoops I will have to jump thru. A year's worth of shit for me to swim through personally before I even see a GLIMMER of a normal-ish life.
It's a Hobson's Choice really. What choice is there to have? To go in and have my stomach surgically mutilated on the off-chance it will change this legacy of shitty health I have been born into VS not doing a damned thing and being just as miserable.
Life is a never-ending stream of suffering. It's those few precious moments of joy that fool me into thinking that life could be anything other than suffering. Because even when I experience the rarity of joy, it is fleeting, and I revert back to suffering. All of this is in vain. Life is the ultimate vanity trip.
I finally printed out the "certificate of completion" to verify that I saw all the videos and took all the quizzes.
I printed out and filled out the "registration" form.
I photocopied my insurance card, front AND back.
I faxed all this shit to the surgeon's office, with the expectation that within 24-48 hours I would receive a call back to schedule a consultation, of which I would not meet with the surgeon but someone else, perhaps a "liaison" of sorts. Perhaps a physicians assistant or a nutritionist.
Amount of time which has now elapsed since I jumped through all these hoops and faxed out the necessary paperwork: One full week.
My mind was made up to go thru with this surgery last year. Then dad died, and I gave myself a year to cope with the loss. The topic is now front-and-center and needs to be addressed. Sure, I could have had all this done last year, so then when the year was up, I'd be "on deck" and ready for surgery. However, I was barely functioning last year. If I could not manage to get my act together and remember to re-up for the flexible spending account for my medical reimbursement for 2009, I doubt if I would have been salient enough to jump through all these hoops.
So yes. It's a mind fuck. The surgeon's time is too valuable to deal with me directly on this level, so I have to jump through hoops and wait for them to respond. And yet, my time has zero value at this point. If I think about this any longer, I will probably explode with rage due to the fact that their inaction, their devaluing MY time and my effort and the sheer CHUTZPAH it took to do all this, to attempt to get this process started, only furthers the agony of my obsessing on how horrible it all will be: all the ADDITIONAL pre-certification firey hoops I will have to jump through; all the pre-op firey hoops I will have to jump thru; and all the post-op firey hoops I will have to jump thru. A year's worth of shit for me to swim through personally before I even see a GLIMMER of a normal-ish life.
It's a Hobson's Choice really. What choice is there to have? To go in and have my stomach surgically mutilated on the off-chance it will change this legacy of shitty health I have been born into VS not doing a damned thing and being just as miserable.
Life is a never-ending stream of suffering. It's those few precious moments of joy that fool me into thinking that life could be anything other than suffering. Because even when I experience the rarity of joy, it is fleeting, and I revert back to suffering. All of this is in vain. Life is the ultimate vanity trip.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
A Wasted Day
Fuck you to my husband’s snoring, leading to my sleep deprivation, and exacerbating my depression.
I had wonderful plans to go into NYC early today to check out the Spider Silk exhibit at a museum, then go to 1-2 yarn stores, then stock up on bath shit at Lush, then lunch at a Malaysian place before my appointment (which I thought was) at 3.
I woke up feeling like crap, dropped the husband off at the train, and thought I’d just go into NYC later just for my appointment.
So then I start constructing my “Plan B,” building a small itinerary after the therapist appointment. I scheduled a hair appointment at Aveda, and mapped out which bus to take to get to Lush in Herald Square.
I was in the process of IMing the husband about how shitty I felt, when my cell let me know I had a voicemail. Time: 11:45. It was my therapist wondering where I was, as our appt was at 11. FML.
So I had to go and reschedule my appointment for next week, and hope I’ll be able to get the time off as we’re running FOREVER short staffed it seems, then had to cancel the hair appointment I JUST ARRANGED, and will have to wait one more week until I get to go to Lush to stock up on my bath shit.
Husband’s response: Take a nap.
FUCK THAT! If I were getting good sleep, I’d be alert enough to salvage my day. Now I’m up and irritated at a perfectly HORRIBLY wasted day off (state holiday), and will have to dip into my sick time to take off to accommodate another appointment.
I’m incredibly fed up with the sleep situation here. And even in my sleep-deprived-addled state, when he wakes me up in the middle of the night due to his CONSTANT tossing and turning and OH MY GOD SNORING, I scream out, “WHAT THE EVER LOVING FUCK?”
On top of this, I've only seen about four of the videos of the online seminar the bariatric team demands I watch (and respond to the quizzes at the end) before even arranging a consultation with me.
I'm alone. I'm exhausted. I'm depressed. And the whole situation once that consultation is arranged will be nothing but six months to a year's worth of aggravation, depleting my sick and personal leave at work, and just inconvenience and irritability. No wonder why I'm procrastinating and meditating too long on this shit.
Monday, November 09, 2009
Three Out of Six
So I sat down and plodded through three (or maybe four) of the six videos of the online seminar which is required before scheduling a consult. In hindsight, I wish I weren't me. I wish I were more of a go-getter. Had that been the case, I no doubt would've been able to get in for a consult this Weds when I'd be in NYC anyway for another appointment.
I fear once I set this thing in motion, my life will be a flurry of doctor's appointments, requirements, and further reminder(s) that I am a failure.
I fear once I set this thing in motion, my life will be a flurry of doctor's appointments, requirements, and further reminder(s) that I am a failure.
Sunday, November 01, 2009
On Diminishing Joy
I'm still menstruating at age 41. Increasingly intense pain from lower (left side) back straight through to front of body out the pelvis. Why should I still menstruate? It's a sick cosmic joke.
Too many years have been languished and complacency has settled in. First w/a (now ex) husband who wasted ten years of my life before PCOS took a foot hold. Second with a husband who isn't the same age as me, different thoughts on when to start a family despite my being six years older. And really now, it's too late. So why menstruate anymore?
I won't have a kid of my own flesh. Between all the risk factors (both for me and a fetus), plus this overriding fear that I'll fuck up an innocent life, coupled up with the overriding sense that I'll be in it alone, I'm paralyzed to even follow thru on this.
And now it seems I'll be on track for bariatric surgery, after which, vitamin and mineral deficiencies will be something I'll have to stay vigilant of, so post-op pregnancy I doubt it's even advised.
Just attempted to get aroused and tried to have sex, which just left me in a crying jag fueld by female impotence. I used to have a stellar and enjoyable sex life. I don't know if the increasing impotence I am suffering from is from the excess weight or my depression or what. It saddens me intensely that something I used to enjoy so much may be gone forever.
And sadly the last thing that brought me so much enjoyment, FOOD, will soon be taken from me too.
Though not suicidal, I am prone to intellectualize what is the point of living when two very essential things in my life are escaping my grasp.
Too many years have been languished and complacency has settled in. First w/a (now ex) husband who wasted ten years of my life before PCOS took a foot hold. Second with a husband who isn't the same age as me, different thoughts on when to start a family despite my being six years older. And really now, it's too late. So why menstruate anymore?
I won't have a kid of my own flesh. Between all the risk factors (both for me and a fetus), plus this overriding fear that I'll fuck up an innocent life, coupled up with the overriding sense that I'll be in it alone, I'm paralyzed to even follow thru on this.
And now it seems I'll be on track for bariatric surgery, after which, vitamin and mineral deficiencies will be something I'll have to stay vigilant of, so post-op pregnancy I doubt it's even advised.
Just attempted to get aroused and tried to have sex, which just left me in a crying jag fueld by female impotence. I used to have a stellar and enjoyable sex life. I don't know if the increasing impotence I am suffering from is from the excess weight or my depression or what. It saddens me intensely that something I used to enjoy so much may be gone forever.
And sadly the last thing that brought me so much enjoyment, FOOD, will soon be taken from me too.
Though not suicidal, I am prone to intellectualize what is the point of living when two very essential things in my life are escaping my grasp.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Might Be IT
This weekend might be the weekend I finally break down and view the online seminar, which the surgeon I hope will do my bypass requires before scheduling a consultation.
I'm sick to my stomach.
I can't imagine living a life not controlled by this monstrous sense of hunger and emptiness. The uncertainty of the success of failure of the surgery scares the shit out of me.
I'm sick to my stomach.
I can't imagine living a life not controlled by this monstrous sense of hunger and emptiness. The uncertainty of the success of failure of the surgery scares the shit out of me.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Friday was the 52nd Friday since dad passed.
It was also my onset day for my period.
Vicodin works wonders for horrendous back spasms and menstrual cramps.
I had a full-on anxiety attack (honestly, I thought I'd need to go to the ER; I thought I was having a heart attack), due to my obtuse brother and his wife over-staying their welcome at mom's.
My mother cooked breakfast the morning after dad's memorial mass.
Bacon and vicodin, two of my favorite things.
Still haven't gotten up the moxie to go to the URL to watch the online seminar for the surgeon. Can't schedule a consult until I do.
My mind is reeling at what a monkey wrench this is going to cause to my vacation plans in 2010.
We're so incredibly short staffed at work, I get anxiety attacks thinking about scheduling time off for the plethora of appointments before, during, and after surgery.
I've been depressed for a good two weeks. Deep depression.
My monster of an appetite (seriously, it normally is fire breathing and has fangs, that kinda monster), has been MIA.
It was also my onset day for my period.
Vicodin works wonders for horrendous back spasms and menstrual cramps.
I had a full-on anxiety attack (honestly, I thought I'd need to go to the ER; I thought I was having a heart attack), due to my obtuse brother and his wife over-staying their welcome at mom's.
My mother cooked breakfast the morning after dad's memorial mass.
Bacon and vicodin, two of my favorite things.
Still haven't gotten up the moxie to go to the URL to watch the online seminar for the surgeon. Can't schedule a consult until I do.
My mind is reeling at what a monkey wrench this is going to cause to my vacation plans in 2010.
We're so incredibly short staffed at work, I get anxiety attacks thinking about scheduling time off for the plethora of appointments before, during, and after surgery.
I've been depressed for a good two weeks. Deep depression.
My monster of an appetite (seriously, it normally is fire breathing and has fangs, that kinda monster), has been MIA.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Public Service for the Gentlemen following my updates:
If your wife is considering bariatric surgery, and if you have a convo re: football players being “massive and aggressive,” DO NOT tell your wife you think she is massive. You will not get your “ticket punched for a trip thru Tuna Town” for a long, long time. Ask me how I know this. I dare you. Ask me.
If your wife is considering bariatric surgery, and if you have a convo re: football players being “massive and aggressive,” DO NOT tell your wife you think she is massive. You will not get your “ticket punched for a trip thru Tuna Town” for a long, long time. Ask me how I know this. I dare you. Ask me.
Dread. I still haz it.
Appt w/the endo last week rendered me into a fit of sobs. Sobbed in the exam room in front of the doctor, "I'm tired of coming here and feeling like a failure." Don't know how I did it, but I gained 15 lbs in three months. I'm devastated. On an upnote, my triglycerides have lowered. Yay.
Appt w/the psychotherapist went well. I mean, how much should I anticipate from a meet-and-greet should be? 45 Minutes and three sheets of legal pad paper w/hand written notes later, the appointment was over. I am scheduled to see him again this Thursday (two days from now). Not thrilled with the idea of going into NYC for my appointments, but he did come highly recommended by a friend, and I figure I'd have a better shot at tackling my issues with someone highly recommended rather than just let my fingers do the walking and find someone local who happens to be in network or takes my insurance.
Last week was just a blur of dread, depression, failure, tears, aggravation... and what is the point of all this? Seriously?
Endo gave me the # of the bariatric guy to call; here I am eight days later and I have yet to call.
I do not WANT the surgery, but I can intellectualize it enough to know I NEED it. I am ceding surrender. I cannot slay this monster alone. However, the post-op liquid to mush intake plan for the first three months is enough to plummet me further into despair. How is life worth living like that?
Like I said to my therapist, "Most normal people do not cry when they think of food."
Drowned sorrows in one too many Bellinis and a meal that was so delicious it might as well have been the meal of a condemned person on death row.
Came home and fought with the husband, as I was trying to just SHOW him a cookie I bought for him at Eleni's, it was a teddy bear with a heart done in royal icing. As I was taking it out of the bag, I guess he thought I was going to eat it or force him to eat it, RUINING a perfectly sweet moment just to show him I was thinking of him, reducing me to shrieking at him, "Just fucking look at it will you? I was thinking of you when I bought this." I threw it back in the bag and went to bed.
I just want to die in my sleep. Why can't I just die in my sleep?
Appt w/the psychotherapist went well. I mean, how much should I anticipate from a meet-and-greet should be? 45 Minutes and three sheets of legal pad paper w/hand written notes later, the appointment was over. I am scheduled to see him again this Thursday (two days from now). Not thrilled with the idea of going into NYC for my appointments, but he did come highly recommended by a friend, and I figure I'd have a better shot at tackling my issues with someone highly recommended rather than just let my fingers do the walking and find someone local who happens to be in network or takes my insurance.
Last week was just a blur of dread, depression, failure, tears, aggravation... and what is the point of all this? Seriously?
Endo gave me the # of the bariatric guy to call; here I am eight days later and I have yet to call.
I do not WANT the surgery, but I can intellectualize it enough to know I NEED it. I am ceding surrender. I cannot slay this monster alone. However, the post-op liquid to mush intake plan for the first three months is enough to plummet me further into despair. How is life worth living like that?
Like I said to my therapist, "Most normal people do not cry when they think of food."
Drowned sorrows in one too many Bellinis and a meal that was so delicious it might as well have been the meal of a condemned person on death row.
Came home and fought with the husband, as I was trying to just SHOW him a cookie I bought for him at Eleni's, it was a teddy bear with a heart done in royal icing. As I was taking it out of the bag, I guess he thought I was going to eat it or force him to eat it, RUINING a perfectly sweet moment just to show him I was thinking of him, reducing me to shrieking at him, "Just fucking look at it will you? I was thinking of you when I bought this." I threw it back in the bag and went to bed.
I just want to die in my sleep. Why can't I just die in my sleep?
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Dread.
Tomorrow:
10 a.m. w/ReproEndo Guy.
I already know I've gained weight; so I know that the visit will leave me feeling like an utter failure.
2 p.m. Shrink.
Going to him because if I go thru the gastric bypass I sense that life won't be worth living (just one of the assortment of reasons I am driven to see him). I not-so-secretly hope that I'll just die on the table. Better to be mutilated and die than to continue on as if nothing is wrong.
High point of the day (I hope):
Catch some of the Columbus Day parade, and a burger and beer at Burger Joint @ Parker Le Meridien. Perhaps.
10 a.m. w/ReproEndo Guy.
I already know I've gained weight; so I know that the visit will leave me feeling like an utter failure.
2 p.m. Shrink.
Going to him because if I go thru the gastric bypass I sense that life won't be worth living (just one of the assortment of reasons I am driven to see him). I not-so-secretly hope that I'll just die on the table. Better to be mutilated and die than to continue on as if nothing is wrong.
High point of the day (I hope):
Catch some of the Columbus Day parade, and a burger and beer at Burger Joint @ Parker Le Meridien. Perhaps.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
A Step Closer
Been thinking more and more about taking up a friend on her recommendation for her therapist in the city.
I'm poised, but not sure if I'm ready to pounce.
My fear of failure is preventing me from doing much of anything these days to get myself out of this destructive phase. All my best intentions amount to nothing. Why bother?
I'm poised, but not sure if I'm ready to pounce.
My fear of failure is preventing me from doing much of anything these days to get myself out of this destructive phase. All my best intentions amount to nothing. Why bother?
Friday, September 11, 2009
Two Months, Eleven Days: Riomet
Nothing out of the ordinary to report, regarding the Riomet.
Date of last draw of blood: 8/19 (I think!).
Date of next appt w/specialist: 10/12.
Still seriously considering WLS, not for vanity reasons, but out of concerns that if I don't do something drastic to change my current "trajectory," I will turn into my mother (medically).
Date of last draw of blood: 8/19 (I think!).
Date of next appt w/specialist: 10/12.
Still seriously considering WLS, not for vanity reasons, but out of concerns that if I don't do something drastic to change my current "trajectory," I will turn into my mother (medically).
Sunday, September 06, 2009
I Don't Recommend...
Viewing "Then She Found Me," if you're in your early 40s struggling with either infertility or the existentialistic angst over if/when/whether or not you're able to have a child of your own.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Constipation, Thy Name is Riomet
Two words to summarize how I feel right about now, now that I am suffering the direct opposite effect I had w/the Metformin XR:
The non-Cliffnotes version:
Every day when I finally do "make," I feel as if I were forcibly birthing a big man's fist (replete w/extra pointy pinky ring) through my bungus. My poor O-ring is being TORN ASSunder!
The non-Cliffnotes version:
Every day when I finally do "make," I feel as if I were forcibly birthing a big man's fist (replete w/extra pointy pinky ring) through my bungus. My poor O-ring is being TORN ASSunder!
Friday, August 07, 2009
Ravenous.
I don't get it. And by "it," I mean my appetite. Today I'm just ravenous.
Breakfast:
2 16 oz cups of coffee
1/2 pint milk
2 hard boiled eggs
Bagel w/buttah
Took Riomet after breakfast
Snack:
Cheese stick
10 black cherries
Lunch:
Trader Joes Caesar Chicken salad (w/avocado added by me)
Cheese stick
Ice tea
Took Actos after lunch
Snack:
3 Italian style cookies (the nice ones, w/the jelly in the middle)
Snack:
Banana
Snack:
Cheese stick
THEN WHY THE EFF AM I HUNGRY?
I have one more snackie packed, a nectarine. I'm afraid to eat it. It's only 4:39. I get out at 6. If I eat it now, and I continue to build this ravenousness, I don't know how I can be held responsible for my actions should I run out of snackables!
FUCK YOU, PANCREAS! FUCK YOU MALFUNCTIONING OVARIES! FUCK YOU, FUCKED UP GENES!! Shut the fuck up and get in mah belleh.
(This is what happens when I forego a hot lunch, I suppose. I SUPPOSE.)
Breakfast:
2 16 oz cups of coffee
1/2 pint milk
2 hard boiled eggs
Bagel w/buttah
Took Riomet after breakfast
Snack:
Cheese stick
10 black cherries
Lunch:
Trader Joes Caesar Chicken salad (w/avocado added by me)
Cheese stick
Ice tea
Took Actos after lunch
Snack:
3 Italian style cookies (the nice ones, w/the jelly in the middle)
Snack:
Banana
Snack:
Cheese stick
THEN WHY THE EFF AM I HUNGRY?
I have one more snackie packed, a nectarine. I'm afraid to eat it. It's only 4:39. I get out at 6. If I eat it now, and I continue to build this ravenousness, I don't know how I can be held responsible for my actions should I run out of snackables!
FUCK YOU, PANCREAS! FUCK YOU MALFUNCTIONING OVARIES! FUCK YOU, FUCKED UP GENES!! Shut the fuck up and get in mah belleh.
(This is what happens when I forego a hot lunch, I suppose. I SUPPOSE.)
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Day 37
So far so good. I'm continuing to tolerate the Riomet well, with a minimum of gastric distress, in comparison to the sudden onset "explosivity" I suffered while on Metformin XR (2500 mg daily).
I'm up to 1500 mg for a daily dose of the Riomet (and 15 mg of Actos at lunch), and so far so good.
Last night I even noticed something different about my skin/flesh: it's warm to hot. Not regular body temp, but warm to the touch. Not feverish either. Like I've had some minor physical exertion.
I am planning on getting my blood drawn on the 19th; hopefully it'll register some microscopic change w/my androgens.
I'm up to 1500 mg for a daily dose of the Riomet (and 15 mg of Actos at lunch), and so far so good.
Last night I even noticed something different about my skin/flesh: it's warm to hot. Not regular body temp, but warm to the touch. Not feverish either. Like I've had some minor physical exertion.
I am planning on getting my blood drawn on the 19th; hopefully it'll register some microscopic change w/my androgens.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Four Days Later
Just an FYI, I did not take two sleeping pills and run a length of garden hose from my tailpipe to the cabin of my SUV, sealing up everything with duct tape.
I'm still here.
Four days later, and the fog has barely begun to lift. It's better than it was, but Thursday's unraveling took quite a physical toll on me.
I'm still here.
Four days later, and the fog has barely begun to lift. It's better than it was, but Thursday's unraveling took quite a physical toll on me.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Mood: Bleak
I am a big, fat, out-of-control, fucking failure.
I pray daily that someone will put a bullet in my head or that a chunk of SkyLab will land on me.
The day started with the reinforcement of the perception that I am a big, fat, out-of-control, pig-faced, fucking failure.
I sat in my car and sobbed. Wailed actually. Wailed to my father, "Why did you leave me? Why can't I go, too?"
A co-worker parked their car next to me. I buried my face in a paper towel and acted like I don't exist.
Honestly, I wish I didn't (exist).
And to be blunt, I'm tired of sticking around to make others happy, or to make others not have to deal with all the requisite unpleasantness my untimely exit would cause.
Fuck all of you.
I pray daily that someone will put a bullet in my head or that a chunk of SkyLab will land on me.
The day started with the reinforcement of the perception that I am a big, fat, out-of-control, pig-faced, fucking failure.
I sat in my car and sobbed. Wailed actually. Wailed to my father, "Why did you leave me? Why can't I go, too?"
A co-worker parked their car next to me. I buried my face in a paper towel and acted like I don't exist.
Honestly, I wish I didn't (exist).
And to be blunt, I'm tired of sticking around to make others happy, or to make others not have to deal with all the requisite unpleasantness my untimely exit would cause.
Fuck all of you.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
New standard industry size: FAT
New standard industry size: FAT
Disclaimer: I, myself, have had dealings with the person spotlighted in that post. Though the unpleasantness I've encountered from her were not "size-ist," the unpleasantness would be defined as demanding, snarky, and patronizing. Couple that up with the woman-on-woman size-ism, I won't be patronizing that shop.
Friday, July 17, 2009
How (A Good Lot of) The World Views Me
Nothing new to report. I hopped on the scale and saw no difference (on my scale; which is to say the scale at the doctor's office is skewed in my favor).Still would rather sleep all day. But it's not all fatigue. Not as much anymore. Feel like something is happening on a molecular level for me. Who knows.
Day 17.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Day 11
So far so good. I'm tolerating the Riomet very well.
Mom says I talk too much about my *ahem* "movements," however, it is a clear indication of what's going on with your body. And let's just say there has been a difference in that department for me. The urgency and consistency have changed radically for me, and I suspect for the last 11 days I've been experiencing something I haven't in a long while: regular "movements."
Overall, I am tolerating the medication very well. And my only complaint is the taste. It is very icky salty sweet with a metallic type topnote, with a perfumey aftertaste. I have to hold my nose while swigging my doses down, and immediately following with some type of liquid (usually coffee in the a.m.) just to rinse the taste out of my mouth (and to keep from vomitting).
So far, so good.
Been a bit moody. Can't tell what that's from. Could be any number of root causes:
Hormonal imbalance from PCOS;
My depression or what I suspect (as yet "officially" undiagnosed: bipolar disorder);
PMS.
Started some pre-spotting today. Not sure if this is "it" or if it's a warning that the flood gates of hell will open up and I'll be surfing the "Red Tide." It totally bypassed me for June. So if/when it finally does happen, it's not going to be a walk in the park.
Thursday, I picked up a share (as a "back up") with the local Purple Dragon food co-op. Great massive amount of veggies. Came home that night and got to washing and prepping everything that needed to be dealt with immediately (otherwise it'd just languish and rot before I get motivated enough to deal with it all--it really is an intimidating amount of veggies for me to handle all at once).
I hope this will be a good way for me to incorporate more variety and more vegetables in my diet, and also with the husband helping prep things for dinner with me doing the actual cooking, it creates one new activity for both of us to participate in, as neither of us want to be saddled with cooking when we get home, if we divide the task, it seems almost manageable.
Last night we came home, and he prepped veggies for a south Indian Korma. Tonight I don't know what I'll make. Perhaps will defrost some sausages and cook w/peppers and onions and toss in some kale and serve with gnocchi. Perhaps.
It's 6:39 p.m., I woke at 1 p.m. I've been stifling the urge to go back to bed for a nap. But I think I must plod on, get dinner started for him, and hope it all convinces him to agree with me that the co-op is a great idea.
Mom says I talk too much about my *ahem* "movements," however, it is a clear indication of what's going on with your body. And let's just say there has been a difference in that department for me. The urgency and consistency have changed radically for me, and I suspect for the last 11 days I've been experiencing something I haven't in a long while: regular "movements."
Overall, I am tolerating the medication very well. And my only complaint is the taste. It is very icky salty sweet with a metallic type topnote, with a perfumey aftertaste. I have to hold my nose while swigging my doses down, and immediately following with some type of liquid (usually coffee in the a.m.) just to rinse the taste out of my mouth (and to keep from vomitting).
So far, so good.
Been a bit moody. Can't tell what that's from. Could be any number of root causes:
Hormonal imbalance from PCOS;
My depression or what I suspect (as yet "officially" undiagnosed: bipolar disorder);
PMS.
Started some pre-spotting today. Not sure if this is "it" or if it's a warning that the flood gates of hell will open up and I'll be surfing the "Red Tide." It totally bypassed me for June. So if/when it finally does happen, it's not going to be a walk in the park.
Thursday, I picked up a share (as a "back up") with the local Purple Dragon food co-op. Great massive amount of veggies. Came home that night and got to washing and prepping everything that needed to be dealt with immediately (otherwise it'd just languish and rot before I get motivated enough to deal with it all--it really is an intimidating amount of veggies for me to handle all at once).
I hope this will be a good way for me to incorporate more variety and more vegetables in my diet, and also with the husband helping prep things for dinner with me doing the actual cooking, it creates one new activity for both of us to participate in, as neither of us want to be saddled with cooking when we get home, if we divide the task, it seems almost manageable.
Last night we came home, and he prepped veggies for a south Indian Korma. Tonight I don't know what I'll make. Perhaps will defrost some sausages and cook w/peppers and onions and toss in some kale and serve with gnocchi. Perhaps.
It's 6:39 p.m., I woke at 1 p.m. I've been stifling the urge to go back to bed for a nap. But I think I must plod on, get dinner started for him, and hope it all convinces him to agree with me that the co-op is a great idea.
Monday, July 06, 2009
On Self Abuse
I'm sitting here at work, re-reading what I just posted... and delving into my previous posts. I got as far as March 2008 and had to stop.
I'm sitting here at my desk at work stifling the tears and debating going to the restroom to sob.
I'm sitting here at my desk at work stifling the tears and debating going to the restroom to sob.
Day 6
So far no adverse effects (no more or less gastric distress than before); however, I have noticed that my *ahem* "movements" have been a bit "different" than before. No more sudden onset liquified "shame," but now it's slower and more deliberate if that makes sense. Seems like my food stays in me longer (and I can only assume so, too, does the medicine).
Been incredibly moody this past week. I can't tell if this is something new or part of the baseline of moodiness I have.
Period still is a no-show, save for a little spotting or discharge the last week of June, but by no means was it a "flow."
I wish I'd just go right into menopause at this point. I can't handle anymore hypothetical intellectualizing over whether I want to have a kid or not. I've tried, unsuccessfully, for eight years to get him "on topic," and somehow the conversation never fully resolves itself. And now, eight years later (mind you, this is on top of the near-10 years wasted with the exhusband), he wants to talk about it, yet is emotionally detached from it, and I'm beyond this discussion.
One moment, I'm too fat to get pregnant. Or I'm too high of a risk with everything else wrong with me. One moment he says, "I didn't marry you for kids, I married you to be with you." Next moment, he's talking about adoption or surrogacy in India. And yet, he has failed to respect or regard the fact that I am six years older than he, with any sense of urgency.
When I married, I was interested in having a kid. OUR kid. Someone with both sets of qualities. The romantic idea of making your "love real" and "building a family of our own." He's always had his own agenda. While I'm not trying to demonize him... we're on so totally opposite time tables for each of our lives, I feel like two meteorites passing each other in deep space. For all intents and perspectives, it LOOKS LIKE we'll collide and become one; yet in space, a degree "off" and it's a near miss.
I have such a fear of failure in every aspect of my life, I'd just assume not attempt anything out of fear of becoming an even bigger failure. And as alone as I feel now, sorting all this out on my own, I cannot even fathom the difficulty of doing this without a support system... and without my dad to guide me.
We got lost yesterday on our way home, trying to get out of Jersey City (visiting friends), and the husband talked about the whole baby topic. I was stressed about being lost, and now brings up an emotional topic for me, and it totally unraveled me to the point of needing to pull over so I could sob, as I was stifling a full-on sob-fest while driving, and did not feel safe crying while driving.
So I pulled over somewhere and just fell apart, while the husband was saying, "Gee, um, this isn't a safe place to do this." It was as safe as any, imho, and to be honest, I don't want to live anymore. Haven't for a while. This is what my life is reduced to? Why bother? I sat there sobbing without an arm around me comforting me, without words of comfort, or even attempts at any of this. We sat in the car, and I felt worlds apart.
For the record, I'm not compliant with my Lexapro anymore. Haven't sought help for what I suspect is bipolar disorder. Yet one more set of doctors to go to, ALONE, for me to deal with this, ALONE.
I have a recommendation for a therapist from an online friend. I haven't managed to make the call yet. And even if I did, I don't put much value in "talk therapy," when from a family history standpoint emotional shit/depression like this is rampant. And even if I did call... where the fuck do I start? It's all so hopeless.
Been incredibly moody this past week. I can't tell if this is something new or part of the baseline of moodiness I have.
Period still is a no-show, save for a little spotting or discharge the last week of June, but by no means was it a "flow."
I wish I'd just go right into menopause at this point. I can't handle anymore hypothetical intellectualizing over whether I want to have a kid or not. I've tried, unsuccessfully, for eight years to get him "on topic," and somehow the conversation never fully resolves itself. And now, eight years later (mind you, this is on top of the near-10 years wasted with the exhusband), he wants to talk about it, yet is emotionally detached from it, and I'm beyond this discussion.
One moment, I'm too fat to get pregnant. Or I'm too high of a risk with everything else wrong with me. One moment he says, "I didn't marry you for kids, I married you to be with you." Next moment, he's talking about adoption or surrogacy in India. And yet, he has failed to respect or regard the fact that I am six years older than he, with any sense of urgency.
When I married, I was interested in having a kid. OUR kid. Someone with both sets of qualities. The romantic idea of making your "love real" and "building a family of our own." He's always had his own agenda. While I'm not trying to demonize him... we're on so totally opposite time tables for each of our lives, I feel like two meteorites passing each other in deep space. For all intents and perspectives, it LOOKS LIKE we'll collide and become one; yet in space, a degree "off" and it's a near miss.
I have such a fear of failure in every aspect of my life, I'd just assume not attempt anything out of fear of becoming an even bigger failure. And as alone as I feel now, sorting all this out on my own, I cannot even fathom the difficulty of doing this without a support system... and without my dad to guide me.
We got lost yesterday on our way home, trying to get out of Jersey City (visiting friends), and the husband talked about the whole baby topic. I was stressed about being lost, and now brings up an emotional topic for me, and it totally unraveled me to the point of needing to pull over so I could sob, as I was stifling a full-on sob-fest while driving, and did not feel safe crying while driving.
So I pulled over somewhere and just fell apart, while the husband was saying, "Gee, um, this isn't a safe place to do this." It was as safe as any, imho, and to be honest, I don't want to live anymore. Haven't for a while. This is what my life is reduced to? Why bother? I sat there sobbing without an arm around me comforting me, without words of comfort, or even attempts at any of this. We sat in the car, and I felt worlds apart.
For the record, I'm not compliant with my Lexapro anymore. Haven't sought help for what I suspect is bipolar disorder. Yet one more set of doctors to go to, ALONE, for me to deal with this, ALONE.
I have a recommendation for a therapist from an online friend. I haven't managed to make the call yet. And even if I did, I don't put much value in "talk therapy," when from a family history standpoint emotional shit/depression like this is rampant. And even if I did call... where the fuck do I start? It's all so hopeless.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Day Two
So far, so good.
The stuff tastes foul. It smells like it's got potential to be "tasty." Tutti-frutti or bubble gum almost; but then you get it in your mouth, it's got a salty metallic after taste which sticks to the tongue, and a near "fragrance" like effect in the nose (as if I spritzed perfume in my mouth).
Not totally offensive, but, yeah, the antithesis of "delish."
So I slurp my teaspoon down, and follow with my coffee and the rest of my breakfast.
So far, no gastric distress. I can't blame my flatulence on it, as I was quite spectacularly flatulent beforehand.
And yet, last night, after one dose in the a.m., last night I don't know if it's a mental thing, but I felt different, or a difference starting to happen on a molecular level. Skin flushed. Feeling different. Yesterday was moody, not sure if that's PMS or the medicine. It's hard to tell after only one day.
The stuff tastes foul. It smells like it's got potential to be "tasty." Tutti-frutti or bubble gum almost; but then you get it in your mouth, it's got a salty metallic after taste which sticks to the tongue, and a near "fragrance" like effect in the nose (as if I spritzed perfume in my mouth).
Not totally offensive, but, yeah, the antithesis of "delish."
So I slurp my teaspoon down, and follow with my coffee and the rest of my breakfast.
So far, no gastric distress. I can't blame my flatulence on it, as I was quite spectacularly flatulent beforehand.
And yet, last night, after one dose in the a.m., last night I don't know if it's a mental thing, but I felt different, or a difference starting to happen on a molecular level. Skin flushed. Feeling different. Yesterday was moody, not sure if that's PMS or the medicine. It's hard to tell after only one day.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
PS: My Left Tit
It's been tender for a while.
This morning when I started to cough or clear my throat, while laying on my left side, my left breast had a piercing tingle senstation.
Date of Mamo: 7/24.
This morning when I started to cough or clear my throat, while laying on my left side, my left breast had a piercing tingle senstation.
Date of Mamo: 7/24.
A Few Mental Notes
Last week, I spotted. I don't keep a calendar, per se, so before heading to the ReproEndo guy, I always take a peek at this blog, which appears neglected, but to be honest, there's not much to report in the "down time" between visits. Unless of course, readers (what few there are to this blog) want to read and revel in my grief and depression, and how both are affecting one another. Or how I hate my job, and at times, hate myself.
Anyway, I had a conversation via email w/ReproEndo Guy this week. He's a peach. I don't expect him to reply quick, but he does; and I'd much rather zap an email he can reply to in-between patients or better yet, at his leisure.
The conversation had to do with how I just cannot reconcile continuing to PAY FOR and TAKE the Metformin XR tablets, if all I am going to do is expel them, seemingly undigested, in my 10:30 a.m. bowel movement.
Literally, it looks like a PayDay candy bar. And though I'm not one for PayDays (I'm more of a Snickers or Baby Ruth gal myself, iff'n when I indulge), but now I just can't bring myself to even THINK about putting a PayDay in my mouth.
He zapped back, "I hope you'll reconsider Riomet."
"Riomet? What's that?" I replied.
I don't take notes from office visit to office visit, but I'd remember if a medication was recommended!
Turns out for folks who have difficulties swallowing the big ol' horse tablets, Riomet is a liquid form of Metformin.
Of course, as fate would have it, this email conversation took place AFTER I had just gotten my Metformin XR refilled, so now I have a month's worth of tablets that I cannot return to the pharmacy.
I just could not justify the expense (granted my co-pays are $20, but STILL), but more importantly taking medication such as this (at such a high dosage), God only knows what it'll ultimately do to my liver, and NOT get benefit from it because it hasn't been in my system long enough.
We're still on board for either gastric bypass or banding for 2010. My dad's death really has thrown me for a loop, and I cannot do anything drastic this year.
I do not know if my persistent depression (clinical? bipolar? who gives a shit) is feeding my grief over the loss of dad (the alienation, the inability to communicate verbally is killing me a little each day); or is the grief fueling the depression, like a locomotive, pushing it forward.
In addition to this, I hate my job with a white, hot passion. I hate what it has done to me. And I live every day hoping to get fired (so I can at least collect unemployment) or have some type of attack or meltdown (so I can go on disability).
On top of this, I am married to a man who is not outwardly demonstrative, and is only affectionate when he wants sex. And let's face it, after everything I have just pecked out... why would I want to have sex?
Furthermore, despite his declaration today (only after I sat in a fog and was sobbing), "You know I love you, right? 10 years, 20 years, 30 years from now, I'll still love you..." I worry sometimes that these types of declarations, which are not INITIATED by his own wont, but is a reaction to me, or what he thinks I want to hear... I worry it may be too late for it to render me human again.
From August 2008 until October when dad ultimately passed, he had only gone with me on that long drive twice (once was after I got in a car accident due to grief and worry and sleep deprivation; and the other was that dad was DYING). And due to the husband's interview at INS landing on the unfortunate date of dad's Memorial Service, nearly every aspect of dad's final hospitalization and passing... I went through ALONE. I'm blessed my sister, brother, and mother all were able to be there more daily; but for me, I had to go through what I had to go through without the physical support of my spouse. He went with me the morning dad passed, so I could lay eyes on him one final time in repose (no formal viewing; direct cremation after we left).
I feel like a husk of what a human should be.
And if you see me on the street or at work or at my weekly knit night, and I'm smiling and laughing to the point of tears, or just plain FUNCTIONING, it's all a coping mechanism.
I just want to die in my sleep.
Anyway, I had a conversation via email w/ReproEndo Guy this week. He's a peach. I don't expect him to reply quick, but he does; and I'd much rather zap an email he can reply to in-between patients or better yet, at his leisure.
The conversation had to do with how I just cannot reconcile continuing to PAY FOR and TAKE the Metformin XR tablets, if all I am going to do is expel them, seemingly undigested, in my 10:30 a.m. bowel movement.
Literally, it looks like a PayDay candy bar. And though I'm not one for PayDays (I'm more of a Snickers or Baby Ruth gal myself, iff'n when I indulge), but now I just can't bring myself to even THINK about putting a PayDay in my mouth.
He zapped back, "I hope you'll reconsider Riomet."
"Riomet? What's that?" I replied.
I don't take notes from office visit to office visit, but I'd remember if a medication was recommended!
Turns out for folks who have difficulties swallowing the big ol' horse tablets, Riomet is a liquid form of Metformin.
Of course, as fate would have it, this email conversation took place AFTER I had just gotten my Metformin XR refilled, so now I have a month's worth of tablets that I cannot return to the pharmacy.
I just could not justify the expense (granted my co-pays are $20, but STILL), but more importantly taking medication such as this (at such a high dosage), God only knows what it'll ultimately do to my liver, and NOT get benefit from it because it hasn't been in my system long enough.
We're still on board for either gastric bypass or banding for 2010. My dad's death really has thrown me for a loop, and I cannot do anything drastic this year.
I do not know if my persistent depression (clinical? bipolar? who gives a shit) is feeding my grief over the loss of dad (the alienation, the inability to communicate verbally is killing me a little each day); or is the grief fueling the depression, like a locomotive, pushing it forward.
In addition to this, I hate my job with a white, hot passion. I hate what it has done to me. And I live every day hoping to get fired (so I can at least collect unemployment) or have some type of attack or meltdown (so I can go on disability).
On top of this, I am married to a man who is not outwardly demonstrative, and is only affectionate when he wants sex. And let's face it, after everything I have just pecked out... why would I want to have sex?
Furthermore, despite his declaration today (only after I sat in a fog and was sobbing), "You know I love you, right? 10 years, 20 years, 30 years from now, I'll still love you..." I worry sometimes that these types of declarations, which are not INITIATED by his own wont, but is a reaction to me, or what he thinks I want to hear... I worry it may be too late for it to render me human again.
From August 2008 until October when dad ultimately passed, he had only gone with me on that long drive twice (once was after I got in a car accident due to grief and worry and sleep deprivation; and the other was that dad was DYING). And due to the husband's interview at INS landing on the unfortunate date of dad's Memorial Service, nearly every aspect of dad's final hospitalization and passing... I went through ALONE. I'm blessed my sister, brother, and mother all were able to be there more daily; but for me, I had to go through what I had to go through without the physical support of my spouse. He went with me the morning dad passed, so I could lay eyes on him one final time in repose (no formal viewing; direct cremation after we left).
I feel like a husk of what a human should be.
And if you see me on the street or at work or at my weekly knit night, and I'm smiling and laughing to the point of tears, or just plain FUNCTIONING, it's all a coping mechanism.
I just want to die in my sleep.
Monday, May 25, 2009
I can't stop sleeping
My bio-rhythms are all messed up. I no sooner get up and do things, and want to curl back up in a ball and escape to sleep.
Stress and depression I am sure are motivating it. I'm a bit non-compliant with my lexapro... though even if I am taking it as prescribed, I have problems, intense problems getting out of bed.
Futility with my own weight, my health, and dealing with my grief over dad's passing. I'm still in shock and sad over it and missing him intensely. On top of this, I now have the reputation within my family of being a flake, as when I promise to visit (which involves a 2.5 hour drive, one-way, to get there) only for me to bail out at the last moment... it's all just so toxic. My visits are fraught with frustration. I live a quiet life in comparison to the loud chaos of my visits. Don't want to rehash everything all over again, but I'm just tired of it all.
I don't even have the energy to delve into it today. Today, Memorial Day, is gorgeous. And all I want to do is sleep.
At least I got showered.
That's my accomplishment today.
Stress and depression I am sure are motivating it. I'm a bit non-compliant with my lexapro... though even if I am taking it as prescribed, I have problems, intense problems getting out of bed.
Futility with my own weight, my health, and dealing with my grief over dad's passing. I'm still in shock and sad over it and missing him intensely. On top of this, I now have the reputation within my family of being a flake, as when I promise to visit (which involves a 2.5 hour drive, one-way, to get there) only for me to bail out at the last moment... it's all just so toxic. My visits are fraught with frustration. I live a quiet life in comparison to the loud chaos of my visits. Don't want to rehash everything all over again, but I'm just tired of it all.
I don't even have the energy to delve into it today. Today, Memorial Day, is gorgeous. And all I want to do is sleep.
At least I got showered.
That's my accomplishment today.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Kanten?
Kanten = Agar Agar, and apparently it has therapeutic effects for folks with poor metabolism or insulin resistance problems.
Going to plop this down here for my future reference at home.
I don't know if I am on to something or what; however, apparently it contains no carbohydrates.
Already I am envisioning using this as a tomato aspic w/some spicy jalapeno, green onion, crunchy cucumber and celery and some V8. Or an aspic of lapsang souchong, and some hardboiled "marbled" eggs (boiled, cracked, and simmered with some soy sauce in lapsang souchong tea, and left to soak, then cool). I don't know. Crazy talk, perhaps. But if this shit can help stave off my near constant hunger, I'll try just about anything.
Just got off phone w/local market that carries Kanten; $8.99 per 1 oz container of flakes.
Note to self:
2 gm->1Cup water
28 gm = 1 oz
Going to plop this down here for my future reference at home.
I don't know if I am on to something or what; however, apparently it contains no carbohydrates.
Already I am envisioning using this as a tomato aspic w/some spicy jalapeno, green onion, crunchy cucumber and celery and some V8. Or an aspic of lapsang souchong, and some hardboiled "marbled" eggs (boiled, cracked, and simmered with some soy sauce in lapsang souchong tea, and left to soak, then cool). I don't know. Crazy talk, perhaps. But if this shit can help stave off my near constant hunger, I'll try just about anything.
Just got off phone w/local market that carries Kanten; $8.99 per 1 oz container of flakes.
Note to self:
2 gm->1Cup water
28 gm = 1 oz
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Struggles w/Atkins
Last Monday was the first full day of genuinely being "ON" Atkins. I believe my daily carb count for the entire day was in the neighborhood of 15?
Monday night, I woke up with a ferocious charlie horse in each calf muscle.
Tuesday morning, I woke up feeling out of sorts, and every muscle in my body aching. I can only deduce it's from a build-up of lactic acid from the protein laden food intake on Monday.
So sick, stayed home Tuesday. Drank plenty of water, and went back to bed at 8:30 a.m., after calling in sick. Stayed in bed until 4:30. Just miserable.
Now? My heart isn't "in it," and I'm rethinking the whole idea. Even though I had lofty ideas of incorporating my "Fiber 35" shakes (each w/a net carb of 8, and not too horrible tasting, yet very very filling), as well as catabolic veggies, this time around on Atkins.
My life is too on-the-go for a regimen which requires me to sit with a knife and fork. Atkins isn't very portable. Yet, after the induction period, I know I'll feel better. But the induction period is enough to make me lose my mind.
Seriously.
Feeling a bit morally dejected, and flawed, and furious at something I cannot see (my pancreas, DNA, what have you).
My word (even to myself) has no meaning. My word and promise to myself that this time would be different, that I'd conquer this demon... it's all empty, hollow, meaningless.
I've failed yet again.
Monday night, I woke up with a ferocious charlie horse in each calf muscle.
Tuesday morning, I woke up feeling out of sorts, and every muscle in my body aching. I can only deduce it's from a build-up of lactic acid from the protein laden food intake on Monday.
So sick, stayed home Tuesday. Drank plenty of water, and went back to bed at 8:30 a.m., after calling in sick. Stayed in bed until 4:30. Just miserable.
Now? My heart isn't "in it," and I'm rethinking the whole idea. Even though I had lofty ideas of incorporating my "Fiber 35" shakes (each w/a net carb of 8, and not too horrible tasting, yet very very filling), as well as catabolic veggies, this time around on Atkins.
My life is too on-the-go for a regimen which requires me to sit with a knife and fork. Atkins isn't very portable. Yet, after the induction period, I know I'll feel better. But the induction period is enough to make me lose my mind.
Seriously.
Feeling a bit morally dejected, and flawed, and furious at something I cannot see (my pancreas, DNA, what have you).
My word (even to myself) has no meaning. My word and promise to myself that this time would be different, that I'd conquer this demon... it's all empty, hollow, meaningless.
I've failed yet again.
Friday, May 08, 2009
Atkins, Redux
Attempting to get back on Atkins.
This time I'm going to attempt to include more Atkins-friendly catabolic vegetables. Atkins isn't all that portable, nor convenient for that matter, so A LOT of planning is necessary.
GAH.
This time I'm going to attempt to include more Atkins-friendly catabolic vegetables. Atkins isn't all that portable, nor convenient for that matter, so A LOT of planning is necessary.
GAH.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
.
Onset of menses: 4/24
Aside: This is the six month mark since dad died. I'm no where's past my shock.
Aside: This is the six month mark since dad died. I'm no where's past my shock.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
The Status Thus Far: Post Visit
My visit to the ReproEndo guy went "well." Not spectacular.
Here are my figures:
Weight lost/gained: +7 (up 7 lbs from the 14 I lost between Aug & Nov)
BP: 120/80 (Missed the night-before's dose and that morning's dose)
Onset of menses: 3/14
Last menses: 1/21
Glucose Fasting: 111 (Range 65-99 mg/dL)
Uric Acid: 7.3 (Range 2.5-7.0 mg/dL)
Triglycerides: 168 (Range <150 mg/dL)
AST: 31 (Range 10-30 U/L)
ALT: 52 (Range 6-40 U/L)
Microalbumin, random urine: 66 (Range <30 mcg/mg Creat)
Insulin, serum: 39 (Range<17 uIU/mL)
DHEA Sulfate: 619 (Range 25-220 mcg/dL)
Testosterone, % free: 2.0 (Range 0.5-1.8 Percent)
Course of action:
After reminding the doc that five years ago when I was on Actos instead of Metformin XR, I was able to maintain a better weight (roughly 20 lbs less) and that my triglycerides was better), he flipped through his notes from the last five years' worth of visits and noticed I was correct.
He decided to write an Rx for Actos to be taken in conjunction with my Metformin XR.
Additionally, he cut my blood pressure medication in half. So even though my weight shifted back up (as I said it would, as the loss was not a "trend" but a result of sleeping too much due to my grief and depression), I am looking at the halving of my blood pressure medication as a promising indicator that at least my pressure has improved.
No discussion of the by-pass. As I laid down the ground rule in November, that if he took the discussion off the table due to what he thought was a trend, and if/when I gained the weight back, I'm going to balk on the surgery. I can't get my hopes up and have them dashed in three month increments.
Next visit: 3 months
Left with scrip for bloods, and a jug for a 24 hr urine collection. Fun.
Here are my figures:
Weight lost/gained: +7 (up 7 lbs from the 14 I lost between Aug & Nov)
BP: 120/80 (Missed the night-before's dose and that morning's dose)
Onset of menses: 3/14
Last menses: 1/21
Glucose Fasting: 111 (Range 65-99 mg/dL)
Uric Acid: 7.3 (Range 2.5-7.0 mg/dL)
Triglycerides: 168 (Range <150 mg/dL)
AST: 31 (Range 10-30 U/L)
ALT: 52 (Range 6-40 U/L)
Microalbumin, random urine: 66 (Range <30 mcg/mg Creat)
Insulin, serum: 39 (Range<17 uIU/mL)
DHEA Sulfate: 619 (Range 25-220 mcg/dL)
Testosterone, % free: 2.0 (Range 0.5-1.8 Percent)
Course of action:
After reminding the doc that five years ago when I was on Actos instead of Metformin XR, I was able to maintain a better weight (roughly 20 lbs less) and that my triglycerides was better), he flipped through his notes from the last five years' worth of visits and noticed I was correct.
He decided to write an Rx for Actos to be taken in conjunction with my Metformin XR.
Additionally, he cut my blood pressure medication in half. So even though my weight shifted back up (as I said it would, as the loss was not a "trend" but a result of sleeping too much due to my grief and depression), I am looking at the halving of my blood pressure medication as a promising indicator that at least my pressure has improved.
No discussion of the by-pass. As I laid down the ground rule in November, that if he took the discussion off the table due to what he thought was a trend, and if/when I gained the weight back, I'm going to balk on the surgery. I can't get my hopes up and have them dashed in three month increments.
Next visit: 3 months
Left with scrip for bloods, and a jug for a 24 hr urine collection. Fun.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Sunday, January 11, 2009
No Real Update
Fell on 12/28.
Got a stomach bug 1/1.
Got my period 1/5.
Go for bloodwork 1/19.
Next visit with specialist: 2/17 I think... or the 21st. Gotta check my blotter at work.
Nothing pertinent to share. Other than I went back on my lexapro due to uncontrolled crying jags. Luckily I have a little stash of it at home. Gotta go back to a doctor for a refill.
Got a stomach bug 1/1.
Got my period 1/5.
Go for bloodwork 1/19.
Next visit with specialist: 2/17 I think... or the 21st. Gotta check my blotter at work.
Nothing pertinent to share. Other than I went back on my lexapro due to uncontrolled crying jags. Luckily I have a little stash of it at home. Gotta go back to a doctor for a refill.
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