Ever see that SNL skit w/Phil Hartman as the Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer? Well, at the conclusion of this week's knit night, one of my friends noted I was wearing jeans, and how she doesn't think she's ever seen me in jeans. I commented how they are my milestone jeans. They are a size 14 (and really a bit loose on me). Size 14 being the smallest size The Avenue carries. I quipped about how should I go down one more size, I'll have to buy my clothes from a conventional size store. "Oh, is The Limited still in business?" Truly, I lost interest in the store when Bush Senior was president, when my weight started LEAPING, NOT CREEPING, but LEAPING from one size to the next. "I don't know what it's like to buy clothing in a store that doesn't cater to large sized folks. It's been so long. I think I'll feel like that Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer... your world is all so weird and unfamiliar to me."
Another interesting milestone: the size "large" belt which I bought a while ago (a few months back) now finally fits. I can secure it on the first hole without it feeling like a tourniquet. Yay me.
Now if only I could FEEL better.
I am having motivational issues just to do anything, even simple, mundane shit like showering daily and getting dressed and out of the house, even for things which I know will make me feel better, and yet... the over-riding desire to nap sometimes wins out even the best argument that my conscious self can make to this other side of my personality, which I'll refer to as the hermit. The hermit just wants to do just that, be a hermit, avoid contact with other people.
I had an actual dialogue today, both sides or both personalities, were talking to one another today. Not sure if this is a mental break, or if it's just an exercise I needed to do to further motivate myself to get my rear in gear and out of the house (which I eventually DID), but the dialogue went like this:
Personality 1: You know you need that deep tissue massage. You'll feel better. Tomorrow you have a long drive and won't have a chance to do this, and it'll be another week before you can do this, another week before you feel better.
Personality 2: I don't want to feel better. I don't want to feel anything at all. I just want to die.
And of course, this was capped off with me getting weepy. Hard to feel like doing anything when you feel dizzy and feel like shit, yanno? Hard to break out of that cycle of you're in pain, and it depresses you, and then the depression makes you feel even MORE physically shitty, etc etc, to the point where you're shaky and miserable, and just want to curl up into a ball and sob.
But I got dressed and out of the house. Did something proactively to make myself feel better. Went for that massage. I felt like the masseuse was helping me on a molecular level. I know for a fact that if I were to go to my old Reiki practitioner, I'd be in tears by the end of the session. Wish I had her name and #, but lost those details several years back, and the only person who could have offered help, the woman who ran the local yoga clinic where I met the aforementioned reiki master refused to pass the information along to me (apparently they had some kind of falling out). Karma's a bitch, and the economy in the shitter the way it's been for nearly ten years, well, that yoga studio went belly up about 2-3 years back. You get what you give, I suppose.
Tomorrow I make a trip to Jersey for a class to learn the finer points of a technique I know "some" details of, and even know some advanced details of, but little simple basics I could benefit from an actual class. I've already paid for this class, so I'm hoping that's motivation enough for me to not bail out and flake out and be out $65 for the cost of the class. On an upnote, the class is held at a shop in the same town as one of my fave Thai restaurants, so I can't wait. And a friend I originally made plans with to have lunch after the class is under the weather, so she already bailed out on the lunch; so I might just sit and enjoy lunch in solitude, and pick up take out for the husband and might possibly make it home by 4 or 5 the earliest and salvage a bit of the day with him, as he should be up from his afternoon nap by then.
Been taking Feosol iron for about a week... not quite. But "about." Not sure if it's making a difference yet. Folks reading this blog can have hope enough for me, because I have none. At this point, I'm just on autopilot, taking meds, taking vitamins, doing what the doctors say I need to do, and abandoning expectation that any of it will make a difference. Because I am compliant as a post-opper, but even that's not enough, I suppose.
Appointment has been set for me to follow up with a neurologist re: the migraine. That's next Friday. Then my usual 3 month appt w/the endocrinologist is little more than a week later or so.
I cannot wait for my 44th year to start (in August), as my 43rd year has been one fraught with bullshitty health stuff. Gah.
Time to take my calcium, have some coffee, and call it a night.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Monday, April 23, 2012
Lack of Progress
Man makes plans and God says Hah, allegedly.
My next 'ologist I was going to consult was a hematologist given my anemia, adenomyosis and FVLM; however, Saturday's trip to the ER for a migraine might trump that for a little bit. I might have to follow up with a neurologist regarding the horrendous headache. I have no doubt of the genesis of the headache. Hormonal and associated with the adenomyosis.
My 43rd year has been horrendous for my health. I feel like such a whiner. Not sure if this is part of the aging process, or perimenopause (tho I have it on pretty good authority it's not this, not yet at least), or hypochondria. Surely, I can't have THIS many things wrong with me all at once.
Just as soon as it seems that I've adjusted or accepted the new status quo, something else is lumped onto the pile, kinda like the story of Job, but only with medically related annoyances etc to overcome.
On top of all this, my weight loss has continued its stalemate. I keep hoping to find the time or energy to chase down a Feldenkrais practitioner or do something proactive to help with my joint pain, to help get me more active again, and jump start my weight loss for what I hope to be the last 15-20 lbs.
Very difficult to remain upbeat or motivated when other things are truly sapping my energy and focus.
Still doing what I'm supposed to be doing: protein, protein, protein; fluids; vitamins; packing my feed bag; nothing more than roughly 8 oz for me now; eating frequently; and trying to go easy on myself.
Given I'm in between therapists at the moment, and given that my husband is really "all I've got" for actual, tangible, in-person support system, I don't want to overburden him with TMI of what I'm going thru. So, to add insult to injury, I really feel isolated and worn out.
Zapped a note to the bariatric team to find out about the Fiorinal for my migraines (which aren't too frequent, but shit, this one was a doozy).
My next 'ologist I was going to consult was a hematologist given my anemia, adenomyosis and FVLM; however, Saturday's trip to the ER for a migraine might trump that for a little bit. I might have to follow up with a neurologist regarding the horrendous headache. I have no doubt of the genesis of the headache. Hormonal and associated with the adenomyosis.
My 43rd year has been horrendous for my health. I feel like such a whiner. Not sure if this is part of the aging process, or perimenopause (tho I have it on pretty good authority it's not this, not yet at least), or hypochondria. Surely, I can't have THIS many things wrong with me all at once.
Just as soon as it seems that I've adjusted or accepted the new status quo, something else is lumped onto the pile, kinda like the story of Job, but only with medically related annoyances etc to overcome.
On top of all this, my weight loss has continued its stalemate. I keep hoping to find the time or energy to chase down a Feldenkrais practitioner or do something proactive to help with my joint pain, to help get me more active again, and jump start my weight loss for what I hope to be the last 15-20 lbs.
Very difficult to remain upbeat or motivated when other things are truly sapping my energy and focus.
Still doing what I'm supposed to be doing: protein, protein, protein; fluids; vitamins; packing my feed bag; nothing more than roughly 8 oz for me now; eating frequently; and trying to go easy on myself.
Given I'm in between therapists at the moment, and given that my husband is really "all I've got" for actual, tangible, in-person support system, I don't want to overburden him with TMI of what I'm going thru. So, to add insult to injury, I really feel isolated and worn out.
Zapped a note to the bariatric team to find out about the Fiorinal for my migraines (which aren't too frequent, but shit, this one was a doozy).
Sunday, April 22, 2012
ER: The morning after
Ever hear of Murphy's Law? Well, there's "Maven's Law" which is kinda like Murphy's Law, but with one tweak at the end:
If anything bad/wrong can happen, it will. At the worst possible time.
So yeah. Yesterday I woke up feeling worse for wear. As I posted on Friday it was a two vicodin day, courtesy of my epic menstrual pain due to the (there I go again!) adenomyosis.
And by worse for wear, I mean I woke up with a migraine that just would not quit. First sign of distress is the obvious: I woke up at 7:30 a.m. on a SATURDAY. This is unheard of. Woke up feeling illish. Went to the kitchen to take my blood pressure pill, and get the jump on my vitamins, which I usually start my day with my gummy prenatals, gummy fiber chew, and gummy vitamin c. Those are the first things to hit my stomach, then the blood pressure pill, washed down with a mouthful of coffee.
And then it happened. EPIC NAUSEA. I thought, "BRILLIANT!" usually, after vomiting commences, my migraines usually start to subside. Not in this case. I was the Ever Ready Bunny of Puke. Only, there's nothing to puke up. I last ate at 9:30 the night before, and other than the vitamins, nothing else came up. Being without a gall bladder also means, no bile comes up, which is a great thing, puke wise, because you don't get any of that acrid nasty stuff to deal with, but the downside is, you have nothing of substance to heave up.
And heave, I did. All day. I laid down thinking I'd try to sleep off the bulk of the unpleasantness, tossing and turning in the bed, uncomfortable. Every time I'd get up to urinate, the disturbance to my head and neck was enough to elicit more waves of heaving-loveliness.
Mind you, I'm 16 months out from my gastric bypass. I still worry about possible damage to the pouch when dealing with violent heaving like this. I also wonder and worry if the epic heaving will be enough to damage the repair to the hiatal hernia, too.
Head was pounding as if the Mario Brothers were in there, pounding away with sledge hammers. Unrelentingly.
And so this went until about 3 p.m., when I just couldn't stand life one more moment, I woke the husband from his nap and said, "It's time. I need to go to the hospital."
By the time he got washed and dressed, we arrived at the hospital (which is only a scant 3 minutes from our house), by 4 p.m., I went into a quasi-nap trying to zone out the ER lobby din. They bring me inside and for the next four hours or so, I'm in the ER, hooked up to an IV for fluids, Dilaudid and something else for pain, something for nausea, Zofran under the tongue. Mercifully I have ear plugs (but no eye patch) to blot out what I can of what's going on around me. Puke bag at the ready by my side.
I'm now thinking I should just give up the notion of even trying to conceive. I'm too old and frail and just not up to an endeavor such as that. Physically, emotionally, etc. I cannot imagine going thru this or other health set backs, with just my husband, and then have to deal with what to do with a small child or infant during something like this, when we have ZERO support system nearby. It's not fair to me, the husband or the child.
I'm seriously contemplating going in for the ablation. Biting the bullet. Get the ablation. Maybe get my tubes tied. And call it a day. I'm certain the migraine is related to the adenomyosis, as yesterday was the second full on day of my menses.
I've reached the point... the "Come to Jesus" moment of accepting the fact that having a child of my own is not in my cards. That perhaps I wasted my prime baby making years, ten of them, with someone who threw me away 14 years ago. And there he is, with two kids, one of them named the name we picked for our hypothetical son. And here I am, battling with this nonsense. Doesn't really seem all that fair.
But it's come down to it's either me/my health/my sanity or go on a reproductive wild goose chase with no viable end in sight.
All I know is that while I was in the ER, I was having a conversation with the Universal Power that guides us, whatever that power is... not God... but something is driving the universe, yanno? And the conversation went like this, "Look, if you're going to take me. Take me now. Just quit pussyfooting around, because death itself? It can't possibly be worse than this shit. I'm ready to go. I'm showered up. Take me, damnit."
If anything bad/wrong can happen, it will. At the worst possible time.
So yeah. Yesterday I woke up feeling worse for wear. As I posted on Friday it was a two vicodin day, courtesy of my epic menstrual pain due to the (there I go again!) adenomyosis.
And by worse for wear, I mean I woke up with a migraine that just would not quit. First sign of distress is the obvious: I woke up at 7:30 a.m. on a SATURDAY. This is unheard of. Woke up feeling illish. Went to the kitchen to take my blood pressure pill, and get the jump on my vitamins, which I usually start my day with my gummy prenatals, gummy fiber chew, and gummy vitamin c. Those are the first things to hit my stomach, then the blood pressure pill, washed down with a mouthful of coffee.
And then it happened. EPIC NAUSEA. I thought, "BRILLIANT!" usually, after vomiting commences, my migraines usually start to subside. Not in this case. I was the Ever Ready Bunny of Puke. Only, there's nothing to puke up. I last ate at 9:30 the night before, and other than the vitamins, nothing else came up. Being without a gall bladder also means, no bile comes up, which is a great thing, puke wise, because you don't get any of that acrid nasty stuff to deal with, but the downside is, you have nothing of substance to heave up.
And heave, I did. All day. I laid down thinking I'd try to sleep off the bulk of the unpleasantness, tossing and turning in the bed, uncomfortable. Every time I'd get up to urinate, the disturbance to my head and neck was enough to elicit more waves of heaving-loveliness.
Mind you, I'm 16 months out from my gastric bypass. I still worry about possible damage to the pouch when dealing with violent heaving like this. I also wonder and worry if the epic heaving will be enough to damage the repair to the hiatal hernia, too.
Head was pounding as if the Mario Brothers were in there, pounding away with sledge hammers. Unrelentingly.
And so this went until about 3 p.m., when I just couldn't stand life one more moment, I woke the husband from his nap and said, "It's time. I need to go to the hospital."
By the time he got washed and dressed, we arrived at the hospital (which is only a scant 3 minutes from our house), by 4 p.m., I went into a quasi-nap trying to zone out the ER lobby din. They bring me inside and for the next four hours or so, I'm in the ER, hooked up to an IV for fluids, Dilaudid and something else for pain, something for nausea, Zofran under the tongue. Mercifully I have ear plugs (but no eye patch) to blot out what I can of what's going on around me. Puke bag at the ready by my side.
I'm now thinking I should just give up the notion of even trying to conceive. I'm too old and frail and just not up to an endeavor such as that. Physically, emotionally, etc. I cannot imagine going thru this or other health set backs, with just my husband, and then have to deal with what to do with a small child or infant during something like this, when we have ZERO support system nearby. It's not fair to me, the husband or the child.
I'm seriously contemplating going in for the ablation. Biting the bullet. Get the ablation. Maybe get my tubes tied. And call it a day. I'm certain the migraine is related to the adenomyosis, as yesterday was the second full on day of my menses.
I've reached the point... the "Come to Jesus" moment of accepting the fact that having a child of my own is not in my cards. That perhaps I wasted my prime baby making years, ten of them, with someone who threw me away 14 years ago. And there he is, with two kids, one of them named the name we picked for our hypothetical son. And here I am, battling with this nonsense. Doesn't really seem all that fair.
But it's come down to it's either me/my health/my sanity or go on a reproductive wild goose chase with no viable end in sight.
All I know is that while I was in the ER, I was having a conversation with the Universal Power that guides us, whatever that power is... not God... but something is driving the universe, yanno? And the conversation went like this, "Look, if you're going to take me. Take me now. Just quit pussyfooting around, because death itself? It can't possibly be worse than this shit. I'm ready to go. I'm showered up. Take me, damnit."
Friday, April 20, 2012
Onset
Full on onset day = 2 Vicodin.
Started the Feosol iron supplement today. I really need to hook up with a hematologist to find out if I need to double up at this time of the month.
I'm now trying to remember if I packed Centrums or the prenatal vitamins when I went to India. Wondering if that's when and how I got derailed with the iron.
Still feel like crap. Might as well head to bed while the vicodin is still doing its thing.
Started the Feosol iron supplement today. I really need to hook up with a hematologist to find out if I need to double up at this time of the month.
I'm now trying to remember if I packed Centrums or the prenatal vitamins when I went to India. Wondering if that's when and how I got derailed with the iron.
Still feel like crap. Might as well head to bed while the vicodin is still doing its thing.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
How My Mind Works
When searching for iron supplements, I come across a brand name Bifera. Am I the only one whose first thought is Biafra?
In the Meantime...
I was out of the office sick yesterday. Just couldn't muster up enough energy to shower and get dressed and out the door (and also totally lacking FOCUS).
While I was out, my ReproEndoGuy emailed me with a recommendation about iron. Suggested I take Feosol 325 mg daily.
Today I'm going to scope out local hematologists, given my unique circumstances (WLS induced iron deficient anemia, adenomyosis, and the WILD CARD! Factor Five Leiden Mutation).
While I was out, my ReproEndoGuy emailed me with a recommendation about iron. Suggested I take Feosol 325 mg daily.
Today I'm going to scope out local hematologists, given my unique circumstances (WLS induced iron deficient anemia, adenomyosis, and the WILD CARD! Factor Five Leiden Mutation).
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Shoppin' Around
I think the time has come for me to find a new therapist, or at a minimum, officially break with this therapist and find a professional organizer to help with, well, ORGANIZING. Goodness, I was going thru a few stacks of books and noticed I've got TWO copies of "The Stranger" by Albert Camus. As if not being able to wrap my brain around his philosophy or point of view wasn't bad enough, I've now got TWO copies of that very books by which to confound me.
Two copies of "The Stranger," countless hair brushes, clips, packets of wet wipes, chewing gums, you name it... who needs MULTITUDES of things? Well apparently I MUST. Nothing more frustrating, IMHO, than to KNOW you have one or SIX of something, and can't seem to put your finger on ONE of those items, and my response usually is, "Oh, fuck this. I'll buy another." Then suddenly I find every single one of those items, and then start to feel like a hoarder.
Which, I suppose, I might be on some level about some things.
Granted, I don't watch t.v. shows such as Hoarders or The Biggest Loser or anything for that matter on Bravo or TLC, because I really thing THAT particular type of t.v. programming trivializes and exploits the plights and life narratives of those folks. But I would be dishonest if I didn't own up to the fact that on the rare occasions when I'm channel surfing (normally watch a lot of ON DEMAND or Netflix to avoid this kind of situation), if I happen upon Hoarders, I'll watch a segment or two, just for perspective. It might come off as judgement, but honestly, I know I've got that tendency myself, as I'm far too sentimental of a person, and have issues with attachments. But I figure I can put off contacting a professional for another day as long as I can keep closing my closet doors, my fridge door closes with ease, and I haven't found any dead animals amongst my belongings.
Taking a look thru my blog, I realize the last session I had with my therapist was 3/14, well over a month ago. Perhaps I'm expecting too much out of my therapist. But I do think it speaks volumes about how little he's invested in me as a client/patient, if a month can go by and THAT hasn't warranted a phone call or email inquiring if everything is okay and if/when can we are going to schedule an other session.
Mind you, I've been seeing him since roughly 2009. I started seeing him one year after dad passed, and right before I set things in motion for my gastric bypass. We talked about all manner of things, life, health, my work, my grief, etc. But really I don't know how much benefit I got out of it. Half the time, I couldn't tell if I was boring him, or if it was late in the afternoon and he'd be on the brink of nodding off, or if he was lost in thought, or what. And I did not get (nor did I demand) all that much in the way of feedback. So it just seemed like a whole lot of talking just purely for the sake of talking, without an end point or a goal, and certainly no behavioral modifications (not that it was his focus or specialty mind you, which it was not).
But still... here I am, three years later, and not really a whole lot to show for things, other than, well, I got myself thru my surgery.
But I'm still affected deeply by my grief over the passing and loss of my dad, still affected by being in a dead end job with no chance of any advancement or change of scenery therein, and still dealing with my clutter issues.
Husband suspects therapist has been billing for sessions every week, when I don't see him every week. So I'll be keeping an eye open for the EOBs for a while to see if he puts in for anything beyond March 14th.
The whole thing is a bit fishy.
Two copies of "The Stranger," countless hair brushes, clips, packets of wet wipes, chewing gums, you name it... who needs MULTITUDES of things? Well apparently I MUST. Nothing more frustrating, IMHO, than to KNOW you have one or SIX of something, and can't seem to put your finger on ONE of those items, and my response usually is, "Oh, fuck this. I'll buy another." Then suddenly I find every single one of those items, and then start to feel like a hoarder.
Which, I suppose, I might be on some level about some things.
Granted, I don't watch t.v. shows such as Hoarders or The Biggest Loser or anything for that matter on Bravo or TLC, because I really thing THAT particular type of t.v. programming trivializes and exploits the plights and life narratives of those folks. But I would be dishonest if I didn't own up to the fact that on the rare occasions when I'm channel surfing (normally watch a lot of ON DEMAND or Netflix to avoid this kind of situation), if I happen upon Hoarders, I'll watch a segment or two, just for perspective. It might come off as judgement, but honestly, I know I've got that tendency myself, as I'm far too sentimental of a person, and have issues with attachments. But I figure I can put off contacting a professional for another day as long as I can keep closing my closet doors, my fridge door closes with ease, and I haven't found any dead animals amongst my belongings.
Taking a look thru my blog, I realize the last session I had with my therapist was 3/14, well over a month ago. Perhaps I'm expecting too much out of my therapist. But I do think it speaks volumes about how little he's invested in me as a client/patient, if a month can go by and THAT hasn't warranted a phone call or email inquiring if everything is okay and if/when can we are going to schedule an other session.
Mind you, I've been seeing him since roughly 2009. I started seeing him one year after dad passed, and right before I set things in motion for my gastric bypass. We talked about all manner of things, life, health, my work, my grief, etc. But really I don't know how much benefit I got out of it. Half the time, I couldn't tell if I was boring him, or if it was late in the afternoon and he'd be on the brink of nodding off, or if he was lost in thought, or what. And I did not get (nor did I demand) all that much in the way of feedback. So it just seemed like a whole lot of talking just purely for the sake of talking, without an end point or a goal, and certainly no behavioral modifications (not that it was his focus or specialty mind you, which it was not).
But still... here I am, three years later, and not really a whole lot to show for things, other than, well, I got myself thru my surgery.
But I'm still affected deeply by my grief over the passing and loss of my dad, still affected by being in a dead end job with no chance of any advancement or change of scenery therein, and still dealing with my clutter issues.
Husband suspects therapist has been billing for sessions every week, when I don't see him every week. So I'll be keeping an eye open for the EOBs for a while to see if he puts in for anything beyond March 14th.
The whole thing is a bit fishy.
On Feeling Drained...
Got a call from the ReproEndo guy two days ago about my ferritin levels. Much talk was done about my anemia.
For starters, the RnY puts me in a risk factor for anemia, and the adenomyosis (there I go again, harping about this!) drains my body of iron. So it's a perfect storm, of sorts, setting me up for FerritinFAIL! :(
And mind you, this is with me being DILIGENT about taking ALL my supplements (and then some) as a post-opper. I think I've missed maybe 3 iron doses in the last 16 months. Not too shabby.
I've been on a quest of sorts to find the perfect iron formulation for me. I was taking a Centrum with iron and then switched off to a prenatal (Vitafusion, they're effing delicious) because it's got a lot of folate and biotin, and took a separate iron supplement.
Up until a week ago, I was taking Bariatric Advantage brand "iron supplement." I put that in quotes because it doesn't list what type of iron it is. (Doing the chewy chews, raspberry chocolate truffle--not bad tasting, btw.) So I've switched off to some off-brand carbonyl iron in tablet form. Two tablets put me at over 200% of the RDA for iron. Going to start taking them 2x a day (1 tablet 2x a day; NOT 2 tablets 2x a day, just to clarify).
Anyway, the anemia is just one more thing to deal with. Granted it's a fairly BIG NEGATIVE to deal with on top of everything else I'm dealing with, both as a post opper, as well as all the other stuff related to my PCOS and other health issues.
The anemia, I am certain is to blame for my fatigue, my stamina problems, some of my aches and pains or stiffness, and no doubt my dizziness, which I've been complaining about for months, and yet, no one seems all too concerned about it.
My depth perception has been a bit "off" since roughly January, but I don't know if that's related to the anemia or the fact I am now officially an old fart and had to break down and get bi-focals (actually "progressives").
So, on top of all this, and on top of the personal shitstorm I weathered in March at the hands of Crazy McLoonypants, my natural tendency at this point is to just withdraw, which then makes me miserable on another level (cabin fever).
All life is suffering. This would fit the bill. And in the grand scheme of things, I'll take this suffering over alternative sufferings. I'm fairly miserable at the moment.
Nearly every day I cry. Yesterday it was in my car, during downtime waiting to pick up the husband at the train. I felt so miserable, and the only person who could console me, my dad, isn't here anymore to do that. Today it was in my kitchen, dizzy spell full in force. Husband came in the room for me to fling my arms around and just sob. He doesn't hug or console. But he's there. He doesn't have a clue what to do to make things better, and I know from a guy's perspective, that is the supreme head fuck, because guys don't want to listen to complaining or crying, they're FIXERS. They want to fix what's broke. And we're both at a loss at this point regarding HOW to fix this thing.
I feel like utter crap. So much so, when I woke up this morning, I was truly surprised. Yes. Surprised. Because when I went to bed last night, I felt so horrid, I was 50% certain I'd die in my sleep, and 50% HOPING I'd die in my sleep.
No one likes a whiner. But there ya go. At a minimum, it's real life. It's authentic. And yet sadly, I cannot find something ironic or wry to laugh about today.
Well, besides that guy Randy w/those Honeybadger videos. That's pretty much what got me thru today. Reading his book, and watching his videos.
For starters, the RnY puts me in a risk factor for anemia, and the adenomyosis (there I go again, harping about this!) drains my body of iron. So it's a perfect storm, of sorts, setting me up for FerritinFAIL! :(
And mind you, this is with me being DILIGENT about taking ALL my supplements (and then some) as a post-opper. I think I've missed maybe 3 iron doses in the last 16 months. Not too shabby.
I've been on a quest of sorts to find the perfect iron formulation for me. I was taking a Centrum with iron and then switched off to a prenatal (Vitafusion, they're effing delicious) because it's got a lot of folate and biotin, and took a separate iron supplement.
Up until a week ago, I was taking Bariatric Advantage brand "iron supplement." I put that in quotes because it doesn't list what type of iron it is. (Doing the chewy chews, raspberry chocolate truffle--not bad tasting, btw.) So I've switched off to some off-brand carbonyl iron in tablet form. Two tablets put me at over 200% of the RDA for iron. Going to start taking them 2x a day (1 tablet 2x a day; NOT 2 tablets 2x a day, just to clarify).
Anyway, the anemia is just one more thing to deal with. Granted it's a fairly BIG NEGATIVE to deal with on top of everything else I'm dealing with, both as a post opper, as well as all the other stuff related to my PCOS and other health issues.
The anemia, I am certain is to blame for my fatigue, my stamina problems, some of my aches and pains or stiffness, and no doubt my dizziness, which I've been complaining about for months, and yet, no one seems all too concerned about it.
My depth perception has been a bit "off" since roughly January, but I don't know if that's related to the anemia or the fact I am now officially an old fart and had to break down and get bi-focals (actually "progressives").
So, on top of all this, and on top of the personal shitstorm I weathered in March at the hands of Crazy McLoonypants, my natural tendency at this point is to just withdraw, which then makes me miserable on another level (cabin fever).
All life is suffering. This would fit the bill. And in the grand scheme of things, I'll take this suffering over alternative sufferings. I'm fairly miserable at the moment.
Nearly every day I cry. Yesterday it was in my car, during downtime waiting to pick up the husband at the train. I felt so miserable, and the only person who could console me, my dad, isn't here anymore to do that. Today it was in my kitchen, dizzy spell full in force. Husband came in the room for me to fling my arms around and just sob. He doesn't hug or console. But he's there. He doesn't have a clue what to do to make things better, and I know from a guy's perspective, that is the supreme head fuck, because guys don't want to listen to complaining or crying, they're FIXERS. They want to fix what's broke. And we're both at a loss at this point regarding HOW to fix this thing.
I feel like utter crap. So much so, when I woke up this morning, I was truly surprised. Yes. Surprised. Because when I went to bed last night, I felt so horrid, I was 50% certain I'd die in my sleep, and 50% HOPING I'd die in my sleep.
No one likes a whiner. But there ya go. At a minimum, it's real life. It's authentic. And yet sadly, I cannot find something ironic or wry to laugh about today.
Well, besides that guy Randy w/those Honeybadger videos. That's pretty much what got me thru today. Reading his book, and watching his videos.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Gotta Get Off My Duff
Feeling terribly drained (still), and have had a full-ish weekend, which isn't doing much to undo the drainage.
Friday night went to a silent auction I go to every year for the last 14. In fact, the very first one I attended, I came home and that's when my first marriage went belly up and imploded. So for me, it's the anniversary of the decimation and devastation I went thru... AND SURVIVED, as well as a nice evening out, even if I don't see my aunt (who invites me every year) much as she volunteers her time for the event.
The event is about 45 minutes (to an hour) away from my home, and that's small potatoes regarding me and driving, but given the high speed near-collision of a few weeks ago, I had a lot of trepidation making that trip to Jersey. Going there was no problem, but at 11 p.m. when the event finally ended, making that trip home, alone, in the dark, unnerved me. At one point I was trembling. Not sure if it was over caffeination, nerves or if I caught a momentary chill. Luckily I got home in one piece.
I'm now wondering if driving with bifocals/progressives is the smartest thing to do. I need to check with my uncle (who's an optician) about this. I am convinced it messes with my depth perception.
Anyway, yesterday we did nothing but hang out and nap. And today I have plans to meet a friend for brunch, of which I'm regretting making those plans because I just can't convince myself to get dressed. But I need to. But part of me is reluctant because I know the moment I leave the house for brunch, my day will be shot. Hang out w/friend until about 3 or 4, then come home, pick up husband for dinner and a movie, and before you know it, evening will be here, and Monday, dreaded Monday will be right around the corner.
Time to wash my ass and get dressed. I need to get out of the house. It's like I'm in a battle of wills... WITH MYSELF. WTF.
Friday night went to a silent auction I go to every year for the last 14. In fact, the very first one I attended, I came home and that's when my first marriage went belly up and imploded. So for me, it's the anniversary of the decimation and devastation I went thru... AND SURVIVED, as well as a nice evening out, even if I don't see my aunt (who invites me every year) much as she volunteers her time for the event.
The event is about 45 minutes (to an hour) away from my home, and that's small potatoes regarding me and driving, but given the high speed near-collision of a few weeks ago, I had a lot of trepidation making that trip to Jersey. Going there was no problem, but at 11 p.m. when the event finally ended, making that trip home, alone, in the dark, unnerved me. At one point I was trembling. Not sure if it was over caffeination, nerves or if I caught a momentary chill. Luckily I got home in one piece.
I'm now wondering if driving with bifocals/progressives is the smartest thing to do. I need to check with my uncle (who's an optician) about this. I am convinced it messes with my depth perception.
Anyway, yesterday we did nothing but hang out and nap. And today I have plans to meet a friend for brunch, of which I'm regretting making those plans because I just can't convince myself to get dressed. But I need to. But part of me is reluctant because I know the moment I leave the house for brunch, my day will be shot. Hang out w/friend until about 3 or 4, then come home, pick up husband for dinner and a movie, and before you know it, evening will be here, and Monday, dreaded Monday will be right around the corner.
Time to wash my ass and get dressed. I need to get out of the house. It's like I'm in a battle of wills... WITH MYSELF. WTF.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
On Inventing My Own Fun
So yeah, my former boss, you remember HIM, don't you? The guy who left here under the darkness of night, emptying out his office, without so much as an email to support staff to: 1. Thank us for seven years of service; and 2. Let us know how to handle in-coming calls and mail. Yeah... HIM.
Come Memorial Day weekend, he'll be gone an entire year. Where did the time go? I don't wish him ill, I don't wish him well, I'm just glad to no longer be working with him any longer, for an assortment of reasons.
Last time I laid eyes on him was sometime in the summer at his mom's wake; and last time I heard from him was in November, the day of his official farewell party (granted 7 months after his departure from this office). YES, the party I was excluded from attending. Not that I would have gone, as it was in the Bronx on a week night, so naturally I would have declined. But I still say I should have been invited. But my lack of invitation truly spoke volumes to me about my standing in his eyes as well as the eyes of his nearest-and-dearest who handled the party arrangements.
So be that as it may, one of the guys in my agency, who works at the same location where former-bossman, aka TommyBoy, works now, approached me just now, telling me how TommyBoy had inquired about how I was doing, as if this particular guy sees me all the time? He sees me once in a very blue moon, at best. Furthermore, this guy lets me know that TommyBoy let him know I had some procedure done regarding weight loss. Not that it's TommyBoy's business to be sharing personal deets of mine like that. But therein lies the presumptuousness that TommyBoy has always had.
So I tell this guy to tell TommyBoy, "Oh yeah, she must have gained it all back. Are you sure she had some surgery? She looks the same to me as she always has." Because, let's be honest, if TommyBoy gave a shit about me or gave a shit about discretion, he'd either pick up the phone and call or zap me an email to find out for himself. So he devises this structure, this whatever-it-is to simulate communication with me, or appear as if he's even remotely interested in me as a human, not to mention interested in me as a former underling-and-confidante, when it's all just utter bullshit.
I wonder how he'd feel if I told folks about his bloody piss dribblin's in the handicapped bathroom, and how I was able to deduce some sort of bladder or prostate issue long before he shared those details with me personally.
Or perhaps this is TommyBoy's way of goading an interaction with me, by subconsciously goading me to email him to find out how he's doing. Goad away, piss boy. I'm not takin' the bait.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a hellacious pimple in my eyebrow that needs to be coaxed the fuck out of my skin.
Come Memorial Day weekend, he'll be gone an entire year. Where did the time go? I don't wish him ill, I don't wish him well, I'm just glad to no longer be working with him any longer, for an assortment of reasons.
Last time I laid eyes on him was sometime in the summer at his mom's wake; and last time I heard from him was in November, the day of his official farewell party (granted 7 months after his departure from this office). YES, the party I was excluded from attending. Not that I would have gone, as it was in the Bronx on a week night, so naturally I would have declined. But I still say I should have been invited. But my lack of invitation truly spoke volumes to me about my standing in his eyes as well as the eyes of his nearest-and-dearest who handled the party arrangements.
So be that as it may, one of the guys in my agency, who works at the same location where former-bossman, aka TommyBoy, works now, approached me just now, telling me how TommyBoy had inquired about how I was doing, as if this particular guy sees me all the time? He sees me once in a very blue moon, at best. Furthermore, this guy lets me know that TommyBoy let him know I had some procedure done regarding weight loss. Not that it's TommyBoy's business to be sharing personal deets of mine like that. But therein lies the presumptuousness that TommyBoy has always had.
So I tell this guy to tell TommyBoy, "Oh yeah, she must have gained it all back. Are you sure she had some surgery? She looks the same to me as she always has." Because, let's be honest, if TommyBoy gave a shit about me or gave a shit about discretion, he'd either pick up the phone and call or zap me an email to find out for himself. So he devises this structure, this whatever-it-is to simulate communication with me, or appear as if he's even remotely interested in me as a human, not to mention interested in me as a former underling-and-confidante, when it's all just utter bullshit.
I wonder how he'd feel if I told folks about his bloody piss dribblin's in the handicapped bathroom, and how I was able to deduce some sort of bladder or prostate issue long before he shared those details with me personally.
Or perhaps this is TommyBoy's way of goading an interaction with me, by subconsciously goading me to email him to find out how he's doing. Goad away, piss boy. I'm not takin' the bait.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a hellacious pimple in my eyebrow that needs to be coaxed the fuck out of my skin.
Monday, April 09, 2012
On Being Gaslighted (or Gaslit?)
Reading up on the topic today. http://www.feministe.us/blog/archives/2011/11/16/more-on-gaslighting/
And holy shit, it's a pattern that repeats itself, ironically, REPEATEDLY, in my life.
The whole formula of it is just so patently obvious, which seems to be three-pronged: shock (of the abuse), more abuse when you defend yourself, ending with depression.
Glad to know this type of abuse actually has a name and is a known entity. Sick, but glad to know.
I've seen this pattern with my mother and my sister, and most-recently someone with whom I was cultivating a friendship with. Granted, I cannot really cut off my mother and my sister as they're family, but I cut off toxic non-family eventually, and when I do, it's usually with spectacularly bitter results. The need to control me or try to control and/or rewrite our common narrative seems to be the main theme I've encountered.
I have no visions of grandeur or an over inflated sense of who or what I am. I know Im not perfect, but by and large, I certainly don't deserve to be treated with cruelty.
Not sure of the purpose of today's blog post, but I just feel my sense of perspective is just so undermined by this abuse. Hell, even in a FB thread I started which was a poll about my sister :
And one of my replies in the thread just summed up how perverse the abuse is:
And holy shit, it's a pattern that repeats itself, ironically, REPEATEDLY, in my life.
The whole formula of it is just so patently obvious, which seems to be three-pronged: shock (of the abuse), more abuse when you defend yourself, ending with depression.
Glad to know this type of abuse actually has a name and is a known entity. Sick, but glad to know.
I've seen this pattern with my mother and my sister, and most-recently someone with whom I was cultivating a friendship with. Granted, I cannot really cut off my mother and my sister as they're family, but I cut off toxic non-family eventually, and when I do, it's usually with spectacularly bitter results. The need to control me or try to control and/or rewrite our common narrative seems to be the main theme I've encountered.
I have no visions of grandeur or an over inflated sense of who or what I am. I know Im not perfect, but by and large, I certainly don't deserve to be treated with cruelty.
Not sure of the purpose of today's blog post, but I just feel my sense of perspective is just so undermined by this abuse. Hell, even in a FB thread I started which was a poll about my sister :
Poll: If my sis doesn't keep in touch w/ me, does she have the right to bitch when I don't go out of my way to keep in touch w/ her?
And one of my replies in the thread just summed up how perverse the abuse is:
The thing I find so twisted about the gaslighting abuse is... the cycle of self-doubt and depression that takes place, because SURELY there can't be THAT MANY folks gaslighting me... could there? See? I just did it again! Drat!In the end, if I cannot have my sister as I knew her, as an ally back, then I'd just assume be on the receiving end of "being ignored."
Sunday, April 08, 2012
Just an FYI, I'm going to take a nap. Mom called to wish me a happy Easter. Brother texted me. I don't feel like dwelling on the fact that I'll only get a Happy Easter out of my sister if I call (as if the phone only works if I pick it up and dial).
Going for a nap. It's either nap now, or continue to consciously force myself NOT to roast up a pork loin I won't be eating for the next 2-3 days, or a butternut stew for the husband.
Need.
Nap.
Now.
Going for a nap. It's either nap now, or continue to consciously force myself NOT to roast up a pork loin I won't be eating for the next 2-3 days, or a butternut stew for the husband.
Need.
Nap.
Now.
2 Steps Forward, 1 Step Back
I was really feeling good until the end of February. I mean, joint pain aside, that is. Mentally and emotionally I haven't felt THAT good in years. Then somehow at the end of February carrying thru the entirety of the month of March, it all went to shit.
I've been boosting my B12 and taking my iron in tablet form, hoping that it'll remedy the situation. My insomnia is back in full force. I feel drained all the time. And within the last seven weeks, I feel like I've aged 7-10 years. I feel old and frail and stooped.
My herniations in the neck and my seasonal allergies are kicked up into high gear.
I've been very depressed, and certain behaviors manifest themselves when I get like this, one of which is I tend to go overboard cooking. For normal folks with a household brimming with family, this would not be an issue, but it's just me and the husband, and though we like to eat most of the same types of foods, ideally, my diet is more protein based and his is more carbohydrate based, so really lots of times, I'm just making stuff for either myself or him.
Sundays are my usual "cooking for the week day," where I do big batches of stuff, or do up a week's worth of meals and package some up for the freezer, so on the days I don't cook, the husband can pick and choose what he wants to eat from the freezer. Just the other day, I pulled out a pint of double pork gumbo, so I just steamed up some rice and broiled up some blackened shrimp, and he was amazed at what lurks in the freezer.
The problem lies in the fact that I am a food hoarder, but not to the excessive extreme as I've seen on that dreadful t.v. show. I just like that sense of abundance, and that ability to just pull together a meal out of thin air. But there is a price to be paid, and that's usually a cluttered pantry that needs to be cleaned out regularly, as well as a freezer that needs to have the contents consumed more speedily.
But today, Easter Sunday, I don't just feel "flat" but feel like I've redefined bottom. I miss my dad profusely. Miss every little aspect of Easter Sundays that I'll never experience again with loved ones who have passed on, sobered by the knowledge that unless I break down and make a holiday call, no one in my family will call me.
Granted the holiday doesn't mean much to me anymore these days. By and large I feel forsaken, both, by God and by family, which of course, makes me cling to my husband even more, because my reality is, with the exception of some wonderful long-time friends, my husband is all I have in this world upon which I can rely.
Some days I get sucker punched with my grief, as it catches me out of the blue, unwittingly. I'll sit in my car and look up at the branches of the cherry trees or look up at the stars in the sky, and think if dad's anywhere, he's there. Or I close my eyes and I can visualize his face where my own face is, and he lives on in the facial expressions we both have. I rue about thinking, "Did we even exist?" "Where does the love go?" and I feel trapped.
My grief and sadness isn't exclusive to holidays. It happens out of the blue, like when I'm making a particularly delicious or adventurous dish. I think of the supreme compliment dad gave me one time after coming to my home in the 1990s for brunch, "I never know what I'm going to eat, but I always enjoy what I've eaten." So I think of him during delicious meals. I just wish that I had a few more meals to make for him.
In the fridge right now:
Leftover egg curry
Leftover pork vindaloo
Shrimp & chorizo marinating in garlic scape pesto to be cooked off tonight or tomorrow night
Pork loin marinating in ginger and teriyaki to be cooked up tonight or tomorrow
From the freezer (to make more room) leftover butter chicken & fenugreek potatoes
... and yet, I have a big bag of mixed fresh veggies which need to be dealt with before they spoil, and I was thinking of making a big batch of navratan korma (literally means 9 gems---nine ingredients, tho I don't know why they call it that, as it's got more than 9 ingredients), as well as a big batch of south Indian butternut squash stew.
So you see my problem. It's insane.
Oh, and the green room, my "den of iniquity," I haven't done shit to get it tidied up. It still brings a lot of anxiety when I come in here.
I've been boosting my B12 and taking my iron in tablet form, hoping that it'll remedy the situation. My insomnia is back in full force. I feel drained all the time. And within the last seven weeks, I feel like I've aged 7-10 years. I feel old and frail and stooped.
My herniations in the neck and my seasonal allergies are kicked up into high gear.
I've been very depressed, and certain behaviors manifest themselves when I get like this, one of which is I tend to go overboard cooking. For normal folks with a household brimming with family, this would not be an issue, but it's just me and the husband, and though we like to eat most of the same types of foods, ideally, my diet is more protein based and his is more carbohydrate based, so really lots of times, I'm just making stuff for either myself or him.
Sundays are my usual "cooking for the week day," where I do big batches of stuff, or do up a week's worth of meals and package some up for the freezer, so on the days I don't cook, the husband can pick and choose what he wants to eat from the freezer. Just the other day, I pulled out a pint of double pork gumbo, so I just steamed up some rice and broiled up some blackened shrimp, and he was amazed at what lurks in the freezer.
The problem lies in the fact that I am a food hoarder, but not to the excessive extreme as I've seen on that dreadful t.v. show. I just like that sense of abundance, and that ability to just pull together a meal out of thin air. But there is a price to be paid, and that's usually a cluttered pantry that needs to be cleaned out regularly, as well as a freezer that needs to have the contents consumed more speedily.
But today, Easter Sunday, I don't just feel "flat" but feel like I've redefined bottom. I miss my dad profusely. Miss every little aspect of Easter Sundays that I'll never experience again with loved ones who have passed on, sobered by the knowledge that unless I break down and make a holiday call, no one in my family will call me.
Granted the holiday doesn't mean much to me anymore these days. By and large I feel forsaken, both, by God and by family, which of course, makes me cling to my husband even more, because my reality is, with the exception of some wonderful long-time friends, my husband is all I have in this world upon which I can rely.
Some days I get sucker punched with my grief, as it catches me out of the blue, unwittingly. I'll sit in my car and look up at the branches of the cherry trees or look up at the stars in the sky, and think if dad's anywhere, he's there. Or I close my eyes and I can visualize his face where my own face is, and he lives on in the facial expressions we both have. I rue about thinking, "Did we even exist?" "Where does the love go?" and I feel trapped.
My grief and sadness isn't exclusive to holidays. It happens out of the blue, like when I'm making a particularly delicious or adventurous dish. I think of the supreme compliment dad gave me one time after coming to my home in the 1990s for brunch, "I never know what I'm going to eat, but I always enjoy what I've eaten." So I think of him during delicious meals. I just wish that I had a few more meals to make for him.
In the fridge right now:
Leftover egg curry
Leftover pork vindaloo
Shrimp & chorizo marinating in garlic scape pesto to be cooked off tonight or tomorrow night
Pork loin marinating in ginger and teriyaki to be cooked up tonight or tomorrow
From the freezer (to make more room) leftover butter chicken & fenugreek potatoes
... and yet, I have a big bag of mixed fresh veggies which need to be dealt with before they spoil, and I was thinking of making a big batch of navratan korma (literally means 9 gems---nine ingredients, tho I don't know why they call it that, as it's got more than 9 ingredients), as well as a big batch of south Indian butternut squash stew.
So you see my problem. It's insane.
Oh, and the green room, my "den of iniquity," I haven't done shit to get it tidied up. It still brings a lot of anxiety when I come in here.
Friday, April 06, 2012
Fighting off the blues
Been actively depressed for over a month now. Bailed out of lunch in NYC with a friend on Monday, and was debating bailing out of knit night on Weds, but so glad I didn't. Had a good time, and felt good to be with actual friends. Had some seriously good laughs. Some times I think I need that one night a week to get out, and some weeks I feel that the other ladies need it more than I do. I love the vicissitudes, the dynamic and energy from week to week.
So very lucky to have good friends.
So very lucky to have good friends.
Tuesday, April 03, 2012
Prognosis Negative
So, I went to NewGynoTM yesterday for the follow up re: my fibroid which was removed on 3/13.
Pathology for both, the fibroid/polyp as well as my uterine lining were negative for cancer.
So it's a good news, bad news kinda thing. Good news = no cancer. Bad news = I have to live in pain or dull it with vicodin.
Pathology for both, the fibroid/polyp as well as my uterine lining were negative for cancer.
So it's a good news, bad news kinda thing. Good news = no cancer. Bad news = I have to live in pain or dull it with vicodin.
Let No Good Deed Go Unpunished
So, let's say I know you eat a lot of smoothies etc, and you put chia seeds in them. Every day.
So, let's say I let you know that Chia has arsenic in it, and merely, prudently suggest that you get your blood levels checked for arsenic, as I am getting mine tested for the same reason (i.e. that I, too, eat chia, tho not on the same level of regularity that you do).
There's no judgment on my part, when I made the innocent, yet helpful enough suggestion. Most folks do not know that chia contains laetril, aka "Vitamin B17" which contains arsenic.
Sure, you may get your blood tested regularly for other things. And sure your blood comes up negative for arsenic. Why does it come up negative? Well, arsenic isn't one of those things that will suddenly and magically appear on a standard CBC/Smack. This is something that you have to actually intentionally have a specific test run.
Unfortunately, I realize I've "poked the crazy" with my good intentions, when I share a few links, and of course you have to have the last word... fine fine! and share a few links of your own... only for you to "come back" with, "... and I eat apples WHOLE every day."
Funny thing here is, the same doctor who is touting the benefits of Chia is Dr. Oz, the very same doctor who several months back put the fear of arsenic via apple eating into most of the US.
At this point, I realize my good intentions are falling on deaf ears. And that's fine. I'm cool with that. That's your prerogative. Live and let live. Eat your apples, seeds and all. Eat all the chia to your heart's content. But when your youngest child who has been eating and drinking everything you have been for the last several years ends up with neurological issues or learning disabilities or behavioral issues due to arsenic toxicity, you have no one to blame but yourself.
So, let's say I let you know that Chia has arsenic in it, and merely, prudently suggest that you get your blood levels checked for arsenic, as I am getting mine tested for the same reason (i.e. that I, too, eat chia, tho not on the same level of regularity that you do).
There's no judgment on my part, when I made the innocent, yet helpful enough suggestion. Most folks do not know that chia contains laetril, aka "Vitamin B17" which contains arsenic.
Sure, you may get your blood tested regularly for other things. And sure your blood comes up negative for arsenic. Why does it come up negative? Well, arsenic isn't one of those things that will suddenly and magically appear on a standard CBC/Smack. This is something that you have to actually intentionally have a specific test run.
Unfortunately, I realize I've "poked the crazy" with my good intentions, when I share a few links, and of course you have to have the last word... fine fine! and share a few links of your own... only for you to "come back" with, "... and I eat apples WHOLE every day."
Funny thing here is, the same doctor who is touting the benefits of Chia is Dr. Oz, the very same doctor who several months back put the fear of arsenic via apple eating into most of the US.
At this point, I realize my good intentions are falling on deaf ears. And that's fine. I'm cool with that. That's your prerogative. Live and let live. Eat your apples, seeds and all. Eat all the chia to your heart's content. But when your youngest child who has been eating and drinking everything you have been for the last several years ends up with neurological issues or learning disabilities or behavioral issues due to arsenic toxicity, you have no one to blame but yourself.
Sunday, April 01, 2012
And on the other hand....
Interesting, yet unique milestone met this weekend while shopping for a new pair of jeans. Went to The Avenue and picked up two pairs. Size 14. Fills me with glee, as this is the smallest size The Avenue sells (and they were a smidge loose--let's see if a run thru the washer and dryer doesn't fix that). Kinda makes me wistful, kinda, at the prospect of not "having" to shop at a shop specializing in larger sizes soon/anymore.
Ever be so depressed...
You wake yourself up out of a sound sleep, crying?
Yeah. That's where I'm at right this moment. Been weepy most of the weekend.
Tired of feeling this way, coupled up with missing my father really intensely. Feeling incredibly alone. And going on Monday for blood work and follow up with the gyno re: results of the fibroid/polyp thingy that was removed a few weeks back.
Not PMSing. Not sure what's causing this bit of weepy-ness.
Yeah. That's where I'm at right this moment. Been weepy most of the weekend.
Tired of feeling this way, coupled up with missing my father really intensely. Feeling incredibly alone. And going on Monday for blood work and follow up with the gyno re: results of the fibroid/polyp thingy that was removed a few weeks back.
Not PMSing. Not sure what's causing this bit of weepy-ness.
Everyone's Journey's Different...
Blah blah blah.
I can't resist getting ticked off tho, that someone who had their surgery nearly 9 months to a year AFTER I have and they currently have lost 20# more than I have.
Granted, different surgeries for us both, and I've followed everything quite religiously (especially the no booze thing until nearly a year post-op).
Hoping that my weight loss will continue, albeit slowly, steadily, and hopefully that slow and steady wins this race... such as it is.
I can't resist getting ticked off tho, that someone who had their surgery nearly 9 months to a year AFTER I have and they currently have lost 20# more than I have.
Granted, different surgeries for us both, and I've followed everything quite religiously (especially the no booze thing until nearly a year post-op).
Hoping that my weight loss will continue, albeit slowly, steadily, and hopefully that slow and steady wins this race... such as it is.
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