Dayenu! (It Would Have Been Sufficient...)

Seems like I'm putting the DIE in Dayenu...

If I just had to deal with PCOS & Syndrome X, dayenu.
If I just had to deal with fatty liver syndrome and hypertension, dayenu.
If I just had to endure RnY to turn some of that shit around, dayenu.
If I just had my joint pain, herniations, carpal tunnel, and plantars fasciitis, dayenu.

If I just had my "optic nerve druzen," dayenu.
If I just had my adenomyosis, endometriosis, and infertility, dayenu.
If I just had my kidney issue, hypertension (yes, a 2nd utterance), and migraines, dayenu.
If I just had 7 thyroid nodules, one of which is "suspicious," aka has "unclean margins," dayenu.

Summation: Monday I had three appointments. The trifecta of suck as it were.

1st appt: Nephrologist. Nothing new. Cortisol still high. Pee in a cup. Still no resolution on my blood pressure Rx, which we have been talking about changing or tweaking for months now.

2nd appt: Ultrasound of thyroid. Oh yes. Fabulous. Asshole doctor is a no-show, but diagnostic center gave me choice of continuing w/a different radiologist to read and interpret the findings. Okay. Fabulous. Seven nodules (thought I had just one), with one being close to an inch in diameter, and with "unclean margins." RED FLAG. Of course, HAD the asshole doc been there, I could have seen about getting a fine needle aspiration done THAT DAY, but no. I'll have to burn another day (or half) a day to come back into the city for this nonsense. Which means, I have to wait yet again for an office to call me back to let me know when they can fit me in, and of course, they cannot get this shit done today, or tomorrow or even this week. My anger is righteous, and brewing moment by moment. I went into this appt armed with the knowledge (thanks to Dr. Google) that if it were thyroid cancer, there's an 80% chance it's benign. Radiologist contradicted and said it's closer to 90%. Okay. So I exit the building, get pinged by the husband, and find out his grandmother passed away earlier that morning and he wanted to go home asap, but would wait knowing I had a 3rd appt later this afternoon.

This day is getting better and better.

3rd appt: Endocrinologist. Of course nephrologist never forwarded him any information from our appointment earlier in the day, so the blood pressure Rx discussion gets shelved YET AGAIN (I'll tell this to my migraines and heart flutters, I'm sure there's therapeutic benefit in that, right?). He calls me into his office, the inner sanctum, instead of the exam room. Glum as a chum he informs me that things aren't good, and I need to get a biopsy done ASAP. And oh yeah, remember that 90% the radiologist quoted? Yeah, well that's closer to 75%-70%. Plus, with the size and location of that 1 inch motherfucker? Even if it's not cancerous, that doesn't mean that surgery is out of the question because if it continues to grow, it's a choking hazard. As it stands, I can feel it when I swallow, and I have discomfort when I swallow hard tablets and supplements.

And of course, the place that does FNAs don't do them on the days I already HAVE appointments, which means ADDITIONAL time off. And of course, given the fact that the thyroid is MILES away from my endometrium and fallopian tubes, when I have THOSE procedures done next month, I cannot get the thyroid done at the same time, so I can recover from all of that mess at the same time. Oh no.

I'm bearing my burden well, thankyouverylittle. I'm just not bearing the burden HAPPILY.  I'll power thru the best I can like I always do, but yanno what?

DAYENU! Enough. Just, fucking, ENOUGH already.

Thinning (of the herd)

I've been on both sides of the social media "thinning of the herd" spectrum this week. 

Just yesterday I had to use the block feature to effectively put up a boundary to someone who had become toxic to me, who had solicited me for advice and support, advice I gave, which he did not take, hence I cannot support the direction he's taking, which is leading him down a path of fail and possible medical complications. 

He's chosen to go for a gastric sleevectomy (100% support the decision; 0% support on the execution of the decision); however, he's on the balls of his ass broke and JUST NOW, three weeks shy of his cut date, he's realizing he cannot afford all the assorted supplements and protein sources needed for a successful recovery, not to mention being post-op compliant. I can't abide that or SUPPORT IT. 

I am who I am. I'm zealous/enthusiastic about remaining compliant and trying to ensure long term success for my own weight and health. I'm direct. I'm blunt. I don't sugar coat things. I anguish over trying to find the  most diplomatic way to convey things, but when something is 100% wrong, it's wrong, and irresponsibly wrong at that. So no, no support is forthcoming. And BLAMMO. Boundary up. Justifiably so. Not just for my own protection, but also really? He doesn't want to hear what I have to say, and that's 100% okay, just don't make me out to be some monster because I'm calling you out on the ASSORTMENT of ways it's wrong. Furthermore, there's no question in his mind as to how or why the blocking took place. 

He said what he said. I said what I said. We're philosophically opposed to what the other has to say. He unfriended me, but didn't block me. I slept on this. I crafted my final thoughts on the matter, which was appended with my usual type of closing statement in these types of scenarios, "Don't go away mad. Just go away." And well, he replied. I replied back. Which then prompted my final reply, "What part of JUST GO AWAY DO YOU NOT GET?" and *I* blocked him. Done. Finito. Yay me, I had the last word. But there's no question of WHY all this happened. No mystery. And at a minimum, I got closure. 

I guess life is like that. Folks drift in and out of our life, some loudly so, like setting off a foghorn, and others just drift silently like a leaf, skimming the surface of the waves.

The Turning Point

I suppose every person who has had WLS comes to this point, much like they came to that "Come to Jesus" moment where they realize and accept that they needed surgical intervention to help their health. I've come to the point in my WLS journey where I have had, shall we say, an "anomaly," aka a "slight regain."

The regain is more than 5 but less than ten, and a wake up call for me to be ever-vigilant. It's made me reassess food I pack, and habits. Check, check, and check! I weigh everything, and if anything, have been short-shrifting myself (volume/weight wise) with what I pack; however, one inclusion in the feed bag could be to blame. Though again, it's in measured amounts: CheezIt crackers. Oh how I loves-me some CheezIts!!!  Perhaps this is the culprit? I don't know.  I've been packing an ounce and a half of them along with two cheese sticks for one of my morning "intakes." Perhaps this is it? I don't know. I've swapped out my yogurt for the CheezIts, so calorie wise, it's not an even swap, this I know.  

I'm otherwise compliant as far as not overloading my system, taking my time chewing, no drinking immediately after eating, and of course, staying on top of my protein intake and especially my vitamin supplement intake. I've also been having some elimination issues, so perhaps that's contributing to the numbers being "skewed."

Perhaps I should hydrate more, too. I'm not big on water. So perhaps brewing up some homemade ice tea might be good, and especially with the theanine, could give me a boost.

This all is further compounded by the mental mind fuck of it all. That I am compliant, and yet, a regain; when I know there are folks out there who are boozing it, and drinking immediately after eating, and who I also know are taking the wrong supplements, and yet... I'm the one experiencing this "anomaly." I know I shouldn't compare my journey with others, but I only do so for perspective.

The lesson for me to learn here, is merely reinforcing what I already knew. That there IS work to be done, even this far out from surgery (now nearing 2.5 yrs). That this is a LIFESTYLE, and a LIFELONG habit of vigilance. 

Yesterday, I went to my internist for Rx refills on scopalmine (yes another voyage is in the works), tramadol (to sub out my vicodin which is now causing me nausea) and Flonase... bleh allergy season. The visit was quick and painless. We talked briefly about everything, and I even remarked on the thyroid nodule, and knowing me as he does, he kind of poohpoohed it, calming my nerves with statistics etc, and he knows I'll be in for an ultrasound of my thyroid in a matter of weeks. 

He remarked how great I look and how much the surgery has impacted me, my appearance, and my health. I said how I really needed to hear that as I've experienced a slight regain. We talked on the elimination issue very briefly (afterall, he IS a gastro guy first, before being my internist), and he told me knowing me as he does, knowing my vigilance and how serious I was going into the surgery and how I remain after, that he has no doubt in his mind that this is a momentary thing, and that I'll be back on track in no time. From his mouth to Gravity's ears!

Something I won't be needing again. Ever.

Ran out of time, while running around chasing my tail, 

fixing my health, fixing my wealth.

Never was in the right place in my life

to even consider this endeavor.

And now? Well, life has made that decision for me.

Trifecta of Suck

Yesterday was a trifecta of doctor's appointments. Three. What was I thinking. (Well, I know what I was thinking, let's get this shit over with!).

First up was the renal guy, to follow up re: microalbumen in my urine, elevated cortisol in my blood, and find out about whether my bp Rx was the best for me, and also rule out any kidney damage from 40 years of being overweight and having insulin resistance issues. This ended up being more positive of the three appointments. (Looks like it might end up being nothing to worry about.)

Second up was the ReproEndoGuy. Still impressed w/my weight loss and my ability to fix the iron issues (I upped my Feosol to 3x a day during menses, w/2x a day the rest of the month). Told me to drop my D3 to 2000IU a day (too much could result in kidney stones). And looky there... yes. A nodule on my thyroid. Apparently it's been there all along, yet he never mentioned it, and only mentioned it to me (you guessed it!) because it's gotten larger. So I have to hurry up and wait. I see the doc again in four months, but three months from now, I need to schedule an ultrasound. So it'll be July before I have any idea on what's cooking in that department.

And the last of which was going to my gyno. Regular exam, coupled up with a discussion on my accepting I need to do the ablation to take care of the adenomyosis and endometriosis pain, and OH WHILE YOU ARE IN THERE, get my tubes tied at the same time. Because with my shitty luck, I'd be the 1 in 1000 who gets pregnant post-ablation. And given my age, other risk factors, and the ablation, well, it's come down to my survival vs the existence or survival of a metaphorical baby, and well... sorry baby, I'm looking out for #1.

This isn't glib or careless or even rash. I'm tired of living in pain, and being a prisoner to my period. I'm losing effectively 1/4-1/3 of my month to this beast. The pain is debilitating and damn near crippling; and the mess is substantial. But the long term effects of not having a kid, is the thing that's going to be a moment-by-moment thing for me to deal with.

As I've said before, I always thought motherhood would eventually find me. And only now am I realizing it was never out looking for me in the first place. Kind of sobering. Is this my destiny or my fate? While I never fawned over the kids of other folks, I always thought if I had my own, I'd feel differently (about them, not kids in general).

I've had a happy life the last 12 years, which I've been married to the husband. No kids, I feel, will mean just more of the same status quo. And yet, I'm sad. The only folks who truly "get" what I'm going thru are struggling with their own journey of non-motherhood. I'm equally glad and sad I have friends going thru the same struggle.

I think this for myself, and for all of us on the same journey: What is to become of us? What do we do now?

Not sure if anyone reads this (granted, there is a limited audience/readership for this blog o'mine). I've been abysmally depressed, anxious, and pensive for the last I-don't-know-how-long. Feeling old, neglected and very dead-ended right about now.

Hither and Yon

Sometimes it is overwhelming, the sheer volume of doctor's appointments I need schedule to monitor and stay on top of the assortment of medical shit with which I must endure.

I was supposed to see my bariatric surgeon on 3/5 for my two year post-op check up. And the reality is, it's a pain in the ass to get there, and I'm not getting any benefit from going there (beyond taking a day off from work to accommodate that appointment). Also, the NP hasn't gotten back to me about faxing or emailing an Rx for the necessary blood work to monitor my vitamin levels. The tedium is getting to me, so I called today and moved my appointment to sometime in June, so it'll be closer to 2.5 years post-op. 

Bad enough on 3/20 I have the trifecta of suck waiting for me:  11 a.m. renal guy; then at  1 p.m. I need to hoof it three avenues and about 6 streets/blocks to the ReproEndo guy; and 4:45 I need to hoof it 6 streets/blocks and three avenues back to the gyno. If I were a true glutton for punishment, I'd figure out how to shoe-horn the bariatric guy that same day. But that'd be too much, even for me.  I was also trying to figure out if I could make a quick trip down to Essex Street Market for some chorizo between the endo and the gyno, but sadly that would be too much, too. So whatever I plan on doing to distract myself between appointments, it needs to be on the UES.

Here I am, living the good life:)

Semantics

Re: My previous blog post... it really resonates with me. 

The profoundness is not lost on me. It's not taken lightly, hell, I think I've detailed FOR YEARS about the "what if" I never have a kid theme. Part of me is still hesitant to get the ablation (which, I then would feel I'd need to get the tubal ligation, just to be responsible, and ensure I don't get pregnant, saving myself some potential grief down the road, i.e. an even higher risk pregnancy, or death). I feel like it's a matter of mental semantics as it were.

The ablation and tubal doesn't change the total sum of my childless reality, it merely changes the mathematical equation which brings me to the same sum. Much like 2+2=4, so too can 3+1=4. The variables are different, but the sum remains the same. And the sum is like what I said the other day, I spent my life thinking motherhood would find me, and well, motherhood ain't looking for me.

I mentioned this to ReproEndoGuy, and he said that he couldn't make the decision for me, but "... there's always IVF." I reminded him that at 44, I like living in a world of certitudes. And IVF, given my age, and PCOS, and Factor Five Leiden Mutation, and my adenomyosis? Well, there's not enough certainty that either 1. Pregnancy would happen; or 2. The child or I would survive the pregnancy; or 3. That the child would come out without birth defects. I don't see the sense of making valiant efforts when the deck is so very obviously stacked up against me. 

I can tell that ReproEndoGuy is a bit sad that this "rainy day project" we both have been working on together for nearly ten years isn't going to happen. And since it's not going to happen, I might as well work towards dealing with the pain management of the adenomyosis, because this is a quality of life issue for me, not merely an annoyance. It's debilitating.

Fortunately, I don't feel a sense of peer pressure (well, save for my well-intentioned, loving mother-in-law, who is desperate to be a grandmother, desperate to have some joy in her life) to be a mother. I never self-identified myself as a wife or a mother. And even though I am obviously a woman, there are times where I truly feel like my existence is neutral gender-wise. I don't feel totally asexual or nonsexual, but it does make me wonder "what is femininity?" I'm not overly butch, I'm not overly girly. I'm not overly bitchy, and I'm not overly passive either. 

Fortunately, I also do not feel a sense of being broken or defective as a woman. I never felt like my gender was my destiny, though I always took it for granted I'd eventually be a mother at some point. I don't feel like my life is over now that motherhood is off the table. I am still a mother, even if I don't have a child to raise, if that makes any sense. I can mother myself, or when my husband lets me, I can mother him. I can mother my friends who need it. Yet selfishly, the one person who needs to be mothered, my own mother, well, that's too big of an issue, and a futile one to be succinct, as you can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped. So scratch that. But it IS a profound thought. She needs a mother, and I need TO mother, and well, here we are, 120 miles separating us, and even more, untraversable emotional mileage/geography between us.

Part of my mind drifts to past forks in the road, decisions made in haste, or Hobson's Choice type decisions, or even decisions made FOR me due to the interference of my mother, and there is the flicker of anger and regret, but overall I'll say in my own defense, that I've always tried to make the very best decisions given the circumstances, resources and information I have had on hand at any given point in my life. Still sucks though. This isn't what I ever anticipated for myself. And my life WOULD have been radically different (and incredibly boring) had I not made the choices I have made.

Dear Uterus

Dear Uterus,

You are now on WARNING. I am about to throw up the white flag of defeat. No, I'm not evicting you in entirety; however, be forewarned, our endometrium? Yeah that fucking piece of shit? Yeah, it's going to get straifed with a flame thrower. For realz.

I've lived 44 years of my life naively thinking that eventually motherhood would find me; I'm only realizing now that motherhood was never looking for me in the first place.

The time for valiant and diligent effort has passed. No tears are being shed. I've intellectualized myself OUT of thinking it'll ever happen. We're not trying. Too many risks, too many really to itemize herein.

So that all being said, since it's not going to happen, there's no need for me to worry about the permanence of permanently destroying my endometrium as a way to stave off the excessive pain (and not to mention the mess of what is essentially hemorraghing).

Yes, uterus. You're going to be burned. And while I'm at it, you might as well let your friends The Fallopian Twins, that they're on notice too. I"m going to get those fuckers tied up in square knots hopefully at the same time I burn the shit out of the endometrium.

Yes, it's come down to either it's you or me, and I don't know about you, uterus, but I've got a lot of shit to do, and even if I didn't, I don't want to live in excessive pain for the next ten years until I stop menstruating.

Fuckyouverymuch,
Signed,
Maven

Not Much to Report

Not much to report. Haven't lost or gained. No complaints. Well, no complaints save for two:

1. While BCBS paid for my surgery, which I estimate cost close to what? $80K? They do not cover the post-operative follow up visits w/my surgeon, despite the fact he's in-network. ($100 a visit); and

2. I'm beginning to get weary of dealing with the Quest lab near me. I hate blood work, which I need to get done every 3 months for my endo, which I usually piggy back with blood work for my surgeon (which I've been doing for 2 years thus far) and suddenly Quest's idiots cannot seem to realize that despite the fact I have two Rxs from two different docs, who request SOME of the same stuff (i.e. cbc, lipids, etc), the doofuses at Quest cannot seem to process that. I recently got a bill for nearly $500 as I was being billed TWICE for the labs for ONE trip to the lab. Apparently there's an issue because neither doc CC's the other and the lab for whatever reason, cannot do that. The wait. The inconvenience of dealing with new technicians drawing my blood, etc. And of course, now, the NP at my surgeon's office (who, granted, is going thru some family stuff w/her mom) has been slipping w/following up about getting me the necessary Rx for my bloodwork. I've been sick with this year's creeping crud and haven't been to the lab yet for my draw, and all things considered, I've had to jockey the appointment to next month and hoping for the best. But really, this follow up isn't really doing much for me personally. Plus? It's a huge pain in the ass to get to the surgeon's office, as there's no direct route via mass transit to get there, and parking is EXHORBITANT. I refuse to pay $30+ in an all day lot for an appointment that lasts less than an hour.

I'm still "compliant" with my eating (no eating and drinking at the same time, eating several times a day, top heavy with protein, no carbonated drinks--tho for new year's I did have some fizzy champagne drinks). Not compliant w/exercise. Too tired and listless and uninspired to get more active. But I walk and take stairs, so I'm not a total slug.

Feeling kind of depressed the last two weeks, perhaps it's the drain the creeping crud has had on me. Perhaps it's SAD. I don't know. I'm compliant with all my vitamins. 

Given I see my endocrinologist every three months RELIGIOUSLY, I don't see much benefit (other than monitoring my compliance) in going to the surgeon's office for follow ups. It's not like it's a "support" or I feel like I get any benefit other than "Oh hey, you're doing good. You haven't regained."  I don't belong to official support groups (too much whining or too much "know it all" from assholes). Just do my own thing w/the information given.

December saw the passing of my grandfather (not especially emotionally invested in him as a person, so it's not like I'm depressed from that--though death IS a downer). December also saw us thru yet another drive-by-drama-ing involving mom and her shitty health and her inability to take care of herself, and expecting us to somehow DO for her what she refuses to do for herself. January saw the sudden passing of a dear friend from years ago. And meanwhile, halfway around the world, my mother-in-law is tending to her mother, who in all likelihood will pass away before spring thaw.

All this on the heels of a trip to South and Central America, which wasn't ideal given my husband had taken ill on the ship. So it's not like there's been a moment since mid-November where homeostasis has been experienced. Burdensome and tedious. But I suppose that's what life is.  I just feel so unsettled with this feeling of dread or anxiety or pensiveness. I've even been having little flutter like palpitations (perhaps anxiety related?), nothing serious, and I breathe myself thru them. But still, it's there. Whatever it is. Lurking beneath the surface. So I focus on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, and I'm doing damned good according to that, so there's THAT going for me, right?

Tonight is knit night, I hope, so there's at least joy in the comraderie I have with the two ladies I meet with regularly. Tomorrow is a chiropractic appointment. Friday is my 8:45 a.m. therapy session. So I guess I better give myself a sublingual blast of B12 and focus on something interesting today.

My Monday Musing

12:01 a.m. Monday.

Today (Sunday) I broke the 100# mark. Finally.

If I lose eight more pounds, I will have lost the total sum of what Karen Carpenter weighed at the time of her passing. This is not to be glib. Just stating a fact.

Another fact many folks (who went to school with me, and who *may* have tormented me mercilessly in junior high) might NOT know about me, is during high school, I, too was anorexic.

In 1982 when I started high school as a freshman, my lowest weight was 109#, at 5'7" tall. When Karen Carpenter passed away, she was all of 5'4" and 110. She would have been in her 62nd year, if she were alive today.

30 Years later, AT THIS VERY MOMENT, I finally have the awareness of how very lucky I am.

Rainy Days and Mondays

Iron

My iron levels are still on the low side due to both, the WLS and my adenomyosis. The Feosol isn't cutting it, apparently. Bariatric NP put me on Corvite. I started taking it today. Heaven help my colon. I had impaction issues w/the Feosol. I'm wondering what a heavy duty, Rx iron supplement will do to my ass.

Tablet is big enough I need to split it, and of course, only after I swallowed both halves, did I get the idea that perhaps I should try taking 1/2 a dose at a time, coincidentally w/a chewable vitamin C.

Pain Chronicles: The Litany (1)

If you were curious about what's all that bitching I do about pain, herein is the full list of issues I have, starting from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, and everything in between.

Head: Migraines suffering from them since the early 1990s. Actually been hospitalized thrice for them.
Neck: Herniations nr. C4/C5 sustained when I was rear-ended by an 18 wheeler in 1999.
Shoulders: "Rib head" pops out of place. REGULARLY.
Low spine: Diminished disk space L5/S1 (though hip dysplasia and or degenerative disc disease/disorder runs in my family).
Left hand: Dominant hand. Carpal tunnel. Mild-to-moderate case. Some days my hand is so spastic I cannot sign my own name without stopping three times because the way I write my name pinches the nerves in the wrist and elbow. Problematic since doing excessive, now-needlessly obsolete stenography drills in secretarial school in the mid-1990s.
Low abdomen: A "mild" case of adenomyosis, which is kind of like garden variety endometriosis... IF IT WERE ON METH, CRACK, AND ACID. Diagnosed officially in February of this year, and it's getting progressively more painful and uncontainable each successive month. Searing, agonizing pain that is isolated in the region between  my navel and my kneecaps, ranging from a dull throb, to a persistent agonizing pulsation of hot lava like HURT deep in my marrow. As a result of this, I am now considering a medical procedure to manage the physical pain; however, it will then officially put the kabosh on the entire notion of me having a child of my own. I'm 44. I'm just not up to the challenge and thanklessness of motherhood. EOS.
Low abdomen: "Impactions."
Right Hip: "Hip Pointer." WTF Been problematic since a forced road march with a 40 lb pack in basic training.
Knees (both): Dx: the LCL's were compromised in two falls, one in winter 2009, one in spring 2010. Though to be honest, the pain is deep in there where most anatomical charts would indicate the meniscus.
Feet (both): Heel spurs, plantar fasciitis, corns, and the newest addition to the Pain Chronicles Litany: My big toes are not level with the rest of the bones/toes (actually is lower than the rest), thus causing my feet to cantilever like a see-saw in my shoes (thus causing the corns; and is contributing to my overall balance issues).

The fact that I take about 4-5 vicodin a month, I would say is judicious given the aforementioned. 

And yanno what? In a very sick twisted way, I'm glad for these burdens. I see some of the truly life threatening, persistently miserable things that other folks are enduring in their lives, and I am thankful that at a minimum my issues are being managed, and it's only about 1/3 of each month that is directly impacted by the assortment of burdens I have, which at times feels like I'm being Karmic-ly double or triple teamed. 

Dear inventor of hydrocodone: You are a saint! 

Signed,
Me

On Average. Yes.

My Journey Is My Journey; and Your Journey Is Your Journey

I'm having one of those days where I got one of those scared straight type of chills up my spine. Kinda foreboding or at a minimum, a warning for me, if I were to ever think for one moment, that as a WLS post-opper that I am ever going to be "normal."

I'm having my first lunch, a pint of wonton-egg drop soup, and a friendly co-worker is there too. Unexpectedly. So we sat and chatted. Talked very briefly about a scenario where another co-IRKER of ours is grating on my last nerve, the last interaction of which involved him grabbing a piece of candy off another co-worker's desk and attempting to hand it to me, KNOWING, VISIBLY, OBVIOUSLY, I've lost A LOT of weight, and perhaps I'd like to keep it off, he said, "As if you're not sweet enough..." and attempts to hand it to me. I wave it off and say thank you and try to get on with it. Anyway... back to lunch...

So lovely co-worker and I were talking and he mentioned in passing, in hushed tones, "You know who's gaining weight?" And I nodded. "I know." It's She-who-is-the-workhorse in the office. Management has not even attempted to get us a temp to help cover phones while the Slacker is on maternity leave. Even though "I" take my allotted lunch hour (though I don't take my 15 minute breaks as our union contracts ensure), SHE takes it upon herself to sit at her desk and work through lunch. Which, to be blunt, is unhealthy, and I dare say could lead to undoing a lot of her good work. I said as much to lovely co-worker, and we got on with our lunch.

But it's worried me long before this chat. I noticed in passing that SHE seemed a bit heavier. I didn't know if it was weight gain or if it was just wearing more form fitting clothing or what. It's none of my business. I'd love to just say to her, "You must look out for your health and well being. At least get up and walk around in the afternoon sun. Don't let this place destroy all your good work." But I thought the better of it. It's truly none of my business. 

I mean, I'd want to be supportive. I don't want to seem like the newly converted, as I'm still less than two years out from my own surgery. Who am I? How dare I even THINK of meddling in someone's personal shit, yanno?  

Where does meddling truly start and support actually end? 

But it IS sobering. I pack a lunch every day. Granted, I eat what I want, but measured amounts. I know I'm not active. Not by a long stretch, whereas SHE IS. 

Our journeys may have had similar starts, and similar paths, but like everything in life, I cannot compare my journey to someone else's. I'm only responsible to myself FOR myself and my actions. 

I guess I should just wish her well in the cosmic sense of wishing well, and hope this place doesn't eat her (and all her good work) alive.

24 Days

Dear Adenomyosis,

24 Days? Really?

Fuck-you-very-much,
"Maven"

Not Much New To Report (Or is there?)

Still plateau'ed since roughly January. I keep vacillating between 2-5 lbs lose/gain.

No new health issues, problems or improvements, though my surgeon is convinced I'm done w/the passive weight loss from the surgery and is strongly urging me to exercise. I can't seem to wrap my brain around it, as anytime I exert myself, I end up paying for it for days in the form of joint pain. So to exercise to the point of sweating and sustaining that just seems counter-intuitive to my joint pain.

I had an a-HA! moment a month ago when I realized what part of my problem (vis-a-vis procrastination) is: my mindset. I am a fixed mindset whereas I need to have a more growth oriented mindset. Problem is, I don't know how to change it. I'm fairly well FIXED and rooted in thinking the way I do, and being the pragmatist I am, I can talk myself out of doing things for fairly legitimate reasons.

For instance, I cannot allow myself to do something if there's even a remote question of whether I'll fail. It's not so much based out of a fear of failure, but out of having JUST THAT MUCH VALUE in my time, my precious commodity. I'd much rather spend my time doing things I love, or things I know I'll excel at rather than vanity tripping or doing what amounts to exercises (excuse the pun) in futility.

I know that my mindset is at the root of what is preventing me from living up to my potential in my career, my life, my health, my happiness. I can and HAVE intellectualized that I need to change, but I get overwhelmed and distracted, and don't have a clue how or where to start with the actual change. In keeping with my personality and this quirk of mine re: potential for pain or failure, it takes a very long time before I act on anything. I am like a terrier with a bone, chewing on it, thinking about it, burying that bone for a while, digging it back up and chewing on it some more, until something new and shiny comes along to distract me.

Dad's birthday was this weekend, and the grief sucker punched me again. I had signed up for a home repair and remodeling class run by the local college, only to find out that it's not hands on (which might as well = TOTALLY USELESS for me, a visual learner) and mostly lecture based.

On top of this misrepresentation (the brochure clearly does not state it's lecture only), the instructor was sub-standard, IMHO, for an instructor at a college. Picture, if you will, Mr. Fucking Magoo. Deaf as a stone. Blind as a bat. Patronizing to all the females in the class. Running thru the inventory of tools everyone needs in their tool box and demonstrating, "This is a hammer. This is a screw driver. This is a tape measure." etc etc.

Allegedly the instructor was a professional contractor (obviously MANY YEARS AGO), and he banks heavily on the fact that at some point in the past he was either ON a radio show or HOSTED a radio call in handyman show. So you would have a reasonable expectation that his tools would be in a tool box or at a minimum a tool belt. Not Mr. Magoo! Oh no. His dust bunnied, cob webby tools were thrown into a shopping basked pilfered from Pathmark.

When one of the two gentlemen of the class stopped him, as he was going into detail to the women about the need for a 25 foot tape measure (so we could hang our drapes, because all women are concerned with draperies, don'tchaknow), the gentleman wanted to know HOW to use the tape measure, or have the instructor tell us what the tick marks on the tape measure indicated, the instructor then suggested the GENTLEMAN show us (um, why then did the gentleman pay $110 + a $5 materials fee* if the GENTLEMAN was expected to teach the class?). Needless to say, it didn't take long after that for the gentleman in question to realize that this class is not what he (or any of us, for that matter) expected, and as respectfully and diplomatically as he could, let the instructor know this before he left the lecture hall.

*Also worth noting, the "materials" consisted of a folder with fasteners (which were not used, because half the hand outs/leaflets were not 2 hole punched) and the contents appeared not to be class materials, but hand outs anyone could get at hardware stores and Home Depot. Allegedly our $5 went towards the "collating" of everything. Um. Yeah. 

So for the next 45 minutes, Mr. Magoo was distracted, and constantly trying to move the female students closer around him. We all were sitting in reasonable and expected spots in the lecture hall, but this guy was so controlling, perhaps in part because of his blindness and deafness. Now I must come off as someone who is anti-handicapped, when in reality, I spent $110 of my hard-earned bucks for a class led by an instructor who is incapable of COMMUNICATING. Get a miracle ear, buddy!

And as if all that were not bad enough...

The man stood there with his nose running like a dripping faucet. Literally. DRIP DRIP DRIP. No ubiquitous old man hanky or bandana. Hell, he didn't even use the cuff of his shirt or sweater to blot the drippage. No. He let it drip and let it land where it may... half the time on the front of his shirt... and the other half the time DIRECTLY IN HIS MOUTH. So as if he was not scatter brained and patronizing ENOUGH to distract me from what little viable information he might share, he was disgusting to look at. How am I expected to sit there and be expected to learn anything when the sight of his sinuses leaking directly into his mouth (and causing me to sit there and silently dry heave to myself at the sight of this)?

So with approximately 40 more minutes to go, I couldn't handle sitting there one more moment longer, I excused myself to go to the ladies room. I left my packet of information on my desk, to give the implication I was returning. But the moment I walked out of the lecture hall, I headed directly to my car and promptly called the registrar's office and roundly and thoroughly voiced my displeasure at the class being misrepresented. And of course, a refund was out of the question as I should have dropped the class two days beforehand. An offer was made that I could take another class that started up, yet there I was in my car, without a brochure. So Monday I emailed the director's office to expand on how this class wasn't what anyone expected it to be, only to find out due to the holiday she was out of the office until Weds. I've followed up with another email, but somehow, I know they just don't give a shit. Perhaps I'll check out Yelp and see if I can post a review about this... so I can spare some other poor unfortunate, well meaning souls from taking this class.

Anyway... my reality... how my grief sucker punched me...

I took this class because, sadly, I did not have enough time with my dad so DAD could show me simple things like swapping out electrical sockets or how to remove the elbow joint of my sink to clear a clog etc. I had hoped to reconnect with my dad in that handy way he was. And yet, thanks to Mr. Magoo, that opportunity was taken away. The weekend was just yet another reminder of the profound loss I still feel, at dad's passing. It would have been his 71st birthday (and would have been his grandmother's 121st birthday, too).

I talked at length with my therapist, and tried to get both themes discussed, the mindset a-Ha! and the grief, and how I feel like on some level my grief is sabotaging me, or perhaps subconsciously I'm using my grief as an excuse not to address what needs addressing. (among other themes discussed).

Anyway. Like I said... not much new to report, just apparently, a whole lotta noise.

At Long Last: An Update

Yesterday found me in NYC doing a double header: Upper East Side to see my endocrinologist for my three month visit; and Upper West Side to see my surgeon for my 18 month follow up post-op visit. Both went well.

Stats from July's labs:

Fasting glucose:     81
Uric Acid:             5.7
HDL:                    58
LDL:                     93
Triglycerides:         92
Iron, total:             60
Ferritin:                 10
T4, total:               8.6
Progesterone:        6.1
B12:                     669
Folate, serum:     >24.0
Folate, RBC, HCT: 715
Insulin, serum:      <2 p="p">C-Reactive Protein: 0.1
Hemoglobin A1C:  5.5
Testosteron, Fr/TOT, LCMSMS:  38
Testosterone, Free:  3.2

All in all, not too shabby; though in hindsight, I am noticing my DHEA levels were not checked.

I wasn't feeling all too well, some weirdness in my gut, lower abdomen. A heaviness on my left side, which usually means constipation, despite obvious reasons for me to believe constipation was not afoot. *AHEM* And pain. The pain was intermittent in the earlier part of the day, but as the day wore on, the heaviness got more intense, and each time I moved my left leg when I walked, the pain became more pronounced.

I drank some hot egg drop soup, thinking that would help hydrate and usually anything hot helps wake up my bowels, so if it was constipation, I was hoping it would dislodge itself. I clearly felt like I was blocked, despite knowing there was activity that day.

I then set about the little odyssey of getting from the UES to the UWS. I decided not to take the 6 back up to 125th, and instead walked to Madison and hoped to hop a bus uptown. But which bus? I'm not super familiar. I know on Broadway the M101 or M104 will take me where I want to go, but I wanted to get from east side to west side and up town with a minimum of effort. Had I gone back to 125th, I would have taken the M100 or M101. But, I was on Madison, so I was going to improvise with the M3.

So the bus pulls up and since there was no route map to show me the stops, I clearly asked the driver, "Will this take me to 163rd and either Amsterdam or St. Nicholas?" And rather than yes or no, he got in a huff, which then made me DERP-DE-DERP and ask the question several times, thus making the driver even more hostile. A simple yes or no was all that was required, but because he wanted to be an asshole, he prolonged both of our agonies. So with an eye roll I got on, swiped my Metrocard, sat and seethed and even thought perhaps when I got off the bus I'd thank him for being so helpful, but thought the better of it, as he gave the next passengers at the next stop the same shitty attitude. So I sat and watched the street signs.

I got off at St. Nicholas and 163, and hoofed it to Ft. Washington. As I crossed Broadway, the pain in my lower abdomen was becoming more and more intense. When I pressed on my belly as I walked, I could feel a hardness, like a lump, and it hurt as I walked. I arrived at the surgeon's office with plenty of time (10-15 minutes), so I figured I'd try to give it the "old college try" and try to empty out even more before my weigh in. This was a disaster. I ended up being held hostage, but not like I've been held hostage in the past with an impaction. Just nothing moved. Searing pain. Flush with sweat and pain, I started to panic in the bathroom. I lost track of time. I was now late for my appointment.

I walked to the corridor to get my vitals taken by the technician, who noticed and commented on my limp and the fact I was in obvious pain. I go into the NP's office for our usual pre-game chat before the surgeon comes in. And once he came in, the weirdness set in. I started to feel manic and over stimulated from both, the increasing pain and the fact that I've now spent the entire day traversing both, east and west sides of NYC on foot and by mass transit. I was unfocused (which for me is VERY unusual, why waste my time or THEIRS is my usual attitude). At one point, while the surgeon was talking to me, I blurted out, "I'm in active pain right now, just thought I'd share!" I felt like a wild woman.

Surgeon told me the bad news, that at 18 months out, my weight loss, such as it's been, is effectively over, and now is the hard part, the maintaining. I informed him that ever since he put me on solids, I've been eating essentially whatever I want, weighing stuff out, eating frequently during the day, not depriving myself, and planning my "feeds" as I call them (not really meals or snacks, just indistinguishable "intakes") several times a day, as I do better with more feeds than less.

And then he told me the dreaded thing I don't want to hear, that he wants me to exercise more than this intermittent walking I do. I said to him, "But fat girls, we don't like to sweat." His reply, "I hate to inform you, but you're not a fat girl. You need to sweat regularly. And I don't care if you like it or not. You need to do this."

Since my surgery, pain has been a big issue: joint pain from arthritis. endometrial pain from the adenomyosis. and pain from when my ovarian cysts start to flare or rupture (which I think yesterday's pain was ultimately ovarian, and not bowel).  So pain is part of my reluctance. The other part of my reluctance is well... I don't like to sweat, I don't find anything remotely fun, interesting, exciting etc about exercising for exercise sake. And if it's not fun or pleasurable, how the hell am I suppose to make it an essential part of my new life style if I find it so repellent?

Don't get me wrong. I can move. And I was in NYC on Friday and traversed the LES and LWS like a BOSS, and had a minimum of discomfort compared to how I normally felt in the past after spending the day in the city. And there I was, back in NYC on Tuesday, spent the whole day, and managed not to kill myself in the process, pain-wise.

Even swimming, which used to be a big thing I loved when I was heavier, now isn't as fun anymore, because I have to work so damned hard now just to stay afloat without all that extra buoyancy my fat used to provide.

Anyway, still in my frenzy after my appointment with the surgeon, I headed to the nearest pharmacy to get more colace (despite taking some in the a.m.) and some miralax, I then headed off to Dunkin Donuts for a hot cup of coffee, as I was hell bent on blasting whatever clog happened to be in my drain (as it were). So I sat and had my coffee. Mixed up the miralax in my Snapple in my bottle, sat a bit and crocheted, relaxed a little bit, and headed off in search of a subway station.

The day was beautiful. Sunny and warm not too hot, and no humidity. Great day. And I got weird-bordering on-lascivious looks as I walked thru Spanish Harlem, but I wore my Jackie O type sunglasses and kept my stoneface mask on and kept walking, hands in pockets, very relaxed, enjoying the walk. The neighborhood is foreign to me but not threatening.

I took the 1 down to 86 and walked to 89th. I stopped before I got to Murray's Sturgeon, and got a slice of pizza. I don't eat pizza all that often, and opted out of my traditional post-surgeon visit tuna sandwich at Murray's for a slice of pizza nearby. I ate it. The crust was great, the sauce and cheese, kind of "meh!" even with me doctoring up the slice with extra oregano, red pepper flake and garlic powder, it just didn't "do it" for me like I had hoped. Anyway, I headed to Murray's to stock up on smoked whitefish salad, gefilte, some herring, and a knish for the husband, then headed back to Grand Central, to sit and wait for the husband.

I went upstairs to the market, and got some things to throw together for dinner: some fresh tilapia for the grill; and some carrot salad (fabulous!) and some lebanese potato salad (WTF? horrid), and of course some cheese (for me). By the time I came back downstairs, the husband had arrived and we headed home.

All in all a good day, but I have some hard work ahead of me in the six month span until I see my surgeon again. I need to change my mindset from a fixed mindset (I won't attempt anything unless success is NLT 90% predictable) to a growth mindset.

Personally and professionally I'm very trapped. Either I find a new job and that facilitates other changes in my life, or I somehow or another get more active and THAT will facilitate other changes in my life. But some ACTIVE change needs to occur, as I'm stagnating.

Mood:  Depressed.

Post-Vacation

I will not hop on the scale.
I will not hop on the scale.
I. WILL. NOT. HOP. ON. THE. SCALE.

Enjoyed the trip to Mystic. Plenty of good eatin' had. Vacations are always fraught with trepidation, financially, and calorie-wise. I'm just going to revel in a nice Memorial Day get-away, and worry about the scale next week. But I can't help but feel like it's an act of self-sabotage (going away).

I WILL NOT HOP ON THE SCALE.

Update

Still maintaining the status quo on the weight loss. I'm weighing in regularly between 192-194, tho that one freakish weigh in a few months back at 190, pegged my official weight loss at 90#. I'd like to get down to 175, but I'm quite happy where I'm at currently, too.

So last Friday I managed to follow up w/my neurologist (the same dude I saw roughly 4-5 years back during the great Topamax experiment my endocrinologist tried. The Topamax was supposed to help with the migraines and also offer up some super magical side effects of losing weight. Well, that experiment didn't end well. Made me more hostile and paranoid, and holy hannah it messed with my sleep-wake schedule even more than my usual baseline of insomnia, so I ditched it way back then.

I've been prescribed Frova, which I'm supposed to take a day or two prior to onset of menses and throughout the bleed time. Allegedly this is supposed to thwart my monthly migraine. Who knows. All I know is that it's a sumatriptan based Rx, and I didn't fare too well on imitrex when I was on it briefly in the early 1990s (I felt all achey and odd, like you do right before the full on brunt of a common cold--but no migraine). Like anything else, I suppose YMMV. I'll try anything at this point.

And like whoah? $45 and that's WITH insurance. $400+ without. I think $45 is a bit exorbitant to PREVENT a migraine; however, $45 is still less than the ER copay, so it all balances out. But whoah. Sticker shock. ETA: Note to self: There's an online mfr program/coupon for Frova: http://www.frova.com/pdf/FROVA_Patient_CoPay_Card.pdf

I don't follow up with the neuro again until July, so that'll be two menstrual cycles from now, and a good indication of whether or not the Rx works.

Now a blood chemistry update...

Everything seems to be within normal parameters, with a few exceptions.

Exception #1: My iron levels are still low (or at least they were as of 4/2/12 when the blood was drawn. I've been on Feosol iron since roughly the 3-4th week of April, and have noticed some change in how I feel, so I am hopeful this is remedying things; however, as of 4/2/12:

Iron, total:                     33 (range: 40-175 mcg/dL)
Transferrin Saturation:     8 (range: 15-50%)
Ferritin:                           8 (range: 10-232 ng/mL)
MCV:                        76.9 (range: 80.0-100.0 fL)
MCH:                        25.7 (range 27.0-33.0 pg)

Exception #2: Weirdness. My B12 is off the chart. Perhaps it's related to the fact I've been taking a prenatal chewable in the a.m., with an additional spritz of B12 sublingual, plus a spare biotin and a spare FOLIC ACID supplement. Not sure whut's-whut, but:

Vitamin B12, serum         1316 (range 200-1100 pg/mL)

Exception #3: Weirdness. My DHEA is finally taking a nosedive. It's been on the high side since my PCOS diagnosis in 1998. High = onwards and upwards of 1200-1400, yet as of 4/2/12:

DHEA Sulfate                  448 (range 25/220 mcg/dL)  This is without a doubt the lowest the DHEA has been for me for 14 years. Not sure if it's related to the wonky B12 elevation, or if it's the result of a 90# weight loss, or what, but thereyago. WEIRD.

Exception #4:  Weirdness. My 3A Androstanediol-G is low. Not even sure WTF this is (same thing goes for the MCV and MCH above), so needless to say I have some homework to do before Monday's appointment.

3A Androstanediol-G         30 (range: 60-300 ng/dL)

And lastly, one of the last things I was interested in, ARSENIC, given I was eating a lot of chia seeds about two months back:

Arsenic, Blood                    8 (range:  <23 mcg/L)

Not sure if this is an accurate read or if it's skewed due to the volume of cilantro I eat (not all the time, but do it in waves, like this week I've been on a Green Goddess dressing phase... and eat a lot of it).

On Relating to Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer

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.

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). 

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."

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.

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).

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 :

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"Excuse me, have we met?"

That's pretty much what I wanted to blurt out in text to/with my sister, when in the text I sent about how I wouldn't be there for Easter but would be at Mother's Day, "depending on pain and weather." Which, if she paid any attention to me over the years would comprehend.

Instead, I get a text back, "What pain?" which I think I regaled in a previous blog post. I wasn't going to engage or poke the obtuse-ity, but decided I would, just to see what level of stupidity comes next.

So, I text back, "adenomyosis, herniation, deviated disc, damaged ACL in both knees, heel spurs, arthritis all throughout, and carpal tunnel."

Stupidity I received in return, "What herniation?"

My reply, "Uh, from the bad accident I was in, in 1999? Rear ended? By an 18 wheeler? Ring a bell?"

So far no reply.

Not that I need to justify my actions, however, between the low back pain which does NOT improve sitting stationary for 2.5 hours in traffic to get there (and back) the carpal tunnel poses just as big if not a bigger obstacle, as it's pretty damned difficult to steer a car if your hand is in spasm from carpal tunnel.

This is almost as tedious as trying to dispel her "myth" and presumption that I never wanted to have kids (vis-a-vis discussions about fertility and my adenomyosis & PCOS).

Have we met? Srsly. I wish there truly were a block user function for folks in real life.