Friday, March 24, 2006

The Nuts and Bolts...

I posted about my visit to the endocrinologist on 3/21 at my other blog, and totally forgot to post here. So go check out the other post and I'll sit patiently here for ya.

Didja read it? Good.

Not much to report.

I lost three pounds (perhaps more, as Aunt Flow has yet to show her crimson, crampy head yet; and I also had eaten breakfast and hadn't shit it out yet).

The doc is upping my metformin from 500 mg thrice a day, to two 500 mg tablets twice a day, slowly inching me from 1500 mg to 2000 mg a day. This might even help my ravenous appetite--which is symptomatic of my over-production of insulin.

My triglycerides and uric acid were a little high. Gotta boost my vitamins etc. Drink more water? Dunno... no suggestions made other than flax seed oil caps, and keep taking the fish oil caps.

Fertility aside, a very big concern for me is the notion of not turning into my mother. And I don't mean that in the every-woman-doesn't-want-to-turn-into-her-mother kinda way either. And by not turning into her, SPECIFICALLY, I mean I do not want to suffer from these:
Morbid obesity
Type II Diabetes*
Lymphedema of the extremities*
Phlebitis*
Cellulitis* (as a result of poor circulation and the lymphedema)
Rheumatoid and oseteo arthritis (I have a 25% chance of the rheumatoid--I
know it's genetic)
Uterine cancer* & fibroids (which went undetected for who knows how
long; it had been 30 years since she last went to a gynocologist)
Bladder control issues
Borderline Personality Disorder

*All related, directly to her weight (5'5", 350-400#).

But the most troubling thing is how all of those elements have compounded themselves within my mom. Obviously she's in a lot of discomfort all the time. The more weight she gains, the more discomfort for the other aspects. The more weight she gains, the more pain, the more pain, the less she wants to move and do things, the less she wants to move and do things, the more weight she gains. It's an endless cycle. Actually there IS an end. Either she can force herself to do something unpleasant (walk more, get on her exercise bike, something); or die. Those are the only two options.

But it's a slow death. But hey, you can't neglect yourself for forty years, and then wonder why your body is betraying you!

She's 61, and if you saw her, you'd think she's 10-15 years older. She walks hunched over on two canes. Eventually my sister is going to get her a wheely-walker thing so at least she won't be all hunched over anymore. But mom won't be able to use that at her work in the kitchen. She's in denial about how her employer views her. I am sure her employer (she works for a county run facility) knows how crippled up she is. They are THAT desperate for a "pulse," if not a qualified worker.

I guess it takes a tremendous amount of grit and chutzpah, knowing how much pain she's in, to truss her legs up in pressure stockings, "absorbables," etc, popping Ralofen and Aleve (which I believe you shouldn't do) just to get to the point where she can function and go to work. It's a shame she doesn't take her Lexapro, it might take the edge off and perhaps make her more agreeable in general, if not agreeable towards getting more active, even on small levels. Working 10-12 hour days on two uncooperative, bloated, painful legs; at least the bloated and painful could have been avoided years ago.

Now? The damage is done. For mom, that is.


The best thing that came out of the visit, besides having my specialist's ear for an hour (which is a total treat), was him saying how I'm not turning into my mother, medically, and how hopefully we can fight the good fight, and see if we can prevent me from going down the Type II Diabetes road, by making my body sensitized to the insulin it's determined to over-produce.

I see him again in July.

Some folks lives, if they cannot serve as a positive example, they can serve the purpose of posing as a warning to others.

Saturday, February 25, 2006

Looking Ahead

3/21

Less than a month until I go back to the specialist.

Less than a month to get my ass in gear.

Less than a month to get totally despondent.

Aunt Flo is here. One more reminder of what a big fat fucking failure I am.

The Last Book I'm Going to Buy Re: IR & Diets

Thursday, February 16, 2006

So I Went For A Reiki Healing Circle Tonight...

I felt all trembly with the laying of hands. Both Reiki masters were intrigued and drawn to me, and what I view as my sack of assorted blockages and issues.

Contemplating going in for a private session. Perhaps.

Definitely going in for another healing circle in March.

The conclusion is, that a lot of my health issues (e.g. my back, my neck, my cystic ovaries, my insulin problems, depression) are all the result of blockages.

The thing that scares me is that both masters saw my "inner seven year old," and that unsettled me.

I feel a strangeness in my ovary-area. My adrenal area feels tense.

Yet somehow, I felt understood.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Ecclesiastes 3

Still fat.
Still not pregnant.
Still not adhering to Atkins.
Still plucking my fu manchu.
Still "functionally" depressed.
Thanks to the folly called Xenical (a few months back), my psoraisis has yet to go into remission. I now have a small patch in my eyebrow, thus breaking our agreement, that it can ravage my scalp, disguised by my hair, provided it does not encroach on my face. Fuck you, Orlistat!

Friday, January 13, 2006

Dinner

8 oz boneless beef rib, marinated and grilled on the GF
4 oz of marinated mushrooms grilled
indeterminate amount of brussels sprouts simmered and buttered:)

Don't give a shit what my 'count' is today.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Mental Health Day Yesterday

Mental health day. Dropped off the husband and went for breakfast, clad only in a pair of khakis, a LL Bean sweatshirt, and my clogs. No bra. No make up. No kidding.

Breaky:

Lobster & crabmeat cake eggs benedict. Coffee. Water. And a sense of "fuck you smug-ness" that I did what I wanted. Read the paper. Cover to cover. Then it was time to pick my wedgie, pay, and get the fluck out of Dodge.

Stayed home and tried to be productive.

Napped.

Ate potato chips.

I'm going to low-carb hell, and Dr. Atkins himself is Satan's taint-waxer and ballsack sweat dauber.


Napped some more.


Dinner:

A burger made of ground lamb, garlic, red onion, fresh oregano and mint and some crumbled lamb's milk blue cheese. Side dish: A fistful of herbed olives.

Sunday, January 08, 2006

Dinner

Salmon steaks with cajun seasonings
Broccoli rabe with garlic
Escargots (5)

Endnote: The escargots were actually LAND snails, not sea snails as I had thought. In lieu of the briney topnote I thought they'd have, they had an odd taste, like what garden soil must taste like on a rainy day, braced with butter, garlic and herbs.

So for those keeping track, SNAILS are on my short list of things I do not prefer to eat:

Lima beans
Kerala
Liver, kidneys, sweetbreads, or tripe
Snails

Day Eight Of The New Year

Rolled out of bed, brushed the teeth, bird-bathed and headed to my yoga instructor's home to give her a crash course on how to update her website I set up for her; and in return, she would give me a session devoted to stress and depression management and restorative back asanas. I took my time, answering all her questions.

I know I'll be back over there to assist. Her time is better spent doing the things she loves, rather than the administrative upkeep of her site. I'd be more than happy to be the administrator for her. She just has to say the word. It's no bother. To say she's functionally illiterate when it comes to file management and internet navigation is an understatement. Hey, we all have to start somewhere.

She gave me a good solid hour of one on one instruction and discussion. I long to have the eye bolts and harness she has in her studio, for a full inversion and traction at home. The restorative poses I benefitted from immediately. Very liberating and actually helped undo a little of the damage inflicted from yesterday's assault at the nail salon. Assault? Yep. It's the only way I can describe, succinctly, the "massage" I was on the receiving end of yesterday. It did more harm than good. I'll still need a visit to the chiro, but perhaps I won't be in as dire of straits when I finally get to see him.

With my instructor, I feel my most vulnerable, as I put it all out there; everything which is affecting me, eating at me, stressing me out, and contributing to my depression which is exacerbated by my hyperinsulinemia related to my PCOS. Like an onion, each of the unsavory layers was peeled back, to be discussed and analyzed.

I enjoyed the visit more than I thought I would, and that's saying a lot because I enjoy my time with my instructor, but I was hesitant as I got ready for the visit. Hesitant to go thru the asanas/postures. Not really sure what was holding me back. I'm glad I relented. Perhaps I did it just as much for her as much as for myself. Who knows. I just wish I could get past the obstacles I am putting up for myself, blocking my own joy.

As I departed, she suggested I pick up some books. Perhaps I'll Amazon the rest. We each gave each other homework; me, asanas to do at home to help with decompressing my stress and decompressing my back; her, noodling around with her website and try to become a little fearless about how things work.

I went for breakfast, a big garden omlette, bacon, whole wheat toast, coffee, water. I lingered over the Sunday paper; then it was off to Barnes and Noble to see if they had a particular book by Pema Chodron. Alas the book I was intent on getting was not there, and I got one of the books which were available as a substitute. In addition, I got an audio book, actually a box set which contains Lois P. Frankel's "Nice Girls Don't Get The Corner Office" and "Nice Girls Don't Get Rich."Hey, I am sure I am guilty of several of the 101 mistakes women make, and if I can correct even one and benefit from it, it was money well spent. The remaining book I got was my second book by Paramhansa Yogananda, "Why God Permits Evil and How to Rise Above It." The book selections bespeak practical and self-help.

I need to somehow or another carve out some quiet time for myself. While I was in a few of the poses, I felt almost in a state of suspended animation. Surreal and comforting at the same time.At the very least, I felt I was in good and compassionate company; not "alone," and "acknowledged."

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

Day Four of the New Year

I'm back on Atkins. Or so my husband thinks. I've been "okay-to-eh" as far as observing it, keeping myself within 20 gm of carb daily. Today, I shot it to shit. I had whole wheat toast with my breakfast, total carb count: 30 gm. I'll be good the rest of the day. Rome wasn't built in a day. I'll keep myself hydrated, have a protein bar for lunch, and perhaps go to sleep when I get home and by-pass dinner. Formula for disaster. This I know.

Such is life for the polycystic fat woman.

Sunday, January 01, 2006

PCOS: My Testimonial

I do not make any claims to be a doctor, so all I am writing is stuff I have experienced or nuggets of information which I've collected along the way.

In 1998, I was diagnosed as having Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS). I went to my osteopath after nearly a decade of suffering from symptoms which included: inability to lose weight, lethargy, depression, hirsuitism (excessive hair, including on the face), irregular menstruation, brown splotchy marks around my neck, underarms and between my legs. Some of the more clinical symptoms which I was unaware of include: hyper insulinemia (elevated insulin; "pre-diabetes" is the euphemism the medical field uses), elevated DHEA (hormone the adrenal glands put forth) and elevated testosterone.

Prior to this time, during the late 80s, I went to an endocrinologist to get to the root of my weight gain, which at the time was climbing at the rate of about 10-20 pounds each month for a good six months. After the first visit, this endo, "Dr. J.," put me (inaccurately) on Synthroid, for a perceived sluggish thyroid. Endocrinologists like this one should have his license revoked.

From what I have learned, PCOS is the leading cause of infertility in women in their 30s. It is not something which can be "cured," but it can be managed. You will never "get rid of it," it is in your DNA, much like the color of your hair or eyes. You can't change it. You can only change how you live your life or how you perceive it.

The first couple of endocrinologists I encountered have put me on an assortment of medications for my "Insulin Resistance" (which simply means the body doesn't effectively use insulin--whether it is over or under produced) to include: Glucophage, Glucophage XR, Avandia, and finally Actos. While on Glucophage or Glucophage XR, I suffered embarrassing, explosive gastric problems,** regardless of when I took my medication (whether I took it with food, without food or right before bed). There was not a day that went by that I did not have to worry about "containment issues" while sneezing or coughing too hard.

[ED: ** The bulk of the gastric distress, after many tests failed to turn up anything more conclusive than "a side effect" of the IR meds, I decided one weekend to try to eliminate my coffee consumption. I switched to similar amounts of (caffeinated) tea, and my distress all but disappeared. I now drink coffee every other day, and not nearly as much as I once had.]

I was eventually put on Avandia, which was nice for a while; however, the honeymoon soon ended. In winter 2001, I experienced severe abdominal pains, so severe I ended up in the ER. After much prodding and Xrays, they determined it was related to the three stones in my gall bladder (of which I never had troubles with, and haven't had problems since. I decided on my own to discontinue the Avandia, and *mysteriously* the abdominal pains disappeared for good.

When I moved to New York in 2001, I eventually changed endocrinologists. "Dr. N" as I'll call him, was yet another *pawn* in the Glucophage pharmaceutical enslavement policy and insisted on putting me back on Glucophage, this time the "XR" variety, insisting I'll have different results. Nothing changed with this variety Glucophage and after plenty of exams later, nothing changed; so I changed endocrinologists.

I then started seeing "Dr. H.", who insisted on putting me on something for my insulin, and I insisted I did not want Glucophage or Avandia, and telling him rather graphically why I did not want it. He then asked what I wanted and I suggested Actos. I was on Actos for nearly a year, with no real side effects to speak of; however, I was unable to lose weight and in nearly a year, my body did not menstruate. At the time, I was only 34, and in my eyes, too young to be in menopause or even that "pre" menopause.

No one seemed too interested or concerned in my lack of menstruation except me. I had undergone several (IMHO) demeaning clinical tests. When I started seeing "Dr. H.," he did a thorough physical exam on me, IMHO very invasive as it was the first time I had an endocrinologist interested in seeing my vulva and clitoris.

Later on I would suffer thru several Ultrasounds/Sonograms both trans and INTRA vaginal, to determine if there were problems within the uterus which prevented me from menstruating. My "stripe" was perfect, nice and thick, so there was no reason why Aunt Flow wasn't coming to town.

I have had a wide range of clinical blood work and other exams to rule out a "pheochromocytoma" (simply put a cyst on my adrenal gland/s). My DHEA at the highest was in the 1200 range; normal should be between 50-400). My cortisol was perfect; if it were excessively low or high it would indicate something wrong with the adrenals. I had a CAT done of my abdomen, again, perfect.

It's like looking for a needle in a haystack trying to decipher which of the hormones is driving my insulin to be too high.

I decided to go to a specialist in NYC whose bread and butter is PCOS and related syndromes. After taking perhaps the most THOROUGH medical history I've ever gone thru, and the vulva/clitoral exam again, I was sent home with a bunch of scrips for blood work to be done. The doctor praised me for having done my homework and having already put myself on a bunch of supplements to include: good multi vitamins, alpha lipoic acid, folic acid, grapeseed extract and milk thistle). He made the suggestion that going on an ACE inhibitor for my blood pressure would be better than what I was currently taking.

Back I went to "Dr. H.," who did not take the suggestion to change my blood pressure medication. He was too busy trying to use me for his next guinea pig experiment, this one was a dexamethasone suppression therapy, which means he injected me with some kind of steroid to stir up some kind of response with the adrenals. No response. Lord only knows what the end result will be on my body after all of these tests.

I went back to my osteopath in November 2003, and I asked him to put me on an ACE inhibitor, I suggested Accupril with an HCTZ diuretic, and asked him if after a month if it did not work for him to put me on Accupril and Spironolactone as a diuretic.

My PCP put me on a 12.5/25 dosage of Accuredic (which is Accupril & HCTZ combined), I experienced my first menstrual cycle in nearly a year. I am now taking 20/25 of Quinaretic (generic of Accuretic) and an evening pill of 20 of Quinipril (generic of Accupril). Two years later, I am still menstruating regularly, except for when I switched off Actos back to Metformin (Oct. 2005), as I would like to attempt to get pregnant.

As a result of the ACE inhibitor and having taken MYSELF off Actos, I have been on Atkins since April 2003, and I have dumped off close to 40 lbs (as of this date, 3/27/04), my blood pressure went from 150/90 to 120/70, and my cholesterol went from 204 to 180. I had an appointment scheduled for April 7, 2004, and will be undergoing a thorough physical exam. I should know with some level of certainty, if clinically, all of this has helped with my insulin resistance and other hormonal imbalances.

When I went to "Dr. H.," for the last time in February 2004, he did not seem too interested in my weight loss or the fact that my menstrual cycles resumed (to me that is an indicator that something hormonally is working right). And he sent me home with a two-month supply of Avandamet (a combo pill which contains both Glucophage and Avandia).

It was at that visit that I realized he did not seem too concerned with me and my health, and wanted to keep me a slave to the drug companies. To me, it is unacceptable to trade off one set of symptoms for an even more unpleasant set of side effects.

As of the 10th of November 2004, I went in for yet another series of ultra sounds, liver, pancreatic, kidney, heart, intra and trans vaginal. All looking for yet another needle in the haystack. It's got me concerned about what lies in store for me (ED note: In 2005 I was diagnosed with "fatty liver" syndrome, which is part and parcel of insulin resistance problems).

Going to check with my specialist about getting a copy of the pictures of my cystic ovaries so you can see what I'm dealing with.

Bad news tho! I weaned myself off a strict Atkins regimen (in 2004) because we thought I was sowing signs of gout (proteins won't flush out of my kidneys and I have a build up of uric acid). And the pain I was experiencing in my feet turned out not to be gout afterall. After a visit with an orthopedist confirmed I have two heel spurs on my left heel, one starting on my right, and the start of arthritis in one of my feet.

I am always seeking out as natural of remedies as I can, to be used concurrently with my prescriptions, both for blood pressure and insulin resistance control. If there is a homeopath or an aryuvedist out there reading this who can furnish more conclusive information on aryuvedic remedies (i.e. the benefits of Karela, "aka" Bitter Gourd/Bitter Melon), I invite them to leave a comment to this post.

I will be occasionally posting information or things I go thru related to my PCOS or other health issues to my Blog.

As of October 2005, my specialist put me back on Metformin, as I would like to attempt to conceive a child, and it is unknown the effects that Actos could potentially have on a fetus.

As of January 2006, I will be "jump starting" my system by going back on Atkins for several months, and eventually will wean myself back to a "lower glycemic" lifestyle. Living in America, as I do, "low glycemic" flies in the face of everything that's "convenient," or can be "eaten on the go." My mindset is one of an exercise in futility.

Saturday, December 31, 2005

Encore: Free Association, My Poly Cystic Ovaries

Friday, December 17, 2004

Free Association: My Poly Cystic Ovaries

Tick, tock...

Release, damnit!
Free my poor ova!
Give me some relief!
F*ck you, follicles!

Tick...

Isn't it sad
that something that looks as yummy as a caramel-nut cluster
or a lumpy, bumpy, charcoal broiled marshmallow
could cause me so much grief?!

Tock...

Self-loathing belly fat...
Moodswings
Hirsuitism
And all that...
As if being a woman was not difficult enough.

Tick...

Tired of food restrictions.
Tired of IR medications.
Tired of being tired.
Tired of my body betraying me every step of the way.

Tock...

I used to wear a size 9-10.
Honest.
I have pictures to prove it.

Tick tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick...

What is a euphemistic "biological clock" for "normal women"
boils down to nothing more than a ticking emotional "time bomb" for me.

Tock...

12/17/04, Maven (c)
posted by Maven at Friday, December 17, 2004

Maven said...
Here is what my specialist who treats me for PCOS said about my journal entry:

"Quite an honest and unique way of saying whats eating patients up with this syndrome. I like its integrity."

Friday, December 30, 2005

250ish. That's All I'll Admit

Fingers don't fail me now. Or not. Does it matter? No one listens or cares about the woman behind the fat. The struggle behind the fat. The struggle not to get fatter. The struggle to not just totally give up that tenuous at best grasp on reality. They just see a totally out of control fat woman. "Goodness, who would want to fuck that?" Hey, if my dad's mom thought that (and uttered it outloud no less) about my mother, I'm sure folks think that about me, despite that I'm a good "buck and a half" less than my mother tips in at. But who gives a shit anyway? I'm just a fat woman. Who gives a rat's ass if there's actually something WRONG?

Did you know Metformin zaps your body of your precious "B" vitamins? The feel good vitamins? Despite my knowledge of this, and despite taking a good multi-vitamin for diabetics (which should be great for PCOSers, too), aka Multi-betic, I also augment my daily regimen with two more "B complex" tablets, as well as ALA, Milk Thislte, CLA, Omega-3, Calcium-Magnesium-Zinc tablets (for my "touch of" osteoporosis as well as to overcompensate for my Quinipril/Quinaretic for my hypertension, as the "Q" zaps my body of precious zinc, thus making my psoraisis flare up into a scaley mass on my scalp. Mercifully my hair camouflages most of it). Who gives a shit anyway? No one looks at the fat woman. Case in point: I've walked around for Lord-knows-how long with a long, BLACK, stray whisker about a half inch long, on my cheek. Not even my husband has brought this to my attention. Shouldn't husbands be on whisker patrol?

Back to the Metformin. I'm on three tabs a day: total consumption of 1500 mg. We might boost it the next visit to the specialist. Yay me. I might just slit my wrists from being so underwhelmed when that happens.

Allegedly it's supposed to help me lose weight. My response to this, which I deem nothing short of a fairy tale or an urban legend is, "Go sell crazy some place else; we're all stocked up here." Yeah, I'll believe it when I see it.

Doc switched me off Actos, which I loved. No side effects (other than an inability to drop weight, even while being on Atkins diligently. I plateaued after 35-40 pounds lost). Switched me onto Metformin (again), presumably to help my "fertility" and to get pregnant.

The irony? Since I've been on it, I can tell you without looking at my blood work that my testosterone has shifted and lowered. How can I tell? A mere fat woman, lay person, how can "I" tell? Because the last thing on the planet earth I want to do is, fuck. And the last time I looked, fucking is essential for one to get pregnant; and well, let's face it, my name ain't "Mary."

More disturbing to me than the lack of desire for shween is, all the enjoyment of masturbation is gone, too.

Went back on Metformin in September. My period disappeared for two months. Again, I'm the only one alarmed. Me, bloated. Miserable. More depressed than I've been in years. But again, let the fat woman deal with this alone. As usual.

So, not only am I fat (thank you mom for your shallow gene pool!), and not only am I staring down the barrel of the possibility-becoming-a-reality that I might not have a family of my own; but, the one thing in life I enjoy more than sleeping and a good meal, followed by a good dump is, an orgasm.

See, I'm only 37. I'm still menstruating. According to my androgen panels, I'm not even teetering in the realm of "peri-menopause." At least if I were not menstruating and thought this were a transient phase just to get over, I might be able to choke back the disappointment long enough to get thru this. But I'm not.

I feel old and fat and alone.

So not only do I not want to fuck. Not only do I no longer derive any enjoyment out of "self-love," but I am going thru this, much like everything else, ALONE.

"But, Maven, you're married. You're not truly alone," some might say. If my husband were unable to "get it up," I doubt if it's appropriate or whether it would be appreciated if my husband heard me make light of this. After the attempt at levity, I somehow went into auto-pilot mode, welled up with tears and drove home totally amazed I got home in one piece (actually wondered how the hell I did that), only to sit, stunned silent, feeling truly paralyzed vocally, and sitting totally inert.

A normal person would attempt to comfort me. A selfish person wouldn't sit down and make some comparison to our sex lives, that I've had 20 years of sexual activity, and he's only had what? ten? Thus attempting to make him a martyr or a victim.

Despondent doesn't begin to describe how I feel. Dejected. Rejected. Unloved. Misunderstood. Unsexy. Unwanted.