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!
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Sunday, April 07, 2013
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.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
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?
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?
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Monday, February 25, 2013
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:)
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:)
Friday, February 15, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
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
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
Wednesday, February 06, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, December 17, 2012
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
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
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
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
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
Monday, November 12, 2012
Friday, October 26, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, June 01, 2012
Sunday, May 27, 2012
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.
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.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
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).
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).
Friday, April 27, 2012
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.
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.
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