Entry 31 - Oh, Some Updates!

So for anyone actually reading, I realized I left y'all hanging on some tests I was having done! So, no lupus, no diffuse scleroderma, nothing traumatic from the June 30, 2011, entry. Turns out ANA doubling still wasn't in a troublesome zone, it's counted weird so doubling isn't troubling. Yay, I rhymed! However, we did discover this last spring that my fibro meds were tearing apart my liver. So, off all the fibro meds, off all Tylenol, off birth control (!!!), anything that could impact my liver. Finally, we got it repaired. But damn, I hurt in the meantime. However, we did make another interesting discovery. I had my annual exam, and started the depo shot in place of the high-powered birth control I took to control a lifetime of painful ovarian cysts. The PA assured me the shot would shut down my ovaries so they couldn't produce cysts. At the exam, my ovaries were clean. Five days later I went in for a scan to check my liver damage. The results? No permanent liver damage, but I had a giant cyst on my left ovary. FIVE FRICKIN' DAYS. On the upside, this was the straw that broke the uterus' back and I finally qualified for a hysterectomy. So mid-October, all the lady bits - including the offensive ovaries - came out and dang, has life been good since then! I'm also on a new liver-friendly fibro med that, glory of glories, actually leaves me with energy! Not the greatest pain relief, but at least I'm not falling asleep sitting upright in my desk chair anymore! So, I'm cautiously optimistic I might make some headway here. And I have no idea why this thing is not recognizing my paragraph breaks, grrr.

Entry 30 - Trying to Get Back on Track

Okay, so in March I started Ideal Protein. And I did really, really well for a while - took off 35 pounds. Then I went back to my old habits. I've put weight back on, and despite never officially leaving Ideal Protein, I've been stuck at about a 25-pound weight loss for ... well, since about July. I need to make a change. I just do. Why can't I seem to actually do it?

Entry 29 - Evolving Blogging

So today, another Aspie tangent.

Cute stuff our nearly 4-year-old Aspie boy says:

Me - "How'd you sleep last night?"
Alan (indignantly) - "On a BED."

Alan (slapping knees) - "Mommy, that's so hilarilous!"

In affirmative response to a question - "Indeed!"

Alan (sorting dinosaurs) - "Stegosaurus...Tyrannosaurus Rex ... Euoplocephalus ... Ankylosaurus..."
Classmate - "No! They're DINOSAURS!"
Alan - (no response but an indignant look)

Dad - "Are you excited? This is your first day of [animal-themed preschool]?
Alan - "Yes! Do I get a [same animal] costume?"


(Interpreting the rule that when we eat in the basement, it's Mommy and Daddy's shows on the TV):
Alan - "Dad, have you finished your food?"
Dad - "Yes, sweetheart, I have."
Alan - "Mom, have you finished your food?"
Me - "Yes, sweety, I have."
Alan - "Time for Alan's shows!"

Also, at any given moment, you could hear him humming classical music, mostly Hall of the Mountain King.

I so love this kid!

Entry 28 - Latent Defect? Nah. Bonus brains.

For whatever reason, I've always felt like I'm inherently faulty. Not necessarily like I'm not good enough, just like I'm not quite right.

This literally goes back as far as I can remember. I don't know if it's because I've always had a health issue, because my oldest sister used to read me Edgar Allen Poe as bedtime stories (which had more positive effects than you might think, but still explains a hella lot), because I was so much younger than my siblings I was practically another generation and, therefore, the odd-man-out, or what. I just never felt totally at peace with the world around me. With my immediate family, sure growing up, sure. With my immediate family now, sure.

But for years, I just felt ... off. Like I had a latent defect, something just under the surface, like there was one thread if someone caught just right, would unravel my entire being and expose me as a fraud.

Kindergarten was hell. At home I did just fine, I could read, I didn't need to nap, I (felt like, anyway) I could effectively converse with all the adults and near-adults around me. But kindergarten was another story. Suddenly I'm surrounded by ... kids ... and I have no idea what to do with them. I made a few friends after a while, and friends I still treasure to this day, but it was hard. I always felt like I was struggling to say what I was expected to say, and not what I wanted to. Well, after I learned to not always say what I wanted to anyway, because that proved real quick to be very offputting to other kids and teachers alike. I shaped up fast. But I still remember being very annoyed in kindergarten that I had to learn how to color, how to paint, how to write my name (I knew all this already, I'm booooooooooored!), and being annoyed at mandated napping. (What? I don't nap. I have no need for such things. Gah!)

I was not athletic or coordinated in the slightest. Which was okay. I had far more fun sorting patterns in my own head than I did running down a field. Sweating felt yucky. I had far more fun playing games with myself like, find a word with all the vowels or words that had letter patterns not ready apparent to others. Like ace! Ace was composed of every other of the first five letters of the alphabet! Not only that, but if you numbered the alphabet, those letters also match up with the first three odd numbers!

Yeah. I'm a dork.

Eventually, though, like I said, I learned to keep this $hit to myself and socialize like a good girl. I learned how to be a people pleaser. Didn't mean I stopped doing this stuff in my head, I just tried a little harder to keep it there. I learned funny, though. If I could pop off with something funny, people would like me, and probably still think I was strange, but in a better way. I would say there were quite a few years, though, where if I didn't say something funny, I just tried hard not to say much at all.

Ah, life lessons in grade school, eh?

This carried through for quite a bit of my life. The games in my head, drawing patterns, sorting my M&M's by color and number of pieces (dark brown was usually the most abundant, and would be the bottom of the chocolate pyramid). And when I focus - holy hot damn, I can focus!!!

Although I have to admit generally, I have a horrific time doing just one thing at a time. I fidget. I glance around the room. I can keep eye contact just fine, but sometimes, if I'm not doing something else as a distraction, I'll start to feel very weird, I'll focus in what feels like too intently on that person's eye, and I'll begin to make myself uncomfortable, and wonder if I'm making him/her uncomfortable, and then I'll fidget more, and I have to wind things up shortly after that, if I can.

There are a few people in my life, outside my immediately family, I've latched onto immediately. And at this point in my life, the folks I grew up with - it's kind of effortless. I can be charming, witty, well-read, etc. Sometimes I can go too far and just be so weirdly pop culture excessive I've alienated my audience, though. I'll never get over the day I brought mashed potatoes to a pot luck, could only find a platter to put them on, so shaped them like a big mountain and walked into the buffet room staring intently at the plate and saying, "This means something." I was so disheartened when no one understood the Close Encounters reference, I just kind of slunk into my chair for a bit.

So, where am I going with this series of vignettes?

As it turns out, our son's been diagnosed with Asperger's. It's on the low end of the autism spectrum, and can make incredibly smart people with difficulty in social interaction. As the psychiatrist is going through all of the information with us, I'm sitting there fidgeting, glancing around the room, sorting things through in my head. A few minutes into the meeting, the psychiatrist pegs my husband as a potential Aspie. Not a shock to either of us. As we're going through further, though, she points out some of my behaviors also. It caught me off guard, but John thinks it actually makes total and complete sense.

And when I think about my history, I suppose it does. I don't think I ever remember feeling anything but awkward. But it's not a bad thing.

At least, now that I have perspective through my son. To me, the boy is perfect. Okay, so he refuses to potty train and he can be a little shit at daycare if he doesn't get his way. But at home, he's so huggy, and loving, and snuggly. He speaks with these wonderful, adorable, very articulate and deliberate sentences. He's amazingly smart. He hums classical music to himself when he plays. He's so mellow and easy-going, I nicknamed him "The Dude." And boy, that boy really pulls the family together.

So if that's Aspie, and if I'm Aspie, then it's not a latent defect. It's far more beautiful than I ever realized.

Entry 27 – Keep Calm and Carry On

Ah, I wish it was that easy.

Cause I’m a worrier, ya know. I worry about all kinds of stuff, whether it merits it or not. Lexapro helped me with that, admittedly. And it’s more fibro-friendly replacement, Cymbalta, has also helped me with that. So overall, s’all good.

But sometimes, sometimes bits creep through and worry me up all over again. And I’m kind of at that stage right now.

For one thing, my mind and body are off balance at the moment. Lovely doctor’s switching my medication to something that hopefully works better for my fibro because I’m having more and more symptoms. Increasing the Cymbalta, and replacing the Gabapentin with Lyrica is taking a bit of a toll on me. Part of the time I feel half-stoned. Part of the time I feel like I’m going to just fall asleep wherever I sit or stand. And part of the time, I’m just flaky as hell. Not much productivity allowed in that schedule, which is pissing the still-functional part of my mind off.

And I’m sure that’s not all helping my worries about my health brought on by new news. Since my symptoms are worse, the doctor did some new blood tests to check, among other things, my ANA and CRP levels. A high CRP (C-reactive protein) factor can indicate inflammation, from things like infections and, what we were looking for, rheumatoid arthritis. Mine was high – positive. An ANA (antinuclear antibody) factor can show if you have an autoimmune disease like rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, scleroderma, etc. Apparently my ANA factor has doubled since 2009 (when it was slightly elevated, but not worrisome).

So, now I’m being referred to a rheumatologist. And I’m freaking out of course. I don’t care what Dr. House says, occasionally it IS lupus. And I already have localized scleroderma, what if I’ve developed diffuse scleroderma?

Kinda weird when rheumatoid arthritis is the lesser evil, eh?

Or it could be nothing. They could be weirdo false positives or some such.

Until I get to a rheumatologist, though, I guess I’ll just keep cycling through feeling sleepy/stoned/flaky/dizzy with undertones of terror, panic and paranoia.

Fun fun everyone!

Oh, and I’ve put on three pounds since I started the Lyrica, HOORAY!

Entry 26 - Step Up

Okay, I’m pointing you back to Entry 3, “The Day I Grew Up,” posted May 14, 2010.
Review, refresh.

Ready? Here goes.

So, I drove Anna to go see Grandma this weekend. It’s a six-hour car trip. Alan came with us – went horseback riding with Uncle Lewis, and has declared himself a cowboy, and for a little while, he wanted to be called “Cowboy Alan.” But I digress (keeping up with the theme of Entry 3, heh).

So, Anna can be a bit judgmental at times. She’s 11. Of course she is. On the way back, she was talking about how sad she was she didn’t get to be there the day Dad died. They were beyond close; Dad had stepped up to the father role for her after my divorce, and prior to my remarriage. That’s the kind of guy Dad was, the kind of guy who stepped up. While Dad definitely had his fun, he always put the needs of his family before the wants of himself.

I explained to her how parents sometimes had to make hard choices, and that I made certain choices after I found out Dad was dying. I chose not to tell her, and I chose not to bring her back with me for the last day. Both were predicated on somewhat selfish reasons. As for not telling her? I knew I could barely keep myself going emotionally, there was no way I could provide her the comfort she needed on top of that. I was looking at a six-hour drive to take her and John home, I couldn’t drive, keep my head straight, and give her what she needed all at the same time. Plain and simple. As for not bringing her to the hospital? The same thing, except throw Mom and Laura in the mix. That’d be all of us in a room with a dying man, unable to keep anything under control. We barely kept things going as it was, we could not have handled Anna in that tiny little room with us, crying her eyes out. Plus, well, Dad was barely Dad anymore. He was basically comatose (although somewhat responsive, through hand squeezing anyway) and 60 - 70 pounds underweight. I did not want my daughter’s last memories of her granddad to be at the absolute worst moments of what remained of his life.

While she didn’t agree with my decision, she ultimately respected while I made it. The fact that I was crying through telling her this, and explaining how I couldn’t have helped Mom, helped Dad, helped Laura, kicked that f*cking counselor out of the room, and dried her eyes at the same time.

And now’s the part where I turn this story even MORE into “all about me” and my barreling weight. Although I suppose that is the overall purpose of this blog, isn’t it? So please don’t judge me a narcissist. I’ve met those. This isn’t it, this is introspection. Or do I protest too much? Hmmm….

Anyway, moving on. Something about talking about that day again, about crying while I described it, brought things back home to me. I already know that was the day I truly grew up. While it was the worst day of my life (and the worst day of several others’ lives in that room), it was the day I had to take control. I could not be the little girl relying on these adults anymore. I had to finally be an adult myself.

And it’s carried through. Since that day, I swear, I’m much more courageous (not fearless, that’s totally different). I keep my family fed and dressed, I put a toddler to bed at night, I make sure my daughter takes her medicine every morning, I’m better at my job, I’m better in a courtroom, I can take responsibility for a mistake at work, I can get our roof repaired, I can pay bills, I can direct a project, I can sue my ex for child support. I can do it all with a stoicism and grace, and a healthy dose of fun and attitude.

But when I was a kid, I could come home crying from a stressful day, I’d get a cookie, and all would be better. And when I’d be home alone if I felt rotten, I could eat a box full of brownies (meant for Dad, and I’d blame it on Lewis – I apologized to him for that this weekend, heh) and feel better. For a while, anyway. So by eating so much now, am I wanting to be that kid, that little person who didn’t have to be an adult, who could eat whatever the hell she wanted because there were always others to blame, always circumstances that drove me to it, always ways to shrug off the responsibilities of the world because as a child, I didn’t truly have any responsibilities yet?

But I’m a grown up now. I’m a mother. I’m a wife. I’m an attorney. I’m the one who had to kick the b*tch out of Dad’s room when she made my parents cry. Whether I should be or not, I’m a role model.

But some days, I really, really just don’t want to be.

I guess it’s not only time to have grown up, but to be a grown up. Dad stepped up. Time for me to do the same. Dad denied himself a lot for the sake of his family. Surely I can deny myself “comfort” food I know won’t ultimately be comforting.

Entry 25 - Gotta Pull My Head Out of My Butt

This is a picture of me from, I dunno, 6 or 7 years ago. I want to look like this again. Mom had this picture, which I'd never seen before, so I copied it.

Here's why this is relevant now. It's another attempt at inspiration. After a shitload of hassle (I'll save that for when I'm not as tired), I was diagnosed with arthritis in my frakkin' foot. On the TOP of my foot no less. It remains consistently red and swollen and painful. Some days, particularly mornings, I can barely walk.

It occurred to me that maybe God was once again trying to get my attention. He tried fibro (which would have benefitted from weight loss) and I blew right past. Then there's weight watchers at work, which I've been blowing off. And a doctor willing to work with me on my weight - whom I've been disappointing. Maybe God finally facepalmed and decided to hit me with something that, the troubles that surround it are so directly affected by how much weight I carry, I can't ignore.

Anyway, I pretty much said as much during the "joys and concerns" sharing part of choir practice tonight. Including the statement that I need to "Pull my head out of my butt" about this. (Thank heavens I'm a heretical Methodist and not a fundie, although I at least refrained from saying "ass," which was my first instinct.)

The music director dialed my language back a bit when he lead the group prayer. But hey, I've got a room full of prayerful singers on my side now. That can't hurt, right?

Be patient with me please, God. I may be a spoiled little pissant, but I really am listening.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Entry 24 – I'm Happy, I'm Feeling Glad

February 14, show the love! The sun is showing us love today. Ah, blessed sunshine, how I missed ye! I've packed some sunshine into a bag for later!

Funny how mood changes with the seasons. And with the help of a good doctor.

I was nearly in tears at the doctor's office last Friday. Most recent weigh-in? I've gained fifty pounds in the last two years. He was shocked, too. So, he's working with me closer than ever to try to bring things down. I'm on a new medication – phentermine, but it's the "metabolism" half of Fen-Phen, and I'm being closely monitored for the next three months. He also lectured me – "You have to work with me on this." A chastisement I needed. Although he also acknowledged some of my fibro meds not only increase the appetite, but slow the metabolism, yay! Double whammy!

What's really amazed me is – I have energy. Holy cow, I didn't nap at all this weekend! When does that happen? And I woke up at 5 this morning and worked out like a champ! And today, I didn't almost fall asleep over lunch or during any meetings!

Wonder if we've stumbled upon a narcolepsy cure here? Ha!

Anyway, I’m useless, but not for long. Things are on a good track. I'm bound and determined not to fail my doctor. I've just been made president of the Midwest chapter of an attorney-practice-area association. And last night – this was just amazing – last night as I'm folding laundry, singing to my iPod and dancing while folding laundry, my daughter comes in and says, "Mom, I love your life. I want a life like yours when I grow up." She even acknowledged all the hard times I've worked through to get to this place emotionally, spiritually, and financially. Seriously, if this is the example I'm providing to my daughter, it's not half bad, is it? I may be in pain every day, I may be trapped in the body of a lumbering giant, but I'm so happy with the things I do have, my daughter sees that more than anything.

Really, what better affirmation can you have that you're on the right track than words like that from a child? A tween no less! Aren't tweens supposed to start hating their parents right about now?

My future is comin' on!

Entry 23 - One can only hope.

Oh, I am a silly, silly woman.

Recently I found myself addicted (whether physically or habitually) to stopping by Casey's in the morning and picking up an energy drink and a small bag of M&Ms.

As time progressed, it became two energy drinks and a "sharing size" of M&Ms, which you can bet your sweet bippy never got shared.

And bear in mind, that would not necessarily be all of the caffeine or chocolate I'd have in a day.

Anyway, I kind of reached a point this weekend where everything just fell apart for me. Not mentally, just … it's hard to explain. I realized by the end of last week that I was afraid to get weighed because I could feel my backfat touching my hipfat. Never good. And I plain ol' felt horrid. I didn't want to get out of bed. I didn't want to get off the couch. Every movement just felt painful, and every touch from anyone felt painful. I was trying to write this off in my head to a trip to Kansas and back, followed by a trip to St. Paul and back. Both of which certainly contributed, but could have been mitigated. I could have been doing my exercise bike every morning again (lately, I just sleep right on through "bike time"). I could be cutting out all the known fibromyalgia aggravating foods like peppers, potatoes, CAFFEINE, etc. But I wasn't.

And now not only was I incredibly miserable, but I was also cleaning between parts of my skin that shouldn't be touching in the first place.

And I went shopping for a dress to wear to the wedding. No, not the dress in an earlier thread. I reached a point where I feared I'd look like a giant crinkly aluminum ball in it instead of the sleek, golden goddess I intended. So I bought a circus tent… er, dress off the rack at David's Bridal. Which admittedly, from the front, looks pretty rockin'. From the side, it looks more like a … um … circus tent. But oh well.

Anyway, I resolved that since this is a quiet week at work, this is when I'd give up certain inflammatories. Caffeine and chocolate are out. Lots of raw foods are in. I also punted milk, because I kept getting a painful tummy every time I had ice cream or a bowl of cereal.

So I'm day two on no caffeine. Okay, if you count the Diet Coke I had yesterday to try to assuage some symptoms (which ended up being totally worthless, so not doing it today), I'm actually on day one, but in spirit, I'm on day two.

And I. am. miserable. My head is pounding so bad. And not just my forehead, it runs this nice little circuit along the base of my skull and around my hairline. I have a heat wrap on my shoulders right now that's helping part of it. I also want to puke my guts up. I hate my iron constitution and its unwillingness to hurl. Instead, I get this stupid guttural air burps. Pissing me off.

But here we are. I'm trying. And hopefully I'll continue to feel desperate enough to keep trying. One can only hope, right?

Entry 22 - "Whiny Pants," or "Every Day is a Chore, Dadgummit!"

Ya know, some days life is a tad daunting. I usually sleep a restless sleep, awakened by burning sensations or random pains, despite my night-time dosage of amitriptyline. The alarm goes off at 5 so I have time to do my exercise bike, or my muscles stiffen up all day (although honestly, I'm so exhausted lately I have been missing it more and more – self defeating, eh?). I'm out of the shower by 6, have makeup and work clothes on at 6:30, help get the kids wrangled while packing my lunch and having breakfast. Then I'm on the road and jockeying for position on the interstate to get to the office in a timely manner.

I spend the day in an office chair working at a computer, getting up often so I don't stiffen up from staying in the same position for too long.

I go home and there's the kid-wrangling through dinner, then if there's no choir practice or kid's activity, I put da boy to bed at 8:00, which can take an hour.

Then into bed myself, and it all starts over again.

Not bad really. I know a lot of moms who do a heckuva lot more than I do during the day.

And I hate to whine. Sometimes anyway. But I'm gonna whine here. Just doing this much has become hard. And I used to do so much more. But now, pulling myself out of bed is painful as well as exhausting. I stay in the shower too long some mornings just because the warm water on my muscles feels so damned good. I can't always grip the knife very well just to cut up my son's banana. My daughter's basically on her own except for dialog – "Got your violin? All of your homework done? Put on your coat!"

While I sit in my office chair I can expect back spasms, shoulder spasms, electric shocks, chest pains, heartburn, neck aches. Also on a good day energy drinks will actually keep me awake. On bad days, I doze off during meetings, and hard as I try, I just can't f*cking help it. It's humiliating.

Last Friday, no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much Diet Dr. Mountain Dew I plugged into my gullet ("Hook it to my veeeeeeiiiiiiins!") I still nodded off several times during a packed-house industry meeting. When an opportunity came to leave the meeting early, I jumped on it so I wouldn't debase myself or my company any further.

In the evenings, I dread every moment I have to walk up or down stairs. Down because it hurts and I feel like gravity's gonna knock me over at any moment. Up because it kinda hurts, but more relevantly I feel like my legs are suddenly made of lead, or like I'm trying to walk upstairs while submerged in a pool of water. Kind of like in nightmares, when you're trying very hard to move quickly and you just can't? They refuse to work with me. And as much as I love our home, at these moments I curse owning a two-story house with a basement.

And at Alan's bedtime, sometimes he asks me to lay in the floor next to him. Every time he does, I pray he doesn't want anything after I'm down there, because it's damned hard to get up again.

And the weight. As I take these stupid fibro meds, my weight keeps piling on. Which makes movement even harder. I have another doctor's appointment on the 19th. I'm going to talk to him about trying to further refine my meds. Something's gotta make this better.

So yeah, I have my whiny pants on today.

Entry 21 - Snickers are on the 6th floor

I want to eat right now. I VERY BADLY want to eat right now. I got a tea instead.

Why am I so adamant about eating right now? Because I feel fraggin' miserable.

Fibro pain is shooting everywhere around my neck and back. My jaw hurts like hell. My legs feel like they're coated in concrete. I'm having trouble staying awake.

Food takes me away, if just for a minute.

Yes, I realize that's totally self-defeating. Oh well.

I'm gonna try very hard not to eat until dinner, but no guarantees.

Entry 20: My First Memory

Know what's funny? My earliest, earliest memory is about food. Specifically, highly unhealthy food.

True story.

I told Mom years ago about this memory I had. I wanted chocolate ice cream, and I wanted it bad. It was in the freezer of a short brown refrigerator, and I couldn't reach it. So I opened the fridge part of the appliance and climbed until I could reach the freezer door.

I can't remember if I got caught, or if I actually got the ice cream or anything. I just remember that I. Wanted. ICE CREAM.

Oh. I also remember I was only wearing my underwear. Mom and Dad had a hellacious time keeping clothes on me as a kid. They finally got me to at least keep my underpants on as a compromise.

So, apparently Mom and Dad owned the short brown fridge before we moved to the farm. Since we moved the day after my second birthday, and since I potty trained at a little over a year, it was sometime in that period.

(I know people say you can't have memories before like, five or six, but it's an incredibly common phenomenon in our family, so I think those "people" are mistaken.)

So how sick is that? My earliest memory was wanting, working my hardest, thinking creatively, to get to CHOCOLATE ICE CREAM AAAAAHHHH!!! GIMME GIMME!!!!!

Ah, sometimes nothing changes, eh?

I'm having a really hard time sticking to Weight Watchers. I want to do it, but I swear, I am having a helluva big problem with it. I'm getting plenty to eat. I'm spacing my meals and snacks out well.

But I don't get to stuff myself. I'm having carrots instead of popcorn, apples instead of chocolate bars.

Well, let me rephrase that – I shouldn't be stuffing myself. But occasionally I'll reach a time where I just can't stand it and something luscious and fattening will disappear.

I am my own worst enemy.

And know what I want now? CHOCOLATE ICE CREAM!!! Aaaahhhhhh!!!!!!!!

Entry 19 – A half pound is worth more than 75 cents

Dumb title, I know. It's a play on words, ya see, since I'm married to my lovely Brit boy. Half a pound? UK-US conversion rate? Yeah, screw it. Let's move on.

Anyway, I lost another half pound this week. Sounds like a pittance, but considering it was Halloween and candy abounded at our house, that half pound is worth a helluva lot to me.

I remember growing up, I hated summers. Why, you ask? Because I gained more weight in a summer than I gained during the school year. At least when I went to school, I couldn't have constant access to food. So while I'd maybe gain 12 – 20 pounds during the school year, I gained 20 – 30 over a summer.

Now I'm an adult. Except for hearings, I have that same constant access to food. And given it was just Halloween and the kids came back with a good haul (half of which is milk-laden and little dude can't eat), It's a wonder I don't weigh 900 pounds.

So the fact I lost half a pound. That actually means a lot to me.

That said, the fibro still sucks. After walking the kids around Halloween night, and carrying Alan for a block before the back and leg spasms were too bad to continue lugging that 40 pounds of childmeat around anymore, I was toast. Total toast. (Which is ironic, you see, because I can't eat toast cause o' the gluten.) It was by sheer force of will that I got up the next morning to do my exercise bike. Well, force of will and the knowledge that if I didn't, I'd be largely unable to move that day.

I still feel it. There's an aching in my knees, constant gnarling pain in my lower back, some shooting paints down my right leg. (There usually is in my left leg, so now at least they're on equal footing – HAHAHA footing. It's a pun).

Unrelated to Halloween, but probably related to fibro, I started a migraine last night, took a migraine pill, which helped for a while until the migraine exploded in the wee hours of the night. At 5 am I took another migraine pill, slept in a bit (skipping my exercise bike – paying for that already), and hauled my butt in with a migraine hangover.

This week has royally sucked.

Except for my half pound. That half pound really is worth a lot.

Entry 18 - Ambivalent, but Making an Effort

I joined weight watchers. More to come.


ETA: Dropped five pounds this week. Cautious optimism.

Entry 17 - Don't worry, I do have a point. Kinda.

I didn't mean this to be a fibro blog. I meant it to be a "FAT!" blog. I'll get to the point in a minute.

What follows is not an exercise in griping, but an exercise in observation.

Last night, I realized that just sitting still on the couch having dinner, I could identify multiple points of pain all over my body, and other just odd little hobs and nobs that struck my senses.

So sitting here right now, I'm going to just do a quick inventory, head to toe:
• I feel light headed.
• I feel like a lightly-applied vice is pushing in, just above my
cheekbones, with more pressure on the left side.
• I feel sinus drainage down the back of my throat.
• My throat feels like it's clenched tight.
• My right cheek is burning.
• My jaw joints are throbbing.
• My ears are ringing.
• My mouth is dry (probably the medication)
• My neck is stiff.
• A pain actually just shot up the back right side of my neck to the
base of my skull, and now feels tight.
• The right side of my neck has a baseball-sized ball of hot tight
pain right where it meets the shoulder.
• The tips of my shoulders hurt.
• My collarbones hurt.
• The bottom of my left shoulder blade is throbbing.
• My fingers are numb and tingly.
• I swear, my boobs hurt.
• My sternum feels tight.
• My elbows don't want to move.
• I have weird patches of pain in my forearms.
• My palms are alternating between tingly and hot.
• My fingers hare a dull ache, except the knuckles, which throb.
• My fingertips are burning.
• The spine at my center back just feels like a blister or
something – it only feels fiery when I move it against the back
of my chair.
• I think my ribs themselves are hurting. I'm regretting wearing
pants, I should have worn a dress with no waistband.
• My stomach feels pukey.
• My lower abdomen has little balls of crampy pain in various places.
• My left hip is throbbing and tender to the touch.
• Oh who am I kidding? Lots of weird places on me are tender to the touch.
• The pain from my hip seems to leech down to my left knee, where it
rests like a railroad spike at the knee cap.
• The inside of my right knee feels like a black of wood.
• I can't cross my legs, or I end up with massive inner thigh cramps.
• There's a soft-ball sized knot, just the feeling of a hot hard ball,
in my right calf.
• My feet are tingly, and the balls are throbbing.
• My arches are just kind of … tightened? Like they don't want to be left out?
• Oh, and above my right ankle, it's started to cramp. Lovely.

And I'm really not trying to complain because, well, it pretty much feels like this all the time. So you just kind of get used to it, ya know? I mean, I'm not happy, I'm not comfortable, I certainly want to treat it, but this has just become a daily thing since I've been off the NSAIDs, so I am still adjusting, but meh.

Anyway, on to the weight loss portion of the show.

I've been doing 20 minutes on the exercise bike every morning to try to help keep things managed. It sucks. I get up at 5 am to do it, before the rest of the family's awake, and to try to get my blood moving for the day. The only thing that keeps me doing it is I feel way better throughout the day if I can keep it up. I've been slacking off on weekends, which means I've been feeling shittier on weekends than weekdays. I need to suck it up and continue on the weekends, because right now, all I'm doing is sleeping and whining through my time with my family.

So at work, they're doing a health challenge – put in 400 minutes of exercise in the month of October. I got that nailed as long as I report my exercise bike time, so why not?

Then, they're bringing weight watchers in house because there was enough interest. So I'm signing up. I'm sure there's a gluten-free program I can follow.

So we'll see what happens. Pain control plus some weight loss? If I'm going to be doing the exercise anyway, maybe I can finally make it worth more.

Plus, if I lose 30 pounds, I intend to wear this awesome, amazing, alluring dress to my best friend's wedding. Her dress is very Grecian goddess. I can be her high-ranking slave girl in this rockin' piece o' material!

Entry 16 - How do you get past denial?

I used to be married to an alcoholic. I know all about denial. I'm quite good at it, I spent years swimming happily in it. Or, rather unhappily, but pretending to be happy.

And it occurred to me today as I was mowing through a bag of peanut butter M&M's (the food of the gods, this was the mana that fell on the Israelites) that I'm in denial once again. About my health.

Oh, I talk a good game. I'm overweight, I need to deal with it for my health and to set a good example for my children, I need to cut out caffeine, chocolate, asparatame, etc., to help get my fibromyalgia under control, blah blah blah. But do I live it? No. Because at the end of the day I still don't feel like anything bad is going to happen to me over this rather than having to continually cycle out my wardrobe to larger sizes as I get fatter and fatter.

So what is it with me? How come I can intellectually know something but I can't let it past the Chocolate Chex and into my heart? Is it not that I can't physically give up the food; is it more that I'm eating myself silly because then I can avoid really facing what my brain already knows? Because sometimes the reality of my situation sinks in, and I get sullen and depressed. I'm so pained and so tired, that when I face it, I just curl into a cranky little ball. If I keep eating and deny it, I'm literally "fat and happy."

And I think I must be onto something, because just typing that out, admitting it, is making my heart feel heavy. And not because of all the fat that's probably hanging all over it like Kevin Smith on Stan Lee. (No disrepect at all intended to Mr. Smith or Mr. Lee, I admire them both, it's just the first analogy that popped into my head, which just proves I'm way too pop-culture enamored.)

I don't eat to live. I don't even live to eat. I eat so I don't have to face the reality of life. I eat so I don't have to think about what I am. Because as long as there's a gluten-free, fat-and-sugar-filled lemon shortbread cookie in my hand and a cuppa on my desk, I can be somewhere else in my head. I can also cling to the fact that as long as I'm fat, I can blame all of the bad stuff in my life on my weight, and think it'd all be better if I could just lose weight (I've been thin, though, so I know that's not true). I eat instead of drink because I can feel high and alive and forget everything around me while I concentrate on the pleasure of food (without the drunkenness that pained me so much during my first marriage).

So yeah. I can talk all I want, but I'm not really there yet. And when I start to get there, it's kind of crushing. Which is stupid – I know I have so much, why am I so concerned about not having my health? Or is that part of what's defeating me, that I can't admit things aren't the best they could be despite how much is good? That I can't accept the dichotomy of daily pain with daily joy? That I can be physically and emotionally miserable while still being intellectually stable and "heart" happy? I've been so adamant the last few years that gray areas are acceptable and traversable, have I not really understood that beyond my law practice and the lives of my friends I so happily contribute advice to? Is it I can see the bigger picture with the entire world, but I can't get past tidbits in my own tiny isolated existence?

I'm suddenly not so hungry. M&M's are gone now, though, so that doesn't matter. But suddenly I'm thinking I need to just crawl into my own mind for a while, and see what's actually there.

Entry 15 - My Y's don't always work on this keyboard.

And honestl, the title of this blog is wholly irrelevant to the content, but in case I'm dropping a bunch of y's, I didn't want y'all to think I was an idiot. I think that enough on my own.

So remember when in the last post, I said I had to go off my NSAIDs because of my stomach? Well guess what! Found out I have even more shit wrong with me! Hoooooray!

So a little while off the NSAIDs, I started to feel sore. The more the anti-inflammatories washed outa my body, the more sore I got. Well that's interesting!

Eventuall, I couldn't sleep more than five hours a night, and never in a row (which would have at least helped). Hurt too bad. My neck was a mess. My left knee and hip screamed. My entire lower back burned. If the cat jumped on the wrong spot on my body, he was met with a yelp of pain.

So, I haul my sore ass back to the doc's. He does a tender point test. I almost elbowed him the ribs.

Now we can add* fibromyalgia to my long list! Woo woo!

(*I originally typed this as "ass," dancing around in my Freudian slip again.)

So, he starts me on muscle relaxants for two weeks.

No good.

He moves me to a stronger muscle relaxant and a pain killer.

Liiiiitle better. Had a few solid nights, but still not great.

Aaaaaand, I've periodically been falling asleep during witness prep at work. Which is just charming, isn't it?

Calling him again Monday.

How's the effect my eating? Well, if you recall, I'm a stress eater. This has been stressful.

A good side effect, though? If I don't get my ass up at 5 am and go put in 20 minutes on the exercise bike, I'm toast the rest of the day. So I've been exercising once or twice a day, doing interval training on the exercise bike. And I just bought small handweights to also work on while I'm on the bike.

Helps the muscles deal.

And might have a good side effect at some point, never know.

Also gives me an uninterrupted 20 minutes in the morning to listen to books on tape, which has been nice. Millenium trilogy (which I highly recommend) is done, now on to the Sookie Stackhouse series! She's dumb as a post, but oh so endearing!

Entry 14 - My Luckiest Number, My Suckiest Entry

Yeah, haven't posted for a while.

But I hate my stomach. Hate it hate it hate it.

So, things were going nicely. I was eating all non-processed foods, cooking with fresh veg, etc. I was getting so much energy back during the month of June, and was actually feeling pretty danged good and confident. I'm all over this thing!

Then, Monday June 28 hit.

I'd been feeling a little ouchy in the tummy for about a week. It's come and go in duration and intensity. I rested up the weekend of the 26th, and felt pretty good about work on the 28th.

Part way through the morning, the stomach pain started up. I kept pushing through.

By that afternoon, I was in childbirth-level abdominal pain. I put my head on the desk and breathed through it until I felt well enough to drive myself to the doctor.

He gave me a new proton-pump inhibitor as well as a stomach pain medication, ordered me off my beloved NSAIDs and muscle relaxants for my jaw, and ordered an upper GI and a gallbladder ultrasound. (Told me it was scheduled for the 29th, when actually they scheduled me for the 30th, which is just the latest in a long line of incidents, and I really probably should fire that doctor, but whatev.)

I get my results back, what lo and behold – my gallbladder is covered in small cysts ("too small to have much chance of being cancerous, and it's probably not what's causing the pain" – thanks for the encouragement!) and my lower esophageal sphincter (what an unfortunate name) isn't flapping down right. So yeah, GERDy GERDy GERD GERD, my acid reflux is in full swing, and stepped it up a notch.

Cut out more foods. Somewhat unsuccessfully. There's only so much you can cut out, ya know? I've already cut out all gluten, now I'm supposed to give up tomatoes, coffee (ha!), Diet Coke (HAHA!), Red Bull (DOUBLEFREAKINGHAHA), chocolate (Sweet Jebus, no!), orange juice (okay, I'll relent there), etc.?

So whatevs, I've been eating stuff that makes my tummy feel comfy. And I'm back down to no energy. Oh, and since I’m off my NSAIDs, not only does my jaw hurt like hell (but I'm still gonna chew, dammitalltohell), but I discovered the NSAIDs were also preventing pain in my neck, shoulders, hips, ankles, knees, lower back, upper back, and I think even my blinkin' stupid traitorous elbows. So yeah, can't eat a damned thing (well, not supposed to eat a damned thing, it feels like), and activity levels are down, and sleep is crap because I wake up in pain 2 – 3 times a night.

I'm sure I've put weight back on, but I dare not look.

I'm just gonna sit here for a bit and be pissed. Every time I make a bit of progress, I get thwacked with something else. And it's really, really pissing me off.

Entry 13 - For Good Luck and Good Living!

Happened upon an interesting article in the local paper today about a doctor self-treating her MS with diet and exercise. Linky.

What I find very cool is, I'm more or less doing the same thing she is (although I haven't gotten into the exercise portion much yet, but that's more time than desire, which I'll explain below).

I've adopted something similar to her eating habits, although I got my idea from Joel Fuhrman's "Eat to Live." He recommends eating organic foods in as close to their natural state as possible – aim for one pound of fresh veg a day, one pound of cooked veg, four fruits, one cup of legumes, one ounce of nuts, one tablespoon of flax seed. If you can mash all that down, then you can indulge a bit with other things such as up to one serving of a starch (sweet potato, rice) and maybe even meat twice a week (although it'd better be fish, baby). Fuhrman largely pushes the vegan lifestyle, which makes this former cattle owner, current grill owner, and total steak aficionado a little antsy. The main point is, though, eat extremely nutrient-dense foods. Bypass iceberg lettuce for romaine or fresh spinach. Use germinated quinoa (germination before cooking ups the nutrients) instead of white rice. Yadda yadda.

I love fruit. I kinda like certain veg, fresh and cooked (I've actually found I like just eating romaine lettuce leaves as a snack). It's hard to limit to one ounce of nuts, but I have been. I love me some starchy carbs, but it doesn't necessarily break my heart to give up the majority of 'em. Lovin' the quinoa, and actually I think it tastes a bit better when germinated to little sprouts before cooking. Giving up meat and other animal products, though? Yeah... I'm not doing that. I have two fat free yogurt smoothies a day (the banana in each helps me reach the fruit goal, along with my morning and afternoon apple/pear/orange snacks at work), and I'm eatin' meat with most of my evening meals. Sorry, dude, I have canines with which to rip animal flesh from the bone, I'm usin' 'em.

But you know what? I've lost seven pounds. And that's not even the most exciting part! I come home at night, and I have energy. I'd forgotten what that feels like. I can get my cooking done, play with my son, take care of some house duties, all without wanting to sit down and take a nap! My evenings haven't been like this in years. I'm stunned – a week and a half in (off and on – see what happened last weekend), and I'm lovin' life again!

My stomach's screaming at me a little bit – "Hey, why are you giving me stuff I have to digest, you bitch???" – but it's adjusting. I'm also waking up on the first alarm in the morning rather than smacking snooze. I'm dropping off to sleep quicker. I've randomly been dropping to the floor to do the plank position and push-ups. If I had more time, I'd start doing the Wii Active or my exercise bike again! A few more pounds, I might pull out my elliptical trainer (stupid weight limit on it that I'm still a tad too close to). My sex drive is up (John and I are both liking this part). And – shock and awe – I have no desire to eat the M&M's from the sixth floor vending machine!

Holy crap, is this actually working? I don't wanna be too optimistic, because I always start things out all gung ho then find myself consuming an entire bag of Cheetos Puffcorn in one go, but I'm a little bit excited here! And not just because of the weight, but because … I feel danged good!

I so hope I don't get all self-destructive on myself and blow it all over a candy bar or some crap. DO NOT WANT.

Entry 12 - Spam Spam Spam Spam Spam Spam Eggs and Spam

So, I stopped by a Barnes & Noble at a mall yesterday on my way back from dropping off NinaBell with her dad. As I was leaving, there was a car letting someone off by the door, and an SUV filled with college-aged boys behind that. They were stopped, I was at a crosswalk, so I claimed "pedestrian right-of-way" and stepped out. Right at that time, the SUV swung around the parked car and almost hit me.

I just kept walking, when one of the boys in the SUV yelled, "Hey, that lady's made of Spam! I didn't know Spam could move!"

Asshat. C+ for originality, F for execution. Seriously, I've heard far better than that in my life. I need to credit A.S. in high school for the crack about, "The school had to build extra supports structures under your desk so you wouldn't crash through the floor" for one of the best.

But I had a good response - usually, that would have sent me into a bucket o' tears and a bucket o' chicken. But this time my reaction was, "Fuck you, asswipe. I'm going home and having some romaine lettuce, and an apple with peanut butter, cause I can lose weight, but you'll probably ALWAYS be an asshole."

Major breakthrough for me there! Instead of getting sullen, I got angry and motivated.

I had actually fallen off the wagon this weekend, too. I'd eaten peanut butter M&M's (their siren song is strong and pulls me to my doom) cheese tots at Sonic (oh so delish!) and even had a mocha java chiller. I was going to have cheese tots again for lunch. I truly, I need to thank that motherfucker for getting me back on the path.

The last week, I've largely been trying to eat foods in as close to their natural form as possible. I'm cooking my quinoa – would be a bit tough otherwise – and I'm using non-fat, low sugar yogurt in some smoothies, but otherwise, I'm trying to keep things largely fresh and uncooked.

I've lost six pounds.

When I ate the cheese tots after a week of good eating, I felt like crap.

When I completed the drive to drop my daughter off with her dad, I didn't collapse as I usually would. Instead, I got laundry done, and pre-made my breakfasts for the week (for breakfast, quinoa with apples and cinnamon, coconut milk on the side for hot cereal goodness; for lunch, quinoa and mango salad with cranberries, green onions, fresh parsley, and a white wine vinegar dressing). Then I gave the boy a bath, and fell asleep for a good night's rest.

Not too shabby, right? Nutrient-dense, fresh foods are the nom, and I deserve to feel good, so I need to keep eating them.

I deserve to feel good, dammit. And not the temporary chocolate-y "feel good," but actually feel good.