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!!!!!!!!
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Thursday, November 4, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Entry 18 - Ambivalent, but Making an Effort
I joined weight watchers. More to come.
ETA: Dropped five pounds this week. Cautious optimism.
ETA: Dropped five pounds this week. Cautious optimism.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
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!
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!
Thursday, September 30, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
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!
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!
Thursday, July 22, 2010
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.
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.
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