August 19, 2010

Perfection

I mentioned in my bugging out post about a dr apt I had. I realize I kind of made it sound like it was a follow-up visit for me because the kitten had been sick. In fact, the two incidents were completely unrelated.

Yesterday was my follow-up with a pulmonologist. See, about 7 years ago I had an abdominal CT done. Apparently, unbeknownst to me, it showed some “pre-emphysema” in my lung bases. Now that I have switched dr’s, the new dr was going through my history and asked me about it.

Uh, what? I had no idea and there was never any follow-up.

Until now.

So I had a CT and did a breathing test and took a blood test for a genetic marker for some missing enzyme that causes emphysema (which if you find out about in time, you can take a supplement which totally fixes the problem. Interesting, no?)

The nurse tested my pulse ox rate when I got there. The machine said 99. She said “Perfect.”

Where I come from, 100 is perfect and 99 is one point away from perfect. I kind of joked about this and she said when I was 20, 100 would have been perfect, but given my age, 99 is perfect now.

Good to know. I like perfection.

Then she took my blood pressure. Twice.

I joked again about liking to be perfect. I have had extremely low BP since having a tumor removed that was causing extremely high BP.

When the dr came in to give me the good news (normal CT, negative on the missing enzyme, and good scores on the breathing test) he gave me the numbers on the breathing test. Let’s be honest, it was a TEST and I wanted to know how I scored. You know, the perfection thing again.

He said 100 was the best I could do, and I scored 107, 112, and 122.

Perfect.

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August 19, 2010

Bugging out

I got up off the couch on Monday and walked with a friend. I wouldn’t have considered it a strenuous walk, but the next morning my shins told a different story. (Hers did too, which actually made me feel better.)

Wednesday was supposed to be our second walk but I had to bale because I was following our kitten around cleaning up diarrhea and vomit, followed by two trips to the vet and a follow-up dr appmt for me. Super fun.

Tomorrow was looking iffy for my friend so I decided to go for a walk after dinner (mostly because I want ice cream tonight and a walk perfectly justifies that.) I loaded Nick in the jogger and Maggie grabbed her scooter and we were off.

And the mother fucking bugs that ate my son alive in the spring started swarming us. I thought maybe we would get through the swarm and it would clear up a little.

Uh, no.

So our walk turned into me actually jogging. (If you know me, you know I had to have been really pissed off to JOG right after dinner. I swatted at least thirty off of myself, fifteen off Maggie, and another thirty off Nick. We went one mile. And encountered over 100 bugs, I couldn’t even keep up with swatting them all. That’s just not right.

Does anyone know what in the hell these bugs are? Little black things with wings that bite. They landed on skin, cloth, plastic, eyes, mouths, hair, anywhere.

I am NOT happy. Not to mention my outdoor workouts are screwed for now because I refuse to be eaten alive. And if my son gets a reaction at all similar to the spring, I will be registering a formal complaint with my city. They are growing mutant gnats. And that is NOT ALLOWED!

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August 16, 2010

today

Today.

Today is the day I get off my ass.

Today is the day the change begins.

Today is the day I tell you how much I weigh.

150.

(Now, let me say, for anyone weighs more than 150 and struggles with weight, before you  punch me in my triple chin, think of 150 more as a state of being rather than a number.)

Let’s do a quick recap – three months ago I weighed 144. I was pretty fine with that. Yes, 5 pounds lighter and my clothes would have fit better, but I could eat all the chocolate I wanted and still maintain 144. I was OK with that.

Two months ago I started a medication and quickly dropped to 138.

138!

Woo Hoo! I was back to my “fighting weight” which is what I weighed both times before getting pregnant. I must shop! I must buy clothes to fit my new body. (Yes, 6 pounds made that big of a difference.)

A little over a month ago, I changed medications (to something much, much better than the first) and then I gained back the 6 pounds I had lost.

And then I gained 6 more pounds. And now I have four chins.

It would be nice to blame the medicine. But that’s not really the case. (Not that the medicine in not a contributing factor, along with the steroid that I was already taking.) I can also lay a little blame on turning 39 last month and my metabolism crashing down.

But I have to honestly lay most of the blame squarely on my own shoulders (and now that I’m, er, sturdier, my shoulders can carry a lot.) The amount of peanut M&M’s and Snickers that I have eaten in the past 2 months is ridiculous. And gross.

And of course I was not shoving Snickers in my mouth while running laps. No, I was shoving all sorts of junk in my pie hole while sitting on the couch. At night. Eating late into the night. Having bowls of cereal and/or ice cream at midnight. Ack.

So, back to today.

Today is a new day.

In front of all two of my remaining readers (Hi mom and dad!!) I vow to stop whining and start doing something.

My new regimen is called get-off-the-couch-and move. It’s called have-a-healthy-snack-at-a-decent-time-and-then-stop-eating. It’s called a-little-bit-of-chocolate-goes-a-long-way. (Seriously, if I can get some results while still having the occasional bit of chocolate, everyone around me will be much better off.)

Let me reiterate – there is nothing wrong with weighing 150. There is something wrong with the rate at which I have been gaining weight. I want to feel good. I want to feel healthy. I want to fit into the damn clothes I bought two months ago.

So whether it’s walking in my neighborhood, working out at the Y, or running laps around my back yard, it starts today.

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May 27, 2010

I should have been a dog

I am convinced that I would suffer far fewer side effects from medication if someone unknowingly slipped it in my pudding, instead of me consciously taking it.

That is all.

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April 5, 2010

road trip

We visited my husband’s family in Louisville for Easter, then the kids and I hopped in the car to drive the rest of the way to Chicago for Spring Break. We had a huge lunch before we left and I groaned at the size of the “kid cups” at the restaurant. They were twice the size of the adult glasses and they were filled to the brim. Yay. And I was going to get in the car with two children after they filled themselves with apple juice. I was at the other end of the long table so I tried to just enjoy the meal and not worry about it.

There is a reason I worry about such things. It’s called experience.

Nick was barely staying awake for the meal so I knew he would be asleep in a matter of seconds after leaving. I got them both to go to the bathroom before we left and off we went. We were thirty seconds out of the parking lot and Nick was zonked out. We enjoyed some music and scenery for the first hour and then Maggie said she had to go to the bathroom really, really, badly.

Groan.

I hate waking a sleeping child. Detest it. Especially when we are in the car and he needed and would have slept another hour or two.

We stopped at the next exit and Maggie did the dance with full crotch grabbing while I woke Nick and got his shoes back on. We hurried in and made a bee-line for the restroom. Luckily we were spared a line.

And then we created a line. See, my little darling needed to poop. And there was one bathroom. Let’s just say my children like to take a lot of time each and every time they poop. I could hear the line forming outside the bathroom while she sat and asked questions about the toilet paper holder and the soap dispenser and the rotation of the planets during spring.

When she finally finished, and the line outside the door had partially mutinied to the men’s restroom, Nick and I still had to go. I had put a diaper on Nick in a last second moment of CYA before leaving, so when he started protesting, I said whatever and took care of myself. Let’s just say when you have two small children, one bathroom and no alternative, there WILL be questions as to what a tampon is. That’s all I’m going to say about that. A minute later, we hightailed it out of there, calling apologies back over my shoulder. I didn’t mention the next one in might need a gas mask.

We got back on the road and rambled along. More music, some word games and a short video. A little rain cloud started following us. And by following us, I mean it rained on our car but was clear to the left, clear to the right, clear in the rearview mirror and clear up ahead. It just rained on us. It wasn’t a bad rain though, so whatever. I thought we would outrun it. (Are you sensing the foreshadowing here?)

We were four hours into our five-hour journey and I decided we better stop for gas one last time, as it is so much cheaper in Indiana than in the city. I told the kids they could stretch their legs and I pondered getting drinks since we were on the home stretch. It was raining harder than before when we stopped, so we skipped the drinks and the leg stretching, got the gas and hit the road for the last hour. I threw on a movie to get us the rest of the way without a million “are we there yets?” fulling expecting that they would only get to see the first half.

And eight minutes later, we hit traffic. We spent 45 minutes going three miles. OMG.

I began to second guess skipping the restroom at the last stop. Luckily the potty-training child was in a diaper. And Maggie usually gives me more warning than to say “I just peed” which is Nick’s MO.

And then came the rain.

And thunder.

And lightning.

And more rain.

I couldn’t hear anything it was raining so loud.

Every time traffic seemed to clear and the weather seemed to let up, it would all come crashing down again and we would slow to a crawl. We could have walked, all three of us, faster than we were driving.

We were in the toll road for what seemed like forever and had only paid one toll. Not a good sign. By the time we got to the last toll an hour later, I fully expected them to pay ME for being on their road for so long. I handed over a five spot expecting two dollars back. She gave me one dollar and a coin. At this point I didn’t even care, but I was a little miffed that if they had raised the toll, they should change the signage. I like things to be accurate.

I looked in my hand and lo and behold who was staring back at me?

Millard Fillmore.

It was a Millard Fillmore dollar coin.

I started laughing so hard. The kids thought I had totally lost it. It was just what I needed at that moment. (P.S. When playing trivial pursuit, a good bet is Millard Fillmore.)

We made it the rest of the way unscathed, followed by our little rain cloud. The kids watched the entire movie and still had time for quite a few “How much longers?”

But no one peed their pants and no one threw up, so I’m calling it a success.

And I have a shiny Millard Fillmore dollar coin, so I guess I came out a winner.

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April 1, 2010

And to think that I saw it on Mammogram street

Today was my repeat of a repeat mammogram. Everything looks good and in 6 months I will repeat again.

But the appointment today was like a short story unfolding right before my eyes.

I waited with seven other women in a small room, all of us in matching gowns. One dear older lady was called and had a bit of trouble standing up.

“I’m slow,” she said.

“That’s OK. Take your time,” the nurse replied.

As the nurse was saying those words, we watched in horror as the woman slumped back into her chair, except she had moved away from it just enough that she wasn’t going to fall into the chair. She was making a slow fall onto the floor. The woman in the chair next to her caught the older woman just in time. It was a scary and sad split second. The older woman actually apologized for falling. I wanted to give her a big hug. And I wanted to hug the woman who caught her.

A few minutes later I was called back. The mammogram lady (I don’t know what the proper term is for the person who shoots the actual x-rays) and I recognized each other from the last time I had been there. My first thought: I remember she said something inappropriate last time. But I couldn’t remember what it was.  (JUST remembered, I think it  had to do with breastfeeding.) But, whatever, I just wanted to get my x-rays taken and be on my way.

It was apparent that to this woman, doing her job was the only reason she was there. Comforting the patient, not so much. And I’m not saying I needed my hand held. But blaming me when she has to reshoot because my shoulder was in the way, well, ahem, that’s your job. Mine is to stand where I’m told and do what I’m told and hold me breath at the appropriate times. But, whatever, I just wanted to get my x-rays taken and be on my way.

“You need a tan.”

WTF?

Really?

Did she just say that to me?

“Uh, yeah, I’ve never tanned. White and pink are the only two shades my skin has.”

I seriously haven’t had to explain that to anyone in ten years. I explained it a lot in high school and in college and even right after college. It took my a long time to come to terms with it myself, but yeah, I’m almost 40.

“I used to use baby oil,” she said.

Silence.

“I forget who told me to, but I put a few drops of iodine in it and it really works. You should try that. Come back and show me how it worked for you.”

Silence.

Really, I have to say, she was a nice enough person. Dumber than a box of rocks, but nice. And maybe lonely? I don’t know. She complimented me on my freckles (on my arms, thank you, because during this whole conversation, mind you, I am topless.) And she even wondered aloud if a tanning bed would help me.

I AM NOT KIDDING.

So I didn’t feel this was the time or place to educate this woman on the dangers of skin cancer. I’m quite sure she thinks we had a perfectly pleasant conversation. But, whatever, I just wanted to get my x-rays taken and be on my way.

After getting my report of a clean scan, I went to the next waiting area so the surgeon could examine me. (I had a lump removed years ago and so I get to have two people tell me everything is OK. The first one does it as part of the mammogram charge and the second does it for an extra $300 but I’m thankful that everything is OK, so I just smile and say thank you.)

I brought an actual paper book with me to read between appointments. But right as I was getting caught up in the book a woman weaved her way out of the office and sat in a chair across from me. Her daughter had been waiting for her and was a little surprised at her condition.

“Are you OK?” the twenty-one-year-old daughter asked.

“Well, I’m drunk,” the older woman said.

That got me to look up. It wasn’t even 11 am yet.

Turns out, she explained to both of us, that she took a “nerve pill” (or ten) and it was a lot stronger than she expected. So she was looped out of her mind.

“Mom, give me your keys.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” said the nurse who had walked out with the woman’s follow-up appointment details.

It would have been funnier, except I fear this woman has a long road ahead of her.

So, I get to go back in six months and see what inappropriate thing the mammogram lady will say. Now I’m off to find some baby oil and a big sheet of aluminum foil. Oh and iodine. I bet the iodine will make all the difference.

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March 17, 2010

Day: starting over

I forget sometimes that if you know me here, you might not know me over at BrigidDay.com. I guess I have a little explaining to do. See, I started the Couch to 5K with the best intentions. Really, I did. And I was doing it. I was on a roll. (Thank you to RealMom for checking in on me!)

And then came the stomach bug.

And see, I suffer from  emetophobia.

So, I was ill and my husband was ill.

Then the next day my daughter was ill. And I was up with her for nine hours, helping her while she was ill. (One of  the hardest challenges I have faced as a mother.)

And it took us a few days, but we were all better. Except I still didn’t really have an appetite. And I’m all about the running, but running on no energy seems less appealing to me.

And then my son got this rash. And it turned out to be Scarlet Fever. So I’ve been taking care of him (a special thank you to him for not vomiting, which is a common side effect but he was kind enough to spare me.) It’s his spring break, so he’s not at school which is just as well, because he looks like a 3ft tall piece of sandpaper. Even though he’s not contagious anymore, I doubt any nursery check-in would allow him within 10 feet.

And I’m fighting off a cold. And still not eating very well/much.

So, my big excuse is winding down to: I am going to keep going but I’m thinking I’m going to have to start again next week.

The weird thing is – I miss it and I can’t wait to start again. (Shhh, that’s never happened before.)

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March 2, 2010

Day 4

Dear Core Muscles,

Hi. It’s me. It’s time we had a talk. I appreciate how quickly you bounced back from the laparoscopic surgery which required you to be sliced and diced. (Wow, was that really 13 years ago?) You handled the first C-Section like a trooper. Remember, the doctor even commented on how tone you were. But now for the problem at hand. It’s time for you to forgive me for the second C-Section. I am sorry from the bottom of my heart (that’s right near you, by the way) for making them cut you open for a third time.

You’ve met my husband, right? Let me just remind you that he is a large man who helped to create large children with even larger heads. There was no other way to get them out, so you had to be sacrificed.

I’m sorry.

So can we move on now? Can you forgive me and start acting like you care again? No more babies. No more cutting. Promise.

Awesome. Oh, and will you let my lungs know that it’s been over 9 years since my last cigarette. They can stop whining now.

Sincerely,

Your host body for the last 38 years who would like to go another 38 or so.

P.S. I almost forgot. Thank you stomach for hanging tough through minutes 19-21. I thought a 4 hour lapse between eating Sushi and running would be sufficient. Lesson learned.

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February 28, 2010

Day 3

Who hoo! Day 3 is done. That means Week 1 is done!  Yay! Yay! Yay!

It looked a little sketchy at first, I must admit. We worked on our taxes this morning and it took a lot longer than I expected. (Note to self: get organized.) Then I had to nap. Seriously, I was up too late last night and up too early this morning. The nap was necessary.

My 3 year-old and I napped it out and I pretty much thought I was going to fail today. But the stars aligned and I was able to get away for an hour while my husband played with the kids.

Working out on a Sunday. With the rest of the world. And their brothers. Ugh.

The parking lot was packed. I was beginning to think I was making a big mistake. But I got up to the track and it was close to empty, which made me happy. Then I realized my ear buds were in the car. Which did not make me happy. I went to get them and turned on the warmup part of the workout. Multitasking at its best.

And then I realized today was reverse-day on the track. Meaning we run counter-clockwise. It’s the little things, people. The little things. I don’t handle change very well. {edited to add: I have a muscle strain in my neck that I blame on having to look the to the right over the track instead of the left, which I am accustomed to. And yes, I am a baby.}

The basketball court that the track overlooks was packed. Crazy packed with youngsters playing organized kick ball. I was happy to be on the track rather than flailing around trying to avoid being smacked by a little red ball.  A little older set, average age of about 20, was playing basketball on the other side of the track. I say average age of 20 because I can’t tell these things anymore. The older I get, the younger kids look. All I know is if I was still a bartender I would have carded every single one of them.

Having all that action and movement and noise in the gym quickened my pace considerably. Thus wearing me out a bit sooner. And making my shins hurt. I kept imagining the young kids were wondering why the old lady with the muffin top couldn’t decide if she was going to walk or run.

A full crowd of spectators watched the kids play dodgeball. Imagine my surprise when the children’s game ended and the spectators on the benches got up and played adult dodge ball. Crazy.

The track ended up getting a little dicey. Some walkers, some joggers, and a few random children (who are not allowed on the track, FYI.) It turned into a life-sized game of Frogger. At one point I almost had to say excuse me to a few teens who were wandering a bit, but I was afraid with the ear buds in, I would sound like I was shouting. At the last minute I squirmed around the outside corner and all was well.

I have done my fair share of walking. I always thought I was getting decent exercise. Here is where I admit that my muscles get a much better workout from adding the jogging. My butt doesn’t jiggle quite as much. (Or at least soon it won’t.)

About halfway through my workout I had a realization. (Dad, Look! A talking squirrel Over there!) In the next few days I will be doing this same workout routine with the added variable of cramps, bloating and all things period. Urgh. That thought kind of bummed me out.

And a moment later I realized my battery was about to die on my phone. I did some quick calculations that would allow me to continue the workout if I lost power. Because there are no do-overs in the Couch to 5K.

In the meantime I got 5 notifications that it was my move in Words With Friends. Five. Resisting the urge to check into my games was harder than actually getting myself to the gym. (I’ll be expecting a WWF intervention any day now.) (and my name on WWF is brigidday. Let’s play before my intervention!)

Thanks for all the music suggestions. I ended up raiding my college CD collection to fill my iPod (read: free.) Today I chose The Dixie Chicks, Fly. The first song was Ready To Run. It was perfect. (If you don’t know me IRL, I feel I should explain I don’t listen to country music, but I have a huge weakness for the Dixie Chicks.) I plan on coughing up some iTunes dough to add many of your suggestions.

I told myself I wouldn’t look ahead. But I kind of needed to wrap my brain around what Tuesday will bring. Not too bad, I think. Warmup. Then jog 90 seconds. Then walk 2 minutes. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Cooldown. I think I can do it. If you have told me that two weeks ago, I wouldn’t have believed you. Now I do, and that feels pretty good.

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February 25, 2010

Day 2

It was touch and go for a few minutes there. Nap or workout? Nap or workout? Normally nap would have totally won, but my husband laughed at me a few days ago, so workout won.

Instead of a pre-workout meal of meatloaf (which I do not recommend) today I had a pre-workout meal of a 3-egg cheese omelet, silver dollar potato pancakes, and wheat toast (Hello – Noshville!), with two pieces of white chocolate. Seriously. I may need to write myself a note on Saturday as a reminder that eating a huge meal before running doesn’t settle so well. {Nauseated =  to feel nausea; Nauseous = to cause nausea} I was slightly nauseated, but the eggs were not as nauseous as the meatloaf.

So I got a great parking spot at the gym – because isn’t that what it’s all about? Running/walking in the gym, not to the gym. In this case the front row spot was extra important, because up until that moment a nap in the parking lot was not out of the question. But I couldn’t very well nap in the primo parking spot as everyone walked past me to and from their workouts.

I headed to the track which is up a flight of stairs, looked around for the second floor bathroom, only to discover there is no second floor bathroom. Back downstairs. Find bathroom. Go. Back upstairs. Sheesh, that should count for extra credit, no?

I started my warmup and switched to Pandora where I happily listened to Beyonce until I realized that by switching to Pandora, the 5K app stopped. Five extra warm-up minutes followed by another workout to all ballads. Why do I have all ballads on my phone? I have no idea. Because I use my shuffle for all occasional work outs? Because I would rather save up and buy a new lens for my camera than buy music? Maybe.

Music suggestions. Seriously. Bring them on.

All in all, it was a little easier today. The siren didn’t make me jump and I knew that I could finish since I had finished two days ago. I work well with routine. A friend told me I could look ahead. I am not looking ahead. I am going to take it one day at a time. I have to or I’ll quit.

I have already run more in these two days than in my whole life (other than organized sports.)

I did have one or two shoelace issues. Right foot got tied a wee bit too tight so left foot felt very loose. I fixed it during the last 10 seconds of my second warm up. Towards the end my feet were tingling ever so slightly. Maybe they were tied too tight? Or it could be the acid I have been putting on my foot for the last 10 weeks for this stupid, annoying, pain in the ass plantar wart I have on the ball of my foot.

Yes. I said plantar wart. Wanna make something of it? I got it two summers ago – yes, two summers ago at the kiddie pool. And yes, I am bitter. Very, very, bitter.

My favorite part of working out is the looking scuzzy part. I have it perfected. At least now I have an excuse for it. I can wear stretchy clothes and have crazy hair all because I just had a great workout, instead of all because I’m too lazy to take a shower and none of my clothes fit me.

Someone asked if I had chosen a race yet. The idea had not even crossed me mind. I so don’t think of myself as a runner. But today, I gave it a little thought. First I have to get through the next 9 weeks. Then? We’ll see.

During my walk/run I mulled over my writing assignment for my writing mama meeting tonight. My life story in six words. (A marvelous and well-known example by Hemingway: “For sale: baby shoes. Never worn.”) So as I rounded the track over and over I came up with a six word story. I don’t know if it’s my life story, but I’d say it’s my story right now: “Plan. Plan. Plan. Let go. Breathe.”

When I hit the final minute, I felt pretty good. Then the siren boomed and I almost started running out of instinct. I gave my phone the fish eye only to realize it was telling me to cool down. Another workout complete. But can I go the distance? Like I said, we’ll see.

So – leave your music suggestions in the comments. And leave your six-word story there too,  if you so desire. I’d love to hear them!

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