Got knocked out of commission by a wicked cold sometime around the middle of last week, and I've been struggling to reconnect with my brain since then. (Fevers are not my friend.) It seems like all bad news around here, which makes me not want to write anything because it's so depressing and all of you all have been so great and wonderful and supportive, but who wants to listen to a person complain forever? Nobody. Especially if it's not entertaining complaining. Trust me: there was nothing entertaining about my cold, the sinus infection that followed it, or the fact that every drug I took seemed to make things worse - What the hell, steroids? Why do you make my fibro flare?
Only thing I can say is that when College Roommate/Best Friend asked me if I would be Baby Olivia's godmother, I said I'd be there in the church 'unless I was in the hospital.' Which is stupid, because OBVIOUSLY my body takes that as a challenge and is like "Oh really? Let's see what we can do about that!" I've got till Sunday to shake everything from the rapid heartbeat to the contagious germs (and, honestly, as long as I've lost the contagious germs, I'm going), so fingers crossed. Could use a dose of teeny baby magic :)
On what all the doctors I've seen in the past month (and as I've been cramming them in to make up for all the appointments I cancelled over the summer, that's been quite a few) consider to be the plus side, I've lost about thirty pounds since February. I guess I should feel more positive about this, except I know that at least half of that is probably attributable to stress, as opposed to the better eating habits (almost no take-out, heart healthy-food, for the most part) I acquired at Grandmother's. I can't help but feel that worrying yourself to the point of exhaustion, skipping meals (and therefore my meds), or eating three bowls of cereal a day actually aren't the principles of a balanced diet, but the doctors are so happy I've lost weight that they don't want to hear about those sort of pesky details.
Still, it has had some positive side-effects: My liver numbers went from somewhere in the 100s to less than fifty; my sugar numbers and Hemoglobin A1C are both at non-diabetes (even non-pre-diabetes) levels again; and I had to buy new bras because the old ones didn't fit. (I have to buy other stuff too, but I'm poor and the bras are expensive and have to come first.)
I'm finding the 'no take out' rule harder to handle here at home, where take out is the almost daily norm, plus I'm sick as a dog and can barely manage to eat what somebody puts in front of me most days, but I'm also cutting myself some slack on that because I am freaking exhausted right now and can only deal with so much. I had a nutritionist appointment last week, and all she kept saying was "keep it up, keep it off." And I wanted to say, maybe you should be more concerned with my actual health rather than just my weight? but it didn't seem like the right audience for that. Nutrition barely came up at all.
I also had an appointment with Zach a week ago, and he kind of
shocked me by asking if I thought I needed an anti-depressant. An
anti-depressant is for depression, I thought: I'm not depressed, I'm
sad. I'm mired in (what I consider to be) the reasonable quagmire of
grief that comes after losing someone you loved so immensely; I'm
overwhelmed with confusion about what comes next after putting my own
life (such as it was) on hold to care for someone else for almost 6
months and then watching her die; not to mention being almost swallowed
up by toxic family drama and sludge. "It's only been a month," I said:
"It's too soon for me to start thinking about whether or not this could
turn into depression." He looked at me for a minute and then said "It's
never too soon, because you have a history ~ I didn't think you needed
one either, but I wanted to make sure you were being vigilant about
monitoring your feelings - I needed to make sure that you were on
As if I'm never not on alert.
Promise to be back soon with something not-depressing, even if I have to make it up.