A few days ago Kate was telling me about a race she and Morghan ran last year. Ok, Morghan ran and Kate walked. Kate was laughing that it took her twenty minutes to walk a mile. I told her that wasn't so bad - I do a twenty minute mile (actually, now it's about 17 minutes -woohoo). She then informed me that, at age 26, she should be able to walk faster than her decrepit mother. She really didn't use those terms, but that's how I heard it. Talk about getting the wind knocked out of your sails. My shoulders, which had previously been thrown back as I boasted my capabilities, were now slumped as reality set in.
Today, however, I have vindication. Kind of. As I was doing my six laps at the SMNorth track, I noticed another walker enter the track. She was about a half a lap ahead of me. And she wasn't going very fast. All of the sudden I transformed into a greyhound and she was the little fake rabbit they run around the racetrack. I picked up speed. Yep. I was gaining on her. I must tell you that I'm ALWAYS getting passed by people who are jogging on the track. I try not to let it dissuade me, but just once I wanted to pass someone. And here was my chance. "Catch the rabbit, catch the rabbit." Sure enough, after a lap of accelerated walking I PASSED HER! It was then that I noticed that she was about seventy. But I didn't care. As I was doing the victory dance in my head, I came to the realization that now that I'd passed her I had to keep ahead of her. It was AWESOME! This is what it feels like to win a race!
Not even kidding . . . about five seconds later I got passed by a chubby teenager. Scared the crap out of me - I thought it was granny running by me. I guess a kid who's at least thirty years younger than me should be able to pass me.
Ah, it was sweet while it lasted.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
There's Wisdom in Menopause?
That's what Kate said when I told her I'd purchased a book with that title yesterday. I laughed and said, "Yes, there's more than just craziness." I'm not sure she's convinced.
Not that I'm in the throes of menopause. Perimenopause, yes. But so far the symptoms have been fairly benign. Knock on wood. But last week a discussion on Oprah (again, I must assert that I rarely watch her show, but the topic intrigued me) about hormone replacement introduced me to this MD who wrote the aforementioned book. I thought I'd be a smart consumer and health advocate so I bought it.
After the author's second reference to tarot cards (in the first chapter) and one reference to her reliance on psychics and astrologers I began to question whether this was wisdom I really needed. I decided "not" and asked Ron to return the book, which he did (thank you). I think I'll rely on old-fashioned conversations with my doctor and a few hours searching the internet for answers so I'll be ready if and when the time arises that I need my hormones adjusted.
Stay tuned . . . 'cause you know I'll keep you posted.
Not that I'm in the throes of menopause. Perimenopause, yes. But so far the symptoms have been fairly benign. Knock on wood. But last week a discussion on Oprah (again, I must assert that I rarely watch her show, but the topic intrigued me) about hormone replacement introduced me to this MD who wrote the aforementioned book. I thought I'd be a smart consumer and health advocate so I bought it.
After the author's second reference to tarot cards (in the first chapter) and one reference to her reliance on psychics and astrologers I began to question whether this was wisdom I really needed. I decided "not" and asked Ron to return the book, which he did (thank you). I think I'll rely on old-fashioned conversations with my doctor and a few hours searching the internet for answers so I'll be ready if and when the time arises that I need my hormones adjusted.
Stay tuned . . . 'cause you know I'll keep you posted.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Pill Freak (and other Abnormalities)
As I write, I'm in the process of taking the last jigger of my daily cocktail of fifteen pills. And not a one of them is mind altering. I take six calcium pills a day. Three multivitamins. Two stool softeners (gross), one blood pressure, one cholesterol and one water pill. Back in the day I could have taken three or four at a time, but since the opening to my stomach is now only the size of an M&M I have to take them one at a time, wait a couple minutes and then pop another one. Between popping pills, drinking a half a gallon of water a day (not kidding), obsessively counting how many grams of protein I've been able to eat, I barely have time to watch all my dvr'd Cops and Judge Judy shows. My life used to be so carefree . . .
In between all the popping, gulping, counting and brain cell killing I generally find time to walk three miles a day. I walk to Shawnee Mission North, do a mile or so on the track and then head back home. At the entrance to the stadium there's a sign that says something like: "Please do not bring the following into the stadium - Gum, tobacco products or sunflower seeds."
Sunflower seeds? My first thought was "How un-Kansan is that?" I mean, it's our state flower, right? Do they think random seeds will sprout and cover the blessed football field? I think that would be really pretty. I mentioned this to Tyler and he said, "Mom, those seeds are really hard." Could they be fashioned into weapons, maybe?
Turns out the sign is pretty ineffective. There's all sorts of gum globbed on the track. Different colored hues and shapes create a lovely mosaic. I have to force myself not to look down lest I get caught up in a psychedelic rush. I haven't seen any evidence of tobacco products, but I'm keeping an eye out. I did, however, spy a lone sunflower shell the other day.
I stashed it in my sock. Just in case.
In between all the popping, gulping, counting and brain cell killing I generally find time to walk three miles a day. I walk to Shawnee Mission North, do a mile or so on the track and then head back home. At the entrance to the stadium there's a sign that says something like: "Please do not bring the following into the stadium - Gum, tobacco products or sunflower seeds."
Sunflower seeds? My first thought was "How un-Kansan is that?" I mean, it's our state flower, right? Do they think random seeds will sprout and cover the blessed football field? I think that would be really pretty. I mentioned this to Tyler and he said, "Mom, those seeds are really hard." Could they be fashioned into weapons, maybe?
Turns out the sign is pretty ineffective. There's all sorts of gum globbed on the track. Different colored hues and shapes create a lovely mosaic. I have to force myself not to look down lest I get caught up in a psychedelic rush. I haven't seen any evidence of tobacco products, but I'm keeping an eye out. I did, however, spy a lone sunflower shell the other day.
I stashed it in my sock. Just in case.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Meeting the In-Laws
I recently retold the following story and it continues to strike me as one of the most bizarre experiences I've ever had. Let me preface it by saying that all of the people mentioned were very dear people (both main characters have since died).
The year was, um, 1979, I think. Ron and I had just gotten engaged and over the Thanksgiving holiday he took me to meet his grandma and assorted aunts, uncles and cousins. We drove out to the farm the day after T-Day and were greeted by Ron's grandma, who was dressed in a sleeveless shirt, wielding a double bit axe. She was out chopping wood for the wood stove, which she used to cook on and heat one of the two rooms in her log cabin. Mind you, it didn't look like a log cabin on the outside; it had some kind of tar paper shingles over it. But it was a bonafide log cabin. The two rooms had been joined together by a hallway with a bathroom sometime in the 60's I think. Up until then, an outhouse had been employed.
We walked into the kitchen/living room/bedroom and it was pretty small. The kitchen was along one wall and the dining room table dominated the room. I don't recall a couch or any kind of other "comfy" chair. The other room in the cabin was just a big room with a bunch of beds and maybe a couch. And another wood stove. That's where all the kids slept. All NINE of them. Actually, a couple slept upstairs in the attic. Ron says he remembers putting his clothes under the mattress during the winter so they wouldn't freeze and also remembers waking up some mornings with snow on the quilts.
After a spell, Ron's Uncle Billy and cousin came in from trapping 'coons. Uncle Billy had a beard (no mustache), a missing tooth or two and a farm hat that had been put to good use for many years. He reached for the fifth of Wild Turkey and took a long swig, then handed it to his son, who did likewise. Yep. I was waaaaay out of my element.
Lunch (dinner, as they call it) was out of control. Turkey. Ham. Tons of vegetables. Homemade bread and gravy. Really, really good. I sat down to the table and right away noticed I was the only female seated. Grandma and the aunts and girl cousins were up fussing over the men and didn't sit down to eat until they had cleared out. Again, out of my element.
Just when I thought it couldn't get any more awkward Ron and I stepped out on the back porch to find his cousin, Kurt, holding on the the hind legs of a 'coon while his dad pulled the skin off it. So far out of my element . . . I couldn't decide whether to stay on the porch and try not to lose my lunch (dinner) or go back inside and prove to be completely useless. In the end, I think Ron and I went for a walk.
After I got to know these people, I came to admire them for their work ethic, endurance and really kind hearts. What started out as culture shock eventually became a real lesson in life for me. And one Kate and Tyler got to share as well during summertime trips to the farm, where Kate ate loaves and loaves of jelly bread and Tyler ate some squirrel that his second cousin shot. They, too, were out of their element, but they loved every second of it!
The year was, um, 1979, I think. Ron and I had just gotten engaged and over the Thanksgiving holiday he took me to meet his grandma and assorted aunts, uncles and cousins. We drove out to the farm the day after T-Day and were greeted by Ron's grandma, who was dressed in a sleeveless shirt, wielding a double bit axe. She was out chopping wood for the wood stove, which she used to cook on and heat one of the two rooms in her log cabin. Mind you, it didn't look like a log cabin on the outside; it had some kind of tar paper shingles over it. But it was a bonafide log cabin. The two rooms had been joined together by a hallway with a bathroom sometime in the 60's I think. Up until then, an outhouse had been employed.
We walked into the kitchen/living room/bedroom and it was pretty small. The kitchen was along one wall and the dining room table dominated the room. I don't recall a couch or any kind of other "comfy" chair. The other room in the cabin was just a big room with a bunch of beds and maybe a couch. And another wood stove. That's where all the kids slept. All NINE of them. Actually, a couple slept upstairs in the attic. Ron says he remembers putting his clothes under the mattress during the winter so they wouldn't freeze and also remembers waking up some mornings with snow on the quilts.
After a spell, Ron's Uncle Billy and cousin came in from trapping 'coons. Uncle Billy had a beard (no mustache), a missing tooth or two and a farm hat that had been put to good use for many years. He reached for the fifth of Wild Turkey and took a long swig, then handed it to his son, who did likewise. Yep. I was waaaaay out of my element.
Lunch (dinner, as they call it) was out of control. Turkey. Ham. Tons of vegetables. Homemade bread and gravy. Really, really good. I sat down to the table and right away noticed I was the only female seated. Grandma and the aunts and girl cousins were up fussing over the men and didn't sit down to eat until they had cleared out. Again, out of my element.
Just when I thought it couldn't get any more awkward Ron and I stepped out on the back porch to find his cousin, Kurt, holding on the the hind legs of a 'coon while his dad pulled the skin off it. So far out of my element . . . I couldn't decide whether to stay on the porch and try not to lose my lunch (dinner) or go back inside and prove to be completely useless. In the end, I think Ron and I went for a walk.
After I got to know these people, I came to admire them for their work ethic, endurance and really kind hearts. What started out as culture shock eventually became a real lesson in life for me. And one Kate and Tyler got to share as well during summertime trips to the farm, where Kate ate loaves and loaves of jelly bread and Tyler ate some squirrel that his second cousin shot. They, too, were out of their element, but they loved every second of it!
Monday, November 10, 2008
Barack and Me . . . Our Common Bond
So, on Tuesday night, I watched through a semi-narcotic haze - ok, so I was completely baked - as our nation elected Barack Obama our new president. I was bawling like a baby and it really hurt pretty bad, so the tears might have been half pain, half wonderment.
Tuesday night was also the Night of Unfortunate Bodily Waste Mishaps (see previous post). The next day as I was reflecting on the events of the previous night it hit me:
Right about the time Barack Obama was probably realizing that he was going to be president and no doubt thinking, "Holy crap! What have I done?" I was having my own holy crap experience, also thinking "What have I done?"
If that doesn't bond us for life I don't know what could.
Tuesday night was also the Night of Unfortunate Bodily Waste Mishaps (see previous post). The next day as I was reflecting on the events of the previous night it hit me:
Right about the time Barack Obama was probably realizing that he was going to be president and no doubt thinking, "Holy crap! What have I done?" I was having my own holy crap experience, also thinking "What have I done?"
If that doesn't bond us for life I don't know what could.
Guess What I Did?
Warning: Some dialogue may be too intense for young readers or people who are easily "squeamed" by frank discussions of bodily functions.
My, my, my . . . such a long absence between posts! I know - I'd better have a good excuse. Well, I think I do.
Last Monday, I had gastric by-pass surgery. My stomach (now lovingly referred to as a "pouch) is now the size of a plastic Easter egg. Yeah. That tiny. Won't hold very many Jelly Bellies any more. In fact, it will never hold Jelly Bellies again!
First, the why . . . When I was 29 I lost 60 pounds. When I was 39 I lost 80 pounds. When I was 48 I lost 40 pounds. Careful addition would tell lead you to believe that, by all accounts, I shouldn't exist, having lost that much weight. Ah, but the rest of the story. Not only did I gain every one of those lost pounds back, I also managed to bring another couple dozen (at least) along for the (unhealthy) ride.
I finally got sick and tired of the failed diets, the failed goals, the failed life. Not that I thought my entire life was a failure, but I knew that I wasn't living life to the fullest. Simple things were getting too hard to do. Like go upstairs to our bedroom and my office. Like fitting comfortably in an airplane seat. Like walking more than 1/4 mile without getting winded. Like walking and talking at the same time.
So, in May I attended an informational seminar at the Kansas City Bariatric Center. I won't go into too much detail here (because I have a NEW BLOG . . . theeggandeye@blogspot.com . . . that will deal with my journey), but suffice it to say that it was a LONG process that included clearance from a psychologist, cardiologist, nutritionist and pulmonologist. And that doesn't include the nail-biting wait for insurance approval. But - hallelujah, hallelujah - I passed everything with flying colors. I only had two co-morbidities (sounds awful, huh?) - high blood pressure and high cholesterol, so I went into surgery as a pretty low-risk patient (my surgeon's words, not mine).
Surgery was a piece of cake, probably because I slept through most of it. Recovery, so far, has not been that bad. Of course, there was the night in the hospital that I had violent diarrhea all over myself FOUR times - and just happened to have a male nurse that night - so humbling. He was absolutely wonderful and somehow managed to return to me my dignity and hope. And then there was the night at home when I made Ron check to make sure that my intestines weren't spilling out of my gut because I had moved a little too much one way and YOWZA! I've never been stabbed, but I'm guessing that's what it feels like. SEARING pain. But short lived.
So, today, one week post-op . . . it's a BIG day! After a week of a liquid diet, I get to eat 1-2 tablespoons of a scrambled egg! Tomorrow I get the egg AND cottage cheese!!! Eventually, I'll be able to eat a fairly normal diet, just no sugar and not a lot of fat. High protein, low carb. Actually, it's a diet all of us could benefit from. And, since I've come home from the hospital I've lost nearly 12 1/2 pounds.
I'll try not to let my Egg world spill into this one, but you know me. Check out the other blog, if you want. It will give you more insight into what lead me to this decision and what life's like as a bariatric patient. And if you have friends or relatives who have considered this operation I'd love to talk to them. I'm SOLD on it and the program I went through. I'd do it all again in a heartbeat!
My, my, my . . . such a long absence between posts! I know - I'd better have a good excuse. Well, I think I do.
Last Monday, I had gastric by-pass surgery. My stomach (now lovingly referred to as a "pouch) is now the size of a plastic Easter egg. Yeah. That tiny. Won't hold very many Jelly Bellies any more. In fact, it will never hold Jelly Bellies again!
First, the why . . . When I was 29 I lost 60 pounds. When I was 39 I lost 80 pounds. When I was 48 I lost 40 pounds. Careful addition would tell lead you to believe that, by all accounts, I shouldn't exist, having lost that much weight. Ah, but the rest of the story. Not only did I gain every one of those lost pounds back, I also managed to bring another couple dozen (at least) along for the (unhealthy) ride.
I finally got sick and tired of the failed diets, the failed goals, the failed life. Not that I thought my entire life was a failure, but I knew that I wasn't living life to the fullest. Simple things were getting too hard to do. Like go upstairs to our bedroom and my office. Like fitting comfortably in an airplane seat. Like walking more than 1/4 mile without getting winded. Like walking and talking at the same time.
So, in May I attended an informational seminar at the Kansas City Bariatric Center. I won't go into too much detail here (because I have a NEW BLOG . . . theeggandeye@blogspot.com . . . that will deal with my journey), but suffice it to say that it was a LONG process that included clearance from a psychologist, cardiologist, nutritionist and pulmonologist. And that doesn't include the nail-biting wait for insurance approval. But - hallelujah, hallelujah - I passed everything with flying colors. I only had two co-morbidities (sounds awful, huh?) - high blood pressure and high cholesterol, so I went into surgery as a pretty low-risk patient (my surgeon's words, not mine).
Surgery was a piece of cake, probably because I slept through most of it. Recovery, so far, has not been that bad. Of course, there was the night in the hospital that I had violent diarrhea all over myself FOUR times - and just happened to have a male nurse that night - so humbling. He was absolutely wonderful and somehow managed to return to me my dignity and hope. And then there was the night at home when I made Ron check to make sure that my intestines weren't spilling out of my gut because I had moved a little too much one way and YOWZA! I've never been stabbed, but I'm guessing that's what it feels like. SEARING pain. But short lived.
So, today, one week post-op . . . it's a BIG day! After a week of a liquid diet, I get to eat 1-2 tablespoons of a scrambled egg! Tomorrow I get the egg AND cottage cheese!!! Eventually, I'll be able to eat a fairly normal diet, just no sugar and not a lot of fat. High protein, low carb. Actually, it's a diet all of us could benefit from. And, since I've come home from the hospital I've lost nearly 12 1/2 pounds.
I'll try not to let my Egg world spill into this one, but you know me. Check out the other blog, if you want. It will give you more insight into what lead me to this decision and what life's like as a bariatric patient. And if you have friends or relatives who have considered this operation I'd love to talk to them. I'm SOLD on it and the program I went through. I'd do it all again in a heartbeat!
Sunday, October 5, 2008
The Re-Purposing Wonder
Ron never ceases to amaze me with his talent for repurposing things. He made my desk from an old door. He takes random pieces of wood and makes really, really cool lamps. He takes ordinary gourds, dries them out, scrapes off the yucky stuff and varnishes them to create beautiful, lustrous display pieces. He made a bin to hold blueprints from old shutters.
Last year we bought a canvas "carport" so our precious Prius wouldn't get molested by falling walnuts. Last winter it blew apart and I had to weather arctic blasts to pull it down into the driveway lest it trespass into our neighbor's yard. Ron said not to worry. He'd figure out someway to use the canvas and pvc pipes. I told him I had a few suggestions of what he could do with those pipes . . .
Today, he made a giant dustpan to aid in the never-ending task of leaf raking and walnut gathering. And he used the pvc pipes to construct it. He saw something in one of his gardening catalogues and the little lightbulb went on. I could almost hear the switch being flipped. He showed me the sketch he used as a blueprint. A couple of lines here and there. That's it.
Sometimes during the evening when we're watching the telly, I can tell his mind is a million miles away thinking about a new creation. I would LOVE to get inside his mind to see how it works. Or . . . maybe not.
Last year we bought a canvas "carport" so our precious Prius wouldn't get molested by falling walnuts. Last winter it blew apart and I had to weather arctic blasts to pull it down into the driveway lest it trespass into our neighbor's yard. Ron said not to worry. He'd figure out someway to use the canvas and pvc pipes. I told him I had a few suggestions of what he could do with those pipes . . .
Today, he made a giant dustpan to aid in the never-ending task of leaf raking and walnut gathering. And he used the pvc pipes to construct it. He saw something in one of his gardening catalogues and the little lightbulb went on. I could almost hear the switch being flipped. He showed me the sketch he used as a blueprint. A couple of lines here and there. That's it.
Sometimes during the evening when we're watching the telly, I can tell his mind is a million miles away thinking about a new creation. I would LOVE to get inside his mind to see how it works. Or . . . maybe not.
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