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AJ: Someone Who Believed In Me When I Didn’t March 24, 2015

AJ, Melissa, Izzy and Levi

AJ, Melissa, Izzy and Levi  (photo from AJ’s Facebook)

Back in 2011, when I was training for my first triathlon, I was a terrified, unathletic 50 year old who could barely swim across a pool, and who fell down every time I tried to ride a bike. I was a mess. I was by far the slowest, most struggling person on our team. Every single time we had a workout, I wanted to give up. I always came in dead last, whether it was a run, a swim or a bike ride.

But this was Team in Training, and we weren’t just training for ourselves. We were also raising funds for those who were dealing with blood cancers. Each team has team captains and honorees, or “honored patients” who remind us why we’re doing what we’re doing. Our team captain was AJ Jabanero, and his daughter Izzy was our honoree. I’ll never forget meeting them both at our season Kickoff.

AJ and Izzy

AJ and Izzy (Photo from Katherine Resnick)

During one of our grueling training days, I reached my breaking point. I had had a panic attack in the open water, feeling like I couldn’t breathe. My legs felt like lead during the run. I was spent and discouraged and feeling like the whole thing was an enormous mistake. I pulled away from the team, sat down on the curb and just cried.

AJ came and sat down next to me. He listened to me bawl and snuffle. I told him about how I’d been trying so hard to be healthy, to do something strong and great with my body. I’d made a turnaround after being overweight and couch-potatoish and being diagnosed with diabetes. But maybe a triathlon was just too much.

He listened to me. He was very serious. He didn’t try to cheer me up right away, or give me a big pep talk. He just nodded and said, “I used to be like that too. Overweight. Out of shape. Not able to do much.” I couldn’t believe it. He said, yeah. He had not always been the fastest guy on our team of athletes. He hadn’t always been in this peak physical condition. Every time we had a team run, AJ was one of the front runners, finishing easily and quickly, and then waiting sometimes hours for the rest of us to straggle in. He was an incredible athlete. “Yeah,” he said. He told me that he’d also come a long way. I saw that he understood where I was. He’d been there. He had so much compassion.

Champion.

Champion. (photo from Facebook)

AJ helped me get up that day. He continued to encourage me through the rest of the season, until I finally crossed that triathlon finish line, one of the very last that day.

I was so shocked at the unfairness of life when I learned that AJ had developed cancer himself, after his daughter Izzy went into remission. I was even more shocked and saddened when he passed away earlier this month. It didn’t seem possible.

What didn’t shock me, however, was the incredible turnout at a San Francisco run in his honor. I was so moved to see many of our triathlon teammates there.

ajrun

photo from Facebook

We walked and ran to the Golden Gate Bridge, and there was AJ waiting to give us a fist bump. It made me cry but it also made me smile. Thank you AJ, for believing in me and in so many of us. We won’t forget. #AJSTRONG

The final fist bump, the eternal inspiration

The final fist bump, the eternal inspiration

 

This Dairyholic/Grainaholic’s Month of Paleo March 5, 2015

Today marks my 30th day of eating Paleo. Woo!!! I’ve had a lot of surprises this month. Here’s my recap.

First, I learned to love a lot of things I either never liked before, or had never given much of a try. But given that I was someone who used to go through more than a quart of half-and-half a week (NO KIDDING), I had to figure some things out.

First off, was dealing with what to put in my coffee and tea. I tried coconut milk and almond milk. They were unacceptable. (in my drinks) Finally, I realized that all the joy had been sucked out of my caffeinated beverages, so I might as well just stop drinking them. The result? Not so much of a problem. I just stopped. Now, when I wake up in the morning, I just eat FOOD. And have some water. It’s fine. I’ve adjusted. Weirdly, I notice that I am, overall, MUCH MORE ALERT than when I was drinking caffeine. So there’s that. I realized that my coffee-and-tea drinking was a habit. A nice one. But it didn’t kill me to just switch to water. If you had told me this any time in the past few decades, I would not have believed it. I miss the ritual of coffee, the smell of it, the nice way that a warm mug feels in my hands. But I’ve survived that.
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Then, the issue of actual “drinking” milk. I was also a big fan of drinking a glass of milk, like, for pleasure. Lo and behold, I discovered that I also liked goat milk, which apparently some people on Paleo (or is it primal?) enjoy. I did feel a little cheatish though, in addition to feeling like Heidi, enjoying her grandfather’s goats’ milk up in the Alps. I tried a few almond milks. BLECH. Then, something in the super-fancy packaging of this Pop & Bottle brand caught my eye one day when I was at the little market near my office. Yeah, this tiny little 10 oz bottle cost $6.00. But I decided to try it, and YUM. I mean, YUM. I just hope I can figure out a way to replicate it. I’ll just save it as a special treat though, since I’m not eating desserts or drinking alcohol.

Oh, yeah?! What about dessert?? Well, I did indulge in birthday cake (twice!) during the month. The first time, I was pretty sure I would die if I didn’t get to have a piece. So after much agonizing, I did. It was delicious. The second time, at the end of week 3, I figured I would enjoy another piece for dear Mr McBody’s birthday. Totally different experience. I could TELL that it was “good,” ie. high-quality, but it just didn’t have that same delicious sensation. I had a couple of forkfuls and then left it. I developed a real fondness for eating fresh raspberries with coconut cream when I wanted dessert. But the need for daily desserts really reduced drastically.

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One of the best results, ever.

One of the very best things, though, has been the impressive reduction in my blood sugars. This number on the left is really the lowest I have ever seen it, since I began testing it in 2009. This was pretty dramatic.

I went to see my new doctor yesterday and had all my labs drawn. EVERYthing was in normal range, and especially my cholesterol and lipids were stellar. So there’s that.

But… how WAS it?! It wasn’t all easy. The first week was tough. After around 2-3 weeks, most of my craving for particular foods went away. But it was replaced by a strange sadness, like a mourning of the relationship I used to have with food. Which was, in many ways, like a love affair. I LOVED cheese. I LOVED certain kinds of desserts, and bread, and butter and so many delicious things.

The 30 Days are over. So now what? Well, yesterday I gave myself some sourdough bread with some real butter on it. It was… meh. I mean, I could’ve taken or left it. Today, I had a slice of homemade veggie pizza. Now that? That was pretty darn good.

Since starting on February 1st, I’m down more than ten pounds. This feels good. I’ve been trying to shed these pounds for the good part of a year, and this is the first time I’ve seen a steady decrease on a consistent basis in a long time. So I’m going to keep going. I might have a few non-Paleo treats once or twice a week, but I’m not going back to my pre-Paleo days.

This major re-setting of my food intake has been pretty dramatic. I’ve never eliminated so many different food groups ALL AT ONCE before. I learned that it didn’t kill me. Maybe quite the opposite. I’m feeling pretty alive.

 

The Paleo Experiment February 15, 2015

Filed under: diabetes,diet,Paleo — Susan @ 5:11 pm
Tags: ,
from Unsplash/Sonja Langford

from Unsplash/Sonja Langford

Anybody who knows me, knows that I am one of the least likely people ever to go the Paleo route. ME? I probably love cheese and dairy products more than anyone, ever. I LIVE for cheese. I put half and half in everything (coffee, tea, MILK). But this past year and a half has not been easy. I’ve had recurring aches and pains, a plantar fasciitis or other foot pain (possibly posterior tibialis tendonitis) that would not quit, and weight gain and the like. It has not been fun. (reason for not blogging in forever: I hate doing nothing but whine for months on end)

In December, I got together with a dear friend whom I hadn’t seen in a long time. She looked FANTASTIC. I’d remembered her at my 25th anniversary party, hobbling around and unable to walk the one block to the beach. She was in terrible pain, also in her feet. But now she looked slim and vigorous, and had done a 6 mile hike in Italy! She had lost 40 lbs, she said, and felt terrific. What happened?! I asked. And she said: Paleo. She had visited podiatrists and surgeons and therapists and chiropractors and acupuncture, and finally her own primary care physician suggested she might try an “anti-inflammatory,” i.e. Paleo diet. She was one step away from surgery which had a small chance of actually improving her situation. So she tried. She said that within two weeks, her debilitating pain was GONE. And she hasn’t looked back since.

Well humph, I said. She said, “Don’t do it for weight loss. Do it for pain relief.” These words kept echoing in my head. I mulled it around. I just didn’t feel… READY in January, that universal month of Good Intentions and Resolve. But when February came up and I was still hobbling down the stairs from my bedroom every morning, I thought, okay. I WILL TRY.

I had to not think about it too much. I had to just do it. I bought the NomNom Paleo book, and read a bunch of stuff online (which is unending).  I woke up on February first and set about learning how to make the most perfect hard boiled egg ever. (it involves pin-pricking the shell, and baking soda, believe it or not) And then I just started.

NO grains. NO dairy (except a little bit goat milk). NO legumes, sugar or alcohol. That’s a huge list of NO’s.

perfecting the hard boiled egg

perfecting the hard boiled egg

The first week was pretty rough, I’ll admit. It was really an epic psychological battle. I whined a little bit on Twitter and Beki pointed me to this Whole30 Timeline, which pretty well summed it up. I definitely went through the “KILL ALL THE THINGS” phase and the “Hardest Days” phase. Somewhere in the past few days, though, I have felt myself calming down, sinking into it, and looking around in utter disbelief that I, the Dairy Queen of the Universe, have survived thus far.

Things I have noticed:

  • I’ve dropped some significant poundage. Even though this was not the primary goal, it has been a relief. YAY.
  • For the first time in about 10 months, I have been able to descend my stairs without leaning heavily on the bannister. Like – bounding down the stairs as in days of yore. Very thrilling.
  • Foot/heel pain: pretty much almost gone. Maybe a little teeny tiny ache. But: so much better.
  • For someone who has had 2-3 cups of cream-topped coffee or tea per day for decades, I’m now just drinking water. And weirdly enough, the lack of caffeine has resulted in feeling MORE AWAKE THAN EVER. Especially at night. My brain feels like a giant, light-filled cavern. For someone who is used to collapsing into oblivion the second I lie down, this isn’t exactly what I had bargained for. But I am finding it interesting. And once I do fall asleep, I sleep long and deep.
  • I’m actually not a social pariah or anything. IMG_8120I even brought this big bowl of roasted veggies to a birthday potluck and people acted like I’d brought a huge pile of freshly-minted cash. They fell upon it, and the bowl was empty within 20 minutes.
  • I don’t hate or feel repelled by the taste of sugar. I did have a moment, on day 7, when (at the aforementioned party) I thought I would die if I could not have a taste of the birthday cake. I whimpered to my husband who said I wouldn’t die if I DID have some. So I did. I was expecting it to be this moment of “BLECH! TOO SWEET! UGH! HOW COULD I EVER EAT THAT STUFF?!” but no. It was absolutely delicious.IMG_8129
  • I have developed a taste for green smoothies. This is nothing short of a miracle! I gagged at any liquid green anything previously, but my daughter came home with her NutriBullet and made a delicious concoction of kale, cucumbers, carrots, apples, oranges, lemon, ginger and the magic AVOCADO. Yes, it was yummy. She knew better than to put anything abhorrent like bananas in there.
  • Did I mention? My blood sugars have been stellar. :-)
  • I love olives.
  • Cauliflower is the miracle food! It can be made into “rice,” “mashed potatoes,” “pizza crust.” It can be roasted and pureed. It can substitute for so many things. We tried a cauliflower-crust pizza, on my 3rd day of Paleo. I was hosting a writing group in which one of my friends is GF and DF. But I knew it would also help me stay on the Paleo track. Well, it was a unanimous HIT. Even the people who COULD eat the regular pizza, were totally enamored with the cauliflower crust one. BOOM.
  • IMG_8089So, today is officially my halfway mark. According to the timeline, I should be feeling pretty awesome. In fact, I do feel pretty good. It’s subtle, but I’ll take better-fitting-clothes, fantastic blood sugars and pain free feet any day. It’s what I had hoped for. Even more, really. Because it hasn’t totally KILLED ME.

(edited to add) Well, it didn’t kill me. But I would be dishonest if I didn’t add – one of the strangest little sad things about it, is that it has somehow killed my joy of food. I mean, I LIKE the food I am eating now. It’s fine. It’s even delicious. But it feels very consciously like “food = fuel” and food is not about pleasure in the same way that it used to be. I no longer swoon over food. I no longer spend hours and days thinking about it. This is a LOSS. I just have to balance it out with what I’ve gained. I admit it’s been a little bit (more than a little bit?) sad.

What will I do when the thirty days are over? I don’t know. I think I’m going to take it one day at a time. To choose mostly Paleo, whole30 type foods most of the time. If I can keep it up 80/20, I’ll be happy.

In the meantime… it’s nice to be back here. I’d love to hear from readers who are Paleo eaters, who have tried it, who do it all the time or a little bit of the time. Now I’m curious!

Do you eat Paleo? What benefits have you noticed? What are the challenges? What are your solutions? 

 

Year of Pain, Year of Humble November 13, 2014

IMG_7202Last week, after I spoke on a panel on reproductive stigma and justice, an audience member came up to me and said, “I know you.” I looked at her. I didn’t recognize her at all – a warm smile, brown skin, dimples. I squinted and said, “Really!” She said, “You’re Foodie McBody. I follow your blog!”

I was overwhelmed by a storm of thoughts and emotion. What blog? Hahaha. I haven’t posted a thing in months. And who? Foodie McWho? That person was a person who had receded so far away from me. I’d changed my Twitter handle and Instagram name, and nobody called me that anymore.

Foodie McBody was a person who, once upon a time, took her health by the reins and galloped into a transformation. There were years of glory. The first 5k! The Weight Watchers Lifetime key! The 10ks, the half marathons. Four of them. The two triathlons and more 5ks than I could count. I loved my health and loved my active body and I was just proud and glad, even through the struggles. I had little bouts here and there – a sprained ankle, a wrist flareup. But they all resolved within a month or two, and then I was back in the saddle again.

But then 2013 happened. I call it my year of pain. When my hip gave up after the Oakland half marathon, my last, and told me I might need to get it replaced. And then the fateful bounce on the trampoline that ruptured my cervical discs and brought me to a halt. When I could do nothing more than move, agonizingly, from one horizontal position to the next. Surgery, recovery and rehab in small, tentative steps.

2014 was supposed to be my comeback year. But it has not been that. After a brief triumphant walking 5k at the start of the year, I have been plagued by a thyroid condition that stalled my metabolism, and a foot ailment that won’t let up. Plantar fasciitis turned to posterior tibialis tendinitis leading to some sort of Achilles problem. My Achilles heel, indeed. Every morning I hobble out of bed like a 90 year old. Actually, I hobble out of bed more painfully and slowly than my own 92 year old mother, which is humbling, to say the least.

my Achilles heel

my Achilles heel

Do I want some cheese with my whine? Well, why not.

2014 has been the year of humble. But if I’m honest I also have to admit that it’s been a year of fear. Recently our family re-watched Spirited Away, one of those hallucinogenic Miyazaki films. One of the most disgusting images is this creature, the Hungry Ghost, that eats everything in sight – frogs, bicycles, humans, and keeps wanting more. It grows into a mountainous blob of sludge, its arms outstretched, and stinkily consumes everything in sight. When our young heroine refuses to be intimidated by the ghost, and doesn’t run away from it, it starts expelling the contents of its innards. Finally it shrinks to a fraction of its enormous size, and silently boards an underwater train, presumably bound for freedom.

That image has haunted me. And I think that that creature is like my fear. It reminds me of the Before version of Foodie McBody. Before I charged into healthy living in 2009, I was afraid of everything. Afraid to move. Even when it felt good.

For much of the time these days, I am paralyzed by fear. Only recently I’ve been able to venture into small, almost laughable activities. I join a weekly AquaFIt class at our pool, where most of the participants are ten, twenty or even thirty years my senior. For an hour we splash around the pool with foam weights and noodles. It feels like play, but when I climb out of the pool, I have to admit it’s kicked my butt.

I walk silently in the redwood forest near my house. Today I did a silent walk and in the quiet green I thought about my fear. The sky was white, a little blue, like the inside of an ice cube. The air I moved through was chilly and perfect, and the sun blinked uncertainly through the clouds every now and then. What am I afraid of? I am afraid of pain. My left heel sent out little jolts. So what, I said. So what. It’s not killing you. I notice. What do I notice. It’s like electricity. It’s like heat. It’s like a twangy little song reminding me that I’m alive. I liked the feeling of my legs. I still have muscles there. They’re still strong. I pushed up the gentle incline and I didn’t wheeze. I didn’t die from shortness of breath. I was doing it. It was just a walk. Calm down, I told myself. You’re okay. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

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Worse than the pain, though, is the shame. The pain of shame. Of knowing where I was three years ago, that relentless athlete that swam in the icy, salty bay. The one who looked fear in the face and climbed on the bicycle, up hills, up so many hills, near whizzing cars and dogs. I ran and ran and ran. Three or four days a week, tweeting about my six pain free miles, my happy eight miles. These days I would consider it a victory to walk a 5k, to make it around Lake Merritt without sitting down, without limping. This is the greatest pain. To look in my closet and push aside the majority of the clothes, because nothing fits.

How to find compassion? That is what I want for 2015. The year of compassion. To say, it’s all right. You’re okay, whether you never complete another triathlon again. Whether those 15 pounds stick around like old friends. You’re okay. You’re okay.

These days do not look like 2010 or 2011. These days look like walking in the beautiful trees, like greeting my gray haired companions in the shallow end of the pool. Of meditating every morning, first in silence and then listening to the calm, warm voice of my teacher, leading me through the compassion meditation. Open to the possibility of being kind to yourself, he says. Open to the possibility of appreciating your life.

I’m open.

my walking meditation path

my walking meditation path

 

The Stories We Tell Ourselves August 27, 2014

Filed under: Uncategorized — Susan @ 2:42 pm

Photo credit: S. Zolkin/Unsplash

Photo credit: S. Zolkin/Unsplash

I know that I’ve been conspicuously absent (again). Yesterday I realized that I’ve been kind of holding my breath, since I got my thyroid diagnosis. I started on medication. And I’ve been dealing with my plantar fasciitis with a variety of measures: inserts, the Sock, visits to the chiropractor and podiatrist. 

I got a phone call from my doctor yesterday. “Great news!” she said. “Your thyroid tests came back normal!”

I was floored. You’d think I’d be jumping up and down with glee, but no. It was one of those moments of reckoning, when I realized I had to stop attributing my weight gain to my faulty thyroid. And I realized that for the past several months I’d been telling myself these stories:

  • I’m sick and low energy and my body doesn’t work right.
  • No matter what I do, it will be undermined by my bad thyroid.
  • Better not to do anything.
  • I’m in pain from my plantar fasciitis.
  • It prevents me from exercising. 
  • Better not to do anything.

I think about how I’ve responded to my various ailments this year (with fear and withdrawal), in contrast to how I responded when I first got my diabetes diagnosis five years ago. Then, the story I told myself was:

  • I’m not going to let this defeat me!
  • I’m determined to handle this and take control of this condition.
  • I CAN DO IT.

Big difference, huh? And of course these two stories yield vastly different results. I’ve been feeling really sad and glum and weirdly powerless. Which is so not me. Or not the “me” of the past five years. It’s been interesting, in a terrible kind of way, to see the huge power that our minds wield over our bodies. 

This weekend I went to a BBQ hosted by my trainer. One of the guys from the gym said to me: “Hey! Long time no see! WOW, you’ve put on some pounds, haven’t you?!” I didn’t know what to say. Except, “yes.” And then slink away and cry.

So, my doctor gave me the green light yesterday. She also jolted me out of my big Excuse that I wasn’t even totally aware I was hiding behind: that no matter what I did, my body wasn’t going to work right. 

I just went back and re-read the first couple months of this blog. I think I have some things to teach myself. I know it wasn’t a smooth road back then, but I had a kind of determination that is pretty absent these days. I am going to get back to more regular blogging, which = accountability, which I know from experience will = success. Hope you’ll be with me, people. 

UPDATE: I was just noodling around on WordPress and came upon my “What Foodie Eats” blog. (which has not been updated since 2011!) I remembered that that was one of my most effective tools ever- to take pictures of every single thing i ate. It really helped to make me that much more conscious, aware and deliberate. I had to consider: would I be willing to commit to eating this thing, and to sharing it? I’m going to give it a go again

 

Plantar Fishy-what?? July 12, 2014

Ah, this blog has become such a litany of woes, I might as well just re-name it “I’m Getting Old, Falling Apart and Whining About It.” Seriously, though. Really?

No sooner had I gotten over the bummershock of having a faulty thyroid, than I began waking up with excruciating, hobble-inducing, holding-onto-walls heel pain. It had started out as a dull ache which I not very brightly ignored. Then while we were on our lovely vacation in San Miguel de Allende, which involved miles of tromping around on picturesque cobblestone streets, lo and behold it worsened every day. I think my foot liked those pretty streets very much.

Plantar fasciitis. OW.

And it pretty much put me off walking except when absolutely necessary, and running, like ever. WAHHH!

More travel happened. A long weekend in Louisiana for an amazing family reunion. Boatloads of crab (no exaggeration at all!). Ten thousand percent humidity. Aching heel. No movement. Pathetic thyroid. All this adding up to… more weight gain, overall bummedeness, etc.

More travel. Back to California, and straight to Pact Camp.  Intense emotions, busy days. NO time to deal with anything. But along the way, I’ve been picking up suggestions and ideas from fellow PF sufferers. Rub your foot with a metal spoon. Icing. Dansko clogs. Splints.

But now I’ve been home a few days, and I’m re-grouping. One great thing that happened while I was zigzagging around the country is that Carla favorite a tweet that said something about The Sock.

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Then, shortly after, Frank answered.

frank

I clicked on the link for the Sock. I watched the video. It was designed by a physical therapist! My people! I sure liked the IDEA of a sock rather than a rigid splint, which I knew would drive me insane within minutes. I read a ton of enthusiastic reviews, and then I ordered.

It arrived yesterday. I put it on before I went to bed. I already had a feeling that keeping my ankle/foot at a 90 degree angle, even if in a flexy sort of way, would be radical. I like to sleep on my stomach or my side, and my feet are pretty much in high-ballerina position all night. Yes, my heel cord was getting SUPER tight.

I didn’t apply it super tightly. I’d read warnings about numb toes and such, if it was too tight. I didn’t want to freak out myself or my toes.

I woke up this morning. The proof is in the STANDING UP, which is normally when I double over from pain and have to grab at the bedpost to stay upright. And then I hop to the bathroom on one foot. It’s not nice.

But this morning — I had the dull ache, but it was equal to what I normally feel after hours of walking around. It was GREATLY improved.

I have been so very discouraged and bummed about this, I didn’t want to write about it until I felt at least a glimmer of hope. Well, it’s glimmering. Here’s to turning a corner and having no new parts fall apart for a while.

I’ve been trying not to feel too sorry for myself when I see friends out and running or walking 5ks, 10ks, half marathons, triathlons every weekend. But I tell myself, I’ll be back. And now I think I might even believe it, a little bit.

image from Clipartbest.com

 

Another Chronic Disease, O Boy June 17, 2014

Five years into being diagnosed with type II diabetes, I finally felt like I had come to some sort of peaceful relationship with it. I felt like I was managing the best I could, and was really pleased late last year when my endocrinologist decided to discontinue my oral medications. I hadn’t even been considering that as a goal, so when she suggested it, I was both surprised and happy.  She said I was doing great. YAY ME!

I was interviewed (and photographed) by Diabetes Health Monitor magazine (a staple in endocrinologist offices everywhere!) and feeling pretty darned good about it all.

Then, a couple of months ago, things started changing. My blood sugars started bumping up. Then they bumped some more. They went higher than I’d ever seen before. I panicked. I called my endocrinologist and begged her to let me resume the medications.  She said okay, and resumed my lowest dose. Sigh.

Then my weight started inching up at a steady rate, despite my doing basically nothing different than I had in the past five years. Now, I’ve been doing Weight Watchers for a long time. And I’ve learned that when I see a surprise gain at the scale, there’s always been a reason. An indulgent weekend. A sedentary retreat. Any of those things. But I’ve always easily been able to right the ship, and come back on course within a very short time.

This time, not so much. I mean, not at all. That in spite of all my best efforts, the ship was not righting. Every few days I’d step on the scale, and every time, it was higher than the time before.

I was starting to freak out. I was starting to dread my WW meetings (which I LOVE) for fear of being called out as fraudulent, bogus, the works.  I was getting frantic that my clothes were getting to be terribly ill-fitting (or non-fitting). My torso was starting to resemble that of a 2nd trimester pregnancy. And I wanted to sleep, like, ALL THE TIME.

What the hell!

For a while, I was in silent paralysis. I couldn’t discuss it or deal with it at all, I was so freaked out. But then I called my doctor(s) who recommended thyroid testing. (and: lo and behold, thyroid problems can cause out of control blood glucose!) An ultrasound revealed an enlarged thyroid. Next step: blood tests. I had the tests last week and this week, while on vacation with my family, I received emails from both doctors. Normal TSH levels are .5-5, and mine is 9. Bingo.

Diagnosis:  hypothyroiditis, or Hashimoto’s disease. Then I nodded. I had about 90% of the symptoms. Weight gain. Puffy face. Fatigue. Brittle hair and nails. Memory issues. Joint pain. Weakness. Vision problems.

Wonderful.

Sigh.

Well, damn.

I’m trying not to be all WHY ME? about this, but damn. Come ON. Okay. So what do I do. I start taking thyroid supplements. I start figuring out how to manage THIS chronic disease.

Part of me is really, really pissed off. But part of me is relieved. That it’s not worse. (it can always be worse, right?) And that this condition has a treatment. For which I am very grateful. I can’t wait for it to start WORKING! (this could take weeks–>months)

As I did when I first started this blog, and basically with every time I’ve every struggled, I know that reaching out with the struggle is better than struggling alone.  I know that finding community and support is better than flailing around alone.

Even thinking about writing this post has made me feel better.

 

 
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