Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Saturday, 20 June 2015
Organisation Vs Regimentation
I am by nature a list maker.
This is partly because my memory is red hot on things like Red Dwarf dialogue and complex retellings of that time your friend put porn on your DVD player after we watched the Grand Final and then that guy climbed over the back fence with a plank of wood to tell us to shut the fuck up because he had work the next day... [huge breath] but not so much on remembering to go to shops when they're open.
So I need to write stuff down and set days aside for getting certain stuff done.
This is organisation.
What I am resisting with all my might is letting that turn into regimentation.
I have a coworker who routinely says things like 'my friend invited me out to dinner but I couldn't go because I do the laundry on Wednesdays'.
This lady isn't OCD or otherwise compelled by brain chemistry, she has just slowly over a period of decades settled into her groove and is now incapable of clambering out of it.
She will turn down trips, outings, exciting opportunities because she needs to get home to feed the horses, or to organise something or because she already had a plan for that day.
The plan in question is never particularly exciting, she is just incapable of changing or postponing it.
There are definitely some pre-planned tasks or events where you have to blow off exciting new opportunities but these are things like baptisms, weddings, funerals, a farewell party for someone you care about, not being able to go have an author you admire sign your book because you're going to be in another country, that sort of thing.
Any time I catch myself letting everyday stuff get on top of me or feeling too negative about unimportant shit I just bump a few things further along the list or have a completely self-indulgent 'stuff it!' day where I just push anything that isn't absolutely essential out of my mind and read or have a nap or even just clean the bathroom.
Being organised has been even more important to me since I had my argh-what-the-fark-is-happening-to-me-argh! meltdown, got my Fibromyalgia diagnosis, and began putting my head back on straight.
While I'm actually feeling pretty good now, I still have to keep in mind that I can't do too much at once* without courting the possibility of feeling a bit achey for a week afterwards, so spreading out tasks and obligations not only makes me feel on top of things but keeps me on an even keel.
Crossing stuff out on a list gives me that lovely 'aw yeah, getting shit done like a motherhuggin' adult' satisfaction and keeps me from falling into the 'I'll do it tomorrow, I'll do it tomorrow, I'll do it tomorrow, I'll do it on the weekend, crap it's Monday' trap.
I've read a few articles about organisation and building good habits along the way and picking the good ideas (like picking one habit to work on at a time and 'habit stacking') from the bad ideas (like systems of recordkeeping which would lead to your life becoming a nonstop loop of note taking and note comparing**) has been important.
If you're already an anxious person you certainly don't want to be tracking and comparing certain things*** unless you can do it in a way that helps you make progress and feel in control rather than stressing you out and making the problem worse.
You don't want to feel like you've failed because you've assigned yourself too many tasks in a fit of ambition and you certainly don't want to make your hobbies and recreational activities and relationships feel like obligations you're failing to meet.
That kind of thing isn't going to help anybody.
I certainly remember how uninspiring I found the Wii Fit's 'oh, hey there, we haven't seen you in 47 days' passive-aggressive bulltwang.
So, to summarise:
Having my shit together and having errands and regular chores mapped out = good.
Being able to to toss most of that stuff aside every now and then because someone has invited me to a concert, I've heard about something awesome, or because I'm really enjoying a book = even better.
*For example, vacuuming the bedroom = fine.Vacuuming the bedroom, then deciding I'm going to sweep and mop and scrub the bathroom as well all in one afternoon = one of my knees quietly moaning 'I thought you looooooved' me for a week and a half afterwards.
**I'm looking at you, people at my workplace who take calorie counting too seriously and have stopped enjoying life.
***Like how much sleep you get per night.
Wednesday, 17 June 2015
So Anyway...
If anyone in my family starts a call, text or email with 'So anyway...' you know some variety of shit is about to get some degree of real.
'So anyway... I think I broke my finger...'
'So anyway... my car caught on fire...'
'So anyway... it turns out that my doctor moonlights as a dominatrix...'
OK, only the first example is something that really happened but you get the picture.
We all do it.
Even me.
So anyway... it turns out I have Fibromyalgia.
If you've perused the murky depths of this blog you may seen a few blog posts (one, or two, or three) about when I got sick about four years ago.
Long story short: my arms got all warm and weird, my grip got a bit weak, my back was sore, my stomach went mental and for about three months at the start of 2011 it was no fun at all.
Everything slowly calmed down but it took at least another three months for everything to settle and for me to start feeling like I was getting back to normal, even if 'normal' meant that walking a kilometre left me a bit shagged out and exhausted for a while.
In between mid-2011 and the end of 2014 I was A-OK, no symptoms, no relapses, no mystery illnesses.
Life was pretty normal.
End of last year stuff started getting weird again.
It started with a couple of twinges in my hand, like I had smacked it on something and forgotten about it, a feeling like a slight bruise.
Around the start of December my the heel of my left hand on the little finger side got rather sore, it puffed up a bit and the tendon/muscle/whatever running up the side got a bit pissed off. I saw my doctor, popped a support on it, and it calmed down.
The doctor and I thought I'd had a little relapse of my mystery illness but had managed to head it off at the pass.
But then my arms got a bit warm again, my guts got on board with the madness, and my hands decided they were going to feel sore from time to time.
This was all a bit freaky.
Every time things seemed to be improving, they'd get worse or do something weird which threw me off balance again.
Several times up until March it seemed like everything was settling down but then it would flare up again.
The ache in my arm got worse and didn't react well to shit like me trying to type for long or at any kind of speed.
In March my doctor put me on some anti-inflammatories.
I made the mistake of reading the side effects list in the literature, my body decided to throw in some aches which suggested I was reacting badly to the anti-inflammatories.
I got nervous and went off them while my doctor sent off some blood samples to test my kidney function and a few other things.
While I was off the anti-inflammatories my knees and ankles started aching.
My tests came back clear, I went back on the anti-inflammatories but my arms, knees and ankles kept aching. In the case of my knees they started getting worse to the point that during April I couldn't move much faster than a hobble.
It was about this point that I started going off the mental health tracks a bit, though I didn't realise it at the time.
My train of thought went:
No matter what I did I couldn't stop thinking about it.
If there was anything I did or failed to do which had led me to get sick in the first place.
If there was anything I did or didn't do after recovering the first time that had led me to this relapse.
If there was anything the doctor should have done that they hadn't done.
If there was a version of me off in the multiverse who had managed to make the right decisions who was living a pain-free, able-bodied life while I was fighting to get myself up and down a couple of stairs.
I started obsessively cataloguing my various symptoms, convinced that if I could just tell my doctor enough things that she would finally have a Dr House moment and be able to tell me what was happening.
Especially be able to tell me what was happening in a timely enough fashion to maybe stop it from getting worse before it was too late.
I had stopped exercising because I had no idea whether I was aggravating my joints which seemed to already be pretty angry at me.
This was not helpful, especially as walking was what I had done to make me feel in control of my situation and like I was doing something to improve my health the last time I got sick.
Sometime in March I made an appointment to see a Rheumatologist but due to the demands on their time the first appointment I could get was mid-May.
In the meantime I had seen the doctor and the physio and they had both told me that I couldn't damage myself by walking.
My doctor had ordered some more blood tests and my rheumatoid factor and a few other inflammatory indicators had come back in the normal range, along with a few other things that indicated I didn't in fact have a degenerative condition.
My physio had inspected my knees and told me that the joints seemed fine and weren't warm or swollen, they just weren't moving quite as smoothly as some of the muscles had tensed up but that walking wasn't a bad idea.
I'd even seen a hand physio about my various aches and pains and weak feeling grip and according to her my hands were mechanically sound and even though my grip felt weak it was actually in the normal range for my age.
So I started walking again, slowly and carefully so as not to push it or piss my body off.
I started seeing a psychologist because I had finally clued in to the fact that I was not coping with this situation at all.
The thing that had finally tipped me off was that I had started crying.
A lot.
For me at least.
For me crying is usually a once or twice a year thing.
Nothing that dramatic usually happens in my life and when I get normal level sad or angry or depressed I usually watch something or read something until I've calmed down enough to deal with it and by that point I'm unlikely to cry.
I was cry-sploding on a couple of my friends on the regular.
When something sad happened in a TV show my eyes would fill up.
If a sad song came on the radio my lip would wobble.
When I'd gotten sick the first time my doctor had mentioned the possibility of relapse in the future but my first illness had been: arms were weird for maybe a month, guts were mad for about four months, my energy levels were down over about six months.
There had been absolutely no talk of my arms and legs crapping out on me.
I had been aware of and braced for the possibility of a life that was affected by more long-term gut troubles, not from a life where I couldn't cook because I couldn't push hard enough to chop vegetables and I couldn't clean my own house because pushing the vacuum cleaner did not seem like a viable prospect.I had not at all been ready for this, not even remotely.
I went to the psychologist, I sobbed and snotted all the way through my first appointment, emptied out an entire tissue box and left the appointment feeling a bit lighter and less tunnel vision-y.
I had been improving slowly but steadily since I started walking and talking to the psych but I was still moving slowly and feeling a bit sore.
Finally May came around and my lovely aunt who is a nurse came to my rheumatology appointment with me.
I described the first time I got sick.
I described the second time I got sick.
The rheumatologist asked me a bunch of relevant questions.
She tested my joints.
She inspected the muscles that had been aching.
She got me to sit back down.
And she told me that it looked like I had Fibromyalgia.
My first reaction was to say 'fuck' because, fuck, I have a thing that has a name.
But then she told me that despite the discomfort they were feeling at the moment my joints were actually fine - oh thank God.
My muscles were not damaged either - double thanks, double God.
That the pain and stiffness I was feeling was because my pain system was sending exaggerated messages to my brain and my muscles were tightening up to protect my knees from an injury they hadn't sustained.
Fibromyalgia doesn't have a cure but it can be managed.
The three key things to do to manage it are:
I had started with the regular exercise, the medication that my doctor had prescribed me to help me sleep* was actually a medication that is also prescribed for Fibromyalgia, and I had started seeing the psych so I had already started doing things to manage my condition without knowing I was doing it.
When I had recovered after my first episode I had managed to stay symptom-free for over three years just by exercising regularly, taking care of myself and not stressing out.
Of course at the time I didn't know I had anything to stress about so that was actually kind of handy.
After I got past the 'oh fuck' reaction to having something that had a name, the sense of relief was massive.
It had a name.
I had a list of Do's and Don't's.
I could stop second guessing myself.
I could build a plan of attack.
85% of my stress was gone, pretty much immediately.
I felt completely off balance but also like a great weight had come off of me.
My aunt told me that the next week would probably be a bit rough as a I went on a rollercoaster that went from 'yay, I have answers' to 'argh why me?' back to 'yay I have answers' but honestly apart from a couple of moments in the first couple of days after my diagnosis, most of what I have felt has been relief and a sense of regaining my balance and control over the situation.
So yeah.
That's what's been up with me.
I didn't want to write about it while it was at its worst because:
a) my arms and hands hurt so typing was not a great idea;
b) I didn't want to risk people commenting with anecdotes about friends or family members, or looking up shit on WebMD for me that would freak me out; and
c) when I feel stressed or freaked out the last thing I want is for people to know about it, I want to retreat like a little hermit crab into my shell until I feel calmer and stronger.
Since my diagnosis I have been exercising regularly, I have some physio exercises I've been given to strengthen the muscles that support my joints so that if they flare up again they won't get as bad because they'll be better protected, I've been sleeping better, and my psych is helping me put together some strategies to keep my from freaking out the next time I potentially have an episode.
The muscles around my knees have almost completely calmed down, though I'm still a bit more aware of my knees and ankles and they still ache a bit at the moment.
My arms are doing a lot better though my forearms do get a bit ache-y sometimes if I type fast for an extended period of time.
My guts have been fine for months, thankfully.
Essentially I'm doing OK.
'Slow but steady' is my mantra at the moment and it seems to be doing the trick.
I don't know if I'm going to get all the way back to symptom-free again this time.
If I do, I don't know if I'm likely to have episodes crop up in the future as we can't pinpoint what would have triggered either of the ones I've experienced so far.
Even at their worst, my experiences so far have been more about persistent discomfort and reduced mobility than chronic pain so I know I'm a lot luckier than some other people who have more intense symptoms on a more permanent basis.
At the moment I'm just focusing on doing my Do's and avoiding my Don't's, taking care of myself and keeping my head on straight.
And yeah, I'm doing OK.
TL;DR: The human immune system is a weirdo that sometimes does dumb things.
*My physio had asked me how I was sleeping when I went to see her. I said fine. She said that was good as I should keep an eye on that because insufficient sleep can lead to low serotonin levels and possibly to depression. That very night I started to have interrupted sleep, that continued as problems getting to sleep at night, waking up multiple times, waking up early before my alarm and I felt deeply deeply betrayed by this as 'sleep until you feel better' was a time-honoured family response to all varieties of illness that had abandoned me like a jerk-ass.
I have no idea if it was just bad timing or if I'm as impressionable as a wet lump of clay but it wasn't fun.
'So anyway... I think I broke my finger...'
'So anyway... my car caught on fire...'
'So anyway... it turns out that my doctor moonlights as a dominatrix...'
OK, only the first example is something that really happened but you get the picture.
We all do it.
Even me.
So anyway... it turns out I have Fibromyalgia.
If you've perused the murky depths of this blog you may seen a few blog posts (one, or two, or three) about when I got sick about four years ago.
Long story short: my arms got all warm and weird, my grip got a bit weak, my back was sore, my stomach went mental and for about three months at the start of 2011 it was no fun at all.
Everything slowly calmed down but it took at least another three months for everything to settle and for me to start feeling like I was getting back to normal, even if 'normal' meant that walking a kilometre left me a bit shagged out and exhausted for a while.
In between mid-2011 and the end of 2014 I was A-OK, no symptoms, no relapses, no mystery illnesses.
Life was pretty normal.
End of last year stuff started getting weird again.
It started with a couple of twinges in my hand, like I had smacked it on something and forgotten about it, a feeling like a slight bruise.
Around the start of December my the heel of my left hand on the little finger side got rather sore, it puffed up a bit and the tendon/muscle/whatever running up the side got a bit pissed off. I saw my doctor, popped a support on it, and it calmed down.
The doctor and I thought I'd had a little relapse of my mystery illness but had managed to head it off at the pass.
But then my arms got a bit warm again, my guts got on board with the madness, and my hands decided they were going to feel sore from time to time.
This was all a bit freaky.
Every time things seemed to be improving, they'd get worse or do something weird which threw me off balance again.
Several times up until March it seemed like everything was settling down but then it would flare up again.
The ache in my arm got worse and didn't react well to shit like me trying to type for long or at any kind of speed.
In March my doctor put me on some anti-inflammatories.
I made the mistake of reading the side effects list in the literature, my body decided to throw in some aches which suggested I was reacting badly to the anti-inflammatories.
I got nervous and went off them while my doctor sent off some blood samples to test my kidney function and a few other things.
While I was off the anti-inflammatories my knees and ankles started aching.
My tests came back clear, I went back on the anti-inflammatories but my arms, knees and ankles kept aching. In the case of my knees they started getting worse to the point that during April I couldn't move much faster than a hobble.
It was about this point that I started going off the mental health tracks a bit, though I didn't realise it at the time.
My train of thought went:
- I am on anti-inflammatories
- I am still getting worse.
- I am getting worse reasonably quickly.
- Therefore I have something progressive.
- Something aggressively progressive.
- This is going to get worse.
- I am not going to be able to take care of myself.
- I am going to have to depend on my family.
- There goes a whole bunch of stuff I might have chosen to do with my life.
No matter what I did I couldn't stop thinking about it.
If there was anything I did or failed to do which had led me to get sick in the first place.
If there was anything I did or didn't do after recovering the first time that had led me to this relapse.
If there was anything the doctor should have done that they hadn't done.
If there was a version of me off in the multiverse who had managed to make the right decisions who was living a pain-free, able-bodied life while I was fighting to get myself up and down a couple of stairs.
I started obsessively cataloguing my various symptoms, convinced that if I could just tell my doctor enough things that she would finally have a Dr House moment and be able to tell me what was happening.
Especially be able to tell me what was happening in a timely enough fashion to maybe stop it from getting worse before it was too late.
I had stopped exercising because I had no idea whether I was aggravating my joints which seemed to already be pretty angry at me.
This was not helpful, especially as walking was what I had done to make me feel in control of my situation and like I was doing something to improve my health the last time I got sick.
Sometime in March I made an appointment to see a Rheumatologist but due to the demands on their time the first appointment I could get was mid-May.
In the meantime I had seen the doctor and the physio and they had both told me that I couldn't damage myself by walking.
My doctor had ordered some more blood tests and my rheumatoid factor and a few other inflammatory indicators had come back in the normal range, along with a few other things that indicated I didn't in fact have a degenerative condition.
My physio had inspected my knees and told me that the joints seemed fine and weren't warm or swollen, they just weren't moving quite as smoothly as some of the muscles had tensed up but that walking wasn't a bad idea.
I'd even seen a hand physio about my various aches and pains and weak feeling grip and according to her my hands were mechanically sound and even though my grip felt weak it was actually in the normal range for my age.
So I started walking again, slowly and carefully so as not to push it or piss my body off.
I started seeing a psychologist because I had finally clued in to the fact that I was not coping with this situation at all.
The thing that had finally tipped me off was that I had started crying.
A lot.
For me at least.
For me crying is usually a once or twice a year thing.
Nothing that dramatic usually happens in my life and when I get normal level sad or angry or depressed I usually watch something or read something until I've calmed down enough to deal with it and by that point I'm unlikely to cry.
I was cry-sploding on a couple of my friends on the regular.
When something sad happened in a TV show my eyes would fill up.
If a sad song came on the radio my lip would wobble.
When I'd gotten sick the first time my doctor had mentioned the possibility of relapse in the future but my first illness had been: arms were weird for maybe a month, guts were mad for about four months, my energy levels were down over about six months.
There had been absolutely no talk of my arms and legs crapping out on me.
I had been aware of and braced for the possibility of a life that was affected by more long-term gut troubles, not from a life where I couldn't cook because I couldn't push hard enough to chop vegetables and I couldn't clean my own house because pushing the vacuum cleaner did not seem like a viable prospect.I had not at all been ready for this, not even remotely.
I went to the psychologist, I sobbed and snotted all the way through my first appointment, emptied out an entire tissue box and left the appointment feeling a bit lighter and less tunnel vision-y.
I had been improving slowly but steadily since I started walking and talking to the psych but I was still moving slowly and feeling a bit sore.
Finally May came around and my lovely aunt who is a nurse came to my rheumatology appointment with me.
I described the first time I got sick.
I described the second time I got sick.
The rheumatologist asked me a bunch of relevant questions.
She tested my joints.
She inspected the muscles that had been aching.
She got me to sit back down.
And she told me that it looked like I had Fibromyalgia.
My first reaction was to say 'fuck' because, fuck, I have a thing that has a name.
But then she told me that despite the discomfort they were feeling at the moment my joints were actually fine - oh thank God.
My muscles were not damaged either - double thanks, double God.
That the pain and stiffness I was feeling was because my pain system was sending exaggerated messages to my brain and my muscles were tightening up to protect my knees from an injury they hadn't sustained.
Fibromyalgia doesn't have a cure but it can be managed.
The three key things to do to manage it are:
- get regular exercise
- consider medication
- manage stress as stress can exacerbate the symptoms
I had started with the regular exercise, the medication that my doctor had prescribed me to help me sleep* was actually a medication that is also prescribed for Fibromyalgia, and I had started seeing the psych so I had already started doing things to manage my condition without knowing I was doing it.
When I had recovered after my first episode I had managed to stay symptom-free for over three years just by exercising regularly, taking care of myself and not stressing out.
Of course at the time I didn't know I had anything to stress about so that was actually kind of handy.
After I got past the 'oh fuck' reaction to having something that had a name, the sense of relief was massive.
It had a name.
I had a list of Do's and Don't's.
I could stop second guessing myself.
I could build a plan of attack.
85% of my stress was gone, pretty much immediately.
I felt completely off balance but also like a great weight had come off of me.
My aunt told me that the next week would probably be a bit rough as a I went on a rollercoaster that went from 'yay, I have answers' to 'argh why me?' back to 'yay I have answers' but honestly apart from a couple of moments in the first couple of days after my diagnosis, most of what I have felt has been relief and a sense of regaining my balance and control over the situation.
So yeah.
That's what's been up with me.
I didn't want to write about it while it was at its worst because:
a) my arms and hands hurt so typing was not a great idea;
b) I didn't want to risk people commenting with anecdotes about friends or family members, or looking up shit on WebMD for me that would freak me out; and
c) when I feel stressed or freaked out the last thing I want is for people to know about it, I want to retreat like a little hermit crab into my shell until I feel calmer and stronger.
Since my diagnosis I have been exercising regularly, I have some physio exercises I've been given to strengthen the muscles that support my joints so that if they flare up again they won't get as bad because they'll be better protected, I've been sleeping better, and my psych is helping me put together some strategies to keep my from freaking out the next time I potentially have an episode.
The muscles around my knees have almost completely calmed down, though I'm still a bit more aware of my knees and ankles and they still ache a bit at the moment.
My arms are doing a lot better though my forearms do get a bit ache-y sometimes if I type fast for an extended period of time.
My guts have been fine for months, thankfully.
Essentially I'm doing OK.
'Slow but steady' is my mantra at the moment and it seems to be doing the trick.
I don't know if I'm going to get all the way back to symptom-free again this time.
If I do, I don't know if I'm likely to have episodes crop up in the future as we can't pinpoint what would have triggered either of the ones I've experienced so far.
Even at their worst, my experiences so far have been more about persistent discomfort and reduced mobility than chronic pain so I know I'm a lot luckier than some other people who have more intense symptoms on a more permanent basis.
At the moment I'm just focusing on doing my Do's and avoiding my Don't's, taking care of myself and keeping my head on straight.
And yeah, I'm doing OK.
TL;DR: The human immune system is a weirdo that sometimes does dumb things.
*My physio had asked me how I was sleeping when I went to see her. I said fine. She said that was good as I should keep an eye on that because insufficient sleep can lead to low serotonin levels and possibly to depression. That very night I started to have interrupted sleep, that continued as problems getting to sleep at night, waking up multiple times, waking up early before my alarm and I felt deeply deeply betrayed by this as 'sleep until you feel better' was a time-honoured family response to all varieties of illness that had abandoned me like a jerk-ass.
I have no idea if it was just bad timing or if I'm as impressionable as a wet lump of clay but it wasn't fun.
Sunday, 31 March 2013
Big Claims, Little Action
So a few months ago I made some stirring declarations that I was going to start trying chocolate and alcohol again.
It has so far failed to evolve into a concrete plan.
Probably the furthest I've actually gotten is not scooping some foam off my decaf latte when some of the chocolate powder from someone's cappuccino got on it.
Oh and going completely off the chain and dipping my sushi in soy sauce that I haven't cooked to make sure the 6% booze has been neutralised.
I've always thought I had a bit of a contradictory personality in that I feel like I'm both a bit prone to addiction AND completely incapable of it.
I suppose addiction might be the wrong term and incapable probably ain't exactly accurate either.
If there's something I'm enjoying doing (reading) and I'm supposed to be doing something more productive instead (studying/cleaning/talking to flesh and blood people) I am very likely to let myself get carried away and read until 3am even knowing that I will feel like a sleepy idiot at work the next day.
If I want something and I can't muster up a compelling enough argument against it, I tend to let myself have it.
I'm self-indulgent like that.
But proper addiction is when your doctor looks you in the eye and says 'if you don't stop drinking you won't see 40' and you keep drinking anyway because you need to/you can't stop/you can't bear yourself/your life without it/you're sure it won't happen to you/fuck you, that's why.
If the potential cons outweigh the more probable pros I am really good at going cold turkey.
What I don't seem to be good at right now is looking at the statistics/likelihoods and making that gamble that I'm not the 0.005% of people who will be adversely affected by giving it a go.
The other thing that makes it tricky is that being nervous gives me a bit of a funny tummy at times.
So being nervous about trying alcohol and caffeine because they might give me a funny tummy might give me a funny tummy, aka a false positive.
Seeing as my brain is rigged to automatically plot out a range of possible consequences for everything I think about, way too quick to head off at the pass, I generally just sit through its mental powerpoint of 'shit you should consider'.
Even if I can dismiss 95% of it as 'as close to impossible that it makes no mind' considering it and running it through the 'hmm-o-tron' is quicker and ends with less worrying than trying to clamp down on the behaviour entirely.
At the moment I'm balancing on the teeter point of 'how long will it take for the idea to be less nerve-inducing so that I can accurately judge if it is throwing my system out when I have this stuff?' and 'seeing as life has been pretty well fine without this stuff is it worth the fiddling and fussing to get back on it anyway?'
In addition to that I have the previous experience of absence not necessarily causing the heart to make that much of a fuss.
A few years ago I went on the Liver Cleansing Diet with someone else as a sort of moral support.
You gave up dairy, red meat and alcohol for 3 months to allow your liver to 'bounce back to full operational strength after all the terrible strain that is put on it by our less than natural modern diet'. I honestly thought it was a pile of bulltwang but seeing as it wasn't telling you to drink your weight in cucumber water or anything ridiculous I was OK with giving a few things up for a while.
I wasn't really drinking that much alcohol anyway so that wasn't really a strain but cutting out dairy and red meat meant I had to think a bit harder about how to prepare meals and what to have.
And I really like red meat and dairy, they're two of my favourite things!
In any case after three months of abstinence I assumed my first mouthful of beef or cheese or chocolate would have my tastebuds rejoicing, my mouth flooding with joyful saliva and a choir of angels singing above me.
Nope.
I mean it tasted nice but just in the usual way.
Its absence in my life hadn't made me realise that it was more glorious than mere mortal tastebuds could comprehend fully on a daily basis.
So when I get back to booze and caffeine (chocolate etc) I'm not anticipating a 'oh sweet lord how I've missed you' moment of sensory bliss, just a 'hey I can do what I want without having to double check ingredients, huzzah' which will allow me to relax a bit about food and indulge a bit more.
Eh, I'll get there eventually.
Or I won't.
Whatever, they both work.
Saturday, 19 January 2013
Unlearning Learned Behaviour
Well bloody hell, now what?
OK, a while ago I got sick with a particularly nasty virus, my doctor told me to stay away from caffeine and alcohol for a while and warned me that I may need to avoid them for the rest of my life in order to avoid a possible relapse or developing a permanent condition.
So for the last two years I've had no tea, coffee, chocolate, alcohol, soft drinks or beverages that contain caffeine, or anything of the sort.
At all.
Around last June she told me that I was no longer sick with the virus and when I asked she said I could think about trying little bits of alcohol and caffeine but I got the strong impression that she didn't think it was advisble and she wouldn't nominate safe amounts or intervals.
My uncle is a doctor and I kept intending to ask him about it but put it off for months because if he concurred with her then I'd have to face the unadorned truth that I should stay away from alcohol and caffeine for the rest of my life.
I know it's silly seeing as I was already doing that day by day but having it confirmed makes it official.
And once it was official I would start hearing sad songs in my head and seeing slow motion, soft focus memories of delicious chocolate thingies and cups of coffee and cool refreshing beverages*.
Anyway just before I went away in December I finally sent him an email with the relevant results attached and less than an hour later I got an email back saying 'I don't know what she's talking about, nothing you eat should impact on your blood test score'... 0_0
Right. OK.
The particular blood test score that I've been left with does mean that I'm more likely than someone without it to develop certain conditions later in life but I'm not guaranteed to develop them and unless I lead a life of Bacchanalian excess I'm unlikely to negatively influence that likelihood.
This was a relief but as I was about to go away to another country I wasn't about to start trying things.
After two years of no alcohol I would be guaranteed to be the world's cheapest date as the booze went straight to my head, and after two years of no caffeine it would likely whip through me like a hurricane.
That plus after two years of avoiding anything containing either of these things diligently because I thought it could make me permanently ill... I couldn't quite wrap my head around it.
I mean I've even been avoiding uncooked soy sauce, just to be safe.
Did you know that many types of soy sauce have up to 6% alcohol in it? Well they do.
When I came home from Nepal with a persistent cough I went to see my usual doctor and found she was away and I was seeing the new doctor at the surgery instead.
So I thought 'what the hell' and asked her as well.
She said that there were perfectly healthy people who had these scores and there was no scientific link between caffeine and alcohol and negative impacts on health as a result of this blood test score.
I asked some pedantically specific questions to be sure and yep, after two years I can start introducing chocolate, coffee and booze back into my life.
And I have no idea where to start.
I mean obviously I'd start off slow, small amounts at staggered intervals but...
I am going to be nervous as hell.
This is going to take a while.
But I am determined that by the next time I visit Italy I will be able to have a coffee or a glass of wine without a thought.
Well, not entirely without a thought, I will appreciate them more than I ever would have believed possible a few years ago.
*Can't liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive, if living is without yooooooooooooOOOOOooouu!
OK, a while ago I got sick with a particularly nasty virus, my doctor told me to stay away from caffeine and alcohol for a while and warned me that I may need to avoid them for the rest of my life in order to avoid a possible relapse or developing a permanent condition.
So for the last two years I've had no tea, coffee, chocolate, alcohol, soft drinks or beverages that contain caffeine, or anything of the sort.
At all.
Around last June she told me that I was no longer sick with the virus and when I asked she said I could think about trying little bits of alcohol and caffeine but I got the strong impression that she didn't think it was advisble and she wouldn't nominate safe amounts or intervals.
My uncle is a doctor and I kept intending to ask him about it but put it off for months because if he concurred with her then I'd have to face the unadorned truth that I should stay away from alcohol and caffeine for the rest of my life.
I know it's silly seeing as I was already doing that day by day but having it confirmed makes it official.
And once it was official I would start hearing sad songs in my head and seeing slow motion, soft focus memories of delicious chocolate thingies and cups of coffee and cool refreshing beverages*.
Anyway just before I went away in December I finally sent him an email with the relevant results attached and less than an hour later I got an email back saying 'I don't know what she's talking about, nothing you eat should impact on your blood test score'... 0_0
Right. OK.
The particular blood test score that I've been left with does mean that I'm more likely than someone without it to develop certain conditions later in life but I'm not guaranteed to develop them and unless I lead a life of Bacchanalian excess I'm unlikely to negatively influence that likelihood.
This was a relief but as I was about to go away to another country I wasn't about to start trying things.
After two years of no alcohol I would be guaranteed to be the world's cheapest date as the booze went straight to my head, and after two years of no caffeine it would likely whip through me like a hurricane.
That plus after two years of avoiding anything containing either of these things diligently because I thought it could make me permanently ill... I couldn't quite wrap my head around it.
I mean I've even been avoiding uncooked soy sauce, just to be safe.
Did you know that many types of soy sauce have up to 6% alcohol in it? Well they do.
When I came home from Nepal with a persistent cough I went to see my usual doctor and found she was away and I was seeing the new doctor at the surgery instead.
So I thought 'what the hell' and asked her as well.
She said that there were perfectly healthy people who had these scores and there was no scientific link between caffeine and alcohol and negative impacts on health as a result of this blood test score.
I asked some pedantically specific questions to be sure and yep, after two years I can start introducing chocolate, coffee and booze back into my life.
And I have no idea where to start.
I mean obviously I'd start off slow, small amounts at staggered intervals but...
I am going to be nervous as hell.
This is going to take a while.
But I am determined that by the next time I visit Italy I will be able to have a coffee or a glass of wine without a thought.
Well, not entirely without a thought, I will appreciate them more than I ever would have believed possible a few years ago.
*Can't liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive, if living is without yooooooooooooOOOOOooouu!
Sunday, 11 November 2012
Causality Not Fate
I've never been one of those people who believe that 'everything happens for a reason' or that '[insert name of your deity of choice here] has a plan' because of what that would mean.
If it's true for us, we people who are well off enough to have access to the internet which argues that we're probably doing OK on a couple of levels, then it would have to be true for everyone and that just does not work.
It's OK to try and be positive as you consider the challenges in your life and to to try see the opportunities for growth and change that they can offer you but saying God has a plan for everyone would mean telling a child that God wanted them to be molested because it's part of His 'plan'.
Anyone who genuinely believes that, ugh.
UGH!
Johnny Citizen can lose his job and have a crisis and have to work out what his strengths and priorities are, almost lose his house, get a better job and feel that 'Wow, that hardship happened for a reason'.
But if you tell me that someone planting subsistence crops standing on a landmine and losing a leg is going to teach them to be a better person, I will fistfight you.
If you try to say that people suffering from malnutrition in third world countries are learning important lessons, I will put my foot to your genitals.
What would be even worse is if the 'reason' these things are happening is so that some sanctimonious jerk in a suburban house can tell their fretful, sulking children 'There are kids in Africa who would be very grateful for that food!'.
Yes. There are.
Anyway before I start ranting in earnest, back to my point.
I don't believe that things happen for a reason but once they have happened, they change what happens afterward.
That's simple cause and effect in linear time.
Nothing mystical about that*.
If I hadn't got sick, I wouldn't have started walking every day in an attempt to feel less powerless and to help improve my health and increase my chances of recovery.
If I hadn't kept walking every day, I wouldn't be in what is probably the best physical condition that I've been in for years.
If I hadn't been so mad keen for walking and feeling pretty good about my physical fitness, I would never have even considered saying yes to the Nepal trip.
I wouldn't have had any confidence in my ability to train up for it, let alone attempt it.
It didn't happen for a reason but because it happened my life has taken a different path that it would have and who knows how far those two paths will diverge from each other over time.
Disclaimer: Yes, I am aware that I am still super privileged in being able to consider my situation in this light after receiving adequate medical attention, support from my family and being in a financial position to go on a trip overseas.
But at least I'm not saying that I deserve it or that a divine being changed the course of history so that I would get to go on a trip because it is my destiny!!!
*Unless you think linear time is an amazing construct/mass hallucination.
If it's true for us, we people who are well off enough to have access to the internet which argues that we're probably doing OK on a couple of levels, then it would have to be true for everyone and that just does not work.
It's OK to try and be positive as you consider the challenges in your life and to to try see the opportunities for growth and change that they can offer you but saying God has a plan for everyone would mean telling a child that God wanted them to be molested because it's part of His 'plan'.
Anyone who genuinely believes that, ugh.
UGH!
Johnny Citizen can lose his job and have a crisis and have to work out what his strengths and priorities are, almost lose his house, get a better job and feel that 'Wow, that hardship happened for a reason'.
But if you tell me that someone planting subsistence crops standing on a landmine and losing a leg is going to teach them to be a better person, I will fistfight you.
If you try to say that people suffering from malnutrition in third world countries are learning important lessons, I will put my foot to your genitals.
What would be even worse is if the 'reason' these things are happening is so that some sanctimonious jerk in a suburban house can tell their fretful, sulking children 'There are kids in Africa who would be very grateful for that food!'.
Yes. There are.
Anyway before I start ranting in earnest, back to my point.
I don't believe that things happen for a reason but once they have happened, they change what happens afterward.
That's simple cause and effect in linear time.
Nothing mystical about that*.
If I hadn't got sick, I wouldn't have started walking every day in an attempt to feel less powerless and to help improve my health and increase my chances of recovery.
If I hadn't kept walking every day, I wouldn't be in what is probably the best physical condition that I've been in for years.
If I hadn't been so mad keen for walking and feeling pretty good about my physical fitness, I would never have even considered saying yes to the Nepal trip.
I wouldn't have had any confidence in my ability to train up for it, let alone attempt it.
It didn't happen for a reason but because it happened my life has taken a different path that it would have and who knows how far those two paths will diverge from each other over time.
Disclaimer: Yes, I am aware that I am still super privileged in being able to consider my situation in this light after receiving adequate medical attention, support from my family and being in a financial position to go on a trip overseas.
But at least I'm not saying that I deserve it or that a divine being changed the course of history so that I would get to go on a trip because it is my destiny!!!
*Unless you think linear time is an amazing construct/mass hallucination.
Sunday, 5 August 2012
I Am An Idiot
Remember when my friend had her baby and I said I was going to do some stealth tidying for her?
Yeah, well it had some unintended consequences.
I ran around, did some dusting, tidied a few things up, ran the vacuum around... and pulled a muscle in my back.
Yep.
Apparently due to the bending, twisting and pushing involved in vacuuming, vaccuming is a big ole back-muscle-pulling-danger-zone that is putting the children of healthcare professionals through school.
Especially if their patients are idiots.
OK, here's the timeline:
Saturday 14 July: Do speed vacuuming, pull a muscle without noticing - no really, I didn't feel a thing which I'm told is not uncommon - and don't start feeling achey for a few hours and assume I'm just tired.
Sunday 15 July: Wake up and 'achey' has progressed to 'my back muscles are wings of a prison and they are all in lockdown' also known as super-stiff.
Monday 16 July: Ring up and make an appointment to see the myotherapist on Tuesday (thankfully she had an appointment available that soon) and get through a day of work.
Tuesday 17 July: Work a half day, drive to my appointment, make sad face at the myotherapist who tortures me for money. Feel a LOT better.
Wednesday 18 July - Monday 23 July: Do the walking, stretching exercises and heatpack stuff I have been ordered to, take it easy and feel SO much better.
Tuesday 24 July: Get tortured again by the myotherapist who tells me that if the last bit of residual tightness across my lower back isn't gone in a week I'll probably need an adjustment from a physiotherapist because it'll mean that a join is out of alignment.
Wednesday 25 July - Friday 27 July: Continue being good and feeling better.
Saturday 28 July: Feeling so good apart from that last little bit of tightness that after my walk and heatpack stuff I decide to see if I can just stretch it out a little in case it's just being stubborn.
BAD IDEA!
WORST IDEA!
YOU FREAKING MORON!
Sunday 29 July: Well done jackass, it's prison lockdown time again.
Monday 30 July: Appointment with physiotherapist (thank goodness she had one available so soon!) who tells me my sacroiliac joint was slightly misaligned which was why the muscles wouldn't settle and the tightness etc had persisted, then folds me up like a camp bed, puts her hand under my bum, pushes on my knee and realigns my misaligned bits. Everything feels looser.
Tuesday 31 July - Wednesday 1 August: Yay!
Thursday 2 August: Nope, the muscles that tightened up when I tried my stupid stretching trick are still tight enough that they aren't letting my back settle all the way down.
Friday 3 August - Sunday 5 August: Walking, heat pack, gradual improvement, tightness, blah.
Monday 6 August: Another appointment with the myotherapist who works me so hard that I'm sure I will get bruises on my bum but who leaves the muscles all loosened up and hopefully allows the joint alignment to settle the rest of the way.
In short, I am an idiot and have finally learned the 'do what you're told' lesson when it comes to injuries, especially when they involve your back.
Post Script [Wednesday 8 August]: Yep, little bruises all over my tushie, like a constellation in black and blue.
Post Post Script [Monday 13 August]: I just had another session with the physiotherapist who had another go at the joint and thinks it should be good now. Now just to stick to what I'm told and not think 'herp-a-derp I bet I can fix it if I just do this!'
If I had left well enough alone and just made the physiotherapist appointment for Monday 30 July it would have been done and dusted in two weeks instead of a month plus however long I need to be careful with myself to avoid re-injury.
LESSON LEARNED!
Yeah, well it had some unintended consequences.
I ran around, did some dusting, tidied a few things up, ran the vacuum around... and pulled a muscle in my back.
Yep.
Apparently due to the bending, twisting and pushing involved in vacuuming, vaccuming is a big ole back-muscle-pulling-danger-zone that is putting the children of healthcare professionals through school.
Especially if their patients are idiots.
OK, here's the timeline:
Saturday 14 July: Do speed vacuuming, pull a muscle without noticing - no really, I didn't feel a thing which I'm told is not uncommon - and don't start feeling achey for a few hours and assume I'm just tired.
Sunday 15 July: Wake up and 'achey' has progressed to 'my back muscles are wings of a prison and they are all in lockdown' also known as super-stiff.
Monday 16 July: Ring up and make an appointment to see the myotherapist on Tuesday (thankfully she had an appointment available that soon) and get through a day of work.
Tuesday 17 July: Work a half day, drive to my appointment, make sad face at the myotherapist who tortures me for money. Feel a LOT better.
Wednesday 18 July - Monday 23 July: Do the walking, stretching exercises and heatpack stuff I have been ordered to, take it easy and feel SO much better.
Tuesday 24 July: Get tortured again by the myotherapist who tells me that if the last bit of residual tightness across my lower back isn't gone in a week I'll probably need an adjustment from a physiotherapist because it'll mean that a join is out of alignment.
Wednesday 25 July - Friday 27 July: Continue being good and feeling better.
Saturday 28 July: Feeling so good apart from that last little bit of tightness that after my walk and heatpack stuff I decide to see if I can just stretch it out a little in case it's just being stubborn.
BAD IDEA!
WORST IDEA!
YOU FREAKING MORON!
Sunday 29 July: Well done jackass, it's prison lockdown time again.
Monday 30 July: Appointment with physiotherapist (thank goodness she had one available so soon!) who tells me my sacroiliac joint was slightly misaligned which was why the muscles wouldn't settle and the tightness etc had persisted, then folds me up like a camp bed, puts her hand under my bum, pushes on my knee and realigns my misaligned bits. Everything feels looser.
Tuesday 31 July - Wednesday 1 August: Yay!
Thursday 2 August: Nope, the muscles that tightened up when I tried my stupid stretching trick are still tight enough that they aren't letting my back settle all the way down.
Friday 3 August - Sunday 5 August: Walking, heat pack, gradual improvement, tightness, blah.
Monday 6 August: Another appointment with the myotherapist who works me so hard that I'm sure I will get bruises on my bum but who leaves the muscles all loosened up and hopefully allows the joint alignment to settle the rest of the way.
In short, I am an idiot and have finally learned the 'do what you're told' lesson when it comes to injuries, especially when they involve your back.
Post Script [Wednesday 8 August]: Yep, little bruises all over my tushie, like a constellation in black and blue.
Post Post Script [Monday 13 August]: I just had another session with the physiotherapist who had another go at the joint and thinks it should be good now. Now just to stick to what I'm told and not think 'herp-a-derp I bet I can fix it if I just do this!'
If I had left well enough alone and just made the physiotherapist appointment for Monday 30 July it would have been done and dusted in two weeks instead of a month plus however long I need to be careful with myself to avoid re-injury.
LESSON LEARNED!
Sunday, 18 March 2012
Coffee-Related Karmic Realignment
To all the people who ordered decaf beverages when I was a barista, I want to say I'm sorry.
Don't worry, I definitely definitely served you decaf and the beverages I provided were of the highest quality I could turn out because I took pride in my work.
But I thought uncharitable things about you as I did it.
I thought stuff like:
"If you're worried about not being able to get to sleep just don't have coffee after 4pm! Why ruin a perfectly good drink with decaf?"
OR
"If you're going to drink decaf why even freaking bother? It isn't proper coffee anyway?"
OR
"Ooh lah-di-dah, look at you taking charge of your health by limiting stimulants!"
I am really, really sorry.
I never gave any indication of what I was thinking and you probably didn't know but my sending out those sorts of negative thoughts into the universe was unkind and now I know exactly how bollocks they were.
Now that I can't have caffeine, I drink decaf.
I drink it because I really really miss coffee and it's the closest I can have.
I'm not drinking it to be pretentious or smug or because I'm a nervous little nelly who thinks a little fizz in my life will send me reeling off balance; I'm drinking it because if I have the caffeinated version I loved so much I could get sick.
I don't know how many people I served decaf to who might have been in a similar boat.
People trying to avoid antagonising heart conditions, stomach conditions, nervous system conditions, anxiety conditions, even respiratory conditions.
Maybe it was very few of them.
I have no idea.
The point is that I have no idea what their circumstances were and it wasn't my place to judge and now that I'm in the situation I am now, I know that.
I also know that not only wasn't it my place to judge but that that they should never have to explain themselves to me or anyone else or feel obligated to defend their choices.
The same way that people who drink skim/low-fat milk shouldn't have to identify whether it's because they believe that the doctors who say full cream milk is until the age of 5 and no further are right, or because they're worried about their weight or because they've had their gallbladder removed and letting fat build up in their system is painful.
The same way that people who drink soy shouldn't have to identify whether they're lactose intolerant, vegan or just really like the taste of soy.
So to all of you out there, who probably don't remember me and never knew I was being uncharitable in your direction, I send out this big pulse of positive thoughts and apology.
You'll probably be equally as unaware of it as you were of my initial cynicism but I'm sending it to you anyway and I hope that wherever you are that things are going OK for you.
Don't worry, I definitely definitely served you decaf and the beverages I provided were of the highest quality I could turn out because I took pride in my work.
But I thought uncharitable things about you as I did it.
I thought stuff like:
"If you're worried about not being able to get to sleep just don't have coffee after 4pm! Why ruin a perfectly good drink with decaf?"
OR
"If you're going to drink decaf why even freaking bother? It isn't proper coffee anyway?"
OR
"Ooh lah-di-dah, look at you taking charge of your health by limiting stimulants!"
I am really, really sorry.
I never gave any indication of what I was thinking and you probably didn't know but my sending out those sorts of negative thoughts into the universe was unkind and now I know exactly how bollocks they were.
Now that I can't have caffeine, I drink decaf.
I drink it because I really really miss coffee and it's the closest I can have.
I'm not drinking it to be pretentious or smug or because I'm a nervous little nelly who thinks a little fizz in my life will send me reeling off balance; I'm drinking it because if I have the caffeinated version I loved so much I could get sick.
I don't know how many people I served decaf to who might have been in a similar boat.
People trying to avoid antagonising heart conditions, stomach conditions, nervous system conditions, anxiety conditions, even respiratory conditions.
Maybe it was very few of them.
I have no idea.
The point is that I have no idea what their circumstances were and it wasn't my place to judge and now that I'm in the situation I am now, I know that.
I also know that not only wasn't it my place to judge but that that they should never have to explain themselves to me or anyone else or feel obligated to defend their choices.
The same way that people who drink skim/low-fat milk shouldn't have to identify whether it's because they believe that the doctors who say full cream milk is until the age of 5 and no further are right, or because they're worried about their weight or because they've had their gallbladder removed and letting fat build up in their system is painful.
The same way that people who drink soy shouldn't have to identify whether they're lactose intolerant, vegan or just really like the taste of soy.
So to all of you out there, who probably don't remember me and never knew I was being uncharitable in your direction, I send out this big pulse of positive thoughts and apology.
You'll probably be equally as unaware of it as you were of my initial cynicism but I'm sending it to you anyway and I hope that wherever you are that things are going OK for you.
Sunday, 26 February 2012
How The Imperial System Was Repurposed To Keep The Empress Down
I've recently finished reading the archives of the excellent webcomic I Think You're Saucesome by Sarah Becan which she created to document her journey as she attempted to get fit, eat well and confront her body image issues.
I feel it's been a privilege to be invited into her personal life and it's been wonderful to see the progression of her awareness, confidence and acceptance of self and gradual easing of her insecurities and the unhappiness they brought.
And oh my goodness the food illustrations!
Sarah eats a varied and wonderful range of foods from a swathe of different cultures and as she has shared this, I've found myself making lists of things that I definitely need to try.
One of the other things I was reminded of was the treacherous nature of the unit of measurements that is 'pounds'.
I have long thought that pounds was an evil unit of measurement and this has been confirmed over and over again by listening to and reading the way that the women who use it to assess themselves talk about them and how that impacts their self-image and mental health.
For starters, for anyone who doesn't know, 1 kg is equivalent to 2.2 lbs.
This fundamentally alters the way you think about weight gain and loss.
'Oh no I've gained a pound' once translated to the equivalent of metric equals...
'Oh no, I've gained 450 g!'
That's nothing. That's a good meal that your body hasn't had time to process and push out your poop chute.
That's forgetting to take your shoe off.
And the higher the measurement gets, the more marked the effect becomes.
Being able to say 'I've lost 20 lbs' might make it sound more substantial and impressive but it also means that gaining 20 lbs will be more depressing.
Gaining 9 kg can be a bit of a downer in the wrong circumstances but hey, at least it's not in the double digits.
I know that a person who is used to the imperial system won't think that 132 lb sounds huge compared to 60 kg as they have context and know what the actually represents.
But the itty bitty increments, they can drive you crazy.
It seems that it makes you hyper-aware, the slightest shift is noted and assigned a higher significance.
The emotive value attached to each pound is equivalent to or even greater than the value or importance that is attached by metric folk to each kilo.
The actual 'mass to mental/emotional investment' seems exhausting.
And that, I believe is the point.
You think the introduction of the metric system to the United States failed because of resistance from the public or big business or due to a residual cultural impulse to continue to flip Europe the bird?
Not a bit of it.
The pill was approved for contraceptive use in 1960 and the two presidents who attempted to introduce the metric system were Gerald Ford (1974-1977) and Jimmy Carter (1977-1981).
So, between 14 to 21 years on from the introduction of the pill it was becoming apparent that now women didn't have to be worried about being pregnant all the time, they had time to think about other things and ask questions and do things and go outside.
This did not sit well with the traditional leaders of the land, the big movers and shakers in the doodle community, and they knew they had to do something to keep women distracted.
Hence the boom in advertising and the fashion industries that had been building and gaining speed since the 1960s.
If they allowed the shift to metric, what would happen to all their hard work on the importance of female body image?
It would be partially mitigated.
That and the cultural and sociological belief that women have weaker mathematical and spatial awareness skills that could be further confused by the crazy-pants arbitrary measurements that make up feet, yards and miles, cemented the Imperial system in place in the United States.
Yes, that's right, the imperial system is a patriarchal plot.
Designed to over-complicate and over-emphasise what should be a much less involved issue.
I know it didn't start out that way, it was just an adorable set of arbitrary measurements.
The length of a foot, how far a healthy man can walk in a day, the width of three chickens roosting side-by-side...
But after a while, once humankind developed accurate tools for measurement that weren't physically attached to the tallest man in the village, why on Earth would you keep using those units if it wasn't an underlying and sinister motivation?
Because they think they make sense? Pfft! Please!
I'll admit that I've believed some crazy things in my day but I'm not going to fall for that one!
I'm not that gullible!
I feel it's been a privilege to be invited into her personal life and it's been wonderful to see the progression of her awareness, confidence and acceptance of self and gradual easing of her insecurities and the unhappiness they brought.
And oh my goodness the food illustrations!
Sarah eats a varied and wonderful range of foods from a swathe of different cultures and as she has shared this, I've found myself making lists of things that I definitely need to try.
One of the other things I was reminded of was the treacherous nature of the unit of measurements that is 'pounds'.
I have long thought that pounds was an evil unit of measurement and this has been confirmed over and over again by listening to and reading the way that the women who use it to assess themselves talk about them and how that impacts their self-image and mental health.
For starters, for anyone who doesn't know, 1 kg is equivalent to 2.2 lbs.
This fundamentally alters the way you think about weight gain and loss.
'Oh no I've gained a pound' once translated to the equivalent of metric equals...
'Oh no, I've gained 450 g!'
That's nothing. That's a good meal that your body hasn't had time to process and push out your poop chute.
That's forgetting to take your shoe off.
And the higher the measurement gets, the more marked the effect becomes.
Being able to say 'I've lost 20 lbs' might make it sound more substantial and impressive but it also means that gaining 20 lbs will be more depressing.
Gaining 9 kg can be a bit of a downer in the wrong circumstances but hey, at least it's not in the double digits.
I know that a person who is used to the imperial system won't think that 132 lb sounds huge compared to 60 kg as they have context and know what the actually represents.
But the itty bitty increments, they can drive you crazy.
It seems that it makes you hyper-aware, the slightest shift is noted and assigned a higher significance.
The emotive value attached to each pound is equivalent to or even greater than the value or importance that is attached by metric folk to each kilo.
The actual 'mass to mental/emotional investment' seems exhausting.
And that, I believe is the point.
You think the introduction of the metric system to the United States failed because of resistance from the public or big business or due to a residual cultural impulse to continue to flip Europe the bird?
Not a bit of it.
The pill was approved for contraceptive use in 1960 and the two presidents who attempted to introduce the metric system were Gerald Ford (1974-1977) and Jimmy Carter (1977-1981).
So, between 14 to 21 years on from the introduction of the pill it was becoming apparent that now women didn't have to be worried about being pregnant all the time, they had time to think about other things and ask questions and do things and go outside.
This did not sit well with the traditional leaders of the land, the big movers and shakers in the doodle community, and they knew they had to do something to keep women distracted.
Hence the boom in advertising and the fashion industries that had been building and gaining speed since the 1960s.
If they allowed the shift to metric, what would happen to all their hard work on the importance of female body image?
It would be partially mitigated.
That and the cultural and sociological belief that women have weaker mathematical and spatial awareness skills that could be further confused by the crazy-pants arbitrary measurements that make up feet, yards and miles, cemented the Imperial system in place in the United States.
Yes, that's right, the imperial system is a patriarchal plot.
Designed to over-complicate and over-emphasise what should be a much less involved issue.
I know it didn't start out that way, it was just an adorable set of arbitrary measurements.
The length of a foot, how far a healthy man can walk in a day, the width of three chickens roosting side-by-side...
But after a while, once humankind developed accurate tools for measurement that weren't physically attached to the tallest man in the village, why on Earth would you keep using those units if it wasn't an underlying and sinister motivation?
Because they think they make sense? Pfft! Please!
I'll admit that I've believed some crazy things in my day but I'm not going to fall for that one!
I'm not that gullible!
Sunday, 11 December 2011
Health Update
It's been a bit over a year since my body betrayed me with all of my various composite bits staging seemingly independent but actually interconnected rebellions, and since then we seem to have arrived at a truce.
As a result of my immune system and other various bits agreeing to end the strike combined with the healthy eating habits and sheer amount of walking I've incorporated into my life, I feel pretty normal for the most part and consider myself to be exceptionally lucky.
Recently, I've had another round of blood tests and the news is decent.
Various scores that were up and shouldn't have been are continuing to head downwards in an orderly fashion, and are almost where they should be, and the most important score has taken a step in the right direction so I'm no longer right on the borderline where relapsing into an inflammatory condition seemed like a question of which way the wind was blowing.
Of course, the most important score is the one my doctor has warned me may never completely recover. She described it as being like a marker that shows something has happened to me, much like an X-ray will show a healed fracture.
As a result, barring some Wolverine-esque recovery it looks like I'm a teetotaller and decaf drinker.
I'd be more upset about that if I hadn't decided right from the start to treat the situation as if it were permanent.
That way if I was wrong, rejoicing!
And if I was right, well then, I'd be used to it.
I don't have to miss coffee and tea too much as I've found some tasty decaf versions and have a whole range of hippy-dippy herbal teas available to me.
I know carob in no way replaces chocolate but I've always had a bit of a Stockholm Syndrome for carob thanks to my primary school canteen and I've recently discovered that you can get caffeine-free chocolate, no idea what it tastes like yet but we'll see.
So the big'un is alcohol. Alcohol-removed wine smells like wine but mostly tastes like grape juice so it's not the replacement that decaf coffee/tea is. I can cook with alcohol as when you cook things properly the alcohol evaporates off leaving you with tasty foods.
Of course, considering I didn't start drinking until I was 19, I was late to the game and leaving it just makes it feel like a phase I was going through :-P
I do miss alcohol and chocolate but thanks to my scare I have absolutely NO TEMPTATION to have any because if I got sick again I'd probably get RSI kicking myself at which point I would hire other people to kick me. Forever.
A lucky feature of my weird memory and my adaptive personality is that it's been a year since my last drink and I just about can't remember what being drunk/tipsy feels like. I have this vague impression but it just doesn't seem to actually have anything to do with me. Booze still smells delicious but as far as taste* and effect go it's almost like thinking about something that I've read about but never experienced.
Thanks, weirdo brain! That's actually a huge help!
I'm going to keep taking care of myself and appreciate every day that I feel good because worrying about what might happen later down the track is just a waste of what I have now and I am certainly not about to take that for granted.
All in all, things are going well, so hooray for that!
*As long as I don't actually stick my nose in a glass or bottle of something and take a big sniff at which point my tastebuds start excitedly explaining how they remember it tasting and getting nostalgic.
As a result of my immune system and other various bits agreeing to end the strike combined with the healthy eating habits and sheer amount of walking I've incorporated into my life, I feel pretty normal for the most part and consider myself to be exceptionally lucky.
Recently, I've had another round of blood tests and the news is decent.
Various scores that were up and shouldn't have been are continuing to head downwards in an orderly fashion, and are almost where they should be, and the most important score has taken a step in the right direction so I'm no longer right on the borderline where relapsing into an inflammatory condition seemed like a question of which way the wind was blowing.
Of course, the most important score is the one my doctor has warned me may never completely recover. She described it as being like a marker that shows something has happened to me, much like an X-ray will show a healed fracture.
As a result, barring some Wolverine-esque recovery it looks like I'm a teetotaller and decaf drinker.
I'd be more upset about that if I hadn't decided right from the start to treat the situation as if it were permanent.
That way if I was wrong, rejoicing!
And if I was right, well then, I'd be used to it.
I don't have to miss coffee and tea too much as I've found some tasty decaf versions and have a whole range of hippy-dippy herbal teas available to me.
I know carob in no way replaces chocolate but I've always had a bit of a Stockholm Syndrome for carob thanks to my primary school canteen and I've recently discovered that you can get caffeine-free chocolate, no idea what it tastes like yet but we'll see.
So the big'un is alcohol. Alcohol-removed wine smells like wine but mostly tastes like grape juice so it's not the replacement that decaf coffee/tea is. I can cook with alcohol as when you cook things properly the alcohol evaporates off leaving you with tasty foods.
Of course, considering I didn't start drinking until I was 19, I was late to the game and leaving it just makes it feel like a phase I was going through :-P
I do miss alcohol and chocolate but thanks to my scare I have absolutely NO TEMPTATION to have any because if I got sick again I'd probably get RSI kicking myself at which point I would hire other people to kick me. Forever.
A lucky feature of my weird memory and my adaptive personality is that it's been a year since my last drink and I just about can't remember what being drunk/tipsy feels like. I have this vague impression but it just doesn't seem to actually have anything to do with me. Booze still smells delicious but as far as taste* and effect go it's almost like thinking about something that I've read about but never experienced.
Thanks, weirdo brain! That's actually a huge help!
I'm going to keep taking care of myself and appreciate every day that I feel good because worrying about what might happen later down the track is just a waste of what I have now and I am certainly not about to take that for granted.
All in all, things are going well, so hooray for that!
*As long as I don't actually stick my nose in a glass or bottle of something and take a big sniff at which point my tastebuds start excitedly explaining how they remember it tasting and getting nostalgic.
Sunday, 21 August 2011
The Darkside Of The Brightside
One of the many things that were not quite right with me at the start of the year was that I had quite a serious Vitamin D deficiency going on.
I had half the amount of Vitamin D knocking around in my blood that I should have, so my doctor recommended I get on a vitamin supplement to bring me up to speed and then start spending a bit more time in the sun in order to keep myself topped up naturally.
A few months of little capsules later I was back on track but when I had looked into how much time I should spend in the sun, the information I found started doing my head in.
Vitamin D Facts
The Vitamin D fact sheet told me what I'd be susceptible to if I continued to have low Vitamin D (osteoporosis, increased risk of cancers and diabetes, all sorts of fun things) , the dietary sources of Vitamin D (fatty and/or deep sea fish, eggs, beef liver etc) and some benefits of having healthy levels of Vitamin D (better sleep, healthy bones and organs, not dying a painful deadly death) but nowhere did it recommend a safe time of day or period of exposure.
The Sunsmart fact sheet listed all the dangers of sunburn and excessive exposure to ultra violet radiation (melanoma, CANCER CANCER CANCER!) and all the things you can do to avoid sunburn and CANCER! (sunscreen, hats, sunglasses, long sleeved/legged clothing, staying out of the midday sun unlike mad dogs and Englishmen) but had no real information on Vitamin D.
I had a search online and found a few handy bits of information but no proper guidelines.
Nothing that said 'You should get at least X minutes of sun during the summer and X minutes of sun during the winter and should avoid sun exposure during hour Y and hour Z in order to minimise the likelihood of sunburn and adverse effects of sun exposure'.
I did find a website that claimed sunscreen companies are masterminding a fear campaign in order to sell more sunscreen and don't care that they are perpetuating a population-wide Vitamin D deficiency that is leading to weaker future generations who are conceived by Vitamin D deficient parents and who then have to live with the resultant health problems for the rest of their time on this Earth*.
The myotherapist I've been seeing to bang my arms back into shape after they crapped out at the start of the year recommended 20 minutes of sun exposure a day taken in the early to mid-morning or from the late afternoon until dusk to avoid the worst of the ultra violet madness in the middle of the day.
It was nice just to get some advice!
So what I've been doing is still applying sunscreen to my face but leaving my arms free and clear for about half an hour on my daily walk before slathering them up too and so far so good.
But it's difficult!
After so many years of having the Slip Slop Slap message drilled into us and the 'No hat, no play' policy at primary school, it's really hard to ignore the urge to dip yourself in SPF30+!
Behold the brainwashing messages that were in production before I was even born!
So I'm doing my best to walk the line between getting too much sun and not getting enough because from all indicators if I cock it up, I will die!
*The health problems from being conceived/gestated by Vitamin D deficient parents are quite real, I'm not sure about the conspiracy part.
I had half the amount of Vitamin D knocking around in my blood that I should have, so my doctor recommended I get on a vitamin supplement to bring me up to speed and then start spending a bit more time in the sun in order to keep myself topped up naturally.
A few months of little capsules later I was back on track but when I had looked into how much time I should spend in the sun, the information I found started doing my head in.
Vitamin D Facts
- The body produces Vitamin D in response to the exposure of your skin to ultra violet radiation from sunlight.
- You don't get any Vitamin D from the sunshine that falls on you through a glass window, you can however get sunburn.
- If you're outside in the sunshine but slathered up with sunscreen, you will not produce/absorb enough or possibly any Vitamin D.
The Vitamin D fact sheet told me what I'd be susceptible to if I continued to have low Vitamin D (osteoporosis, increased risk of cancers and diabetes, all sorts of fun things) , the dietary sources of Vitamin D (fatty and/or deep sea fish, eggs, beef liver etc) and some benefits of having healthy levels of Vitamin D (better sleep, healthy bones and organs, not dying a painful deadly death) but nowhere did it recommend a safe time of day or period of exposure.
The Sunsmart fact sheet listed all the dangers of sunburn and excessive exposure to ultra violet radiation (melanoma, CANCER CANCER CANCER!) and all the things you can do to avoid sunburn and CANCER! (sunscreen, hats, sunglasses, long sleeved/legged clothing, staying out of the midday sun unlike mad dogs and Englishmen) but had no real information on Vitamin D.
I had a search online and found a few handy bits of information but no proper guidelines.
Nothing that said 'You should get at least X minutes of sun during the summer and X minutes of sun during the winter and should avoid sun exposure during hour Y and hour Z in order to minimise the likelihood of sunburn and adverse effects of sun exposure'.
I did find a website that claimed sunscreen companies are masterminding a fear campaign in order to sell more sunscreen and don't care that they are perpetuating a population-wide Vitamin D deficiency that is leading to weaker future generations who are conceived by Vitamin D deficient parents and who then have to live with the resultant health problems for the rest of their time on this Earth*.
The myotherapist I've been seeing to bang my arms back into shape after they crapped out at the start of the year recommended 20 minutes of sun exposure a day taken in the early to mid-morning or from the late afternoon until dusk to avoid the worst of the ultra violet madness in the middle of the day.
It was nice just to get some advice!
So what I've been doing is still applying sunscreen to my face but leaving my arms free and clear for about half an hour on my daily walk before slathering them up too and so far so good.
But it's difficult!
After so many years of having the Slip Slop Slap message drilled into us and the 'No hat, no play' policy at primary school, it's really hard to ignore the urge to dip yourself in SPF30+!
Behold the brainwashing messages that were in production before I was even born!
So I'm doing my best to walk the line between getting too much sun and not getting enough because from all indicators if I cock it up, I will die!
*The health problems from being conceived/gestated by Vitamin D deficient parents are quite real, I'm not sure about the conspiracy part.
Sunday, 14 August 2011
Goodbye, Sweet Ambrosia
I have now been a booze-free zone for over six months.
This isn't due to excessive party times or a dearth of funds, but because when I got sick at the start of the year I came dangerously close to developing a permanent and very uncomfortable inflammatory condition.
My doctor has told me to stay away from caffeine and alcohol for the foreseeable future (possibly forever if a particular blood test score never recovers) to avoid getting sick again, possibly for keeps.
Being booze-free has been easier than I expected it to be.
Part of the ease comes from knowing how I could feel if I decided to risk a tipple and that tipple sent me on a trip to Relapse Town.
Relapse Town is not a place I wish to visit. I drove by it briefly in June thanks to a small amount of chocolate and this reaffirmed my commitment to stay as far away from the poxy place as possible.
Yes, I definitely miss booze but for the most part I think I miss the ability to choose booze more than I miss the booze itself*.
I miss the idea of being able to have a glass of wine at dinner or when travelling. There's something wrong about not being able to have some red if you find yourself in Tuscany or Catalonia** or try the local liqueurs or cocktails of wherever you happen to be.
Anyway, in order to 'celebrate' my six month No Drinky Drinky I've decided to list some of the nice things about being booze-free.
Some Of The Nice Things About Being Booze-Free by Ricochet, aged 28
Tips For Making Being Booze-Free Less Painful For The Previously Appreciative Drinker by Ricochet, aged 28)
I guess if you have places that you went out to drinking with friends and they're boring if you're not boozing or if going there will only cause you I'm-missing-out sads, you should avoid those too.
But apart from avoiding sniffing booze and checking the ingredients in desserts and some foods that aren't cooked at high enough temperatures to evaporate all the booze, that's about it for me at least.
They smell like the ghosts of Christmases past, the Christmases when you could guzzle Baileys.
*Always nice to find out that you don't have a chemical dependency that you've been in denial about.
**As we often do, amirite? *Pops on monocle*
***Breaking the seal = peeing for the first time during a night on the booze after which you'll have to go to the bathroom over and over again. I have no idea if this term is used in the US or UK, it probably is.
This isn't due to excessive party times or a dearth of funds, but because when I got sick at the start of the year I came dangerously close to developing a permanent and very uncomfortable inflammatory condition.
My doctor has told me to stay away from caffeine and alcohol for the foreseeable future (possibly forever if a particular blood test score never recovers) to avoid getting sick again, possibly for keeps.
Being booze-free has been easier than I expected it to be.
Part of the ease comes from knowing how I could feel if I decided to risk a tipple and that tipple sent me on a trip to Relapse Town.
Relapse Town is not a place I wish to visit. I drove by it briefly in June thanks to a small amount of chocolate and this reaffirmed my commitment to stay as far away from the poxy place as possible.
Yes, I definitely miss booze but for the most part I think I miss the ability to choose booze more than I miss the booze itself*.
I miss the idea of being able to have a glass of wine at dinner or when travelling. There's something wrong about not being able to have some red if you find yourself in Tuscany or Catalonia** or try the local liqueurs or cocktails of wherever you happen to be.
Anyway, in order to 'celebrate' my six month No Drinky Drinky I've decided to list some of the nice things about being booze-free.
Some Of The Nice Things About Being Booze-Free by Ricochet, aged 28
- You save a bunch of money.
- No hangovers.
- When they put out articles like this you breathe a sigh of relief and when you stumble across articles like this you feel like less of a social pariah.
- You can drive yourself and your friends home at the end of the night instead of having to wait forever for a taxi or having to crash at someone's house when you'd really rather be curled up in your own bed.
- You never accidentally tell a deeply personal story to someone and then spend the rest of your life wondering if they were sober enough to remember it but not willing to ask them in case they'd forgotten or repressed it and your question brings it back to the forefront of their conscious mind.
- You drop a few kilos.
- You don't spend your entire party night ducking to the bathroom to tinkle after 'breaking the seal'***.
- You realise that 'breaking the seal' is a myth after you see how few drinks you actually feel like drinking when they don't have booze in them. You don't need to go the toilet because you broke the seal, you need to go to the toilet because you've imbibed over a litre of liquids.
- You know that the friends you have or keep are the ones who you genuinely like and who like you as a person and aren't just 'OK to hang around with/interesting after a few drinks'.
- You remember everything you did at parties.
- Less photos of you looking like you're a half-melted Madame Tussauds mannequin will exist to haunt you.
Tips For Making Being Booze-Free Less Painful For The Previously Appreciative Drinker by Ricochet, aged 28)
- DON'T decide you should check if that bottle of Baileys that's been sitting in your fridge for the last six months has gone off before offering it to your parents to take home. DO NOT sniff that bottle of delicious Baileys.
I guess if you have places that you went out to drinking with friends and they're boring if you're not boozing or if going there will only cause you I'm-missing-out sads, you should avoid those too.
But apart from avoiding sniffing booze and checking the ingredients in desserts and some foods that aren't cooked at high enough temperatures to evaporate all the booze, that's about it for me at least.
They smell like the ghosts of Christmases past, the Christmases when you could guzzle Baileys.
*Always nice to find out that you don't have a chemical dependency that you've been in denial about.
**As we often do, amirite? *Pops on monocle*
***Breaking the seal = peeing for the first time during a night on the booze after which you'll have to go to the bathroom over and over again. I have no idea if this term is used in the US or UK, it probably is.
Saturday, 7 May 2011
Sick Sick Sick
I can't think of a better way to start this so I'll just say: I got sick over the Christmas holidays.
It started off just before Christmas with me thinking I'd pulled a muscle in my forearm or given myself tendinitis ten-pin bowling with too heavy a bowling ball the night before and then a couple of days later the other arm started doing the same thing.
After a few days they both started aching and throbbing, they felt hot all the time and didn't like to be left in one place for long when I was trying to sleep.
Then my hands puffed up.
I spent two weeks with cold packs more or less permanently strapped to my arms which had to be rested on a banana pillow on my lap because holding my arms up made me too tired and hurt too much.
I didn't have enough strength in my hands to open a loosely tightened screw-top water bottle let alone type or do anything else.
All I could do was lay about the place watching TV and worrying.
I couldn't even read because holding a book up or even open for longer than five minutes hurt too much.
Then my guts decided to join in and ache and play up for a bit. So not only could I not sit up for too long, I couldn't lie in one position for long either.
My appetite went AWOL, I lost at least 6 kg* in 2 weeks. They weren't kilos I needed, losing them didn't push me into an unhealthy weight range, but it was disconcerting seeing them all wander off at the same time when the most energetic thing I was doing was pressing 'Play All' and gnawing on my lip.
I was in a panic and had been seeing the doctor ever since the symptoms had kicked up from 'slightly annoying' to 'what the hell is going on here!?'.
I had some blood tests done, I had some ultrasounds and a few other scans.
For the most part everything came back normal but a couple of things that should have been up were down and a couple that should have been down were up.
Just when things were at their worst and I was starting to make plans for how I was going to have to move back home with my parents, wondering how my cats would cope with our other cats and what sort of work a person with a functioning brain but crapped out arms could manage, things started to slowly calm down.
As far as we've been able to work out I caught a virus, probably courtesy of one of the many millions of mosquitoes that have come out to play after all the flooding in the last few months, which sent my system into a major freak-out.
Fortunately a combination of the lifespan of the virus and my being a reasonably healthy young-ish person stopped it before it went past the point of no return.
I apparently came within a gnat's wing of developing a permanent inflammatory condition.
I've been back at work since the start of February and every week since then I've felt a bit better. Just being able to be at work and do things like cook and drive for myself have been a huge mood lifter all by themselves.
Most of my blood test scores are back to normal and I have been eating and living like a saint to keep the recovery marching on.
I've had to give up both caffeine and alcohol for the rest of this year to give myself the best chance at a full recovery and avoid the possibility of any kind of relapse.
Depending on how far one of the last scores recovers, I may end up having to ration or forgo alcohol and caffeine permanently.
Nevertheless at this point what I am feeling is incredibly, incredibly lucky.
I have never been that sick before and hope never to be that sick ever again.
I am beyond grateful that I feel as close to normal as I do now and if it takes giving up stimulants to maintain it, I won't even blink.
It's easy to dismiss the phrase 'at least you have your health' when you're healthy and there's something going wrong in your life, or just not going as right as you'd like, but I am never going to take that sentiment for granted again.
Anyway, now that I'm done being serious and disconcertingly earnest the two things I started this post wanting to say are as follows:
When I was physically unable to write I still came up with ideas for my posts and now I'm both mentally and physically able to do so I'm going to start filling in the place-saver drafts I claw typed at the time.
So over the next few weeks I'll be filling in the gaping void that currently lies between December and the present day.
Some of you had already noticed my amazing time defying efforts in this area and oh how I wish your assumptions were true and I could pull a Back to the Future because I would tell Past Me what I'm about to tell Current You.
Wear mosquito repellent all the time.
Just all the damn time.
If you're going outside I want you to spritz yourself with repellent and then I want you to spritz yourself again just to be sure.
All over.
I don't care what the season is - mosquito repellent.
It's worth it, believe me.
OK, maybe I wasn't quite done being disconcertingly earnest.
PS. As hard as it may be to believe this isn't supposed to be a 'downer' post, me and my working arms are in a great mood :-)
*That's about 13 lbs for the imperialists.
It started off just before Christmas with me thinking I'd pulled a muscle in my forearm or given myself tendinitis ten-pin bowling with too heavy a bowling ball the night before and then a couple of days later the other arm started doing the same thing.
After a few days they both started aching and throbbing, they felt hot all the time and didn't like to be left in one place for long when I was trying to sleep.
Then my hands puffed up.
I spent two weeks with cold packs more or less permanently strapped to my arms which had to be rested on a banana pillow on my lap because holding my arms up made me too tired and hurt too much.
I didn't have enough strength in my hands to open a loosely tightened screw-top water bottle let alone type or do anything else.
All I could do was lay about the place watching TV and worrying.
I couldn't even read because holding a book up or even open for longer than five minutes hurt too much.
Then my guts decided to join in and ache and play up for a bit. So not only could I not sit up for too long, I couldn't lie in one position for long either.
My appetite went AWOL, I lost at least 6 kg* in 2 weeks. They weren't kilos I needed, losing them didn't push me into an unhealthy weight range, but it was disconcerting seeing them all wander off at the same time when the most energetic thing I was doing was pressing 'Play All' and gnawing on my lip.
I was in a panic and had been seeing the doctor ever since the symptoms had kicked up from 'slightly annoying' to 'what the hell is going on here!?'.
I had some blood tests done, I had some ultrasounds and a few other scans.
For the most part everything came back normal but a couple of things that should have been up were down and a couple that should have been down were up.
Just when things were at their worst and I was starting to make plans for how I was going to have to move back home with my parents, wondering how my cats would cope with our other cats and what sort of work a person with a functioning brain but crapped out arms could manage, things started to slowly calm down.
As far as we've been able to work out I caught a virus, probably courtesy of one of the many millions of mosquitoes that have come out to play after all the flooding in the last few months, which sent my system into a major freak-out.
Fortunately a combination of the lifespan of the virus and my being a reasonably healthy young-ish person stopped it before it went past the point of no return.
I apparently came within a gnat's wing of developing a permanent inflammatory condition.
I've been back at work since the start of February and every week since then I've felt a bit better. Just being able to be at work and do things like cook and drive for myself have been a huge mood lifter all by themselves.
Most of my blood test scores are back to normal and I have been eating and living like a saint to keep the recovery marching on.
I've had to give up both caffeine and alcohol for the rest of this year to give myself the best chance at a full recovery and avoid the possibility of any kind of relapse.
Depending on how far one of the last scores recovers, I may end up having to ration or forgo alcohol and caffeine permanently.
Nevertheless at this point what I am feeling is incredibly, incredibly lucky.
I have never been that sick before and hope never to be that sick ever again.
I am beyond grateful that I feel as close to normal as I do now and if it takes giving up stimulants to maintain it, I won't even blink.
It's easy to dismiss the phrase 'at least you have your health' when you're healthy and there's something going wrong in your life, or just not going as right as you'd like, but I am never going to take that sentiment for granted again.
Anyway, now that I'm done being serious and disconcertingly earnest the two things I started this post wanting to say are as follows:
When I was physically unable to write I still came up with ideas for my posts and now I'm both mentally and physically able to do so I'm going to start filling in the place-saver drafts I claw typed at the time.
So over the next few weeks I'll be filling in the gaping void that currently lies between December and the present day.
Some of you had already noticed my amazing time defying efforts in this area and oh how I wish your assumptions were true and I could pull a Back to the Future because I would tell Past Me what I'm about to tell Current You.
Wear mosquito repellent all the time.
Just all the damn time.
If you're going outside I want you to spritz yourself with repellent and then I want you to spritz yourself again just to be sure.
All over.
I don't care what the season is - mosquito repellent.
It's worth it, believe me.
OK, maybe I wasn't quite done being disconcertingly earnest.
PS. As hard as it may be to believe this isn't supposed to be a 'downer' post, me and my working arms are in a great mood :-)
*That's about 13 lbs for the imperialists.
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