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5.26.2017

Weight Evaporation

I mentioned previously that I was on disability for a degenerative disc in my back.  The pain was so bad I was on opioid narcotics and learning to live life in a wheelchair.  I couldn't have back surgery and I was at the point of resignation because there was nothing to be done.  Then I saw a neurosurgeon.  He thought that if I lost weight, the pressure on the disc would subside and the pain would recede.  With time, I dropped my weight from 295 to 250 and the pain went away.  I was out of the wheelchair and doing all of the things I used to do.  Unfortunately, I got lazy, and my depression hit back hard, my fibromyalgia got out of control, and I began self-medicating with food.  Not surprisingly, my weight went back up.  I ignored it until we hit 270 and the back pain returned.  It hit a high of 275.6 before I got things back under control.  My doctors recommended light exercise would help with the fibro pain, so I decided to take up walking.  I've also switched to drinking nothing but water.  I try not to eat fast food, but if we do go to a fast food restaurant, I order salad.  So far, I'm down 5.3 pounds.  My friend and I were talking, and I said I had released 5.3 pounds.  I liked to say "released" instead of "lost" because usually you try to find things that are lost, and I don't want to find these pounds again.  My friend said that I should use a more active term than released because I was working hard to get rid of them.  We threw out some terms and finally came up with one I liked.  Evaporated.  I had evaporated 5.3 pounds.  I liked it because it was more active, but also sounded like a natural process, similar to melting off pounds.  It created a nice visual I could use when I was walking, too.  So here's to more weight evaporation and getting back to a healthier me.  One step at a time.

5.24.2017

The "F" Word

In my last post, I mentioned that I was on disability.  I was previously on disability for depression after Patrick died and for a degenerative disc in my back until I lost enough weight to make the pain stop.  Recently, my fibromyalgia has gotten out of control.  The pain and stiffness began to come more frequently.  My good days came and went with the weather.  I am exhausted all the time, no matter how much sleep I get, or if I take a nap.  But what bothers me most is the brain fog.  It's just so frustrating.  I forget words.  Simple words.  Useful words.  All kinds of words.  All the time.  It makes talking and writing much more difficult than it used to be.  And for me--the person who uses words for precision and to figure out my thoughts--it is infuriating and disabling.  Then there are the crazy things I do, like pour cereal on plates instead of in bowls, or put toothpaste on my flosser.  Twice I ended up in my car to run errands without shoes on.  But the real kicker happened this weekend.  I was at church, and there was a person there.  I sat and talked with them, and Phil told me their name.  Not once did I recognize this person.  Not until much later did Phil mention their spouse, and I suddenly knew who they were and that I had met them several times before, had long conversations with them, and even held their children.  Granted it had been in the years before Patrick, but still.  I have always been good with faces and voices, even if I am bad with names.  It never occurred to me that I would forget a person entirely because of the brain fog.  Now, it's possible that it's something other than the brain fog.  In fact, my doctor said if the brain fog didn't get better, he was going to send me for a neurology evaluation just to rule out anything else.  But, whether it's brain fog or something else, I'm terrified that I may not be able to go back to work.  My job requires precision and being detail-oriented with words and grammar.  How can I do that if words fail me?  How can I do that if I have to triple-check basic emails to make sure I have correctly typed things that used to be so simple?  I'm seeing a rheumatology-certified NP next week who will hopefully help me get my fibro under control, but fibro meds usually work on the sleep and pain and stiffness.  I don't know any that help the brain fog.  Now maybe fixing those other things will help the fog.  I don't know.  What I do know is that, for now, I feel trapped in a body outside of my control.  So whether the "F" word if fibro, or frustrating, or f*^%, they are all in my vocabulary these days.

5.23.2017

The Baby Bug

Recently I have found myself surrounded by lots of new babies and expecting mommas.  And it's been fun to get to snuggle all these new babies and smell their little heads.  But somehow, even without ovaries, I've been bitten by the baby bug.  Don't ask me how.  I thought post-menopausal women were supposed to be immune.  Apparently not.  Live and learn.  I've spent these last few days desperately missing Patrick, and I know that has a lot to do with why I'm feeling this need for a baby.  I also know that if I sit down and think about things logically, it doesn't really make sense to have a baby.  I'm currently off work on disability, and Phil is at his limit on caregiving right now.  Mira is finally reaching the stage where she is almost helpful.  To suddenly add 18 years to our day-to-day parenting at this point doesn't sound terribly exciting.

I mean, even assuming I could get Phil and me on the same page to agree to another child, then what?  How would we acquire said child?  Our house is never clean enough to pass a foster care or adoption review.  My baby factory is gone.  That leaves using a gestational carrier with an egg donor.  Not an inexpensive scenario.  But hey, I'm just throwing things out there.  Let's assume we made a GoFundMe page and people were nice and funded this endeavor of ours.  Then what?  We'd have the stress of getting the carrier pregnant and going through all the IVF stuff.  Assuming we were successful and got a child, then there's the up late at night and all of that good stressful newborn stuff.
Still, on the flip side, there's getting to see them grow and learn and do all the cute silly things they do that make all of it worth it.  The hugs.  The "I love yous."  A sibling for Mira.  And all of these are good and wonderful things.  And maybe they could override my concerns about being a good caregiver.  And maybe we could do it.  But part of me knows this bug bite is just a partial urge to replace what I lost.  Not that I could ever replace Patrick, but I lost my baby.  I lost the opportunity to see him grow up.  I want that.  But even more, I want Mira to have a sibling.  I want that for her, and I know she wants that very much.  And if I can give that to her, I mean if I have the capacity to even try, isn't it worth it?  Wouldn't you do anything for your kids?

 I don't know the answer.  There isn't a good answer.  There sure as heck isn't a right answer.  There's just me and Phil.  Muddling through.  Together.  Talking.  About where we are.  What we want.  How we feel.  Respecting each other.  Just getting by.  One day at a time.  Maybe we'll do it.  Maybe we won't.  I haven't written this to change Phil's mind.  Rather, my friend reminded me that I use writing to pull my thoughts together.  It's more about figuring out where I am--the answer to which is all over the place.  But at least I have a better handle on the underlying currents that seems to be feeding the bug.  And that's a good start.