The rest of the world might be working for the weekend; but I’m working for the Carrot Cake. Just sayin’.

The caption above sums up the post below in case you don’t want to wade through my drivel. But you might want to humor me, since my server connection crashed while writing the first pass at this post and I had to write it a second time. Hey, I’m not above a pity read.

Checking in:

I’m just beginning week three of Operation Goo Goo and I’m feeling pretty good about my progress. I actually look forward to my hour each day in the gym. The minute Sophie sees me put on my shoes, she gets really excited and heads for the basement door, tail wagging her body. I spend my time listening to my favorite internet radio station (Radioio) and catching videos on YouTube during the commercial breaks.

I’m not losing much in terms of weight yet, but I’ve dropped over an inch in both my waist and hips. I’m OK with swapping out fat for muscle; because to a point, the scale lies anyhow.

Since I’m vain, I don’t post photos that will ever clue you in to how much I need to drop. But according to the medical charts (and my former Physician in Marin, whom I miss!) I am still 30 lbs overweight. Not obese, but certainly in need of shedding the pounds. For my heart, for my joints, and probably for my sanity. We won’t mention that pesky condition THE Diabetes. Of course, 30 lbs beats the 40 lbs I was at last year. Progress, not perfection, people!

I have made some adjustments to Operation Goo Goo. Seven days a week means no down time and that’s not working for me. I love me some down time. So, I’ve cut back to 6 days a week and am giving my body permission to take rest days if I need them. Working out sometimes triggers asthma attacks; not getting enough air makes me really tired by the end of the week. I spent last weekend in bed. This will abate eventually, especially once the weather warms. If it doesn’t, I’ll suck it up and get an inhaler. I’m inhaler adverse, but I’m not stupid.Honestly, I’ve been trying reach age 40 without needing one. Actually, I’ve been trying to get to 40 without needing any major medical intervention. Clearly, I’m more than inhaler adverse.

Let’s face it, though, you’re all here to see how the inhaling of chocolate and caramel and pecans and marshmallow went. After seven work-outs I tore open my Goo Goo and managed to not stuff the whole thing into my mouth at once. Mmm Wmarshmallowsh.

I wasn’t half way through it when I started to feel funny. You see, in addition to hitting the gym, I’ve also cut out most sugar from my diet. (And everything white. WHICH SUCKS!) All that sugar at once was a mistake. My head was screaming “Warning! Warning! Don’t finish that Goo Goo.” But you know I did. Commence Operation Diabetic Coma. I sucked down a glass of milk in a vain attempt to deter the affects of the sugar with some protein. It helped but not enough to keep me from being miserable the rest of the night.

Talk about disaster. To think, that just the day before I had sat and watched IZ eat a piece of the BEST Carrot Cake in the Universe and had nary a bite. NOT. ONE. BITE. I drooled, but that’s it. I had consoled myself with the thought of chocolate and caramel and pecans and marshmallow that was waiting for me. I had no idea that COMA was the next ingredient after Marshmallow.

So, no more Goo Goos for me. (No worries, though, the boy has discovered them and is in Southern Heaven. He’s my child, after all.) However, IZ has promised to treat me to a piece of Carrot Cake if I meet my goals this week. And he’s such a nice guy, he’s even offered to share the piece so that I’m not downing all that sugar (and calories) on my own. I see a fork fight ensuing on Friday.

I call dibs on the icing carrot.

Pictures now, words later.

(post box and photo from the lovely and talented Juliet. Used with permission!)

UPDATE: It’s been a profoundly disappointing day. I woke up to discover that the medication I’d been taking for 2 months was actually a lower dosage than I thought. In yet another snafu with my Drs. office, it appears that they lowered my medication and didn’t tell me. Actually, let me rephrase, they lowered it and LIED about it. I took them at their word and didn’t read the label, so in the end it’s really my fault. For the past two months, while I’ve been thinking I’m going insane to feel the way I do, I was really just going through withdrawals. There’s nothing like interacting with your doctor to make you feel completely insane. Insane or not, I spent the remainder of the day making sure I had a new phyician, an appointment to see said phyician, and all my records in order. In between crying jags for the frustration.

When I thought the day had dealt me its worse, I discovered that the man who delivered my vintage hutch, only to take it away and work on it because it couldn’t fit, didn’t bother to look at it for a month. Despite telling me he could do the work in no time, easy peasy, despite reassuring me that he would make it a priority, he did nothing. And when he finally did look at it, (today!) he decided that he would like to charge me the same amount of money I spent on it to fix it. Yeah, that’s not going to happen.

So, my “space”, which has been torn apart waiting for a new hutch is now just torn apart. The item is too big and will now go back to the store where I will get to eat a 10% charge assuming it ever sells. I am without a hutch and without any motivation to face the disaster area that is my office. I have even less desire to begin the hunt for a solution to the problem. Honestly, all I can do right now is cry… Ever feel that way? Just overwhelmed with setbacks. It’s really petty, I suppose and I don’t know what’s more pathetic—all this nonsense, or the fact that I can’t seem to stem the waterworks today.

And for those of you who read this blog and wonder if I ever have a down day… yeah, well, here’s your proof. I do.

Yesterday’s sun break was badly needed in these parts. You know it’s dire when the big city of Portland pays attention to our little piece of paradise—lately, the movement of our waterlogged hillsides has been making the news and not without reason. Parts of Bond Street have been enveloped in a torrent of mud and broken trees and seem to be developing quite the penchant for travel. The sunlight yesterday was only a tease, though. Today, the gray has returned.

For me, the incessant rain has been a metaphor for life lately. Gray and dreary and not exactly inspiring. As you might have noticed by the lack of words on this blog, I’ve been finding it hard to write. This has to do, mostly, with an ongoing struggle with my eyes. Due to the debacle with my medication, I have found myself dealing with the residuals—which includes fighting an infection in my eyes. My immune system is compromised (that sounds so trashy, oh that it was!) and I don’t win arguments with infection like most of you do. To complicate matters in the pain department, the infection involved my lid and cornea.

Two weeks ago I woke up to such pain I sat on the couch and simply cried. There didn’t seem to be much else I could do. Of course, there was: leave it to IZ to make the phone calls when I come apart. He whisked me off to see a doctor and in the process I found myself peering at bright squares of light on the wall and straining to see anything. Apparently, because the infection caused significant loss of vision in my left eye, my right eye has been doing all the work to compensate for my left eye blundering through the darkness. For those of you familiar with the New Testament, I’ve been calling my right eye Martha, and my left eye Mary. Martha is none-too pleased.

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This is my work in progress. It’s a lumbar pillow made out of a vintage print Japanese tea cloth. It looks a wee bit wonky because of the angle—the photos leave much to be desired. In fact, when I loaded this photo I panicked and actually went back and measured that trim (lower right hand side) to make sure it was the same width the whole way down the pillow. It is! It’s just the photo, wonky. Kinda like my day.

I woke up to my left eye sealed shut and swollen. When I was finally able to pry my eyelid open I was met with the unmistakable gleam of pink-eye. What am I? Three?? I have NO idea why or how, but it appears that I’m officially contagious until tomorrow when the antibiotics kick in. (Turns out, this is just de rigeur for my chronically dry eyes. Joy!) Not that I’d let any one close enough to touch my eye! Ack.

I managed to call my doctor and they called in script—and then promptly informed me that my TSH levels are off the charts and well, too bad for my fatty self, they are lowering my meds. By 50 milligrams a day, lowering. When I started to cry the nurse asked a few probing questions and we realized that there had been a HUGE mistake in my charts. The whole time they thought I was taking a 125 dose, I was really taking a 150—this all comes back to THE NURSE. You know, the one that gives me fits every time I call in and try to get my script reissued. Same nurse who refuses to have my standing order for blood work reordered. The one who yells at me for calling in my script without having lab work, a day after I call in to explain why I can’t have lab work done.

That nurse. What? Surely I’ve told you all about my medical trials and tribulations? No? Well, it doesn’t matter now, it seems this pesky nurse is, “No longer in this office, you’ll be happy to learn!” Indeed I was! New nurse, Terry, is the bomb. She made a quick call to my doctor and squared away my meds for now. It means more blood work next month, but I’ve been bonding with my phlebotomist, so it’s kinda like dating. You know, with needles and juice. At least I won’t be suffering from severe medication withdrawal.

So, this pillow. Is a WIP only because I’m technically contagious and I haven’t had a chance to go buy filler. It’s fairly wide and no where near the size for conventional pillow inserts, so I opted to fill it instead of making a pillowcase. It occurred to me only after finishing it, that I could have made a casing for the polyfill effectively making my own pillow as an insert. And the edging isn’t wide enough for the scale of the pillow–however, because of width of the print, I was really trying to make sure it didn’t end up being ungainly. I think once stuffed it will look ok.

The back is lined with matching butter yellow cotton and I placed an additional panel of yellow cotton behind the tea cloth due to its weight. Despite having a lovely print, it’s very sheer cotton and I was worried about how it might look once stuffed. What I’m really excited about is how wonderfully my machine worked! I added a subtle trim stitch to the edging—nothing too out there.

Since I have a stash of these Japanese tea cloths in different prints, I was planning on making up a few to add to Thrifty Goodness… you know, when it opens. Boy, am I behind on that! Sadly, that plan is on hold until my eyes heal over. Until then, it’s just me and my wonky eye dreaming about fabric. Fortunately, I can dream with my eyes closed!

My little stormtrooper of a Doctor comes flying into the room and says, “I hear this misery has hit you at the worst possible moment in your life. Tell me about it.” I start to list all my glorious symptoms, only to hear her say, “No… tell about where you are going!” When I start to cry and get all weepy about missing our trip, “The nine year old is devastated…” she stops me cold. “Oh, you
are so going! You are going to be great in no time flat. TRUST ME.”

You should meet my doctor. She’s this tiny little ball of wonder who refuses to let her patients be sicker any longer than necessary. She deals the GOOD stuff and believes in being proactive. Turns out, this creepy little virus triggered an asthma attack. Not only have I been hacking, I’ve been without the appropriate rest and oxygen to get better. Then there is the looking a tinge green
business. It’s nice to know that I don’t have to produce a bit of my lung to get an inhaler,
because I’m rather attached to my lungs. I like my lungs. (Hey Pam, I like my Lips… heh)
Four scripts later, I’m sitting here finally able to breathe. Sure, I feel completely disconnected. You would too, if you had my cocktail of meds coursing through your veins. And speaking of meds.

If you aren’t a meth head in Oregon, you can skip the following rant.

NOTE TO THE METH HEADS OF OREGON: Would it have killed you to pick a less USEFUL drug to abuse? Huh? I do understand and appreciate that one has an urge from time to time to be self-destructive. I, too, on occasion have found myself with a box of powdered donuts and a Beverly Hills 90210 marathon. However, my stupidity is harmless. I hurt no one when I shout at the T.V. “Braawndon Walshhh, you’re soth nowt strwaightn.” Heck, who can understand me with all that donut in my mouth?

But your stupidity not only harms you and the people around you, it has precipitated in a change of legislation. Not only are you meddling in the highest levels of society but you are messing with my head. No longer can a normal human being with a head cold get Sudaphed over the counter. Instead, we must be content with a lesser form of medication–and by lesser I mean, useless. And by content I mean spending the night dancing the one nostril cha-cha. First you sleep on your left until that side clogs–then flip, you turn over on your right side waiting for the pressure to close your last open passage. Gasp for air, gasp for air. Repeat. This is not sleep. This is torture.

So, while I’m willing to live and let die, as your case may be–I’m not so inclined to DIE myself for your choice in stupidity. On behalf of all of Oregon suffering with this terrible virus, I would just like to say. . . thank you. Yes, that’s sarcasm.

As for me, it’s time to remedicate. This whole ordeal is going to give new meaning to the term, flying high.
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So, it’s 2006–but it’s hardly Happy New Year around here. Poor IZ has been dealing with mammoth server issues at work. Boy Wonder had a taste of freedom over the holiday is loath to actually focus on his work.

And me? Well my Doctor’s office called Wednesday to ask me, “Are you taking your meds?” Good question. It seems that I have been taking my meds (mostly) and they are not doing the trick. So my already hefty dose is now being upped to a massive dose in hopes of pulling my failing body out of this funk and back into normalcy. All because I elected 6 years ago to have my thyroid removed.

I should have known my meds were wacky. However, I attributed the migraines and lethargy to pushing too hard in December. December was too packed and too crammed (I WILL NEVER DO ANOTHER EVENT IN DECEMBER!) and too emotional. It seemed like the cause of all my “angst” and migraines.

So, instead of notifying my doctor, I just  lived with it and got worse. Something tells me, this new dose is going to be too high and sadly, I get to go swinging through the hormone trees until it’s fixed. Nothing like going chemically insane. I’m going to be such a joy to live with.

So, that’s my excuse for not posting. While you were out there dancing the night away, I was here sleeping standing up. It’s the new dance move. It’s going to sweep the nation.

Remember, you saw it here first.

Breathing in I calm my body. . .

More like… gasp in pain. Which is why I finally dragged myself all the way to Petaluma today to see my Physician. Only, she couldn’t see me until tomorrow, so I ended up with an NP and that was just fine. Turns out, the little bug I had over the Holiday triggered not bronchitis, but an asthma attack. So, I dropped my $25 bucks and walked out with a shiny new inhaler. But of course, there’s always a hitch, isn’t there?

Enter the world of QVAR. A lovely little steroid concoction that “prevents” asthma attacks… but does not treat the attack I apparently am having at the moment. Hmmmm. In a funny twist of fate (ha ha, that’s me not laughing) I’m far too sensitive to drugs, so I can’t be put on the Albuterol, which would immediately open my lungs and give me a case of serious “jitters.” Yeah, that’s a combination we try to avoid: Wende and Jittering. Especially during finals week.

I know… ASTHMA. Sheesh. However, have no fear. This “attack” was brought on by the cold I had. It, as the Nurse Practitioner was keen to point out, “Does not mean you are an asthmatic!” She delivered that line like it was bad news. Do I have Hypochondriac tattooed on my forehead? She hardly skipped a beat in the sarcasm department when I failed to inflate the Peak Flow Meter past 200. “What? That’s it? Even I can get it to 450 and I have a cold.” Just call me wussy girl.

At least the Pharmaceutical consult was entertaining. (I’m betting she side-lines as an Advertising Fast Talker.) In 60 seconds flat the pharmacist managed to explain how to use the drug, all known side-effects, and got in a jab about the effective “use” of a preventative drug without treating the current attack. I just smiled and nodded. It’s best that way. Really… it is.

So, in two weeks or so I should be asthma free. Until then, my little lungs will just have to wait to find some relief. But  at least I know I’m preventing an additional attack of viral induced asthma. Did it escape your notice that not getting another cold could also be called preventative? Heh. I love modern medicine.

Wait… is that my lung?

It seems the cold I had over Thanksgiving decided to take a vacation to points more Southern. Liking the weather so much, it has decided to take up permanent residency in my bronchial tubes. *hack**hack* Any day now I expect to cough up a lung. Oh well… don’t really need those, now do I?

They say it’s all in the timing. Damn baby, this virus is gifted. Nothing like being ill beyond my usual mental state during Finals. My way of dealing with this is the patented “on again, off again” approach. In class one day, in bed the next. I’m managing. Really… I am.

I have nothing witty to say today. Ok. I never really have anything too witty to say–but this time, even I don’t find myself funny. You know you are sick when you can’t laugh at your own jokes for fear of hacking up soft tissue. I did get an email today from “POPS” who made gave me my first honest laugh in awhile. Ordinarily, this would be a good thing–but considering my state of agony, he will be forgiven, eventually! Check him out.

And now, for your giggling pleasure, his comments…

Greetings:

You know I am deeply worried that I have offered strong drink and encouraged lying to some one with an email that starts “futureclergy.”

Am I a bad person?

Later, Pops

Yeah, yeah, yeah… save all your crack-pot comments about how I was already corrupted for your own blog site. *pfft*