West Side Story

Los Angeles is huge geographically. In fact, you can drive for two hours on the freeway from my home before you left Los Angeles and entered other cities south. (I live on the very northern end of the city.) My home is in the San Fernando Valley, also known to Angelenos as simply "The Valley."

From The Valley, we travel "Over the Hill" (aka through the Sepulveda Pass) to get to West Los Angeles, aka the "West Side." It's much more trendy, but expensive to live there. There was a time that I would have given my eye teeth to reside in that area, but that was in my youth. Now I realize that the traffic over there would make me completely nuts, and I'd just rather go over the hill when something is happening that's worth attending. And so it came to be that I traveled over on Saturday (yesterday).

Originally, I thought that I wanted to go to The Creative Castle where there was a class called Elements of Beading that I really wanted to take. But still being sick was a concern. The class was seven hours long and I was pretty sure that I would not hold up under those kind of hours.

Then I realized that on the same day, my Spinning Guild was meeting, there was a very special presentation being given by Stephanie Gaustad that would well be worth attending. I didn't know if my friends from the guild would be there or not... I've been out of touch for quite some time now but it would be really nice if they were. And so I decided that this was the venue for me.

The meeting starts at 9:30 am; I didn't even leave home until around then. Mornings are bad for me (as are nights) and I generally get a slow start. But 40 minutes later, I was entering the doors of St. Andrews Lutheren Church - our lovely meeting location - and immediately saw Janet and Dave and Carol and Ann by the door. (Elena is also in this picture although at the time of my arrival, she was busy at the front of the room running the meeting.)
I would have liked to set up shop right next to them, but it didn't seem like there was enough room, so I started around the very large crowd looking for space. Nancy was lovely and came running over to help, and soon I was situated. The guild has gotten so big that I don't know everyone anymore (I was a member when we only had maybe 12 members and we were a pack), but there is strength in numbers and I love seeing the demographic differences between attendees. And so I spun. Badly, but I spun.

I did not do very well. Unfortunately, my stamina is still lacking and by 11:15 or so, I would have liked to have left, but it was the middle of the lecture and there was no way that I could make a graceful exit with a spinning wheel, a chair, and two baskets, so I suffered through. Didn't absorb much information and that's too bad because I could tell that the subject was interesting, but that's life. If I can get back into the swing of things, I'm sure that my friends will share.

I stuck around for maybe 1/2 hour after the meeting and then with the help of Ann and Chris, I went back to my car and drove home. Carried my basket in but left my wheel in the trunk. It's still there. Took my temperature. As usual, as soon as I try to do anything, it had risen and it measured at 100.3.

I spent the afternoon and night in bed, feeling just awful. But I also felt just a little bit good. I love my friends. I miss them. I wish I was still part of the pack. It was really nice to connect again.

It was also nice to know that my decision to forego the beading class was the right one.

In addition, given how I held up in a situation where all I had to do was sit, it's a gauge as to my readiness for exercise class. I am not ready. That's useful information.

So as usual, life is full of negatives and positives. And I'm positive that I made the best possible choice in activities for me.

To Go or to Not Go...

To go or not to go... that was the question. Starting yesterday, thoughts started passing through my mind that maybe I should try a come-back at Slimmons tonight. The urge was even stronger today, and this afternoon, I even pulled out my exercise clothing in preparation for the decision. I finished a beaded bracelet (I'll post the picture soon), I took the dogs for two short (and I mean really short) walks, and I thought about it.

I also thought about the other things I needed to get done. I need to get the kitchen picked up (I actually cooked a very simple meal for myself last night), I need to get laundry done, I desperately needed to pick up a prescription that has been waiting for me for two days now and I'm out of that particular med. And I became exhausted thinking about just that.

My "good" times are now measured in hours instead of minutes. By good, I don't mean good like a healthy person. But I mean good as in I am not running a fever, I'm strong enough to sit up and get up to move around the condo as necessary, and my mind is functioning rationally. There has been a lot of time over the past four or five months where my illness was causing a short circuit in my brain. You couldn't really tell so much from my e-mails or posts other than a greater irritability factor than normal, but talk to me in person and there was no question but that there was something seriously wrong.

So I thought about the exhaustion. And I thought about Slimmons. It's an hour or more drive from my home on work nights; two hours round trip with no guarantee once I get there. (40 minutes on Saturday morning when there is no traffic.) And I thought about my prescription. Then my rational-thinking brain took over. It was not a good idea to try it tonight. I know that the time that I return - assuming that the Cimzia for which I am receiving another set of injections next Wednesday - is not the root of my problem, I think I may only be a week or two away from giving it a try. But it's not time yet.

So I went to the pharmacy and filled my prescription. I did a little marketing while I was out. And by the time I got home, my temperature had shot up to 101.3. Last night's lack of fever was a fluke. I've had a serious temperature every single evening for several months now. And on-and-off during the day too.

I'm looking at my computer screen's clock right now. 6:50 pm. Class has been in session for 20 minutes. I'm at peace with my decision to stay home. The last thing I want to do is go and provoke another health incident, especially the night before Richard leaves for New Orleans.

So I think I'll go get a hot bath running and spend some time warming up. I'll look at my beads and a newer beading book when I get out, assuming that my fever hasn't significantly risen and also assuming I'm up to it, then figure out their instructions how to do spiral beading. And I'll relax. The good news is that I don't think that Slimmons is going away soon.

Not Forgotten

Last night was an intensely bad one for me, but this morning, after recovering from the drugs that I took to counteract my symptoms, I feel remarkably better. Well enough that I finished up the bracelet that I pictured in yesterday's blog (except for the closure... I really need to hunt down my box of buttons which is who-knows-where?) and am going back to embellish the green/red one more. I thought at the time that it needed more but didn't trust my instincts. Now I know that I was right and will "fix" it. As Myra Wood said in the class that I took from her last year, "More is more." So true when it comes to beading. You know when it's time to stop, and there's no reason to limit oneself based on preconceived notions of propriety.



When I feel better, I am intensely lonely. As always, those who are worth talking to are at work during the day, and I don't want to invite the "crazies" into my personal life. I can call or e-mail messages to my friends and they respond, but in the evenings when I tend to feel awful and don't want to talk is when they call. And my response makes them feel bad. So the number of personal contacts that I am having are becoming more and more limited.

But then there are the surprises. This morning I stumbled out of bed, still hung over by the Neurontin that I chose to take last evening, and let the dogs out of the front door. There on my doorstoop was a small square brown-paper-wrapped package. "Huh?" I thought? I've already received everything that I've mail ordered. What's this?

And there I had it. A book and card from Vennie - "The Best Friend in the World" it's called - but more important than the gift, the sentiment. I burst into tears. A physical manifestation that somebody cares about my trevails right there on my front porch, and then on my kitchen table.



I've scanned the book and think I'll read it all at once, then keep it by my bed and read one section at a time every night before I go to sleep. To remind me that even when I am physically alone, I am not alone in spirit.

---

One of the most difficult things about the kind of illness I am dealing with is knowing when to let my body rest and when to start to push back. I'm at that place right now. I know that I tend to get ill - including fevers - every time I exert myself, but my "good times" when my mind is active and my body a little more willing to work can be measured by the hour now instead of the minute. Don't get me wrong; I'm not ready to run a marathon or even contemplate a shopping trip, but knowing that I need to change my bed and put away the laundry I did the day before yesterday is not enough to bring me to tears. I'm even thinking about putting on make-up before my therapy appointment today.

This go-around with illness has been remarkably different than those of the past. Then they were mostly about Crohns Disease proper and weight-loss went along with the package. Now I'm dealing with other auto immune issues like Eyrthema Nodosum and terrible chronic fatigue as well as flaring Fibromyalgia along with the Crohns, and also the side effects of the Cimzia. I'm able to eat. I'm unable to move about much. And I'm bored. End result? Eating too much and weight gain. (I also, in all fairness, don't know what effects the various drugs I'm taking have on weight, but I don't want to use that as an excuse. I know my transgressions of the past week.)

Which brings me to exercise class. What to do?

Since attending the wedding with Eric last weekend, I know that I might be able to get a good hour or two out of the home before becoming physically and mentally incapacitated enough not to feel safe driving. I know that I am bored and lonely and would love to be amongst people, many of whom already know about my health challenges so I don't have to explain and I don't need to be secretive. And I know that I desperately need help with my eating.

But is Slimmons a good idea anymore? I'm not sure. I lost my standing there when I went "Scholarship" and don't feel comfortable defending myself against inquiries that are out of line. Like Richard's line of questioning about my sex life the last time I was there and was clearly too ill to either have a sex life or mentally acute enough to respond with a quick "Quid Pro Quo," thus silencing him. I also know that even before the current circumstance, my only standing there was as a hood ornament. I lost the weight, I was the big number, therefore I was welcome. Well I'm up 10 pounds now and don't know what I'm going to do. I really don't know if I have the fortitude or the physical stamina to get it off again, and that brings my position at Slimmons even lower.

With others at Slimmons, they have been put to use in other areas (like the Retreat or the Cruise or the radio show or the P.E. in School campaign) so when they started struggling, they still had some value to the operation. Me? The only times I've been asked to do anything was when X- had me doing the "Database to Nowhere" on a volunteer basis and I was expected to watch and keep silent about things going on that I considered unethical (and I did maintain the secrets which bothers me to this day) until I quit, or when Richard needed somebody in front of the camera that he could crow about. Again, it's all about the number.

So I don't know. I feel like some movement and some social interaction might be good for me right now, as limited as it might be, but I don't know how to get it started. I do know that if something untoward is said to me again at Slimmons (and Richard knew he was being inappropriate even as he was questioning me), I will have to leave and never go back again. Would that be a bad thing? Would that be a good thing? Would it not really matter in the scheme of life at all? And if I left, is there a place for me in another setting?

LATER:

A therapy appointment behind me and the answer is clear. I am not ready to go back to exercise class at this point.

Dr. M- pointed out the following obvious facts which I know but got lost in my health drama:

1. Richard tends to get inappropriate in his line of questioning when he is feeling uncomfortable in social situations. With the way I'm feeling and must have looked that day when I made my way into class, it must have really thrown him for a loop. Ergo while there is no "fault" in this situation, there is a cause and effect, and I was the cause.

2. I have a long history of just picking up and going, before having permission from health care providers, when I want to go back to Slimmons. The fact that I am even questioning whether it would be appropriate for me to return yet (every time I get physically active, it results in a fairly high fever) is a strong indication that I should not be going.

Well, the pressure in that department is off, but I'm still scared to death about my weight gain. I know from experience that my mental health is directly tied to my body size and I don't want to return to the place from where I came.

Boxing Day

In Canada, Boxing Day is the day after Christmas. I believe that it's the day that the servants there get to celebrate and relax while the Master of the House and his family serves them. If I have a reader who is versed in the subject, you would please comment?

In Tarzana, though, Boxing Day turned out to be something quite different. I decided to try out L.A. Boxing as a means of exercise and it was an interesting experience. Not a bad one either.

First, I have to admit that I had some trepidation in trying out something seemingly so different than what I am used to with Richard. I mean, come on! Boxing? As in gloves and a punching bag? Sounds kind of mean, but then again, some of my experiences lately at Slimmons have not been all that friendly either. This kind of new environment certainly would be a different focus and it was only one class. A FREE class. What did I have to lose?

So I went, and worrying that I might have a physical issue or embarass myself or really hate it, I walked in that door, only to be greeted by some lovely people behind the counter. They wrapped my hands (kind of like a sports wrap to give my knuckles and wrists some extra support) and loaned me some gloves. That was a little bit gross... kind of like wearing bowling shoes without socks when everybody before you wore them without socks too. But I certainly was not going to buy gloves for a perhaps one time experience, so I made do. (And washed my hands thoroughly once I got home.)

Soon P.J., our teacher and a professional boxer, showed up and we were introduced. I gave the typical schpeel about my medical issues and how my information was in my bag if something happened and I was unable to speak for myself. Nobody seemed to take it very seriously, but then again, until something happens, nobody ever does. To quote the doctor who saw me in ER when the paramedics took me in last year, "I don't look like somebody with all of those medical issues."

Soon, the room filled up with other students. Mostly heterosexual men although some women thrown in for good measure. We all took up a position behind a punching bag (they had them laid out in rows suspended off of steel girders) and the music was put on. We did some quick warm up exercises, and then were off!

PJ told the class what sequence of punches we were to throw (jabs and hooks)and with what foot combinations thrown in (the boxers dance!) and they just did it. He had to come over to me and show me a little closer, but I didn't have much trouble picking up the moves. We would do a few minutes of boxing exercises, then break them up with cardio moves like jumping jacks, running around the room, push ups, etc. Then back to the bag again for further sequences. This went on for 45 minutes.

After that, we had 15 minutes of ab exercises and were dismissed.

My arms are somewhat sore and I expect that they will be more so in a few hours. The cardio and stamina portions of the class were not difficult for me; Richard prepared me well. PJ did have a few ab exercises that were new to me and I may adopt a couple of them into my permanent home routine.

Financially, LA Boxing was very attractive however they do require a one year commitment. I need to think about that. I believe that I might be better served in an environment where I can pay by the class. But they did have one option where I can just sign up on a month-by-month basis. It's not monitarily the best deal in town, but who knows?

I have no idea how this whole exercise shopping trip is going to work out. I tried to walk around Balboa Lake again, and had a problem within 5 minutes. Immediate bathroom access is critical for me and I fear that a walking program is just not going to do. I do have an appointment to try out Ballys on Monday... for those of you who I have complained to about the never-ending phone calls from "Art," he finally reached me today. I had intended to call them next week and set up my two-week trial, but it's starting a litle earlier and that's ok. I can live with it.

In the meantime, I would not exclude boxing from my range of choices. It was kind of fun.

Lake Balboa

It's over 100 degrees out today. True to form, like the last time it was so hot out, I went to Lake Balboa to walk. But this time - in deference to the heat - without the dogs.

The lake is an established stop on the migratory route of many kinds of birds. Of course you'll find the standard ducks and geese there, but also more exotic species such as cranes and herons, pelicans and seagulls (what on earth are they doing so far inland?), and all sorts of other birds that I couldn't begin to identify without a birding book. There were people there feeding them... on a Thursday, they're generally hungry and will accept most kinds of food where on a Sunday afternoon when they've spent virtually the entire weekend gorging themselves, they're way more picky. My favorite scene was a mother and daughter with a large flock of geese around them eating Kelloggs Corn Flakes. I was tempted to join the geese as I haven't had a corn flake in many-a-year.

I decided that, without the dogs to slow me down, that I was going to do the circuit twice. That would be an approximately two mile walk and, according to my pedometer, around 300 calories burned. The first circuit was easy... despite the heat I was fresh. But coming round to where my car was parked, I had a momentary flash that I'd rather go home than do it again. I ignored it and forged on.

That's when I realized my mistake. I should have brought a bottle of water along with me and perhaps even an apple. I'll have to remember that the next time. As it was, I opted when I was feeling a little dehydrated, to sit under a tree (farther away from the water and away from the birds who had forsaken the water for the shade of the trees in the midday) and take in the peacefulness.

When I decided to continue, it was lunchtime and there were many groups engaged in picnic activities. A group of seniors from who knows where? A school. A group of school bus drivers. A group of Japanese ladies on a blanket right by the water, eating sushi with chopsticks.

There were also the fitness nuts. Many of them jogged right by me despite the heat, oblivious to it all with their Ipods strapped on their arms. They were all very young and fit.

There were also a lot of pairs of young men filming. In their late teens or early twenties, I couldn't help but think that they must be working on some college project or another. It is, after all, mid May when they would be working on "term papers" and such. With all the entertainment based colleges in Los Angeles, it would make sense that I would run into this kind of activity.

Walking gave me a lot of time to think about physical activity and my future. I'm at a crossroads right now. Trying to decide what is right about my pursuits and what can be improved upon or changed. I know that it's time to shake things up a bit. I also know that although I really liked today's walk, it is not something that I can reasonably expect myself to do on a regular basis. It's too solitary and since I'm home alone a lot of the time any, I crave human contact.

But I'm guessing that I may be able to pursue it a couple of times a week.

Nuttin' Honey

I'm back. Having not only survived the Carotid Artery scan, I have been declared "as clear as a bell." The tech was impressed, stating that he rarely saw people in our age group with absolutely no plaque build up. This, right before he came on to me.

Yup. Yet another pass in a hospital setting. I officially know that he prefers "thin, pretty, and unencumbered by children." Oy. Me thinks I'm really good at putting on make-up or the man needs glasses. Likely both.

The results of the test is a good-news-bad-news scenario, of course. The good news is that I do not have Carotid Artery Disease. That would be a very serious diagnosis. The bad news is that we're still befuddled about what's happening to me.

After I finished up with the test, I stopped by my Cardiologist's office where I received this:

That's right. It's a permission slip to return to exercise class. Hand written and signed by the man himself.

Now it's up to me to decide what I want to do. I have to figure out if I am brave enough to go again after my recent record of failing, or stay at home.

I am vascilating, but I'm starting to lean towards a return.

Picking Up the Marbles

On Tuesday, I saw my new Podiatrist for the first time. My old one, Dr. B-, seemingly could not make an appointment without changing it... from afternoon to morning, from morning to afternoon... from week to week. We finally hit a point when I could not accomodate his schedule. After we had a 3:30pm appointment for 3 weeks out, I got a call from the office in which he practiced. At 4:30pm the day before. He wanted to change it to 10:45. AM.

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, that conflicted with my Physical Therapy appointment. I complained to the staff. Explained to them - and they already knew it - that I had been more than accomodating to his shifting-like-the-sands-of-the-desert schedule without complaint for months now, and this time I couldn't do it. What were we to do?

Dr. B- only practices at that location on Wednesday afternoon, and when queried, they couldn't guarantee that if I made an appointment with him for the following week, he wouldn't change it again. So that was a no-go. Then they suggested that I see the other Podiatrist who was still practicing in their office (and I assume will be taking a larger role with Dr. B-'s eminent departure to another location). After a brief discussion about finances because I did not want to have to pay for another doctor because the first doctor that worked in their office left me hanging post op, we agreed that they would pick up the charges and we made the appointment. For last Tuesday.

I liked her immediately. Dr. K- did not change my appointment, and in fact was right on time. We briefly discussed my surgery and the aftermath; she was surprised at how painful it still was (I hadn't realized it until she gave it a good squeeze which made me jump and yelp) and how weak the toe was. She showed me an exercise in which I was to pick up a pencil from the floor with my toes for the next two weeks ("at least 10 times a day") and she would see me again then. When she would be prepared to make me orthotics for my exercise shoes so that the bones that were clearly shifting in my foot might be contained and we just might delay the onset of yet another Neuroma. Like I said, I liked her.

I told Rocky at Physical Therapy about her. He has been aware of my ongoing concern over Dr. B- and was happy to see that I was better suited. We've agreed that my last rehab appointment for my knee will be tomorrow. Truthfully, there might have been some merit to me continuing for another week or two, but my finances after four-plus-years on disability just won't sustain it so I'll have to make due on my own. I've made a remarkable recovery already, especially for me.
Anyway, Rocky decided to have another exercise added to my routine. It was one in which they spread marbles on the floor and I was to pick them up with my toes and drop them in a little cup. After 15 minutes, I had not yet completed the task. As I said, my toes are really weak.

Not being able to do such simple things is very frustrating, and an analogy for my whole life. I would like to be normal. Well, maybe not normal because that's pretty boring, but it would be nice to have a life where my body was not constantly failing me.

I am currently struggling with a number of medical issues. My left knee and toe are recovering nicely, but I'm sure that my right knee has a torn meniscus (damaged the week before the left knee surgery) and I had an MRI yesterday so that we can confirm it. My Crohns is flaring and, although it's not escalated the past couple of weeks, it was advancing at an alarming rate up until then. I have not got a lot of faith that the newest medication - something that I have to inject myself with weekly - is going to help, but I have no choice in the matter. I'm giving myself the shots and hoping for the best.

In the meantime, the fainting issue also returned about two weeks ago with a vengence. I don't even necessarily have to be doing anything taxing to bring it on. I can just be standing there talking to somebody and boom! I'm on the floor. But of course, I hate it the most when it happens at Slimmons and it did twice in one week in two successive visits. The second one in which I never progressed past the front desk.

I've seen my Internist for it a week ago - I think/hope he is taking the situation seriously - and also the Cardiologist. Wouldn't you know it, Dr. G- gave me an Event Monitor (again) and sent me on my way until May when I will have a stress test done in his office. And the last faint before seeing him happened two days prior. I've had some vague dizzy spells since then, but in all honestly, I've kept my butt planted in a chair and I never go down when I am sitting. I can feel kind of bad sometimes, but not to the point of a faint.

Then, yesterday, I was at my therapy appointment and discussing my frustration about the whole thing with Dr. M-. Especially that I would be responsible for pushing the button on the monitor when something starts to go wrong. One of the unfortunate things about the big episodes is that I seem to have an intellectual disconnect before I go down. I don't have a lot of time when my body is signaling distress, but I usually think "Oh my God I'm about to faint" and if I acted on it right away, I could probably avoid it by getting to a chair. But that's where things go awry. I don't seem to be able to act on the thought and if somebody asks me if I'm ok (I am often very flushed too), if I'm able to answer at all, I say "yes." Not the right answer but all I can get out. And I'm supposed to be able to push the button?

"That sounds like oxygen deprivation to your brain," Dr. M- said. And we discussed the pressure that I always feel in my neck before such episodes. Carotid Artery Disease was his immediate suggestion. A build up of Plaque in the Carotid Arteries.

I looked the ailment up on the internet this morning. There I found a lot of my symptoms. Transient ischemic attacks. Weakness, numbness, tingling, or paralysis of arm, leg, face, on one side of your body. (I had a neurological work up about this complaint almost two years ago with no identification of the issue.) Blurry eyesight. Dizziness, confusion, fainting, or coma. Sudden severe headache with no known cause.

But then there are the risk factors. Hi levels of low-density lipoprotin cholesterol and triglicerides in the blood. Nope. High Blood Pressure; Diabetes. Used to have both, but they went away years ago along with the weight. Smoking. Obesity. Lack of exercise. No three times over. The only risk factor that I currently have is a family history of coronary artery disease.

Dr. R- scheduled the test for it tomorrow. He told me point blank that he did not think that this is what is wrong with me. And I appreciate his point of view. But I am desperate at this point to have some kind of diagnosis. Anything. Even something as serious as what we will be testing for.

I intend to grill the tech about the results during and after the test. I don't expect to have them fully revealed to me, but I will phrase the question in such a way that he will be hard-pressed not to give me some kind of response. Something along the lines of "I intend to return to exercise class on Saturday as my Cardiologist said I could. Are you seeing anything on your screen that would suggest that this would be a bad idea?"

And then, since Eric & I had a long discussion about it last night, if there is no reason that the tech can give me not to attend, I will return.

I don't know what will happen when I arrive. I know that they all care about me at Slimmons, but how long are they to be expected to put up with my medical issues before they finally pull the plug on me? It's been years going there, with regular issues of health predominating my appearances. I'm always fearful of the day that they will finally tell me that they've had it with me and ask me to leave.

And if I do attend on Saturday, what will happen in class? I'm really scared of that too. If I go, I intend to participate fully. After all, my doctor said I could. And if, by participating I provoke another spell? That might not be a completely bad thing. Because I'm practicing now, telling myself to "Push the button." "Push the button." "Push the button."

Maybe if I rehearse it enough, when I have the issue again, hopefully while I"m wearing the monitor, I'd like to think I'll have the presence of mind to push the button before I go down. Get a recording of what is happening with my heart at that moment.

I'm desperately trying to pick up one of the marbles in my life.

Let's Make a Deal!

Last Monday, Iris and I made a deal. She is working intense hours at her job, neglecting her health and emotional well being. I am stuck at home, four days post-surgery, and bored to tears. She has not been to Slimmons for quite a while; I am supposedly sidelined for quite a while into the future. So we decided that if I would show up to exercise class tonight, so would she.

Since we are both women of our word, we were both there. Watching exercise class from the outside is a weird experience. I had promised Richard that, if he didn't keep me from coming tonight, I would stay out of the way and be careful. Additionally, despite the fact that I am getting out and about, it's by sheer force of will. My knee and foot really do hurt. A lot.
So instead of sitting at the back of the classroom, I parked myself in a chair in the lobby and watched from afar. And admired my classmates.

The thing about Slimmons that is so magical is that it doesn't matter who you are. What you look like. What size clothing you wear. Everyone is beautiful; everyone fits in. When I see my classmates, I don't see their physical beings. I see them.

Of course I saw them leaving me in the dust tonight. It may be a while before I can join them again.
But another nice thing is that they involved me, even from my perch in the lobby. Michelle and Iris came out and made fun of me.
And I made fun of them.
Jan dancd beside and behind me.
Michelle threatened to drop a weight on my "other" foot... the one that has not been operated on.
And everyone had to suffer with push ups. Except me!

Despite my personal challenges, I am a lucky woman.

Making Plans

Apparently, I remain suggestable. Despite myself. When I would love to just do my own thing, especially where my weight maintenance, and hopefully loss is concerened, I am in situations where everyone wants to help me. And help me they do, despite my announced intention to the contrary.

On Tuesday, I went to my regular weight maintenance class at HMR where the unit, since the new year began, is on getting back to basics.

It has been the perfect unit for me since, in December, I let go of food sheets for the first time in several years, and not so coincidentally, gained four pounds. That on top of the weight that I had been slowly gaining over the prior six months. An eight pound increase.

I did a lot of things right in December, though, including continuing to go to exercise class, going to my weight maintenance class (where - ahem - I had a perfect attendance record all through November and December), and weighing myself every single day. Despite the fact that I did not like what I was seeing on the scale. Also, I not only did not hide the fact that I was failing to keep records, but I made sure that both Lucy and Richard were aware. Both encouraged me to pick them back up again, but wisely did not press the point.

I truly believe that being honest with myself, and with others, was what made it easy for me to start over right after Chritmas.

But keeping food sheets has proven to be only half the issue. I actually needed to address the problem eating areas that was driving my weight up. It started with purging my home of all the junk and processed foods that I had collected. That has proven not to be enough, though. While I've stopped the weight gain dead in it's tracks, I've only dropped a couple of pounds and, with my impending knee and foot surgeries coming up (my friend Wendy refers to me as "At Wounded Knee." Thanks, Wendy - lol!), I need to get more agressive. After all, the exercise is going to grind to a halt during recovery.

So what to do? I'm not good at limiting myself at foods, nor am I good at making food plans. "Decisionless days." Lucy calls them. As soon as I lock myself into a set menu, I revolt (against who or what, I don't know) and deviate. So I've been very resistant to the idea.

The thing is, though, that pretty-much everyone who advocates weight loss says that a plan is essential. Richard reiterates it over and over again. Lucy promises us that weight loss is not very likely without one. And in the face of this pressure, how do I deal with it?

Well, Lucy has seemingly come up with an idea for her class that may do the trick. Last Tuesday, she suggested that we not plan every bite that we are going to eat that day, but instead figure out what we were going to do for exercise, how we were going to get our minimum five fruits and vegetables per day into our diet, and - for those who participate, not me - how and when we were going to take our meal replacements. She had us pull out our HMR Food Journals and commit these plans to paper. The idea being that 1.) we are way more likely to maintain a healthy lifestyle if we commit to it in writing and 2.) we are way more likely to displace bad habits by crowding them out by good than by just saying no.

I did not want to write anything down, but I humored her and did so.




Surprisingly, I did not have much trouble keeping the plan. I was resistent to the idea, though, and did not do them yesterday. But then woke up this morning and thought "Why not? I'll give it a try."

The results were startling. Except for not making a salad to go with my dinner because I was not hungry enough for it, and not using tomato sauce on my baked spaghetti squash because when I pulled it out of the refrigerator, it looked like a science experiment, I kept to the quasi-plan perfectly. I ate other foods in addition to my written record, but pulled my day in at a net calorie level (food intake minus exercise calories burned) of 1150 calories. Wow!

So when I got home this evening after Richard's class, I decided to try it again tomorrow. Wrote down my exercise plan, which by the way, included the 25 abdominal crunches and the four push ups that Richard, this evening, implored us to do on a daily basis. Came up with a plan to get more than my minimumly prescribed roughage, and included a Benefit Bar treat in the mix. And I also sketched in an outline of an exercise plan for Saturday.



Now, I don't pretend that my troubles are over, that this new form of less-commital weight loss plans is going to be the panacea for all that ails me. But I'm willing to give it a try.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Who am I becomming?

Tonight, Richard led a chat about Peace in honor of Martin Luther King. It was a rather profound subject for me, one of self revelation.

Of course, he turned the concept of MLK's peace around to a discussion of inner peace. "Are you at peace with yourself?" he asked. And my immediate response was "no." I have all sorts of issues in my life, some of which make me very upset.

He asked us to rate our level of peace on a scale of 1 to 10. I gave myself a 5. I was going to give myself a 2, then realized almost immediately that I wasn't being honest. I've been at "2," I'm not there now.

As the chat went on, I thought about what was upsetting me. Family. I can't really do anything about it, right? Not really. The people who I am unhappy with are struggling with their own demons. I have removed myself from the situation, at least for now. I have not removed them from my life, nor do I intend to. But like they taught us in "Junior Life Guards" at Camp Lakota way back when I was in my early teens, when you're dealing with a drowning person, the first thing is make sure they don't get a grip on you and drag you down with them. That's not going to happen. Not anymore.

Then, there is the other thing. Richard's "Sweating To the Oldies" DVDs came out at the beginning of the year. Pleased that my picture was picked up on the packaging, I was even happier that his "Love Yourself and Win" motivational program was a bonus disc inside. We filmed it in September of 2006; I was proud to be a participant.

The thing is, though, that I was horribly ill at the time of the taping. Only a month out of medical crisis stage, my participation was questionable right up to the very day. I must have driven them crazy with all of my special requests to make that appearance happen. I remember asking to have a later call time than the rest of the cast because of fatigue; permission granted. They allowed me to lay down on the sofa in the lobby when everyone else had to be in place in the studio, only requiring me join them at the times they were actually filming. And I was allowed free access to the facilities in deference to my medical situation, despite the fact that nobody else was allowed to leave except at specified breaks.

It was hard. In fact, looking back I have no idea how I got through it. I talked about "Practicing Patience," a subject with which I am intimately familiar, given my situation. I remember how weak I was... Richard had to help me up the stairs onto the stage, and then down again at the end. They told me, after my segment filmed, that I could go home, but I chose to stay. I was so weak that I was only able to sit up in my chair by leaning on the table next to me.

And after the filming was done, I went home, went to bed, and was too tired to come out of my condo again for a full week. No exageration.

My recollection, though, was that I had done pretty well in the interview. That I looked OK, even though Adele later told me that in my picture with Richard (taken right after we were finished), my body looked great but my face was awful. That it was clear how sick I was. I didn't think about it again after we were done with the conversation. Until this past weekend.

Well, the DVD came out, and I finally got a copy. I was about to put it in my player when Eric unexpectedly showed up, so we watched it together. Or should I say, he watched it. After the first 10 seconds, I couldn't look anymore.

Everything about that go-around of illness came flooding back to me. I looked absolutely awful, like death warmed over. Moon faced (from ultra-high levels of steroids), and almost incoherent. I turned my face into the pillow on the sofa and cried. Eric insisted that I didn't look so bad. "Just bloated and nervous." But he is looking through the eyes of love and also, this matter falls in the same category as "Does my butt look big?" so I wouldn't expect to get a bluntly honest answer.

Later that evening, I went over to my good friends, Sandy & Christiane's home and brought the DVD with me. We played it; they reacted with horror. "How could he have filmed you in that state?" was their question. "Why on earth did you do it?"

Well, Richard was pressed and I certainly wouldn't blame him. And I try to keep all commitments that I make, regardless of my personal situation. Poor Richard... the emphasis of this recording was about living well, feeling well, and looking great, and he had ME on there like a zombie from hell. I have been so upset about it.

I couldn't pinpoint exactly what I've been upset about. Certainly I'm not upset with anyone in particular. Nobody is to blame here. Not Richard, not me. But I've been bordering on a level of hysteria all the same. The person in that DVD was not me as I really am...



So fast forward back to tonight's chat. As Richard asked question after question. As I reflected on the answers, I realized that most of my responses belayed a level of security and lack of anxiety that I don't think I've ever felt before. And then it came to me as an epiphany.

I don't need to be upset about the DVD. It is what it is. Richard had the power to edit me out... to edit somebody else into that place I occupied had he wanted to. There were a number of people who participated that day that did not end up in the can at all. Any one of them could have been put in my place, their comments cut and paste to sound like they were answering my questions. So if there is damage done by the way I looked and sounded, it was by choice.

And even though I hate the idea that the 'monster' who appears on that DVD will probably haunt me for some time to come (people are ordering that set and watching it), I did nothing for which I can feel anything but pride. I have lost weight. I looked like what I was at the time. Somebody who had just survived yet another round of near-death experience. Who, had I been at my old weight and health level, might not have made it. I made it through that day as a symbol not of illness, but as a testament that anything that does not kill you makes you stronger.

Am I completely at peace with myself now? No, not really. There are many things which I would like to resolve.

I'd like to be healthy, once and for all.
I'd like to lose the 7 pounds left from the holidays, and maybe even a little more than that.
I'd like to have my surgery done and over with, and be able to walk without pain.
I'd like to be financially stable, and maybe even a little bit affluent.
I'd like my life to mean something, rather than just be a day-to-day existence.

Without these stresses, though, I may not feel compelled to evolve and grow. And that is paramount over all other things.

And when I look at what I do have, what I have achieved, physically, mentally, and emotionally, I realize that I am more at peace with myself than I thought. Maybe an "8." Things could be worse.

Ambivalence and Company

Ambivalence is probably the best word to describe me when it comes to social interaction. Perhaps conflicted or confused also works. I was never good at it... indeed, obesity is a symptom of the desire to isolate oneself. When I lost my weight (http://weightloss.laurarsilverman.com), it didn't change my fear of interaction. Indeed, if anything, it magnified it. At a normalized weight and with the "hair and make-up" affect I've taken on, other's expectations of me are high. They assume I know how to do the interaction thing. They assume that I want to be where I am at. They don't understand that obesity is not always an affliction. Sometimes it's a barometer to measure your place in the world. A point of reference, so to speak. Not completely a bad thing.

Last night, I attended Francesca's lovely Open House. I've attended in years past; it's always been a wonderful experience. She and her boyfriend Ben have the nicest and most interesting friends. Their home is artsy and warm; not overdone. The food... ah, the food! Francesca is from Italy and her choice in cuisines reflect a true national identity (not to be confused with American Fare which is just fatty and overly sweet and a mish-mash of tastes and textures). What reason would anybody not want to attend?

Yet I was awash in panic. It seems as of late, that I screw up the most simple opportunities to interact and fit in. Exercise for example? Despite the three-to-one opinion that I should return (Therapist and two friends say I should go back, sister who understands me and my history/family pressures most believes that it's a toxic situation), I'm terrified to go back, even after having taken off a week. I'm sure that I have done something terrible there which has made the significant one treat me just horribly over the past couple of months, culminating in a week of mixed messages (maybe intentional, maybe not, maybe just all in my mind) and has left me confused and upset and a little sick to my stomach. You see, unlike in the past when I know when I've gotten angry and brought this kind of reaction on, this time, I'm not even sure exactly what happened. And then there's also the changing social strata at my spinning guild that has me confused and a little bit ill at ease. But all of this is just table dressing...

Anyway, I was very frightened to go to the party. In fact, scared to the point that even as I was driving up to their house, I was considering just turning around and leaving. "Nobody wants me there." I thought. "Nobody would miss me." And maybe it was true, maybe it wasn't. But then I thought that Francesca is a big girl. If she really didn't want me, she would just not have sent an invitation. Maybe she was ambivalent about me, or maybe she really did want me, but I had driven all the way to Glendale (a long drive) and it would be good for me to actually get out of the car. So I did.

As soon as I rang her bell and could hear Francesca call out with pleasure that somebody else was at her door, I started to feel better. And when she opened the entrance and looked pleased, my heartbeat started to return to normal. She ushered me in, and there were two women - C- and A- - sitting in her living room. I love those two gals... but with my newest insecurity in place, was not sure how they felt about me anymore. But they jumped out of their seats and ran over to hug me, admire what I was wearing (some of my own jewelry and hand spun-dyed-knit vest) and were a-chatter with the what-for's and how-to's and everything else.

We all went into the kitchen where even more old friends were. Unlike the museum trip of a number of weeks ago, I did not feel out of place. We enjoyed some fondue (which I had never had before and needed instruction on... thanks Ben!) and other exotic fare. And went into the dining room to talk.

It started out with the old friends, but most of them had to leave shortly (I arrived somewhat late). But J- stayed and she is so interesting and kind and also - I think - kind of gets where I'm coming from because she has also lost significant weight. Francesca & Ben's Personal Trainer Je- arrived, a tall, thin, beautiful amazon woman who actually remembered me from last year. And M- and R-, a lovely couple with whom I made first aquaintence were there. We all sat around the dining room table, and talked.

Again, I don't understand what happened. I was at ease, and was a frequent contributor to the conversation; not talking too little, but even more importantly, I don't think I talked too much. Je-, and everyone, was very interested in the physio-psychological dimensions of weight loss. Almost everyone there has lost weight although I have lost the most by far and it's a different psychology when you get over 300 pounds. I was able to contribute.

Then the conversation turned to the business and art of crafting. M-, as it turns out, is a silk embroidery artist who, in the last year, has been taking her work on the road and selling in craft shows. Something I would like to try dabbling in next year. She had a world of information for me, loved my work (as everyone there did!), and we exchanged contact information.

Again, I don't understand it. There are so many situations that I am extremely awkward in. Say the wrong things, do the wrong things, feel incredibly out of place. Inferior. Defective. Then there was last night when I felt ok. Ok, good. At ease. Like I belonged.

How does this work? Is it me? Is it the other people? The time, place, and luck? Why do I work well in some situations and not others? Is there a way of predicting where it's healthy for me to be and what to avoid? And if so, what is it?

What I know on an intellectual level is that I need to keep exposing myself to different scenarios and pay close attention to what happens in each. Even as the thought leaves me a little bit breathless. Maybe my gal-pals are right... I should end the break from exercise class after a week, and even if I am not well received, go and try to figure out what the dynamics are. Whether I am really doing something wrong or if it's just not a good personality match anymore.

Thank you Francesca, Ben, and friends. For the good time, the memory, and the belief that maybe, just maybe, not everything is because of my innate inabilities.