Farts. I had the highest of hopes that I'd be diligently blogging my brains out each evening. I had utterly ill-conceived notions that I'd tuck my angelic children into their perfectly-made beds and sit here, regaling you with my day's dietary conquests.
Pickle farts. The reality is, I normally manage to get the kids into their mis-matched, just-when-did-I-wash-those-things-last? sheeted slumber pits, only to try to catch up on 1001 emails. By the time I've dug myself out of e-communication e-nnihilation...I can barely manage to stitch together 6 intelligible thoughts. Maybe its the calorie deficit, maybe its the new medical stresses...but holy cow, Batman...my brain is starting to melt!
You know, I may be on to something with the brain melt theory. Think about it. As a hefty woman, I enjoyed a life of full fat, sugary goodness. Fat is gel-like, sugar is gooey. What if the fat and sugar have be the glue that held my brain cells together? I mean...my attempt to find my svelte self, may actually be disintegrating the very part of me that cares!
Face it, my thighs have rubbed together so long...they're in no hurry to lose weight. They'll be lonely. And my arse? Oh honey, its so used to dancing its own private jig after the rest of me has quit hearing the music... Why, it may just file a formal protest if I whittle away at its inherent "groove-thing" quality. No no, the brain has to be the only part of me that really wants to be thin. Poor brain, its out-thought itself. In its unrealistic attempt to shave me down to semi-normal size...it may very well be its own undoing... (Hah! I crack myself up. Brain melting, "undoing"...Hah!)
So how on earth am I going to manage to stick my smarts together if I can't sugar-coat them? Hmmm...well, I could run down a skinny minny or two and steal some of their hoo-hah wax. (have you ever gotten that email?) Nah, I might stick something I need. Hmmm...I could borrow some of my under-the-hooter sweat that I'm desperately hoping to someday NOT have... Nah, what happens when I have perky little puppies? My brains would fall apart again. (Stop laughing! I might be able to pick them up off my knees and staple them in place...) Hmmmm...how about I just squeeze the brain juice from the next rat fink who tells me how much trouble they had loosing their whopping 12 pounds... No problems there, they obviously won't miss their brain goo. They couldn't possibly have been using it, if they told a rotund, hungry woman, something so incredibly inane...
Aww fishfarts. I can't go and goo-squeeze all the skinny people. My brain wants to be one. Man, I hope I'm never that self-stuck. I think I may sign my brain up for optional sqeezature just in case I am...
Yep, the best description of the last few days...farts. How's that for high-falootin'?
- Alicia Losing weight, and my mind, for cancer kids. http://www.crazycancermom.com/
Breakfast: 2 eggs, 1 oz cheese, 1/2 C onions, 2 TBS real bacon bits, 2 C coffee w/creamer
Lunch: Broccoli (1 C maybe?) dipped in egg, flour - then fried in Canola oil - 1 TBS sourcream for decadence. 1/4 piece of Panera so-good-you'd-sell-your-mother-for-it whole grain bread.
1 oz turkey
Dinner: 2 oz cheese, 1 apple, Diet A&W rootbeer, 4 fried cheese sticks from King o' de Burgers
(so shoot me over the cheese sticks. I didn't get a burger or fries!)
Aww frog farts. I'm going to have to go back to logging everything that goes into my rather vacuous pie-hole. When I eat it, it seems small. When I see it written down...well, boop boop be doo - it looks whoppin' porcine.
Fart.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
September 26 - Avalon medical update
I'm doing this part separate from the other, so you can choose whether or not to read it. I fully understand that some people coming here are here to relax, laugh, and walk away from their own stress for a bit. I appreciate that. Its why I'm addicted to several mindless shows on cable. Escapism is free and good for the soul.
But, some people coming the site do want to know about my daughter. For you, this is the easiest way to get you up to speed. (particularly, since her website is nearly 2 years out of date)
As of yesterday morning, I still had not heard about Avalon's lab tests from Thurs Sept 20. That's very unusual for our clinic, but I knew they'd run tests that required being sent to labs far and wide, so I wasn't too concerned about the time frame. I called clinic Tues morning, and left a message asking about results and leaving my home and cell number - knowing we'd be gone to my daughter's school. (with the stress they cause me, that stupid school owns at least a barn or two on my fat farm...) I did what I always do, and gave them permission to leave the results on the voicemail - its easier for them, rather than having to track me down.
When I never heard from anyone, I presumed there would be a voice mail waiting. Sure enough, when we got home at 5:45 - there was the hospital number in our caller ID. After threatening the kids to silence, (if there is no threat...people in China can hear them, and I can't hear squat) I called into our voice mail. When I got to the hospital number, I nearly fainted.
Rather than the typical, "Hi Alicia! Its Sue,..." Or, "Hi Alicia! Its Diane..." I heard, "Hi Alicia. Its Dr. R***...." At our hospital Docs don't normally call. I've talked to ours a few times on the phone...but my daughter has had some pretty nasty problems too. As much as I love our doc, his voice was the absolute LAST thing I wanted to hear associated with lab results. Worse, his message just said, "Hey, I'm going to call you on your cell phone." That's it. No results, no "don't worry"s, just a few sentences indicating that he didn't want to leave a message - he really wanted to talk to me himself. Ugh.
Here's where the torture ramped up to super level. I realized my cell phone hadn't rung all day. Then, I thought about the number I gave him, and realized, to my horror, that I'd goofed up the number, again. I don't call myself, and frankly - can't remember my number to save my life. I have absolutely no business ever giving it out - I get it wrong 90% of the time. Yesterday, was no exception. So here it was, 5:45, after clinic hours - with no way of getting a hold of the doctor. For a medical emergency, you can call the Heme-Onc on call. For being a dweeb and giving the wrong cell number - you just have to suck it up until morning.
First thing, I called Nick (hubby) and described the message - hoping he wouldn't think along the same lines. Fat chance on that. We've been together 25 years, we long since gave up having individual thought patterns. He went right to the ugly place I was. After much discussion, we managed to calm ourselves and rule out any cancer relapse scenarios, or life-threatening issues. We knew Dr. R*** would have turned the world upside down to find us if we needed to go to the hospital. That left less-than-stellar lab reports on the table. And basically, our only option was to wait it out. In Nick's case, that meant staying late at the house we're trying to sell, and working himself into a forgetful, exhausted frenzy. For me, that meant eating things I shouldn't. Duh...I'm a stress eater. And this, definitely, qualified as STRESS.
This morning, I called Heme-Onc again, and left a new message. I apologized for having the brain of a frog, and begged for mercy with a return phone call. I outed myself and my burgeoning gray hairs and heart condition as I waited for news... God bless those people - they knew I was a wreck. I got my phone call by 9:30.
Dr. R*** did, indeed, make the return call. Again, I adore this man...but again, his voice made my heart sink to ankle level. The news wasn't all bad, but it couldn't exactly be categorized as good. Quick review: Avalon has a high level of protein in her CSF (cerebral spinal fluid). This is not good. Option #1 - Best case scenario - we would find indicators of general body stress, showing that her body was not happy having some "hardware" in it (her shunt). We would put her on low dose anti-inflammatory drugs - and allow her body time to adjust. Option #2 - Worse case scenario A - we would find high levels of inflammation indicators and other blood values indicating shunt rejection. Avalon would be placed on anti-rejection meds like an organ transplant patient. Option #3 - Worse case scenario B - Avalon would show positive bloodwork for a new disease - and auto-immune disease. Treatment will depend on disease.
Well folks, it appears to be Option #3, Avalon has developed a new disease process. Avalon's neuro-optho had warned me that this was distinctly possible. She said that children with blood/immune system cancers, like lymphoma and leukemia, have a much higher possibility of developing an auto-immune issue. Add to that, we have a horrific family history of auto-immune problems, and this was our main fear. Oddly enough, I had questioned this possibility very strenuously back in Feb of 2007. (a fact that I forgot until my hubby and a close friend reminded me) In Feb, Avalon's CSF was only showing mild elevation in the protein level - still perfectly withing normal range. In Feb, the ANA (anti-nuclear antibodies) titers were normal. Now, she is positive for ANA. Without getting too medico on you, normal people just don't have positive ANA's. Its a definite indicator of auto-immune disease.
Also, she had elevated segs. For cancer people, or medical people - you know what that means. For everyone else, segs are a part of a blood work differential done on white blood cells. High segs can indicate impending relapse. Avalon's were not that high, and the rest of her counts were fine. Elevated segs indicate general body stress - and point to auto-immune disorders. Add that to her increased fatigue in the past few months, and the protein in her CSF - and now we have more than enough ammo to get an appointment with a rheumatologist to try to figure out what it is that's after her.
After checking into the most likely culprits, its also apparant that repeated anesthesia episodes are probably not the culprit for her hair loss. I've been asking for months, why her hair falls out so easily, and in such large clumps. You'd think someone would have put two and two together. Allopecia is also a hallmark sign of auto-immune dysfunction. I'm totally understanding how adults can go years without a diagnosis. This kiddo sees highly trained specialists and is constantly gone over with a fine-toothed comb - and they missed the signs.
On one hand, I'm glad that I pay close enough attention to her that I've been complaining about the fatigue and hair loss for months. I'm glad I know my daughter well enough to know she's been exhausted/in pain. I'm glad I can advocate for her, and I haven't been super paranoid crazy mom all this time.
But good grief, I'm damn sorry to be right. Just once, I wish a doctor would say, "No, its nothing." and actually be right. I've heard that phrase, they've just always been mistaken...
So, it looks like Avalon's chariot will likely be a permanent member of the family, rather than a visitor for a few years. And, we're gaining two new departments for her resume. I could sit and cry, but I don't have time. She's a grinning, happy, ornery 4 year old - who can't be bothered to sit still long enough to be pitied. She's got it going on. And she's kicking my whiny butt into moving on.
Thought you'd all want to know. At the very least, this better explains my recent hurdle off of the diet train...
- Alicia losing weight to raise awareness of pediatric cancer www.crazycancermom.com
But, some people coming the site do want to know about my daughter. For you, this is the easiest way to get you up to speed. (particularly, since her website is nearly 2 years out of date)
As of yesterday morning, I still had not heard about Avalon's lab tests from Thurs Sept 20. That's very unusual for our clinic, but I knew they'd run tests that required being sent to labs far and wide, so I wasn't too concerned about the time frame. I called clinic Tues morning, and left a message asking about results and leaving my home and cell number - knowing we'd be gone to my daughter's school. (with the stress they cause me, that stupid school owns at least a barn or two on my fat farm...) I did what I always do, and gave them permission to leave the results on the voicemail - its easier for them, rather than having to track me down.
When I never heard from anyone, I presumed there would be a voice mail waiting. Sure enough, when we got home at 5:45 - there was the hospital number in our caller ID. After threatening the kids to silence, (if there is no threat...people in China can hear them, and I can't hear squat) I called into our voice mail. When I got to the hospital number, I nearly fainted.
Rather than the typical, "Hi Alicia! Its Sue,..." Or, "Hi Alicia! Its Diane..." I heard, "Hi Alicia. Its Dr. R***...." At our hospital Docs don't normally call. I've talked to ours a few times on the phone...but my daughter has had some pretty nasty problems too. As much as I love our doc, his voice was the absolute LAST thing I wanted to hear associated with lab results. Worse, his message just said, "Hey, I'm going to call you on your cell phone." That's it. No results, no "don't worry"s, just a few sentences indicating that he didn't want to leave a message - he really wanted to talk to me himself. Ugh.
Here's where the torture ramped up to super level. I realized my cell phone hadn't rung all day. Then, I thought about the number I gave him, and realized, to my horror, that I'd goofed up the number, again. I don't call myself, and frankly - can't remember my number to save my life. I have absolutely no business ever giving it out - I get it wrong 90% of the time. Yesterday, was no exception. So here it was, 5:45, after clinic hours - with no way of getting a hold of the doctor. For a medical emergency, you can call the Heme-Onc on call. For being a dweeb and giving the wrong cell number - you just have to suck it up until morning.
First thing, I called Nick (hubby) and described the message - hoping he wouldn't think along the same lines. Fat chance on that. We've been together 25 years, we long since gave up having individual thought patterns. He went right to the ugly place I was. After much discussion, we managed to calm ourselves and rule out any cancer relapse scenarios, or life-threatening issues. We knew Dr. R*** would have turned the world upside down to find us if we needed to go to the hospital. That left less-than-stellar lab reports on the table. And basically, our only option was to wait it out. In Nick's case, that meant staying late at the house we're trying to sell, and working himself into a forgetful, exhausted frenzy. For me, that meant eating things I shouldn't. Duh...I'm a stress eater. And this, definitely, qualified as STRESS.
This morning, I called Heme-Onc again, and left a new message. I apologized for having the brain of a frog, and begged for mercy with a return phone call. I outed myself and my burgeoning gray hairs and heart condition as I waited for news... God bless those people - they knew I was a wreck. I got my phone call by 9:30.
Dr. R*** did, indeed, make the return call. Again, I adore this man...but again, his voice made my heart sink to ankle level. The news wasn't all bad, but it couldn't exactly be categorized as good. Quick review: Avalon has a high level of protein in her CSF (cerebral spinal fluid). This is not good. Option #1 - Best case scenario - we would find indicators of general body stress, showing that her body was not happy having some "hardware" in it (her shunt). We would put her on low dose anti-inflammatory drugs - and allow her body time to adjust. Option #2 - Worse case scenario A - we would find high levels of inflammation indicators and other blood values indicating shunt rejection. Avalon would be placed on anti-rejection meds like an organ transplant patient. Option #3 - Worse case scenario B - Avalon would show positive bloodwork for a new disease - and auto-immune disease. Treatment will depend on disease.
Well folks, it appears to be Option #3, Avalon has developed a new disease process. Avalon's neuro-optho had warned me that this was distinctly possible. She said that children with blood/immune system cancers, like lymphoma and leukemia, have a much higher possibility of developing an auto-immune issue. Add to that, we have a horrific family history of auto-immune problems, and this was our main fear. Oddly enough, I had questioned this possibility very strenuously back in Feb of 2007. (a fact that I forgot until my hubby and a close friend reminded me) In Feb, Avalon's CSF was only showing mild elevation in the protein level - still perfectly withing normal range. In Feb, the ANA (anti-nuclear antibodies) titers were normal. Now, she is positive for ANA. Without getting too medico on you, normal people just don't have positive ANA's. Its a definite indicator of auto-immune disease.
Also, she had elevated segs. For cancer people, or medical people - you know what that means. For everyone else, segs are a part of a blood work differential done on white blood cells. High segs can indicate impending relapse. Avalon's were not that high, and the rest of her counts were fine. Elevated segs indicate general body stress - and point to auto-immune disorders. Add that to her increased fatigue in the past few months, and the protein in her CSF - and now we have more than enough ammo to get an appointment with a rheumatologist to try to figure out what it is that's after her.
After checking into the most likely culprits, its also apparant that repeated anesthesia episodes are probably not the culprit for her hair loss. I've been asking for months, why her hair falls out so easily, and in such large clumps. You'd think someone would have put two and two together. Allopecia is also a hallmark sign of auto-immune dysfunction. I'm totally understanding how adults can go years without a diagnosis. This kiddo sees highly trained specialists and is constantly gone over with a fine-toothed comb - and they missed the signs.
On one hand, I'm glad that I pay close enough attention to her that I've been complaining about the fatigue and hair loss for months. I'm glad I know my daughter well enough to know she's been exhausted/in pain. I'm glad I can advocate for her, and I haven't been super paranoid crazy mom all this time.
But good grief, I'm damn sorry to be right. Just once, I wish a doctor would say, "No, its nothing." and actually be right. I've heard that phrase, they've just always been mistaken...
So, it looks like Avalon's chariot will likely be a permanent member of the family, rather than a visitor for a few years. And, we're gaining two new departments for her resume. I could sit and cry, but I don't have time. She's a grinning, happy, ornery 4 year old - who can't be bothered to sit still long enough to be pitied. She's got it going on. And she's kicking my whiny butt into moving on.
Thought you'd all want to know. At the very least, this better explains my recent hurdle off of the diet train...
- Alicia losing weight to raise awareness of pediatric cancer www.crazycancermom.com
September 26, 2007
The universe is gunning for my gams...and I'm just gonna have to say, "NO!"
That's right...I can hear the faint footsteps (that's a big fat lie. The footfalls are more like an elephant in combat boots) of the Blubber Behemoth. He's an ornery cuss. He gets his jollies from sneaking into unsuspecting bloomers overnight - and depositing his less-than-desirable bubbles of blubber. He's a right sneaky fellow...been pursuing me with a vengence this week.
Can I hear the great BB coming? Oh yeah. Have I, thus far, been successful in evading his evening deposit? That's a negative, good buddy. Mr. Behemoth has, unfortunately, had his way with my tush-ay the past few days. The soul-sucking sourpuss has added back a whopping 3.5 pounds! Argghhhh.................
Not that he didn't have plenty of help. The Birthday Blubber Fairy was more than thrilled to add her daily quota. Then, there's the king of Blubberdom...the master of all of Fattington...the Stress Distress. Damned Stress Distress. What in the Sam Hill did I ever do to him? Cripes. You'd think I'd at least have the joy of whacking someboy upside the head or something. No...I just had to go and reproduce. Kids = stress. And a medical kid? Well a medical kid bumps you into an entirely new stress zipcode. A medical kid with an emerging, and decently serious, issue...and heck, you may as well whip out the checkbook...you're buying yourself a Fat Farm.
Between the three, the Blubber Behemoth, the Birthday Blubber Fairy, and the Stress Distress...I've managed to whittle my weight loss from 14 pounds, down to 10.5 pounds gone. Bat crap! I mean, seriously, when I lose this 3.5 pounds, again, that will make the THIRD stinkin' time I've had to do it! ACK!!!!!!!!!!
And let me tell you, forewarned is forearmed. Anyone foolish enough to say, "Oh, don't worry about it - things happen..." stands the very good chance of being hunted down by the light of the moon - and beaten senseless with a week-old bagel. Not kidding... I'm on the edge here....
So here I go, back to starvation/craving/carb-deprived Super Hades. Bleck. If you have ever been asked if you would jump off a 200 foot suspension bridge, without a bungi, to fall into jagged rocks - coated in salt water and broken glass...then maybe you can appreciate my *excitement* over my next few days. If you haven't...then, lucky you. Kindly don't share your good fortune...I'm going to need exercise - and I'm not above hunting you down for sport.
- Alicia, the miserably-regretting-poor-food-choices Crazy Cancer Mom - suffering to make you laugh - and maybe to make you think about our kids www.crazycancermom.com
That's right...I can hear the faint footsteps (that's a big fat lie. The footfalls are more like an elephant in combat boots) of the Blubber Behemoth. He's an ornery cuss. He gets his jollies from sneaking into unsuspecting bloomers overnight - and depositing his less-than-desirable bubbles of blubber. He's a right sneaky fellow...been pursuing me with a vengence this week.
Can I hear the great BB coming? Oh yeah. Have I, thus far, been successful in evading his evening deposit? That's a negative, good buddy. Mr. Behemoth has, unfortunately, had his way with my tush-ay the past few days. The soul-sucking sourpuss has added back a whopping 3.5 pounds! Argghhhh.................
Not that he didn't have plenty of help. The Birthday Blubber Fairy was more than thrilled to add her daily quota. Then, there's the king of Blubberdom...the master of all of Fattington...the Stress Distress. Damned Stress Distress. What in the Sam Hill did I ever do to him? Cripes. You'd think I'd at least have the joy of whacking someboy upside the head or something. No...I just had to go and reproduce. Kids = stress. And a medical kid? Well a medical kid bumps you into an entirely new stress zipcode. A medical kid with an emerging, and decently serious, issue...and heck, you may as well whip out the checkbook...you're buying yourself a Fat Farm.
Between the three, the Blubber Behemoth, the Birthday Blubber Fairy, and the Stress Distress...I've managed to whittle my weight loss from 14 pounds, down to 10.5 pounds gone. Bat crap! I mean, seriously, when I lose this 3.5 pounds, again, that will make the THIRD stinkin' time I've had to do it! ACK!!!!!!!!!!
And let me tell you, forewarned is forearmed. Anyone foolish enough to say, "Oh, don't worry about it - things happen..." stands the very good chance of being hunted down by the light of the moon - and beaten senseless with a week-old bagel. Not kidding... I'm on the edge here....
So here I go, back to starvation/craving/carb-deprived Super Hades. Bleck. If you have ever been asked if you would jump off a 200 foot suspension bridge, without a bungi, to fall into jagged rocks - coated in salt water and broken glass...then maybe you can appreciate my *excitement* over my next few days. If you haven't...then, lucky you. Kindly don't share your good fortune...I'm going to need exercise - and I'm not above hunting you down for sport.
- Alicia, the miserably-regretting-poor-food-choices Crazy Cancer Mom - suffering to make you laugh - and maybe to make you think about our kids www.crazycancermom.com
Monday, September 24, 2007
September 23, 2007
Well, the universe conspired against me. I've gained weight back...lots...and it was dad-blasted fun! Hee hee hee.
As you may remember, my dear hubby tried his best for a fantastic 40th birthday. Problem was, he actually chose this year to shop early. (never before, possibly never again after this) Early would normally be commendable - except for the fact that he bought his dieting, carb-deprived wife a gift card to The Cheesecake Factory. Torture, pure unadulterated torture.
Of course, being the frugal femme fa tale I am, I simply had to go and use the fateful card. By arranging to go to lunch today, with my sister, I figured I had armed myself with a portion-limiting timeframe, and a voice-of-reason companion. Nerts on that! The lunch portions at Cheesecake Factory are megalomaniac in nature, and my sister is about the WORST voice-of-reason on the planet. She whole-heartedly embraces positive mental health exercises. Translation, she's an advocate for periodically chucking responsibility out the window and loudly singing Ce La Vie!
In all fairness, she tried to lead by example - and only ate a reasonable one or two pieces of the pre-food bread. However...she also didn't tackle me and threaten to beat me with a sourdough breadstick when I behaved like a carb-crazed basket-case. I embarrassingly scarfed up 6 or 7 butter drenched hunks of yeasty, wheat-laden loaves of death. And it was gooooooood..........
I mean, knowing that the first tiny taste would cause catastrophic diet dismemberment. I felt it was my duty, as a dieting diva, to fully explore the fall from grace. While I know a simple bite can halt any progress, I decided it was scientifically prudent to investigate what a complete annihilation of dieting protocol could do to a body. In that respect, I felt compelled to further my research by ordering a delectable pasta dish with mushrooms, chicken, and tomatoes - all swimming ever so beckoningly - in a white sauce. Being utterly committed to my dissertation, I had no choice but to also order the artichoke/spinach/hot cheese dip with chips as an appetizer. I mean, honestly, I couldn't leave out such an important step in my scientific method. (work with me, I'm on a "roll"...Ah haa haa haa) (yeah, I crack myself up)
There was, however, an enormous flaw in my research protocol. I forgot to factor in a "cheesecake allowance". Yet again, I found myself waddling out of the big CF - more stuffed than the common T-day turkey - and utterly, totally, devoid of cheesecake. I nearly wrote the mission off as a failure , then I remembered the multi-loaf assault at the beginning of the battle. Ultimately, I decided my research methods only ranked a "C", but my willingness to "suffer" for the cause, was undeniably "A" material.
Post Cheescake debacle, my chauffeur and I laboriously worked our stuffed selves through a few stores at the shopping center. We ogled furniture we couldn't afford, and clothing we can't currently fit a single boob in. I'm telling you - I lose this weight, I'm so going to enjoy dressing to embarrass my children! ("Geez, mo'om, do you have to dress like my friends?!) Oh yeah, I plan on making a nuisance of myself...
All too soon, we had to wing our way home to my waiting hubby, and his list of places he had to go. Or so...I'd been told.
In reality, we winged our way home to my 40th birthday Surprise Party! Wahooooo!
We walked in and there stood Daddy and the 4 minions, grinning like a pack of Cheshire cats, surrounded by decorations a go go. Then, one by one, people I love kept appearing from either side of the kitchen, each wearing a bigger grin than the next! Hee hee hee......
What followed was a whopping boatload of FUN! I opened rotten, ornery cards, received thoughtful, generous gifts, and withstood COPIOUS amounts of abuse about my recent arrival on the far side of the Hill. And in the interest of a dieting blog...I also ate cake, chips, nachos and cheese, and several sugar-free mini-cheesecakes. Oh yeah, I took my oath of investigation pretty damned serious. I decided it continued as long as my birthday "celebrations" did. (I know I'm delusional...I'm okay with it...)
In all, I had an absolutely PERFECT day. Friends made special trips to join us, my family turned themselves inside out to make it special and memorable, and my daughter's god-daddy even managed to make me teary by taking a personal day from work on Monday, to be able to come to the party and spend the night with us. I had the most amazing time I could have possibly hoped for, and it was worth every calorie eaten, and every ounce gained.
I suppose that's the lesson I learned today. My sister's refusal to body slam me, shows that my "baby" sister may have a better grip on life than her geriatric sibling. She knew the value of completely letting go and LIVING life today. No one can be perfect all the time. At least, no one should be perfect all the time. Its our flaws that make us human.
I let my metaphorical hair down today - and will inevitably see the scales go "up" as a result of it. But ahh....this time my wagon tipped for fun, instead of fear. I'll take a few bruises in the name of celebration any day.
Fish paste and turtle haste,
Alicia - the Crazy Cancer Mom - losing weight to raise awareness for pediatric cancer
http://www.crazycancermom.com/
As you may remember, my dear hubby tried his best for a fantastic 40th birthday. Problem was, he actually chose this year to shop early. (never before, possibly never again after this) Early would normally be commendable - except for the fact that he bought his dieting, carb-deprived wife a gift card to The Cheesecake Factory. Torture, pure unadulterated torture.
Of course, being the frugal femme fa tale I am, I simply had to go and use the fateful card. By arranging to go to lunch today, with my sister, I figured I had armed myself with a portion-limiting timeframe, and a voice-of-reason companion. Nerts on that! The lunch portions at Cheesecake Factory are megalomaniac in nature, and my sister is about the WORST voice-of-reason on the planet. She whole-heartedly embraces positive mental health exercises. Translation, she's an advocate for periodically chucking responsibility out the window and loudly singing Ce La Vie!
In all fairness, she tried to lead by example - and only ate a reasonable one or two pieces of the pre-food bread. However...she also didn't tackle me and threaten to beat me with a sourdough breadstick when I behaved like a carb-crazed basket-case. I embarrassingly scarfed up 6 or 7 butter drenched hunks of yeasty, wheat-laden loaves of death. And it was gooooooood..........
I mean, knowing that the first tiny taste would cause catastrophic diet dismemberment. I felt it was my duty, as a dieting diva, to fully explore the fall from grace. While I know a simple bite can halt any progress, I decided it was scientifically prudent to investigate what a complete annihilation of dieting protocol could do to a body. In that respect, I felt compelled to further my research by ordering a delectable pasta dish with mushrooms, chicken, and tomatoes - all swimming ever so beckoningly - in a white sauce. Being utterly committed to my dissertation, I had no choice but to also order the artichoke/spinach/hot cheese dip with chips as an appetizer. I mean, honestly, I couldn't leave out such an important step in my scientific method. (work with me, I'm on a "roll"...Ah haa haa haa) (yeah, I crack myself up)
There was, however, an enormous flaw in my research protocol. I forgot to factor in a "cheesecake allowance". Yet again, I found myself waddling out of the big CF - more stuffed than the common T-day turkey - and utterly, totally, devoid of cheesecake. I nearly wrote the mission off as a failure , then I remembered the multi-loaf assault at the beginning of the battle. Ultimately, I decided my research methods only ranked a "C", but my willingness to "suffer" for the cause, was undeniably "A" material.
Post Cheescake debacle, my chauffeur and I laboriously worked our stuffed selves through a few stores at the shopping center. We ogled furniture we couldn't afford, and clothing we can't currently fit a single boob in. I'm telling you - I lose this weight, I'm so going to enjoy dressing to embarrass my children! ("Geez, mo'om, do you have to dress like my friends?!) Oh yeah, I plan on making a nuisance of myself...
All too soon, we had to wing our way home to my waiting hubby, and his list of places he had to go. Or so...I'd been told.
In reality, we winged our way home to my 40th birthday Surprise Party! Wahooooo!
We walked in and there stood Daddy and the 4 minions, grinning like a pack of Cheshire cats, surrounded by decorations a go go. Then, one by one, people I love kept appearing from either side of the kitchen, each wearing a bigger grin than the next! Hee hee hee......
What followed was a whopping boatload of FUN! I opened rotten, ornery cards, received thoughtful, generous gifts, and withstood COPIOUS amounts of abuse about my recent arrival on the far side of the Hill. And in the interest of a dieting blog...I also ate cake, chips, nachos and cheese, and several sugar-free mini-cheesecakes. Oh yeah, I took my oath of investigation pretty damned serious. I decided it continued as long as my birthday "celebrations" did. (I know I'm delusional...I'm okay with it...)
In all, I had an absolutely PERFECT day. Friends made special trips to join us, my family turned themselves inside out to make it special and memorable, and my daughter's god-daddy even managed to make me teary by taking a personal day from work on Monday, to be able to come to the party and spend the night with us. I had the most amazing time I could have possibly hoped for, and it was worth every calorie eaten, and every ounce gained.
I suppose that's the lesson I learned today. My sister's refusal to body slam me, shows that my "baby" sister may have a better grip on life than her geriatric sibling. She knew the value of completely letting go and LIVING life today. No one can be perfect all the time. At least, no one should be perfect all the time. Its our flaws that make us human.
I let my metaphorical hair down today - and will inevitably see the scales go "up" as a result of it. But ahh....this time my wagon tipped for fun, instead of fear. I'll take a few bruises in the name of celebration any day.
Fish paste and turtle haste,
Alicia - the Crazy Cancer Mom - losing weight to raise awareness for pediatric cancer
http://www.crazycancermom.com/
Sunday, September 23, 2007
September 22, 2007
Baby...baby baby baby. I had a baby day...it was kind of fu-un. ;-)
Today was a friend's baby shower. I spent the morning working like a meth-crazed marathon runner, trying to finish my "assignment" for the shower. I should probably pause now to let you in on one of my giant life secrets. I procrastinate. I mean...if I could figure out how to procrastinate breathing...I probably would. I don't ever start anything on time. All billion and three college papers were written the morning they were due. Laundry is done when the skivvies drawer is empty. Floors are swept long after the dust bunnies should have been named. I...procrastinate.
Not that I didn't do the research for the papers. Not that I don't gather, sort, and carry the laundry downstairs. I do the prep work, I'm just really, really bad at the follow through. I tend to "follow" other things...until I'm "through" with any extra time. I...procrastinate.
For this particular shower, I was dad-blasted proud of myself. I not only purchased the first part of the gift two months ago, I quickly followed through with buying the parts I would be making. Then, to the shock and utter disbelief of my family, I actually immediately made the gifts I had purchased material for. You see, I am definitely in the running for the She-Who-Has-The-Most-Material-Wins award. I have a rather bad habit of buying fabric with grandiose notions of what it will become...and then looking at it, folded, for years. Oh yeah, did I happen to mention? I...procrastinate.
For once, I had conquered my procrastinating proclivity. I actually had the gift done, ready to go, weeks ahead of time. Sounds great, but the story doesn't end there. Rats. As one of many women who love this family, I was on a long list of people willing to help. As the only one on the list with 4 kids, they were kind and gave me the simple assignment of nametags. "Bee" nametags, to be exact. Something creative and fun. Not a problem, unless - you...procrastinate.
I came up with a killer idea (no bee pun intended there). I designed polar fleece bees, with the intention of embroidering guests names on them. Then, post shower, I would applique the bees onto a blanket as a shower memory quilt. Cute, huh? Fat chance. Did you somehow miss my previous paragraphs? I...procrastinate!
Back to today. Here I was, scissor-wielding wack-a-doo, cutting bee parts like a mass murderess. I cut, I glued, I swore from the third degree hot-glue burn on my middle finger, I cut, repeat... You get the general idea. With the exception of my damaged digit, all was going rather well - until I attempted to use the $65 hand-held embroidery machine purchased for said bees. In a word? Failure. Dismal, gut-wrenching, I-felt-like-a-giant-walking-boob failure. Fantastic.
Now my dreams of cutsie beedom, became nightmares of no-faced, no-named scary bee zombie thingies. Great. I caved and decided the only viable option was fabric paint. Easy enough - if your paint isn't from a former presidency and therefore about as easy to obtain as sucking an elephant through a garden hose. Not pretty. Thanks to Herculean efforts of Mondo the Super Hubby - we did finally manage to create some funky lookin' bees with names on their bellies. Problem was - paint said 72 hours to cure, we had 90 minutes. Stupid procrastination.
Super Hubby to the rescue! As I water blasted my frustrated self, he lovingly hair-dryered the offending bees. I stressed, he blew. I freaked when I couldn't find shoes and began winging things with no regard to life or limb - and he aired some more. I railed at myself and my short-comings, he heated with gusto. I lost my mind...he fixed my bees. Mondo scored MAJOR points. He saved my bees! Mondo does NOT procrastinate. Can't figure out how he hasn't killed me.
In my frenzy, I hadn't bothered to eat breakfast. No time, no interest in smelly eggs when heading into a hen-fest. As for lunch - torture, torture, torture. There were bowls of candy, bee-hive shaped cakes that reportedly tasted even better than they looked (and they were stinkin' CUTE), and be still my heart...Panera bagels. Sure, sure, there was pasta salad and chips and dip to torment me too - but they couldn't begin to compare. I mean...bagels.... Oh, and did I mention? There was cream cheese too, three kinds. Uh huh...it was there. Strawberry cream cheese. Oh, the agony................. (look at previous posts, you'll find the answer to what you're wondering)
To be fair, there were veggies and three separate fantastic salads that I could eat. I actually did fine diet-wise, I just wasn't happy about it. Stupid diet. Stupid strawberry cream cheese winking at me from between the stupid bagels.
Man, I wish I could find a way to procrastinate FAT.
Fishfarts.
- Alicia - your gonna-be-dreamin'-bagels-again Crazy Cancer Mom
www.crazycancermom.com
Today was a friend's baby shower. I spent the morning working like a meth-crazed marathon runner, trying to finish my "assignment" for the shower. I should probably pause now to let you in on one of my giant life secrets. I procrastinate. I mean...if I could figure out how to procrastinate breathing...I probably would. I don't ever start anything on time. All billion and three college papers were written the morning they were due. Laundry is done when the skivvies drawer is empty. Floors are swept long after the dust bunnies should have been named. I...procrastinate.
Not that I didn't do the research for the papers. Not that I don't gather, sort, and carry the laundry downstairs. I do the prep work, I'm just really, really bad at the follow through. I tend to "follow" other things...until I'm "through" with any extra time. I...procrastinate.
For this particular shower, I was dad-blasted proud of myself. I not only purchased the first part of the gift two months ago, I quickly followed through with buying the parts I would be making. Then, to the shock and utter disbelief of my family, I actually immediately made the gifts I had purchased material for. You see, I am definitely in the running for the She-Who-Has-The-Most-Material-Wins award. I have a rather bad habit of buying fabric with grandiose notions of what it will become...and then looking at it, folded, for years. Oh yeah, did I happen to mention? I...procrastinate.
For once, I had conquered my procrastinating proclivity. I actually had the gift done, ready to go, weeks ahead of time. Sounds great, but the story doesn't end there. Rats. As one of many women who love this family, I was on a long list of people willing to help. As the only one on the list with 4 kids, they were kind and gave me the simple assignment of nametags. "Bee" nametags, to be exact. Something creative and fun. Not a problem, unless - you...procrastinate.
I came up with a killer idea (no bee pun intended there). I designed polar fleece bees, with the intention of embroidering guests names on them. Then, post shower, I would applique the bees onto a blanket as a shower memory quilt. Cute, huh? Fat chance. Did you somehow miss my previous paragraphs? I...procrastinate!
Back to today. Here I was, scissor-wielding wack-a-doo, cutting bee parts like a mass murderess. I cut, I glued, I swore from the third degree hot-glue burn on my middle finger, I cut, repeat... You get the general idea. With the exception of my damaged digit, all was going rather well - until I attempted to use the $65 hand-held embroidery machine purchased for said bees. In a word? Failure. Dismal, gut-wrenching, I-felt-like-a-giant-walking-boob failure. Fantastic.
Now my dreams of cutsie beedom, became nightmares of no-faced, no-named scary bee zombie thingies. Great. I caved and decided the only viable option was fabric paint. Easy enough - if your paint isn't from a former presidency and therefore about as easy to obtain as sucking an elephant through a garden hose. Not pretty. Thanks to Herculean efforts of Mondo the Super Hubby - we did finally manage to create some funky lookin' bees with names on their bellies. Problem was - paint said 72 hours to cure, we had 90 minutes. Stupid procrastination.
Super Hubby to the rescue! As I water blasted my frustrated self, he lovingly hair-dryered the offending bees. I stressed, he blew. I freaked when I couldn't find shoes and began winging things with no regard to life or limb - and he aired some more. I railed at myself and my short-comings, he heated with gusto. I lost my mind...he fixed my bees. Mondo scored MAJOR points. He saved my bees! Mondo does NOT procrastinate. Can't figure out how he hasn't killed me.
In my frenzy, I hadn't bothered to eat breakfast. No time, no interest in smelly eggs when heading into a hen-fest. As for lunch - torture, torture, torture. There were bowls of candy, bee-hive shaped cakes that reportedly tasted even better than they looked (and they were stinkin' CUTE), and be still my heart...Panera bagels. Sure, sure, there was pasta salad and chips and dip to torment me too - but they couldn't begin to compare. I mean...bagels.... Oh, and did I mention? There was cream cheese too, three kinds. Uh huh...it was there. Strawberry cream cheese. Oh, the agony................. (look at previous posts, you'll find the answer to what you're wondering)
To be fair, there were veggies and three separate fantastic salads that I could eat. I actually did fine diet-wise, I just wasn't happy about it. Stupid diet. Stupid strawberry cream cheese winking at me from between the stupid bagels.
Man, I wish I could find a way to procrastinate FAT.
Fishfarts.
- Alicia - your gonna-be-dreamin'-bagels-again Crazy Cancer Mom
www.crazycancermom.com
Saturday, September 22, 2007
September 21, 2007 - part 2
End of my birthday...ah well. Thank you to those of you who emailed and posted here. You made my day. I wish...oh I wish there would have been 200 notes from strangers saying that I've touched someone I don't know. But I am very happy with the two or three people I have heard from. Each person who thinks about our kids even once...is a victory to me!
I'd love to tell you I painted the town red, ate like it was my job, and still lost 5 lbs. I'd love to tell you that...but I'd be the fattest liar this side of the Mississippi! No...ate a sensible and typically stinky breakfast - and indulged more than I should have at dinner. Afraid to see what my nemesis, the scale, will say the next few days...
One of my admitted food-passions in life is take-out Chinese. OOOOOOHHHHH...the smell and crunch of a good crab rangoon.....OOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I'm telling you - its nearly an out-of-body experience for me. Figure in my abiding love for Sesame Chicken, Hunan Beef, General Tso and his army of tasty tidbits...and you can imagine why the local Chinese place at our old house knew us by name. (seriously, we probably financed at least one of their cars) I tell myself that, in the grand scheme of things, Chinese isn't as bad as other options. I know, I'm delusional. But its soooooooo gooood.
Well, my deluded, dieting, decrepitly old self let go of the reins a bit too far tonight, I'm afraid. I did sidestep the rice, but I oh-so-didn't remotely attempt to bypass the rangoon. You have to understand...rangoon doesn't just call my name. It walks across the table, pries my lips open, and leaps to its delicious demise. Its not my fault! (work with me, its my birthday rant)
In the interest of full disclosure - I also had more than a dalliance with some Sesame Chicken and some delectable veggies that had been stir-fried in what could only be described as heaven's sauce. Translation - I ate chicken and veggies that were so coated in ooey good crap - I'm sure their nutritional value reached negative status. Fishfarts.
On a more positive note, I was gifted rather amazingly. My 3 girls all made me jewelry. Number 1 daughter made me a fabulous red glass bead and bali silver necklace with an amazing glass pendant. Daughter 2 went crazy with purple beads and made me another wonderful necklace - complete with a "big girl" glass focus bead that her sister gave her. Daughter 3 was not to be outdone, and made her first "grown up" bracelet, complete with a real clasp fastened on by big sissy. No mom has ever been fancier. Even though there is overly ample amounts of me to go around, extra chins cannot function as extra necks. I'm actually short in the neck department. I could use 2 or 3 more to be able to wear all of my finery at once.
Then there's my poor mis-guided hubby. After years of not shopping until the last day, he finally listened to more than two decades of tirades. He went and shopped early. He not only purchased early...he made thoughtful, meaningful choices - taking my personal loves and interests to heart. He bought a gift card to a favorite restaurant - that I haven't been to in over two years (we have 4 kids - one with health issues - going "out" is not an expression we can wrap our brains around!), and a gift card to my favorite self-indulgence - Jo-Ann fabric. Sounds like a weary wife's dream-come-true, doesn't it?
Yes, yes, it would have been...if it weren't for this damned diet. Here I sat, eating my smelly onion eggs that my oldest daughter suffered horribly to make - and admiring my new finery. Then my wonderful, thoughtful, hubby presents me with his mushy, beautiful card and his oh-so-planned-out gift. I'm nearly a puddle of appreciation just reading the front of the card. Then...I opened it. Mind you, I'm hungry. I'm cranky. And thanks to my weekend of stress-induced debauchery...I'm still in anti-carb fueled cravings from Hades. So, what do I see as I open my flowery, poetic birthday card? A gift card to...(wait for it)........
the CHEESECAKE FACTORY!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I don't remember much of the rest of the day. My brain imploded and I blacked out.
Better luck next year.
- Alicia - the Crazy Cancer Mom who aged to the area called "Middle" today. Ack.
I'd love to tell you I painted the town red, ate like it was my job, and still lost 5 lbs. I'd love to tell you that...but I'd be the fattest liar this side of the Mississippi! No...ate a sensible and typically stinky breakfast - and indulged more than I should have at dinner. Afraid to see what my nemesis, the scale, will say the next few days...
One of my admitted food-passions in life is take-out Chinese. OOOOOOHHHHH...the smell and crunch of a good crab rangoon.....OOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I'm telling you - its nearly an out-of-body experience for me. Figure in my abiding love for Sesame Chicken, Hunan Beef, General Tso and his army of tasty tidbits...and you can imagine why the local Chinese place at our old house knew us by name. (seriously, we probably financed at least one of their cars) I tell myself that, in the grand scheme of things, Chinese isn't as bad as other options. I know, I'm delusional. But its soooooooo gooood.
Well, my deluded, dieting, decrepitly old self let go of the reins a bit too far tonight, I'm afraid. I did sidestep the rice, but I oh-so-didn't remotely attempt to bypass the rangoon. You have to understand...rangoon doesn't just call my name. It walks across the table, pries my lips open, and leaps to its delicious demise. Its not my fault! (work with me, its my birthday rant)
In the interest of full disclosure - I also had more than a dalliance with some Sesame Chicken and some delectable veggies that had been stir-fried in what could only be described as heaven's sauce. Translation - I ate chicken and veggies that were so coated in ooey good crap - I'm sure their nutritional value reached negative status. Fishfarts.
On a more positive note, I was gifted rather amazingly. My 3 girls all made me jewelry. Number 1 daughter made me a fabulous red glass bead and bali silver necklace with an amazing glass pendant. Daughter 2 went crazy with purple beads and made me another wonderful necklace - complete with a "big girl" glass focus bead that her sister gave her. Daughter 3 was not to be outdone, and made her first "grown up" bracelet, complete with a real clasp fastened on by big sissy. No mom has ever been fancier. Even though there is overly ample amounts of me to go around, extra chins cannot function as extra necks. I'm actually short in the neck department. I could use 2 or 3 more to be able to wear all of my finery at once.
Then there's my poor mis-guided hubby. After years of not shopping until the last day, he finally listened to more than two decades of tirades. He went and shopped early. He not only purchased early...he made thoughtful, meaningful choices - taking my personal loves and interests to heart. He bought a gift card to a favorite restaurant - that I haven't been to in over two years (we have 4 kids - one with health issues - going "out" is not an expression we can wrap our brains around!), and a gift card to my favorite self-indulgence - Jo-Ann fabric. Sounds like a weary wife's dream-come-true, doesn't it?
Yes, yes, it would have been...if it weren't for this damned diet. Here I sat, eating my smelly onion eggs that my oldest daughter suffered horribly to make - and admiring my new finery. Then my wonderful, thoughtful, hubby presents me with his mushy, beautiful card and his oh-so-planned-out gift. I'm nearly a puddle of appreciation just reading the front of the card. Then...I opened it. Mind you, I'm hungry. I'm cranky. And thanks to my weekend of stress-induced debauchery...I'm still in anti-carb fueled cravings from Hades. So, what do I see as I open my flowery, poetic birthday card? A gift card to...(wait for it)........
the CHEESECAKE FACTORY!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I don't remember much of the rest of the day. My brain imploded and I blacked out.
Better luck next year.
- Alicia - the Crazy Cancer Mom who aged to the area called "Middle" today. Ack.
Friday, September 21, 2007
September 21, 2007 - part 1
Happy Birthday to Me!
Happy Birthday to Me!
Happy Birthday, I'm 40 and decrepid....
Happy Birthday to me........................
Hello there, tubby-watchers! I will be posting twice today - because I was too stinking sleepy last night to do the Sept 20th post. So, this will be a backtrack blog - and a birthday plea!
Thursday, Sept 20.
________________________________________________________
**First - Avalon update. Feel free to skip ahead - if you're only here for my sugar-deprived rantings...**
Avalon had clinic today - and I had a wow-I-can't-believe-I-dorked-that doctor's appointment to make up - so we were at Children's Hospital from 10:30 am until 4:30 pm. Ugh.
Clinic was OK. The neuro-optho had ordered so much bloodwork, that they actually took out more blood that they would give her in a transfusion. In three years, its the first time she's mentioned "I can kind of feel the blood you're taking..." She actually got a smidge woozey. Little bit of juice, and she was good to go. Of course, could they have apple juice? Oh no - had to be grape juice...dark purple permanence just waiting to hit her rainbow-embroidered white shirt (incapable of being bleached...). She thought I was a loon treating the juice like toxic waste. She doesn't do the laundry.
As for tackling Avalon's CSF issues, its the first time I've ever felt "bumped" at our clinic. Our attending seemed to have little to offer and is bumping the referral process back to the neuro-optho. The neuro-optho had sent her referral request with me, because I have always said how helpful our clinic is. Neat. Now I get to crawl back to her - and beg her to jump the hoops. Not to mention, she's not a "Children's" doctor - everything moves more slowly coming from her. Our attending's one concern was proceeding slowly - not subjecting Avalon to loads of testing - which might ultimately not show anything. While I completely agree with that, the fact is, all the neuro-optho is asking is for a physical/rehab doctor to evaluate her muscle function - looking for indicators of auto-immune disease - to explain the de-mylenating process going on. We have more hints that things are not going well...this is the second month in a row, and people 3 and 4 who have not been able to find any reflexes in Avalon. Two months ago, she still had reflexes. Last month..none. Monday - none. Today, none in any joints, with two doctors trying. Something has to be up.
The mountains of bloodwork they leached her for - were so extensive, that several of the tests aren't even performed at our hospital. The blood has to be sent out-of-state. Wonder how long that will take? Heck, the lab had never even heard of one of the tests...our doctor had to interpret it for them. Sadly, the blood for the difficult test had been put into the wrong type of vial. That meant they had to re-draw Avalon. Since it was too much for a finger stick - we had to re-access her port and take it that way. My kiddo is a trooper! She and her "bestest bud" sissy - went tromping back to the infusion room, had her blood taken, and came out victorious - all without me! I just got the I-don't-need-you-I'm-big hand. Too funny! Of course, the nurses thought they were amazing...so the two appeared with beanie babies and pretty hats as a reward. You've never seen bigger smiles...
Then, there's my you-have-to-be-kidding screw up. Wednesday, I was supposed to be in a meeting with Avalon's neuro-psychologist - to go over her test results. Would you like to ask me what I was doing? Hmmm, can you guess I wasn't sitting next to him? Yep. I was sitting next to a 6 year old, in front of her school computer, discussing differences in your body from the time you are a baby until you're six. Talk about your dork-up. When the doctor called - I wanted to crawl under my seat. Here I am, 40 (ack - that hurts to write!) and I "lost my homework" so to speak. I was mortified.
Thankfully, Dr. Glazier has a wonderful sense of humor - and couldn't have been kinder about it. He even gently teased me today when he graciously agreed to see me after clinic. The good news is, he actually gave me good news! Wahooooo! I threatened to kiss him for being the only medico in recent months to give me good news. I probably should have followed through on my threat...he's young and cute. The only "bad" news wasn't really bad - just affirming. The tests showed a loss of speed/motor function with Avalon's right hand. She is definitely right hand preferential - but it doesn't work right. Perfectly in line with Left frontal brain damage that we've been suspicious of. So - not really bad - just more evidence to get us in to see the latest set of docs we need to see.
So - other than being embarrassed by my own stress-fueled shortcomings - it was a pretty good hospital day!
____________________________________________________
OK, on to a few Fat-A-Thon ravings.
I did OK today. Not great...OK. I didn't have time to make breakfast as I ran around tossing children into clothes and scrambling to find the list of bloodwork Avalon needed. In my less-than-composed life this week, I had lost the stupid piece of paper. As I single-handedly destroyed my bedroom and half the house searching for it...making my smelly onion eggs somehow got lost. Probably wasn't a bad thing...at least I didn't have dragon breath for the 6 hour hospital tour.
By lunch, I was ready to start sucking IV's I was so hungry. (for those "in the know", I was going to say ready to suck TPN, but most people would wonder why I wanted to lick a television network...) Thankfully, some brilliant human installed a "good" food court in the basement of our hospital. Its the overly priced cousin to the regular cafeteria - but at least the food is actually tasty. While I watched my short people eat what could possibly be the best looking chicken tenders ever, I did manage to stay healthy and eat a huge chef salad. And...I only used one of the dressing pkts. (a whopping 180 calories! Ack!)
Here's the problem. By the time we got home, I was pooped. Pooped, up-to-my-eyeballs in my to-do list, and in a pre-birthday funk. I didn't manage to carve time to eat until about 10pm. Yeah, yeah, I know I should have just sucked it up and gone to bed...but then I could hear the diet gurus screaming in my ears about "needing to eat enough" blah blah blah. OK, so maybe they weren't actually screaming...at least they were a good excuse. I ate a healthy, small taco salad - right on track, no issues. That is, until my own onion breath nearly asphyxiated me. I gotta admit...I have been one dragon-breathed dieter these past two weeks. I am downright disgusting! Onions, pepper, garlic...they make boring taste better...but at a nasty price. What in the Hades is it going to matter if I'm thin and sexy...if my hubby can't stand to be in the same zipcode with my breath?!
Anyway, I was doing well, until I stunk myself out. Then, I had the unfortunate memory that I had a multi-pack of peppermint lifesavers stashed in a cupboard. Up until now, they've been totally safe. I loathe peppermint. Heck - I'm equal opportunity - I despise anything remotely mint. Ah so...that is, until you make me a carb-crazed lunatic. I innocently brought a few packs of lifesavers upstairs with me. My thought was to be kind to my 6 year old, and have lifesavers handy for school hours - so she doesn't have to smell my "icky breath". Nice thought - if you're not a 244 lb glutton! (yes, you read that right...I've lost 14 pounds!) I sat here, reading emails, and ate two entire rolls of peppermint lifesavers. I've decided, I'm now officially brain-damaged. Dieting has apparently destroyed all common sense and good taste - I ate mint. Lots of it. Bleck.
So, for most of the day - I was perfectly respectable. I ate rabbit food sprinkled with fair amounts of protein, and even drank some water to wash down my Diet Coke. I didn't cave to the fried wonderland that beckoned me in the food court. I didn't worship at the alter of the vending machine - even though it sang my name. No no - I suffered like any respectable dieter should...until. Until the siren song of the carbs led me down the path of destruction...to mints. Lots and lots of mints. Yuck.
Face it, its amazing how far you will go when you're desperate. Mints. What the heck was I thinking?!
___________________________________________________________
Final thoughts: Its my Birthday! Yahoo! (no, this is blogspot...maybe I should have said Bloghoo!) How about sending me a birthday wish...so I know more than two people are reading this? You can comment on this post, email me at alicia@crazycancermom.com or best of all - send in a pledge for the Fat-A-Thon. I'm dong all of this to remind you how much cancer kids need you. My bestest best birthday wish would be to learn that someone I don't know is reading this, and thinking a bit about our kids.
Thanks!!!!
LOVE from an officially OVER THE HILL Crazy Cancer Mom - Alicia
www.crazycancermom.com
Happy Birthday to Me!
Happy Birthday, I'm 40 and decrepid....
Happy Birthday to me........................
Hello there, tubby-watchers! I will be posting twice today - because I was too stinking sleepy last night to do the Sept 20th post. So, this will be a backtrack blog - and a birthday plea!
Thursday, Sept 20.
________________________________________________________
**First - Avalon update. Feel free to skip ahead - if you're only here for my sugar-deprived rantings...**
Avalon had clinic today - and I had a wow-I-can't-believe-I-dorked-that doctor's appointment to make up - so we were at Children's Hospital from 10:30 am until 4:30 pm. Ugh.
Clinic was OK. The neuro-optho had ordered so much bloodwork, that they actually took out more blood that they would give her in a transfusion. In three years, its the first time she's mentioned "I can kind of feel the blood you're taking..." She actually got a smidge woozey. Little bit of juice, and she was good to go. Of course, could they have apple juice? Oh no - had to be grape juice...dark purple permanence just waiting to hit her rainbow-embroidered white shirt (incapable of being bleached...). She thought I was a loon treating the juice like toxic waste. She doesn't do the laundry.
As for tackling Avalon's CSF issues, its the first time I've ever felt "bumped" at our clinic. Our attending seemed to have little to offer and is bumping the referral process back to the neuro-optho. The neuro-optho had sent her referral request with me, because I have always said how helpful our clinic is. Neat. Now I get to crawl back to her - and beg her to jump the hoops. Not to mention, she's not a "Children's" doctor - everything moves more slowly coming from her. Our attending's one concern was proceeding slowly - not subjecting Avalon to loads of testing - which might ultimately not show anything. While I completely agree with that, the fact is, all the neuro-optho is asking is for a physical/rehab doctor to evaluate her muscle function - looking for indicators of auto-immune disease - to explain the de-mylenating process going on. We have more hints that things are not going well...this is the second month in a row, and people 3 and 4 who have not been able to find any reflexes in Avalon. Two months ago, she still had reflexes. Last month..none. Monday - none. Today, none in any joints, with two doctors trying. Something has to be up.
The mountains of bloodwork they leached her for - were so extensive, that several of the tests aren't even performed at our hospital. The blood has to be sent out-of-state. Wonder how long that will take? Heck, the lab had never even heard of one of the tests...our doctor had to interpret it for them. Sadly, the blood for the difficult test had been put into the wrong type of vial. That meant they had to re-draw Avalon. Since it was too much for a finger stick - we had to re-access her port and take it that way. My kiddo is a trooper! She and her "bestest bud" sissy - went tromping back to the infusion room, had her blood taken, and came out victorious - all without me! I just got the I-don't-need-you-I'm-big hand. Too funny! Of course, the nurses thought they were amazing...so the two appeared with beanie babies and pretty hats as a reward. You've never seen bigger smiles...
Then, there's my you-have-to-be-kidding screw up. Wednesday, I was supposed to be in a meeting with Avalon's neuro-psychologist - to go over her test results. Would you like to ask me what I was doing? Hmmm, can you guess I wasn't sitting next to him? Yep. I was sitting next to a 6 year old, in front of her school computer, discussing differences in your body from the time you are a baby until you're six. Talk about your dork-up. When the doctor called - I wanted to crawl under my seat. Here I am, 40 (ack - that hurts to write!) and I "lost my homework" so to speak. I was mortified.
Thankfully, Dr. Glazier has a wonderful sense of humor - and couldn't have been kinder about it. He even gently teased me today when he graciously agreed to see me after clinic. The good news is, he actually gave me good news! Wahooooo! I threatened to kiss him for being the only medico in recent months to give me good news. I probably should have followed through on my threat...he's young and cute. The only "bad" news wasn't really bad - just affirming. The tests showed a loss of speed/motor function with Avalon's right hand. She is definitely right hand preferential - but it doesn't work right. Perfectly in line with Left frontal brain damage that we've been suspicious of. So - not really bad - just more evidence to get us in to see the latest set of docs we need to see.
So - other than being embarrassed by my own stress-fueled shortcomings - it was a pretty good hospital day!
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OK, on to a few Fat-A-Thon ravings.
I did OK today. Not great...OK. I didn't have time to make breakfast as I ran around tossing children into clothes and scrambling to find the list of bloodwork Avalon needed. In my less-than-composed life this week, I had lost the stupid piece of paper. As I single-handedly destroyed my bedroom and half the house searching for it...making my smelly onion eggs somehow got lost. Probably wasn't a bad thing...at least I didn't have dragon breath for the 6 hour hospital tour.
By lunch, I was ready to start sucking IV's I was so hungry. (for those "in the know", I was going to say ready to suck TPN, but most people would wonder why I wanted to lick a television network...) Thankfully, some brilliant human installed a "good" food court in the basement of our hospital. Its the overly priced cousin to the regular cafeteria - but at least the food is actually tasty. While I watched my short people eat what could possibly be the best looking chicken tenders ever, I did manage to stay healthy and eat a huge chef salad. And...I only used one of the dressing pkts. (a whopping 180 calories! Ack!)
Here's the problem. By the time we got home, I was pooped. Pooped, up-to-my-eyeballs in my to-do list, and in a pre-birthday funk. I didn't manage to carve time to eat until about 10pm. Yeah, yeah, I know I should have just sucked it up and gone to bed...but then I could hear the diet gurus screaming in my ears about "needing to eat enough" blah blah blah. OK, so maybe they weren't actually screaming...at least they were a good excuse. I ate a healthy, small taco salad - right on track, no issues. That is, until my own onion breath nearly asphyxiated me. I gotta admit...I have been one dragon-breathed dieter these past two weeks. I am downright disgusting! Onions, pepper, garlic...they make boring taste better...but at a nasty price. What in the Hades is it going to matter if I'm thin and sexy...if my hubby can't stand to be in the same zipcode with my breath?!
Anyway, I was doing well, until I stunk myself out. Then, I had the unfortunate memory that I had a multi-pack of peppermint lifesavers stashed in a cupboard. Up until now, they've been totally safe. I loathe peppermint. Heck - I'm equal opportunity - I despise anything remotely mint. Ah so...that is, until you make me a carb-crazed lunatic. I innocently brought a few packs of lifesavers upstairs with me. My thought was to be kind to my 6 year old, and have lifesavers handy for school hours - so she doesn't have to smell my "icky breath". Nice thought - if you're not a 244 lb glutton! (yes, you read that right...I've lost 14 pounds!) I sat here, reading emails, and ate two entire rolls of peppermint lifesavers. I've decided, I'm now officially brain-damaged. Dieting has apparently destroyed all common sense and good taste - I ate mint. Lots of it. Bleck.
So, for most of the day - I was perfectly respectable. I ate rabbit food sprinkled with fair amounts of protein, and even drank some water to wash down my Diet Coke. I didn't cave to the fried wonderland that beckoned me in the food court. I didn't worship at the alter of the vending machine - even though it sang my name. No no - I suffered like any respectable dieter should...until. Until the siren song of the carbs led me down the path of destruction...to mints. Lots and lots of mints. Yuck.
Face it, its amazing how far you will go when you're desperate. Mints. What the heck was I thinking?!
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Final thoughts: Its my Birthday! Yahoo! (no, this is blogspot...maybe I should have said Bloghoo!) How about sending me a birthday wish...so I know more than two people are reading this? You can comment on this post, email me at alicia@crazycancermom.com or best of all - send in a pledge for the Fat-A-Thon. I'm dong all of this to remind you how much cancer kids need you. My bestest best birthday wish would be to learn that someone I don't know is reading this, and thinking a bit about our kids.
Thanks!!!!
LOVE from an officially OVER THE HILL Crazy Cancer Mom - Alicia
www.crazycancermom.com
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