Recovery is going pretty well. I was physically down and out for about a week after the surgery, and now I'm mostly dealing with the post-op fatigue. I've been told to expect at least six weeks of feeling under-energized, and other websites I've read have said that after (semi-)major surgery, it can take a few months or so.
But that's okay. I'm otherwise feeling much better; as I lay in my anesthesia-and-drug-induced fog in post-op, I noticed an immediate difference. The area where my gallbladder had been felt empty -- in a very lovely way. I had no idea I'd been living with that much discomfort all the time. The first few days I looked ashen and like leftovers of death that had been kept in the fridge too long and warmed over a few times too many. And then suddenly I didn't. The first thing I noticed was my skin -- it looked clean, clear and like it was somehow getting nutrients it had been lacking.
I can tell my body is still sorting out having an organ removed, and I think I've even lost some weight already. It's going to take some time before I feel balanced, but with summer coming up, I'll have some lovely time to recuperate. It's just that right now, I'm exhausted.
What I don't understand is how people become addicted to oxycodone, what the surgeon prescribed for me for the days that followed the surgery. It did a spiffy job on removing the pain, but it left me feeling like I had one of those gloppy algae-laden ponds in me and foggier than some of the stuff that floats into the San Francisco Bay. It messed up my natural sleep rhythm, too, which is partly why I'm still so tired, I think.
It also gave me whacked-out dreams. In one I was playing poker with a bright, emerald green, cartoon crocodile wearing sneakers, athletic socks, Wayfarers and was smoking a cigar. In another, I had a long epic dream of searching for the love of my life. I finally found him, and when I went to put my arms around him and kiss him -- I discovered he was made of sushi. Delighted, I began chewing on his chin and eating him.
I woke up craving a platter of sushi, something that stayed with me for several days.
So all is getting well there, in all meanings of the phrase. I spent last Saturday sprucing up my terrace. Given the disaster last year of frying everything I planted, no veggies this year, other than the hanging tomatoes I'll try. Instead, I planted seeds for flowers that tolerate dry heat, given the mini-climate I have out there. I also got two lovely four-foot pink jasmine bushes for $29.99 each at Fred Meyer; the nursery near me charges around $125 for the same thing. I also got a lovely chaise chair and pad to put on one end of the terrace so that the chairs can go on the other. It's going to be really nice out there this summer.
Then began a mini-war with a squirrel I've come to call the Little Trucker (except that rhymes with what I really call him) that seems to think my pots somehow contain magically-appearing nuts. I finally went to Fred Meyer and bought two owl statues to keep the L.F. off my terrace. The trick, however, is placing them where they scare him off, but don't terrify the little birds that come to the seed feeder, or my hummers.
I also came up with the idea of purchasing a Super Soaker to spray him when he sits in the trees outside my apartment and clucks at me when I'm out there reading. However...they can be rather clever and I may find myself with him fighting back. Like last year when I covered my newly-planted pots with clear plastic and he peed on them.
Speaking of water, I had a small fiasco this weekend. Tired of lugging the big watering pots out to my terrace to water the plans, I decided to get a hose and an attachment that goes on my kitchen faucet. After happily using it as I fluffed up and moistened the Winter-hardened soil in the pots, I went into the kitchen to get something to eat...only to find standing water on the floor. Seeping into the dishwasher. In my kitchen drawers. On the counters. Behind the pasta jars.
Had I still been on the oxycodone, I may have seen Noah floating by with small arc stuffed to the gills with animals.
It did make a lovely tinkling sound, however; I adore the sound of running water and I do have two small fountains I run during the summer out on my terrace...but I can do without it in my kitchen, thankyouverymuch.
The hose had come loose and created a thin fountain that had been spurting upwards with great enthusiasm and pleasure for the last hour or so. It took all my towels to sop it up, followed by three days of them hanging up in my pantry to dry out so I could put them in a sack to wash this weekend. Despite the small flood, it was still decidedly easier to water that way than with the pots. I've sorted out a way to keep it from spraying. At least I believe I have.
-- H
Thursday, April 01, 2010
Saturday, February 27, 2010
T-12 Days Until Gallbladder Euthanisation
In my research about gallbladder disease (cholecystitis if you want the $5 word; don't ask me to pronounce it) I found that it can cause a lot of things in your body to get off kilter; among them feeling tired all the time (which I am, even with a good night's rest and being knocked out by half a sleeping pill), weight gain and difficulty losing it (well -- I have no trouble "losing it" -- ha ha). My surgeon, at the consult, said I'd likely find that after that pesky bag of marbles lodged under my ribcage is removed, many things would clear up.
I hope so, given I woke up yesterday with the left side of my jaw aching. I thought perhaps I'd been clenching my teeth (I do that every once in awhile) and that side of my jaw was sore...but as the morning wore on I realized the lymph node just under the bone and slightly forward of the joint was swollen. The ache radiated all the way up my head, collecting in my eyeball, stopping at the temple -- and all the way down into my shoulder. I finally went home at one in the afternoon to take some prescription painkillers/anti-inflammatory medicine. It barely made a dent, and, after an hour, I swallowed three generic ibuprofins and finally got some relief.
Likely not something my liver and kidneys -- or my doctor! -- would like, but when you can barely open your mouth to slip in a straw to drink water you get creative. I just hope it doesn't get like the one under the right side of my jaw that went postal on me last month when I was sick; I ended up having to go on a 5-day dose of prednisone to calm it down. Or "progesterone" as I kept calling it; my acupuncturist was stumped at why I was prescribed progesterone; I replied back in my email it was for my lymph node (she later said she figured out what I meant). It wasn't until I was talking to a co-worker who paused and said, "You mean -- prednisone?"
I paused -- and then laughed as I realized the mistake I had made. It was somewhat like the time I got really sick as a child and my father took me to the doctor. When we got home, my mother said, "So what does she have?"
I declared, "I have FLUMATISM!"
Hey -- it sounded like a real word. (Still does, thankyouverymuch!)
I realize that it's movement and exercise that keeps your lymph nodes clear, but when even -- gentle -- yoga makes your gallbladderthrow a tantrum, you wind up just becoming more and more of a couch potato. Which is okay...I'm enjoying my PS3 immensely and the Netflix streaming; I also watched Up last night -- in Blu-ray format!). Great movie. And I'm glad I watched it that way, as there were parts that had me laughing so hard I was coughing, thus making it necessary to rewind it (can you say "rewind" when referring to a DVD?) and watch it again. There was one scene I watched about a dozen times merely because it was so funny.
Those Pixar people are absolute geniuses.
So, so much for my plans this evening. I was going to go see a friends band, but the idea of standing around for four hours makes me want to fall asleep. Oh well.
At least it's a beautiful day. I have my terrace door open at the moment, to let in the wind and air, which smells clean and creamy and limned with the scent of cherry blossoms from the tree outside my apartment. I'm also listening to the birds happily singing out there. I hear more over in this unit than I ever did in my old one (though I miss hearing the robins that live mostly over by that building), and I've even been hearing mourning doves. I just wish, come summer, the little guys would wait until 6:00 a.m. or so before they started chorusing, rather then the nanosecond the first ray of light hits the atmosphere.
I guess that's what earplugs are for.
I can also sit here on my couch and watch the hummingbirds come to my feeder. The species that lives around here don't migrate, and so I've had to keep my feeder filled all winter -- I have to put new food in every week! The hummers that come (holy cats ats their wings are loud; when they whizz past me when I'm outside it startles me every time!) are very territorial. I've watched more than a few humming bird beatdowns out there.
And for little birds, their call/song sure is loud!
So Spring is definitely springing. I'm not sure if I'm going to attempt any veggies. I may try a hanging basket of tomatoes. But as for flowers -- maybe some of my usual geraniums, but I need to get others that are fine in hot, dry heat, given that even on days when it was around 80 it was still warm due to the heat and light bouncing back up from the cars and asphalt below. My dad suggested salvia, and I noticed on a website zinnias (one of my favorite flowers) and dahlias are good too. Perhaps I can take the list to the nursery near me and see what I can find.
My first step towards getting healthier will be my surgery on March 11; they said to expect recovery time to be around 5-7 days, so I won't miss too much work. Just Thursday the 11th, Friday and Monday and Tuesday perhaps. Plus I have Saturday and Sunday in there. I lost a bunch of paid time off and vacation time last month when I went kaput, so I earmarked a chunk of my tax return to offset any time lost (another chunk is going to go towards a new laptop).
Then I'm going to focus on the exercise. I'm considering hiring a personal trainer to help me get back on track -- and not move too quickly. I feel like a review/reset of my habits might be a good idea. I also have an appointment with a nutritionist later in March -- my choice -- to have someone take a look at my diet. It's generally pretty good and healthy, but again -- a review is always good, especially post-gallbladder ejection.
My goal and focus for the summer is to get back on track with everything, maybe even take part in the Race for the Cure. Walking, of course; I'm way too out of shape to train in time to run it. I have to say it's really nice to be moving towards a solution for all of this. It's been taking a toll on my spirits, too.
Anyhoo -- perhaps I shall at least go for a small walk around the perimeter of the apartment buildings later this afternoon; fresh air and a dose of sunshine can really do a lot.
-- H
I hope so, given I woke up yesterday with the left side of my jaw aching. I thought perhaps I'd been clenching my teeth (I do that every once in awhile) and that side of my jaw was sore...but as the morning wore on I realized the lymph node just under the bone and slightly forward of the joint was swollen. The ache radiated all the way up my head, collecting in my eyeball, stopping at the temple -- and all the way down into my shoulder. I finally went home at one in the afternoon to take some prescription painkillers/anti-inflammatory medicine. It barely made a dent, and, after an hour, I swallowed three generic ibuprofins and finally got some relief.
Likely not something my liver and kidneys -- or my doctor! -- would like, but when you can barely open your mouth to slip in a straw to drink water you get creative. I just hope it doesn't get like the one under the right side of my jaw that went postal on me last month when I was sick; I ended up having to go on a 5-day dose of prednisone to calm it down. Or "progesterone" as I kept calling it; my acupuncturist was stumped at why I was prescribed progesterone; I replied back in my email it was for my lymph node (she later said she figured out what I meant). It wasn't until I was talking to a co-worker who paused and said, "You mean -- prednisone?"
I paused -- and then laughed as I realized the mistake I had made. It was somewhat like the time I got really sick as a child and my father took me to the doctor. When we got home, my mother said, "So what does she have?"
I declared, "I have FLUMATISM!"
Hey -- it sounded like a real word. (Still does, thankyouverymuch!)
I realize that it's movement and exercise that keeps your lymph nodes clear, but when even -- gentle -- yoga makes your gallbladderthrow a tantrum, you wind up just becoming more and more of a couch potato. Which is okay...I'm enjoying my PS3 immensely and the Netflix streaming; I also watched Up last night -- in Blu-ray format!). Great movie. And I'm glad I watched it that way, as there were parts that had me laughing so hard I was coughing, thus making it necessary to rewind it (can you say "rewind" when referring to a DVD?) and watch it again. There was one scene I watched about a dozen times merely because it was so funny.
Those Pixar people are absolute geniuses.
So, so much for my plans this evening. I was going to go see a friends band, but the idea of standing around for four hours makes me want to fall asleep. Oh well.
At least it's a beautiful day. I have my terrace door open at the moment, to let in the wind and air, which smells clean and creamy and limned with the scent of cherry blossoms from the tree outside my apartment. I'm also listening to the birds happily singing out there. I hear more over in this unit than I ever did in my old one (though I miss hearing the robins that live mostly over by that building), and I've even been hearing mourning doves. I just wish, come summer, the little guys would wait until 6:00 a.m. or so before they started chorusing, rather then the nanosecond the first ray of light hits the atmosphere.
I guess that's what earplugs are for.
I can also sit here on my couch and watch the hummingbirds come to my feeder. The species that lives around here don't migrate, and so I've had to keep my feeder filled all winter -- I have to put new food in every week! The hummers that come (holy cats ats their wings are loud; when they whizz past me when I'm outside it startles me every time!) are very territorial. I've watched more than a few humming bird beatdowns out there.
And for little birds, their call/song sure is loud!
So Spring is definitely springing. I'm not sure if I'm going to attempt any veggies. I may try a hanging basket of tomatoes. But as for flowers -- maybe some of my usual geraniums, but I need to get others that are fine in hot, dry heat, given that even on days when it was around 80 it was still warm due to the heat and light bouncing back up from the cars and asphalt below. My dad suggested salvia, and I noticed on a website zinnias (one of my favorite flowers) and dahlias are good too. Perhaps I can take the list to the nursery near me and see what I can find.
My first step towards getting healthier will be my surgery on March 11; they said to expect recovery time to be around 5-7 days, so I won't miss too much work. Just Thursday the 11th, Friday and Monday and Tuesday perhaps. Plus I have Saturday and Sunday in there. I lost a bunch of paid time off and vacation time last month when I went kaput, so I earmarked a chunk of my tax return to offset any time lost (another chunk is going to go towards a new laptop).
Then I'm going to focus on the exercise. I'm considering hiring a personal trainer to help me get back on track -- and not move too quickly. I feel like a review/reset of my habits might be a good idea. I also have an appointment with a nutritionist later in March -- my choice -- to have someone take a look at my diet. It's generally pretty good and healthy, but again -- a review is always good, especially post-gallbladder ejection.
My goal and focus for the summer is to get back on track with everything, maybe even take part in the Race for the Cure. Walking, of course; I'm way too out of shape to train in time to run it. I have to say it's really nice to be moving towards a solution for all of this. It's been taking a toll on my spirits, too.
Anyhoo -- perhaps I shall at least go for a small walk around the perimeter of the apartment buildings later this afternoon; fresh air and a dose of sunshine can really do a lot.
-- H
Sunday, February 21, 2010
No, Really. I Get It for the Articles.
It's an absolutely glorious day outside, warm sunshine, cool air, pale crystalline-blue sky, more and more birds returning and singing. The air smells clean and sublime. Right now there's a private plane flying overhead and days like this combined with that sound make me think of being a little kid in Walla Walla, Washington; I remember lying out in the grass on pretty spring and summer days just like this one, listening to the wind in the trees and to private planes thrumming by overhead.
If it were any other day, I'd be outside in a jiffy, going for a walk, but I've been on the downside of health this last month. I came down with a rotten tummy virus around January 11, that cascaded me into being out of work for two weeks (I was able to do some work from home, thankfully), several trips to the doctor and the urgent care facility at Kaiser -- as well as multiple calls to the advice staff after hours.
I had been having pain off and on in my sternum and under my right ribcage, and one Sunday morning a few weeks ago I started feeling dizzy and hurting more; after another trip to Urgent Care (chauffeured by my father) and a follow-up ultrasound -- and, in addition, another trip to Urgent Care a week later -- an EKG and X-Rays, it turns out my gallbladder has finally gone kaput.
I had a terrible attack four and half years ago, resulting in my brother -- who was living with me at the time -- needing to rush me to the hospital around two in the morning. I had awakened in serious pain and feeling like I'd had 32 chili cheese dogs just prior to going on as many whirly rides at a county fair; I finally did manage to throw up -- several times -- and relief didn't come. Generally, the thought is, If I could just throw up, I'll feel so much better! -- but, it didn't work that way that time. That's when I knew I was in trouble.
The suggestion was to have it out then, but all the surgeon could do was repeat himself by saying, "I think you should take it out on the possibility you might have this happen again."
"You mean it will happen again?" I asked.
"Maybe," was his reply.
"So there's no guarantee, then."
"You might have another attack -- and you might never have one again."
"So why do I need to have my gallbladder removed -- right now?"
"Because," the surgeon said again, "you might have one again. Someday."
I declined; the idea of having surgery maybe possibly perhaps on the off chance you might / might not just didn't sit well with me.
But apparently I'm now carrying a small bag of marbles in me, many of which are apparently half a centimeter in size. My current physician suggested surgery, and my reply this time was, "Yes, please."
I was, however, on the fence for awhile about it, but after being awake all night feeling my gallbladder spasming like it was spitting out desperate Morse code, I decided it was definitely time. Technically, that was when I sent my doctor an email that said, Yes, please. Get this thing out of me.
I blame my father. I have no other reason for gallbladder disease other than my inheriting his clunker of one. I've always eaten well, and don't have a smidgen of a lifestyle that would result in developing it. The last possibility of it was family history. I.e. -- Dad. Apparently his started misbehaving when he was 17, and it wasn't until about 15 -- give or take -- years ago he had his out on an emergency basis while on business in Taipei. It was so bad for him, a stone had gotten lodged causing pancreatitis and internal gangrene. I really do not wish to have that experience.
My father has a theory of "reverse genetics", in that he did not develop certain traits until after I was born, and I told him he couldn't claim that this time for his own malfunctioning gallbladder, consider that, when he was 17, I wasn't even a gleam in his eye yet.
"True," he said. "So it's your inheritance."
Thanks, Dad. I'll be sure to not spend it all in one place....
(The last thing he saw before he fell asleep prior to his surgery was a fly going by...sorta sums up the conditions at the hospital there!)
So, consequently, I've been feeling particularly under the weather these last weeks; it doesn't matter what I eat now..anything can cause this stupid thing to have a fit. I had sushi the other night and it threw a minor tantrum. A plate of mostly raw veggies and a Morning Star "burger" (all very low-fat!) and it had a fit. It's okay during the day, but, at night, it makes it hard to sleep. I was prescribed vicodin a few weeks ago for the pain so I could sleep, and I ended up having an "adverse reaction" to it; instead of knocking me out cold, I wound up as wired as if I'd had five espressos right before bed, having a racing heart and I kept breaking out in hot flashes and sweating. I didn't fall asleep until after 5:30 that morning, causing me to miss more work.
I haven't felt rested and fully well in over a month, and, after doing research about issues that can arise from having a factory-defective gallbladder, it seems a lot of my other health complaints could very easily be stemming from it. My surgeon (she's actually an intern, but I liked her right off the bat) said that I'll easily feel much, much better shortly after it comes out.
Amen, sister. Amen to that.
Some days are better than others, but usually I just want to sleep and stay still...hence my being inside on this glorious day.
Although it's laproscopic, the surgery information says to give myself about 5-10 days of recovery time, still. My hope is to have my new laptop by then so I can work from home (I can do it on this one, but it's somewhat on the laborious side due to the screen being so small). If not, this laptop will do -- plus I have my brand spankin' new PlayStation 3, which my brother convinced me to purchase.
I mentioned I was going to use my Christmas gift money for a Blu-Ray player, particularly one that had the ability to stream Netflix movies; Andrew suggested I get the PlayStation 3 since "you can also play games!"
Yes, I like a good computer game, but I don't really need that ability. But then he started explaining exactly what else the snazzy little thing can do, I decided to do so. In addition to being one of the top-rated Blu-Ray players out there, you can also purchase and store movies on its 120GB hard drive (there's also a 250GB model) -- as well as music and photos. There's also a multitude of other things it can do (like browse the Internet!), and you can even swap out the hard drive for a larger one as it's just a standard laptop drive. There's even a utility on the machine to transfer your data -- but you can also hook up external drives and store more movies on them and access them through the player.
It's pretty sweet.
I'm hoping I can do what my brother did with his media center (which is essentially what the PS3 can be), and that's load all my DVDs onto an external drive and store them that way...I'm running out of room to store my DVD boxes, and I'm starting to need to get a rack of some sort -- and I don't really have the room for one.
The streaming Netflix ability is really cool, too. I'm working my way through Torchwood -- a spin-off from the "new" Doctor Who show -- and have a bunch of other things lined up as well. I also watched my first Blu-Ray movie today, Moon, which is excellent. I upgraded my Netflix account to one DVD -- Blu-Ray or standard -- out at a time (and as many as I want in a month) and unlimited streaming time. That was just $6.00 more than what I was already paying.
I also used the rest of my gift money to get some new, good-quality speakers to plug into my television (it's really nice to finally get the full use of its HD capabilities) so now I have really good sound, too. I also got a standard-looking remote for the PS3; you can use the game controller, but it's sort of awkward. I ended up paying a whole whopping $13 of my own money to get all that.
I mentioned to a co-worker I'd gotten the PS3, "But mostly for the Blu-Ray capabilities," I said.
"Not to play games, of course," he said.
"No," I said. "Never."
He burst out laughing and said, "Yeah. Just like people only get Playboy for the articles."
"Yes -- exactly!"
So game playing ability aside (a bonus, just like the articles -- er, the pictures -- are in Playboy) it's an awesome little piece of technology. I will have plenty to watch as I'm recuperating after my surgery -- which is scheduled for March 11.
I think I may ask the surgeon if I can toss my gallbladder into the incinerator myself.
If it were any other day, I'd be outside in a jiffy, going for a walk, but I've been on the downside of health this last month. I came down with a rotten tummy virus around January 11, that cascaded me into being out of work for two weeks (I was able to do some work from home, thankfully), several trips to the doctor and the urgent care facility at Kaiser -- as well as multiple calls to the advice staff after hours.
I had been having pain off and on in my sternum and under my right ribcage, and one Sunday morning a few weeks ago I started feeling dizzy and hurting more; after another trip to Urgent Care (chauffeured by my father) and a follow-up ultrasound -- and, in addition, another trip to Urgent Care a week later -- an EKG and X-Rays, it turns out my gallbladder has finally gone kaput.
I had a terrible attack four and half years ago, resulting in my brother -- who was living with me at the time -- needing to rush me to the hospital around two in the morning. I had awakened in serious pain and feeling like I'd had 32 chili cheese dogs just prior to going on as many whirly rides at a county fair; I finally did manage to throw up -- several times -- and relief didn't come. Generally, the thought is, If I could just throw up, I'll feel so much better! -- but, it didn't work that way that time. That's when I knew I was in trouble.
The suggestion was to have it out then, but all the surgeon could do was repeat himself by saying, "I think you should take it out on the possibility you might have this happen again."
"You mean it will happen again?" I asked.
"Maybe," was his reply.
"So there's no guarantee, then."
"You might have another attack -- and you might never have one again."
"So why do I need to have my gallbladder removed -- right now?"
"Because," the surgeon said again, "you might have one again. Someday."
I declined; the idea of having surgery maybe possibly perhaps on the off chance you might / might not just didn't sit well with me.
But apparently I'm now carrying a small bag of marbles in me, many of which are apparently half a centimeter in size. My current physician suggested surgery, and my reply this time was, "Yes, please."
I was, however, on the fence for awhile about it, but after being awake all night feeling my gallbladder spasming like it was spitting out desperate Morse code, I decided it was definitely time. Technically, that was when I sent my doctor an email that said, Yes, please. Get this thing out of me.
I blame my father. I have no other reason for gallbladder disease other than my inheriting his clunker of one. I've always eaten well, and don't have a smidgen of a lifestyle that would result in developing it. The last possibility of it was family history. I.e. -- Dad. Apparently his started misbehaving when he was 17, and it wasn't until about 15 -- give or take -- years ago he had his out on an emergency basis while on business in Taipei. It was so bad for him, a stone had gotten lodged causing pancreatitis and internal gangrene. I really do not wish to have that experience.
My father has a theory of "reverse genetics", in that he did not develop certain traits until after I was born, and I told him he couldn't claim that this time for his own malfunctioning gallbladder, consider that, when he was 17, I wasn't even a gleam in his eye yet.
"True," he said. "So it's your inheritance."
Thanks, Dad. I'll be sure to not spend it all in one place....
(The last thing he saw before he fell asleep prior to his surgery was a fly going by...sorta sums up the conditions at the hospital there!)
So, consequently, I've been feeling particularly under the weather these last weeks; it doesn't matter what I eat now..anything can cause this stupid thing to have a fit. I had sushi the other night and it threw a minor tantrum. A plate of mostly raw veggies and a Morning Star "burger" (all very low-fat!) and it had a fit. It's okay during the day, but, at night, it makes it hard to sleep. I was prescribed vicodin a few weeks ago for the pain so I could sleep, and I ended up having an "adverse reaction" to it; instead of knocking me out cold, I wound up as wired as if I'd had five espressos right before bed, having a racing heart and I kept breaking out in hot flashes and sweating. I didn't fall asleep until after 5:30 that morning, causing me to miss more work.
I haven't felt rested and fully well in over a month, and, after doing research about issues that can arise from having a factory-defective gallbladder, it seems a lot of my other health complaints could very easily be stemming from it. My surgeon (she's actually an intern, but I liked her right off the bat) said that I'll easily feel much, much better shortly after it comes out.
Amen, sister. Amen to that.
Some days are better than others, but usually I just want to sleep and stay still...hence my being inside on this glorious day.
Although it's laproscopic, the surgery information says to give myself about 5-10 days of recovery time, still. My hope is to have my new laptop by then so I can work from home (I can do it on this one, but it's somewhat on the laborious side due to the screen being so small). If not, this laptop will do -- plus I have my brand spankin' new PlayStation 3, which my brother convinced me to purchase.
I mentioned I was going to use my Christmas gift money for a Blu-Ray player, particularly one that had the ability to stream Netflix movies; Andrew suggested I get the PlayStation 3 since "you can also play games!"
Yes, I like a good computer game, but I don't really need that ability. But then he started explaining exactly what else the snazzy little thing can do, I decided to do so. In addition to being one of the top-rated Blu-Ray players out there, you can also purchase and store movies on its 120GB hard drive (there's also a 250GB model) -- as well as music and photos. There's also a multitude of other things it can do (like browse the Internet!), and you can even swap out the hard drive for a larger one as it's just a standard laptop drive. There's even a utility on the machine to transfer your data -- but you can also hook up external drives and store more movies on them and access them through the player.
It's pretty sweet.
I'm hoping I can do what my brother did with his media center (which is essentially what the PS3 can be), and that's load all my DVDs onto an external drive and store them that way...I'm running out of room to store my DVD boxes, and I'm starting to need to get a rack of some sort -- and I don't really have the room for one.
The streaming Netflix ability is really cool, too. I'm working my way through Torchwood -- a spin-off from the "new" Doctor Who show -- and have a bunch of other things lined up as well. I also watched my first Blu-Ray movie today, Moon, which is excellent. I upgraded my Netflix account to one DVD -- Blu-Ray or standard -- out at a time (and as many as I want in a month) and unlimited streaming time. That was just $6.00 more than what I was already paying.
I also used the rest of my gift money to get some new, good-quality speakers to plug into my television (it's really nice to finally get the full use of its HD capabilities) so now I have really good sound, too. I also got a standard-looking remote for the PS3; you can use the game controller, but it's sort of awkward. I ended up paying a whole whopping $13 of my own money to get all that.
I mentioned to a co-worker I'd gotten the PS3, "But mostly for the Blu-Ray capabilities," I said.
"Not to play games, of course," he said.
"No," I said. "Never."
He burst out laughing and said, "Yeah. Just like people only get Playboy for the articles."
"Yes -- exactly!"
So game playing ability aside (a bonus, just like the articles -- er, the pictures -- are in Playboy) it's an awesome little piece of technology. I will have plenty to watch as I'm recuperating after my surgery -- which is scheduled for March 11.
I think I may ask the surgeon if I can toss my gallbladder into the incinerator myself.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Remember, I Can See You
Gentle -- but important -- suggestions to men posting pictures in personal ads:
Showing that you care about how you look and make the effort to be at least a little creative in your ad shows that you're actually interested. It also doesn't mean you're being -- or I'm being -- shallow. The book does get judged by the cover, I'm sorry. Because it's what catches the reader's eye to actually pick it up and make them want to read further. Yes, beauty is only skin deep...but actually shaving and wearing some nice clothes for your picture is worth the effort.
If you don't care -- fine. But these complaints I'm listing here are what I hear nearly all of my single women friends state. And I have a lot of single women friends. So it's not just me. If you want us to look a little further -- buy some new razors and some shaving cream and at least get rid of the scraggly scruff. There's an art to having it -- pick up a copy of GQ or Details. You'll see that the men in there with scruff have done it in a very specific way...and they're also in nicer clothes.
Any marketing executive will tell you it's about the packaging. You don't need to look like a metrosexual. Just...clean yourself up a little. Be creative. Show me that you're actually interested in catching my eye. Show me that you actually care about the fact you plunked down at least $100.
But if you can't, well -- best of luck to you. I do hope you find someone.
- Shave. Make an effort to look decent. Comb your hair. If you look like a slob, then you're not going to get the responses you want. Would you want to buy you if your photo is of you in craptacular jeans, an old t-shirt and a face that shows you haven't shaved in about five days? Better yet -- would you hire yourself for a job? No? Well why would a put-together woman want to "hire" you? The "looks don't matter" is partially true -- but when you look like you just rolled out of bed and took the photo -- you're saying, "I'm not all that interested in this", and "I don't really give a crap." There's not caring and not giving a shit. Big difference, really.
- Post a photo. If you don't this leads us women to wonder -- what are you hiding? What are you afraid we'll see? I have a friend who always wonders, If he isn't posting a photo...what else is he hiding? Marriage? Every damn cellphone on the planet has a camera, and nearly all allow you to email a photo to yourself or someone you can then use. And damn near everyone has an actual camera. If you don't -- surely someone you know has one? Yes? And no, a damn Simpsonized or Family Guy-ized "photo" of yourself DOES NOT COUNT.
- DON'T LIE. Don't state in your profile that you're "athletic, fit, trim" when you're closer to the Michelin Man.
- If I don't respond, don't keep emailing me. It makes you sound desperate and like a complete jerk.
- Put some effort in your "personal essay" or whatever. It's a given you like long walks on the beach, movies, dining, etc. Tell me something that isn't standard personal ad schlock. Throw in some personality. Again -- you're selling yourself. This is your resume. Your cover letter. Would you buy the bland, generically-advertised product, or would you lean towards the funny ad made with humor and creativity?
- Don't make a date with me and then tell me you've already chosen someone else.
- Don't make a date with me, tell me you had an awesome time and the slink away. Be a man. Use those balls you're so proud of and just tell me, "Thanks, but no thanks." Lying just makes you look like a douche bag.
- Don't take it personally if I'm not interested in you. There's plenty of men out there who aren't interested in me, either.
- DON'T LIE. About anything. Like -- you know. Saying you're a certain age then meeting with me and it's obvious you're about 10 years beyond the photo you published.
- DON'T LIE. (I can't stress this enough).
Showing that you care about how you look and make the effort to be at least a little creative in your ad shows that you're actually interested. It also doesn't mean you're being -- or I'm being -- shallow. The book does get judged by the cover, I'm sorry. Because it's what catches the reader's eye to actually pick it up and make them want to read further. Yes, beauty is only skin deep...but actually shaving and wearing some nice clothes for your picture is worth the effort.
If you don't care -- fine. But these complaints I'm listing here are what I hear nearly all of my single women friends state. And I have a lot of single women friends. So it's not just me. If you want us to look a little further -- buy some new razors and some shaving cream and at least get rid of the scraggly scruff. There's an art to having it -- pick up a copy of GQ or Details. You'll see that the men in there with scruff have done it in a very specific way...and they're also in nicer clothes.
Any marketing executive will tell you it's about the packaging. You don't need to look like a metrosexual. Just...clean yourself up a little. Be creative. Show me that you're actually interested in catching my eye. Show me that you actually care about the fact you plunked down at least $100.
But if you can't, well -- best of luck to you. I do hope you find someone.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Weighty Decision
I had a moment of clarity awhile ago. None of my clothes fit me properly; I realized everything -- except for my stretchy t-shirts -- was too tight. For awhile now, there have been certain (favorite!) skirts I couldn't wear, but it became such that everything was too small. When your entire wardrobe -- including things that used to be loose -- makes you look and feel like a sausage being stuffed into a too-small casing, it's time to get serious about exercise.
I know I've talked before about how I've "finally" gotten back into a routine, but it wasn't something that would seem to stick. There were a few important things I had to work through before I got serious about it again. One was that I was diagnosed with adrenal fatigue (I believe I've mentioned this), and so I was completely drained of all energy and felt exhausted most of the time, even if I tried gentler exercise like walks and yoga.
Another was that I had developed a very frenetic way of looking at exercise -- a very judgmental way. I wasn't doing it for my health; instead, I was doing it because I was afraid to go back to where I was about ten years ago when I weighed 200 lbs. Yes. 200 lbs. This led me to a terrible situation of serious body dismorphia -- no matter what I weighed, I didn't feel like I looked any different. When I was 200 I absolutely could not see the weight; I honestly could not see that I looked any different than when I weighed 135-142. The only thing that got me to realize I was too heavy was the number on the scale.
But what happened was that when I did lose the weight and got back down to a much healthier number -- that same range -- I had a two-fold perception of not looking any different; what I mean is that I honestly couldn't see I'd lost weight. It was like my two eyes were seeing two different images. On one hand, I could tell I looked like I did before I put the weight on -- and the scale supported that -- but on the other, I still thought I looked "fat".
And so I began to work out harder and longer; a personal trainer and my doctor told me I was at a very healthy weight and BMI, but I absolutely, positively couldn't see it. I wasn't seeing myself properly. Part of me knew by my clothing sizes and the numbers on the scale and my BMI readings I looked great -- but I'd somehow fallen into a crack in my psyche that fostered a very distorted body image. I knew that, too -- but I wasn't getting it.
I never got into a phase of developing an eating disorder, but the way I kept thinking about myself was just as bad. I'm pretty certain that was a large factor that threw me into the adrenal fatigue (one of the main components of it is stress), which didn't get diagnosed until last year. But I think it was my body's last defense, because it got me to stop exercising altogether. Just prior to my stopping it, I was in the gym one day, using the treadmill, and I found myself locked into a terrible run of thoughts -- about myself, about the people around me...and I realized I hated the place. And that I'd started to hate myself, in a way -- from the distorted image, for having the distorted image and for how judgmental I'd gotten of the people there and of myself.
That gave me a big moment of pause, and I realized I had to stop doing anything until I got that sorted out. I suppose that was my moment of clarity.
Perhaps a year later or so, I got into yoga -- but I realized I had inserted the "healthy" version of exercise for what I'd been doing. It was merely a substitution, because I'd begun to carry the same thoughts about myself; I kept thinking I looked terrible because I didn't look like the woman on my DVDs. I knew, of course, that was a dumb way to look at it -- but it was there. And so I put those away for awhile. That was last year some time.
I knew once I got to a place where I could look at myself in a healthier way and not abuse the exercise and its benefits I would get back into a regular routine. I spent a lot of time working on that -- on how I saw myself, on recognizing my cues for slipping into that way of thinking, on how to take a proper, broad-spectrum way of viewing it all. I had gradually put on about thirty pounds and wasn't happy with how I looked -- but I decided to use that to my advantage to start listening to how I was really talking to myself, what I was really saying and how it was affecting me. Until I could accept myself for who I was and what I looked like without judgment, I was just going to remain in that crack in my psyche. As a life coach, I talk to people all the time about how acceptance of what is means being able to then move forward and make changes...but it is a difficult thing to put into practice personally at times.
Awhile back my doctor at Kaiser did make a comment that I was carrying more weight than I likely should, and I told him I knew I was and told him about where I'd found myself about all of that and what I was doing to get to a better way of looking at it all and he understood. It was an important thing to do, he said, and was glad I had recognized that in myself and was doing something about it.
Sometime this past summer, a desire to get really focused again began to bubble to the surface, but I was cautious about it, making sure I was being very mindful of that desire and how to put it into motion. And so I began working really hard on doing just what I talked about with people all day long -- that unconditional acceptance of myself, forgiveness for having had that way of thinking (and for the weight gain)...without that, without the self-compassion I was only going to move back into that way of thinking.
Then something clicked about a month and a half ago; I began doing 30 minutes of yoga in the morning, then added on walking. Then I realized that if I really wanted results, I'd have to get back to the gym. But it would have to be in the morning; every single medical professional I'd been seeing (my Kaiser doctor, my acupuncturist, my naturopath, my doctor of Chinese medicine) were all in consensus that exercising in the evening was jacking up my system more than I realized, which was then interfering with my sleep. I didn't think it was...but when everyone is telling you the same thing -- well...it's a good thing to listen to.
I've been naturally waking up around 5 already for whatever reason, and so I decided I could just use that to my advantage. I started getting up in time to get to the gym by about 5:30, allowing me time for a good routine of cardio and weights, and time to eat something both beforehand and after, make something to take for a larger breakfast at work, and get cleaned up. So far it's working out well. I take Tuesdays and Fridays off; that way I have my old 3 on, 1 off, 2 on, 1 off routine that worked so well before; I opted for Fridays because I have to be at work by 7 am; Monday through Friday it's 8.
Plus I'm more open to trying some of the classes Bally offers -- like the spinning class. No, I'm not sitting at a wheel making yarn; you sit on a specialized stationery bike and are led through different speeds, etc. I've heard great things about it, so I figured, why not? I also want to try the "Kwando Strike" class, which is based on kickboxing. Both those classes piqued my interest when Bally introduced them, but that was also about the time my burnout was really starting to gain momentum.
This time around, too, I'm taking pictures of myself as I lose the weight. I didn't that last time (I'm nowhere near needing to lose the same amount of weight as before), and I think that may have led to that dysmorphic way of looking at myself; I had no visual reference. Yes, I kept logs of my weight, my waist and hip measurements and so on -- but there's nothing like photographic proof.
I pulled out some pictures of myself that were taken back when I was in great shape, and they were both inspiring and depressing. Inspiring because I realized how great I looked then, and that I wanted to aim for that again -- and depressing for the same reason, because it showed just how much I'd put on...and how good I looked -- but didn't see it. That's not going to happen this time.
So, speaking of which, it's time for me to have some lunch and get to the gym. And then maybe a nap. It's certainly the weather for it; it's been consistently about 10-12 degrees lower than the predicted lows. It was only supposed to get down to 22 (only!), but it was getting down to 9 and even 6 degrees; the high was supposed to then be in the mid-thirties, but it was only getting up to 29. (I guess it's the global warming). I think Mom Nature somehow confused us with North Dakota...no snow though. What was amusing was that I got an email at work from someone in Australia talking about how they were in the midst of a heat wave! Ha!
Happy Christmakwanzannukah to everyone!
-- H
I know I've talked before about how I've "finally" gotten back into a routine, but it wasn't something that would seem to stick. There were a few important things I had to work through before I got serious about it again. One was that I was diagnosed with adrenal fatigue (I believe I've mentioned this), and so I was completely drained of all energy and felt exhausted most of the time, even if I tried gentler exercise like walks and yoga.
Another was that I had developed a very frenetic way of looking at exercise -- a very judgmental way. I wasn't doing it for my health; instead, I was doing it because I was afraid to go back to where I was about ten years ago when I weighed 200 lbs. Yes. 200 lbs. This led me to a terrible situation of serious body dismorphia -- no matter what I weighed, I didn't feel like I looked any different. When I was 200 I absolutely could not see the weight; I honestly could not see that I looked any different than when I weighed 135-142. The only thing that got me to realize I was too heavy was the number on the scale.
But what happened was that when I did lose the weight and got back down to a much healthier number -- that same range -- I had a two-fold perception of not looking any different; what I mean is that I honestly couldn't see I'd lost weight. It was like my two eyes were seeing two different images. On one hand, I could tell I looked like I did before I put the weight on -- and the scale supported that -- but on the other, I still thought I looked "fat".
And so I began to work out harder and longer; a personal trainer and my doctor told me I was at a very healthy weight and BMI, but I absolutely, positively couldn't see it. I wasn't seeing myself properly. Part of me knew by my clothing sizes and the numbers on the scale and my BMI readings I looked great -- but I'd somehow fallen into a crack in my psyche that fostered a very distorted body image. I knew that, too -- but I wasn't getting it.
I never got into a phase of developing an eating disorder, but the way I kept thinking about myself was just as bad. I'm pretty certain that was a large factor that threw me into the adrenal fatigue (one of the main components of it is stress), which didn't get diagnosed until last year. But I think it was my body's last defense, because it got me to stop exercising altogether. Just prior to my stopping it, I was in the gym one day, using the treadmill, and I found myself locked into a terrible run of thoughts -- about myself, about the people around me...and I realized I hated the place. And that I'd started to hate myself, in a way -- from the distorted image, for having the distorted image and for how judgmental I'd gotten of the people there and of myself.
That gave me a big moment of pause, and I realized I had to stop doing anything until I got that sorted out. I suppose that was my moment of clarity.
Perhaps a year later or so, I got into yoga -- but I realized I had inserted the "healthy" version of exercise for what I'd been doing. It was merely a substitution, because I'd begun to carry the same thoughts about myself; I kept thinking I looked terrible because I didn't look like the woman on my DVDs. I knew, of course, that was a dumb way to look at it -- but it was there. And so I put those away for awhile. That was last year some time.
I knew once I got to a place where I could look at myself in a healthier way and not abuse the exercise and its benefits I would get back into a regular routine. I spent a lot of time working on that -- on how I saw myself, on recognizing my cues for slipping into that way of thinking, on how to take a proper, broad-spectrum way of viewing it all. I had gradually put on about thirty pounds and wasn't happy with how I looked -- but I decided to use that to my advantage to start listening to how I was really talking to myself, what I was really saying and how it was affecting me. Until I could accept myself for who I was and what I looked like without judgment, I was just going to remain in that crack in my psyche. As a life coach, I talk to people all the time about how acceptance of what is means being able to then move forward and make changes...but it is a difficult thing to put into practice personally at times.
Awhile back my doctor at Kaiser did make a comment that I was carrying more weight than I likely should, and I told him I knew I was and told him about where I'd found myself about all of that and what I was doing to get to a better way of looking at it all and he understood. It was an important thing to do, he said, and was glad I had recognized that in myself and was doing something about it.
Sometime this past summer, a desire to get really focused again began to bubble to the surface, but I was cautious about it, making sure I was being very mindful of that desire and how to put it into motion. And so I began working really hard on doing just what I talked about with people all day long -- that unconditional acceptance of myself, forgiveness for having had that way of thinking (and for the weight gain)...without that, without the self-compassion I was only going to move back into that way of thinking.
Then something clicked about a month and a half ago; I began doing 30 minutes of yoga in the morning, then added on walking. Then I realized that if I really wanted results, I'd have to get back to the gym. But it would have to be in the morning; every single medical professional I'd been seeing (my Kaiser doctor, my acupuncturist, my naturopath, my doctor of Chinese medicine) were all in consensus that exercising in the evening was jacking up my system more than I realized, which was then interfering with my sleep. I didn't think it was...but when everyone is telling you the same thing -- well...it's a good thing to listen to.
I've been naturally waking up around 5 already for whatever reason, and so I decided I could just use that to my advantage. I started getting up in time to get to the gym by about 5:30, allowing me time for a good routine of cardio and weights, and time to eat something both beforehand and after, make something to take for a larger breakfast at work, and get cleaned up. So far it's working out well. I take Tuesdays and Fridays off; that way I have my old 3 on, 1 off, 2 on, 1 off routine that worked so well before; I opted for Fridays because I have to be at work by 7 am; Monday through Friday it's 8.
Plus I'm more open to trying some of the classes Bally offers -- like the spinning class. No, I'm not sitting at a wheel making yarn; you sit on a specialized stationery bike and are led through different speeds, etc. I've heard great things about it, so I figured, why not? I also want to try the "Kwando Strike" class, which is based on kickboxing. Both those classes piqued my interest when Bally introduced them, but that was also about the time my burnout was really starting to gain momentum.
This time around, too, I'm taking pictures of myself as I lose the weight. I didn't that last time (I'm nowhere near needing to lose the same amount of weight as before), and I think that may have led to that dysmorphic way of looking at myself; I had no visual reference. Yes, I kept logs of my weight, my waist and hip measurements and so on -- but there's nothing like photographic proof.
I pulled out some pictures of myself that were taken back when I was in great shape, and they were both inspiring and depressing. Inspiring because I realized how great I looked then, and that I wanted to aim for that again -- and depressing for the same reason, because it showed just how much I'd put on...and how good I looked -- but didn't see it. That's not going to happen this time.
So, speaking of which, it's time for me to have some lunch and get to the gym. And then maybe a nap. It's certainly the weather for it; it's been consistently about 10-12 degrees lower than the predicted lows. It was only supposed to get down to 22 (only!), but it was getting down to 9 and even 6 degrees; the high was supposed to then be in the mid-thirties, but it was only getting up to 29. (I guess it's the global warming). I think Mom Nature somehow confused us with North Dakota...no snow though. What was amusing was that I got an email at work from someone in Australia talking about how they were in the midst of a heat wave! Ha!
Happy Christmakwanzannukah to everyone!
-- H
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)