Fit4Life Friday

Nspired by Faith has started a Fit4Life day on Fridays. She says, "The concept of Fit4Life is to share our goals for our lives and how we are going about reaching those goals with others. These goals can be anything that makes you a better you."

She is kind enough to let me participate, even though my goals are likely pretty different from most others'.

So let's see. My goals are:

1.) Gain 15-20 lbs.
2.) Start doing yoga again
3.) Find SOME way to make more of my calories healthy
4.) Remember to take my supplements more often

This week, I gained some. I think I've gained close to 3 lbs since my last doctor visit two weeks ago. It's HARD, I hate it. I hate that most of the things I have to eat to gain are grossly unhealthy. Like I mentioned last week, I upped my "nutritional drink" (store brand Ensure-type junk) to two a day most days. Instead of calling it Ensure, they should call it "Sugar in a Can".

I've not been a good exerciser for the past several years. I have to be careful, of course, and not do anything that burns a lot of calories. I started doing yoga a few months ago and liked it, but like with all things, I stopped after a while (for no particular reason). I also like pilates, but that's one I'd have to be careful with.

As for my supplements, I was doing really well with those when we were trying to get pregnant. However, since going on a break, I've hardly taken anything at all. I'm a vegetarian, so that probably isn't the best idea.

We'll see how this coming week goes. I'm hoping to gain at least another pound.

Rantings of an Underweight Crazy Woman

I am underweight.

I am not bulimic. I am not anorexic. I never have been and never will be. I am probably one of the worst emetophobics in the history of emetophobia, and cannot even fathom the idea of making myself throw up. I realize I am underweight and need to gain 15-20 lbs at least. I WANT to gain weight.

I wear a size 0. It's hard to find nice clothes in a size 0. I can't wear kids clothes because they are not made for people with curves. I am a curvy, underweight size 0.

I am healthy. I am not malnourished. My cholesterol, blood sugar, electrolytes, iron, kidneys, and liver are all perfect.

Now that you know all this about me, it's time you know some other things.

Don't give in to the weight double standard. If it's not okay to say nasty things to and about fat people (and it's NOT) then it's not okay to say nasty things to and about skinny people. Unless you're a doctor or other medical professional that has valuable and important information, just zip it when it comes to a person's weight. If you're proud of your overweightness, that's fine. I'm not stupid enough to assume that just because you're overweight that means you're unhealthy and lack self control. Can't you pay me the same respect?

I am not a skeleton, nor do I look like one. I'd appreciate it if you don't refer to skinny people as "skeletons" or "aliens" or "bobble heads" or "broomsticks" or "twigs" or "looking half dead" or "disgusting" just to make yourself feel better. Or any other reason, for that matter. I thought the whole name calling thing died out in junior high. I guess some people never grow up.

Do not call people of bigger sizes "real women" just because they are not underweight. Last time I checked, I had all the parts necessary to qualify as a "real woman". All natural born women are real women... size has nothing to do with it.

Do not accuse me or any other skinny person of having an eating disorder. You have no idea what is or is not in a person's head. Why assume? It's rude.

Do not tell me or anyone else to "go eat a ***insert expletive of your choice here*** sandwich, for pete's sake", or say ""Why doesn't someone get them some donuts??" (I'll take a chocolate cake Krispy Kreme, if anyone's buying.)

Do not say superficial crap like, "oh she was so pretty before she lost weight" or "guys only like REAL women with meat on their bones, not those skinny bobble heads" or "that is sooo unattractive". Gee, thanks. Thank goodness I left my cares about what others think about me back in high school. I guess some people do grow up.

Look. I don't say nasty things about people who are overweight. I don't call them names. I don't mention what they should and should not eat. I don't accuse them of having eating disorders (and yes, overweight people can have them too). I don't say superficial crap about their looks. I don't make fun. Is it too freaking much to expect the same thing in return?

Yeah, I thought so.

What is white?

Can I just say that I hate food? Ok, I don't really hate food, I just hate having to stuff myself with it until I'm miserable. HATE.IT. I've now upped my consumption of "nutritional drinks" to two a day, earning me 700 liquid calories. I'm used to the taste now and can almost chug them, which is weird considering I never chug anything. I am not a chugger. Chug not I do.

I decided I should eat more pasta since it's, well, yummy and also high in calories. I had a weird craving hit me at the store one day and bought a container of Easy Mac. Yes, folks, I bought Easy Mac. Can you believe that? I don't eat stuff like that, ever. I usually only eat one of three kinds of pasta... whole wheat penne or couscous, plain medium egg noodles, or Annie's whole wheat organic mac & cheese (which is rare). So what possessed me to buy Easy Mac, you ask? Well, the blue box mac & cheese just sounded good, and I've been home alone for about three weeks now and there's no way I can eat a box of mac & cheese all by my lonesome... stuffing myself or not. And let's face it, left over blue box mac & cheese just isn't good. "It's the Cheesiest!" turns into "It's the Clumpiest and Nastiest!" So I see the little container of lone serving Easy Mac and think to myself, "Self, don't do it!" but I did not listen. I brought it home and it sat on my kitchen table for a couple of weeks. Two days ago I decided that it sounded like it might be a decent lunch so I cooked it.

If you've ever made Easy Mac, you know that the directions say 1.) to ignore the white powder because it's necessary for the pasta to cook correctly, and 2.) don't drain the water after cooking; it's needed for the "cheese" sauce. Now, I'm not usually in the habit of ignoring random unknown white powders in things, but I figured that Kraft wants my repeat business so they're not going to poison me. At least not too badly anyway. So I ignored the white powder. As for the water issue... I was obedient and fully intended on leaving it in the container. However, the directions made no mention of the fact that the pasta drains itself. I'm not kidding. Apparently the pasta got nasty with the water, and the water jumped ship and decided to decorate my microwave. My pasta was dry. I poured in the "cheese" stuff packet, and it did not make sauce. It made "cheese" stuff clumps. I sighed and micro-boiled a mug of water and poured some in. It made a somewhat saucy somewhat clumpy "cheese" stuff mess.

It sort of tasted like mac & cheese, but Annie's is so much better. Now tell me, how is this process any more convenient than opening a box and cooking on the stove? I had to micro-boil a mug of water anyway since my needed water obviously did not read the directions on the container. I feel like I had reached the epitome of laziness. "Oh hey, look at me, I'm too lazy to cook from A BOX!" (I realize that these things are pretty much marketed to kids to cook, safely, after school or something... so please don't shoot me! I'm not insinuating your Easy Mac eating children are lazy. I, however, am... Easy Mac or no.) ;o) I still can't believe I ate micro-cooked bleached white noodles covered in "cheese" stuff. With some kind of freaky white powder mixed in. I'm telling you... this eating a lot of calories thing? It's highly over-rated.

I'm a horrible painter. So horrible that when I painted my house, I got "oopses" all over the ceilings. My lines are not clean. Sue me! I figured I would get a can of paint and touch it up. The whole ceilings don't need to be painted, just my mess ups. No big deal, right? You can't mess up white paint, right? HAH! I went to Lowe's this week and bought a can of plain white paint. I decided before I start painting all over the ceiling, I better test it to make sure it's the right color. So I tested it in a small part of a wall in my office. Now, my office is supposed to be painted buttery-yellow and rich red, but I have not done it yet even though I bought the paint a year ago. It's still plain old white with one very big blood splatter paint test spot. My dog used to growl at it. It looks that dangerous. Anyway, a few hours later I realize that apparently white is not white. My test area does NOT match. Huh? Now tell me how I'm supposed to match the "white" on my ceiling. It's not like I can just cut a huge chunk out, lug it down to Lowe's and say, "Hey! Match this, will ya?" I'm NOT painting the whole ceilings. So I see two options. One, leave the "oopses" and declare it "modern art" and two, hire a painter to paint all the ceilings in the entire house (plus my office... because if I'm hiring a painter, I aint playin').

Anyone need a mostly unused can of paint that could quite possibly be the beginning of the next unsolvable, universe altering question... "What, really, is white?"

At least I'm not dying... today...

I guess I forgot to mention on here last week that the lab report on my mole came back negative. I'm sure all of you were just bursting at the seams, waiting for that information! ;o)

When the doctor walked in with the report I said, "So am I dying of cancer?" and he replied, "Well, not today. But I can't make any promises about tomorrow." Then he read the long drawn-out medical mumbo-jumbo report that went on and on and on, none of which I could understand (except for "non-malignant" - THAT I understood!) and then looked up and said, "So it's basically a mole. Or a freckle, rather."

The mole hole is finally healing up nicely. The stitches came out last Friday. It's still sore though. In case you're in the mood to get a gross visual, part of the scab came off today (and no, I didn't pick it off - though I must admit it was very tempting! It's itchy and was driving me nuts!). It feels tight, like my skin is stretching. Well, duh, I guess it is stretching since they cut only, you know, a whole inch off of my already tight belly skin. I wonder if it will get all extra funky looking if I ever get pregnant.

Oh well. At least I'm not dying.

The Tale of the Mole Hole

So let's see if I can blog about something other than jewelry tonight, hmm? This week has been interesting. First off, my husband has been gone the entire week, 9 hours away... I'm not cool with that! I miss him, and I hate when he's so far away. His job is a huge blessing, but sometimes it just plain stinks.

I turn 27 next Wednesday, and I'm not cool with that. I'm almost 30, childless, and still have someone go with me to the doctor or dentist so I don't have a panic attack right in the middle of it. This is not how I imagined my life would be.

Speaking of dentist and doctor... I have a new cavity. I can see it. One of my teeth filled earlier in the year has suddenly become hypersensitive to temperature. I'm due for a cleaning next month, so I'll take care of them then I suppose. I'm NOT COOL WITH THAT. It doesn't matter how well I take care of them, they still stink.

I need to gain about 20 lbs, and my doctor wants me to go on a crazy med. I feel completely safe calling it a crazy med because, you know, I am crazy and I accept it... so I'm entitled to call it a crazy med. ;oP Paxil CR. It scares the poop out of me, and I haven't entirely decided if I'm crazy enough to try it. One day I think, "hmm, ok... I'll give it a shot" and the next I'm thinking, "umm, HECK NO". They think it will help me relax enough to eat better and gain weight. The thing is, there isn't a medical cure for phobias. All it will do is make me numb. I don't want to be numb, I'd rather be terrified. And as soon as I got off of the drug, I'd be terrified again, so what's the point? It's not very safe to take while pregnant, so if I do take it, I'd either have to forget the idea of getting pregnant (which, at this point, doesn't seem like that big of a deal since I'm thinking it's just not going to happen anyway... it's been two years... it's not looking good. Oh and did I mention the sr. doctor saying that I'd probably miscarry anyway because I'm 20 lbs underweight? Thanks, doc.) or take the (slim) chance of getting pregnant and having to wean off the drug immediately, which can be, well, a nightmare with the withdrawals.

Well, I surprised both my doctor and the senior doctor when my bloodwork came back perfect. They suspected malnutrition and anemia, but nope, everything is perfect. Even my B-12 (I'm a vegetarian, so I do supplement that). Of course, not being anemic, I now do not have an explanation for why I'm so tired all the time. But at least I don't have to worry about miscarrying a child from being malnourished. Count your blessings, right?

I'm down one mole. I had it cut off Wednesday. This is the little one that changed colors. She's pretty sure there's nothing to be worried about, but wanted to test it for peace of mind, and instead of just doing a biopsy, I opted to have it cut off. Yeaaaaahhh. Not sure that was the best idea! No one told me there would be stitches involved. I guess that's probably common knowledge, but um, hello, I've never had any kind of surgical procedure performed on my body so I would have appreciated that little gem ahead of time. ;o) Two stitches, my first ever. On my belly. Do you know how hard it is to function without moving your belly? Yeah, doesn't happen. So, it it doesn't hurt too much after the first night, but sometime during that night, my stitched up mole hole decides to start bleeding and doesn't stop for 24 hrs. Now this is probably not an earth shattering event, unless you're a 27 yr old home alone childless phobic pessimistic hypochondriac. (Told you I am crazy.) I woke up Thursday morning and promptly checked the mole hole, saw that the band aid had completely soaked with blood, ripped it off (ouch, by the way) and started shaking. There was this... thing... hanging out between the two stitches. Now, I knew better, but I swear it looked like a piece of tissue hanging out of me. The sight of my first ever stitches with a... thing... hanging out of it was enough to cause panic. I called my ex-nurse mom and begged her to look at it. "It's fine" she says. "No, it's not fine... I'm going out anyway to buy a torch (another day, another blog) so I'm coming over, and you're looking at it..." Of course, it is fine, and of course she confirmed that it was just a semi-dried blood clot like the remaining non-crazy part of my brain knew, and not my, you know, spleen hanging out or something (which would be a medical marvel considering the spleen is on the opposite side from my mole hole). So I go buy my torch and a new tube of Neosporin (my old one expired a few months ago, and that just won't fly) and a box of way too huge non-stick gauze pads and some waterproof band aids (FYI, not good on raw skin).

I slap a new band aid on the mole hole and go on my merry way. I might ought to mention that when the old band aid was removed, the... thing... was removed with it. Yay. A little while later, the new band aid is completely soaked with blood. So I call my mom again, and "it's fine, but call the doctor". So I call the doctor and wait a couple hours for them to call back and tell me to apply pressure with a band aid and if it doesn't stop by morning, to call again. So I apply THREE band aids and lay down to take a nap. About an hour later I wake up and my white t-shirt has three large spots on it. Large BLOOD SPOTS. I'M NOT COOL WITH THAT. Call mom again, freak out again. She assures me that it will not bleed forever. I worry about having to go back in to the doctor to get more stitches. A little while later, dad brings me some big honkin' band aids left over from when he had abdominal surgery last year. My poor skin is totally raw by now from the ripping off of band aids. I put on the big honkin' band aid and go to bed early, praying and praying that it will stop bleeding. I woke up this morning with the big honkin' band aid soaked with blood. *sigh* I ripped it off (*YEEEOOOWWWCHH*) and look, and lo and behold, the mole hole has stopped bleeding. It's a miracle! I have been looking down at it all day, fully expecting the bandage to be soaked with blood, but so far not another drop (that I can tell). So, try as it may, the mole hole did not bleed me dry. *whew* I'll tell you one thing. All the rest of my moles? They're just going to stay right where God put them. I figure He in His infinite wisdom put them there for a darn good reason and if He wants them gone, He's quite capable of doing it without stitches. Long live the moles.

Roly Poly Holy Moley

I have a doctor's appointment coming up on Tuesday. I haven't had a regular old checkup in, oh, well it's been so long I can't even remember. It's no secret... I'm not a big fan of the doctors unless I'm sick. I only take medicine when it's absolutely necessary (or I'm getting a migraine, which if you've ever had one - or been near someone who had one and you realized your life was on the line if you stepped too close - you know that's pretty necessary!). But it's time I guess, and I need one of those well women's exams (which I've been avoiding because the last one I had a few years ago left me feeling like I had been violated and traumatized me so badly I haven't had one since) and I haven't built a relationship with our family doctor yet, so *sigh* off I go.

The main reason I'm going, however, is because I have some moles that are suspicious and scary. I've been avoiding them for years now, but I read an article on melanoma the other day and it got my rear into gear. I have two that have me worried. One HUGE one on my leg and one small one on my belly. The huge one is worrisome just because it's huge and apparently that's bad. The one on my belly is small, but has changed colors (from a nice honey brown to a pale tan/pinkish with a nice honey brown ring on the outside of half of it - just thought you'd enjoy the visual!) and apparently that's really bad.

The huge one on my leg is so huge it has its own freckles. Shoot, it probably has its own zip code. Got mail, mole? I'm thinking it will have to be removed. I'm thinking the small one will definitely be removed, so they can test it and make sure it's not going to kill me. But the big one, even if it isn't cancerous now, I guess is a risk and will probably have to go. I'm a little saddened by this. Huh? Losing a big, ugly mole is sad? Maybe I should back up. I've had this thing for as long as I can remember. Mom says I wasn't born with it, but I got it really soon after I was born. I've always called it my "birth mark" anyway, because, well, it's close enough and "birth mark" sounds SO much better than "ugly mole the size of your rear end". Granny tried to wipe it off of me one day because she thought it was chocolate. *giggle* Too bad she wasn't right! Chocolate is always good, whether it be on the leg or in the mouth. So anyway, I've had this thing forever, and I guess my childhood doctors were never concerned enough about it to remove it. If I could go back in time, and talk to them about it, I'd demand they remove it. It has given me nothing but grief!

I never felt pretty growing up. I was the only stick skinny, short, fair skinned, freckled faced redhead within a 200 mile radius and that combined with crooked teeth (which I still have, btw) and huge glasses (which I DON'T still have, btw) and being the "smart one" in my small private school made me feel like a freak. I was teased and never liked how I looked. The "birth mark" didn't help that at all. Plus, my mom used it as some weird marker to determine how short my shorts could be. If they were too much shorter than the mole, they were a no go! Maybe I should market that idea... "Need to teach your child modesty? Buy them a Texas-sized mole!" Sounds like a solid business plan, no?

So back to the feeling not pretty. The first time I felt even remotely attractive was when I met my first boyfriend, at age 17. Until he dumped me, he made me feel beautiful. I'll never forget him telling me how beautiful I was, (and he SPECIFICALLY mentioned my red hair - which was huge to me since I hated it so much back then) because it was the first time someone confirmed what my parents had been telling me all along - I was indeed pretty no matter how my idiot stuck up "friends" made me feel. It wasn't until we got out of that horrid little town and I went to college that I really started to appreciate how God made me and accept what I had and had not. Including the mole. Now, even though it is still ugly and still huge (and even though I no longer use it to determine the modesty of my clothes *giggle*) it's a part of me and I have learned to accept me, mole and all. So I'm a little sad to see it go. I've come to embrace it and even enjoy it for its uniqueness. The crooked teeth I'd love to change, but the mole? As much as I thought I'd jump at the chance to remove it, I really think I wouldn't mind keeping it... provided it won't kill me. But alas, I'm sure it will be removed. It's too much of a future risk if it isn't dangerous already.

If you'd like to remember me and my mole for our doctor appointment on Tuesday, prayers would be appreciated. The little multi-colored one really has me worried. Plus, I'm not looking forward to having ANY part of me cut off, whether I've come to embrace it or not. lol