Good morning! And what a lovely morning it is! I am finally feeling more like myself!!!
This morning I can report that the vertigo is gone, the rumbling has quieted, the fatigue has relented, I successfully returned to work yesterday and, get this: last night I slept over EIGHT HOURS! Whoot! The sleep alone is cause for celebration, I can tell you.
I still cannot manage to get two full protein shakes down in a day, but I can get one and a half and I’m working on two, just easing up on it by adding vanilla protein shake to my decaf coffee instead of creamer. I am conscientiously getting my 64 ounces of fluids in every day and am taking all the supplements I’m supposed to. In theory, I can add some soft foods this week, but I’m really fearful of rocking the boat at the point and may wait until I have gotten comfortable with drinking at least two protein shakes a day.
The biggest struggle I still have is with the anesthesia brain. SO FRUSTRATING! I have the attention span of a goldfish and it’s really getting on my nerves. Seriously, my mind is a pinball bouncing between thought bumpers then occasionally rolling around aimlessly. It’s ridiculous. I know that time will take care of that; however, as I’ve told you before, patience is not my forte.
This morning, I went for my first walk in several days. I walked only half a mile, not a full one. I don’t want to get ahead of myself again. This walk saw me walking faster than before and paying more attention to the mechanics of my body. I tend to sway my back when I stand or walk; so, this morning, I concentrated on tucking my butt. You wouldn’t think that would be that difficult, but when you have the attention span of a goldfish, it’s a constant internal litany of “tuck your butt. tuck your butt.” I also tend to be slew-footed, particularly with my left foot. So I was also reminding myself to keep my toes pointed forward. The internal chatter, then, was more like, “tuck your butt, tuck your butt, toes to the front. Tuck your butt, tuck your butt, toes to the front.” With a slick guitar riff, we could have a real hit on our hands with that, I’m sure.
The first week of this experience was not easy, not gonna lie. I’ve been through worse, but it was harder than I expected. The second week was no picnic – again, because I underestimated how difficult recovery would be. But this third week is starting off pretty nicely, I have to say! I am feeling much, much better – more like myself. I feel like I am returning to my center and getting closer to plumb.
Crucial note: I am not a doctor, nurse, or Healthcare professional of any kind. I am a patient, volunteering information about my experience in the hope that someone like me might find it helpful. I am not advocating bariatric surgery or weight management by any means. For those kinds of decisions, you should always consult professionals. Never base any aspect of your health on the opinion of a stranger on the internet.
I grew up in south central Mississippi, about 2.5 hours travel time north of New Orleans. Until 3rd grade, I went to a Catholic school where (I believe) all the nuns were from Louisiana. I’m not cajun and, in spite of having lived in New Orleans for nearly 3 years, would not even claim to be a New Orleanian. I have a tremendous amount of respect for those people and their culture. Too much respect to claim to be one of them. I’m just a girl from Mississippi they let hang around for a while.
My father was a big fan of the culture, particularly, the cuisine. He quoted this man Justin Wilson as long as I can remember. And while this video doesn’t have him saying it, I remember Dad starting every gumbo (and he made fabulous gumbo) in his best Justin Wilson voice saying, “First, you gonna make a roux.”
So, on Tuesday, the surgical team made a roux….outta me.
The procedure I had is called a Roux En Y. Harkening back to Ms Julia King’s French class in high school, I have been pronouncing that as rooz-en ee-grek. As we do in the States, though, we say things however we want to (I’m looking at you Versailles, Kentucky, Cairo, Georgia, and Milan, Tennessee – ver-SALES, KAY-roh, and MY-lan, respectively). Although people around me kept saying “rue on why,” it took me an embarrassing amount of time to make the connection.
ANYWAY, if you want to check out the above link, you can find out what they do during the surgery. I had some concept of that going into it, but didn’t really have a full idea of what it was going to mean coming out on the other side. I have that idea now, though, I can tell you for true!
Patients are not going to have the same experiences with any surgery. And the center knows that; so, there were some possible post-operative issues they didn’t mention to me prior to surgery. I suppose there is always the caution of not wanting to suggest a condition that a patient might not experience without the suggestion. And because I may be writing now to someone thinking about having this procedure, I won’t go into everything here. I don’t want to suggest anything, either.
I will, however, mention one thing that is extremely important to be aware of and wary of – post surgical depression. I had read about the risk of it prior to surgery; but, I really didn’t consider it. After all, I’ve had several surgeries before and it’s never been an issue – until now. This time, it was a big issue. There are likely several contributing factors that I will share with you in case you are considering this surgery and you have some form of depression.
General surgery anxiety. Anesthesia carries a risk. Any patient being put under runs of the risk of not waking up. It’s a very small risk, but it’s there.
Sharply decreased stomach size. If, like me, you take any kind of extended release medication, you’ll need to talk with your doctor about it. Nothing is in your stomach pouch long enough for an extended release to work. Your doctor will talk with you about options.
Low blood sugar. As I’ve said, for the ten days prior to surgery, I was drinking clear liquids and protein shakes only. My caloric intake was less than 800 calories per day. My system did not handle that particularly well when it came to mood. If you have a close relationship to someone with diabetes, you know they get cranky when their blood sugar falls. Hell! We all do! Otherwise, you would have no idea what I mean when I say that I’m hangry.
Disrupted sleep patterns. Not all bariatric surgery patients experience sleep loss. I have and I continue to. On average, I sleep for about 90 minutes at a time and am then awake for several hours. I’m not sure why this is and, like I said, not everyone goes through it; but, I certainly am. Sleep deprivation is a well-documented cause of mental distress.
Dependence on others. I was finally released to drive yesterday; however, due to some on-going light-headedness, I have still not ventured out. For a woman who does most things for herself, this is difficult to take. I am not safe to drive yet. I’m not allowed to lift anything over five pounds. I cannot do chores like vacuuming or taking out the trash. It is absolutely maddening.
Confusion. Anesthesia has lingering effects that can result in confusion or an inability to focus on anything. An inability to focus can quickly become general disinterest in everything, which is a double first cousin to depression.
Hormones. Estrogen is stored in subcutaneous fat cells. Rapid fat loss results in rapid estrogen release. During this first week, I have lost 13 pounds. Surely some of that was visceral fat that does not store estrogen but more of it was likely subcutaneous fat. I’ve heard various people describe it as going through puberty again or through menopause again. Regardless, raging hormones are just not a good time. One member of my team described it yesterday as a “vibe.” I think of Vibes as involving flowy clothing, Jimmy Buffett songs and weed. Lemme tell you, sugar – this ain’t that.
So, we have some potential contributing factors, What are we going to do about them?
Choose the best facility you can for your procedure. Read reviews, but be sure to keep a grain of salt in there and remember that people are more likely to complain loudly than compliment loudly. Check the number of procedures they have done and how your surgeon handles each one. All surgery carries risk. Just know that and find the best team you can.
Get ahead of it. Talk to your psychiatrist ahead of your surgery so that they can be on the alert with you and can be working on a plan with new meds or therapies before you need them.
Prepare. For my first week after surgery, I was allowed to have clear liquids only. Any flavored waters, gelatin, or frozen pops had to be sugar free. However, I could also have bone broth. That may not do much for your blood sugar, but it will give you some added nutrients. I was also allowed to have protein water. Our bodies don’t break down protein as quickly as sugar or carbs; however, they will convert protein into energy. I got some Oath protein powder that mixed into water. The strawberry-kiwi flavor was good and gave me 20 grams of protein in a 16 ounce drink, helping to level out my blood sugar.
Sleep when you can, but start moving. This week has felt a lot like being a new mother; but, as a friend said, I’m both the mother and the new baby. If I’m overwhelmingly sleepy, I’ll take a short nap. However, if I’m not doing anything but sitting on the couch all day, I’m not likely to get tired, am I? My team recommends walking a little every hour (given that I’m consuming 64 ounces of liquid a day, I’m up every half hour or so), and starting to walk for exercise. I take a walk around my neighborhood in the morning and again in the afternoon. My Amazon music service has been performing very poorly; so, I’ve switched to Sirius and am enjoying the Charlie Sexton Station as I make my rounds.
Talk to your caregivers. They are doing their normal thing and are not feeling the caged sensations that you are. Tell them. If your caregiver is not with you all the time, talk to other friends to perhaps set up a trip to the store or, at the very least, a good chat on the phone,
Give yourself grace. This is one of those things that takes time. The chemicals have to work themselves out of your system, Getting moving will help with that since that movement increases respiration, which gets clear air into your lungs. Also stick to simple tasks. Now may not be the time to take up jigsaw puzzles or crochet.
Buckle up. The hormones are there and have to find their own way out. Talk to the people closest to you to let them know that you are struggling with this and that sometimes you don’t even know you’re losing the struggle. The pimple-faced teenager in your mind is getting way too much time in control of your thought processes. My teenager is broody, selfish and can be truly mean. Yesterday, I saw a coping mechanism to deal with poisonous self-talk that I am starting to use. This woman said that she gave her hateful self-talk a name – Becky. (I haven’t chosen a name for mine yet.) Anyway, anytime she wakes and the mental self-abuse begins, she addresses her mind and says, “Becky, I love you, dear, but I have far to much to do today to get mired down in this with you.” “Becky, I’m quite busy now. We’ll have to talk later.” I really like that and am beginning to put it into my toolbox for better internal dialogue.
Clearly, lots to say today, right? My roux and Justin’s roux are two enTIREly different things; however, each involves taking existing ingredients and combining them in a way to make something wonderful.
I already hurt less and am making tremendous progress. This new healthier body and outlook is going to be the best gumbo I’ve ever had.
It’s Friday, or at least I think it is. My surgery was on Tuesday at some hideous hour of the morning and to say that my routine is upended is to put it mildly.
As I suspected, everyone involved in the process with Vanderbilt Weight Loss was wonderful from my pre-admittance calls right through to the anesthesia taking hold. Professional, but friendly and encouraging, they shared stories of how this procedure has changed their own lives or the lives of people they love. They all assured me that, although it’s a big and frightening decision to make, it has paid massive dividends in health benefits. I was glad to have the reassurance.
Then I began to wake from anesthesia and vaguely remember asking, “Whose idea was this? This hurts!”
Of course it was my idea and mine alone. I have received both positive and negative feedback from family and friends on my plan. Ultimately, though, any decision like this has to be the patient’s and the protocol in the months leading up to surgery ensures that it is. This protocol includes psychiatric evaluations, physical evaluations, nutrition counseling, behavioral counseling and support groups. This is a team effort to support every patient’s quest for better health.
It is important to remember that while it IS a team effort, bariatric surgery is not a panacea. The surgery will not do all the work on its own. I still have to do it. I have to stick to the diet as I return to being able to eat solid food (which won’t be for many days yet). I still have to get up and move. And, although I’m not moving very quickly, I am still taking Bon Jovi, Motley Crue, and Lenny Kravitz around the block a couple of times a day. As I heal, I will walk further and faster; but, for now, I am just moving.
Prior to surgery, I emptied my refrigerator, freezer, and cabinets of all food. I am stocked with sugar-free everything: gelatin, electrolyte drinks, bone broth, and popsicles. Everything else was sent home with friends to remove any temptation. And it’s a good thing, too. I don’t feel hungry, but I do feel like I should eat something. I still find myself at the refrigerator door, thinking that I’m going to have a little something. The only little somethings there are the things I listed above; so, I grab one of those options and start working on it slowly……very slowly.
At this point in my recovery, my stomach pouch holds just the tiniest amount of anything. Since I tend to gulp my fluids, I am having to pay special attention to the rate at which I consume them. Little baby sips. That’s what they told me to take and that’s what I’m trying to do. When I take my prescriptions, I have to wait five minutes between pills to ensure that I don’t create a blockage. That is super annoying as I am one of those people who throws ten pills in at once and swallows them down with a flood of water. Thankfully, I take those pills once every eight hours; so, it’s an annoyance just 3 times a day.
My surgeon does not use opioids if he can avoid it, which was fine by me. Extra strength Tylenol are working just fine and don’t have near the dangerous side-effects. One of my meds does make me very sleepy, though; so, dosing has been followed by dozing for the past few days, which is fine. My body is busy repairing itself and getting used to the new way things move.
All in all, I am feeling stronger each day, even if I am still tired and sore. I’m on the right path and feeling encouraged, even if I feel like my abdomen hosted a game of foosball.
Captain’s log: Day 429 of the siege. Day 429 with no food.
Okay, it hasn’t even been a week, but it feels like 429 days. Although I must admit that this morning I finally didn’t awaken dreaming of marshmallows with half my pillow in my mouth. Woof, Cotton mouth for sure. I’m still hungry, but I felt less panicky today.
Just a few more days to go and I’ll be there. I will still be on a liquid diet for a week or two after surgery, then only soft foods for another couple of weeks, then I can carefully reintroduce some things. Luckily, I work from home; so, if I create a problem during those reintroductions I am here by myself rather than amongst people having to deal with me.
As for the surgery itself, I’m not super concerned about that. I’ve had five other surgeries (yikes! that’s a lot!) in addition to several colonoscopies and a couple of dental surgeries. I’ve never had an issue although I do always tell them that I am a natural redhead. Apparently, some studies have shown that many redheads have some kind of gene mutation that makes us resistant to anesthesia. I always let them know because I’m not trying to wake up and have a chat during any procedure. I’m fine just taking my nap, thank you.
I am a little bit concerned about recovery. My only abdominal surgery was the better part of 20 years ago now. It, too, was laparoscopic and didn’t bother me much after a couple of days. I am hopeful that this experience will be similar, in spite of my increased, um, maturity.
As I said, I still won’t get to eat for a while after surgery and when I do get to consume anything, it will have to be in tiny portions. The only thing that makes me nervous about that is having to endure this continued feeling of being really hungry. I have been told by several bariatric patients that they didn’t feel hunger for a while and had to remind themselves to eat. Like they literally had to set alarms to make sure they ate. I’ve only ever had one time in my life when I would forget to eat. That was when I was a teenager and in love for the first time in that complete way that only teenagers who have never been crushed can be. I lost a lot of weight during those months.
So, I’m approaching this with cautious optimism that I will heal quickly and that I will not go back to feeling the desperate hunger I have felt for the past few days, not when I have finally rounded the corner and gone from Hulk Hangry to just David Banner Hungry.
It’s been a week of medical offices and State of My Body revelations. And, honestly, it has kinda sucked.
I have known that I regained all the weight that I lost in The Great Reduction; however, there’s a difference in knowing it by the size of your pants and knowing by your BMI. My doctor calculated my BMI this week and I nearly fainted. In the words of the Sheriff of Nottingham in Walt Disney’s animated Robin Hood, “Criminently!”
Doc also ran some blood tests which show that I am not only obese again, but also pre-diabetic now.
Oh-ho, but no! No. Thank. You.
I resolved the instant the doctor gave me that little tidbit of news to go back to eating the way I did during The Great Reduction and get this weight back off. Then, on the way home, I stopped at the grocery store to pick up something for dinner and picked up a piece of carrot cake for one last treat.
Then I put it back down.
Because “one last treat” never is. “I’ll start tomorrow” becomes Monday, then after that dinner party or holiday. There is ALWAYS a reason to delay making healthful choices. Always. And for me, those reasons are often found in the freezer section in pint containers or in the bakery in single cake slices. Or, you know, if it’s been a trying day, I’ll swing by both departments!
But an A1C of 5.9 means that the time for dinking around and snagging slices of cake on the sly is over. It’s time to decide what I want.
Do I want a life of daily injections, increased medical expenses, circulatory issues, with a potential case of neuropathy, amputation, blindness, or organ failure the side? Do I want to decrease my risk for breast and colon cancer, heart disease, and stroke? Or do I want another slice of cake?
As my mother used to say, “It’s time to shit or get off the pot.”
So, I put the cake down because I want a life of better mobility, decreased joint pain, lower blood pressure, lower cholesterol, and fewer medical visits. I am going to fight like hell to decrease controllable cancer risks.
So I replaced the cake with a bag of Cara Cara oranges that were on sale and I picked up some plain yogurt and cottage cheese to eat with the them. It’s not ice cream or cheese cake, but it’s sweet and creamy; so, my body won’t freak out. In a couple of weeks, I’ll phase out the dairy, but at this moment, my body wants sweets; so, I have to make healthful food choices that will increase my probability of successfully getting through the first six weeks of this lifestyle change. The first weeks are always hardest as my body adjusts to lowered or no refined sugar or carbs. To get through this stage, I will be eating a lot of fruit and things like yogurt, cottage and hard cheeses.
Once my body stops freaking out over not having daily ice cream, I’ll start replacing the fruit with vegetables and I’ll use smaller portions of strong tasting cheeses like parmesan or Romano in place of butterkäse or provolone. Leaner meats will take the place of beef and fatty cuts of pork. Whole grains will replace refined grains. It will take a while, but I’ll find the balance again.
I’ve been feeling overwhelmed. Like the mother of four toddlers in the cereal aisle, I have had things pulling me in all directions at once, all screaming for my attention, and all wanting something from me that is going to cost me money now, time and aggravation later. It has left me feeling like Bill the Cat.
At a recent family gathering, one of my cousins mentioned a method she uses to cope with her ADD when it comes to daily chores. Now, listen to me here: I have never been diagnosed with ADD. I am not claiming that I have been or that I struggle with this condition. However, it seems that I, like most of us I suspect, share some of the same focus challenges as people with ADD. So, when I got home, I used her method to make a schedule to tackle the physical items that have left me overwhelmed and exhausted.
When I finished drawing out the plan, listing every chore and job around the house I need to get done, assigning them a date and time (generally in 30-minute blocks), it was a thing of beauty! Detailed, with a clear target! It was Operation Overload – the Dotyness Version, planned beautifully.
The execution has been more along the lines of Operation Middle Management – the Committee Version.
I catch myself overthinking and over-planning before getting sidetracked with something completely irrelevant. I am not following the list of chores in order, not by a long shot.
However, I AM getting things done. Slowly, but surely, I am getting things done. Using my cousin Henley’s method of working for 30 minutes at a time on any given project, I am getting things done. The public areas of the house are clean again. The summer soft furnishings are in place of the winter ones. The flower beds are cleaned out and ready for planting. The vegetable beds are built, fenced, and ready for planting. Closets and drawers are being sorted (30 minutes at a time).
And I feel so. much. lighter! Without those four toddlers pulling me in every direction, I can breathe!
Thanks to Henley’s advice, I was able to take my tendencies to get bogged down in the details and to get distracted by, oh, everything, and use them to come up with and execute a plan to create more order in my home in 30-minute, bite-sized pieces of time.
My great-looking plan has suffered some setbacks; but, it is still moving in the right directions because I adjusted my timeline and my attack strategy to account for my weaknesses, particularly my tendency to be a body remaining at rest. And that’s what will make any plan work – allowing for our individual weaknesses without allowing those weaknesses to become excuses.
Make a plan. Make it beautiful. Then make it realistic and workable.
So, I’ve kind of been over here all “Lesley-Gore-It’s-My-Party-And-I’ll-Cry-If-I-Want-To” and here come some friends busting in the joint with gifts for me, screwing the whole thing up. Nothing will kill a good pity party vibe like getting an amazing gift. Here are three of the ones I got:
“You spoke my words.”
That’s a pretty tough gift to beat there. After reading “How To Survive The Loss Of,” a friend told me her own experience of losing her “life” after a sexual assault. (I put life in parentheses there since I don’t mean her life in the terms of pulse and brain activity. I mean her life in the sense of her home, her marriage, and her job. You know – nearly everything but her pulse.) I have known her for many years, laughed with her over a million things (she’s the funniest woman ever) and I had no idea that she had survived an assault at all, let alone that she had she survived wave after wave of polluted crap that smashed into her afterward. She stood up to each wave, but, like me with the loss of my wallet, it was the loss of something small that sent her to her knees. I’ve always really liked her and I am blown away with the honor of having her say that I had spoken her words.
“Your writing is insightful, funny, and grammatically correct.”
Another huge gift! After reading “I’m Pretty Sure I Should Be Rich By Now,” this friend, who is a wonderful writer himself, called to encourage me to continue to write, saying that he enjoys the thoughts that I share and how I share them both verbally and mechanically. What a delightful surprise! It’s always wonderful to hear that your work resonates with others and, even better, that it doesn’t make someone twitch! Bonus gift! I know that sometimes I take liberties with grammar; however, if you visit with me often, you know that I generally do it for emphasis. It’s important to me that my language mechanics be as nearly correct as I can make them so that you can hear what I have to say without being distracted by the monstrous way I’m saying it.
“Your writing is always very concise, reflective, and thought-provoking. The reason I miss it so much when you are silent.”
This was after I asked her to read “Mixed Metaphors Inside the Asteroid Belt” prior to publication. My thoughts are like ping-pong balls in a tornado – bouncing all over the place, hitting first this thing, then that thing, then each other. It’s bedlam in there! And that particular piece had even more metaphorical collisions than most; so, I needed to get another set of eyes on it. Sometimes I am afraid that connections, analogies, and metaphors that make perfect sense in my head sound like the Mad Hatter when I let them out. It’s both comfort and confirmation when someone understands the point I’m trying to make with my occasionally unconventional comparisons. Again – awesome gift!
Each of these gifts (and others I didn’t mention) have gone a long way towards helping me through grief and get a handle on what I need to get done next. However, as I mentioned, they completely ruined the Pity Party for One I had going in full swing over here. While it’s still true that I can cry if I want to, I feel less inclined to do so.
Look. I know how this works – or how it’s supposed to, anyway. I’ve seen the movie.
In Julie & Julia, Julie decides to cook her way through Julia Child’s “Mastering the Art of French Cooking.” Along the way, she starts blogging, people follow, more people follow, then Boom! She’s famous and making money on her blog. If life imitated art, I would not be clipping coupons right now.
But, it doesn’t and I am.
Silly, stupid or naive as it sounds, I really did think that something might come of this. I would send these random thoughts into the ether, someone with literary connections would read them, and suddenly I would in the middle of a five-book deal. Instead, I’m sitting in the middle of my bed wearing pink, cat pajamas surrounded by actual cats. (Hmm. Rereading that sentence gives even me a little pause.) I don’t even make pocket change for my words; so, what’s the point?
The point is that I enjoy it. While I certainly had some wild dreams of my writing leading to financial stability, I’ve accepted that, as the saying goes, I will probably be working until noon on the day of my funeral. Regardless of whether or not I ever make a dime from it, I have to write. There is something in my soul that is fed by the click of a keyboard and the blink of a cursor. And I need to write about things that matter to me. I won’t write about people with Kute names, or about the 10 things you should be eating, saving, washing, cooking or buying. We all see clickbait and we do what we are supposed to do – we click. That drives numbers, ratings and, potentially, revenue for the sites. If they list the 20 greatest gadgets we should buy right this minute from Amazon, then they make a little something-something from Amazon. There are all kinds of ways to make money on this. But, as I said, I don’t.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not some kind of purist “suffering for their art.” Dude, if I could make some cash and still do this the way I like, I’d be all in so fast it would make your head spin! Maybe I don’t push the revenue generation because I don’t want that to be my main focus. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid that I will set it up to make money and then not make any. (How awful would that be?!) Or maybe it’s because I’m so clueless on how to do it that I don’t even know what questions to ask to get started. Whatever the reason, I just talk.
I talk about things that are happening to me, things I think about, things I think are important, and things I think might be useful to someone else, too. Like a message in a bottle, I send my thoughts out, hoping that someone finds them. When you find them, I hope that they have some value to you. I hope they are thought and conversation provoking. I hope they bring a little light on a dark day. If they do, that’s fantastic.
If they don’t, you can always find plenty of Kute make-up and shapewear tips with the next click.
A friend of mine sent a text just to check on me Monday. At first, I told her that I was fine; but, then I told her the truth. Grief is a strange thing. When you are dealing with the grief of losing a job, some days you wake up like, “Ooh-rah! New challenge! Let’s do this!” Other days you feel like you’re just circling the Drain.
I admitted to her that Monday was a Drain day for me. As it happened, it kind of had been for her, too. She is grieving the death of her sweet 19.5-year-old Yorkshire terrier Pedro. It was a great comfort to me to know that I wasn’t circling the Drain alone and I appreciated both her text and her honesty more than she knows.
I once knew a woman who would regularly quote Jeevan Pradhan by saying, “If you… throw me to the Wolves… Then I will come, leading the pack…” When she said that, you could almost hear P!nk and Gwen Stefani singing bra-burning, Helen-Reddy-style, ooh-rah, feminist power anthems. And there are days when I feel exactly like that – a Dharmesh Agravat “You can’t throw me to the Wolves for they come when I call” kind of feeling. Then there are days when I feel like the chewing gum stuck to the roller rink floor.
In my current situation, no one threw me to the Wolves – it was just a business thing. It happens. This process might actually be easier for me if there was someone I could target with my anger, but there just isn’t, which kind of sucks, too. Anger is a stage of grief and my stage really wants a target. The fact that it doesn’t have a solid one increases my frustration, which makes me even angrier. It is wholly unsatisfactory to be angry at a Situation. But, that is where I find myself. UGH! What a completely ridiculous cycle – and one that I must break if I am to ever call the Wolves.
I am a huge fan of the band Disturbed, a Disturbed One, as the band says. They recorded a song called The Light which is a personal favorite for several reasons, not least of which is the drum track. (a-MAZE-ing) I recommend listening with headphones to really appreciate everything going on in there. I also recommend reading the full lyrics, which I’ve included below. The line that I keep repeating to myself on my Drain days is: Sometimes darkness can show you the light. It’s a hopeful thought for surviving the Drain days on my way to creating more Ooh-rah! days. As I concentrate on the Light and understand the lessons of the Darkness, I’ll learn to call the Wolves.
Then, before you know it, I’ll be back, leading the pack.
Like an unsung melody The truth is waiting there for you to find it It’s not a blight, but a remedy A clear reminder of how it began Deep inside your memory Turned away as you struggled to find it You heard the call as you walked away A voice of calm from within the silence And for what seemed an eternity You’re waiting, hoping it would call out again You heard the shadow reckoning Then your fears seemed to keep you blinded You held your guard as you walked away
When you think all is forsaken Listen to me now (all is not forsaken) You need never feel broken again Sometimes darkness can show you the light
An unforgivable tragedy The answer isn’t’ where you think you’d find it Prepare yourself for the reckoning For when your world seems to crumble again Don’t be afraid, don’t turn away You’re the one who can redefine it Don’t let hope become a memory Let the shadow permeate your mind and Reveal the thoughts that were tucked away So that the door can be opened again Within your darkest memories Lies the answer if you dare to find it Don’t let hope become a memory
When you think all is forsaken Listen to me now (all is not forsaken) You need never feel broken again Sometimes darkness can show you the light, beautiful
Sickening, weakening Don’t let another somber pariah consume your soul You need strengthening, toughening It takes an inner dark to rekindle the fire burning in you Ignite the fire within you
When you think all is forsaken Listen to me now (all is not forsaken) You need never feel broken again Sometimes darkness can show you the light
Don’t ignore, listen to me now (all is not forsaken) You need never feel broken again Sometimes darkness Can show you the light
I’ve been quiet this week both here and on my Facebook page because….well, because I failed.
I messed up in Cycle 4 and added too much at once. My mind was ready to tackle more and bigger exercises; but, my body wasn’t. My muscles are all sore, which is fine – muscles do that and they get over it. No biggie. The show stopper was my joints. My hips, shoulders and knees all really hurt – especially my knees. And my foot started to act up. Big time. And I’m not trying to end up back in a boot or, heaven forfend, a cast! Nope. Not even a little bit.
One of the first things I did was to start taking Vital Proteins Collagen Peptides. That product has worked miracles for my sister, for several cousins, and a few friends who work at physically demanding jobs. I have never really taken it; but, it’s been a lifesaver for so many people I know that I’d be an idiot not to give it a go. I’ve only taken it a couple of times now; so, I don’t see a difference yet. I expect to soon, though. I pretty much expected my knees and hips to bother me. My shoulders were a surprise, though, and the thing that has motivated me to do something about it. Now, I’ve started the collagen and am being an advocate for myself.
I took a few days off heavy exercising to get my joints to stop screaming at me. Now I am rethinking all of the things I added this time and am redoing my Cycle 4 schedule. I have come too far to give up – that’s not even a consideration. I have to adjust my expectations and do what my body will let me do. Cycle 4 will now exclude Tabatas that include jumping jacks or anything jumping, really. While I don’t believe that running in place hurt anything, I’m going to skip that for a little while longer, too. There are other ways to get my cardio in until my body is ready to jump around. I just have to be patient. No problem. That’s totally one of my greatest strengths.
Thoughts about everything and nothing in an effort to be a better person than I was yesterday.
The Daily Doty 