You know that old joke about Country Music? The one that goes “What happens when you play a Country song backwards? He gets his job back. He gets his truck back. He gets his dog back. Oh! Annnddd, he gets a contract for his songs!” Ha! Ha! Ha! Everyone laughs.
Cue tacky twang, I’ve got a good one.
(Given that it’s Christmas Eve I’ll see what Andy Williams has going on.)
It’s the worst, awfulest time of the year!
With the kids snowmobiling,
And everyone telling you,
“Watch out for deeeeeeeeer!”
It’s the worst, awfulest time of the year!
It’s the sa- saddest season of all.
With those doctor appointment calls,
And tons of blood work
Without real answers at alllllll
It’s the sa-saddest season of all.
There were dreams we were living,
Pugs and pets we were loving
Money for spending
on travels for stories of glories
With projects we’re working onnnnnn
2017 had us jumping and begging
The vet bill was crazy
My baby girl pug passed away
My dream career (not just a job) is done
Student loans are threatening
SSA-Disability is on government vacation
My eye glasses broke on a holiday weekend.
It the worst, worst 2017 of all.
Well? Is this properly pouty and pessimistic?
The thing is, I can’t cry anymore. I am So. Far. Gone. it’s pathetic! I have to laugh at each “problem” when it pops up. This makes me look crazy. And that is ok.
I still think that if everyone in the world was given a puppy and a Coke, we could sing a song and hold hands with whomever we choose and the world would be a happy place.
Or, maybe I just need a day of The Hallmark Channel with feel good shows and movies. 😬. “Jesus, take the wheel”.
Given my current situation, I decided to try to find a Physician who is informed, specialized in, and was challenge worthy of curing what ails me. I have been filling out forms galore! I went through one entire Health Park and one Internal Medicine Hospital.
Let’s see, I have traveled all over my state in the USA. The money for fuel, hotels, dinner, co-pays, prescriptions, job loss and overall mental stress is not what I am upset about. That’s just collateral damage. One’s Health is priceless. So I pushed from one end to the other of specialists, general, and …
Well, you name it, I was there. Husband in hand. Mother as a barracuda. Even a very close friend from work -all to be my “Rock”. I am always thankful to them. ❤️
My research is self-sustaining (when I don’t have brain fog, or a headache, or simply exhausted). It is also self-torture. I have gone through Social Media, Libraries and Journals.
I know a lot about Hypothyroidism. Throw some Auto Immune Disease in there too. Oops, don’t forget the Hashimoto’s Disease, Migraines, Hormonal Imbalances, Anxiety, Depression, Hopelessness, PTSD, Seizures, Food Intolerances, hair loss, Vertigo and Concussions due to falling. have had all of these symptoms/experiences in the past four years. This past year January 1, 2016 through today my “experiences” have become a million
times worse than when all of this started.
Kinda Cool Part<<<<<
ed that blood tests are not really necessary in my case, because they don’t test the cells which make up the body. The cells which make us human don’t get tested. Blood does. Thus getting a normal lab result is counter-intuitive to discovering the cause of my woes.
, I was declined by both attempts of becoming a patient of an Internal Medicine Hospital as well as the ENTIRE Health Park. Hmmmm. As Shakespeare would say, “Much Ado About Nothing”.
paign called “The Broken Brain” by Dr. Hyman. I watched the trailer, then I signed up for the free online Docu-series. There are eight episodes and over fifty doctors who attest to the information presented:
“With 1.1 BILLION lives compromised by brain issues EVERY day, I know this documentary series will provide vital new information, expert connections and most of all, hope.”
e wellness center in MA. They don’t accept insurance. They charge approximately $10,000.00 for their two days of service.
The similar wellness clinic in my state (as there are many centers across the country) also does not take insurance either.
o an article I read this evening, those involved were exasperated and out of money. You should read it. Alas, they have hope!
I like how the author states “When one doctor or specialist had tried everything in his or her repertoire, we’d move on to someone else.After enough traditional doctors couldn’t dial her health in, we eventually moved on to alternative doctors and treatments – chiropractic, acupuncture, herbal supplements, meditation, and on and on…”That’s (This is) the reality (body image, weight gain) for some women. With multiple issues and body systems affecting each other and playing off each other, it can be pretty challenging to get everything into balance.blockquote>We found that this condition involved so much more than just physiology. So many elements played into this diagnosis – it was about stress, food, lifestyle, belief systems, relationships and more.We have spent the last 20 years, and almost $300,000, diving deep into this dis-ease. <<<<<<<<<
ut my future, as well as my husband and family’s future. Watch the attached video shared from YouTube. It’s thought provoking. I may not have a cure or a new place to dig in and research, but I have hope (kinda, sorta, maybe; depends on the day).
As I have rolled myself into “adulthood”, I have discovered that I prefer flowers in their semi-natural beds. A lot of people, and I mean A LOT of people, in my town, are Master Gardeners. I figured that growing my own flowers would be a nice hobby.
Plus, I would have a reason to go outside and get my Vitamin D too. Win, win!
I decided to try gardening. The key word here is try.
I now understand why gardeners threaten trespassers with their lives. The frustration and anger of one little, beautiful and helpless flower being stepped on is a legitimate defense – or at least it should be.
Dear Master Gardeners, I apologize for dancing on your Daffodils and ignoring the placement of your Irises.
Day One: First we (me, husband, mother). had to weed and Roto-till the spaces for the separate areas for the different beds. Within ten minutes we voted and all chipped in to hire the neighbor kid to do it. He did. Whew!
Day Two: Cover all exposed areas with black paper…. “hey neighbor!”
Day Three: My mother came over to help me roll out pre-seeded lavender bed rolls ordered from Groupon. I supposedly had 50,000 seeds so at least one seedling had to work.
Create amazing decor for the flower beds: ummm… skip.
Maintenance: Keep checking on the Groupon guaranteed Rolls. Luckily I could look into my garden from the air conditioned living room to check on it daily.
Water: We still have our timer from Christmas lights, that will work. Or so I thought… Ok not really… my garden was flooded by; oh I’d say five days into this. We now had quicksand.
I could see the neighbor kids’ foot prints in the sand puddling with water. I simply needed to turn off the timer… Done.
It was supposed to be a very rainy week anyway.
Weeds: The weeds grew and grew. They were taller than me and had nothing to do with or about the water or lavender.
I have NOT seen even one plant of my Groupon 💯 guarantee. My neighbor kid is going to be so mad when he comes back from Boot Camp!
All involved read the directions from Groupon carefully…
My mother and I re-read the directions… no lavender.
hoped that there would be a “💥🌿🌱💜 Sea Of Lavender 💥 💜 🌿🌱💥 ” in my garden, and it was going to be beautiful. Alas no purple waves, no sea, no see.
Would you believe that there isn’t anything resembling lavender in their area???
What did I do wrong??
Well… it wasn’t until I realized that I physically couldn’t do much more than trap my neighbor kid, tell him how sick I am, get him to do the hard stuff, and then flood everything while he was in boot camp; that maybe I was a bit overzealous about my new hobby.
I couldn’t muster up the energy to be a gardener. I am just too sensitive to temperatures, brightness, bug bites, bending over and everything it takes to grow flowers purposefully.
I had one job. One ☝️. Discover and create a beautiful garden. I failed. My husband knew how upsetting it was for me. He took me to the cute little store in Bay City and I found a bunch of fake flowers (lavender of course) to purchase and enjoy at home.
Sometimes mental health is brushed aside when a physical task fails. I mean, who goes through the fuss and anticipation of a project wanting to be a failure? It’s a tough pill to swallow. His actions, my mom’s help and of course the neighbor kid were here working their butts off because my symptoms made me miserable while the heat only exasperated them. They did all of that in my best interest. So Thank You!
I guess my body health (brain included) needs some more time to hopefully heal. When it will let me know; remains to be seen.
About ten years ago (+\- five years) and yet another fifteen years prior to that. This will make sense for you, (the readership in a few moments… hang in there.. I promise. Trust me.
I traveled to Arizona for a visit with my grandparents, sister and mother. It was time to find a full service, independent living, facility for my grandparents.
The three of us toured a few facilities each day until we found our ideal space for the distinguished Patriarch and Matriarch of my mothers’ side of the family. It took a lot of convincing to get them to see it, much less than the actual move from their condo to a facility we chose.
It was nice. They allowed my grandparents’ cats, furniture and even had it’s own kitchen. The forms were signed. Their condo was up for sale and I had to get back to Michigan.
Within a couple of months I got a call from my sister. She wanted to get a Tigger tattoo and wanted my opinion. I have a tattoo on my hip bone of Opus the Penguin. I got it when I was seventeen, so in my sister’s mind I must remember the experience…. eh… I didn’t. Seventeen and tattoos were common in my generation; remembering the details, not so much.
I did my best to explain it to her, but jeez that was fifteen years ago.
After many months of looking she decided to bring the multitudes of Tigger to a top three. In this process she had found a few other ideas that would be good on me and my mother.
She wanted all of us to get (at least one) matching tattoos. I laughed and questioned her rationale.
“It would be a bonding experience.”
Within the week I was getting pictures from my sister with a very noticeable Tigger tattoo on her calf. She even showed it to our grandmother for review. Apparently our grandmother approved and asked questions about it -the process, design, and pain. She and my sister often did Tigger themed things, like this cake, for instance.
The holidays had me back in AZ later that year. I laughed every time my sister brought up the “group tattoo idea”. However, by then, my mom had agreed to do it. My sister must have been quite convincing. They were going on and on about yin yang symbols, turtles, paw prints, etc. I was still holding firm on my “No.”
I had underestimated my sister because the day after Christmas she admitted something…
She had a plan.
We all had to agree on the design and body location.
We had to find a clean and reputable establishment that was handicapped accessible.
We had to go into it with a “No Regrets” mentality.
I was still not in love with the idea or plan. Besides, why did it have to be handicap accessible? So I asked.
Wait for it….
My sister continued, “…Grandma wants to go too. So we will just swing by her new nursing home, check her out for the day, let her go first with her tatt, get ours, and then grab something to eat, sign her back in to the nursing home without drawing attention to ourselves and Ta Dah. No biggie!”
“We are NOT kidnapping Grandma, tattooing her in a handicap accessible (air quotes) tattoo parlor, having a late lunch and then sneaking her back in to her nursing home without anyone noticing ‘something different’ about Grandma.”
“Awwww c’mon. She really wants whatever we’re having.”
“Are you crazy?! No! Soooo beyond no! We could get in serious trouble for that. Oh My Lord. (*sigh) Did you tell mom?”
“She liked it.”
Of course she did.
This dialogue continued back and forth for quite some time -months.
My sister stayed on this kick for awhile and is over it now (I think). Our grandmother passed away within a few years -tattoo free. My mother is still tattoo free.
Part of me wonders, did my grandmother have a seventeen year old self who always wanted a tattoo, like me? What would she have chosen at seventeen?
I don’t doubt that she entertained the idea then, or at my sister’s plan sixty years later. I can only fathom what 1945 art was acceptable for her standards. She was a nurse back then. She had seen it all, and knew the human body quite well. She would know where we could keep it hidden and respectable.
This past Autumn, my sister, mother and I were together again and I brought up the group tattoo idea. We thought about it, tossed around some ideas and then got back to our independently busy lives; somehow still remaining connected.
Maybe the next time we get the chance I can get us all to agree on a tree. More specifically The Tree of Life. It would be a Family Tree of Life!
“The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn.” (Ralph Waldo Emerson)
The skies are blue with white clouds, the wind is in the tops of the trees, and the scent of freshly mowed grass floats through the air.
I can be found outside to absorb Vitamin D more often. I often go for drives in my 1999 Mazda Miata (top down, radio up.) singing my heart out. I can enjoy the scenery when I take my dogs on walks. I could go for bike rides with my husband. I could follow through with plans or have a summer job for extra money. But I’m not doing any of these things. I can hope that all of this will play out next summer or the summer after that. I will be ok, just not today.
I am spending this summer filling out forms. Forms? Yes, forms. Being in my condition, I have a lot to “prove” to people, I guess. I have forms for Student Loans, Social Security, Insurance Companies, Appointments to keep from each groups’ Independent Medical Reviews. My years worth of forms is not helping to remove my carbon footprint.
So if you get the chance to capture some Vitamin D, walk your dog, drive your convertible and go for bike/ horse rides, do it. Do it for everyone who can’t, right now. Enjoy the outside and stay “form-free”. Don’t pick up a writing utensil or hide behind a screen of any sort. Mind your manners. Eat full-fat ice cream … on a WAFFLE CONE!
I think that I have a friend or two who genuinely care about me and my illnesses. I believe that I have some acquaintances who would be certain to talk to me if we were in the same place, coincidently.
Thanks to Pastor Trisha Peach, blog peacht, via Hypothyroid Mom, I caught a few of her comments to be very true for me, currently.
Like this… “It makes planning nearly impossible. Many humans take for granted that they will wake up feeling “normal”, go to work, go see friends, go to their child’s sports game – same as always. 🌅👩🏻🏫👩🏼⚕️👨🏼💻👩🏻🏫👩🎤👮🏻👯♂️
For someone battling a chronic illness, you just don’t know. Instead of “planning”, it’s more like “hoping”. You “hope” you wake up feeling ok, you “hope” you can make it through work, you “hope” you can make it through your child’s play…..and each event takes its toll on your energy and health.
You cannot predict the day before how you will feel. So the world makes plans and prepares for events and you…..”hope” to be a part of them.”
She goes on to write, “It is not because you no longer care or because the event is not important to you or the person is not important to you. You are missing out because your body has given out.
In fact, your body may be 4 or 5 events PAST too many by the time you just give out. It’s like driving a car that is running out of gas….you lasted on fumes, but finally despite all your efforts, the fumes have run out. The gas pedal is all the way to the floor, but she’s not going any further.”
My doctor had requested some blood work from me…, which, upon return, explained a plethora of my health problems. She was speaking another language (Greek? Latin? Dr. Speak?), regardless I needed Google. And here I am. 🌎.
Meghan O’Rourke has an essay called “I had Autoimmune Disease and then it had me.” It was printed in The New Yorker Magazine, Aug. 26, 2013. It came up in a Google Search for Hypothyroidism. She was speaking my language.
So, for my friends, I hope to keep our plans but I need to be full; not on fumes.
I experienced Roux-en-Y Gastric Bypass through removal of a portion of the stomach (sleeve gastrectomy or biliopancreatic diversion with duodenal switch) or by resecting and re-routing the small intestine to a small stomach pouch.
I needed to be smaller than I was. I had a great job, my own apartment, a strong family, a very nice Infinity QX4. Life was grand, until I opened my mouth to eat. You see, in 2000, I was diagnosed as being morbidly obese. I think that my BMI was in the 40’s.
My last year of undergrad was interesting. I had my first real relationship, student teaching and no cash. So I ate the cheap food from gas stations, dollar stores, and CostCo. Bulk was definitely the way to go. By the year 2000, I was going to end up with diabetes and heart disease.
The gossip magazine’s were all doting on Carney Wilson of Wilson Philips. She had an “Easy surgery and the fat just melted off of her”. No pills, drinks, fad diets or exercise programs ever again. Hey I can handle that!
I got the surgery in October of 2001 -insurance companies are just so easygoing (*Sarcasm). I laid on my dad’s couch for two weeks and followed the new diets prescribed by my surgeon. (Clear liquid, regular liquids, soft solids, and then in 6 months normal food, just in very small amounts. My stomach was now the size of an egg. The pounds were indeed melting off. I ended up losing 150 lbs in less than a year.
The fact that I loved smoothies and coffee; the ideal weight loss was fairly easy to maintain. I would drink Protein shakes from the local GNC, drank the Jamba Juice’s “Mocha Moo’s” with extra protein powder, and Starbucks Caramel Macchiato. I never bothered with cooking. My idea of cooking was making a pb&j (if I really had to). I took my dog for walks, farther and farther as weeks went by.
I started going to “clubs” within the very end of my first year. It didn’t matter which génère the music was. I just wanted to dance and feel the rhythm of it all. I felt alive.
After the six months, I had a calzone (black olive, mushrooms, ham, and extra cheese). Mmmm. It was really good. I needed a whole week to finish one… but I didn’t care. Dancing on the weekends would burn off the calzone calories.
I moved out of my home state and started a new life with my (then) boyfriend, (now) husband, in a new state 2003. Alas, as I have mentioned in other posts, my new “home” was missing out on Jamba Juice chain stores and Starbucks (Coffee Shops). I went through withdrawals.
I was definitely depressed (whenever I had a craving for a Mocha Moo) . And since I’m an emotional eater, I ate. I started with the homemade food at the school, where I taught. That led to eating solid food everywhere! I even got cooking lessons with, like, a real chef person!
It was getting harder and harder to maintain the ideal weight/ BMI. This means that I was gaining the weight back. I honestly believed that the operation was to essentially banish the ability to gain weight. Yet, here I sit, knowing it is possible. Luckily I have plateaued at a number I can live with.
I often wonder if the Bariatric Surgery has/ had something to do with the Hypothyroidism, Hashimoto’s, Adrenal Fatigue, etc. that I am going through now.
I have worked for SIX, yes, six principals and there is one who stands out the most. It isn’t because he was Math and I am English. It isn’t because he knows my husband and they have mutual friends. I enjoyed him the most for his colloquial trivia.
For example, one morning he was standing in the main office and called me in… “Mrs. Ellsworth will know the answer, I just know it. ”
“Uh-oh.” There were other teachers standing in there too. Jeez he stumped them too. “Is it one of those logic questions again? I don’t do logic.”
“Nope, it’s about shopping for fruits.”
“Okay, try me.”
He rubbed his hands together and he had a sparkle in his eyes. I started to sweat. He took a deep breath and began “Out of the top three selling fruits, you have five apples and seven oranges. What does that leave you with?”
My mind was spinning. I took a deeper breath and looked around to my co-workers. No one attempted to help me… “That’s it?”
“Obviously, it leaves me with eleven errr, ummm, grapes!”
“Nooooo, where did you get grapes?”
“The Fruit Section. Ok, what’s the correct answer?”
“How many bananas?”
“What am I going to do with eleven bananas?”
“What are you going to do with eleven grapes?!” He was (sarcastically) huffing and disappointed.
“Eat them, in one sitting. Why did you pick bananas? I figure it could have been any thing as long as you followed the Prime Number listing-thingy. Right?”
“Bananas are one of the top three fresh fruits. Where do you shop? Jeez….”
I rolled my eyes, while saying “I guess…”.
He tossed me a mini Milky Way, and I went to my classroom. My thoughts were on the popularity of bananas vs. grapes. (And undoing the wrapper of the Milky Way.). Oh well. Time to teach!
This particular principal was one of a kind (in my world). He honored my request for Teddy bear pancakes during Staff Breakfast Potlucks…
He was notorious for taking the heat out of any argument at school. He would say, “There are two sides to a pancake and whatever is in the middle is the problem (gooey and shapeless). Is it worth fighting for? Think about it for a few minutes.
Really consider it, do you guys need me to get involved as well as your parents?”
Damned if it didn’t work! I liked joking around with that Principal. He was chivalrous and full of random trivia. He respected me and vice-versa.
Another example: He answered the school office phone when the local Veterinarian called, he said that I was in class and that she could leave me a message… It turned out that my new kitten died in surgery.
He knew that I would be devastated when I found out. He called my husband; called a sub in to cover my classes. When a familiar face who subs in emergencies walked in, and my husband was waiting in the hallways to escort me to the office, I had no idea what it was about. Thank God I saw my husband-he had ridden his motorcycle to work… My mind and breath began to even out again.
I saw my Principal’s face, my husband stepped to the area of the Principal and softly told me what the Veterinarian told him. My husband caught me just in time and brought me home.
He not only knew me, he understood me. Don’t get me wrong, he had his personal life issues, but the professional Principal who I worked with, was a wise and kind soul. I notice that I used some of his “trusty stand by statements” which made more sense –than what I would love to scream at people.
He taught me a lot. I learned about my weaknesses and strengths. I learned some things that were math specific. I also learned how to read people via their body language.
He’s retired now and lives in a different town. We run in different circles now. He may not take credit for these things; but this is my side of the pancake.
I am really weird about food. Onion slices are ALWAYS next to Tomato slices in restaurants. The Onions ruin everything. It is so frustrating! I have felt the same way about pickles, jalapenos, peppers, etc.
Given that I am from Arizona, I don’t know why or how this happened -Mexican food was, well, awful -in my opinion. I loved the fresh chips and a very plain Chicken Chimichanga. But nothing could be on or near my plate. That made it a dry rectangle on a dessert plate. It’s supposed to be covered in a “Sauce” and Salsa with rice and beans as well as some little salad (onions included). I was the only person in the world of the Southwest who preferred Jamba Juice, Starbucks and mall food to honest-to-goodness real Mexican food..
So, moving to Michigan was a great thing for me. Potatoes, Berries, Steaks, Soups, great pizzas, Farmers Markets, oh my! Although I’m not a fan of the pickled eggs, bologna and of course, pickles.
I steered clear of pickled things. However, I was devastated to find out that my Jamba Juice wasn’t here in Michigan. Starbucks is two hours south of my home.
I went through Jamba, Mall and Starbucks withdrawal. I was miserable to be around. My husband took me to the “Mall” north of the house and I cried. It wasn’t a mall! It hade three or five shops and no food.
Maybe Arizona wasn’t so bad after all. While everyone else was burning their taste buds, I had “Mocha Moo’s” with extra protein powder. Or I would go to the real mall for Panda Express.
What was I going to do here? Mashed potatoes come to mama!
Growing up, I wouldn’t eat a pickle. Dill, sweet, relish, whatever else was up to my co-lunch mate. My sister would get them off my McDonald’s burgers and pretty much everything else that had a pickle served was fair game.
I went to a pot luck luncheon recently and someone had made/brought these weird looking ham wraps of cream cheese and a dill spear. After much coercion from my friends, i said that I would try one.
I. LOVE. THEM.
Then all of a sudden I started to crave dill pickle spears. ?!
I mean really crave. I still don’t know what happened. I hated anything pickled and Mexican food; and then all of a sudden I’m eating Dill Pickles daily. At least they aren’t expensive. What’s going to happen next? Peppers on my pizza?
My husband and I attended the MSU presentation (we owned a pet store and the presentation was a customer service reminder) of “Give ’em the pickle!”
I was entranced. I found the website which the presenters got their information. Little did I know that there is a link between pickles and customer service. WHAT?!
“The idea of giving pickles away comes from a letter I received from a disappointed customer who was visiting the first store we opened.” (Bob Ferrell)
“The pickle philosophy has evolved from there as it’s been put into practice at various businesses. It may be about going the extra mile to make customers happy or putting your own personal stamp on customer service that sets you apart from your competition. (And I just gave it away.)
At my favorite tire store they literally run to greet me when I step out of my car in the parking lot. I’ve met garbage collectors who stop to start lawn mowers and coffee baristas who add a heart or other designs in the latte foam. Those are all pickles. What are yours?”