I love food. I love all types of food. Thai, Ethiopian, Pizza, Sushi, Cereal, Pasta, Meat and Potatoes. All of it. But my favorite meal has been for many, many years...ok...let's say my entire life...has been a burger and fries. Any burger. Turkey burger; Veggie burger; Big, thick, juicy, greasy burgers. Yum. Yum.
The Quest: To find the best burger and fries in the DC area.
Needed: Partner(s) in crime. Because seriously...a quest like this can't be done by myself. It would be no fun...and because it's a little difficult to take stupid pictures of myself eating a burger.
Why: Why not?
In reality...I've been thinking about this for a while. And what brought it about was a couple of things. One being that I've been a bit restricted recently on what I've been allowed to eat...meaning no greasy burger and fries. But I'm pretty much free to eat whatever I want once again! And also, my dad keeps reminding me of a restaurant we went to while visiting DC when my brother was in the National Spelling Bee...and he keeps telling me how great these burgers were...and all he can remember is that the place was somewhere in Bethesda. But he doesn't remember any more than that. He's getting old and losing his memory...so I give him a bit of slack ;)
So what is needed of you? I need you to be willing to join me (even if it's only once) for a meal. You must order a burger of some kind. And of course give your opinion of said burger. Really, I'm envisioning some really funny pictures, some really good food, and a really good time.
Who's up for the challenge?
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Monday, July 26, 2010
A different kind of wall
I have a lot of friends that are in the midst of training for an Ironman, or who have just completed their first Ironman...and I'm jealous.
I have not trained for an Ironman, but am planning to next year...but I have trained for a marathon, and other shorter distance tri's. In each of these, there is a point where you just say "eff this, I'm done." For most people, this comes later in the race/training run. For me, as long as I could get past 2 miles, I was golden...I just had to get past mile 2. I'm weird like that.
I have tortured my body to points that the fat kid I was growing up never imagined I would put myself through. I've had sore legs, sore shoulders, back aches, neck aches, head aches, and aches in places I didn't know could hurt...and honestly loved every second of it. So I say now. If you had asked me then, I probably would have had a slightly different answer...but I still wasn't about to stop doing what I was doing.
The past few months, I've had to go through a completely different type of endurance. And one that was created by my body...not by what I had chosen to do with my body. And believe it or not...the most likely cause of the problems I have had is losing 120 pounds. Apparently your gallbladder turns on you if you lose weight rapidly. Not to mention there are genetic factors in my family as well.
I feel betrayed. My body betrayed me. And to be honest, I'm a little pissed about it. I grew up an overweight child, that never exercised, and hadn't played any sports since I sat the bench the entire season of volleyball in Jr. High. I gained a ton of weight in my early 20's...and once I finally shed that weight...and started becoming a more healthy person...I started running...then I started doing triathlons. And to do that, I've overcome asthma and horrible allergies to everything outdoors, and my own klutziness. I willingly put my body through that. If what I have gone through in the past 4 months had anything to do with what I had chosen to do with my body, I wouldn't be so pissed. But my body turned on me. A useless organ that's merely used for storage turned on me.
I've gone through highs and lows that I never imagined. For the many months that they couldn't figure out what was wrong, I quite possibly have never been so terrified in my life. But they finally figured it out, and they fixed it. This, of course, after months of being exhausted, and attempting to push my body through workouts, and just not being able to after a while. So finally, I couldn't do anything but go to work, and then come home and lay on the couch.
Who would have ever thought that being forced to lay on a couch and let my body be sick would be so difficult? Well...let me tell you...it's hard. It's really effing hard. I'm close to the end...and the mental insanity, and bouncing off the walls that I've done lately, especially post-surgery has pushed my mind to limits I never thought I would be pushed to. I'm not good at this. Maybe some people really are ok with relaxing, and just watching TV...but that's not me. I'm more type A than I ever imagined I really am. But I hate, despise really, not being able to do anything. The past week, when my parents weren't here to keep me occupied, and make sure I didn't do anything stupid have really been tough. Where telling myself that I really, in fact, do need to lay on the couch and watch another movie so when I can start working out again, I'm not going to do more damage.
But guess what? I'm close to the end. I go back to the Dr. tomorrow for my follow up appointment. It's the day I've been waiting for. It's the day that I will hopefully be let out of the doghouse, and will be able to return to training, though most likely a very light schedule.
I'm petrified.
Absolutely, 120% petrified.
I'm scared that they're going to tell me that I'm not quite ready to re-start yet.
I'm scared about how it's going to feel.
I'm scared that after 6 weeks of laying on the couch, and at most walking a few miles, my body will have gone to mush...and there won't be any muscle there to remember that I like doing this.
I'm scared at what's going to hurt. Not the typical muscle soreness...but I'm scared that this is going to hurt for a while...because a week and a half ago I had my insides ripped to shreds.
I know if I can get past that first run, that first bike ride, that first swim, I'll be fine. But it's stepping up to the line that I have to force myself to get to.
I've never needed anyone to hold my hand through something...nor do I have anyone that would do that for me...and I want to believe that I don't need it now, or then, or whenever...I'm just...scared.
I know that a lot of people are going through crap right now. And I'll admit, for having to take some time off training, I couldn't have picked a better time...because the weather has been ridiculous. And I do miss it. I hear everyone talk about their rides/runs/swims...and I've been jealous. I wish I were there with them. But this has just been a very unusual experience for me to get through. One that I really don't wish to repeat ever again.
Tomorrow is the day. I'm keeping my fingers, toes, and every other appendage crossed.
I have not trained for an Ironman, but am planning to next year...but I have trained for a marathon, and other shorter distance tri's. In each of these, there is a point where you just say "eff this, I'm done." For most people, this comes later in the race/training run. For me, as long as I could get past 2 miles, I was golden...I just had to get past mile 2. I'm weird like that.
I have tortured my body to points that the fat kid I was growing up never imagined I would put myself through. I've had sore legs, sore shoulders, back aches, neck aches, head aches, and aches in places I didn't know could hurt...and honestly loved every second of it. So I say now. If you had asked me then, I probably would have had a slightly different answer...but I still wasn't about to stop doing what I was doing.
The past few months, I've had to go through a completely different type of endurance. And one that was created by my body...not by what I had chosen to do with my body. And believe it or not...the most likely cause of the problems I have had is losing 120 pounds. Apparently your gallbladder turns on you if you lose weight rapidly. Not to mention there are genetic factors in my family as well.
I feel betrayed. My body betrayed me. And to be honest, I'm a little pissed about it. I grew up an overweight child, that never exercised, and hadn't played any sports since I sat the bench the entire season of volleyball in Jr. High. I gained a ton of weight in my early 20's...and once I finally shed that weight...and started becoming a more healthy person...I started running...then I started doing triathlons. And to do that, I've overcome asthma and horrible allergies to everything outdoors, and my own klutziness. I willingly put my body through that. If what I have gone through in the past 4 months had anything to do with what I had chosen to do with my body, I wouldn't be so pissed. But my body turned on me. A useless organ that's merely used for storage turned on me.
I've gone through highs and lows that I never imagined. For the many months that they couldn't figure out what was wrong, I quite possibly have never been so terrified in my life. But they finally figured it out, and they fixed it. This, of course, after months of being exhausted, and attempting to push my body through workouts, and just not being able to after a while. So finally, I couldn't do anything but go to work, and then come home and lay on the couch.
Who would have ever thought that being forced to lay on a couch and let my body be sick would be so difficult? Well...let me tell you...it's hard. It's really effing hard. I'm close to the end...and the mental insanity, and bouncing off the walls that I've done lately, especially post-surgery has pushed my mind to limits I never thought I would be pushed to. I'm not good at this. Maybe some people really are ok with relaxing, and just watching TV...but that's not me. I'm more type A than I ever imagined I really am. But I hate, despise really, not being able to do anything. The past week, when my parents weren't here to keep me occupied, and make sure I didn't do anything stupid have really been tough. Where telling myself that I really, in fact, do need to lay on the couch and watch another movie so when I can start working out again, I'm not going to do more damage.
But guess what? I'm close to the end. I go back to the Dr. tomorrow for my follow up appointment. It's the day I've been waiting for. It's the day that I will hopefully be let out of the doghouse, and will be able to return to training, though most likely a very light schedule.
I'm petrified.
Absolutely, 120% petrified.
I'm scared that they're going to tell me that I'm not quite ready to re-start yet.
I'm scared about how it's going to feel.
I'm scared that after 6 weeks of laying on the couch, and at most walking a few miles, my body will have gone to mush...and there won't be any muscle there to remember that I like doing this.
I'm scared at what's going to hurt. Not the typical muscle soreness...but I'm scared that this is going to hurt for a while...because a week and a half ago I had my insides ripped to shreds.
I know if I can get past that first run, that first bike ride, that first swim, I'll be fine. But it's stepping up to the line that I have to force myself to get to.
I've never needed anyone to hold my hand through something...nor do I have anyone that would do that for me...and I want to believe that I don't need it now, or then, or whenever...I'm just...scared.
I know that a lot of people are going through crap right now. And I'll admit, for having to take some time off training, I couldn't have picked a better time...because the weather has been ridiculous. And I do miss it. I hear everyone talk about their rides/runs/swims...and I've been jealous. I wish I were there with them. But this has just been a very unusual experience for me to get through. One that I really don't wish to repeat ever again.
Tomorrow is the day. I'm keeping my fingers, toes, and every other appendage crossed.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Romantical Ideas
Now...don't get all worried and think that I'm going to be talking about candle lit dinners, and other assorted things that will make you (and me) puke. Clearly, I'm not talking about romance in the way most people think about romance today. I'm thinking romance in the ways of Gothic novels. Let me explain.
There are a few things in the world that make me pause and get that warm, fuzzy feeling inside. Taking a walk while it's snowing and the feel of snowflakes on my eyelashes. The feeling you have when you first wake up, and haven't yet opened your eyes, and yet to have the stress of the day upon you, when your entire world is still at peace. And my absolute favorite, putting pen to paper and writing an actual letter.
Don't get me wrong, I appreciate many of the technological advances that have allowed things such as social networking and email, text messaging, and smart phones. These pieces of technology have allowed us to communicate in a much more immediate fashion, and keep in contact with many people that over time you would normally have lost touch with.
But there is something that touches my soul when I get an actual letter in the mail. Maybe it's the fact that this only happens a couple of times a year. But I don't think that's it. Taking the time to sit down, and actually write someone a letter takes time, time that many people aren't willing to take on a regular basis.
Letters are how people used to court. Can you imagine the patience it would take to only be able to communicate through letters? One of the most memorable afternoons of my childhood was the afternoon that my family found the letters that my Grandpa had written my Grandma before they were married. It offered us such a rare glimpse into their relationship. I'm honestly not sure I had ever seen my father laugh that hard. And it's been a rare occasion since. It was a chance to travel through time, and see my grandparents as young lovebirds. To see them 50 years younger.
50 years from now, I can guarantee that my children and grandchildren aren't going to sit around reading my emails or facebook account. That's just now how this works.
Paper tends to stick around. We keep things that are special to us. Like the letters I wrote to my grandparents when I was a kid, to tell them that I missed them. Or the letters that my Grandma writes me now. She tells me what her day is like, tells me that she's going to cook something good for dinner, and what her blood sugar was, and that she needed to take a nap. I love it.
I am as guilty as everyone else about not putting pen to paper often. I normally only succeed at doing things like that around Christmas, or rarely throughout the year. But I always wish I would.
There are a few things in the world that make me pause and get that warm, fuzzy feeling inside. Taking a walk while it's snowing and the feel of snowflakes on my eyelashes. The feeling you have when you first wake up, and haven't yet opened your eyes, and yet to have the stress of the day upon you, when your entire world is still at peace. And my absolute favorite, putting pen to paper and writing an actual letter.
Don't get me wrong, I appreciate many of the technological advances that have allowed things such as social networking and email, text messaging, and smart phones. These pieces of technology have allowed us to communicate in a much more immediate fashion, and keep in contact with many people that over time you would normally have lost touch with.
But there is something that touches my soul when I get an actual letter in the mail. Maybe it's the fact that this only happens a couple of times a year. But I don't think that's it. Taking the time to sit down, and actually write someone a letter takes time, time that many people aren't willing to take on a regular basis.
Letters are how people used to court. Can you imagine the patience it would take to only be able to communicate through letters? One of the most memorable afternoons of my childhood was the afternoon that my family found the letters that my Grandpa had written my Grandma before they were married. It offered us such a rare glimpse into their relationship. I'm honestly not sure I had ever seen my father laugh that hard. And it's been a rare occasion since. It was a chance to travel through time, and see my grandparents as young lovebirds. To see them 50 years younger.
50 years from now, I can guarantee that my children and grandchildren aren't going to sit around reading my emails or facebook account. That's just now how this works.
Paper tends to stick around. We keep things that are special to us. Like the letters I wrote to my grandparents when I was a kid, to tell them that I missed them. Or the letters that my Grandma writes me now. She tells me what her day is like, tells me that she's going to cook something good for dinner, and what her blood sugar was, and that she needed to take a nap. I love it.
I am as guilty as everyone else about not putting pen to paper often. I normally only succeed at doing things like that around Christmas, or rarely throughout the year. But I always wish I would.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
I think I make a bad patient
So...now that the surgery has come and gone...I have the following thoughts:
1) Was that REALLY necessary for me to feel better? Because right now...I feel worse.
2) I have a new found respect for women that have had a C-Section.
3) I'm just really not a fan of pain killers. Maybe this has a direct cause on #1.
So...Tuesday morning...pretty much all went well. I got up early, drank coffee, and read for a while on the balcony. Then I showered, and hung out for a bit, and then headed to the hospital. On the way to the hospital, I got a call saying that my Dr. was actually ahead of schedule, and could I come now. Well...I'm already on my way...will that work? Perfect!
So I get to the hospital, which is an indefinite saga of "hurry up and wait." But I finally get to pre-op...and my mom is hanging out with me. I think I see every Dr. and nurse that is working in the hospital that day...and ALL of them ask the same questions, all of them ask me how to spell my name, and what my birthday is. The only problem anyone has is the ring in my tragus. And really...it's only the head nurse that has a problem with it. She thinks it needs to be taken out...no one else has said anything about it. When all is said and done...it never got taken out...which is good...because there's a good chance it never would have been put back in.
After more waiting...the anesthesiologist comes in and says "it's time to go!" And we start sprinting to the OR. I'm not really sure what the hurry is...but then again...I really don't have to do anything but sleep.
I wake...very briefly...and use the term "wake" quite loosely...because I really don't remember much, except the nurse telling me that if I was in pain, I could push the magic little button...and it would give me drugs. I grew to love and hate the magic button.
So they finally get me to my room, and my parents arrive a few minutes later. Still...I don't remember much. I have no idea what time it is. All I know is that I'm being told that the surgery went really well. Well...awesome...as I push the magic little button again.
For the next few hours, I'm in and out of consciousness. Let's say mainly out. Because I really don't remember much. I know that I was told that I needed to keep drinking...and they kept asking me if I had farted yet. Seriously...funniest question ever...and the KEEP ASKING IT!! Well...the answer was no...but I finally was able to get up...briefly...and then went straight back to bed.
Fortunately for me...my momma loves me...and was willing to stay in the hospital with me that night...which for the most part was a good thing. We'll get to the not so good part in a bit.
The nurse I had that night was also awesome. She was really helpful to mom, and was really supportive to both of us the entire night. So...around 2am...I decide it's time to take a walk. Yeah...because THAT was a good idea. Let's just say...it wasn't such a good idea...and I ended up throwing everything up that went in...and then some. Still not sure where everything came from. But I felt much better after that, and was able to get some decent sleep.
Around 5...the Drs. started making the rounds...one med student had been in and out all night. Oh wait...I forgot the on-call surgeon...who...after he came in the second time...which I got to call him a liar...because he told me he wouldn't see me again...then he came back to change my dressing...then I looked over at my mom and asked if the Dr. looked 12 to her as well. I didn't have my glasses on...and he definitely looked 12 to me. Anyway...the med student came in around 5:30...and then prepped me for the rounds to come in later. So around 7:30...my room was invaded by about 10 med students, residents, etc...which the resident that worked on my surgery is totally not a morning person. But they all checked me out...assured me that I could still go home that day...and I went back to sleep.
Oh...mom not so helpful. So...granted...she did this really awesome thing of staying with me while I was in the hospital. But around 4am...I had rolled over and pulled on my IV line...which I yelled about...and was practically in tears...and I called for her to help...and she was so out of it from being asleep that she couldn't figure out what I needed...and was getting annoyed that I had woken her up. Oh well...she gets a pass I suppose.
So dad finally shows up about mid-morning...and he and I go for a walk. As I reach the circle they told us to walk around...there is an older woman who is probably in her 70's...who is looking about as perky as I am...so I ask her "want to race?" She starts smiling. We both continue to hobble around the circle. At least I made an old woman laugh.
So the day continues...and I sleep a lot. And get sick a little more. And get checked out by more Doctors, and more nurses...and then eat some real food. Then hang out some more...and then get discharged.
We make it home without much problem...and I hobble to the couch...and promptly pass out again.
I ended up sleeping most of the day yesterday...but actually ate a bit of real food. Mom and dad keep telling me I need to get up and walk, and drink more water. And I'm trying...but good grief...when it's 95 degrees in the hallway...and I feel like I'm going to pass out...I really don't feel like taking another lap. But they're making me.
Today has been better. I haven't slept nearly as much...just a couple of naps...and we went for a walk of 5 whole blocks. As dad has said, I wasn't breaking any land speed records...but I'm not doing too shabby. Plus...I've also gotten to watch them clean my apartment this afternoon. As my sister-in-law told me...get them to do as much as you can while you can...this doesn't last forever.
But now that I'm starting to feel a little better...I'm also starting to get a little antsy. But as soon as that creeps up...I move...and I remember why I'm supposed to be taking it easy for now...
1) Was that REALLY necessary for me to feel better? Because right now...I feel worse.
2) I have a new found respect for women that have had a C-Section.
3) I'm just really not a fan of pain killers. Maybe this has a direct cause on #1.
So...Tuesday morning...pretty much all went well. I got up early, drank coffee, and read for a while on the balcony. Then I showered, and hung out for a bit, and then headed to the hospital. On the way to the hospital, I got a call saying that my Dr. was actually ahead of schedule, and could I come now. Well...I'm already on my way...will that work? Perfect!
So I get to the hospital, which is an indefinite saga of "hurry up and wait." But I finally get to pre-op...and my mom is hanging out with me. I think I see every Dr. and nurse that is working in the hospital that day...and ALL of them ask the same questions, all of them ask me how to spell my name, and what my birthday is. The only problem anyone has is the ring in my tragus. And really...it's only the head nurse that has a problem with it. She thinks it needs to be taken out...no one else has said anything about it. When all is said and done...it never got taken out...which is good...because there's a good chance it never would have been put back in.
After more waiting...the anesthesiologist comes in and says "it's time to go!" And we start sprinting to the OR. I'm not really sure what the hurry is...but then again...I really don't have to do anything but sleep.
I wake...very briefly...and use the term "wake" quite loosely...because I really don't remember much, except the nurse telling me that if I was in pain, I could push the magic little button...and it would give me drugs. I grew to love and hate the magic button.
So they finally get me to my room, and my parents arrive a few minutes later. Still...I don't remember much. I have no idea what time it is. All I know is that I'm being told that the surgery went really well. Well...awesome...as I push the magic little button again.
For the next few hours, I'm in and out of consciousness. Let's say mainly out. Because I really don't remember much. I know that I was told that I needed to keep drinking...and they kept asking me if I had farted yet. Seriously...funniest question ever...and the KEEP ASKING IT!! Well...the answer was no...but I finally was able to get up...briefly...and then went straight back to bed.
Fortunately for me...my momma loves me...and was willing to stay in the hospital with me that night...which for the most part was a good thing. We'll get to the not so good part in a bit.
The nurse I had that night was also awesome. She was really helpful to mom, and was really supportive to both of us the entire night. So...around 2am...I decide it's time to take a walk. Yeah...because THAT was a good idea. Let's just say...it wasn't such a good idea...and I ended up throwing everything up that went in...and then some. Still not sure where everything came from. But I felt much better after that, and was able to get some decent sleep.
Around 5...the Drs. started making the rounds...one med student had been in and out all night. Oh wait...I forgot the on-call surgeon...who...after he came in the second time...which I got to call him a liar...because he told me he wouldn't see me again...then he came back to change my dressing...then I looked over at my mom and asked if the Dr. looked 12 to her as well. I didn't have my glasses on...and he definitely looked 12 to me. Anyway...the med student came in around 5:30...and then prepped me for the rounds to come in later. So around 7:30...my room was invaded by about 10 med students, residents, etc...which the resident that worked on my surgery is totally not a morning person. But they all checked me out...assured me that I could still go home that day...and I went back to sleep.
Oh...mom not so helpful. So...granted...she did this really awesome thing of staying with me while I was in the hospital. But around 4am...I had rolled over and pulled on my IV line...which I yelled about...and was practically in tears...and I called for her to help...and she was so out of it from being asleep that she couldn't figure out what I needed...and was getting annoyed that I had woken her up. Oh well...she gets a pass I suppose.
So dad finally shows up about mid-morning...and he and I go for a walk. As I reach the circle they told us to walk around...there is an older woman who is probably in her 70's...who is looking about as perky as I am...so I ask her "want to race?" She starts smiling. We both continue to hobble around the circle. At least I made an old woman laugh.
So the day continues...and I sleep a lot. And get sick a little more. And get checked out by more Doctors, and more nurses...and then eat some real food. Then hang out some more...and then get discharged.
We make it home without much problem...and I hobble to the couch...and promptly pass out again.
I ended up sleeping most of the day yesterday...but actually ate a bit of real food. Mom and dad keep telling me I need to get up and walk, and drink more water. And I'm trying...but good grief...when it's 95 degrees in the hallway...and I feel like I'm going to pass out...I really don't feel like taking another lap. But they're making me.
Today has been better. I haven't slept nearly as much...just a couple of naps...and we went for a walk of 5 whole blocks. As dad has said, I wasn't breaking any land speed records...but I'm not doing too shabby. Plus...I've also gotten to watch them clean my apartment this afternoon. As my sister-in-law told me...get them to do as much as you can while you can...this doesn't last forever.
But now that I'm starting to feel a little better...I'm also starting to get a little antsy. But as soon as that creeps up...I move...and I remember why I'm supposed to be taking it easy for now...
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Hopes, Dreams, Desires
To say the least, I've had a bit of time on my hands lately. Unfortunately, much of this time has been spent laying on my couch, napping, watching movies, watching really bad TV shows because we only get 3 channels at home, and it's summer, and there really isn't anything good on TV. I've been forced into something that isn't my normal life. And I really don't like it. But it's given me the opportunity to think about some things that I do want for my life.
One of the strangest (and believe me, even at the time, this seemed strange) examples I can think of when it comes to wanting what you can't have right now is when I was in High School, and I would have the flu. Every single time I had the flu, all I could think about was going to Burger King, and eating a Whopper. Only Burger King. Only a Whopper. And of course, as soon as I would be able to eat again...that's exactly what I would do.
Now that I'm a bit older...and have eaten better food than a Whopper (not to mention the fact that food just doesn't seem that appealing right now) what I want isn't a Whopper. And not everything that I want is food related.
I want to live in a place that has an exposed brick wall.
I want to sit on the floor eating food with chopsticks (of course sitting on a pillow because my bony butt can't handle sitting on hard wood floors).
I want to start going to the gym to work on strength training to try to gain back more muscle than I've lost lately (which I can tell has been a lot).
I want someone in my life that will call me on my bullshit. Not someone that gets in my face about it...but when I try to shrug it off and say that I'm fine...they would say no you don't.
I want someone to wrap their arms around me when I'm cold.
I want to enjoy food again. I'm tired of going to the grocery store, and buying food because I know I should eat...but not finding anything appetizing. I have been living on turkey sandwiches and yogurt mixed with peanut butter for far too long. Ok...so the yogurt and PB was a staple in my life before...and I expect it will be long after this whole thing is over...but I want to enjoy something other than that. I can't remember the last time I even WANTED to eat Thai food. Or a real burger and fries.
I want to share some of my favorite meals that I make with other people.
I want to sit on my balcony drinking crisp, cold white wine on a warm summer evening.
I want to get up on weekend mornings and go for long runs...long runs before the heat becomes overwhelming, and tourists take over the city. Early mornings when DC is really for the people that live here.
I know that once life goes back to normal...life will get busy...and some of these things may go by the wayside. But I really hope they don't. And granted...I realize that some of these things aren't completely up to me. But I still hope they happen.
This has been a difficult thing for me to mentally accept that it's happening to me. But at the same time, I think that it might be a good thing that it has. Because if it hadn't...would I have had thought yesterday that the thing I want most in the world is to sit on my floor eating greasy Chinese food out of the box with chopsticks? I doubt it.
Either way...this is happening...and I can see the finish line. But unlike most races...I can't start sprinting to the finish. I have to pace myself. I have to wait...and be patient...and that's a really tough thing for me to do. But I will get there...and I think that I'll be a better person because of it.
One of the strangest (and believe me, even at the time, this seemed strange) examples I can think of when it comes to wanting what you can't have right now is when I was in High School, and I would have the flu. Every single time I had the flu, all I could think about was going to Burger King, and eating a Whopper. Only Burger King. Only a Whopper. And of course, as soon as I would be able to eat again...that's exactly what I would do.
Now that I'm a bit older...and have eaten better food than a Whopper (not to mention the fact that food just doesn't seem that appealing right now) what I want isn't a Whopper. And not everything that I want is food related.
I want to live in a place that has an exposed brick wall.
I want to sit on the floor eating food with chopsticks (of course sitting on a pillow because my bony butt can't handle sitting on hard wood floors).
I want to start going to the gym to work on strength training to try to gain back more muscle than I've lost lately (which I can tell has been a lot).
I want someone in my life that will call me on my bullshit. Not someone that gets in my face about it...but when I try to shrug it off and say that I'm fine...they would say no you don't.
I want someone to wrap their arms around me when I'm cold.
I want to enjoy food again. I'm tired of going to the grocery store, and buying food because I know I should eat...but not finding anything appetizing. I have been living on turkey sandwiches and yogurt mixed with peanut butter for far too long. Ok...so the yogurt and PB was a staple in my life before...and I expect it will be long after this whole thing is over...but I want to enjoy something other than that. I can't remember the last time I even WANTED to eat Thai food. Or a real burger and fries.
I want to share some of my favorite meals that I make with other people.
I want to sit on my balcony drinking crisp, cold white wine on a warm summer evening.
I want to get up on weekend mornings and go for long runs...long runs before the heat becomes overwhelming, and tourists take over the city. Early mornings when DC is really for the people that live here.
I know that once life goes back to normal...life will get busy...and some of these things may go by the wayside. But I really hope they don't. And granted...I realize that some of these things aren't completely up to me. But I still hope they happen.
This has been a difficult thing for me to mentally accept that it's happening to me. But at the same time, I think that it might be a good thing that it has. Because if it hadn't...would I have had thought yesterday that the thing I want most in the world is to sit on my floor eating greasy Chinese food out of the box with chopsticks? I doubt it.
Either way...this is happening...and I can see the finish line. But unlike most races...I can't start sprinting to the finish. I have to pace myself. I have to wait...and be patient...and that's a really tough thing for me to do. But I will get there...and I think that I'll be a better person because of it.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
This is what I know so far...
...I know that I never imagined I would be so excited to have surgery. Ok...I'm also absolutely petrified. But having this not be a factor in my life will be really fantastic and amazing.
I met with the surgeon this morning. Actually 2. The first one was clearly a resident...but he was nice...did the oh so wonderful exam...and then got the "real" Dr. They both came back...and said that yes...of course...we'll take out your gallbladder. Awesome news! Oh...but that might not completely take away all of your symptoms. Not so awesome news. But it should take away about 75-80%. Sweet...I'll take it!
The Dr. also went into the details about the risks of the surgery, all of that fun stuff. They looked to me if I had any questions. Of course. When can I start running again? Yes, the Drs. expression really read "is that REALLY the first question you're asking?" Yes...yes it was. The answer? Well...kind of ambiguous for right now. They won't give me a pass to start running (or anything else) until after my follow up appointment a week and a half after the surgery.
All in all, I think I'm getting a pretty good deal. They're going to try to do this with one incision...instead of 4...and the likelihood that I'd need to be completely ripped open is minimal.
So, of course, my parents are coming out to take care of me. Which...you know...is awesome. I'm excited about that. Wait...maybe excited is a little over-exaggerating just a smidge. I'm very grateful they're coming. But I'm also terrified of being cooped up in my apartment for over a week with them is going to drive me bonkers. I mean...I don't know what to do with myself if I have over 3 days off in a row. So the prospect of having 2 weeks off, recovering or not, I have no idea what I'm going to do. So yes...shameless plea for help on ideas, movies, soduko, ANYTHING to keep me entertained. Or if you're REALLY nice and awesome...you could always stop by for a visit. I promise I'll try not to look too pitiful. But seriously...that would be really awesome :)
So as I mentioned a little earlier...I'm a little nervous about this whole deal. But it's not really the surgery that I'm nervous about. I kind of figure that I'll be unconscious...so I really don't have too much to worry about there. Ok...so they're probably going to intubate me during the surgery. That kinda sucks. Big time. But...ok...deep breathe...the thing I'm most nervous about right now is having to spend the night in the hospital. I've never had to do that before. NEVER. And really...I don't want to. Ever. I'm not even sure I can put my finger on one thing that makes me so nervous about it. I just really don't want to.
Also, I think my veins (arteries?) are giving up. I've had more blood drawn in the past few weeks that they've just given up. I have NEVER bruised from needles sticks like I have recently. I'm not sure what's up with that...but that, too, can go away. Blerg.
So this is what I know so far. I'm sure over the next couple of days I'll find out more info...and of course...will keep everyone posted :)
I met with the surgeon this morning. Actually 2. The first one was clearly a resident...but he was nice...did the oh so wonderful exam...and then got the "real" Dr. They both came back...and said that yes...of course...we'll take out your gallbladder. Awesome news! Oh...but that might not completely take away all of your symptoms. Not so awesome news. But it should take away about 75-80%. Sweet...I'll take it!
The Dr. also went into the details about the risks of the surgery, all of that fun stuff. They looked to me if I had any questions. Of course. When can I start running again? Yes, the Drs. expression really read "is that REALLY the first question you're asking?" Yes...yes it was. The answer? Well...kind of ambiguous for right now. They won't give me a pass to start running (or anything else) until after my follow up appointment a week and a half after the surgery.
All in all, I think I'm getting a pretty good deal. They're going to try to do this with one incision...instead of 4...and the likelihood that I'd need to be completely ripped open is minimal.
So, of course, my parents are coming out to take care of me. Which...you know...is awesome. I'm excited about that. Wait...maybe excited is a little over-exaggerating just a smidge. I'm very grateful they're coming. But I'm also terrified of being cooped up in my apartment for over a week with them is going to drive me bonkers. I mean...I don't know what to do with myself if I have over 3 days off in a row. So the prospect of having 2 weeks off, recovering or not, I have no idea what I'm going to do. So yes...shameless plea for help on ideas, movies, soduko, ANYTHING to keep me entertained. Or if you're REALLY nice and awesome...you could always stop by for a visit. I promise I'll try not to look too pitiful. But seriously...that would be really awesome :)
So as I mentioned a little earlier...I'm a little nervous about this whole deal. But it's not really the surgery that I'm nervous about. I kind of figure that I'll be unconscious...so I really don't have too much to worry about there. Ok...so they're probably going to intubate me during the surgery. That kinda sucks. Big time. But...ok...deep breathe...the thing I'm most nervous about right now is having to spend the night in the hospital. I've never had to do that before. NEVER. And really...I don't want to. Ever. I'm not even sure I can put my finger on one thing that makes me so nervous about it. I just really don't want to.
Also, I think my veins (arteries?) are giving up. I've had more blood drawn in the past few weeks that they've just given up. I have NEVER bruised from needles sticks like I have recently. I'm not sure what's up with that...but that, too, can go away. Blerg.
So this is what I know so far. I'm sure over the next couple of days I'll find out more info...and of course...will keep everyone posted :)
Friday, July 2, 2010
Going stir crazy over here...
It's been a long year.
Ok, it actually feels like this year has flown by. But it's been a long year.
One week from today, I was supposed to be making a 6 hour drive with my parents to complete my first 70.3. Key phrase: "supposed to." The whole trip has transformed several times over the past month...transformed...in fact...into non-existence.
First...I was still going to participate in the 70.3, and complete as much of it as I could, knowing that I wouldn't be able to finish the entire thing.
A few weeks ago, I realized that I wasn't even sure I would be able to get past the swim of the half (even though I did in May at Kinetic). So I switched to the sprint. No big deal. I would be happy with the Sprint...and focus my energy on completing a half at the end of the season. I had a couple of decent long runs on the weekends, and I was feeling good.
Wait...I should take a step back. "Feeling good" is probably not the correct term here. I'm not actually sure the last time I really felt good. I can't remember the last time I wasn't so tired I wanted to lay down and sleep for a month and a half. I don't remember the last time I went an entire day without my stomach or side killing me for at least a portion of the day. So really...feeling good was finishing an 8 mile run and not hurting too badly. And actually feeling at that point like I could run further if I really wanted to. I felt that I'd actually accomplished something because that was the longest run I had completed since my marathon in January.
It's not that I'm just being lazy. I'm not. In the portion of my brain that is Type A, and must be going all the time...and thinks that it's horrendous if I lay on the couch...that side of my brain is thinking that it's laziness. But it's really not. Deep down...and sometimes not so deep down...I know that I need to take it easy right now, and wait until everything is fixed...then I can go back to being crazy in a good way...and not just stir crazy.
For a long time...I thought that the issues I was having might just be in my head. It didn't help that a "friend" told me he thought that's what the problem was. But it's not. I have proof that it isn't. I swear...reading through the report of the MRI I had done...and finding out that I had gallstones...I was elated! Really, comparatively, the diagnosis is much better than a lot of the things they were looking for. I'm glad that they found it when they did because 1) I really didn't want to go through anymore painful, invasive tests and 2) it's been getting worse in the past 2 weeks. A lot worse.
I've been told a few times over the past year or so that I have a ridiculously high tolerance for pain. Well...I'm paying for it now. It took a long time for me to say anything about not feeling well...and by the time I did...it was too late. My mom told me a long time ago that she could always tell when I was faking being sick growing up because she could see it in my eyes. A few days ago...after feeling horrible for a week and a half...3 people, in one day, told me that I looked like crap. At least they were honest...because I do. Worse than post-cavity, half numb face crap. That's bad. Plus...without even trying...I've lost 5 pounds...in the last week.
So where does that leave me? Well...Musselman will have to wait another 12 months. So the whole fun family trip that was supposed to happen now has been postponed, and instead of having the parents here for July 4...the parents will be here to take care of me pre and post surgery. I'm meeting with the surgeon on Monday. I'm scared...but at the same time...I just want this to be over with. I want my life back.
I know it's coming...but being patient is hard.
Ok, it actually feels like this year has flown by. But it's been a long year.
One week from today, I was supposed to be making a 6 hour drive with my parents to complete my first 70.3. Key phrase: "supposed to." The whole trip has transformed several times over the past month...transformed...in fact...into non-existence.
First...I was still going to participate in the 70.3, and complete as much of it as I could, knowing that I wouldn't be able to finish the entire thing.
A few weeks ago, I realized that I wasn't even sure I would be able to get past the swim of the half (even though I did in May at Kinetic). So I switched to the sprint. No big deal. I would be happy with the Sprint...and focus my energy on completing a half at the end of the season. I had a couple of decent long runs on the weekends, and I was feeling good.
Wait...I should take a step back. "Feeling good" is probably not the correct term here. I'm not actually sure the last time I really felt good. I can't remember the last time I wasn't so tired I wanted to lay down and sleep for a month and a half. I don't remember the last time I went an entire day without my stomach or side killing me for at least a portion of the day. So really...feeling good was finishing an 8 mile run and not hurting too badly. And actually feeling at that point like I could run further if I really wanted to. I felt that I'd actually accomplished something because that was the longest run I had completed since my marathon in January.
It's not that I'm just being lazy. I'm not. In the portion of my brain that is Type A, and must be going all the time...and thinks that it's horrendous if I lay on the couch...that side of my brain is thinking that it's laziness. But it's really not. Deep down...and sometimes not so deep down...I know that I need to take it easy right now, and wait until everything is fixed...then I can go back to being crazy in a good way...and not just stir crazy.
For a long time...I thought that the issues I was having might just be in my head. It didn't help that a "friend" told me he thought that's what the problem was. But it's not. I have proof that it isn't. I swear...reading through the report of the MRI I had done...and finding out that I had gallstones...I was elated! Really, comparatively, the diagnosis is much better than a lot of the things they were looking for. I'm glad that they found it when they did because 1) I really didn't want to go through anymore painful, invasive tests and 2) it's been getting worse in the past 2 weeks. A lot worse.
I've been told a few times over the past year or so that I have a ridiculously high tolerance for pain. Well...I'm paying for it now. It took a long time for me to say anything about not feeling well...and by the time I did...it was too late. My mom told me a long time ago that she could always tell when I was faking being sick growing up because she could see it in my eyes. A few days ago...after feeling horrible for a week and a half...3 people, in one day, told me that I looked like crap. At least they were honest...because I do. Worse than post-cavity, half numb face crap. That's bad. Plus...without even trying...I've lost 5 pounds...in the last week.
So where does that leave me? Well...Musselman will have to wait another 12 months. So the whole fun family trip that was supposed to happen now has been postponed, and instead of having the parents here for July 4...the parents will be here to take care of me pre and post surgery. I'm meeting with the surgeon on Monday. I'm scared...but at the same time...I just want this to be over with. I want my life back.
I know it's coming...but being patient is hard.
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