This past holiday season I did more baking than in any three previous years combined. More importantly, I've done more eating of said baked goods than normal. (But, dude, chocolate chip macaroons? Easy, fast and delicious before and after baking.)
So it was no surprise when I gained five pounds.
After enjoying myself through New Year's, I put the brakes on and began making some healthier choices. Lost a couple pounds right away.
A week ago I weighed myself for the first time in maybe 10 days. I was stunned, shocked and concerned to see that I had gained about 13 pounds.
Thirteen pounds. In 10 days.
I'll just admit that the idea of a tumor popped right up. But let's be honest, that's kind of my first response to everything. Missed my period right after Tom and I agreed we weren't having kids together? Gotta be a tumor!
If the brakes had been put on before, the keys were now removed.
And I gained two more pounds by yesterday.
I mentioned the situation to Tom and Nance, but lightly, like, "Haha, no reason to be frightened, I know what I'd been eating. I guess it just took a minute to catch up to me."
I started an exercise routine last night that kicked my butt.
Today? Gained another pound.
Concerned? Shocked? Stressed? Oh yeah.
Then this fantastic little kid of mine who can't seem to get passed the 23 pound mark stepped on the scale. She weighed 40 pounds. And her sister, who was very recently right on the cusp of 40 pounds? Try 56.
Fucking stupid digital scale. I'll get new batteries this weekend.
I weighed myself at my dad's house this morning. In full clothes, including jeans. After breakfast. On the first day of my period. And I needed to use the restroom (every ounce counts, people!). And I was still 15 pounds less than I had been only 90 minutes earlier at my home, naked.
I haven't gained weight. In fact, in three days I can pretty much guarantee that I'll lose three to five pounds, which will put me right back to my pre-holiday number.
Came home tonight and stuck with my exercise plan, because it is still needed. No longer secretly wondering if I'm going to die. Openly feeling kind of stupid because now that the moment has passed, I am forced to recognize that my clothes still fit the same and that the scale had been kind of wonky lately.
Whatever.
Showing posts with label cancer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cancer. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 01, 2012
Monday, January 31, 2011
I Should Be Sleeping, But I Slept Already
Two and a half hours with a nonstop nursing, going through a growth spurt baby. Instead I've been spending the evening catching up on a colleague's CaringBridge page. Turns out that while I was off having Fynn and enjoying my life as her mama, Ruben was being diagnosed with multiple cancers. He's a public speaker, writer and thinker, so there are a lot of posts to catch up on. After five hours or so, I'm about halfway.
And you know what? I have never laughed so hard while reading about someone's journey toward becoming a cancer survivor. I hope to never take his journey. If I do, I hope to do it like him.
After our snowy start to the new year, we've been enjoying downright balmy weather. I'd heard it was coming to an end by the end of this weekend. Yesterday I made PB & J's for Mad and me. We sat on the warm concrete out back and ate them while talking about her baby (her name is Sister, but you can also call her Sister Baby... not to be confused with Fynn, who is Baby Sister.)
Today we had a play date with Mad's and Fynn's friends, two families, each with kids who will turn three and one this year. Mad's the oldest by two months, Fynn's the youngest by two months. The park is one where I spent many hours running as a teen. It's the epitome of a beautiful community park, with sporting fields, an awesome three-ring playground and an exercise trail (.8 miles) that loops it. The trail is adjacent to an equestrian path, and the park is set in the foothills of a chic-chic neighborhood. It was frigid. With a breeze.
We arrived early, which is a rare occurrence for anyone of our playdate families. Fynn was ready for a nap, so I tossed her in the Beco and did a lap. For maybe the second time ever, I went the easy way. That would be down the steep quarter mile or so hill. I figured that 15.5 pounds of baby meant I could go a little easy on myself. As I moved, I was reminded of how different my body is now compared to my 16 year old running, dancing body. Instead of getting down on myself, I thought of people who might not be able to get around with such relative ease. A mental shout-out went to Bossy Betty's friend E.
After all the playground fun and an icy, rainy lunch we all did a lap. Mad was the only toddler not in a stroller; because of Fynn's preference for the wrap and carrier, we don't use a stroller. It's at Grandma's so Mad can still get her daily walks. So the rest of our group had a slight advantage over us, speed-wise. By the time we were halfway around, everybody else was done. Even the lone Grammy of the group. We skipped the big hill and had a quick-quick-slow race up the grass.
In the car, Mad had a snack, but even with it her energy was low. All that running around wore her out! I'm not sure I believed it could happen. She said sluggishly, "I'm tired," and I believed her.
On the way home, Tom and I dreamed of living closer to our friends, and of one of us getting to be a stay at home parent. We have to be in our house 14 more months in order to satisfy the requirements of the tax credit we got two years ago. Fourteen months and selling the house for at least enough to have a down payment on another house down the hill are all that stands between us and a normal life.
And you know what? I have never laughed so hard while reading about someone's journey toward becoming a cancer survivor. I hope to never take his journey. If I do, I hope to do it like him.
After our snowy start to the new year, we've been enjoying downright balmy weather. I'd heard it was coming to an end by the end of this weekend. Yesterday I made PB & J's for Mad and me. We sat on the warm concrete out back and ate them while talking about her baby (her name is Sister, but you can also call her Sister Baby... not to be confused with Fynn, who is Baby Sister.)
Today we had a play date with Mad's and Fynn's friends, two families, each with kids who will turn three and one this year. Mad's the oldest by two months, Fynn's the youngest by two months. The park is one where I spent many hours running as a teen. It's the epitome of a beautiful community park, with sporting fields, an awesome three-ring playground and an exercise trail (.8 miles) that loops it. The trail is adjacent to an equestrian path, and the park is set in the foothills of a chic-chic neighborhood. It was frigid. With a breeze.
We arrived early, which is a rare occurrence for anyone of our playdate families. Fynn was ready for a nap, so I tossed her in the Beco and did a lap. For maybe the second time ever, I went the easy way. That would be down the steep quarter mile or so hill. I figured that 15.5 pounds of baby meant I could go a little easy on myself. As I moved, I was reminded of how different my body is now compared to my 16 year old running, dancing body. Instead of getting down on myself, I thought of people who might not be able to get around with such relative ease. A mental shout-out went to Bossy Betty's friend E.
After all the playground fun and an icy, rainy lunch we all did a lap. Mad was the only toddler not in a stroller; because of Fynn's preference for the wrap and carrier, we don't use a stroller. It's at Grandma's so Mad can still get her daily walks. So the rest of our group had a slight advantage over us, speed-wise. By the time we were halfway around, everybody else was done. Even the lone Grammy of the group. We skipped the big hill and had a quick-quick-slow race up the grass.
In the car, Mad had a snack, but even with it her energy was low. All that running around wore her out! I'm not sure I believed it could happen. She said sluggishly, "I'm tired," and I believed her.
On the way home, Tom and I dreamed of living closer to our friends, and of one of us getting to be a stay at home parent. We have to be in our house 14 more months in order to satisfy the requirements of the tax credit we got two years ago. Fourteen months and selling the house for at least enough to have a down payment on another house down the hill are all that stands between us and a normal life.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Focus
So... the answer is a resounding no. I am fine. Tom is okay. We'll get through. It helps immeasurably to know that a baby hadn't actually been made.
My doctor insisted on doing a D&C. As with many instances between us, I declined. I did a bit of research yesterday before calling him and found that many doctors now believe it's better to let nature take its course. And anyway, he wanted me to have it done in his office. I can only assume that would have meant getting a local anesthetic. Non-baby making pregnancy or no, I do NOT want to hear that! During my first miscarriage, the doctor and his team played music as I was drifting off to sleep. Now, every time I hear Bobby Brown singing that song, I go back to the yellow gowns and yellow lights of that room.
I took the day off today. When I spoke with Tom yesterday, he arranged to be off, too. I believe he was anticipating a trip down the hill to see the doctor. If it had been necessary, we would have gone. But the worst seemed to be over by the time I got up this morning. I'm going back to work tomorrow.
Have I mentioned that I'm a list maker? I am. I am always working on a list. Of jobs to do. Of reasons why or why not. Of the good side versus the bad. So here is a partial list of the good things for now. Don't think that because I'm not listing the bad, I don't feel it very deeply. It's just not where I'm going to focus right now.
So... the good things are (in no particular order, normally I'd prioritize or alphabetize or something, but tonight I'm gonna wing it):
*I didn't tell Nancy last week even though I really wanted to. Her sister-in-law's mother died this morning and Nancy's own mother finally got the diagnosis. Pancreatic cancer. "The cure would be worse than the cause." Yeah, I'm happy not to have added to that burden.
*I can have chocolate and/or coffee for a little while longer. I won't, though, because last week I was reminded of all the bad things that can happen to a developing baby person if caffeine is consumed. Tom and I haven't discussed it, but I'm assuming he'll still want to continue trying once we're able.
*I don't have to find out if I still fit into my maternity clothes. Okay, this is awful. I lost all the baby weight within about five days of having Mad. The 10 additional pounds is just me being lazy. Guh! I had actually wondered if Doc wasn't able to confirm the pregnancy through physical examination because I'm too fat.
*We don't have any new extra expenses coming up right away. Granted, the expenses would be less than when we had Mad, especially if we had another daughter, but the things we'd have to buy (crib, dresser, etc.) wouldn't be the little things. Of course, this could change if we manage to create a mini-Mad, but for now, no.
*We didn't tell anyone else. I didn't even give off hints that would clue people in so they'd ask. We'd taken the test at home on Thursday evening. Friday morning I faked coffee. I went to the kitchen with someone, got a cup of decaf and then left it on my desk when I headed out a few minutes later. Do I regret wasting coffee? A little, but even decaf has caf, so it's out. Anyway, by not blowing our cover, I now won't have to endure the stuff that would make me cry. And we have one particular woman in our office who loves to make people cry.
*And lastly, I'm not bothered or upset by anyone else's pregnancy. So we're keeping the drama way low-key. I do have an acquaintence who is pregnant. She's in my mommy group. Her shower is about a week away. I won't be going, but I RSVP'd two weeks ago. It's when Tom and I are celebrating our anniversary (four years married, nine-plus together... I can't wait until the "together" number is the smaller one). Plus, Lauren and I have nothing in common except our babies. Nothing. And she rarely responds to my emails or calls anyway. Frankly, I feel the fact we're shipping a gift is more than generous. But I'm not doing it for her so much as for Mad to have a better chance of a few lifelong friends.
Oh, and in some weird karmic way, I have further evidence that Celine Salon (Dion) and I are linked. She is also no longer pregnant. I don't know how far along she was, but I'd be willing to bet the full extent of my extra cash (right now I believe that's the eleven cents sitting in the cup holder in my car) that she's having a much harder time than we are. That sucks... what is it The Rambler says?... oh yeah, sweaty donkey balls. I say that lovingly even though I have always, always denigrated her singing (ahem... when I wasn't secretly singing along... shh). The fact that her version of "At Last" was our song is only because Etta James' was too scratchy and Cyndi Lauper's was just.too.freaking.weird (no matter how much we wanted to love it)... and *sigh* yes, because Celine Salon's version rocked. Until it became the soundtrack for Fancy Feast commercials. Whatever.
My doctor insisted on doing a D&C. As with many instances between us, I declined. I did a bit of research yesterday before calling him and found that many doctors now believe it's better to let nature take its course. And anyway, he wanted me to have it done in his office. I can only assume that would have meant getting a local anesthetic. Non-baby making pregnancy or no, I do NOT want to hear that! During my first miscarriage, the doctor and his team played music as I was drifting off to sleep. Now, every time I hear Bobby Brown singing that song, I go back to the yellow gowns and yellow lights of that room.
I took the day off today. When I spoke with Tom yesterday, he arranged to be off, too. I believe he was anticipating a trip down the hill to see the doctor. If it had been necessary, we would have gone. But the worst seemed to be over by the time I got up this morning. I'm going back to work tomorrow.
Have I mentioned that I'm a list maker? I am. I am always working on a list. Of jobs to do. Of reasons why or why not. Of the good side versus the bad. So here is a partial list of the good things for now. Don't think that because I'm not listing the bad, I don't feel it very deeply. It's just not where I'm going to focus right now.
So... the good things are (in no particular order, normally I'd prioritize or alphabetize or something, but tonight I'm gonna wing it):
*I didn't tell Nancy last week even though I really wanted to. Her sister-in-law's mother died this morning and Nancy's own mother finally got the diagnosis. Pancreatic cancer. "The cure would be worse than the cause." Yeah, I'm happy not to have added to that burden.
*I can have chocolate and/or coffee for a little while longer. I won't, though, because last week I was reminded of all the bad things that can happen to a developing baby person if caffeine is consumed. Tom and I haven't discussed it, but I'm assuming he'll still want to continue trying once we're able.
*I don't have to find out if I still fit into my maternity clothes. Okay, this is awful. I lost all the baby weight within about five days of having Mad. The 10 additional pounds is just me being lazy. Guh! I had actually wondered if Doc wasn't able to confirm the pregnancy through physical examination because I'm too fat.
*We don't have any new extra expenses coming up right away. Granted, the expenses would be less than when we had Mad, especially if we had another daughter, but the things we'd have to buy (crib, dresser, etc.) wouldn't be the little things. Of course, this could change if we manage to create a mini-Mad, but for now, no.
*We didn't tell anyone else. I didn't even give off hints that would clue people in so they'd ask. We'd taken the test at home on Thursday evening. Friday morning I faked coffee. I went to the kitchen with someone, got a cup of decaf and then left it on my desk when I headed out a few minutes later. Do I regret wasting coffee? A little, but even decaf has caf, so it's out. Anyway, by not blowing our cover, I now won't have to endure the stuff that would make me cry. And we have one particular woman in our office who loves to make people cry.
*And lastly, I'm not bothered or upset by anyone else's pregnancy. So we're keeping the drama way low-key. I do have an acquaintence who is pregnant. She's in my mommy group. Her shower is about a week away. I won't be going, but I RSVP'd two weeks ago. It's when Tom and I are celebrating our anniversary (four years married, nine-plus together... I can't wait until the "together" number is the smaller one). Plus, Lauren and I have nothing in common except our babies. Nothing. And she rarely responds to my emails or calls anyway. Frankly, I feel the fact we're shipping a gift is more than generous. But I'm not doing it for her so much as for Mad to have a better chance of a few lifelong friends.
Oh, and in some weird karmic way, I have further evidence that Celine Salon (Dion) and I are linked. She is also no longer pregnant. I don't know how far along she was, but I'd be willing to bet the full extent of my extra cash (right now I believe that's the eleven cents sitting in the cup holder in my car) that she's having a much harder time than we are. That sucks... what is it The Rambler says?... oh yeah, sweaty donkey balls. I say that lovingly even though I have always, always denigrated her singing (ahem... when I wasn't secretly singing along... shh). The fact that her version of "At Last" was our song is only because Etta James' was too scratchy and Cyndi Lauper's was just.too.freaking.weird (no matter how much we wanted to love it)... and *sigh* yes, because Celine Salon's version rocked. Until it became the soundtrack for Fancy Feast commercials. Whatever.
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