Reflecting...

Today my son turned 11, which is crazy since I swear the last time I checked he was only 4. Collin is the miracle the doctors told me would never happen, I wasn't supposed to have children. But really, when have I ever done what I was supposed to? Certainly not this time, I took that news and put it right where it belonged...the garbage. I remember being 23 years old and the doctor telling me these exact words, "Having children just isn't a possibility for you." WTF? This was a general physician, how on Earth could she say something like that? She might as well have told me I had 6 months to live because in that moment something died inside of me. Then I got angry and in the next moment, I began to fight and looking back I realize that is the day my maternal instincts kicked in. I knew the doctor was wrong, and I was mad that she would so casually make such a profound diagnosis. Over the years I have thought about looking her up and bringing my two children to see her. My living, breathing proof that she should find a new career.

I eventually found a new doctor and he was nothing short of amazing. After three years of treatments, surgeries and a the worst part for me, waiting, I made an appointment and told the nurse "I think I'm pregnant". I'll never forget Dr. Heller walking into the exam room with a huge smile on his face and the words "Congratulations, Mom." The day Collin was born, I felt like I was too. I couldn't help but think, if I could do this I can do anything. When he was 3 months old I enrolled in Aesthetic school, he gave me the courage to realize another one of my dreams. Collin has brought us so much joy and laughter it's hard to pick just one memory that stands out above the rest but I do remember when he was about 9 months old and we were sitting on the floor playing with some toys. He was giggling about something and lifted his arms up to me and I was struck with such overwhelming love in that moment. I remember telling Marc, "I want this baby, I want him like this forever. I don't want him to grow up I will miss this baby." Well, today that baby is 11 years old and there are still times when he is laughing that I can still see that baby and I get the overwhelming urge to hold him in my arms and snuggle. The best part? He lets me. Happy Birthday, Collin. You complete our family and our family loves you completely.

Benched...

Agh. I was thisclose to actually getting myself into a workout routine. I had convinced myself that I was capable of getting to the gym three times a week and doing some form of exercise the days I didn't go. Keep in mind, for me personally, this was huge. In my previous attempts at re-inventing myself the only reason I would go to a gym on Monday is so I didn't have to go on Tuesday. I would have my list of excuses ready on Wednesday and by Friday I didn't even want to talk about it. I have a bad habit of making excuses instead of progress when it comes to working out, but this time I felt different. I realize this entire process has only been a few weeks but it's the frame of mind I'm referring to and not so much the results I wanted. So imagine my dismay when I see my doctor and BAM...he tells me I can't work out until he sees me again in two weeks. In the meantime, I have to schedule a stress test and renal ultrasound. WTF? Stupid blood pressure. Apparently, getting dizzy while working out is not a good sign. I figured it was my body's retaliation, but then my heart rate started doing a crazy dance and I felt like someone pushed the treadmill two feet away from me while I was walking on it. Don't worry, I held on, there is no funny falling down story to be had here and you know I would tell you if there was. Like the time I bashed my forehead on a stack of weights when I bent down to get my water, that was a previous workout attempt. My cousin was with me and she was very worried. (worried she would wet her pants from laughing so hard) I benched myself after that incident. Anyway, for now, no working out but I am sticking to my diet and celebrating the fact that I have lost 3.5 pounds since January 1st. I'm really hoping that this fact alone will be enough to get me back in the gym once the doctor releases me, and he will release me. See, I'm already spinning the excuses in my head. In two weeks I will be 20 days away from my vacation, do I really want to get into a routine again only to stop and get on a cruise ship where the only exercise I'll get is carrying my plate back from the buffet? The starting is the hardest part for me and I'm just wondering if I'm setting myself up for failure. Actually, I'm starting to wonder if I haven't already accepted the failure and I'm just setting up my excuses. Wow, bad habits really are hard to break.

Getting Started...

I've never been a fan of physical fitness. As the only girl in a family of five kids I was content to let my brothers join sports and I could always be the token cheerleader. By cheerleader, I don't mean in a formal sense, that would fall under the category of exercise. No, I would sit in the stands and cheer "Hit that ball!!" Until my Dad tells me, "That’s not your brother's team up to bat." Oops, then I would continue to pretend to be interested until I could scam a dollar from my parents to go to the concession stand. I've also never tried to hide my distaste for exercise. I knew way back in grade school when I was being picked last for the team it was because, for lack of a better term, I sucked. I was the girl that would always get the position of playing outfield which really meant; keep her away from the ball at all costs. If my team had the misfortune of someone hitting it my way, I would run in the other direction and hide my face. No sir, I didn't want anything to do with catching that ball. Catching, throwing or hitting balls of any kind were not on my list of priorities. I jammed my finger once playing Volleyball and couldn't get my favorite ring on for a month, that was my first sports related injury and the list eventually grew. Yeah, I would hurt myself avoiding the game, not actually playing it. So you can imagine that as I got older and didn't have to attend gym class, I stayed away from sports and physical fitness at all costs. If at a barbeque some genius had the idea of putting together a softball game I all of a sudden find that cleaning the kitchen is the most important task in the world and it simply cannot wait another minute. Avoidance is key, but if pushed I decline and simply say, "I'm not any good". Oh, I've had plenty of people claim to me "I'm not that good either, it' just for fun." Bullshit, I have a lifetime lack of achievement award in not being good, don't challenge me and no, I don't keep score either in case you were wondering. Label me prissy if you will but my friends will tell you, I'm not an outdoor person. Besides the fact that my skin fries like bacon in a microwave, I'm not a fan of bugs, dirt or things that make you itch either. Although I do like outdoor malls, cabanas and occasionally eating at an outdoor patio, I'm not all bad. So imagine me now being faced with having to exercise, ahem, regularly. Ick. I know I don't have a choice, my current condition requires that I exercise to make my heart stronger. Quickly it becomes clear to me that suffering a heart attack would be far worse than suffering a panic attack at the gym. So I turn to the one person I know will help me the most, my husband. They say opposites attract, which is proven by the fact that my husband is a workout fiend. He loves it, and stays in really good physical shape. Early in our relationship I tried going to the gym with him, but I just felt like I was dating my gym teacher and that was too disturbing to continue. We happily concurred I would give up the working out, not the relationship. Now, I need his help and I relent to once again trying to work out with him. My one rule is, only machines. No free weight lifting, I want something else do most of the work and I'm just along for the ride so I decide to try the elliptical machine. Marc climbs on a bike behind me and I begin to make friends with the machine, select a very easy workout and start moving. After two minutes I feel like my legs are going to spontaneously explode, yes, I said two minutes. I keep going and distract my mind by trying to not look like an ass which I decide is going to be a full time job. The only saving grace I have is that my fellow haters of exercise have all joined the club to make good on their New Year's resolution and they look just as out of place as I do. I will miss them come February. Okay, I peek at the timer and I'm surprised to see that I'm coming up on 10 minutes. My goal is 15 so I keep pushing, almost there. Somewhere around minute 12 I started writing a goodbye letter to my loved ones in my head and by 13 I was dividing up my worldly possessions. I'm happy to say, I made it to 15 minutes without needing CPR. My first goal, tackled. It was a small step but I took it and I'm owning it. Now I get off the machine and my head is a little woozy, what with the heart rate up and the small victory party going on up there, I'm not surprised. I stride past Marc on the bike and he tells me "Good Job". I need to get a towel and sanitize the machine; now that I'm a clubber I'm all in the know about the rules. I walk back head held high and begin to clean my machine, I shined that thing up good, it was the least I could after it brought me so much pride. I step off to go throw the towel in the basket and I hear my husband shout, very loudly..."WRONG ONE!" What? I look back at the machine I just wiped down and notice my water and magazine on the machine NEXT to it. Aww, damn it. Now I can’t help but wondering, does this place have a concession stand?

Here we go...

I’ve been thinking a lot about starting a blog. I love reading them; most of them are real fountains of information. There are even a few that have inspired me, whether it was to be creative, try a new recipe or how to be a better person. But this is where I always stopped, because, quite frankly I had no idea how I could inspire anyone else. Now, I’m not doing the whole self deprecating thing, I just didn’t feel like my life was extraordinary enough that anyone could benefit from my wisdom. Then things changed.
Last year was the most difficult year of my life. Just typing that gives me mixed emotions, because as difficult as it was it taught me to truly appreciate just how amazing life can be too. Short version, I had to undergo two different major surgeries to have my reproductive organs and one ungrateful appendix removed. In between were a myriad of doctor’s appointments and countless procedures ending in “opy” and too many ultrasounds to count. During this time I was terrified, depressed, angry, and most of the time in denial. What I was not was inspirational. Until I went to a site for women that have had hysterectomies and posted my story, and questions I had about my own future. I went there looking for help and underestimated my ability to offer help to anyone else. I didn’t understand how just talking about it took the fear away, and sometimes it even made me laugh. I usually deal with fear by laughing at things; it takes the scare away if you can poke fun at it. But this time, I just couldn’t wrap my head around what was happening to me and I couldn’t figure out a way to laugh at my circumstances. I wanted desperately to think like I used to, and couldn’t figure out why my usual thought processes were failing me, now when I need them most. I ended up in a counselor’s office and he told me I had too many “negative thought patterns”. Here’s a negative thought, you’re an asshole Dr. Whatever, and I never went back. Okay, seriously, how can wanting to find the light at the end of this tunnel be negative? I just wanted to figure out what the positive was from all of this negative, because my belief system tells me that everything happens for a reason. Okay, reasons…where are you?
Flash forward to me trying to deal with a crazy little thing called Hormone Replacement Therapy, let me tell you something. Hot Flashes are tiny little moments of hell wrapped up in misery. They take your breath away and make you want to rip your clothes off and climb in a freezer. Once again I apologize to the stock boy at Jewel that thought I was molesting the ice cream; it seemed like a good idea at the moment. Anyway, at this point, I wanted estrogen like a crack head wants his fix. I was on a spray form, weird, but what do I know? Things were not getting better, and really felt worse. So I decided to go for a second opinion and went to see an endocrinologist. This appointment took a turn I really wasn’t expecting and before I knew it, he took away my spray…my lifeline. (Yeah, four days before I was hosting 30 people for Thanksgiving Dinner.) Turns out my blood pressure was dangerously high and he felt the estrogen could be to blame. Now I am off and running through the testing maze again and hoping at the end would be my prize, my estrogen. Everything came back as normal as he had hoped, but the blood pressure was still an issue. This is where I finally figured out the reason, the one I had been looking for all year. Being me, I made a shitty joke about my high blood pressure (this wasn’t new to me, I just forgot to tell him) and kind of alluded to the fact that I would be fine. He took my hands and looked me right in the eye (dramatic) and told me “You are in the highest risk category for your age to have a heart attack or stroke. Because you have no ovaries, you are at risk for cardiac disease (also a genetic risk), because of the HRT and your BP you are at risk for stroke, how do you want to die?” He has a way with words. But it stopped me cold and really made me think. My ovaries were bad for awhile, and weren’t providing my body with enough estradiol to keep my heart healthy, thus the reason for my fluctuating blood pressure. If I hadn’t gone through the surgery, I never would have thought my heart could be in trouble. I would have just figured the high blood pressure every now and then was genetic and nothing more. I have lost a lot through the course of last year, but what I have gained is the knowledge that I need to take control of my own health. I no longer have a choice, I need to exercise (cringe) and I have to watch my diet and think about a heart healthy lifestyle. This was my silent killer, but thanks to my bad lady parts, it’s now screaming at me…Take care of this! So, this is why I’ve decided to blog. I hope I can inspire someone else to take control of their health and to encourage my female friends to really pay attention to your bodies. Hormones are a powerful thing and when they turn on you, you’d better fight back because they pack a helluva punch. So now I’m starting to work out, and I hope you will laugh with me as I try to figure out this new unchartered area of my life and just what the heck a Precor is. If I inspire you too, well that would just be the icing on the cake. Damn, now I want cake.