Archive for the ‘Health’ Category

I have been getting painting job after painting job after painting job. I can’t complain because this is what I wanted. I’m making far more cash than I ever did at my restaurant. Go figure. But, what I didn’t want, however, was to be injured on the job. It appears that on this last job – which consisted of priming and painting a gazillion miles of oak trim – I somehow managed to contort and twist in such a manner that I pulled the muscles in my lower back. I didn’t notice it right away, but as soon as I was finished with the job and could relax, that’s when the pain set in. Not only do I have some nasty bruises on my knees from crawling around on them all week (wish I could blame it on my night job – you know…the one where I’m a porn star?) but now I have to contend with a bad back. Shit, just add me to the list of walking wounded.

My next job starts Tuesday so I need to doctor myself this weekend and make sure I’m on the mend. So….there will be no cooking, no cleaning, no doing laundry, no washing dishes, no gardening, no walking the dogs, no nothing this weekend. I’m going to lay flat on my back, computer on my lap, books and magazines and tv remote at my side (GASP…I haven’t watched tv in about a month). And it looks like I will have to forego the diet this weekend as we will be ordering out. Mmmm…pizza. I can’t wait. It’s all good, though. I’ve dropped 10 lbs. thus far, yipee-tie-yie-yay! Now, if I could only find someone to go and grab me a triple shot latte I’d be all set. Can’t one of you fantastic souls out there in blogland figure out some way to get a fine coffee drink to my door? Thanks, I’d appreciate it very much-ly!

Oh…and I mustn’t forget – Happy Mother’s Day to all you Mothas out there!

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I’m not sure why I feel compelled to share this dull bit of information with everyone, after all, you’ve heard it all before: Blah, blah, blah I’m fat; whine, whine, whine I need to go on a diet. I’d just like to prepare you for what you may be encountering when clicking on this here blog in the next few weeks. It may not be pretty. It certainly will be bitchy…and ranty…and possibly annoying (Oh, wait that’s really not much of a deviation from the norm, is it?). Because I am about to, yet again, venture into the sucky wonderful world of dieting.

I’ve decided it’s time to pull out all the stops and get my ass back into shape. Several years back (after I’d gained a whopping 50-some lbs. when pregnant with my daughter) I decided that I’d had it with being a fatty. I wasn’t too keen on the dieting thing; after all, it had never really seemed to work for me. I have no willpower and dammit, if I see a Cadbury Mini Egg (thankfully that only occurs around Easter) or any form of dark chocolatey goodness I can’t say “no”. Yes, yes, yes is the only thing I’m thinking when it comes to chocolate.

One day at work I was perusing the interwebs and stumbled across a site devoted to the South Beach Diet. I was intrigued by the testimonials and thought to myself, “Hmmph, this might be something I could do.” As soon as the clock struck five I was off to the grocery store to collect my South Beach Diet necessities. As most of you probably know the first phase of this diet is the WORST. No dairy, no fruit, no carbs, no sugar, no alcohol (yeah, right), pretty much anything that tastes good is a no-no. Shit, I thought, what the hell am I going to eat- paper? As I read further I found that this diet allowed for plenty of eggs and poultry. So, I figured as long as I could eat my way through the chicken coop I’d be fine.

The first week of the diet was dreadful. I chose to go hard core and was eating the bare minimum. Except that I cheated – with the alcohol. Yep. There was absolutely no way I was going to go through this hell and fore-go my wine. Like I said, the first week was brutal; I was a whiny, crabby ass bitch. If I hadn’t at least treated myself to the wine I probably would have stopped strangers on the street and punched them in the face.  As I progressed into the second week of the diet I noticed that I was no longer hungry all the time. Once the sugar and carbs were completely out of my system it was smooth sailing. The payoff: 14 pounds lost in two weeks. Yipee!

Once my body adjusted to this new food regimen it became a way of life for me and I continued on with Phase One for several months (even though you are only required to follow this phase for two weeks) and again, the payoff was sweet: I lost 62 lbs. in six months. I was thinner than I had ever been. The funny (and awful) thing about the dramatic weight loss was that people started asking me if I was ill. Haha. I wanted to scream, “NO…but YOU will be ill if you keep asking me that question.” Shit, a chick just can’t win. Either you’re too fat or too skinny.

I was able to keep the weight off for approximately three years…and then…well, you know how the story goes. You fall in love, you eat out at fancy restaurants, you sit on the couch and snuggle, you cook gourmet meals for your loved one, you go to movies and share gargantuan buckets of buttery popcorn, you sit on the couch some more, you eat more, and eventually you are fat and happy – well, sort of. And then the relationship ends. And then you are just plain fat…and unhappy. That is where I am at today. Thankfully, I don’t have such a drastic amount of weight to lose. I’m not thrilled about going through the South Biatch Hell Diet again but I’m going to give it a whirl. After all, what have I got to lose…except for the weight? (Mwahahahaha, I love stealing corporate slogans, especially when I’m not going to use the corporation’s diet!).

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The cancer center called today to confirm my MRI. The woman on the other end of the phone just wanted to ask me a few questions. Sometimes (just sometimes, is that too much to ask?) I wish everyone had the same sense of humor as me.

Here, my friends, is how the conversation went:

CC: “Do you have any kidney problems?”

Me: “Um, no, not at the present time. Unless you consider the time I ran home from the bar in the cold…then there was a problem. Oh, but I guess that would have been a bladder problem, uh…never mind.”

CC: Slight pause…“Good. Are you claustrophobic?”

Me: “No, I have no problem going into those tanning booths and closing the coffin-like lid.”

CC: “Ah…okay, you probably don’t want to tell us that since we’re a cancer center and we don’t recommend using tanning booths.”

Me: “Oops…sorry. I haven’t been tanning in a while, but, no worries, I’m not claustrophobic.”

CC: “Alright then, we’ll see you on Monday.”

Dammit, I couldn’t even get a little snicker out of her. I must be losing my touch. Thank God, my oncologist has a better sense of humor.


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I went to the doctor the other day because I’ve been having this pain in my Achilles tendon for some time now. I decided that since my own therapy of ice/elevation/ibuprofen was not doing the trick in alleviating the pain that I’d better get it checked out. Well, shit! – the routine visit turned out to be not so routine. Not exactly what I was prepared for. Thank God for Xanax (and alcohol) or I may not have made it through the rest of the day after this visit.

He took one look at my ankle and I could tell by the expression on his face (this doc is not very good at pulling off the professional doctor poker face) that something was up. There is a large, hard lump that seems to be either attached or coming from behind the tendon. My doc decides to send me to an orthopedic specialist. Cool. No big deal. I leave the office and am merrily on my way. About an hour after I leave the doc’s office I get a phone call. It’s the doctor – he calls me directly – doesn’t even have his office girl do it. Great. I answer the phone and he says, “Don’t panic”. WTF? RIGHT! How do you NOT panic when your doctor says those words? You know it’s got to be something BAD! He begins to tell me that he discussed my case with the orthopedic surgeon who, in turn, felt that there was something ‘unusual’ about the lump and – sight unseen – decides that I should be whisked off to the cancer center. What? No x-rays? No MRI? No biopsy? NOPE…go directly to the cancer center, STAT.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised because this kind of shit happens all the time in my crazy mixed up life. Ugh! I had a similar situation several years ago (Polyps, Cysts and Tumors, Oh My!) but the dear doctors waited until after the tumor was removed to give me the news that it was cancer. This time it’s like they’ve already given me a diagnosis of malignancy – before I’ve even had any tests done. I’m sure they are just being cautious knowing my history, but come on, way to scare the ba-jesus out of me. So, dear friends and readers, if I have to have my limb lopped off in the next few weeks in order to save my life, please bear with me as I may not be able to post regularly. Thanks in advance for your patience…and keep your fingers crossed for me!

UPDATE: 2/26/08 – met with the oncologist today. If it is indeed a soft tissue sarcoma (which is very rare, apparently) we have caught it at an early stage, which is good. I am having an MRI next month and will go from there. If the MRI shows irregular cells then I will have a biopsy. If the biopsy shows malignancy they will remove the tumor and use radiation therapy, if necessary. If no irregular cells are visible at this time then I will just have follow-up MRI’s every three months to make sure there is no change in the tumor, and will also have the option to have it removed. So kiddos, it looks like I’ll be around to entertain you for the time being!

Thank you, everyone, for your uplifting words and support. I appreciate you all so very much!

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My daughter and I just watched several episodes of Jon & Kate Plus 8, one of which included Kate showing her post-sextuplet pregnancy belly, and this was my darling daughter’s response:

“Hmmm, Mom, you have so much blubber – I think you had sextuplets but you sold them on eBay.”

Nice one, kiddo!

Happy Frickin’ New Year.

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