March 2006 Archives

So, just about the only topic my dad brought up at dinner the other night that didn’t make me want to argue with him was when he asked me if I knew my brother has decided to apply for a job with the police department after graduation. I’ve known about this plan for a while, but haven’t really said anything about it because I’m not sure how I feel.

As you may or may not have noticed, I have a wide anti-authoritarian streak. I don’t like cops, as a rule (and that's just the beginning of a very long list of authority figures I don't like). I do, however, like my brother. And I don’t particularly care for the idea of him having a job where people might shoot at him. I worry that he’s not particularly suited, personality-wise, to be a cop. He’s a bit of a lone wolf, and tends to take his own path in life. Cops, in my opinion, tend to be very conformist. Plus he tends to interpret the world in a very black and white fashion, and I think cops have to deal with a lot of grey areas.

He says it is important to him to find a way to give back to the community, and that he just doesn’t want to be stuck behind a desk somewhere. I maintain that it is possible for him to do that in a job that doesn’t involve guns and Kevlar vests. Am I pleased that he wants to have a job where he is helping other people? Of course I am. I liked it better when he was a volunteer fireman though. When I really think about it, I suppose I should be glad that someone like my brother wants to be a cop. He’d never engage in the cop behavior that I find most objectionable – the bullying and petty abuse of power, the casual racism, the profiling, beating of suspects and manufacturing of evidence that happens all too frequently in America today.

I guess it’s just that I’ve grown cynical. I don’t think he can change a thing. But in the end, he has to live the life that works for him, so I’ll just have to respect his choices – and his authoritay. And hope he can help with speeding tickets.

Sometimes, life is just such a fucking hassle. I was in quite a state tonight after I got a statement from my insurance company saying that they aren’t going to cover some of the bloodwork or the day three sonogram my fertility doctor did to check that my ovaries are doing some of what their supposed to do. Now, I called my insurance company, and they told me diagnostic testing is covered. My doctor’s office called the insurance company and they were told that diagnostic testing is covered. Simply looking at my ovaries is in no way shape or form a treatment. And yet I have a statement from the bastards at Unicare/NCPPO saying that they aren’t covering the $670 bill from the clinic. Which, first of all, oh yes they fucking well are. And second, $670?! For looking at my ovaries for approximately 47 seconds and taking a couple of pictures? You have got to be kidding me. Seriously, right now, I hate all of them. The doctor’s office for charging so much money. The insurance company for denying the claim, and the world at large for not recognizing that infertility is a disease. Infertility is a MEDICAL CONDITON and treatment should be covered by insurance!!!!! Even though this was NOT a treatment.

It’s not that I don’t have the money to pay the bill. I do. That’s not the point.

Actually, that’s not even the point of this entry. The point of this entry is that I’m in an exceedingly negative place where I despise just about everything and everybody (not you, of course. Never you!) I’m dealing with all of this health bullshit, trying to feel my through eating healthy and exercising properly all on my own because God forbid I be able to get an appointment with an in-network specialist in a timely fashion. I’m STILL feuding with the oral surgeon from when I had my tooth pulled last summer over the bill for the anesthesia. The car is acting up – the left front tire gets wobbly feeling and rattle-y sounding after you hit a bump. I’m in this terrible and uncreative place – at work and at home – where all I want to do is whine and feel sorry for myself, and frankly, even I am sick of me.

And then there’s John. My husband, my best friend and truly the light of my life (not in the Jack Nicholson/The Shining way. The real, non-sarcastic way). Who, when I am in the middle of a full blown tantrum about all of this, notices and admires the new t-shirt I’m wearing. Who takes the time to make me laugh and not care, for a little while, about the assholes in the medical and insurance communities. Who makes dinner when I get home late because there were six raindrops and my evening commute slowed to a crawl. Who offers to pass up buying something he really wants so that we can put the money toward the $670 if it comes to that. And so much more. I love you.

I’m sure it will come as no surprise that I spent most of the weekend obsessing about healthy stuff in one way or another. I got three books out of the library, which unfortunately are filled with confusing and frequently contradictory advice. For now, I think I’m just going to concentrate on eating foods that seem healthy to me, and getting plenty of exercise.

The one thing all of the books I’ve picked up agree on is that proper foot care is very important. My boss had said something about yellow toenails (which I’m happy to report I do NOT have!) but it goes way beyond that. So, if it turns out that I really do have diabetes – which, sadly, is one of the few other points the books all agree on, that a fasting blood sugar of over 200, more than once, is a pretty definite sign of diabetes – at least I can now enjoy guilt-free pedicures for the rest of my life. They’re not a luxury…they’re a medical necessity. Perhaps even tax-deductible! Ok, probably not tax-deductible. I shouldn’t get too carried away with this whole bright side deal.

Laila and Jules called to check on me, and I got to have a nice long chat with both of them, which was a rare treat. Talking to them went a long way to helping me feel more positive.

In between worrying about this stuff, I fit in a trip to Target, where I picked up a cute new purse. I’ve been looking for a new purse for while, so it was nice to finally find one I like. Oh, and I also bought Advil Cold & Sinus at Target, which was a huge production. In order to get it, I had to take a card to the pharmacy, hand over my driver’s license, wait while the pharmacist typed all of my information into the computer (although I never changed my name on my license after I got married or my address after we moved, so, ha! there’s some misinformation for Big Brother) and then sign for it, too. All because of stupid meth heads buying it. How much meth could you even get from 20 little tablets anyway? I dealt with the hassle this time because I had a coupon, but I’m seriously considering a switch to something easier to buy in the future.

And then tonight, we had my dad over for dinner. Dinner with my dad makes me sad. That’s all I really have to say about that.

In closing, I’d just like to ask: Is anyone else as disturbed by bald Howie Mandel as I am? I find him seriously creepy now.

I sure hope that there isn’t anything seriously wrong with me, because I can’t get an appointment with the endocrinologist until May. I guess that means this isn’t all that big of a deal, because if it were, wouldn’t they be rushing to get me an appointment? Until then, I’ve got Diabetes for Dummies (I’m not kidding) and I guess I’ll just follow the recommendations in there. Supposedly I should be able to keep my glucose levels under control with diet and exercise. So I’ll do that.

And, of course, try to lose as much weight as possible in the next six weeks. And beyond, but it would be nice to show the doctor I’m putting some serious effort into making changes in my lifestyle. I’ve done some investigating, and apparently I need to lose 43 to 73 pounds to be in an optimal BMI range. The perfectionist says “go for 73!” but the pragmatist realizes that 53 or 63 might be more achievable. Doing the bare minimum and only losing 43 pounds doesn’t seem like enough. I’ll think I’ll aim for 63 and see how I feel along the way. I’ve also decided to convert the amount of weight I need to lose to kilograms, as that feels less intimidating. That means I have to lose 24.09 to 33.18 kg. Doesn’t that sound friendlier? Well, as long as you’re an American like me and almost never use metric measurements. Yes, that’s right. I’m ignorant and proud.

This has been kind of a crappy week for me, health-wise. I made my big commitment to exercise and healthy eating, and I’ve been doing fine with that. But first, on Monday, I got the news that I have high cholesterol, which I found pretty upsetting. My inner perfectionist is NOT happy. Letting myself get so overweight that my cholesterol gets out of control is definitely against her rules. As I obsessively googled the phrase “high triglycerides”, I discovered that one of the things that can drive up your triglycerides is having high blood sugar, and as we all know, my blood sugar has been acting up. So I called my RE’s office to see if they had gotten the results from my fasting blood sugar retest. Which they got today, and now we’ve gone from “I don’t think you’ve got diabetes” to “you need to go get evaluated for diabetes.”

And that’s the straw that completely freaked me out. Bad enough to have high cholesterol, but diabetes? Isn’t that reserved for the truly obese? Has gaining five pounds (admittedly on top of the extra weight I was already carrying) put me into the realm of being obese? Now, my dad and my grandma both have/had diabetes, so I suppose there could be a genetic factor at work, but this is all so wrong. This is not the way my life is supposed to be.

It also just so happens that I have particularly emotional PMS right now, which is unusual for me and certainly isn’t helping. I would describe my state on Monday as “trainwreck” yesterday, more like “bitchy” and today, I guess, “wobbly.” There is a clerk at Borders who is damn lucky that I have some self control. I had this birthday coupon, see, that expires tomorrow. But when I got up to the register and handed it over, the guy behind the counter said “this isn’t good until tomorrow” all superior-like. And when I protested, ever so mildly, by pointing at the expiration date and saying “no, it’s valid through 3/23, not starting 3/23,” he had the nerve to say “there’s no need to be rude.” I actually said “that wasn’t rude.” I thought “correcting your idiotic mistake isn’t rude” but I didn’t say it. That would have been rude.

So in between not annihilating self-important (and just plain wrong) Borders clerks and trying to focus and get some work done, I’ve been a complete mess. The notion of having a serious medical condition never occurred to me. Now, after two and three quarters years of being focused on getting pregnant, I think I’m going to have to reprioritize. To figure out what is going on with my body, and work to get it in better shape. It’s quite a mental shift. In the end, I’m working hard to convince myself that really, I’ve just got more motivation to do what I was going to do already anyway. And trying to remember to breathe.

Since Thursday, I’ve spent a bunch of my time obsessing over the whole getting healthy plan. The doctor’s office left me a message at home on Friday afternoon asking me to call them on Monday about some of my test results. Nothing to worry about, she said, but please give us a call. I just know they are going to tell me about some other problem, like high cholesterol or something. Sigh.

Anyway, I’ve been making lists in my head of all of the changes I’m going to have to make. I’m a big one for lists. What I’m going to eat, or not eat. How I’m going to fit in exercise. It’s easy enough on the weekends, but it can be a little tricky during the week. I’ll spare you the whole in and out list. It’s mostly pretty obvious stuff anyway. Out: Krispy Kremes and cheese fries. In: regular exercise and portion control. I went to the grocery store and spent about $100 on groceries. Why is it that the healthy food is so damn expensive? If I have to be sore from trying to get back in shape and if I have to deny myself junk food and other tasty treats, shouldn’t I at least get to save some money?

It does feel good to exercise, even if I am sore and a little depressed about how much work lies ahead. I don’t know how I went from being a relatively fit person to such an out of shape lump. I just turned around one day and that’s the way it was. And sadly, I’m pretty sure I’m never just going to turn around and discover my old body has come back. But hopefully, with a little work, I can get it back. Or do even better.

I had my annual checkup yesterday, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to quit screwing around and get serious about getting in shape. There was a time, not so long ago, when I was fit. I wasn’t necessarily as thin as I could have been, but I was still in shape. And before that, I was at a decent, if not perfect weight. I’m not sure I could ever weigh my perfect weight, which I believe is supposed to be 107 pounds. I haven’t seen 107 pounds since I was about 14. Sadly, yesterday I learned that I’ve gained five pounds. My weight is supposed to be going in the other direction! And they said that my glucose looked high, although that could have been because I sat in the parking lot outside the doctor’s office and scarfed down a burrito five minutes before my appointment. See, I thought they were getting lunch in after this meeting that I had from 9:30 to 12:00. But the meeting ended early, and no lunch appeared. And I had to run to the bank before the doctor’s so I just picked up food along the way.

Anyway, my fertility doctor already had me going for a repeat fasting glucose and insulin, which I did this morning, so I guess we’ll have an answer about my blood sugar one way or another soon. Oh, and then there was the depressing conversation I had with the regular doctor about the fact that yes, I do monthly breast exams, but I worry that if I ever did get a lump, I would just think it was another cyst, because I have so many cysts. And she said that just means that I have to extra careful to get mammograms every year once I hit 40. Which didn’t seem like such a big deal, until I thought about it and realized that 40 is only five years away. How the fuck did that happen?

Anyway, I think the five pound weight gain, the sudden realization that 40 is not all that far off (yes, I know, it’s not like my own age is a surprise to me, but still, I’m a little freaked out. Let’s blame my poor math skills and move on.) and the glucose issues –PCOS related or not – is my wake up call. I don’t want to end up like my dad, with high blood pressure, high cholesterol, a quintuple bypass and diabetes. The time to act is now. And so act I will. I have so many motivations for doing it – increased fertility, general health, a closet full of clothes that don’t fit, and then there’s the whole self confidence/self image benefit. Just prepare yourselves. I may be a little cranky as I figure out my new routine.

23 years ago yesterday, my mom went into labor during dinner. My parents packed me off to the neighbor’s house and promised to call me when my brother was born, even if it was at 3 in the morning. I can very clearly remember sitting in their too-quiet kitchen, trying to focus on doing my homework. Well, he was born at 3, but they held off on calling me for a few hours. And then after school I got to go down to Georgetown University Hospital to meet the small elfin creature who was my longed-for baby brother. He had a smattering of reddish hair, pointy ears, and eyebrows so faint you could hardly see them. We’ve come a long way since then, Tim and I, although it still surprises me sometimes to see him all grown up. He’s got a lot more hair, for one thing, and he’s at least nine inches taller than I am. We’ve always had a good relationship – the 12 year age difference meant that there was no real sibling rivalry between us. And we definitely share the bond of knowing what it was like to grow up in our family. We have the same sense of humor, for the most part, although I’m sad to say he does not share my love of Monty Python. But all in all, he’s turned out to be a great brother and pretty cool person.

I did not manage to catch him in person today to wish him a Happy Birthday. I left him a message, but I also decided to harness the power of the Internet and say: Happy Birthday Tim! I hope 23 is a great year for you.

Love,
Hil

Yep, still sick. Today went something like this:

7:10 a.m. Glare at alarm clock. Assess state of health: Just north of death warmed over. Decide to take sick day.

7:42 a.m. Wake up due to repeated ear shaking by one Seamus P. Hound. Congratulate dancing beagle. Blow nose. Take dog out.

8:10 a.m. Drag Seamus back to house before my nose starts running down my face.

8:12 a.m. Call boss, leave message about how I’m taking a sick day.

8:15 a.m. Decide to try to hold off on taking more cold medicine and try to sleep it off instead.

8:27 a.m. Ditch plan to delay next dose of cold medicine. Go downstairs, take pills. Go back to sleep.

11:00 a.m. Get up.

11:30 a.m. Check work email. Answer emails.

11:45 a.m. Decide to go to the grocery store for more juice.

12:10 p.m. Home again. Drink some juice. Juicy.

12:15 p.m. Go out in back yard to enjoy nice weather.

12:30 p.m. Time for more cold medicine.

1:10 p.m. Hungry. Consider making matzoh ball soup, but decide against it because I’m too damn tired. Heat up a can of soup instead.

1:20 p.m. Discover Battlestar Galactica on the SciFi channel. The old one, not the lame new version.

1:25-4:00 Prop myself up on the couch to watch three episodes in a row of Battlestar Galactica, periodically blowing my nose, coughing, and getting more juice or water. No one can accuse me of not trying to stay hydrated!

4:00 Ripley’s Believe It or Not comes on. No thank you. Find The Mummy Returns on some other channel. Watch that. Winona Judd and some guy in a cowboy hat keep popping up with little promos and making hard to read the many subtitles this movie has. I particularly hate the one where they are dancing. They’ve guaranteed I’ll never watch their stupid show. Not that there was much chance of that before, but still.

5:30 Extreme coughing fit hits exactly when I’m due for my next dose of cold medicine. Stagger off couch, take medicine.

5:47 Eat a few pretzels. Decide what I really want is popcorn. Make popcorn. Eat popcorn, with interference from popcorn stealing husband.

7:00 p.m. Wow, where did the day go?

7:15 p.m. Decide I have enough energy to make dinner. Penne with fake ground beef, tomatoes, garlic & onions. Yummy.

8:15 p.m. Walk dog. Start to feel very tired.

9:00 p.m. Settle in to watch previously recorded new episode of the Sopranos.

9:02 p.m. I know she’s just a fictional character, but it really pisses me off that fucking Janice has a baby and I’m infertile. I’m just saying.

10:00 p.m. For a little bit there, I thought the Sopranos was going to let me down. But they pulled it out in the end.

10:07 p.m. Take NyQuil.

10:15 p.m. Start composing wildly uncreative timeline post for blog. Blame it on the cold medicine.

10:30 p.m. Good night from Castle von Sickenstein.

I am siiiick. I’ve caught the plague that hit about half of my office over the last couple of weeks. I thought I had escaped it, but apparently my immune system was just being coy. Infection? No, no, I couldn’t. Dinner and dancing? Shots of tequila? Bright shiny things? Cmon on in, boys! Stupid slutty immune system.

So now I’ve got this horrible racking cough. When I lie on my back, my lungs make this slightly alarming, wholly annoying rattle/wheeze. When I laugh, I sound like an 80 year old with a two-pack-of-unfiltered-Pall-Malls-a-day habit. For a little while, I had the sexy whiskey voice, but now I just sound sick. To the point where complete strangers are telling me I sound awful.

Naturally, I have a weekend that is packed full of stuff to do. And even worse, it is stuff I want to do. On top of that, Spring has arrived in DC. It is gorgeous out. Seamus and I were accompanied by a riot of birds singing on our walk this morning, and we saw three robins. Trees are starting to bud, sprouts are poking out of the ground, and it is supposed to be in the high 60’s today. I just want to run around outside and enjoy the weather, but I barely have enough energy to make it down the street, even when towed behind an extremely enthusiastic beagle. I think I can manage some time sitting in the sun in the back yard, baring my frighteningly pale limbs to the sun. My coughing will probably scare off the birds, but that's a chance I'm willing to take.

Let the rejoicing begin!

I had a delicious dinner with Jules and Malcolm and Jules’ mom, Jane, and Jules’ stepmom, Pat, and John of course. We went to a pan-Asian place and had many tasty dishes. It was fun to see Malcolm and how much he has grown and changed. He’s still a gorgeous little kid, smart and funny and sweet, (Aunty Hillary got lots of happy birthday hugs, which she loved) but he’s a two year old. He has most definitely learned the word no! The absolute highlight of the meal came when Jules said, “Guess what my big news is” – which threw me a little, because I didn’t know she even had any big news – and told me that come May or June, she’ll be leaving the frozen tundra of New Hampshire behind, and returning to DC. I’m sure we made quite the picture, hugging and crying in the middle of the restaurant. But I miss her, and she misses me, and not just me, she’s got a million other friends here (I don’t want to sound conceited.) It just a lovely cap on a wonderful day. Well, the absolute cap was coming home and opening my presents from John by the fire. I do love him. But it was all tinged by the knowledge that Jules and Malcolm will be here for good soon.

A year ago today I was desperately stressed out and unhappy. It was 20 degrees out and snowing. John’s mother was very ill and in the hospital on a respirator. I had just started seeing an RE, finally admitting that I have a fertility problem. My boss had just announced she was leaving the company and that someone who I thought hated me was going to be my new boss. And the majority of my friends and co-workers completely forgot my birthday.

Now, a year later, I am happy. I love my husband, my Seamus and the life we have together. I have the home I’ve longed for. I have wonderful friends. My job is great. Right now, it is in the 50’s and sunny outside. John’s mom is doing well. My new boss not only doesn’t hate me, but has become my friend. And just gave me the most gorgeous flowers for my birthday! As well as some nice presents. I also got some excellent soup bowls and a soup cookbook by my favorite vegetarian cookbook lady (seriously, I call her my cookbook soul mate) from the fabulous Mackenzie, and a lovely flowering plant in a pretty ceramic pot from the wonderful Sara. I’m going out to lunch with my team, and I’ve heard rumors of cake! Tonight, I’m going out to dinner with John and my pal Jules and her son Malcolm, who arrive in town today. I can’t wait to see them.

Life is good. I feel lucky. And loved. And lucky again. Happy Birthday to me.

I just leaned down to put something in the trash can under the kitchen sink and whacked my forehead on the counter. Sometimes I get really tired of being my clumsy self.

I'm hoping this is just a case of a)me being me and b)me being sleepy and not an omen for my week.

What, did you think I was going to say "a case of the Mondays?" :)