So you know how everyone talks about eating kale, the all-powerful super food?
According to Michael Murray in The Encyclopedia of Healing Foods, “Kale and collards are essentially the same vegetable, only kale has leaves with curly edges and is less tolerant to heat.” (p.209)
Hipsters, soul-food enthusiasts… unite.
I just cooked with collards for the first time. And they tasted alright. But…
I feel like I made some progress this week, according to my metrics. But in terms of how I feel and how my body will change, it’s hitting me that it’s going to be a long road. Which is cool. Yet frustrating.
I wanna have more energy NOW. I wanna be able to chase my kid NOW. Especially since that’s becoming his favorite game. Ya’ know… nanny nanny boo boo, you can’t catch me.
But change is hard. I was just talking to a friend about habits. How something that used to be a treat, the cupcake once every few weeks, starts to become more and more regular.
I’m just telling you so you’ll understand
This is me, sincerely
Doin’ the best that I can
This song, also not previously part of my music library.
But so happy I found it. It’s speaking to me today.
Are you suffering from allergies?
Do you live in Austin? Then the answer is probably yes.
I lay down last night to rest my weary head and immediately felt all this pressure in my ears. “Can adults get ear infections?” I wondered.
This morning, when I woke up unable to breathe out of one nostril and with a sore throat, I realized–allergies. My head is full of snot because I live in Austin and the damn trees are blooming in mid-February because we apparently are just skipping winter this year. It hasn’t even gotten below freezing once, I think.
So I take my Zyrtec and my Nasacort everyday and I am still dying. I am thinking of my friend right now who prefers to avoid medications, and I’m wondering if she’s up and moving, or just hiding in her room with a face mask and duct tape around all the windows.
Because this is brutal. Not only does it make my face hurt, and make my eyes itch, and make my throat scratch. It makes me so fucking tired. Like, someone bring me a plate of pancakes in bed because I ain’t doing shit today.
But oh no. The kiddo would never allow that. So up I am.
And I remember this:
Which looks really goofy, but it’s AMAZING. Like a neti pot, but way easier. And whoa boy does it clean out your sinuses. I won’t go into details, but there’s a reason my head felt ten pounds lighter after using this. Which made me think of this disgusting MTV ad.
So if you are suffering from allergies, I highly recommend you go to your local grocery store or pharmacy, go to the nasal distress isle, and pick one of these bad boys up (the sinus rinse, not the gross guy in the commercial). And while you’re there, get some
DISTILLED WATER.
Don’t use tap water because you don’t want amoeba or whatever up in your brain. Which leaves you with either buying distilled water, or boiling tap water to kill everything in it. But then you have to let that cool down. Because you don’t want to burn the inside of your nose. Ouch.
So once you have distilled/boiled water, you heat it up in a clean cup in the microwave for like, 20 seconds. Then pour it in the plastic bottle, add the package of salt that comes with it, and you’re set.
Lean over your sink and start squirting away. Well, really, you just squeeze for a second, then you’ll know your sinus is full because the water is coming back out. Stop. Blow the water out. Repeat.
I know, it’s gross. But do it in private, don’t blog about it, and then enjoy your day without all the snot.
You can do it at night before bed (I have no idea if it’s ok to do it twice a day, but it’s just salt water). Then you can have an easier time breathing while you sleep.
Get your nasal rinse on, people!
And shout-out to my new doctor, Dr. Kolte, at Flora Medical Clinic for introducing me to this product!
Back in the day, I got really into this kickboxing class. I wasn’t so much into the classes where we did pad work and performed little punching routines, but I LOVED the classes where I just spent an hour beating the crap out of a bag. Yeah, those were punching routines too. But I didn’t have to worry about breaking anyone’s nose.
This was when I weighed my least as an adult. Like, post-college adult. Because now that I’m all old and 35, I’m going to go ahead and call college kids, kids. I weighed 165 and was feeling pretty fucking confident. It was right after my solo hiking trips. After I’d realized I was ready for a husband, not a boyfriend. And right around the time I met said husband. Coincidence? I think not–you feel confident, you get out there, you talk to people. Sometimes to just the right people.
Any hoot. When we saw this 30-minute kickboxing place open up near our house, the hubby and I were pretty excited. He’s ex-Krav Maga guy, so he likes to hit shit too. We decided to try it out.
Here’s how it went for me.
The setup is a 30 minute workout broken down into 9 rounds. Each round is 3 minutes, with 30 seconds of some sort of other activity in between rounds. It’s variety. It keeps you moving. And you get to punch and kick.
It starts with a warm-up: jumping rope. Luckily, I’d worn my most supportive bra. I start slinging rope, though I haven’t jumped in years. And OMG. There is nothing like watching yourself jump rope in a mirror when EVERYTHING on your body is jiggling. I know, I know. Body positive, accept yourself. But I’m human. And somewhere in there is a shred of pride. That’s not the right word. I’m proud I was doing it. It’s ego. And this was brutal to my ego. But on I jump. And trip. A lot.
The next 8 rounds are a variety of core work and punching. I have no core. I’m pretty sure the kiddo ripped out my stomach muscles while being born. I’m actually like “What’s the alternate activity?” because I CAN’T reverse-bridge and lift up an arm. Let’s be honest, I can’t reverse bridge. It’s a reverse sag. But once again, blow to the pride ego that I have to ask for the baby activity.
This workout is way more intense than my walks around the block. I’m having to “walk it off” quite a bit so I don’t just pass out alongside the heavy bag. Meanwhile the hubby’s all “this one is an easier one.”
But damn.
It felt good to punch. And kick. And just move. My hips were all loosey goosey by the time we walked out. In a good way. Like I freed them from chains.
And to be clear, the only judgement happening in this gym was coming from me. And perhaps my husband who was mainly trying to judge if I was about to die or not. Everyone else working out was busy sweating–there was even another lady as large as me. Everyone who worked there was just supportive and offering the occasional technique tip.
I think this is the kind of exercise that many of us heavier people are scared to jump into. We think, “When I lose 15 pounds, I’ll try it.” “When I can fit into size____, then I can jump up and down.”
But as sore as I am the day after, as embarrassing as it felt at times, it also felt really good to just do it. Even if I sucked at it. Even if I looked weak and uncoordinated. Even if I spent more time catching my breath than actually working out. (OK, it wasn’t quite that bad.)
I still DID IT. I moved. And though I still don’t know everything that the body positive movement is about, I know they believe you shouldn’t hold yourself back, or feel judged, because of your size.
But for me, the real truth is in feeling all the embarrassment and self-conscious bullshit, and doing it anyway. At least that’s where it’s got to start. Because I’m not going to magically grow some confidence testicles. (ok, not testicles) I’m going to earn it by proving to myself that I can try something new, and that it’ll be ok.
Now let me clarify. This song was not previously part of my music library.
But holy crap it’s so amazingly terrible.
And let me further clarify that there was NOTHING sexy about what was going on in my kitchen. Case in point:
Vegan Valentine’s was a success. My family and I ate plant-based meals all day. And we lived. Here is what I learned, in no particular order.
1. Vegan food can be yummy food. For Vegan Valentine’s I made: oatmeal (I had to start easy, ok?), a green smoothie, Ginger-Sesame Tofu, Vietnamese Rice Noodle Salad, Creamy Black Bean and Cilantro Dip, Fire-Roasted Salsa, Roasted Chickpea and Broccoli Burritos, and Crispy Millet and Peanut Butter Buckeyes. The dessert was obviously the best part. But it was all good. The family ate it. Even the kiddo. I think I had a hard time judging it just because I had been the one to cook it–I was kinda numb to the flavors by the end of it all.
2. Cooking is exhausting. Now this is mainly my own fault. I chose to cook six new recipes (a couple were just dips… but still). Recipes that required fresh ingredients and therefore lots of peeling and cutting (I hate you cilantro). It takes a while. I just wanted to pass out by 8:00. For the future, it’s ok to start simple, stupid.
3. If you aren’t flavoring your food with meat and grease, you are flavoring it with onions and garlic and other spices. And that shit will stay with you. Like all night and into the morning. We both woke up with the worst morning breath EVER.
4. Take shortcuts. Why the fuck did I take the time to make my own salsa on top of everything else? I don’t know. Maybe because my BFF makes such a damn fine homemade one (mine was not as good). But with everything I was trying to cook, this would have been one to cut. Same thing for the carrots. Why did I cut my own matchstick carrots? They were more nicely sized than the store-bought variety. But damn. Save yourself some time.
5. Cholesterol FREE! I tracked my meals in My Fitness Pal just to see how I did–what nutrients I ended up short on and how many calories I ate. And I momentarily freaked out when I saw that I ate ZERO cholesterol. No animal products, no cholesterol (duh). But I DO know that the body needs cholesterol. A quick Google led to this website. Apparently cholesterol is so important, your body will just make it out of whatever you eat. Yay!
But…
6. The article also made the argument that it’s CARBS, NOT MEAT, that is sending our LDL through the roof. Remember, I wrote about how bad meat is? Well now this woman is saying it’s sugar triggering your insulin, which tells your body to grow, which means make new cells, which means make more cholesterol float around in your blood. (Cells need cholesterol to hold them together.) This just made me wanna say FUCK IT and eat whatever I damn well please. But as my BFF pointed out when I told her about this project: “If you research enough, you’ll find out you can’t eat anything. So just eat in moderation.”
7. I am the messiest cook. Ever. Did you see the sink picture above? That’s not from a week of me being lazy. That is one day of us eating at home (though not V-day). I somehow used just about every dish in the house when I cooked. Is it bad planning? I don’t know. But the dishwasher was running nonstop this past Sunday.
And this is how I utilize the counter.
Gross. I know. But I’m cooking here. I don’t have time to clean as I go.
8. You can overeat, no matter what you eat. According to My Fitness Pal, I still ate over 2,000 calories this day. I’m going to primarily blame the rice noodles. And the chips I used to eat my black bean dip. Neither of these are nutritionally helpful. I was going with the rice noodle thing to get some carbs, but I got plenty of carbs anyway. And in the end, I am still just programmed to overeat. For dinner I could have probably been fine with one taco, but when do you eat just ONE taco? We’re Americans. We don’t do that sort of thing.
9. I got 84% of my calcium without ANY dairy. Which blew my mind. I had no idea plants had so much. Now, it’s not enough (it’s not 100%), but it was way more than I predicted. I grew up with my mother, the rabid, avid milk drinker. She has been freaking out any time I tell her I’m researching a vegan diet. She sees my bones crumbling before her eyes. Like, when I was 7 years old and I broke some tiny bone in my foot jumping into a pool (and yes, there was water in it). Her universe got destroyed–how could I, her milk-drinking daughter, break a bone?!? So I wanted to show her it might be possible to not live and breathe milk. I call her to tell her my astounding news–that I got 84% of my calcium without a drop of milk, and what does she say? “It sounds like you’re 16% short.” Which is true, but I think just illustrates how scary this is to her. We grow up with these preconceived notions about nutrition, and it’s just hard to change. But so far, she might be KINDA right. Based on my day, I probably need some dairy to get my full calcium requirement.
10. And finally, Thug Kitchen is definitely one of my favorite cookbooks. Thanks for the delicious recipes (all of the foods listed at the top except the oatmeal and the smoothie)! If you haven’t seen it, check it out. They curse while they cook. Like, “You know what an enchilada looks like, so handle that shit.” I find it comforting, like I’m cooking with a friend. Ok, none of my friends curse that much. So try it, and it’ll be like you are cooking with me. I curse like a sailor.
Come see me tomorrow when I either write about the super painful deep tissue massage I got, or the super painful kick-boxing workout I tried. Hmm… which of THOSE do I want to relive?
I can’t wait to write about my Vegan Valentine’s and all the new info I learned just from one day of experimenting.
BUT…
I told myself I would do some sort of record keeping. Some sort of measurement of my progress.
As a teacher (at heart) I am pretty fucking sensitive to measures and tests. Children often get summed up by a test score. And it often doesn’t look good, and it often doesn’t give a real sense of the progress they have made.
So I want to be careful in how I judge and weigh myself here. Clearly, the easiest answer is to track my weight. If I think my weight is holding me back, I should track if I am losing any.
But just like my former students, there is much more to me than a number. There is much more to this journey than a number.
So what really matters?
For my students, I feel like it matters what NEW things they can do (what they have accomplished), and what fuel they have been feeding their brain. Did they memorize a fact, or did they do an experiment so they truly understand the reasoning behind the fact?
What have I accomplished and what fuel have I been feeding my body?
For now, I think I will measure the following: plant-based and meat-based meals, exercise, eating in and eating out, treats, low body performance moments, and new accomplishments. I hope most of these are self-explanatory. Eating in must be better for me than eating out for no other reason than portion control. I think eating more plant-based meals will be better for my body in many ways. Sweets are clearly not a healthy choice. I also want to keep track of what makes my body feel bad, but also what it accomplishes each week.
Week 1.
Out of 21 meals… (3 meals a day x 7 days a week)
Plant-based- 4
Meat-based-17
Eating Out- 10
Eating In- 11
Treats- 15 (and this is moments of treating, NOT number of treats. Each moment might have involved a couple of cookies, not just one)
Workouts- 3
Low Body Moment: Eating mainly waffles for breakfast. Afterwards, I wanted to curl up and die/fall back asleep. Food should be energizing. If it makes me wanna go back to bed 30 minutes later, I’m doing it wrong. Damn refined carbs.
Accomplishment: By my 3rd walk around the neighborhood, it actually felt doable. I can get my body to move.
What do I make of all this?
Goals for this week:
Lay off the sweets. Aim for one sweet a day instead of indulging twice a day. Jeez EJ.
Plant-based- Three out of the 4 were me shoving a banana with peanut butter in my mouth as I ran out the door. This is not a meal and shouldn’t really count. Goal–eat full meals.
Workouts- Keep it up. It’s a slow start, but it had to start somewhere.
So it’s not just about the number on the scale. It’s about making healthy choices, building a new lifestyle. This is week one. This is where I am. And now I have a better picture of where I need to go.
Come check back tomorrow to read all about my Vegan Valentine’s Day. It was nuts. And exhausting. Is cooking a workout?
First. A shout-out to the hubby for the reminder of that AHH-MAZING song. And for the following Roxette-powered walk around the neighborhood.
Anyway. Valentine’s Day is this Sunday and I am taking the time to explore my heart. I think I’ve got the basics. It pumps blood. I need it to live. But what can I do to take care of it? Perhaps keep it around a bit longer.
Heart disease is America’s #1 killer. Fatty deposits build up in our arteries–particularly those around the heart. Ya know–the ones that give your heart muscles blood so it can keep pump, pump, pumping away.
According to Dr. Michael Greger in How Not To Die (grim, i know), the first symptom of heart disease is often also your last. You feel fine, and then, whoops, you die from fat-filled arteries. So–pretty important to not let your arteries get fat-filled to begin with.
And it’s not genes, it’s diet. When people move from a low-risk area (like central Africa) to a high-risk area (like the US) “the disease rates skyrocket” (Greger,19). People move, they eat more crappy American food, they get sick.
So if it’s diet, it’s a choice. Put fatty food in your body, clog up your arteries. Eat plants and fiber, save your heart.
Now this book is awesome. I’ve just read this chapter on How Not to Die From Heart Disease, but it’s great. Very readable. Enjoyable, yet terrifying. And chock-full of great research like the following:
300 autopsies on American soldiers who died in the Korean War showed that 77% of these twenty-ish aged lads already had “visible evidence of coronary atherosclerosis. Some even had arteries that were blocked off 90 percent or more.” (21)
So keep in mind, this is BEFORE the crazy amount of fast food we have today. Keep in mind these are soldiers–who I feel must have had to pass some sort of basic level of fitness to be able to fight. Keep in mind these soldiers probably had blood work that must have shown them as healthy enough to fight. Keep in mind this is the 50’s when there was way less obesity in our country.
I’m just going to say EEK. ‘Cuz i’m pretty sure no one would clear me for battle.
I mean, if there’s this much fat hanging out on my muscles and tummy, how much is sitting in my arteries?
So as Dr. Gregor points out, I’m not just looking to prevent heart disease, I’m looking to reverse the damage I have clearly already done. I think we can all agree without the use of x-rays or other imaging tools that I must have some issues in this department.
Dr. Gregor cites William C. Roberts, the editor in chief of the American Journal of Cardiology as naming elevated LDL cholesterol in your blood as “the only critical risk factor” (21) for plaque build-up. He says apparently you can be “an obese, diabetic, smoking couch potato and still not develop atherosclerosis…as long as the cholesterol level in your blood is low enough.” (22)
According to my book, this process starts even before birth. Babies (who died shortly after birth) were more likely to have arterial lesions if their mothers had high LDL. One study of older children discovered that fatty streaks “were found in nearly all American children by the age ten.” (21)
So what the hell did I do to my kiddo in the womb? I ate a SHIT-TON of burgers while I was pregnant. And steak. And milk. It’s all I craved. How are my poor son’s arteries doing?
A Look at My Cholesterol
LDL is how the cholesterol gets dumped in your arteries. Ya know, it’s the bad cholesterol. Studies show a clear correlation between cholesterol levels and atherosclerosis. If a low LDL is the saving-grace for your heart, then…
How low, is low enough?
My book says 50-70 mg/dL for your LDL. And the lower the better. “That’s the level seen at birth, that’s the level seen in populations largely free of heart disease.”
My latest LDL is 62.
The chart shows under 100 is what is recommended.
I feel so… healthy? My LDL is within range. That’s some good news.
The book also says an LDL of 70 corresponds to a total cholesterol of about 150. This is the level below “which no deaths from coronary heart disease were reported in the famous Framingham Heart Study.”
I don’t know this study, but it sounds like we should aim to have a total cholesterol level below 150.
Mine is 162.
The current goal for Americans is to have it under 200 according to my lab report.
So… my LDL is ok, but my total cholesterol sounds high.
I am not a doctor and I don’t know what this means.
Your total cholesterol is High, but your level of “bad” LDL cholesterol is optimal. This could mean you have a high level of high-density lipoprotein, or “good” HDLcholesterol, which protects against heart disease.
Oh happy days. I feel… healthy. Again.
BUT.
This website (credible?) says there are TWO kinds of HDL. One is good, one actually helps contribute to heart disease. You have to get an expanded lipid profile to figure that one out.
Always something new to worry about. I’ll have to get back to you on that.
BUT the good news–heart disease is reversible. A study of folks with advanced heart disease that got put on a plant-based diet showed that “as soon as they stopped eating an artery-clogging diet, their bodies were able to start dissolving away some of the plaque that had built up.” (24).
Biggest take-away: “Your body wants to regain its health if you let it.”
Dr. Greger illustrates this with the idea of whacking you shin on a table. If you step back, it’ll heal. But if you keep whacking it (eating badly) it’ll keep hurting. You could even go to the doctor to get meds for the pain, all the while continuing to whack your leg. You’ve fixed the pain, but haven’t done shit about the underlying cause of the pain.
I’m just going to pause, smack my forehead, and say duh. But holy crap! Do many of us actually LET our bodies heal and be healthy the way they want to? It sounds so simple. But we, as a society, are clearly just fucking this up.
And it’s not just that we are clogging up our arteries with these yummy/unhealthy choices. There’s actually more bad news.
Eating crappy food also affects the functioning of your arteries. A study showed that just one Sausage and Egg McMuffin “can stiffen your arteries within hours, cutting in half their ability to relax normally. And just as this inflammatory state starts to calm down five or six hours later–lunchtime!” (25)
So, not sure exactly why inflamed arteries are bad. But it doesn’t sound good. I mean, inflammation usually hurts.
Like chest pain kind of hurt. Another study found that putting people suffering from angina on a plant-based diet lowered their occurrence of chest pain within weeks- much faster than “their bodies could have cleared the plaque from their arteries.” (25)
This book is making a pretty good argument for eating lots of plants and not so much meat. Another example:
Brazil nuts. Four nuts a month lowered cholesterol levels. This study was only done on 10 people–so completely not scientific evidence. But it can’t hurt right? 4 nuts in a month. The good doctor does warn against eating too many–they contain high levels of selenium, so eating too many good put you over the “tolerable daily limit.”
So NOW What?
Eating plant-based meals is not foreign to me. I’ve got several vegetarian cookbooks I love and often cook out of them. Well, let me rephrase. When I cook, it is often out of them. And it’s tasty and yummy.
But so is steak. And cheese.
And we are back to the balance question again.
But the thing that is really sticking with me from this day of researching heart disease is the inflammation issue. Why keep putting your body through that kind of strain? I mean, I’m plenty stressed as a person anyway. I don’t need my arteries all inflamed and tense as well.
And the fact that I apparently rarely cut my body a fucking break. If a plant-based meal gives the body a chance to rest and start to heal, don’t I want to do that as much as possible? I mean–I quit my job in order to heal. The least I can do now is eat a fucking salad.
So, though Valentine’s Day often refers to matters of the heart in terms of love, I am forcing, inviting my family to partake in a day of heart-healthy meals and activities. A time to treat our heart and arteries to some rest.
I mean. You gotta take care of it… before you tell it goodbye.
Aww puff daddy, pdiddy, diddy, sean combs. You’re so young!
So I digress. Already. But this blog is about the physical AND figurative weights of life. And death is a damn f-ing heavy weight. Fear of it coming. Fear of it happening unexpectedly to self or loved ones. And the heaviest of all- actually watching someone you love die.
My mother-in-law was not my best friend. We honestly hardly knew each other. I spent more time with her as she died from cancer than I did all the 5 years before that. She lived in Toronto- so lay off with the judgement.
But holy fuck her death. Her path to death. It really just leaves me wanting to write ‘fuck’ over and over. But I’ll try to be more constructive than that.
This woman. Her family called her ‘Baby’. She was the youngest girl of NINE children and she always got her way. Or at least, you were way better off if you just let her have her way. She was firey. Spirited. And you knew you were in for it when the lower jaw came jutting out. My son makes the same face when he’s trying to figure out the bullshit around him.
The first time I met her was at a family wedding. I had been dating Daniel for about a year at this point. We had moved in together, but his family didn’t know. Which was super bizarre to me. My parents know EVERYTHING. But I was determined not to let my big mouth get me in trouble. Yet somehow at a dinner, when it’s just me and her at the table, I start talking about gardening. Now, she thinks I live in an apartment, so she understandably starts asking where on earth I am growing a garden. I quickly say some shit about Daniel letting me use his backyard since I have no space of my own. She gives me this “ohhhhh” with a slow bobbing of her head. Then she smiles. Looks me up and down. And I know I am completely busted.
But that is one of my favorite memories. That she clearly judged me and weighed me. That her little boy was worth that to her. I’m not sure he sees that- that all her criticism and worry was love. That she just wanted what was best for him. And she was going to take every opportunity to figure out if I was the best.
Over the years I felt like I became the listener. She would talk on and on about her weight and health. She even felt open enough to talk to me about my husband’s ex-wife, and how sad she was when they divorced. Well, I’m telling myself it was openness and trust, even if it might have just been tacky and rude.
And then the cancer came.
Surgeries and chemo were had. The fiance (at the time) cried. I couldn’t believe we were facing something so serious just a couple of years into our relationship.
But she made it through. And to our wedding. Gorgeous as ever despite her post-chemo hair. Cuz did I mention? This woman was gorgeous.
So marriage. Pregnancy. Baby. She was now Nana, which was great since I never knew what to call her before that. Three years and some months pass from the end of her chemo and then… It’s back.
The discomfort in her abdomen she’d been feeling for months is another tumor. Making itself at home on her bladder.
We don’t cry. We are confident that since she beat it once, she’ll beat it again. Now, shh, don’t quote me any statistics on the chances of surviving recurring cancer. I’m sure our optimism was stupid. But that’s what she needed- optimism. She couldn’t stand for people to cry around her. Ever.
Again, chemo happened. Once or twice. We were all prepared to go see her for the next round of chemo because she just seemed so down. Apparently poisoning your body to kill cancer cells doesn’t feel too good.
But the next round never came. The tumor actually grew over the course of her chemo. It grew. Science is actively trying to kill it and it grew. All her hair is gone, she’s sick all the time. But the damn thing grew. Like “fuck you chemo. You can’t stop me. I’ve got mutant cells to grow. Get out of my way.”
So surgery gets put on the table. And oh. my. god. I’m going to have to bitch about Canadian health care here for a minute. Yay it’s “free”. Yay everyone has access. But how the FUCK did it take from late October to early December to figure out this surgery shit? We sat here for a month and a fucking-half on pins and needles, poised at any moment to buy a plane ticket to Toronto to be there for this surgery. Ya know. In case she didn’t make it.
But the surgery never came.
Early December we find out the doctors have decided that it isn’t safe to operate. That the tumor is too big and has invaded too much to be successfully removed.
And here’s how THAT phone call went:
Nana is crying, but doing that whole “I’m not crying” thing. She tells us the news. My husband has this visceral, body-wrenching spasm that I realize is him allowing himself to cry for like, a millisecond. Nana now cries, but she’s apologizing because we’d already bought plane tickets to come for the now nonexistent surgery. The woman has been handed her death sentence but she’s crying over plane tickets. Now, we all know that’s not REALLY why she’s crying. But that’s the excuse she picks.
I don’t even know how to encapsulate the next 6 months that lead to her death. These are crazy, uncertain times. My family basically stops living or making plans. We are never sure if we can leave town or make plans to see friends because most weekends are waiting to see if she’s going to keep living another week. Every other week feels like it’s going to be the end. And then it’s not. Which, yay. I guess. Because her quality of life is just getting worse and worse and she’s really starting to suffer.
But we, my immediate family, are suffering too. I am having panic attacks at least once a week on the way to work. I switch to a half-time position so I can at least provide my family with a good dinner and a somewhat clean house. But I end up cowering on the couch a lot watching Netflix. I start taking Prozac. And then Klonopin for the anxiety. And I just miss my husband. No blame here- he’s clearly devastated and working his way through a whole shit-ton of emotions built up from his childhood. But I miss him. I’m usually the depressive one. And now I’m being asked to lead the way, keep the family on track. And that is fucking exhausting.
And through all that, we are on the cancer roller coaster. What do I mean by that? Let me illustrate.
We get home from our Christmas in Canada on the 29th. The day we leave, Nana seems very tired and confused. And super unsteady on her feet. Soon after, she is taken to the hospital. Her calcium levels are high and making her brain not work right.
Now I know milk does a body good, but did you know too much calcium puts you in a coma? Probably hard to do by drinking milk, but when your cancer is leeching it from your bones, your calcium levels can get out of hand. At least this is my non-doctor understanding of the situation.
So it is December 31st. New Year’s Eve and my best friend’s birthday. We are hosting a small party for her. And then Daniel’s brother calls to inform him that Nana is doing terribly in the hospital and that he should come to say goodbye. This is TWO days after we just left Canada. Mind fuck. And a bit of a wallet fuck too.
So New Year’s/birthday party consists of my husband packing, buying plane tickets. And all of my friends quietly whispering about what the fuck is going on. Happy Birthday!
But Nana doesn’t die here.
She gets better and goes home. Amazing. So we go see her in February in case this is one of her last good times. Which, in hindsight, it kind of was. Then Daniel goes again in March when she’s back in the hospital and not looking well. Then we all go in April when she’s talking about stopping the fight. We go to say our goodbyes.
I remember we all sat in the living room with the doctor and Daniel’s brother on the phone, and we talked about quality of life and if she should keep fighting. Her meds were keeping her alive- but alive meant barely eating and sleeping most of the day. Alive meant dealing with catheters draining both her kidneys into bags she had to drag around the house. Alive meant a lot of frustration for everyone involved.
The doctor seemed to think we wanted to kill her off. Which is not the spirit behind what we were feeling. We wanted her to stop suffering. But in the end we all agreed she should move back into the hospital where she would at least be safer and have more support to care for her.
It was during this time, this sad, sad time, that she and I really bonded. She didn’t think she could talk to Daniel about death, about questioning what the purpose was of continuing to live. But she could talk to me. Because I could hear it without crying. Well, I cried later in private. But she didn’t know it. We could talk about quality of life and she could tell me how angry she got sometimes that this was happening. She could cry about not seeing her grandchildren grow up.
And I felt useful. The thing with unbeatable cancer, with just waiting for death to come, is how out of control you feel. Nothing you can do will help or change things. You just have to BE. And how many of us are good at that? So it was nice, in these few moments, to feel like I was helping.
So to the hospital she went. And the day came for us to fly back home. I felt like we wouldn’t see her again- we were all preparing for the end. She asked about the dress she wanted to wear for her funeral- apparently she wore it to my husband’s first wedding. (Do you see a pattern here?) But this time she asked if I was ok with it. She wanted my ok. Who got to judge who now? But of course I wasn’t judging. I was flattered she thought of me and my feelings during this dreadful time. I mean, when else is it ok to be super selfish if not when you are dying?
We said goodbye. But like, in an everyday, see you later, kind of goodbye. But all knowing it was more than that.
But it’s not goodbye. She keeps fighting. We Facetime. Which is weird to see someone and talk to them after you’ve said THE GOODBYE. As the weeks go on, she’s clearly getting very weak and starts having hallucinations.
And then at some point at the end of May, things stop working. Her drugs can’t fight the rising calcium levels any more. So they stop the drugs. And she falls asleep.
And doesn’t ever really wake up.
Our life becomes this wretched guessing game of “how long can Nana live without water?” When should Daniel go back to be there for the end? We have to maximize his time at work, but not have him miss her death. These conversations are morbid and tacky. But they are reality.
After several days, the doctor finally says she only has a couple of days left. Husband buys yet another ticket to Canada, leaving behind instructions for his funeral attire. Which we have been getting ready for months. I pretend to work, feed the kid, and hyperventilate often about when I should head to Canada. When she dies? Several days after since funeral arrangements take a while?
The two days the doctor predicted stretch into 4. I have no idea how the body does this. You always hear how imperative water is, but this woman is lasting day after day with no water. No IV. Just lying in her bed unconscious.
Eight Days.
That’s how long she lay there. That’s how long her family kept vigil. That’s how long I waited at home wondering if I should go to Canada or not. And finally I couldn’t take it any more and just bought tickets and went up there.
She died while we were in flight.
Lucky timing on my part I guess. Got to be there with the hubby that night, yet didn’t have to watch her go. ‘cuz I’ve seen that, and it wasn’t nice.
I think at first we all felt relief. Relief she wasn’t suffering, relief we didn’t have to WAIT any more. Which I know sounds awful, but you try expecting someone to die at any time for six months. That shit is wearing.
And then we all had tears. And breakdowns. And my almost-3-year-old is just really trying so hard to process all this. “Where’s Nana? Why’d she die? Oh….” with his head hanging and a sense of sadness I’m sure he can’t even make sense of.
He came to the funeral, but sat in the back with my parents. They are amazing by the way- coming all that way to pay respect and help watch the kid. When they brought him, he wanted to see Nana. Ya know, all laid out in the casket. It made everyone cry. Like everyone. The poor little kid looking at his dead grandmother. He of course cries- but mainly because everyone is looking at him, not because he understands what is going on.
But we make it through. And we make it home. And we cry more and have more breakdowns. And we try to keep moving.
This weekend is her first birthday since her death. So we are all thinking of her. Mourning her.
My son is even in on the action, asking about Nana at least twice a day. He wants me to recite the story of why and how she died. My mistake I guess for trying to be open and honest with him about death.
But he’s gotten stuck at the point of the story after the funeral. He remembers them pushing her casket out. And putting it in a car. “And then what mommy?” He wants to know where her body went next.
And I can’t say it. I can’t say that they threw Nana in a fire and burned her up until she was just ashes. Or however the fuck cremation works.
So I’ve finally come up with that Otto (grandpa) took her body back to the Philippines so she could be buried with her mommy and daddy. But then that is just a ton of questions about “who are Nana’s mommy and daddy?” And of course Daniel is traveling and I don’t know the answer to this.
And it’s scary as shit. I’ve quit my job, leaving my poor husband as the sole bread-winner. I left teaching mid-year. Which no one does. I’m lucky I didn’t lose my teaching certificate. I’m at home now, every day, struggling to be productive and useful.
And healthy.
That’s the whole point. Why I’ve said goodbye to this huge part of ME- teacher, to reach out into the unknown and try to make something of myself. Something I can live with. Be happy with. Because I haven’t been happy.
And my theory goes that these two are intricately connected- health and happiness. How can I be happy if I don’t feel like me any more? If my damn body won’t do the things I want it to do? If my unhappiness is driving me to eat mad amounts of donuts and chocolate? Which then leads to my body doing even fewer of the things I want it to. Which then leads to unhappiness, which then leads to… oh you know how this goes.
So my goal, my focus, for this very quarter-life crisis, unfocused time, is to find the balance of health, motherhood, social merriment, and all the other things that make life complicated. To find out what really matters to me- what makes life worth living. And, as I’m 35, I have to take the future into account. It can’t just be about today and what I can do in this moment. But where do I want to be down the road- when my child has a child? What quality of life can I start building for myself? Guaranteeing for myself for the future?
As of right now, my weight is definitely holding me back. Lowering my quality of life. I weigh about 225 pounds, placing me in the “considerably obese” category according to my doctor. And I’m tired- like all the time. And I can’t chase my kid or even go for a good walk at this point. And this is not me. I am not the couch potato. I fucking climbed mountains in Peru. And Chile. And Yosemite. And some of those I did totally alone with 40 pounds on my back.
THAT is ME.
And though my kid makes it pretty clear I will be having limited alone time in my near future, I want to climb another mountain damn it. Even if I have to drag the little bugger with me.
I know there is this “Body Positive” movement and this “Health At Every Size” movement. And I really want to explore this. Because my experience right now is that my body is not positive, nor is it healthy at this weight. Can I climb a mountain at 225 pounds? Maybe- I know there is one lady who probably weighs more than me and is planning to do an Ironman. Which is amazing. But is that healthy? Like, long term, on your joints?
And as far as body positive- loving yourself, doing away with fat shaming. Yay and cheers to that! But as much as I shouldn’t beat myself up for how my body looks, isn’t it FAIR to be disgruntled with it’s limitations? If it won’t DO the things I want it to do?
So that’s part of the project- research. What does science say about obesity and health? I think conventional wisdom says obese is not healthy. But then there are all these articles that pop up to show us that BMI isn’t everything. You can have better blood work as a fat person than lots of skinny folks.
But what all is involved in being healthy? In being prepared to have the most productive life ahead of you as possible? I shall investigate.
So I hope you will join me on my journey. My journey to get healthy, to move my body, to eat better, to FEEL better, and to research how all these parts are linked together. How to rise above my weighted life.