feel like i'm on top of the world (with ur love)

Okay so.

I'm stuck at work and this abundance of energy is killing me. As usual, I went for my 4am trip to the exercise room to make nice with the elliptical. Less than a minute in my feet were killing. BOTH. I had to stop in under ONE MINUTE.

Maybe I'm sick masochist, but I've never not been able to last a minute. I've never not been able to last ten. So what gives?

It was so bad, I cut my losses at 25 minutes when I reached exactly 2 miles (12.5 minute mile average.... fucking seriously?? disappointing). I came back to my desk to start googling what might be causing foot pain (again) because my self-diagnosed bursitis might not be the culprit. On the second link I clicked, a person had posted a response about someone else's numb toes (thanks for nothing, I already solved that problem) but I saw that she listed herself as an IH sufferer in her user tag, complete with a link to her blog and a link to another IH support blog.

Firstly, I hate that they call it IH. The first I Is Incredibly Important (ha, see what I did there?). Idiopathic. Doctors and random strangers off the street need to know that. GET IT RIGHT.

Secondly... either I really am a sick masochistic fuck, or I am seriously abnormal. Or both. My mom would definitely put her vote in for both.

When I was first diagnosed I was bombarded with questions about headaches and seeing things and a possible whooshing noise and a million other weird things that made no sense to me at the time. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. But, as my lovely neurologist will tell you, nothing has changed for me.

I guess I have fewer headaches now, but the headaches I had before were NEVER of the caliber that would keep me from work, or from functioning at all. Thinking back on it now, I guess I did have a little tinnitus, but only ever after strenuous activity or bending over and it would last a few seconds before it went away. I have a random collection of short little memories that, at the time, I believed to be normal for everyone. Clearly, I was wrong.

On the flip side of that same coin, I'm annoyed with my fellow IIH counterparts who assume that everyone suffers from a debilitating brain condition just by being labeled IIH.

That leaves me with two options: either my case is mild, or I'm a sick masochistic fuck with an unusually high pain tolerance.

I'm going to forgo a definitive answer to that prompt, because I'm much more comforted by the idea that I'm abnormal. In this case, abnormal is good. At least this way I still have more than just the illusion of a shot at normalcy.





I'm struggling to decide if this morning's two miles is enough to satisfy a "workout" or if I should try again later tonight. Perhaps barefoot? I know I should probably give my body a break since I have been ESPECIALLY good lately, but I hate the idea of knowing that I'm skipping a workout when I so desperately need to be trying harder. It's not even so much about losing weight, I just feel useless not working out. Bah humbug.

Cher Lloyd is changing the way I workout. cause they know that you own it

the one that got away.

I guess I don't talk about this enough: I have turned into a gym rat.

When I wake up I think about my workout, at work I'm thinking about my workout, during my workout I'm obsessing about my workout. After my workout, I'm thinking about the next one. Before bed, I'm packing and getting ready for tomorrow's workout. When I'm bored or have extra time and energy, I think about working out. Even if I've already gone once that day.

OUT OF CONTROL.

I'm motivated by results, so naturally, I'll be stuck on this obsession for a while.


Other notes on the day:

I think I'm in love with my neurologist. Maybe.

I opted not to go to the university due to a previous experience there, and I chose Mercy because of my super awesome treatment for my super emergency tonsillectomy. Plus, (don't tell my boyfriend) I like the idea of a hospital with faith. In all my years of living here, Mercy has been good to me.

One of the best ophthalmologists in town is a doctor at Mercy and she ended up being the one I first came to see. She specializes in glaucoma, so I'm her youngest patient by about 40 years (no joke) but she is hands down ah-may-ZING. She is the one who referred me to Dr Stern. This is where it gets interesting.

The administrative staff there aren't the most accommodating bunch, there was lots of confusion about scheduling my first visit, then they wanted to reschedule on the days we were in Vegas, then we picked a day we all agreed on and the doc was nowhere to be found. On my very first visit, she showed up a bit late, wasn't expecting me, spent 5 minutes with me before she scheduled an MRI for two weeks later.

NOT COOL, BRO.

After much teeth pulling, we got the MRI for that same afternoon and set up the lumbar puncture for two days later. Yeah... let's talk about that lumbar puncture.

I was in agony for almost an hour, she went through two kits playing pin the tail on my spinal cord before my blood pressure spiked and they took a break. She left to get another kit and when she came back I was crying uncontrollably, which seemed to make her very uncomfortable. And then she went MIA. My nurse asked where my physician went; of course we had no idea. There was a hustle, then a group of three doctors in green scrubs came to save me. I wish I remembered their names because they were awesome.

My most recent appointment I was nervous, mostly due to my obvious issues with authority. Not to mention, she's skinny and pretty and a fucking neurologist for christ's sake. I want to impress her... but sadly, I'm just me. But this time she was really nice! We chatted and for a brief second I thought to myself, I can actually see this working in the long-run. The sad truth of IIH is that I need to get intimately familiar with my neuro, even if it's her.

She was so responsive and supportive that for the first time I felt REALLY GOOD about my condition. And then I got the voicemails of doom. Truth be told, I've probably listened to them 50 times collectively. What really gets me is how human she is. She is an attractive lady, but without the visuals it's a different story.

I can do awkward and gawky.

I got so caught up in the entire package, a young and pretty neurologist, and I was seeing green that I never stopped to realize what kind of person it takes to specialize in this field: nerds. So my young, pretty, genius neurologist, she's just a geek.

And that is definitely something I can learn to love.

dodged a bullet.

Dr Stern called on Friday and left an ominous voicemail. I called back within an hour but she had already left. Receptionist told me she would be back on Tuesday.

Today's Tuesday. I woke up to my phone ringing, and I had every intention of answering, except my boyfriend was still in bed. And if this was at all what I was thinking it was, I wanted him nowhere near me.

So she left another voicemail. This one even worse than the first.

I had to wait what felt like hours for boyfriend to leave for work, at which point I jumped out of bed and called back. She was with a patient.

I left a message with the receptionist asking that the doc call me back.

40 minutes later, my phone rang. Before I could cry (or die), I answered.

"Hi Ana, this is Dr Stern. How are you today?"
Fucking great, let's get this out of the way, mmkay?

My sodium bicarbonate levels are the the lowest of the low end. Meaning that the last five days I spent thinking I was pregnant... NOT FUCKING PREGNANT.

So my bicarbonate... low, but acceptable. At least for my previous dosing levels. But now that I'm up 250mg a day, the doc is concerned. She's asked that I come in for another blood test next Tuesday or Wednesday so that my body will have time to adjust to the new dosage and she'll have a better picture of what's going on.

Sodium fucking bicarbonate.

Apparently, sodium fucking bicarbonate (yes, that's its scientific name) is pretty important. This is the beginning of the icky side effects of being on Diamox. Exactly what I was trying to avoid. My pharmacy-minded boyfriend told me it's most likely that my recent weight loss/workout routine may be the cause, which naturally I am unwilling to abandon, so I'm in a bit of a pickle.

For now, I stick to my 500mg in the morning and 750mg at night. Drink water like crazy, eat bananas like its my job, work out like my life depended on it. So basically, the norm.

Hasta miercoles.

revolution, you say ha.

I discovered the single serving today. It's rocking my world.

Last night I accidentally skipped dinner but a guest had given me these 140 calorie breakfast trail mix things and I nibbled on one throughout the course of the day. It wasn't until Mr Ryan asked me at 9:30pm if I had had dinner that I realized I hadn't. He gave me $5. This, in addition to the $6 from my boss, would have been plenty to take to any of the restaurants surrounding my work, and I wholeheartedly intended to grab some grub before the end of the night but hunger never struck me.

Seriously. It just never happened.

When I went home at 6am I realized that there was a rumbly in my tumbly, so I made myself an egg sandwich (un oeuf, half a piece of turkey, 1 slice of cojack cheese, and a hunk of baguette sliced into 2 pieces with a squirt of ketchup and spices). For the tailgate, I brought a nalgene of hot chocolate and 5 ounces of peppermint schnapps, and I munched on some chips, celery and buffalo chicken dip, although I must express my pride at the amount I consumed.

It wasn't that I was showing restraint, at no point did I limit myself in quantity, I simply lost interest after a few nibbles. I never felt stuffed or deprived, it was a perfect balance!

I walked home two miles in the cold, the whole time I was expecting for my legs or ankles or knees to give me problems, or to be panting beyond comfort but instead I felt like there was pep in my step even all the way up to my apartment door.

So I guess working out really is working :)

For dinner I heated up a tupperware of leftover soup and ate half of its contents. It was enough for half a bowl, which is 1/4 of what I normally eat in terms of soup. I made one grilled cheese sandwich (2 slices cojack, 2 slices whole wheat bread) to accompany the soup. With some struggling, I finished them both, but I'm glad I ate it all because I knew I had a long night ahead of me.

I weighed myself after my nap today... 280.5!!! It's tremendous to think that I'm less than a pound away from saying au revoir to the 280s forever. I've been stuck at this ten pound stretch for long enough that I'm thrilled to see it go.

Today, I can say I'm proud of myself. I love the way my body is changing, the way my clothes fit and the way I feel moving around.

It. Feels. Great.

OH. MY. FUCKYESSSSS.

So I had my three month (actually, it's been four months now) follow-up with my neurologist today. I've been nervous all week, falling just short of dread, thinking that I wasn't making enough progress. I wasn't consistently taking my meds (I'm an entire bottle behind schedule) and I feel like my weight loss has been slow, which is silly because it's not like she said anything about needing to lose weight. This one was all my own.

So I walked into the hospital a few minutes late, took a detour to the restroom, and walked out to find that I was only a few steps behind her! I had to wait less than a minute after checking in with the receptionist before I was in an examination room.

We chatted about holiday travel plans and discussed headaches (which wasn't much of a discussion since I was first referred to her office lacking this single telltale symptom of IIH). She took her fancy tool and turned off the lights to take a look at my optic nerve after doing a quick visual field exam. This was the part I was worried about.

Her words: Almost perfect.

ALMOST PERFECT! I've never been so happy to be slightly abnormal. I had my Diamox dose increased slightly, now I'll be taking three pills at night instead of two, and the doc expects that I will be NORMAL come February when I have my next appointment.

My weight loss calculator also suggests that I'll have lost an additional 20 pounds by the day of my scheduled appointment, meaning that my total weight loss will be 10% of my starting weight, which was the original goal and the point at which IIH starts to be cured.

CURED. I expect to be off these meds by next summer. !!!!!

I took a minute to taking in the gravity of these words before I called all the people I love to let them know the news. And then I took my ass to the gym.

I did 46 minutes, 4 miles, 705 calories, my heart rate was consistently between 150-156 the entire time, averaging 59 RPMs. Oh, and I stepped it up to level 2 and I didn't even notice.

Oh. My. Fuck. Yesssssssss.

refreshing departure.

I had my second full-hour workout yesterday. I was having a bad day and I had forgotten my iPod at home, so I was feeling pretty dismal about the workout even before I had gotten started. I thought for sure I wasn't going to make it past 30 minutes.

Somewhere along the 18 minute mark I started having problems with my toes going numb, at 29 minutes I loosened my laces. Two minutes after that, I kicked off my shoes entirely. I finished the last half hour of my workout barefoot save a pair of thin ankle socks. Two things I noticed:

1. I can't go as fast without shoes. While I had the shoes on, I was consistently doing 57-59 RPMs. Barefoot, I couldn't break 54.

2. With shoes, I am significantly less aware of what's going on with my feet. That being said, I appreciate not having the distraction. It was annoying spending the last thirty minutes being hyper aware of the ridges and grooves of the pedals etching their shape onto the soles of my feet. Also, I was more prone to gradual slipping wearing only socks which was throwing off my stance.

Problems abound.


Progress has been slow, as expected. But I'm not discouraged! Quite the opposite, really. I feel better after I workout, it makes me feel happier and stronger and (dare I even say it?) sexier. I haven't lost much weight, but I feel different. Sure, my weight is still up there, but NOT FOR LONG! I feel like I'm well on my way to changing.

But still, things have been slow. So I've been doing some research to see if there's something I'm missing (like patience) or something I should be doing more of (exercising) or something I should cut back on (everything that enters my mouth). And instead, I get this shit from the Mayo Clinic:

"For most healthy adults, the Department of Health and Human Services recommends:"

Blah blah blah, I'm not a healthy adult. I'm 25, really overweight, and on a diuretic. Yes, I get the whole "diet and exercise" thing. But how much, how often, and how do you know you're doing it right?

Don't say weight loss, don't say weight loss, don't say weight loss.

Look, I'm not competing on the Biggest Loser here, I don't expect to lose ten pounds a week. I don't want my stomach stapled, and I don't want to develop an eating disorder. I'm too young and pretty to have to deal with saggy skin issues. Slow and steady wins the race, non?

But slow and steady is about to kill my drive if I don't get some affirmation from someone, somewhere... I just need to know that this is going to work.

I really need this to work.

earth below us.

I'm not going to lie, I'm struggling.

Yesterday before my workout I remembered that I never took my morning dose of Diamox, so of course I thought it was a good idea to take it at 3pm. Immediately before my workout (!). The first 15 minutes on the machine were standard: my thighs were a bit sore but nothing I hadn't felt before. At 18 minutes, I wanted to quit. At 25 minutes, I wanted to die. I drank my entire water bottle well before 30 minutes which was unusual, but it felt like my muscles were dying a slow death. I think I got to 35 minutes (maybe 40? I don't know, I was delusional) at which point I decided to cut my losses.

It was really bad. Really really bad. But I learned my lesson, and now I have even more motivation to get in shape so I can ditch the meds.

Spent two hours jumping between the hot tub and pool, I certainly fkin needed it. Passed out on the couch at around 9pm, woke up at 1am to move to the bed.

This morning I was pleading with the alarm clock to stop making time go so fast. I snoozed for half an hour, finally got out of bed 15 minutes before I was supposed to be at work. I was dressing myself and thinking that I would skip my workout today because I'm tired and worn out and I just can't do it today. And then I stepped on the scale.

TWO MOTHER FUCKING POUNDS! FUCK YEAH!

That brings my three week total to 5.5 pounds, YAY ME! Started at 297, now down to 284. Two years ago (December '09) I remember stepping on a scale and seeing 284 and thinking "fuck how did this happen?" and now I'm congratulating myself. It's small, but it's something and right now I have nothing.

I totally needed a small victory today.

I'm going to break my routine later today by NOT going straight to the gym. I need to pick up my new water bottles at the post office first, I might even put my workout off until later tonight. BECAUSE I'M AWESOME.

the countdown starts (major tom)

The good news: I lost half a pound at home despite all the carrot cake and lack of activity. I thought having dogs would be a good exercise, and instead I end up with dogs that are lazier than I am.

I could have gone crazy with food this weekend, and instead I have shown incredible restraint! A friend tempted me with McCafe and I only had a small hot chocolate after a strenuous workout (I fuckin earned it, OKAY?!)

I had two great workouts on Saturday and Sunday to get back into the swing of things.

The bad news: I did some Googling on the benefits of elliptical training to see if I was doing things right and I stumbled upon a website that had me enter my weight and number of minutes spent ellipticalling, and according to its calculations I can expect to lose 73 pounds in the next year if I exercise every day.

EVERY DAMN DAY.

I honestly thought the payoff would be much more for 365 days of exercising. I was expecting to be told 73 pounds by exercising 5 days a week, which I can totally handle.

On top of that, there were many negative comments about the effectiveness of elliptical training and I'm concerned. For me at my current weight and fitness level, I feel like this is the best chance I have at making any significant progress. I know down the road I'll have to step it up in terms of intensity, but until then I'm worried. For no good reason, too. I've heard and seen enough success stories first-hand to know that it's not the type of exercise that makes a different but the degree of commitment.

I'm committed. I can do commitment. Right? Right.

286.

huit jours en plus

Elliptical is going well, but the scale is playing games with me. As are my intestines.

Week 1

Monday 30
Tuesday 35
Wednesday 35
Thursday 40
Friday 45
Saturday 30
Sunday 43


Week 2

Monday 40

trouble with diamox

had a bit of a crisis today that prompted me to run out to walgreens late at night. horribly chapped lips to add to list of very long symptoms that are ruining the quality of my life.

heartburn is new too, been taking tums like nobody's business.

doc canceled my october appt, for now I'm cutting the dosage and insisting on a meet-up.

neosporin lip balm to the rescue.