My Fasting Blood Sugar Was 105 in the Middle of a Diet and Someone Is Going to Pay

24 May

Not the lovely, talented creator of said diet, and not the nice Russian man who took my blood sample at the lab. Not even my thyroid doctor, who is the person who wrote the prescription for the blood work (and is therefore obviously responsible for the results). Obviously not me, because I was eating nothing but leaves and organic meat during the phase when I had blood drawn. But someone is going to pay, somewhere, and when I find out who it is, I’ll let you know.

I’m thinking that eastern Europe is responsible, or at least the version of it that existed hundreds of years ago, since conditions then were such that a person with a very slow metabolism and a low tolerance for sugary foods would do well. My ancestors were basically bred for starvation, not plenty. We were the last people standing once the food died and the government had driven everyone away from their land and everyone else had starved to death. I picture us, hungry but still chubby, rooting around in the earth and finding one last turnip with delight: “A turnip! Our family can last two weeks on that. Look, Dorota, it’s Christmas dinner!”

But enough of the ancestors. My problem right now is trying to get a straight answer out of someone, in terms of what to do next. My regular doctor says my A1-C is fine, and that I don’t have diabetes. My thyroid doctor says, well, let me see if I can remember the quote. It went something like, “You’re fine … today. I mean, you’re not going to keel over next year, or anything.” He wasn’t thrilled with consistent fasting sugars around the 100 mark, though, and neither am I.

The problem is, once you’re losing weight and monitoring your labs and trying, as Monty Python once advised us, to get some walking in, there’s not much you can do with a slightly too-high sugar. Eat cinnamon, I guess. My thyroid doc advised that, and I’ve heard it can help. Also, cinnamon is delicious. I bet my ancestors would be delighted at that prescription, if they could get their hands on it.

diabeetus

Image: ICanHasCheezburger

Ma Smash Doesn’t Care About Your Silly Laws

22 May

Last week, Adam and I went on a day trip to the Cape with my folks. This time of year, that means looking at the ocean, eating fried things, and breaking into people’s houses. I’m exaggerating, but only slightly.

Some people like to look at real estate. They’re the type who spot a sign that says, “Open House,” and say, “Oh, how lovely! Perhaps we’ll stop by, if we’re not too busy.”

My mother makes a dossier of potential houses for sale, and brings it with her on casual trips. Now that she has a Kindle Fire, I’m pretty sure she’ll just have the satellites send her notifications of houses that go on the market. That’s if she’s feeling nice. The fact is, if she likes your house, she doesn’t care whether you’re thinking of moving or not. If she can peek in your windows, she will. If you see a lady dressed like a 1950s cat burglar skulking around your garbage cans, don’t worry, you’re not being robbed. It’s just my mom indulging in her favorite hobby, which is your house and its contents.

Anyway, I’d been away for a while, so I forgot about Mom’s house-hunting madness. I was momentarily taken aback, then, when she demanded that my dad pull the call over so that she could look in someone’s windows.

“There’s, uh, no For Sale sign,” I said.

“It was on the market last week,” she said, consulting her dossier. “And they’ve pulled up the yard. It’s probably being renovated.”

“So, if it’s not for sale, wouldn’t we be trespassing?” By this time, we were in the driveway, and I was looking around for the police.

She flapped her hand at me, “It’s still fair game until the new people move in. Everyone knows that if there’s no lawn, it’s not trespassing.”

Before I could ask her where she’d gotten that arcane bit of legal information, she’d jumped out of the car and was racing, on her tiny little pins, up the front walk to look in through the front door. Through parted fingers, I watched her do a full perimeter of the property, looking in each window and examining the utilities.

“That’s good,” Dad said. “In this day and age, they’re fools if they have oil heat.”

“Can we go visit your mom in prison?” Adam asked.

I dropped my hands slightly. “Is she stacking up garbage so that she can stand on it and look into the second floor?”

“I think there’s a landing,” Dad said. “Sometimes these houses have those, and you can use them for an office.”

“Oh, good, she can write her appeals there.” I got out of the car and went over to where she was standing — on a stoop, concealed by garbage, not actual garbage itself.

“Look at that kitchen,” she said, pointing.

“Oh my God. Is that a fireplace?” Our apartment had a fireplace in about 1890. Now it’s a bricked up wall with a television in front of it.

“Yup. It goes right through to the living room on the other side. You can see it from that window.”

Short version: if Mom gets arrested, it’s likely that I’ll be with her when it happens. Possibly holding the bottom of a ladder.

Pictured: the lady who's looking in your windows right now. Also, my more law-abiding sister.

Pictured: the lady who’s looking in your windows right now. Also, my more law-abiding sister.

Vacation and the Freelancer

21 May

I’ve spent the past two weeks at my folks’ house, and it’s been super relaxing, despite the fact that I worked most of the time. I get more done at my parents’ place, in part because of all the appliances: at home, I have to wash dishes by hand, take clothes to the laundromat*, order food from our local delivery service or haul bags up the four flights of stairs myself. In the suburbs, all you have to do is get into your car, throw the laundry in your washing machine, put the dishes in the dishwasher.

Even so, the big thing that my semi-vacation made me realize is how much I need a real vacation. I’ve been pretty bad about that since I went freelance. Last year, I took two weeks off, but I still worked two days during the break. I have freelancer friends who haven’t taken more than a few days off in years. One of my friends hasn’t had more than a long weekend since she started freelancing eight years ago.

This makes perfect sense, because trying to take real time off when you’re a freelancer is a pain in the ass. It literally costs you money, and many clients don’t expect you to take vacation, so they get irritated if you’re not available. The emotional stress of managing expectations and finances can make it seem like taking time off isn’t worth it.

That’s not true, of course. We all need time off. This time of year, every other article in your news feed is probably about how taking vacation improves your health, attitude, and productivity. We need vacations.

I’m starting by trying to really take my weekends off, and I’m going to try to take at least a week later in the summer. Maybe it’ll help with my ongoing quest to have a lower stress life.

* Note: I never do this. If Adam didn’t do the laundry, I would regularly be arrested for nudity.

beach

Image: ReneS/Flickr

It’s Amazing How Much Better I Feel When I Have a Real Weekend

20 May

I’m way more relaxed this morning than I usually am on a Monday morning. This is probably because I took most of the weekend off. (OK, my weekend was Friday and Saturday, but it still counts.)

I don’t always do that. Prior to my back giving out, I tended to work most of the weekend because I took on too many clients. Then my body sent up a distress signal, and I had to behave myself better, but unfortunately, I also had to go to physical therapy twice a week, which knocked six hours out of my regular work time. (Counting the commute.) This basically meant that two of my week days were only partial days, and I’d have to do extra at night and on the weekend to make up for it.

Working constantly does weird things to your brain. At first, you feel terribly put-upon, but then, you grow to depend on it. I’m so used to working whenever I’m sitting still that I have no idea how very odd it looks. I spent the past week or so at my parents’ house, and after a few days of me tap-tap-tapping away 12 and 13 hours a day, my mom finally asked if I ever took a break.

Now, granted, part of the reason I was working like crazy was so that I could take a weekend later on, but the observation still stands: I work way too much, and not always just because I have to or like to. I work too much because I’m more comfortable being busy. It’s such an anti-Zen mindset that I’m pretty sure Buddhist monks would disintegrate spontaneously if I walked by them.

Like most people in the modern world, I’m very fond of telling people how stressed out I am. My real weekend makes me realize that some of it is a put-on. I’m fooling myself into thinking I need to be busy, because being busy means that all of my work is essential, and so am I. It’s kind of sad, when you think about, especially since so much of my day is waiting for stories to come in, so that I can edit them. I’m literally waiting for someone to validate my existence.

Anyway, the point of all this is that I’ve been casting about for a new daily writing project now that the diet is over, and I think stress management — or at least, stress examination — will be it. I don’t have a clever name for it yet, or anything, but lord knows I have plenty of material.

stressstar

Image: sun dazed/Flickr

The Fast Metabolism Diet: After the Ball

17 May

Last night, I made chocolate chip cookies and only ate three. This is the first time this has ever happened. Usually, I eat them until they’re gone, shielding the plate with my arms like I’m guarding my dessert in a prison movie, and snapping at everyone’s hands as they try desperately to grab one or two.

I’m still not 100 percent sure how much I lost, but I think it’s around 15 pounds. Hopefully, it’ll stay off. I feel great, even after a day or so of not eating strictly on-plan. I’m a confirmed label-reader now, and I haven’t had fried food in so long, I don’t even crave it anymore. So maybe that’s more important than the actual weight loss. It’d be great if this diet made a healthier eater in the long-term. I still haven’t had any coffee or Diet Coke.

This morning, when I was making my breakfast, my dad said that it seemed to him that the best part of the diet was that it reined in my portion sizes.

“It’s easy to go from eating just a little bit of butter on your toast to eating ALL THE BUTTER on your toast,” he said. This is totally true.

Then, my mom got up and admitted, when I accused her of looking skinny, that she’d lost three pounds in the week I’ve been home. Which is great, except that she doesn’t need to lose weight and so we hate her, of course. (I mean, love … but hate, you know?)

Today, we’re all going on a day trip to the Cape and I’m still going to pack a million snacks. It’s good for my metabolism, but also, it keeps me from getting low blood sugar, which pretty much ruins my personality.

And now I will leave you with this amazing photo, courtesy of my friend Melissa and the site Retronaut.com. It is, according to the site, “an apparatus for measuring metabolism”:

I'm so glad they don't use this anymore.

I’m so glad they don’t use this anymore.

Ma Smash, re: Her Size

16 May

Ma Smash: I am not so small, I could make a matchbox my bed!

Me: Yes, in fact, you are.

Ma Smash: Ridiculous.

Me: Don’t make me show everyone your picture.

Ma Smash: You have no such picture.

But I do, and here it is:

Ma Smash, in her natural habitat.

Ma Smash, in her natural habitat.

Image: www.colouredbuttons.com

Day 25 of the Fast Metabolism Diet: Transition

16 May

Well, I wound up transitioning sooner than I thought I would, in part because, without getting too graphic, I was in a fair amount of intestinal distress last night after a day of faithful phase 2 eating. The meat phase, as I have come to think of it, has never been my favorite. I refused to eat meat at all as a kid, and although I’ll eat just about anything now, too much animal protein still makes me feel a little barfy. (Note to my vegetarian and vegan friends: this does not mean I’m joining your team. Do not leave me lil love notes promising me I’ll feel better when I start eating nothing but nuts and berries.)

This is actually good, because it gives me a chance to do something I wanted to do, which is transition out gracefully. I’m going to avoid wheat and dairy for a few more days, and continue eating five times a day, and smaller meals when I do. Hopefully, this will keep me from feeling sick and gaining a ton of weight back.

As for weight loss, Ma Smash showed me how to fool their scale into giving me a good reading, and it looks like I lost about 14 or 15 pounds. That means I have about 10 to go to get back to where I wanted to be. This is perfectly in line with what I was hoping for. Haylie says to keep going til you hit your goal, but I need a break from the intense level of planning.

It’s been a great experience, and I’m in danger of becoming a cultist. Apologies to anyone who mentions that they’re desperate to lose weight in my hearing. I promise I won’t start mailing you copies of the book, unsolicited. But I’m definitely going to keep this one in my quiver for future tune-ups. (And, if the rest of those pounds don’t come off over the summer, I might do another round later on.)

I’m going to keep blogging about this through the weekend, so we can all compare our transitions/finishing up/starting another round. I hope all my diet buddies are feeling good this morning.

We are the champions! By which, I do not mean spark plugs!

We are the champions! By which, I do not mean spark plugs!

Image: Keijo Knutas/Flickr

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