Say “ah”

You might want to put down the drinks while you’re reading this one….  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Three weeks ago, an old porcelain filling broke and fell out into my hand.  They put on a temporary crown and yesterday morning I was getting the permanent one “installed”.

Now, to say that I hate the dentist is inaccurate.  I actually like my dentist a lot.  He’s very nice and competent.  But I hate dental procedures.  I have a strong gag reflex and I’m not a fan of the whole “holding-your-mouth-open-for-hours-on-end-so-they-can-poke-you-with-sharp-sticks” thing. When I am really stressed, I have dreams that my teeth are falling out while I speak.  On top of that there’s that flaw-intensifying mirror right over your face, so yeah I’m not a fan of dental things.

But today was to be quick – three easy steps:  1) Take off temporary crown. 2) Glue on permanent one. 3) Thank dentist and head to work.

Somewhere between step 2 and 3 my day took a left turn.

He had placed the new crown on and instructed me to bite down on one of those cotton rolls for 3 minutes.  Then he was going to scrap off the extra cement and we’d be done.  So I sat and read a trashy magazine for 3 minutes.  I felt drool pooling in my mouth, but my stomach turned at the idea of swallowing cement. I chose to let all the saliva get soaked up by the cotton.  The tooth/crown was the very back tooth on the top.

The hygienist came over and said, “Open up” – with her fingers all set to grab the cotton.

I opened up and….that drool soaked cotton roll, which was sitting right at the back of my jaw slid to the right and popped straight down my throat.

Cotton Roll right into my throat, where one talks and breathes.

I JUMPED out of the dental chair gagging and choking and trying to cough it up.  The sounds I was making are hard to replicate in words.  Imagine a momma bird flapping around to hack up food for her little birds, but with less feathers, fewer worms, more flapping, and more panic.  Suffice it to say, you’re probably lucky you weren’t one of the other patients within earshot of my hacking and choking.

I don’t know what the hygienist did but soon the dentist was at my side, trying to calm me down while looking for an appropriate tool to shove down my throat.

“You can breathe, you are breathing, it’s cotton, the air will get through” is what he kept saying.

I kept trying to signal for someone to whack me on the back or something.  And I may have slapped the dentist somewhere in there.  He got me to sit down and he tried to look down my throat, but the urge to not tilt my head back was too great and I jumped back up and tried to cough and dislodge it from my throat.

And at about that point, the dentist yelled, “Call 911.”

So, if you’ve never had a dentist yell “Call 911” during your dental appointment, let me tell you, I don’t recommend it.  In fact, try very hard to NOT get into a situation where that phrase is ever necessary.

Thankfully the call was cancelled because just about that time my will to live (or gravity) helped to push the cotton down and my throat was cleared.

About a million years after the whole cotton ordeal started (or roughly 1.5 minutes, take your pick),  I yelled out, “I swallowed it. Oh my God. I can breathe.”

I fell back on the dental chair and took some deep breaths and wiped away some tears.  And I’m pretty sure the whole office (staff and patients) heaved a big sigh.  Of course I think they might have all wet their pants before that – but we were all breathing again which was the important part, especially for me.

As I was sitting there collecting my thoughts (which mostly consisted of “I almost died in the middle of the dentist office”), the dentist and I weren’t sure whether to laugh or be horrified.

“You weren’t even numb, I could imagine if your mouth was numb….but this….”

“I know – but there was a lot of spit. Oh my God.”

“Hm, I think you should probably go to the ER anyway.”

“Excuse me?”

He proceeded to tell me about two directions down your throat – the stomach or the lungs and said something about lung abscesses three months down the road.  My brain started screaming as I was still trying to clear the nasty feeling in my throat.

I very calmly asked if I could call my husband, and if the dentist could please check the crown. We seemed to have forgotten it in the whole ordeal.

With my new tooth cleaned off, a sample cotton roll in my purse (for doctors’ information), and assurances that the dentist’s insurance would pay for the ER visit, I waited for my husband.  He showed up quickly but a little confused and worried.  He called my primary doctor, but got dumped to voicemail.

“Well, you aren’t going to develop a lung abscess in the next three hours…”

“Are you suggesting I go to WORK?”

“No, no, I’m just trying to figure out what to do.”

“The ER, now!”

The intake desk guy didn’t seem to understand what I had told him, because when the triage nurse called me up, she asked, “So you are here because you’re having throat pain?”

“No, I’m having throat pain because I was at the dentist and I swallowed a cotton roll.”  And I held up the sample one the dentist had given me.

cotton roll

And that was the first of several identical looks I got at the ER – the look that is both horrified and humored all at the same time.  Like you want to giggle but you don’t want to offend the person and at the same time you want to run and cancel your next dental appointment asap.

As they were getting me to an ER room, I was frantically trying to get an email to my students from my cellphone. Steve was helping but the connection to my webmail was slow and at one point it almost sent my class the following:  “Class cancelled. In ER. Not going to make it.”  After about 10 mins it finally let me add “to class” and I hit send.

After vitals and such, they took me for an X-ray and Steve left for work.  He couldn’t cancel his classes and we both figured this was going to take no time at all.  Ha.

In the X-ray room, I had to explain to the two technicians why they were photographing my insides.  Again with the horror and humor and comments of “I hate going to the dentist.”  Meanwhile, I hugged the X-ray machine and wondering if these pictures would show the awesome weight loss (20.5 pounds so far) I’ve achieved with Weight Watchers this year.

Back in my ER cubicle, I read a book and checked Facebook as I waited for a doctor and my X-ray results.  Had posted the following with a check in at the local hospital: You know those days when you go to the dentist for a crown and then the cotton roll in your mouth gets wet with saliva and then slides and lodges in your throat and you think you will choke to death at the dentist and then as they are calling 911 the cotton slides all the way down and the dentist says you should go to the ER to be sure it’s on it’s way to your stomach and not your lungs? Yeah well that’s the kind of day I’m having. 

The comments and jokes from friends were pouring in.  Including an offer to rewrite the lyrics to “Cotton-Eyed Joe” to make “Cotton-Lunged Jenn”.  A runner friend asked if I was going to still be able to run. A friend who writes amazing comic books sent me a message asking what the bleep was going on and did I now have any superpowers.  I suggested a new sidekick: Cottonmouth Girl.  She can shoot cotton balls out of her mouth and tangle up criminals in them.

Meanwhile our church’s children’s director had seen FB and was texting me asking if I was okay.  As I was responding to him, a friend who also works in children’s ministries with me was rolled by on a gurney.

“Maureen???  What are you doing here?”

“I fell off my bike taking the kids up to school.  You?”

“I swallowed a cotton ball at the dentist.”

“Oh my goodness!”

So I amended my text to include that now two people from church were in the ER and someone probably needed to pray over us.

As I sat there, I fretted that this was the day I chose to wear my brand new skinny pants (2 sizes smaller than usual) and was upset that only the hospital staff would see them and thus not be impressed.  Just in time, my friend, Lea, showed up to sit with me and did the appropriate oohs and ahs over my weight loss. Then she took my picture for FB.

er shotShe was soon joined by Darren, our children’s director, who came to check on Maureen and me.  They both laughed so hard at my story that a man sitting with another ER patient overheard us and came over to our cubicle.

“Excuse me, I couldn’t help but overhear.  Did you swallow a cotton ball at the dentist?”

“Yep – it looks like this.”  I held up the comparison sample.

“I work emergency medicine all the time.  Never heard of this – quite incredible.”

“Thank you.”  Cause really – what else do you say to that?

Finally the doctor showed up and I had to explain all over again.  He seemed amused but not troubled because I was breathing okay.  There was a lengthy description of how breathing works and the low odds that I won the “stupid things in my lungs” lottery.  But he still had to check the x-rays, which he assured me wouldn’t be helpful because cotton probably wouldn’t show up on x-rays.  Of course.

This consultation did not earn me a discharge – but I got moved to another area so more urgent patients could use my bed.

Darren eventually had to go check on Maureen again and then head back to work.  Lea was about to leave when a nurse came in and asked for my information.

“Okay we need a CT scan.”

“I had X-rays though.”

“I have orders for a CT scan. Let’s go.”

As I lay on the scanner bed, I tried to not think about all the episodes of House where the patient would code or seize while in the scanner while Chase and others were discussing their sex lives.  I just stared at the ceiling and wondered if Lea was right that they’d have to put something down my throat to fish it out, “like a sword swallower”, she said.

When I returned, my cell phone was totally dead.  Lea saved the rest of my day by running out to my car to get my briefcase and phone charger.  She left me surrounded by my laptop and various cords as I surfed the hospital’s free wi-fi.

And then I waited.  And waited.  And waited.

I surfed on FB and kept adding updates.  The TV in the room was set on the Food Network, which only served to remind me that the only thing I had had to eat since 8 am was a piece of cotton.  And for some reason I kept burping.  For the record, cotton does not have a bad aftertaste.  I contemplated whether it would absorb all the high cholesterol I apparently have.

Around this time I realized that I had to pee. The cup of chai before the dentist appointment was now pressing on my bladder.  The next time a nurse walked in, I asked where the restroom was.

“Oh, you need to go?  Do we have a sample from you?”

“Excuse me?”

“A urine sample.  We might need it.”

“Um no.”

“Okay well let me get you a cup.”

I carried my briefcase and purse and clean catch cup down the hall to the restroom and pondered whether they could test for cotton in my pee.  Or whether they were going to have to operate and therefore they needed to check if my bladder was up for the challenge.  And then I had to explain to the other nurse why I was now handing her a cup of pee when she was assuming I was going to be discharged at any moment.

I went back to waiting and FB surfing and two streams of panic started to overtake my brain.

First there was the “are they going to have to dig around in my lungs?” panic.  And all associated fears such as – will Steve make it back in time to hold my hand – did I tell my kids I love them when I dropped them off at school – what will they sing at my funeral – will Steve remarry soon – how soon is too soon.  Yeah my brain works that way.  Especially when all I’ve had to eat all day is a cotton ball.

Then I started to look at the clock and panic about getting my kids from school and getting to the parent-teacher conferences.  My phone was now mostly charged but the cell signal was weak.  I was limited to FB and email and some texting via wi-fi. Friends offered to help and Steve was done and able to leave work early.

Finally a pulmonologist came to examine me and ask questions which set the first stream of panic into a complete ocean of fear.

“Okay so how old are you?”   “Any kids?  How old?”   “Are you pregnant?”  “Do you have regular mammograms?”

He looked at me and finally said, “I’m asking these questions because the CT scan showed some grainy sections on your left breast.  And those are things we don’t tend to see in breasts at your age.”

“Oh – I know.  There are several fibrous areas that my doctors are watching carefully but they are not a problem.”

“Okay.  CT scans are not the best way to examine breasts. But I was concerned.  But you must remember that I do not examine breasts on a daily basis.”

And with that comment, I almost bit my tongue in half to stop from laughing.  I swallowed a cotton ball and now the lung doctor was telling me my boobs were the problem.  Who goes to the hospital with a cotton ball in their throat and gets diagnosed with breast cancer?

He did finally get back to the matter at hand and tell me that things looked fine and I should follow up with him next week and I would be discharged finally.  It was nearly 3 pm and I had gotten there at 9 am.  It was definitely time to go.

I called to assure the dentist office (“Um hi, this is Jennifer – your most memorable patient from this morning.”) and assure my mom (“I’m fine I’m fine.”)  Stopped at church to pick something up and had the whole staff gathered to shake their heads at me and ask if they should cancel their upcoming dental appointments. Then I got the kids from my friends’ house.

My daughter wanted to know why I was at the dentist all day. When I explained to her and her brother what had happened, my 9 year old son got excited in the way only a 9 year old boy can.

“Mom – can I put on rubber gloves and cut up your poop to check for the cotton ball??”

We shelved that idea and raced to meet Steve at school. My son’s teacher was in tears of laughter when she saw me.  Apparently some of my friends had alerted her that I might not make it to the conference.  In fact a friend had told the whole story to the entire 3rd grade staff.

After the conference I ran into that friend and she suggested that next time I go to the dentist, I bring an unused tampon to bite on instead – it has a string to grab!  (Note – GENIUS idea.  Someone get on this immediately.  Dental tampons!)

Later we were leaving my son’s karate practice and I was complaining that I still had not eaten and it was now 6 pm.  My son piped up to ask me, “How many Weight Watchers points are cotton balls anyway?”

Needless to say, I am fine.  As fine as one can be after swallowing cotton.  I have tried really hard to suppress the memories of when I was choking and chosen to laugh.  But, I’m not at all sure that I’m ready to schedule my next dental cleaning.

My recommendation – next time you go to the dentist, bring along some super absorbent tampons with extra long strings and explain what happened to me.

 

How not to meal plan

I ate mahi mahi today. Twice in fact. It’s like some ancient language of dinners: mahi-mahi-mahi-mahi.  Mahi. If you say it out loud enough times it starts to sound odd.  (Go ahead – try it. I’ll wait.)

Why have mahi-mahi-mahi-mahi? Cause of a little thing called leftovers. In these sort of economic times, it seems ridiculous to waste food. (Actually anytime is a ridiculous time to waste food…) So while I have been good about my diet I have had to make realistic decisions about what to eat.  Candy – bad.  Leftover fish – good. Leftover Easter chocolate – not good.

What is it about leftovers? Apparently people who write “meal plans” have never heard of such a concept. Either I’m cooking wrong or they’re eating way more than they say. Or something like that.

I hit a wall a few weeks back and worked on tweaking the intake. As I prowled around the internet looking for just the right diet….(yes I honestly entered “why do I eat less and still gain more” into the search engine)…I found tons of those meal plans. And I’m always rather frustrated by them.

Here’s what happens (to me) when I check out one of those “healthy” meal plans:

First of all – the breakfast options.  Hmmm….on Monday you’re supposed to eat fresh pineapple with some cottage cheese and coffee. No fresh pineapple here.  Frankly it’s canned or nothing. Shhh don’t tell the meal planner.  Actually don’t tell them you’ve skipped the pineapple entirely as you believe it goes better with ham than cottage cheese.   Berries instead….but you know you’re eyeing the kids’ Frosted Flakes the whole time.

Tuesday you are supposed to eat oatmeal.  Not stick it in the microwave, instant stuff. But the real steel-cut oats. You figure to go all out – get the nice brand of oats and search the internet for the perfect oatmeal recipe that still is healthy. Discover a recommendation that putting it in the slow cooker is a great way to cook ahead.  Stay up late Monday to make sure you don’t put the slow-cooker oats on TOO early as you are sure you’ll oversleep and burn them.

Tuesday morning there is some yummy looking oatmeal …. lots of it.  And boy that just needed a dash or two or three of brown sugar. Maybe some more berries.  Even hubby likes it.  The kids take one bite and demand Frosted Flakes.  You are excited about the energy you feel from the yummy oats. And you put that energy to good use as you fling open cabinet doors looking for enough plasticware to store 6 gallons of oatmeal for the week. And then you need to scrub the slow-cooker of all the burnt sections of oatmeal.  That stick really well.

On Wednesday the meal plan calls for you to eat some fruit and cream of wheat. But your husband reminds you that he can’t get to the cream for his coffee due to all the oatmeal on the fridge shelves. You console yourself that they are practically the same thing – cream of wheat (never ate it before anyway) and oatmeal. You dutifully pour more Frosted Flakes for the kids. Then you try not to look at the gelatinous glop that was once steaming oatmeal as you put it in the microwave. It comes out okay but you are still fighting that gag reflex.

By Wednesday afternoon you realize that maybe the oatmeal can sit another day. So you tackle planning for Thursday’s breakfast. It includes one Raspberry Ginger Oregano Organic Whole Wheat Gluten-Free Sugar-Free* made from scratch muffin.  One.  Only one.  But they have the recipe to make it easy. So you figure it has to be good.

You gather the ingredients for the recipe and find it includes 1/2 teaspoon of some spice that you do not currently have at home. But this ingredient is in bold so you know it is crucial to the outcome of the muffins and provides you magically all the nutrients you need. So you trudge to the store to shell out $5 for a spice that you only need a pinch of and you will never use again. Along with a bag of organic whole wheat flour cause you’ve forgotten that you already have a bag of it in the bottom of the fridge at home from the last time you tried to follow a diet plan.

As you make the recipe Wednesday night (as the time baking will make up for the sit ups you skipped that day), you reread it as you stir the batter and realize that it yields 18 muffins. Crap. And you have already poured in all the ingredients and can’t cut it in half. Apparently these diet gurus assume you’ll be hosting a diet brunch for all your friends on Thursday as there is no mention of this muffin again in the next 17 days of the meal plan.

You figure might as well go ahead and make them.  Maybe if you put some of that leftover vanilla icing from your daughter’s party on the muffins, the kids will think they are getting cupcakes for breakfast.

You try to stay awake long enough to not burn the muffins. When you set them on the countertop, they look a little odd but you figure it’s late and you’re tired.

At 7 am the muffins are looking even more dubious. But there’s that icing you have. Go dig that out.

Unfortunately now you have your back turned on your kids.  The kids into whom you have hammered the importance of reading. Thus, they have pounced upon the organic whole wheat flour and strained applesauce stained recipe you printed off the internet and are reading it to each other.

Gross Mom. This says these are healthy muffins.

Did you make these?

Eww don’t we have real muffins? With chocolate chips?

You’re standing there with two sad muffins in hand, barely disguised under the hard-to-spread-now-that-it-has-been-in-the-fridge-for-four-weeks icing. And don’t forget the icing you’re licking off the corner of your lips…..

Mom! You’re not supposed to be eating icing. You’re on a DIET!  

DADDY!!!  Mom’s eating icing out of the container.

Caught in the sugar rush, you might accidentally hiss that the children can have ice cream for lunch if they would just HUSH RIGHT NOW! Then you smile at your husband and you don’t blame him at all when he looks at the muffins and says he’ll grab breakfast on the way to work.

As the kids dump their cereal bowls in the sink cause at least they’ve learned something this week, you lick the icing off your fingers and stare at the 18 muffins on the countertop. And you figure another morning of gelatinous oatmeal it is. The muffins get bagged up and put aside for lunch.

And by now you’re pondering how your attempt to pretend that chicken wrap at McDonald’s was the same thing as the chicken salad recipe on the diet meal plan was really a smoke screen.  But you also know that you’re gonna need to eat all that oatmeal in order to find the leftover chicken that’s in the fridge somewhere. And the muffins will have to be eaten so you can find your breadbox again. And you recognize that you’ve lasted longer on this meal plan than on the previous one!

 

And thus I eat mahi-mahi leftovers. They are better than chicken wraps from McDonald’s. Especially if you heat a tortilla and call it a fish taco. But more importantly, the lesson is – meal plans are for wimps. Real moms figure it out as they go along.

*Obviously not a real recipe. My apologies to any raspberry muffins out there.

**Details of this scenario may have been very exaggerated.  Just slightly.

Fill ‘er up

There are some people who fret about how much fuel is in their car’s tank. For example, on long car trips with my dad, my mom worries when the gas gauge gets below 3/4 of a tank.  Okay maybe at 1/2 tank. But the concern is that you might not know what’s around the bend so you should keep it filled up while you can. You don’t want to get caught on empty in the middle of nowhere.

My stomach is exactly like that.  It constantly thinks it’s in this state:

  In actuality the gauge is probably more like this:Stupid stomach.

In addition to poor skills at measurement, my body is apparently very bad at subtraction. I mentioned to the doctor that earlier this week I had eaten roughly 1200 calories and burned approximately 400 in exercise that day.  When I stood on the scale the next day, I had gained 2 pounds!  What in the world????  The doctor’s response – you’re not eating enough.

Oh yeah that must be it.

Apparently when I don’t eat much my body is worried that the next gas station isn’t for miles and miles.  So we have to hang onto all the lovely fat – and even multiple it when possible. My stomach isn’t clued into the fact that there is food in the house and it will last for awhile.  Stupid stomach.

But I am trying and I am being good. The loss has stalled for a few days – but I’m determined to get my stomach and body to get with the program.

 

Toes in the beach

We were fortunate to get to go to the beach for a few days last week.

great place for a run!

Got to run on the beach.  The view was amazing….so amazing that I forgot to check what my hotel looked like. Yup – I got lost on the beach. I was really confused why the hotel was setting up tiki huts on the beach when I was sure that they had had blue umbrellas the day before.  Now, you might think – Gee, didn’t you just look at how far out you ran and then double that for the way back and find your hotel right where you left it?   And that was my plan – but apparently I can’t do math and run at the same time.  Steve laughed at me (a lot) when I called him on my iPhone from the beach.  And then he laughed again when I got up to the room.

I actually braved another run the next day after memorizing EXACTLY what our hotel looked like.  But this one was just one mile – I wanted to try “barefoot” running.  That is – not running without shoes….but with my Merrell pace gloves on.  I’ve been wearing my Merrells since Christmas – just for walking though as barefoot running takes some building up. I’m not sure I want to ultimately run in barefoot shoes exclusively. But I’ve found that the shoes have helped strengthen my feet a bit.  Not totally getting rid of the stupid plantar pain – but I find it does help.  And running in them turned out to be fun….and yes I found the hotel again.  Whew.

The barefoot run was partially inspired by the fact that I had ordered a new pair of Merrells – their new Bare Access Arc. I had tried them on at the Gasparilla expo and found them to be SO comfortable.  They look more like traditional running shoes but are so lightweight.  I was so tempted by them that I figured at some point I would order them and try to run in them a little.

A few days after we got back, the Merrells showed up – all 5 pairs!  Yes we are clearly an insane family.  Steve has taken to running in his Merrells. And he had gotten a pair of the leather ones for work. And he ordered more pairs of the leather ones as they are likely to be discontinued. And of course the kids have worn out their sneakers…..and I wanted a pair of comfy sandals too.  Since Thanksgiving time, we have acquired 10 pairs of Merrells for a family of four.

yup - 10 pairs of Merrells!

50% of them belong to Steve.  When he looked at this picture his comment was, “I have to stop now.”  (When I met him – I think he had 4 pairs of shoes total.  LOL)  I wonder if Merrell has a customer loyalty program.

For the record – the kids LOVE their Merrells. We all went for a quick run after we got our new shoes.  Both kids argued that they were now MUCH faster than they had been before. And I found mine to be very comfy to run in. I think I’ll like trying to incorporate short ‘barefoot’ runs in with my workouts….

And in other news….we shall not talk about the “project weight loss” right now….but I’m still sticking to it and hoping that more progress is around the corner….just gotta run after it!

Give or take a pound or two

One of my sillier memories of fifth grade involves a gaggle of us girls asking one of the boys in our class how much he weighed.  I have no clue what precipitated this interrogation or why we were even remotely interested in the answer.  But I’ve never forgotten the response.   He simply said, “At what time?”

Being fifth graders we were ready to pounce on his inability to understand simple question words.  We had asked for a quantity in pounds and he was talking about hours of the day.  Clearly the boy had lost his mind.  (After all, he did support the independent candidate for president that year – John Anderson. Why do I remember these things about former classmates?  I have no clue.)  But we had forgotten the important detail that he was one of the smartest kids in our class (and future Ivy Leaguer).  Thus we were subjected to a whole lecture on gravity and how a body at rest at night will distribute weight more evenly than say later on during the course of the day.   I have no idea if his theory was right….but years later I still assume that you weigh much less first thing in the morning…..even a 10 year old knows that, right?

So despite gravity, the weight loss is occurring.  I’m actually down about 5 pounds from when I started the deal with Steve. So about 21 pounds to go.  However, I’m convinced my scale is trying to make me lose my mind in addition to the pounds.

First of all – I weigh myself every morning.  Um yeah –  I know the experts say not to. However I also know weight changes everyday – and I like to track change…I’m a developmental psychologist – we STUDY change.   I like to start my day off with a reminder to my mouth and stomach about what we are trying to accomplish here.

Thus the early morning weigh-in has a required procedure beforehand.  Including (but not limited to) putting in contacts (glasses add at least 7 oz more as I am rather blind), wringing out the bladder (again a few more oz), and making sure the scale is in the optimal point on the bathroom floor.

Steve had redone our bathroom floor with groutable vinyl tiles a few summers back (very nice).  And as he is a perfectionist – I know my floor is flat and even.  However – there is a vortex just next to the closet door where I swear gravity is stronger than usual.   Thus I try to be careful when I turn on the scale so as not to accidentally tip it so that one corner of the scale is in that vortex.

The other day the scale was completely trying to mess with me.  I got on and weighed 1 pound more than the previous day.  Poop – but again I know it’s just daily fluctuations. But then I moved the scale across the floor (avoiding that vortex) and remeasured.  Discovered I had lost 1.2 pounds in those 30 seconds.  Wow!  So I again moved the scale, made sure the four feet were completely even, no wiggles. And then I gained .75 pounds back.  Two times in a row.  Finally moved the scale back to the original location. And got a completely different number.  See – completely messing with my head.  (I wrote down the lowest number in my log – duh.)

Earlier in the week I had a doctor’s appointment to hear my latest cholesterol results.  I had been happy with my morning weigh in – but my appointment was at 3pm.

“But I totally was like 3 pounds lighter this morning.”

The nurse just nodded as she wrote down the number.

“Clearly gravity is different in the morning than in the afternoon. Or maybe it’s different here in the office compared to my house. But I swear I’m really lighter than that.”

At this she just laughed and probably made some note on my chart to indicate the doctor might want to order a psych eval as well.

Regardless – I know this to be true….at least, thus far, the scale has NOT shown me any numbers equal to or greater than where I started. WHEW.  I claim that as victory alone.

I’m also running better.  Not necessarily faster but for longer stretches before I take a walk break.  I didn’t realize quite how out of shape I was with the injured foot. But I’m starting to get my endurance back bit by bit.

I will win this bet ….. despite the strange pockets of gravity densities in my bathroom.

 

 

100 blog posts!!

100 posts!!!

Woo hoo!  This is my 100th blog post!  Wow….never thought I’d make it that far when I started this blog almost a year ago.  Then again – I never thought I’d actually consider myself a runner.

If this were a television show, 100 episodes would mean I’d be all ready for a party with cake and syndication.  Given my recent dedication to losing weight, the cake is right out.  As for syndication, I’m not sure how well these posts hold up in reruns. But if you haven’t perused the whole shebang – take a look back to some of my oldies but goodies while you’re here.

So how should a blogger (whose readership is limited to a few kind friends and family) celebrate such an accomplishment?  Cause clearly this is cause for amazement and wonder….and presents!  

Well in my case, I killed a fish.

No no – not intentionally.  In fact, I was doing the fish a favor at the time.  I was cleaning his bowl – see very nice – when he decided to keel over in the “holding” bowl.  I would like to point out that I was rather sweet to let him flop his last in my favorite Pampered Chef batter bowl.  Not all mommies would be that kind. But I’m thinking that I won’t be making pancake mix again until I disinfect it thoroughly. (My apologies to any and all Pampered Chef reps – I love your products….apparently fish would die for them.)  I would also like to point out that I refrained from yelling at said (dead) fish that I had now wasted all that time cleaning out a bowl for a fresh corpse.

If you are a fan of this blog (and if you are – definitely hit the Facebook button on the upper right side of this page!) you’ll know this is not the first time we’ve experienced fish death in our house.  (Click here for the full story.)  This was the last of our Rosy Reds….and we still have a beta that seems to thrive on filthy water.

And as with the previous perishings – our son got to witness the horror first hand.  He happened to get out of bed just at the right wrong moment. However this time he was less mad and freaked out.  In fact when the fish tried valiantly to kick himself back up (I presume to say good-bye), our son started saying, “Zombie fish, I have a zombie fish.” He’s all 8 year old boy – pets are cool but zombie pets are even cooler.

I pray we don’t encounter any zombie rats anytime soon.

In other news….. I did celebrate today with some running.  Managed 1.5 miles today with a friend.  Foot’s not doing too badly but we weren’t breaking any speed records.

And we signed up for Disney 2013!!   Steve is doing the Goofy (because he is insane) and I’m signed up for the 1/2 again.  And Steve has reiterated his promise that if I shave 13.1 minutes off my time from this year – I get to go shopping for a Coach purse.  Between the weight loss deal and the run – this could be a profitable year for me.  🙂   Before we signed up – I called my parents to very sweetly ask if they would join us in Disney to watch the kids the morning of the 1/2.  Because I called before his alarm went off, my Dad was very willing to say yes.  (Thanks Dad! Hope you didn’t rethink it after you had some coffee!)  I’m hoping my sis and her husband will do the 1/2 again with us.  (Pretty please??)

As for the weight loss …. I am actually down 1.4 pounds since I made the deal with Steve.  Woo hoo!  So I’m 24.6 pounds away from $1000.  Woot!  So far so good.  I’m trying to stay upbeat about it.  (Come on it’s $1000!)

So – here’s to Stumbling Forward into the next 100 posts….hope you join me!