The Killer Inside

"      Diabetes has been recognized as a distinct medical condition for at least 3,500 years, but its cause was a mystery until early this century. In the early 1920s, researchers strongly suspected that diabetes was caused by a malfunction in the digestive system related to the pancreas gland, a small organ that sits on top of the liver.
At that time, the only way to "control" diabetes was through a diet low in carbohydrate and sugar, and high in fat and protein. Instead of dying shortly after diagnosis, this diet allowed diabetics to live - but only for about a year.    "  Follow this link for an Insulin history source.

But why would people with Diabetes die so soon after diagnosis before a human-safe insulin was created? Probably because by the time a doctor could diagnose someone, it was far, too late. Diabetes is a very quiet, consistent killer. 

Think of a meticulous psychopath who plans his moves and covers his tracks extremely well. He appears friendly, even charismatic, and you feel comfortable in his presence. Little do you know he is prone to rage and can comfortably, swiftly take as hostage any victim who looks appealing to him. He is tough to pin down. He can kill for years before anyone even knows it's him - assuming anyone ever does.

Now name this psychopath "Sugar." Sugar is so good at taking lives that it can escape formal diagnosis (in cases like heart attacks, strokes). It comes in many forms which can confuse or trick people into thinking they are safe. What's worse is nobody wants to believe it. And, finally, Sugar has an addictive personality. No matter how you try you just can't seem to get rid of him. He can charm his way back to you. 

How can something/someone be so sweet and feel so good yet be so malicious and deadly? You can dwell on that mystery or you can equip yourself with awareness and protect yourself from harm.

Yeah, we're all going to die. Why not live long and relatively healthy, much less painful, lives until that happens?

I am not a doctor. I'm taking part in a Glycemic Load, Exercise and Blood Glucose study through the University of Virginia. Feel free to ask me any questions about what I am learning and doing.

But I Knew Everything

Best news first: I am on the behavioral side of the study. Yaaaaaay! It feels good to get excited about my health. I've missed that feeling.

I came home with a binder full of information on the Glycemic Load, Exercise, Blood Glucose (GLEBG) program/Diabetes management and got right to work. One of the first things I learned is that I know next to nothing about Type II Diabetes. I'll start with what I did know:

My grandmother and her sister had Type II Diabetes. My mom had it. It runs in my family.
You can't eat a lot of sugar if you have Diabetes.
You can take medicine but if your Diabetes gets worse, you have to be able to give yourself shots.
The disease is with you for life.
People can lose their legs, feet or toes.
People can get Neuropathy or nerve damage.
It is really hard to manage Diabetes.
A lot of people have it.
Fat people get it.


What I didn't know:
When blood sugar leaks into your body, it corrodes your arteries and nerves.
"Complications of Diabetes"  are heart attacks and strokes and other known events that happen to cause death in the body.
Anyone can get it. It's not necessarily a "getting-fat-comes-first" disease.
With practice and diligence, it's not really hard to manage Diabetes.
Diabetes doesn't get worse all by itself. Lifestyle and habits help it along.
Stress and trauma elevate blood sugar and can launch you into hyperglycemia.
You can use the glycemic index to help you navigate through which foods are safer for Diabetics to eat.

I'll know more as we go. The biggest revelation for me was that even though people I love have lost limbs and my mom told stories of her neuropathy....I didn't truly understand how critical Diabetes management is. The routine of taking blood sugar and watching my loved ones eat sugar-free candies was just another part of a normal environment for me. But so was a diet of heavy foods and minimal exercise. And so was complaining. When all of that becomes regular to you, just part of daily life, you really don't know there is a freer way to live. This is what is normal. You accept it. The scary thing is, nothing that ought to be alarming stands out when everything feels like mundane business as usual.

This week I'm learning to take blood glucose readings a few times a day and am monitoring how I feel before and after meals. It's a first step in the first week of being in this study. I have a feeling I will learn more than I ever wanted to know about Type II Diabetes. Lucky you get to come along with me.

Guinea Pig Me

I've joined the Type 2 Diabetes Mellitus blind study at U.Va.'s Center for Behavioral Medicine Research. Not sure which control group I'll belong to just yet, but I am very much hoping to be in the behavior modification group rather than the group that is dependent on the use of Metformin to regulate insulin for the next six months.

My intent for signing up is to follow whatever instructions I'm given over the study period and I have some apprehension in doing so...mainly because to complete the study successfully, I will have to test my blood sugar several times a day, every day, for the next six months. I want to be a fair and dedicated participant so I will only go ahead with signing on the dotted line (so to speak) if I believe I can endure all those finger pricks. Initially, they're not going to bother me. Over time, if my fingertips become sore or sensitive or, worse, unfeeling, I am bound to get angry.

SO some adjustment is going to be necessary. Lots of patience for the redundancy of logging my blood sugar numbers. The flip side - the best side - is that, with U.Va.'s help, I will learn how my body responds to my eating behavior and how it responds to my lifestyle, too. OR I will learn how it responds to Metformin. Yeah. PLEASE LET ME BE IN THE NON-MEDICATED GROUP!

I've printed my paperwork and will bring it with me to my initial visit, tomorrow morning, where I will sign it if  I believe I can withstand all that blood sugar testing and record-keeping. Right now, the accountability of being on a program that is monitored by the doctor and nurse practitioner at the center could provide enough emotional fuel to keep my engine going at those times when I might run out. It's within reason to believe that small successes I reach along the way will provide all the emotional fuel I need to keep going.

As of Midnight, there is a restriction of eating or drinking anything but water. Tomorrow, I will weigh in, find out my fasting blood sugar number, have lots of diagnostic exams (including a stress test,) and take home my first week's worth of information on how to get started. I'm told it's going to be a three hour process.

Whew!

My Gift from Mom

This morning on News Radio WINA I met a Dr. I've been praying to find. My nutritionist Ivana Kadija can verify that I've had so much trouble with carbohydrate addicton, getting a handle on it (as I once did very well!) since my mom died has frustrated me...it's been so difficult to do but is essential to my health. Essential.

I'm Diabetic now and that is just an open door to inflammatory disease, heart disease, all. So, I've reached out to a few specialists whose mission aligns with my own.

The Northern VA Dr. who I made an honest plea to for help wrote me back a "why are you telling me all this?" To me, it was a slap in the face. She went on to invite me to make an appointment. I did, but her initial response never rested well with me. I plan to cancel.

Another Dr. responded with kindness and encouraged me to make appointment with Endocrinology at UVA.  That's scheduled for October.


But today was a gift. A gift.

During our Live Well segment, Dr. Daniel Cox showed up to detail what it's like to live with Type 2 Diabetes. It is a disease he handles himself and is convinced can be naturally controlled by lifestyle change - in a lot of cases.

He said the same thing Ivana always tells me: Low Carb Diet. LOW CARB DIET. LOW CARB DIET! So many people living with Diabetes are taught to eat what they want just limit the amounts and, to me, it is killing them. I watched my mom die this way. Untreated, unable to control my food addiction, I am going to die this way.

Dr. Cox said whole grains, oatmeal, all of it...unhelpful. (I swear I heard Ivana say yay!!!) Then he said something more helpful than I could have dreamed:

UVA has a new program planned to monitor 50 Diabetics who meet certain criteria and will agree to change their lifestyles, monitor their blood glucose and experiment not with drugs but with food - something Ivana has encouraged me to do to no end.

I feel like her want for me and my want for myself have aligned in this opportunity.

Moreso, I wholeheartedly believe this is all a gift from God and my mom. Probably God but my bet is he's used my mom to help me, knowing how much I need her.

Here is the evidence....

My prayers have been so earnest and so needful of support, communal support, close close close monitoring, accountability and raw education.

I've made attempts to get help over and over and over - I cannot tell you how much.

After doing the interview, Manna sent me a photo of a penny she found at school. Between us, pennies mean my mom is with me. Quarters mean my mom is with Manna. 

I took a nap today and I dreamed I was with my mom. You may not think that a big deal but I've not been able to talk to my mom and hear her for over a year since she died. We walked a HOSPITAL hallway. Tufts Med Ctr. probably? Where I last spent time with her alive.

She and I walked and talked about this study...and I told her I was excited to do it. I carried on and on as you can imagine and she was glad for me...as she always is when I decide to help myself. Then I asked her if she'd like to be one of the 50 in the study (clearly not remembering she has died) and she said no very firmly. And I started to get irritated and all my old feelings of "why doesn't my mom damn help herself?" started to come...and I went to open my mouth to say what I would have said back then. She was gone. It was just me in the hallway.

I took a shower and started to cry...because I got to hear from my mom.

Still in my towel, I got a call from Dr. Cox inviting me to join the program. He outlined what I need to do...and away we go.

I hung up with him and sort of reflected on all that has happened: the interview, the penny, the dream, the call.... how much does it take before I realize, this is a gift?

My mom can't do this now, but I can, and she's given this to me.

I thank my mom and God so much.

From the Horse's Mouth

As I explained to my counselor yesterday, I hate taking pills. I hate feeling dependent on synthetic crap to make me "work right." I hate needing medicine. I hate owning up to the fact that I have any disease or disorder. But I do: High blood pressure. Hypothyroidism. Diabetes.

I talked at length for most of our session to make clear the feelings I have about asking my doctor to go back to taking medicines that regulate my hormones and insulin output. I do take high blood pressure medicine without complaint...mostly because I feel horrid if I don't. The headaches and general discomfort have hammered that prescription into my daily life. I hate that, too.

But I went on and on about how I've been able to regulate the Diabetes AND increase thyroid activity by diet and exercise - not to mention that I've been truly consistent with neither for a year. Of course I didn't mention that part! Fortunately, I've been to this counselor regularly since before my mom died and she knows that while there was a good six months, once upon a time, when I DID do spectacularly well via diet and exercise (and was improving my BP and every other important regulated system in my body,) that time is past...and my attitude toward drug-taking is obsolete.

I tried to diffuse her argument, saying that I did it once so could do it again. Do you know want what she said to me? She said, "Isn't that interesting that you want to be healthy, but you want to do so on your own terms. You want everything to work out the way you want it to, but you're not willing to do the things you need to do for that to happen." I was quiet for the pause. "Isn't that what your mother tried to do?"

......
......
......

I can't say what I felt at that wallop, but I heard the truth. And in the span of only a few minutes, I relived the aching hours spent watching my mom's body disintegrate before my very eyes. That is what she tried to do. How much am I like her? And how do I stop before I become what she has become?

The question led me to a day long search for a physician who works with patients who experience metabolic syndromes like Diabetes and Hypothyroidism (and whose family history is full of heart disease and strokes and cancers).

I found someone who has a private practice over 2 hours north of where I live and I'm going to go see her. I've already sent her an email sort of outlining what is happening with me. My luck, she is taking new patients and can accommodate out of town people like me...and has done gobs and gobs of work to help individuals like me whose genetic predisposition is the suck.

So tonight/this morning I feel intensely mortal, delicate as tissue paper, and have not been able to sleep with all the worry over what my body is doing now. I am sorry it took such a jolt of awareness to make me look in the mirror that doesn't reflect Wendy: separate from her mom, but Wendy: the overlay on her mom's sad image. At least it took.

Ride the Wagon

You can imagine where I've been for the better part of a year - eating this and that, screwing around with diet and exercise, suffering grief, being angry, making myself too busy to pay attention to my grief...you name it. Then I shaped up again, decided to be "regular" and go the controlled diet and exercise routine. I lost a little. I gained a little. I lost a little. I plateaued. Calorie counting wasn't working for me...so I spiraled right back into carbs-loading and half-assed caring about myself and my weight.

In the back of my mind, though, there is this image of my mother lying in her hospital bed, alone but for a single roommate, with no one to help her get up and go to the restroom. It is a life she accepted because she was defeated by her diseases. It is a life I yelled at her for living. I cried at her for giving up. I begged her not to die. She wouldn't do anything - couldn't do anything - to help herself. It was too late. I didn't believe it, but she did. She argued no...but she had to believe it to resign to the arguments of rehab workers refused to lift her out of bed - it took too many people, she was too heavy, required an electronic lift, yadda yadda. Every time I fought for her, she fought against me. Why?

Why couldn't she just fucking help herself?

At the time I was doing my "damndest" to live a better life - strictly low carb, seeing amazingly great results. I didn't get why she didn't just STOP hurting herself by not trying.  When she died, I was torn up. I hated her. I hated me. I hated fat. I hated disease. I hated my family. I hated mom's friends. I still have a lot of anger I am working through because I miss her SO much and her death feels like a needless, wasteful, horrific tragedy....like murder or suicide.

I've been seeing the same counselor for my own weight loss issues. Like I said, I let go of everything I worked hard to achieve after my mom died. I regained 30 of 50 lost pounds. I have to start over. Again. I hate starting over again. I hate that I quit.

My counselor showed me this:





In this I see how I treated my mother. I see how some people probably look at me. I see how it's possible she could not help herself. I see how I HAVE to help myself before I suffer the same fate. I have to get back on the low carb wagon and ride it like there's no tomorrow. There may not be.

Break Down and Break Through

My latest attempt to Live Well was hideous and embarrassing and absolutely essential. Read on!

Responsible Me

What a wallop I took when I went north to revisit my mom's house in April. Imagine the desolation of being inside the house you grew up in without the main components: the people who lived there, too. A house without its family is a very empty space.

Add to this the insult of seeing the house my parents cared about trashed by a freeloader who wouldn't go until I forced them, six months after mom's death, after they lived there against even her final wishes and broke her house rules entirely. Yeah.

Imagine the anger that consumed me due to the outright lack of respect for my mom. Toss in some lies about my personal character (generated by utter shit the freeloader said to anyone who would listen to their gossip.)

Pour in the unshakeable feeling of helplessness. Stick the pot on a stove til the unattended mixture comes to a boil. Check to see if burned. Call the recipe "I hate my family," then feel sorry for yourself, ostracize yourself from them (as much as possible) and drop away from working toward your private achievements for the next few months. Mope. Fuss. Cry. Hate. Flair up. Soothe yourself with boredom and neglect.

But, eventually, you're going to be twenty pounds heavier and the stuff you worked for will start to feel impossible to attain. And then you're going to come to the most uncomfortable conclusion ever: You're responsible for all your shit. Your mood, your life, your schedule, your body, your attitude, your home, your surroundings, your love. The single saving grace in the hell of realizing you are completely alone in the darkest of times is that it ends with a flourish.

I am a month and a day away from having to say, "My mother died last year."  Every day that closes in on June 24th brings that pang of "she's not here" that cannot be conveyed to anyone who hasn't felt a loss of this magnitude.

I've had so many emotions and pity parties and bounce-backs and moments of determination - really been all over the spectrum of high highs and low lows - just trying to get back to good. I was doing SO good in just everything and my love for my family was strong, vibrant, unbreakable I thought.

Today I struggle to forgive. I wish to forget. Yet God made me one of those realistic honest-to-a-fault people who can't pretend everything is well when it isn't. I ache to let go of responsibility that doesn't belong to me - stuff I keep obsessing over like my mom's house and belongings and what's going to happen and why isn't anyone helping and how can I save it and on and on and on. I'm not responsible for any of it.

I'm barely responsible for -me- because I spend so much energy trying to be responsible for my mom, my cousins, my uncles, my not-siblings, the bank, the government... when I'm not supposed to be. The past few months have been a hard lesson in learning what really is for me to do:

Take care of myself.
Raise my daughter.
Honor my mom however I can.
Respect my family members.
Take care of my home.
Enjoy my life.
Be still.

I am happy to share that I'm coming out of the long funk with better focus and understanding. I am still sad. I still feel so much pain when I think of "home," but I've gained knowledge that I can only be grateful for and try to keep in mind from this time onward: I matter. I matter to me. Fuck. all. else.

The Strange Changes

"Dear God, never again." It sounds like post-party anguish when you can't count how many shots of whiskey you put down, but are convinced you will not so much as look at whiskey again. That's how I felt by the end of the day of the Highland County Maple Festival.

I belong to a Real Foods group that meets once a month to discuss various topics and, occasionally, we attend regional events. So, I was kind of excited to go a few hours away to find real Virginia maple syrup and try....oh, everything.

Don't get ahead of me here. I AM eating low(er) carbs meals than I have done in the past. I DO know that real maple syrup translates to real sugar, real carbs; however, I felt prepared to go and try many different maple-infused items (just to see what they are like) and I could reason all of this to be OK because I had a plan:

Three of us went on the trip. If we bought one of pretty much everything and shared it between us then I would end up with a bite or two of this or that and be OK by the end of the day. It was a great idea that could help me keep from that godawful full of junk foods feeling one often gets at these events by the end of the day.

Also, I wanted to make time to see things: visit crafts booths, tour a sugar camp, walk around, be active.

That was the plan and it went splendidly until I began tasting things.

Maple-covered peanuts from Laurel Fork Sapsuckers

I ate two handfuls of maple-candy covered peanuts. They were delicious! I bought a bag and have since had a few more (like 8 or so) and then I gave the rest to my in-laws so I wouldn't finish them. There are some ingredients in this bag that I stay away from with my diet so it was good to pass the yum on to someone else.

Then someone at the sugar camp tour told me there was this other amazing camp that makes maple donuts and pretty much sells out every year. Off to Puffinbarger's Sugar Camp we went...in search of these.

Puffinbarger Sugar Camp's Maple Donut

This looks angelic, right? But it tasted like blah to me. Now before you go thinking they don't know how to make a donut....think again. The shop was packed with people coming out the door and it took nearly an hour to have this particular donut in hand. This donut felt strange in my mouth and tasted gluey and slightly maple-like. It wasn't the BAM! WOW! confection I'd been convinced it would be. But why? The other two Real Foods enthusiasts couldn't get enough of them. Me? I was turned off.

Hmmm.

So we went for lunch a little while later...and had fried fish sandwiches from a local trout farm.

From a little stand outside Virginia Trout Company

The trout was so so tasty, I felt like I could eat again! And I would just ten or fifteen minutes later. See, one of our members is a vegetarian and needed a lunch that wasn't trout. Off we went to see about the highly acclaimed buckwheat pancakes we heard so many other tourists talk about.

Buckwheat pancakes with Virginia maple syrup

By this point, I wasn't hungry for syrup OR pancakes but decided I would try just to say I did. I couldn't finish this half a pancake, but I did guzzle down a pint of milk. Guess I needed that. The pancakes tasted good to me - they remind me a lot of raisin bran cereal flakes. Is that the way they are supposed to taste? Got me! But they did and I liked them enough, but not enough to finish. Like the donut, I just wasn't getting much from this stuff. Could we go back for more trout?

We spent the day looking at so many things and really enjoyed the people and the atmosphere of the festival...and it was a beautiful, beautiful day to be in the mountains. On the way home, there was ice cream and I thought, hmmm... maybe we could get one and split it (still had the game plan I began with!) And we did.

Ice cream stand just beside Sugar Town Antiques

And I could take about four bites of it before it was too much. It tasted amazingly good - like a dream, really - and I couldn't go on. What was UP with me?

After thinking this over for several days, I conclude that my palate has changed considerably. It really has. I can only guess that eating low carb has had this affect because I craved real food the entire day. I wanted more of that trout. I wanted spinach. I wanted salad.

Let's look at this day through the eyes of Wendy 2011: That bag of covered peanuts? I'd have at least eaten half of it. Maple donut? Psh, I would make sure two, if not three, would be mine. Trout sandwich? EWR. That sounds gross.  OMG Pancakes! Yes, I will have two. And I would finish them. I'd feel so full, but I would finish them. And then ice cream? To each their own. I'd want the entire cup. And even if it meant driving and eating with it melting all over, I'd spoon and drive. On a full stomach, gorging on sugar, a pre-diabetic.

So when I sometimes think this low carbs thing is too slow or isn't working, it may be helpful to remember the Highland County Maple Festival because Wendy 2013 just couldn't take it. Thank God, right?!

Got My Walking Papers

That's right. I've been canned.

Well. My attitude has.

Before you go thinking I lost my job, I'll let you in on a fact known only to my close friends and nutritionist and counselor: I have struggled to get walking with any regularity. Despite mental efforts and emotional anguish, and external accountability (such as assuring a friend I would do the mud run this year) I have bypassed time on the treadmill for anything else I can think to fill time with.  I will even do things I don't necessarily like to do...just to avoid stepping on that never-ending belt.

Some of the trouble is a not-so-healthy attachment, a codependency, I still have for my mother who died last summer. Some of the trouble is an irrational fear I can't define - an actual intimidation which builds anxiety. Some of the trouble is my horribly defiant personality. My BFE, my nutritionist, my own thoughts, knowledge of my mom's plight, reminders of the mud run tell me I should get on that thing.  And she who does not like to be told what to do resists. RESISTS!

I believe there are no accidents in life, though there is pain and suffering, and before I tell you how I know my time has come....how I know my days of sedentary being are over...I have to introduce you to Carol Finch.

I met her once. Once was enough to spark an instant connection between the two of us (something I think Carol was able to create with many, many others). And knowing how frail she was from (eventually) several types of cancers seriously taking a toll on her, knowing I might never see her in person again, I signed up for her monthly email alerts where she'd give an update on her treatments and options and remind us all that even in the face of her hardships she was going to her job as much as she could and volunteering in the community which she loved. She went to yoga. She went to lung cancer awareness and fundraising events. She did not stop until Monday when she died.

Here is a glimpse through the eyes of someone she worked with.


"Carol redefined the term “community stewardship” as she freely gave her time and expertise to dozens of not-for-profit foot race events each year. My guess is that at her healthiest she helped run the results of 40 events on any given year. By my rough tabulation these events, thanks in great part to her wonderful leadership, raised over three million dollars for a variety of worthy community causes. Heck, even as recent as two weeks ago she was out helping at The Valentine’s 5K at Old Trail, which raised dollars for our local chapter of Amnesty International. In fact she was so determined to help to the very end, that she actually teleconferenced, from her hospital bed, advice to my daughter and other CTC volunteers, just this past Friday evening, as they registered folks for the MJ8K!"  

That was Carol. At work on Friday, at rest, in peace on Monday.

Then I got her email update for February...on Tuesday morning. Of course it couldn't be her, but my fingers raced to open and read whatever this had to say.


 "In Charlottesville, instead of a church service, we are planning have a gathering in celebration of Carol's life sometime in the next few weeks. Details to follow...


                               The Carol Finch Virtual Race
Walk, run, reminisce, and remember in celebration of Carol's life
Donations go to lung cancer research and can be giiven online or at registration.

We want each attendee to walk or run sometime in the weeks before the gathering. It doesn't have to be far—just a few yards is enough! Walk alone and remember; run in a group and reminisce as you go; run another race, … whatever. Just be ready to report a time and the distance. After all she recorded your times for decades.

 
At the gathering we will have recording stations, so that everyone can share a story of how Carol affected their lives. Then we can burn dvds and post the results online. The gathering will have: t-shirts, awards, grab bag prizes, food and drink."


Thank you, Carol (and her partner Coleman) for this gift. I can quiet my resistance, my fears, my unhealthy attachments and I can walk because I love you. 

Twitter's Stolen My Appetite

You would not believe the behaviors I am conquering just by taking pictures of my meals to share on twitter before eating. Doing this has led me to think about what I'm doing - sometimes cautiously and carefully. Here's how:

It underlines the importance of honesty.
Oh, I've had the inkling to deceive you by taking a picture before adding cheese to a scramble of some kind...but I didn't! Taking shots of eggs and bacon or whatevers every morning and plowing through with images of lunches and dinners has heightened my respect for my personal dignity.

I am more conscious of what goes in.
Changing my diet from a drive-thru and/or quick bites and big dinners lifestyle is a process for me. I'm not 100% there yet...but I've done some mental and social work to tweak my behaviors already (hosting a real foods group has been especially helpful) and am more aware of what is going to pass my lips. Taking a picture of what is about to end up in my stomach? Yeah. I am not going to want to share a picture of a sloppy burger and a heap of fries without having thought it through.

Note: I ate that very burger and gave most of my fries away the Friday night I went out with my friends. And I didn't feel bad about eating it OR tweeting it because I'm taking better care and attention of what I eat ALL the time now. That burger was awesome and a good choice. I make even healthier choices day to day, meal to meal, so I don't feel guilty.

I think about food differently.
And I can't say that tweeting what I eat is wholly responsible for the change in how I think about food, but it does have influence over presentation.

For a while I have planned meals and grocery shopping (as part of yet another group I started for people who want better home organization). I still do that...but because I am tweeting, I plan to make even nicer things to look at. I hate tweeting pictures of blobs of food. I do eat blobs of food sometimes, but I mostly want to make things that look delicious.

Portion control is spontaneous.
My -portion- size has trimmed on its own. It has! I am not going to send you an image of a heaping plate of spaghetti bolognese with two slices of garlic bread and a meager salad of not much in it. I did eat like that.

I don't now.

Just the other day I tweeted a photo of spaghetti squash with three meatballs and sauce. I skipped the garlic bread and the salad and was still satisfied, not left feeling hungry or wanting, which means I can eat less and feel just fine about it. Being aware of how much food is on my plate is all twitter's fault. I love it. I won't cheat myself by going hungry because that will just push me to binge eat between meals. I eat enough to satisfy my stomach but also appeal to my sense of pride (and embarrassment!) because I am tweeting what I eat.

I get to share my life.
Now I find myself excited to show you what I'm doing. I am not having but wanting to photo journal every day....and I get to avoid food logging the old fashioned way and I inspire people to cook more and I get asked for recipes. This feeds my slightly social personality.

I encourage you to try this for yourself in case you find the same benefits - or even better ones. #tweetyereats with me @wendytime

Why I Won't Play Tetris

if you can't watch the sun rise,
i'll watch it for you.
if you can't get on your feet,
i'll stand up tall.
if you want to feel the ocean,
i'll run through it.
you gave me life, the greatest gift of all.
if you can't say you love me,
i'll just know it.
if you can't take a breath,
i'll drink mine in.
if you can't fight the fight,
i'll find the will, mom.
i'll savor life, your greatest gift of all.

I wrote that for my mom two days before she died. I felt so strong -  yet so helpless - then. I was willing to do and to be whatever it took to help her carry on in this world (because she so wanted to live) and I was struggling to let her go to be free of pain. She was in so much pain. I had to look back in my timeline and find this poem to read it again...mostly to remember what I promised.

One of the hardest things to do so far is the "I'll just know it." I do know it, innately, that she loves/loved me. And it's heartbreaking that I can't hear her tell me.

I love my mom and I miss her so deeply my heart hurts. 

What's nice to notice is that I am savoring life. I recognize the importance of taking care of myself and modeling that for my own daughter because of the insurmountable obstacles that eventually cost my mother her life.

I liken the end of my mom's life, and maybe my own life, to that game called Tetris because for a while she was able to navigate easily despite a barrage of difficult decisions and laborious tasks, right? Especially in her last five years on earth. She'd avoid pile ups and think really quickly and find last-second fits to the constant puzzle that rained. She would hurry to the next uncommon thing to come down toward her and pray and pray and pray and try and try and try to make the right adjustments to get all the pieces where they needed to be.

But life was too fast. Her burdens were too many. Her health was too out of shape. And she died.

I don't want my end game to be a scramble for survival. I want to come to a successful end I can be content with and glad about. I want to grin at my final score and know I rocked life.

I promised to fight that fight up there in that poem, but I can't play my mother's game and win. I have to play something more rewarding....more slowly, methodically, strategically in all fairness to myself and everybody else.  I wish she could do this with me.

#TweetYerEats

I have a confession to make: I am not so good at passing up confections and there are times when the worker at the Drive-Thru window still gets my pay.  I can not say, nor would I believe, that I'll never ever ever ever do either of those things again.

I've gotten to where I can pretty quickly and easily determine when I am gaining weight.  Taking control by using more real foods more often in my diet, limiting simple carbs, drinking more water all has helped me to feel and function much better. So when I'm slacking or retreating, it's not difficult to notice feelings of sluggishness. I can't excuse away the tight feeling of a waistband either.

I do notice that whenever I stop paying good attention to what I'm eating, I stop moving as much and I stop working as much and I stop enjoying as much. I get in a funk and I snowball. Snowballing is no fun at all.

Most of my feelings are mom-related because she is my weakness, living or not. I miss her. I get sad. I feel blue. I lose motivation. I lack ambition. I skip cooking. I buy prepared crap. I stop doing things around the house. I put off work. I reason myself into a cocoon of depressed feelings and unhelpful fatigue - and when what I eat gets that out of whack, too, I am only making it harder to succeed.

How to combat this behavior? Is there is a way that will make me think twice...or three or four times, even, before caving into temptations that won't do me any good? My nutritionist would like me to keep a food journal. I hate the idea. I hate the tediousness of keeping track. I also hate using online record keepers.

I can dip into the reasons why with my counselor some other time. Right now, I want a "fix." So, I asked myself, "What's something I can do to be accountable for the food I eat - if  maintaining a food journal is never going to happen?" And then it came to me. I can tweet what I eat.

I love two things about the idea: I get to share food I (very often) make from scratch. I get to take pictures with my phone. I also love that if I am going to get more than a hot tea for breakfast at the Dunkin Donuts that is conveniently placed near my door, I'm going to need to tweet it.

A lot of my problem eating is done in solace when nobody else could know. But I know. And my body shows it. And I feel what it does to me. And my life span suffers for those choices.

I started tweeting today. Just meals, not snacks. I will probably work up to snacks if I continue this trend. I hope I continue this trend. It's an idea that could really work for the kind of person I am. I love to cook. I love to amaze. I love to inspire. I love to encourage. And, what's more, I love to feel good and know that I really could live to be eighty what's-it. It's in my genetics to do so! Now, if I can just stop screwing with that.

So, I've started a hashtag #TweetYerEats and I'll post my food (breakfast, lunch and dinner) @wendytime  You are welcome to join me if you like.

Sh! Don't Tell My In-Laws.

I used to think the key to weight loss & a healthy life was this unidirectional cure-all called "diet & exercise" and God love me for trying to be, but I am no machine. I am amazed at people who are so disciplined the care of their nutritional and physical health is downright robotic. I heave a dreamy sigh at the image of being one of them.

Alas, I'm an obstinate Bostony sort who regularly turns her nose up at discipline. That's not a matter of pride, nor ignorance, I just don't like being told what to do - even by me.

My closest friends know I am difficult to deal with. Invitations to exercise together annoy me instead of seeming fun. I don't know why the walls go up around my behavior when someone else wants to help me work around them or change them...but they do! God forbid somebody suggest a diet or a method or a group of foods to try or what I really ought to stay away from. Nails. On. The. Chalk. Board.

So, I have to get sneaky and creative and clever in order to get anything past my little "Fuck You" fence (or is it defense) mechanism that pops up at suggestions. It keeps me on one side, well-meaning friends and family on the other.

But here's what works: If I impress myself and feel kind of genius because I came up with an idea to help me to adopt a discipline...I will try it. The same is true of when a friend presents something in a fun or interesting or cool way.

I could analyze "Why am I so picky!?" but it would cost me precious time when I could be finding solutions since I know what makes me tick. So, let's forget trying to know why I'm picky or defensive or surly toward suggestions and dig into the neat find of: If I'm jazzed about it, I'll give it a shot.

Like, right now? I am totally using my in-laws. They don't probably know it but they are contributors to my plan for a healthy lifestyle because I started making it a disciplined "thing" that we get together every Sunday (with flexibility for other engagements when necessary) and take turns making from-scratch meals.

So, they'll come to my house and eat zucchini noodles with Bolognese and sauteed spinach with garlic and pine nuts one week. The next we'll visit them for squash soup and salad greens. And they'll come back over for, well, last Sunday it was "Breakfast for dinner" so a big omelet and bacon and sausage and sweet potato hash and roasted asparagus (yes for dinner/breakfast) and so on.

I enjoy cooking for people and sharing meals. My in-laws are unsuspecting guinea pigs in my plan to live well on the weekends. I do really well making wholesome meals for us during the week but weekends can be hard. I get up super friggin' early to prep for our morning show then come home and need a nap before I can function the rest of the day...and wanting to cook can come with a huge BLAH feeling. Plus, I get a lot more comfortable with pushing phone buttons to hear "Golden China...may I help you?" when I'm exhausted.

So knowing I'll have them over gives me a burst of needed motivation to make something fun or new or well-liked in our home to share with them. Or knowing I get to go over there, not worry about what's in the food or how fat it's going to keep me because they are VERY well-disciplined health nuts makes me feel comforted. I don't need Golden China.

Plus, we started playing board games and/or watching movies afterward, just hanging out. I grew up with grandparents who I saw every weekend, did yard work with, had dinner with, played games and watched TV with or made crafts with - I spent all of Sunday with them and I do believe I've missed having that strong sense of family in my life (I live so far from my people!) Plus, this is something I get to give to my own kid: grandparent time.

Do you see how this idea just keeps getting more awesome?

I get to feel smart and make healthier choices and sort of benefit in all kinds of ways! Everybody does. That's the coolest thing.

The Devil is in the Details

How true it is. I am changing my life - I'm on a mission to Live Well - and doing anything I can to be on my right path for sanity's sake.

Part of what I'm changing is what foods I eat and portions and all that contributes to weight loss. It's not a hard push, I'm not restricting myself, just being aware and doing my best to make good choices that will result in a healthier me.

I'm also changing what I dislike most about my home: our pack-rat lifestyle. Thanks to my friend, Sherry, I have a book that helps me do that  as much and as often as I'd like, on my own schedule, and my house still gets clean. I've managed to keep the main spaces tidy so now I'm taking on the clutter spaces and well-used surfaces that sort of muck up the look and feel of everything. You know, those catch-alls where everybody puts things and nobody looks at again?

Those spots in my house have been overwhelming. OVERWHELMING to look at, let alone do something about. But why?

Because the devil is in the details.

Ridding of one pile of mess seems futile in the face of all the piles of mess that surround me. And when I look at a pile individually there are usually books and clothes and pieces of mail for who knows who, stuff to BE mailed to people I love and just never bother to take to the post office, things my kid no longer plays with (and hasn't for umpteen years), things I meant to nail to one of our walls and just haven't. Small stuff. Details. Hard work. Or is it?

I'm going to remove some clutter from a cubby in my kitchen today - taking out all the unnecessary stuff, doing something WITH that stuff, and THEN I'm going to move the cubby to a more obvious space in the room so that it will be EVEN MORE unsightly should it get tucked full of unnecessary stuff.

It is one of those jobs that looks boring and there is some stuff stuck in there that I don't even know what I'll do with. Details. Ugh! But, I'd rather do something than nothing these days (and I thank the death of my mom for that!) and by this afternoon I will be glad I bothered.

And just to keep myself from being distracted and bugging off of the job, I've got my teenage friend Morgan coming over for motivational support - and I'm paying her a few bucks to help me sort stuff (but really it is just to have someone to talk to and be around.) It works out because she wants money for her mission trip and I want an organized cubby in my kitchen.

So there you have it....proof that I will stop at nothing (even if it costs me $10) to get this crap done.

What Drives Me to Drink

I suppose you'd like an update on that diet soda habit kicking thing:

Good News:  My Coke and Pepsi diet product drinking has reduced to sometimes 1 a day.
Bad News:    There are still times when I have a four to five diet drink day.
Good News:  I realized that my diet cola/caffeine consumption is relative to two things:

Meals & Stress

I am an ex-smoker. The need for the beverage and the thrill of having consumed it is a LOT like needing a cigarette after a meal...or lots of cigarettes through highly stressful moments.  When I quit smoking, I did a lot of gum chewing and overeating. Not sure I want to resort to THOSE things to quit caffeine in a can altogether. Not sure what the solution is yet, either. Sometimes I want that sensation of calm satisfaction having had the drink. Sometimes I want to taste, or even crave, the flavor.

I have ("hot" for you southern people) tea with breakfast which probably provides enough feel-good to get me to my lunch time, but by then I want/need a drink. A straight up diet cola, on the rocks, that is. Same for dinner time.

And if on some night I'm in a 4-H meeting with my sassy-pants daughter and her easy-to-show-off-in-front-of friends and my sometimes-gets-sidetracked co-leader (ALL of whom I love very very dearly) and I can't manage to sort out the chaos of people talking too much about stuff not really relevant, and am fielding comments from my kid who is normally not bully-ish toward me (we do talk about this before and after and I'm finally to a point of there are consequences for that), and I'm keeping cats off the table and letting dogs in and out of the house...(I host the group at home) and remind the kids to listen to my co-leader because they sometimes get too talky with gossip and stuff and forget we're having a meeting... man, I can drink two or three diet drinks in the hour and some we're together. That's what I did last Monday.

So, I need to learn how to let 4-H be pretty much completely uncontrollable and sip on water...or continue to be the "Bad Cop" co-leader and suck down Coke Zero the whole while. Maybe I can crush the cans in my hand upon finish just to accentuate how bad-ass I really can be.

Or maybe there's a way to not need that drink. And I can kick my daughter in the shin once for every snarky thing she says back to me. What?! That's right, I said it. She's mean! Like: playground mean. But, okay, I'll handle that with love....I promise.

Anyway: Have you heard of this problem? Had this problem? Know what to do?

I Challenge My Brain

I've been happy and I thought you should know. Missing my mom is a daily occurrence, mostly while driving or late at night or while blog posting...and I am still so sorry she and I were unhealthy together, unhealthy for each other, unhelpful with the whatever it took to make changes for the better for us both.

My mom must be with me, feeling what I feel, because my ability to help myself has increased and gotten so much stronger in her absence. My ability to know when I need help outside of myself, not in an "I want someone else to do this for me!" way (and I totally did behave that way in the past) but in an "I want to do this and can use help!" way.  A slight tweak of perspective and intention changes everything.

I do pray for the change I want to happen with my body - but I no longer pray for the will power to resist certain foods. I don't pray for the way my brain works to be different. I don't pray for my behavior to stop.

I pray for wisdom for a safe and healthy me, friends, family, community, world. That's all.

Today I take responsibility for my behavior and I love my brain and body. I love them because I understand how they work and, more importantly, how to work WITH them. I can use the example of a dysfunctional family, I guess. When people live in a dysfunctional family they learn to live the best they can within that funky dynamic. Some people even come out better, healthier for it.

I know my brain is going to wig out over certain things. I know my body's going to have difficulty some things I really wish it didn't. And I know that I can find ways to make health and vigor fun for both of them. That's the trick for me: fun. Well, fun or accomplishment. If it isn't fun, if it doesn't make me feel like "total win," I don't want to do it.

So, I make all the shit I don't want to do fun and full of accomplishment AND IT'S WORKING.

I used to ride on the praise of others...now I ride on my own cleverness and ability to get stuff done that I would normally get overwhelmed by and just ignore or hide from...or want someone else to do.

Am I losing weight? I haven't weighed myself to tell you. I'm still wearing smaller clothes and haven't broken their seams - so my guess is so far, so good.

Oh, My Ever-Living Headache!

Whoever said refined carbs don't cause high blood pressure is a wanker. Gary Taubes provides example in his book how simple sugars produce enzymes that kick ass not only in the pancreas but they can increase uric acid in the body's cells and boost salt absorption in the kidneys, too. Basically, carbs fuck you up - if you're someone with a body like mine.

My mom and grandmother were both Diabetic. I've been close to that diagnosis a few times but, so far, managed to wrangle myself away from the red zone by changing my diet. And then life things happen, like birthdays.

Rob's menu? Spaghetti and Meatballs. Garlic Bread. Cake. Ice Cream.

I snuck sauteed mushrooms into the sauce. I made a side dish of sauteed spinach and pine nuts with garlic and some balsamic. But, I had spaghetti, meatballs, garlic bread, cake and ice cream, too. I got away with it last night - not tired, not feeling poorly, doing pretty well alright aside from that FULL feeling that borders discomfort.

Today, though, I have an unfun headache and I hear the swoosh of blood moving when I recline or move a certain way.  So, back off Birthdays! I can't indulge like that anymore. I just can't. And if anyone tells you carbs can't spike your BP you tell them that's totally bullshit. Because, my head is hoping I'm done with the carbs bender of a birthday we had yesterday....and I haven't felt this kind of ick since the cheesey potato incident of 2011..

High blood sugar holds hands with high blood pressure.  My head can guarantee it.