No kidding.

I rather wish I’d gotten my arse in gear a lil’ earlier in this regard, instead of the superficial flight through all things chronic illness.

“Seriously, what are you ON?!?!?”

Here’s the thing: No matter your current condition…healthy, not healthy, unhealthy, fitness addict, couch potato…you are here “For a limited time only!!!”

So? It’s especially difficult for those afflicted with chronic illness to find that “joie de vivre” to make just getting out of bed in the morning worthwhile.

I know.

I *know*.

Thus? I have endeavoured to take advantage of opportunities as they present themselves. Boating trips, mask-making workshops, learning a new board game…to my love of camping.

“I can’t camp, it hurts.”

Ya, I get it.

Well, while you’re hurting over there…I’ll be hurting over here…and making a memory.

1) Make the choice to make a memory.

2) Gather the supplies required to assist in the making said memory a reality:

medications, pain-relief rub, sunscreen and bug-spray, for example…

3) Go have a mutha’ freakin’ life while you are privileged with the opportunity to do so!!!!!!!!!!

So many tweets…so many +1′s…so many, “I do not let my chronic illness define me!!!”…so many enabled by their own choices that let their chronic illness define them…

Here’s what I did this weekend. I ate and slept and taught my children about the old ways and chatted with friends and played Kubb and made connections with people who share similar thoughts and ideas about virtue and worth and honour.

…and I did it while under a blanket of pain. Like usual. As always. For realz.

…and today I listened to my children telling their daycare friends how COOL it was to make offerings and have new sleeping bags and their tent is WICKED as they showed off their plethora of mosquito bites and sun-kissed freckles.

Well, isn’t that cool…a “memory by association” continues thereafter…Huhn. I like it.

Camping under our family banner and shield was…epic.

Words fail to articulate what it means to us to establish our family hearth in a public community.

Thank you SO much for so many kind words and reactions to our banner…it makes its impression all the more strengthened.

Each year I have taken this same photo, so that when my youngest are older, we can visually remark about their changes, both in height…and in spirit.

Hangin’ with the Gnomies.

Making offerings at the Gnome Home.

Teaching your children about the old ways, in a place that has been permanently established as a sacred site upon the land that you, in fact, helped to establish…

…while your children make offerings to the Old Ones…

PRICELESS.

Words again fail to articulate the awesomeness.

My ancestors would be proud.

Then you’ve just gotta’ get yer game on…

I don’t care about pain 24/7. You have to come to an “understanding” with your pain.

It’s a choice.

I choose this.

It’s a challenge of the mind versus body.

Determination.

Endurance.

Perseverance.

LIFE.

My older twin was very brave and wanted to try his hand at shooting an arrow under the watchful, helping hand of our friend, Tim. Tim regularly presides over archery workshops during festivals and events, and there is always something for the children to participate in!!

No bubble-wrap for my kids

I was able to do a very important thing while on the land this past weekend.

Bury the ashes of my childhood friend, Taffy.

Taffy died when I was 21 years old and miles away from me. My mother had her ashes in a small urn to give to me when they returned from a posting in Anchorage, Alaska. I held onto them ever since, because I simply didn’t have “the right” place for her. When they created a pet cemetery at Raven’s Knoll…I immediately contacted them to reserve my place for my BFF. As an only child, she was my world when moving from city to city as an Air Force brat.

Goodbye, my dear companion.

My tears were not merely of your passing, but from having finally found your final resting place.

I am at peace.

Memories.

They are a reminder that we have a life.

When you stock up on the good ones…you have something to “read” in your mind on the days that are less-than-stellar.

You don’t want to run out on those days…

Go make a memory!

Memory… is the diary that we all carry about with us.  

~Oscar Wilde, “The Importance of Being Earnest”

]]> http://www.lupusinterrupted.com/how-to-make-a-memory/feed/ 7 http://www.lupusinterrupted.com/tick-tock-part-deux/ http://www.lupusinterrupted.com/tick-tock-part-deux/#comments Thu, 16 May 2013 12:55:30 +0000 Brynn http://www.lupusinterrupted.com/?p=1750 Continue reading →]]> They say that attitude is a choice.

They say that living is a choice.

In the world of chronic illness, both are connected on a molecular level within the human systemic form.

“What in the blue hell are you on?!?”

Two years ago I went to my GP for an appointment.

Two years ago I went to find out the extent to which my cellular activity was damaged.

Two years ago I was in a small examination room, alone…and I would shoulder a burden no one should ever have to bear.

Two years ago I was given a timeline. My doctor’s moist eyes imploring me to help her help me because she was afraid that this demon residing in my immune system was unbeatable. She simply had no knowledge of it, and was unsure of who would.

I shouldered that burden for a couple of months. Alone. By choice.

Do I even need to tell anyone? What purpose would it serve? Pity?

Pity is my kryptonite. Don’t give me pity. It pisses me off and makes me feel “disabled” and/or “inadequate.” I am very much neither.

Would it “enable” me to wallow in the fear and pain in my soul caused by the revelation that my kidney damage is more extensive than I’d thought, exacerbated by a heart that wills itself to follow suit?

I don’t wallow. I refuse. I can sure-as-shit moan and groan with the best of the Eeyores…but I will not allow it to spiral out of control. Stubborn, I am.

Determined, I am.

I didn’t get it out the way I’d intended, this secret.

I didn’t tell the people who I felt should know “in the right way.” I didn’t even tell most of my immediate family and…truth be told…it might come as a shock should they be ones who, in fact, follow my blog.

*note: At the recent wedding, no one of my extended family knew I’d had a heart attack this past December…my step-mother was upset I didn’t tell them…”I did,” I said…”I told my Dad. It’s not my choice whether he wanted to actually listen.”

And I simply do not have the time to reserve to explain to the people who I love why I’ve done what I’ve done, the way that I’ve done it.

How many chronically afflicted folk don’t mention their appointments?

*raises hand*

How many chronically afflicted folk don’t mention the extent of the aggregate of health issues they currently face?

*raises hand*

Since my initial diagnosis, I’ve been faced with a very hard, very difficult situation: Not much has changed to the chaos of my reality.

I became an advocate. I gained strength of virtue. I’d like to think I’ve established a really kick-ass journey of self-improvement.

But…I still do far too much with far too little having far too many physical limitations about which I simply never let on.

*shrug*

I still have to live. And be productive. And remember homework and projects and to sign agendas…and heal from caring for a substance abusing son and a son who wanted time to live with his dad…and I have a job.

I don’t like living this life any more than anyone else would.

But…it’s a choice. Truly. I struggle with the fact that I will be 39 years old next month and I feel the need to find #gladitude in order to make such a challenging existence even remotely worthwhile.

“Throw this Momma a bone, Cosmos, cuz I have to get outta bed in the morn’…”

I struggle to imagine life with this level of continual pain any further past the timeline I was given.

Two years out of…………………..

Tick Tock.

I guess my purpose is to remind people that attitude is going to be necessary to breach the shadows that threaten your sanity…and that it is a choice. YOUR choice.

You can blame the cosmos or your mother or your Grade 4 teacher, but the truth is…you need to own your shit and come to an understanding that it will be hard work, that, no, it’s not f*king fair and that you can have a life regardless of pain because…..

…life is like a box of chocolates…

…and I plan to eat all the good ones first…

…because you never know how much time you’re going to get.

 Timeline Challenge: [Accepted]

Badass out.

You might remember “The Banner that Brynn Built“…a gift for the Stewards of the land where we celebrate the turn of the seasons, the gifts of the land…my professed “home away from home.”

Now I give you……Part Deux:

The Banner that Brynn Built…The Hultquist Family Banner.

Fabric: 66% off because it’d had marks on it…that came out in the wash!

Time spent: just a smidgen over 8 hours from start to finish.

Steps:

1. Cut fabric.

2. Sew fabric into banner shape. Remind yourself why you want a newer sewing machine.

3. Print out image in uber-large size over multiple pages.

4. Tape together, like a puzzle, the image. Tape taped image to the window. Ignore seedy looks from neighbours.

5. Tape banner up to the window to use as a kick-ass sized lightbox to trace the image onto the fabric. Remind oneself why taping an image to trace up onto a window with swollen, burning arms. hands and fingers might have seemed like a brilliant idea.

6. Procure fabric paint markers and paint pots. I used SetaSkrib markers and Setacolor opaque paints from Pébéo.

7. Channel your inner art-class shading techniques and have-at-’er.

My husband and I personalized a logo that incorporated our love for Yggdrasil and the Well of Urd. “Yggurd.” Obvious? Is now…

My husband and I wanted to come together as a entire family unit…my children have different dads, and I was reserved to think of something rather… “Hultquist-only.” What is the one connection we all share? History. Better still…ancestry. What do the children represent? Blood or not? Progeny.

“kynslóð”…..family line; progeny:

prog·e·ny
/ˈpräjənē/
Noun
A descendant or the descendants of a person, animal, or plant; offspring: “the progeny of mixed marriages”.

Things that make you go, “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh……”

We incorporated the Mjolnir that represents a facet of our ancestral beliefs and practices and virtues.

We incorporated our family rune: Raidô, seen as the image in the midst of the Mjolnir, in red.

Hail the folk, hail the land…hail the ancestors who have walked before us on the land that nurtures those who will continue to walk long after we’re gone.

(sounds pretty mutha’ freakin’ fancy schmancy, eh?)

Travelling with chronic pain & afflictions:

1) Two tennis balls in a sock to place on your lower lumbar while driving keeps your lower spine in the correct anatomical position.

I, on the other hand, forgot my balls. (o.O) I really wish I hadn’t forgotten my balls.

2) Medications: triple check that you actually have them. Thankfully, we were only 5 minutes from home when we discovered neither of us had our own.

3) Medications, part deux: DO NOT…EVER…Take more than you need for the trip. Keep the remaining in a safe container at home, with the refill number written on the bottle. Why? What happens when your brain-fog kicks in and your forget them as you head to check out? Ever tried to get a refill on your insurance plan when the allotment has already been filled for that particular timeframe?

4) Move. Twirl your ankles, roll your shoulders, gently twist from side to side…keep that circulation going!! Take a rest stop for 10 minutes if you can, even, every couple of hours…get those long muscles stretched out. Diabetics are especially at risk of blood clots in the legs due to poor circulation.

5) Hydrate. ‘Nuff said. At the very least, it’ll make you have to pee, which will trigger the reminder for your rest stop. Win-Win.

6) Protein & fresh foods. Have a periodic snack of nuts/seeds/veggies to keep blood glucose stable (that goes for everyone, incidentally…nothing like a hypoglycaemic episode to make you feel like a drunken turducken. (o.O)

7) Earplugs. I’d brought them to keep the noises of my flailing children all sleeping in one bed at bay…but I now realize that I’m going to even start taking them on my scrapbooking retreats, too…it really cuts out all the incidental noises that you’re simply not accustomed to…fans kicking in…heaters going on…whatever. Rest is crucial. Make it so.

8) When valet parking is included as a service…enjoy it.

Until….

…until you get “that phone call” indicating that your car has been involved in an “incident” and can you please come down and look at the damage the valet attendant caused whilst backing in another car…right smack into yours.

(O.O)

Because out of ALL the mutha’ f*ing cars parked by ding-dong valets this weekend at the Trump Towers…it was, in fact, MY car that was the cause of this phone call.

Because out of ALL the mutha’ f*ing times for something to cosmically snafu…this is THE WORST week EVA’…

Told you. Even Oprah can’t make this shit up.

True story.

I got this.

I’m writing this week’s #gladitude post from the Trump International Hotel and Tower in Toronto.

If luxury had a definition, it would be “this.”

I’m not a diva.

I’m a geeky tomboy who likes hoodies, jeans, hockey and football.

I can sure as shit be converted to a diva.

(O.O)

There are crystal wall hangings. Crystal chandeliers. There are leather headboards and a mutha’ freakin’ ORCHID on the writing desk.

There is a Nespresso machine and you don’t have to pay for it.

There is….are you sitting down?!?!?…..

There is a TELEVISION IN THE MIRROR IN THE BATHROOM.

In. The. MIRROR.

Words fail to articulate this kind of thing for a gal who got her single momma self off of welfare taking two diplomas, worked full time, completed an Associate Degree and essentially did everything ass-backwards before finally meeting the man I’d marry in the not-so-distant past and not even having a honeymoon vaycay.

My father is responsible for such a splurge the likes of which have been completely unknown to me.

We’re here for the wedding of my cousin…and the wedding is to be held…HERE at the Tower. 9th Floor. You know it’s going to be luxurious when the wait staff (I’m sure there’s a fancy name for their title, but I don’t know it…cuz I haven’t done this before…EVER) asks where the wedding will be and you say, “Here.” and they get their Mr. Spock eyebrow on and their eyes bug out while telling you, “FanTAStic!”

Last time I was in Toronto was for a high school band trip and we stayed at the Ho-Jo across from the strip club.

That’s it. That’s my #gladitude. It trumps (see what I did there!?!?) everything I’ve endured over the past week of handing my son over to residential…to parent information sessions…to headaches and planning and packing, OH, MY!

I am going to eat this shit up. Every single luxurious moment of it.

Except the M&M’s that probably sell for $7/piece.

There’s a dead mouse smack dab in the middle of my f*ing backyard patio.

This is a problem on a level that just might supersede my fear of toilets and flying bugs…not necessarily together, and sure as shit separate and apart.

I discovered said deceased mouse not upon my initial steps out onto the back steps…

…not upon my walking across said patio…

…but immediately after removing the two grills from the BBQ (which, incidentally, I shouldn’t be doing but wanted to so that I could eat steak tonight because life is good with steak on the BBQ and cheers me the f*k up)…dirty and grimey and…

OMFGTHEREISAFUCKINGDEADMOUSE…

…ANDITTOUCHEDMYFUCKINGBAREFOOT!!!

…as I did the Spastic Hokey Pokey and turned it the fuck around.

I don’t apologize for the language.

IT. IS. A. DEAD. MOUSE.

And?

IT. TOUCHED. MY. BARE. FOOT.

I cannot adequately stress the magnitude of this disaster. 

I did what any fiercely independent woman would do…

I called my husband like a little girl and fought back tears asking him to PLEASEFORTHELOVEOFALLTHINGSHOLY dispose of said dead mouse upon his return home this eve’.

*shame*

How does this, in any way, relate to living with a chronic illness such as systemic lupus erythematosus with organ involvement?

I didn’t have a f*ing heart attack.

HUZZAH!!

Bat-shit crazy.

Today’s post is interactive…like a messed up Look’N'Find:

(o.O)

Always.

And, to add fuel to the fire, my stress likes to manifest itself in the physical form of muscle spasms… usually in the chest and rib cage. Usually, even moreso, in the exact same friggin’ locations which is totally FRABJOUS after you’ve had a heart attack.

Stellar.

So?

I’ve named them.

Tony.

Manny.

Alejandro.

It’s like the Three Stooges of Chest Pain.

And they’re asshats.

They all came to visit yesterday, in fact. I’m going to share with you the reason why, in the hopes that it will enlighten the readership to some of the factors that contribute to the chaos of my reality…and how much it takes, in fact, in order to overcome them and persevere.

Yesterday, we drove my eldest son to start his residential treatment program for substance abuse. He is seventeen years old.

Words fail to articulate that kind of pain…a pain that no chronic illness, nor any combination of, can even compare.

Words fail to articulate that last moment hug in the warm sun with the birds chirping a quite melody…almost resembling a lullaby.

Words fail to articulate that last glance into each other’s eyes as he made he way into the home to get on with the bag search and begin a journey of healing. A casual, “peace out” sign flashed from his fingers…

Stay strong, my son.

I believe in you.

But the day didn’t end with the intake…I had a parent education session to start that very night. How ironic. These parent sessions are held throughout the year to assist families of substance abusing youth…and mine happened to start on the very same day.

Having to confront your own personal thoughts/feelings/emotions about a topic that has torn our family apart, in the company of strangers, was both as embarrassing as it was therapeutic. None of us should have to be here…and yet…here we all are: hopeful, angry, exhausted…

What do you do? What do you do when the stress gets to such a degree that Tony, Manny and Alejandro invite themselves over to hang out?

1) I cry. I find the release to be very liberating and I have no qualms EVER about sharing the times that I take that box of Kleenex and give a good what-for.

2) I look at my “time board”…I created a list of things I would love to do if I ever found an extra 2.2 minutes (hours are a stretch…but….could happen). I take 2.2 minutes* to do one of those things.

*it totally ends up being longer than 2.2 minutes, but I didn’t want to bust the flow of the sentence

3) I, like I’ll do right after posting, go to the gym. To purposely “burn off” the negative, the hurt, the pain (yes, the pain of chronic afflictions, when replaced by the “good” burn of exercise is greatly diminished)…I have a playlist that would make children cry and grandma’s gasp…and it’s how I push through the weight training and git’er’done. My cardio playlist includes Bon Jovi, so don’t fret…I’m not psychopathically bat-shit crazy

4) I talk. If I don’t have someone to immediately talk to…I write. Blog. But, better yet…I write down all the nasty negativity that threatens to darken my mind and then I rip it up into lil’ bitty pieces and throw it away. It’s very liberating, actually. Try it?

5) Find a #gladitude.

6) Take a bath. Okay, I don’t actually do this one…I find baths to be an excruciating endeavour in boredom…but I *will* hop into the shower and throw a few drops of lavender essential oil around the tub to steam up as the hot water drowns the Three Stooges of Chest Pain.

7) Music. There’s nothing that needs to be said, really. Crank it up. Bob your head. Tap your toes. Close your eyes and get jiggy wit’it in your mind, if you’re unable to physically dance.

It’s called “Self Care” and it is as important as air to your wellbeing.

Go. Make your list of 2.2 minute joys. Share some of them with the rest of us so that we might add some new ones to our own lists!!

In the meantime, I’ll be pressing some weights and telling Tony, Manny and Alejandro to take a glance at my middle finger salute.

True story.

Live your truth. Express your love. Share your enthusiasm. Take action towards your dreams. Walk your talk. Dance and sing to your music. Embrace your blessings. Make today worth remembering. ~Steve Maraboli

 This weekend serves to jumpstart the (THE) busiest two months of my calendar year. with a lil’ (o.O)

Yesterday was an amalgamated Ottawa-Gatineau Walk for Lupus wherein “Team SpoonieVille” raised just over $1,000!!! That puts a three year  total of over $3,800!! *fistpumps*

The day was beautiful and brutally sunny. SPF eleventy-billion was applied. Lupus patients can suffer from photosensitivity.

But FIRST!!! The Comic Book Shoppe!! It was Free Comic Book Day! My first time going and I can assure you…it did not disappoint! My time was limited, though, given the sun, the heat and the gaggle of people sending my extra-sensitive, over-processed brain into hyperdrive.

We made our way over to the Gatineau side to see where the walk was going to take place. We were about 2 hours early at this point…I’m always early…but that was a lil’ excessive

So? We found a great little parking spot near the water and fancied to take us some photographs!!

Here are a lil’ collection of ‘em:

That’s not sand…it’s snow. I can control the weather.

*shifty eyes*

Me and my SuperSocks, gifted by my dear Heidi & Dave.

Total.

Epic.

#WIN.

This is the symbol of where I live:

Parliament Hill, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada.

This is the back view from the Gatineau side

We found a sneaky lil’ house-y-thing (I really should’ve looked at the plaque…my bad!):

And I simply wanted a nice, fresh headshot (not the gaming kind, of course…):

It’ll do.

I’m my own worst critic.

*eyeroll*

Then we came upon these dudes…mates…

“Dude. You took a photo of ducks?!?!”

Yes. It’s important. Shane proposed to me a mere three weeks after finding out about my devastating disease diagnosis. We were there to attend a walk to raise awareness for said disease.

TODAY IS OUR FIRST YEAR ANNIVERSARY!

(more on that, later…)

ON………TO………..THE WALK!!!!!!!

“Team SpoonieVille” assembled!! A handful in presence, a ton in spirit! If ever I start to feel lonely in my journey of managing the cosmos under the pressure of a chronic illness…I look at the messages and comments and donations and I know that I am most assuredly NOT alone.

I like to dress up a lil’ bit (which also originated by my issuing a dare for donations in order to wear a corset!) and my friends didn’t disappoint! Spoons and butterflies and ROGUE and a wee lil’ Superman…and, of course, my knight in shining armour!

(okay, bonus kudos to my husband who wore his hand-crafted chain maille shirt and coif in eleventy-billion degree heat with a black shirt underneath…I love him dearly…he…is…awesome)

Here he is!

We had people taking our photographs all afternoon!!

M’thinks that next year’s Walk is going to be just as epic…if you’re up for joining our badass team…you can play dress-up. Cosplay is TOTALLY welcome!! Can you even imagine?!?

“Why? Why did you guys dress up?”

It stems from this belief held by some people that I am some kind of SuperHero. *shrug* Apparently, I have inspired people with all that I do and with all that I have. So, I’d made myself a cape to wear last year. Y’know…try to find some humour in something I’m just doing to “keep on keepin’ on…”

I wore the WonderWoman supersocks because… well… have you ever seen this meme?

*shifty eyes*

Just sayin’, is all.

THEN…I got a surprise that brought a lil’ leakage from my ocular orbs…KATE & JOSH!! See, Josh is from Scotland…and is visiting my beautiful friend here in Ottawa for a couple of weeks…and they took time from “their” time to come out for the walk!!!!!!!! *SUPERSQUEEEEEEEEEE*!!!

*superspazzyhappydance* for friends of awesomeness all ’round!!

Allons-y!!!!!!!!!!!

And that was the day…in a nutshell.

Before the walk started, we took a moment of silence to remember those who we’ve lost. Shanty, Rhian…you were there. I could feel your whispers on the breeze that touched my cheeks…and I walked for you, too…

…because I can. xoxo

…never mind. Day’s not over yet. Just in case.

*shifty eyes*

Suffice it to say, I’ve found it ironic to be posting about a concept wherein you take a moment to appreciate the otherwise “unnoticed” and, even moreso, on a less-than-stellar day…when I’m having a total bollocks of a day.

It’s called The #gladitude project.

Today is a beautiful day. Let’s just leave it at that, k?

Last Friday’s #gladitude post was chock full’o'commentary by people who had taken the time to appreciate the otherwise overlooked.

Because they were submitted as commentary on the post, I shall direct you to have a good read of them HERE.

Laurie is quickly becoming a poster child for #gladitude. It is well appreciated and helps spread the love! My fave was reading about scoring a Norman Knott print at a thrift store for $10!!! HUZZAH!!!

Marie is strongly finding the appreciation to not overlook the opportunities that present themselves with respect to family. I *get* family. I *get* the “busy.” I *get* the #gladitude.

Michele popped in for a few of her own, which thrilled me to no end!! Then, it got better to read this part: “Getting a diagnosis and a medicine I think is going to work for me!” Also taking the time to find the #gladitude with respect to friends and family. LOVE.

Me?

Oh, yes. Very MUCH, yes.

My three gingers and two daycare girls.

(You didn’t know I was a childcare provider?!? Well, schinit…I should’a told you to sit down and get ready for THIS dandy!!! Bat-shit crazy. True story.)

I got me a POSTER!!

Honestly, if you have children in daycare…go hug your provider. A BIG ONE. I’ve been on both sides of the coin now, and I can tell you this: Go hug your provider. (o.O)

With every treat I bake…with every craft we make…I’ll have care for you.

It’s absolutely uber-super-duper-FRABJOUS to get something like this instead of an eyeroll, a snark or a lip.

What else?

Tomorrow is the Ottawa-Gatineau Walk for Lupus!!!!

Although, my heart’s a little heavy at the missing people I wish so badly could be there.

One, in particular, is my friend, Christine. See, she had a hip replacement awhile back, and it was a total asshat and hadn’t been healing well. This put a crimp in the plans to attend the Walk. A BIG crimp. Well, last year she and another friend, Myst, had a wheelchair joust. With pool noodle lances. It was EPIC.

So, today I got out the glue gun and the feathers and the butterflies and made a tribute lance to carry at tomorrow’s Walk.

Why is that necessarily a #gladitude???

Well, because I can.

I also learned something today…something important to remember in all of your crafting endeavours:

1) There are two different temperatures glue guns out there in your local crafting department.

2) I, as an addict to glue guns, should really identify each glue gun I own as to being of “low” or “high” temperature.

3) Getting hot glue on your fingers from a low temperature glue gun will result in the following:

“Shut the front door!!!” and “Buggernackles!!” and “Dagnammit all to h-e-double hockey sticks!!!!”

4) Getting hot glue on your fingers from a high temperature glue gun will result in the following:

“SWEET MOTHER OF ALL THINGS HOLY WHAT THE #$%#$%#!?!?!?!”

5) I will select the low temperature glue gun from now on.

True story.

Go find your #gladitude today and over the week ahead…tell me what it is…let’s spread the ability to find the otherwise unnoticed that bring a little more “HUZZAH” into our days…

Let’s see:

7 weeks

- 13.8 pounds

-19.5 inches

Blood glucose: I’ve had most numbers hovering around 5.1 mmol/L. I haven’t had numbers like that since I was shooting up injecting insulin four times a day when I was pregnant with the twins.

Sugars are still higher in the morning, and I’m okay with that now. After taking the diabetes education sessions through the City of Ottawa (free!!), I understand that as a diabetic, my pancreas is only half-functioning, and my liver kicks into overdrive overnight. It is NOT a reflection of anything that I do, or do not do.

I also understand that my numbers, as a diabetic, are going to be different that the numbers for a non-diabetic. I get that now.

“You can’t possibly have lost a total of 19.5 inches, you’ve only lost 13.8 pounds.”

Here’s the thing. I’m not eating the way I do (palaeolithic) and sitting on the couch watching documentaries (got ya there, didn ‘t I!).

I’m at the gym.

I’m at the gym improving my cardio and doing weight training.

*always check with your doctor to make sure exercise is right for you! Just like my S’mores box last summer indicated “campfire not included”…it just has to be said.*

Meaning…I’m building muscle. Lean muscle.

(and please…enough of the “muscle weighs more than fat!”…really? A pound of fat and a pound of muscle both equal a pound…I think you mean it “looks” different…like, as in how much room it takes up!)

“Oh, I can’t go to the gym because I have too much pain.”

(O.O)

Here’s where I gently encourage you to reword your statement to:

“I don’t want to go to the gym.”

It’s a choice.

Pain? DUDE. I’m right smack in a lupus/fibro flare that feels like I’ve been bitten by the hounds-of-hell. I’m not a martyr…I loathe going to the gym feeling like this with every fibre of my essence.

I’ve got abdominal swelling from failing kidneys.

I’ve had a heart attack and I’m afraid I’ll keel over on the elliptical. Every. Time.

My muscles and joints burn so bad my husband holds me while I shake and cry.

I’m RIGHT THERE with you. Ain’t no purple painted ponies pooping butterflies jacked up on SugarSmacks o’er here, eh?

You know that moving a little bit is better than not moving at all. Arm raises while seated…add in a couple of soup cans for resistance. Leg lifts while seated. Get those long muscles working, which will also metabolize your blood glucose better.

Google: “Chair Yoga.”

There are Youtube videos, too!

Can you promise to move just a little bit? 5 minutes? Today?

Let me know…I want to give you the kudos you deserve!!

I BELIEVE IN YOU.