dealing (with the unwelcome return of what damn near killed me)

what can I say?

I was out to dinner with a friend recently and we were talking about some intense life stuff, you know, family, marriage, kids, war, politics. I got pretty emotional when I attempted to respond to her question of "how are you feeling these days?"--more emotional than I had anticipated, but hey, I'm the queen of shoving my deepest fears and pain into a box and taping it shut, only to be opened by some really talented therapist or my mother, who likes to get into my shit and throw it all over the place. I found myself crying in the restaurant, which is never fun, especially when you're drinking a yummy pint like a Stone Pale. ANYWAY, what struck me in those moments was just how RAW I still am when it comes to reflecting on this past year. Mind you, this time last year I was really sick. I wasn't walking well (let alone driving), wasn't working well (let alone meeting deadlines), and I was pretty despondent. I mostly sat immobile on the couch, or, if I was lucky and it wasn't too hot out, in a plastic adirondack chair in the backyard. Eventually I stopped going in the backyard because it depressed me so much to not be able to work in the garden. Ugh.

My point is this: I probably gained 10-15 lbs this past year. Sedentary life does not lend itself to weight loss, unless, of course, you're a meth addict or eating like a bird. As much as I tried to curtail my eating, there were definitely splurges, like the one time I bought three (!!) pints of ice cream (for the variety) and ate them all in one week. Thank goodness that was ONE time. Thank goodness I don't have a soft spot for ice cream. I didn't cook for months, which, if you know me, is like taking away a car from a NASCAR driver (rough approximation). Cooking is one of my primary outlets for relaxation, and I couldn't even stand at the stove long enough to poach an egg. S., my love, cooked for me when she wasn't so tired from trying to hold everything together that she could actually find the energy to boil water, but I'd say at least 2x a week we ate take out. Not good for the waist line. But when you're that sick, you don't care. I didn't care about food, I didn't care about weight, I just couldn't even think about it. If I beat myself up any more, there wasn't going to be anything left when I came out the other side of this horrendous condition.

And come out the other side I did, more than six months after the initial symptoms put me flat on my back, and though the recovery was slow, I was feeling pretty close to normal until about three weeks ago, when I felt nausea and dizziness and thought I might be getting the flu...but no, the feeling was oddly familiar (funny how the mind forgets) and soon I realized that it was the VN again. Since then, I've felt it a few times, and I can't turn my head fast or I'll fall over, and my balance isn't the greatest. If I get overtired or too hungry, the "living on a flotilla" feeling comes back, though not nearly as intensely as it once was. So right now, I'm trying to live with the fact that this condition is still with me, and might very well keep popping up like some long lost relatives that find you no matter how far you move away from them or how many times you change your phone number. The very essence of my being, my life force and all that drives it, is undermined by this condition. And on top of it all, like a huge stinkin' cherry, is the fact that VN limits my ability to be as active as I want to be, and it reminds me over and over just how fat I am and just how long it's going to take to lose this weight. Again.

So when I was with my friend in the restaurant, I intimated that if the VN comes back in full force, I'm gonna lose it. 15 more lbs on this frame and I'll be thanking Antonin Scalia for the first time in my life, because the Second Amendment is intact, and I can buy a gun! I will not live out my days as a fat person. I can't face that future, and I won't.