Thursday, December 26, 2013

marginalized (rant, off topic a bit)

First off, every time I get a comment that says "wow your weight really overshadows your life, that's all you focus on" I have to laugh, because that's the POINT of this blog, to address weight-related issues. You don't care about me shopping with my friend. Or my cat being sick. (well, you might care about the cat) Or what books I read this week. Or what books I wrote. This blog is about MY FAT LIFE and thus that's what 99% of the posts are about. So please, don't come to a blog that focuses on ONE ASPECT of someone's life and then say that's all the person thinks about. If it was, I'd post on here all day every day instead of once in a while.


But this is one of those rare posts that really isn't about being fat, although it touches on that. It's about how I am being marginalized and belittled and shoved aside and scapegoated and how frustrated I am. 
I know I am not the sanest person on the planet and I've never claimed to be.  I'm a weird duck if ever there was one.  I have sensory perception disorder (aka sensory integration disorder), I'm a supertaster, I have synesthesia (all those things I was born with) and an eating disorder and a bit of OCD (which I think are both related to the SPD but perhaps that's making an excuse).  In fact most people who have SPD are autistic.  I'm an oddity there, in that I am not, or if I am, I'm so low on the scale as to be non-detectable.
People tend to think, for some reason, that if I am set on a course of action, that it's optional.  My wishes don't seem to be important.   There are two ways that things can go.
I want to do X.  Someone else wants to do Y.  If I genuinely don't care, I will say, "Well I want to do X, but if you want to do Y, fine, we'll do that."
But if there is a reason behind my desire to do X, I'm going to dig in my heels. And that's where I become optional and marginalized.
My husband's family always wants to go out to eat on a Saturday night.  I suggest lunch.  It's often cheaper, and usually much less crowded.  On Saturday night about 6 p.m. the wait for just about any restaurant is an hour or more.  But they are obdurate and pick the evening and when we get the to the restaurant the wait is 2 hours and then my mother in law is freaking out (more on her later) because she can't deal with anything and if I point out that lunch would have been a better choice, I'm told I never said that.  
If I want to do something a certain way or at a certain time, there is a reason.  It's not "Rosie being OCD and needing her own selfish way in everything" and when I'm overridden by others, I'm always proven right. 
Always.
And my rightness is always denied in some fashion.
It makes me quite crazy.


You probably know that my husband's mother isn't well.   She was mentally ill to begin with and now she's had a bunch of strokes and well, the result isn't pretty.  And the already toxic relationship she has with her children has pretty much gone nuclear, if that's not too much of a mixed metaphor.  
So the other day my husband says that we're all going to the movies Christmas night to see Desolation of Smaug (which is over 3 hours long and we already saw it).  I point out that it's full price, which I hate paying.  And that it will be mobbed.
"No it won't, who goes to the movies Christmas Day?"
Then he wants to pick his mother up a scant 30 minutes before the movie starts.  It takes her at least 10 minutes to get out of her house and into the car and the same in reverse and it's 10 minutes to the theater.  I suggested that I go early and stake out seats where I can put my feet up so my ankles don't swell and hurt (lymph edema + gravity = pain).  But no, we have to go AS A FAMILY.  (except for his sister of course, who didn't show up or call to say she wasn't coming but that's okay because it's her and not me)
We get to the movies at the time he was going to pick her up and the place is mobbed.  Lines for tickets and popcorn out the door.  Husband pretends amazement, oh this wasn't an original idea?  You mean, LIKE I TOLD YOU? 
Sigh.
I'm waiting in line for popcorn (it was my dinner or I would have skipped it).  I'm in terror that MIL will eat some and vomit in the theater.  (She vomits almost every time she eats, long story.)  They get the tickets, I'm still in Popcorn Line Hell, and I say to my husband, please get me a seat where I can put my feet on the railing so they don't swell and hurt me, and there is no one on either side of me (because I have people claustrophobia, which he knows very well).
I get into the theater and he's parked his MOTHER in the coveted railing spot (depending on the specific screen layout, only about 6 seats have the railing) and I'm stuck between him and some stranger.  So for 4 hours I have to be hunched in so a stranger doesn't touch me with my feet down and swelling.
I was upset.  It would have been one thing if the railing area was already filled when he got there, but it wasn't.  I reiterated that I really needed the railing or I'd be in pain.  He got mad at me and wouldn't rearrange the seating and so I had to sit between him and a stranger, no empty buffer seats between us, feet down.
He's murmuring to his mother: what's wrong?  Do you want to go home?  and I'm thinking WHAT?  You forced me to come out tonight when I didn't want to come and spent all this money on full priced tickets and popcorn and drinks and now we're leaving before the movie starts?  No fucking way. 
She's CRYING (during the stupid PowerPoint commercials before the movie) that she misses her grandmother and I made her sit in the back seat in the car and I'm mean and her daughter didn't want a Christmas gift and now she's not even here and who knows what else.
She continues to sob away during the previews and the start of the movie with my husband constantly reassuring her and offering to take her home. 
Meanwhile someone has sat in the seats right in front of me so I can't even put my feet up on their armrests ,and I can feel the fluid slowly trickling down into my ankles and staying there.
And then people come in with infants and toddlers.  To a movie that ends at 11 p.m. and is not rated G.  Of course the children all cried and fussed and made noise through the whole movie.  One kid was carried out screaming NO NO NO.  
Good times.
The movie was enjoyable (it wasn't that I didn't want to see it again, it was that I didn't want to see it again at full price in a crowd) and at the end we had to sit there while my husband explained the whole movie to his mother (she saw the first one with us last year but said she didn't) and she kept asking how it connected to Harry Potter and which ones were the Harry Potter people?  And how confusing the movie was and how she didn't understand it at all.
After we finally dropped her off I asked my husband why she was crying and he said, "because you ruined Christmas."
Yes, Rosie ruined Christmas.  I made her sit in the back seat and I'm mean to her and mean to her precious son and I totally absolutely ruined Christmas and it's all my fault.  And of course my husband agreed with her and didn't defend me and got angry with me when I tried to defend myself to him.
My best friend is out of town for the holiday but she texted me to ask me how much my MIL threw up at the holiday meal (she didn't because she didn't eat but she managed 5 times at Thanksgiving which might be a record) and I told her about the crying and how it was all my fault and the holiday was ruined and she responded "wow, they will do anything to make you the scapegoat" and she's right.
And I'm tired of it.  And if I complain, I'm wrong.  Everything I do is selfish in their eyes.  I sit in the front seat, I'm selfish.  I need to put my feet up, I'm selfish.  I am confused by her conversation that mixes up Star Wars and Star Trek and makes no sense, I'm rude and mean to question her.  I don't want to go with them, I'm selfish. 
I can't win.  I really can't.  I am emotionally drained.
Oh, and when I woke up this morning I could barely walk I was in such pain.  I asked my husband's help in switching the cars in the driveway (he had to go over his mother's, imagine that) because I was limping so bad and he had the NERVE to say, "why are you limping, what's wrong with your legs?"  I wanted to smack him.  I didn't.  I said, calmly, "I didn't get to put my feet up last night and my legs are very swollen and painful" you know, just like what I said would happen.  Which is the story of my life lately.
 end rant 
image source

If you are reading this ANYWHERE but on itsafatlife.blogspot.com, it's stolen; please let me know. wholelottarosieyoung at yahoo dot com. Thank you.
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Wednesday, October 30, 2013

FML, or Rosie is now optional

Do you know what FML means? It means FUCK MY LIFE.
I've previously written about problems with my husband's family and how badly they treat me  (here,  and here) and now it's come to a head.
In case you don't want to go back and read those two old posts (I did, and I wanted to SCREAM at how right I've been for 2 years), here's a quick recap.
Two years ago my mother in law fainted at work.  She was rushed to Yale New Haven hospital where they said it was high blood pressure and sent her home with medicine.  Somehow she got it in her head that she couldn't have stress or drive so she decided to take some time off from work.  FOUR MONTHS OFF, then return to work for 3 months and retire.  Surprisingly, her workplace didn't think that was a fabulous plan and they fired her.
MIL is a hoarder, full of self-pity, who acts at all times like a greedy spoiled child, complete with whining.  Her life is "my husband died and left me pregnant with two toddlers!"  yes, 40+ years ago, get over it.
Shortly after the fainting incident, the vomiting started.  Whenever she ate, she'd start to hiccup, and then she'd puke everywhere.  And then sit in the puke and make no attempt to clean herself up, allowing people to scurry around her like vomit-roombas scooping it up.  Even in a restaurant she'd do this.
She doesn't bathe or brush her teeth or change her clothes very often.  Enough said about that--you all know my sensitive nose.
She started having temper tantrums in which she would smash her cell phone, house phone, computer because they "don't work."  This meant no one could reach her, setting off the 4-alarm alert for ME to rush over there, but because it was me she wouldn't answer the door (she doesn't like me and never has) meaning someone else has to go anyway to see if she's dead or just having a tantrum.  Always the latter.
The next spring, she lost her glasses and made my husband buy her a bunch of drugstore "cheaters" but they didn't work so she went to the eye doctor for new prescription ones.  The eye doc gave her a full exam and said she had cataracts that needed removal.  She literally went into the eye doctor saying "hey, I lost my glasses, I need new ones" and left saying "I'm blind, help me."  The surgery, according to the eye docs, was perfect and so was her vision after but she was still "blind" and continued to be so for the next year and a half, also smashing phones and vomiting, as well as not bathing, living in a hoarded house, etc and needing her family (ie, my husband) to wait on her hand and foot.  She refused to see a better doctor who might actually diagnose any of this and her family refused to force her to see one because that's "mean" and they didn't want to be "mean to their mother like Rosie was to her father" (you know, taking my dad who had dementia to the doctor even when he didn't want to go).
Every time I tried to put forth an opinion about her condition, I was shot down by my husband and his sister, that my opinion wasn't wanted or needed, basically STFU and GTFO.   (you can look those up another time)
A little over a month ago, his mom had a stroke.  She was brought first to an emergency clinic and the clinic sent her via ambulance to the hospital (not Yale this time).  And lo and behold, her brain scan showed that she had multiple old stroke-related damage.  Going back two years perhaps?  Hmm.  Oh, her visual cortex, where I said I thought she might have a tumor? Stroke damage.  Vomiting?  Stroke damage.
She was sent into a rehab facility and the family told she had up to 100 days of therapy allowed by Medicare.  Apparently they thought that meant they could do nothing for 100 days.  Again, Rosie spoke up and said "up to 100 days could mean 10 days."  "Oh no, that's not true."  Family (not me) also decided that the various therapists said she would make a "full recovery" even from the 2-year old damage.  When I said I didn't agree, I was reprimanded. 
The one thing the family did agree to do was to clean out the hoard (I shudder) and sell the house as-is once empty (which is going on currently).  I was not allowed to help clean (yay--one ray of light in this clusterfuck, to mix a metaphor badly).
So my husband's brother is living at our house (he's from California now).  Somehow this translates to my husband paying for all his meals.  Plus he does laundry here, showers, watches our Netflix account far into the night, etc.  Did I mention that he married that girl who treated me so badly a couple of years ago and then wanted me to care for her cats? Yeah.
Our house, in the middle of our street, is a very small house.  It's 900 SF.  (fine for 2 people and assorted critters)  No dining room.  One decent bedroom where we sleep, one tiny one where we have all our books and store things, one bathroom.  BIL is living on the couch downstairs (bedrooms are both upstairs) and also downstairs is our office, which we share, and which is also the pets' space.  The basement is gross, not usable for living space. Three people is really cramped even though BIL isn't here all day, he's at the hoard cleaning it up--his bags are in the living room and kitchen and he's camped out on the couch so no one else can sit there during the day without having to move all his stuff.
Last week, there was a meeting at the nursing home and they told the family that she was being sent home that week and they freaked out because there was no where for her to go.  House being sold, no alternate place available. I did some research on senior housing (although she really needs assisted living) but it was ignored because it was from me, after all.  My husband's sister lives 15 miles away in a large ranch house with 3 or 4 bedrooms and a full walk-out basement that is partitioned into rooms.  She said she was willing to turn the basement into an in-law apartment with space for a caregiver if needed.  I thought that was a good idea and even put forth that she should take all the money to do so out of the sale of the house, only fair.  Even if she does hate me.
They were able to get a stay of leaving on the mom going home (until this Friday--tomorrow night she is officially done, kicked out Friday a.m.).  Of course they have found zero housing for her and honestly don't seem to be trying.  SIL has made no effort to look into the remodeling.  She said her husband was willing to host the mother for a limited time (such as, if she had a definite place to go on a certain date) in one of their many bedrooms.  So I felt safe.
Stupid Rosie.
The other night I was upstairs reading.  Husband and BIL were on speaker phone with sister about where MIL is going on Friday.  I was shocked, horrified, aghast to hear my husband not only say he was taking over the house cleaning 100% once his brother left next week, but that he was moving the mother here.  On Friday.  "We'll get rid of Rosie's crap," he said.  
I screamed from upstairs, NO!!!!  but the conversation continued unabated.  I sat in the bed crying into my book, in utter disbelief that everything had gone so wrong so quickly.
Did he really just agree to move his invalid mother into the house for me to care for (he works 14-16 hours a day, remember, including his hour+ commute each way)?  His vomiting, blind, unable to walk without a walker, barely able to talk, not able to operate a phone or microwave oven or remote control, in her diapers and filthy clothes and unwashed body and black teeth mother WITHOUT EVEN ASKING ME?  
That did not just happen.
It did.
The therapists said she can't get any better, the damage is too severe.  She cannot live alone.  She needs a caregiver.  Which is not going to be me, fuck no, I JUST did 10 years with my dad and my grandma and before that as a teenager with my great-grandma, I've done my share for now.
Therefore, on Friday, in this 900 SF house with effectively 1.5 bedrooms there will be me, husband, brother, invalid mother and presumably whoever they hire to care for her.  Plus, you know, all the pets.  My belongings are optional in the house, and I'm guessing I am too.
My house, that I bought before I got married, in my own name (now in both names, but still.  Mine first.)
I was ready to just take the portable animals (fish tanks I'd have to leave behind) and move back in with my mom.  She was less than thrilled, as you can imagine.  And then she talked to a lawyer friend, who said if I did that, my husband could say I abandoned him and divorce me and keep my house and give me no money for alimony.  If I sleep there once in while, I guess that can't happen.
I'm guessing his family is putting me saying a resounding NO THAT FILTHY WOMAN CANNOT LIVE IN MY  HOUSE down in the "horrible selfish things Rosie has done" column.
Fine by me.


If you are reading this ANYWHERE but on itsafatlife.blogspot.com, it's stolen; please let me know. wholelottarosieyoung at yahoo dot com. Thank you.
more Rosie news at http://www.facebook.com/ItsAFatLife

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

I can hear you, & teaching kids how to think (a 2-parter)

Apparently I'm a mean and rude lady. You might have known that already.
I changed my pool schedule starting this week.  I'm going on Monday and Friday 7-8:50 (110 minutes) and Wednesday 9:45-12:05 (140 minutes) for a total of 360 minutes a week (~36 miles, 6 hours of pool running).  My long-running Wednesday business lunch is now on Thursday so this should work out well, I get some extra workout time.
After over 2 hours of being in the pool, I really really have to pee.  And I know there are swimming lessons in the other side of the pool and babies in "swim diapers" (what a scam) are freely urinating and defecating into the water I'm running in but I cannot bring myself to pee in the pool.
So when I get out I make a beeline for the stalls, rip off my cold wet bathing suit, hang a towel over the gap between door and wall, and pee like the proverbial racehorse.  And because I have Habba syndrome, that usually kicks in too, so I'm in there for a bit before I can get dressed and leave.
I hang the towel over the gap because more than once, I've had people (adults and children) LOOK deliberately through the crack (like put their eye up to it) and COMMENT about my presence on the toilet.  (One person suggested that I wait until I get home to use the toilet.)  I can't imagine why anyone would do that, but they do.
Here is the scene today at about 12:10:  I'm on the toilet just finishing up.  Someone comes in with a child.  The child comes to the stall.  Sticks fingers into the gap, is shaking the door and trying to see in.  (Ah, now the towel makes sense.)  I say, in a calm voice, not shouting, the same way I would say to an adult, "Excuse me, I'm in here."  Because the TOWEL BLOCKING THE DOOR should have told you that, idiot.  The one you had to MOVE ASIDE to get to the gap you're prying at.
Immediately whining starts.  The mother says, very loudly "No you weren't wrong.  How could you have known someone was in there?"  Um, THE FUCKING TOWEL?  Then she brings the child to another stall.  The kid is still whining (I can't understand kid whine, it's just an annoying endless noise with no words to me) about something.  Evidently she didn't use the toilet. The mother says, again loudly, "Well of COURSE you are SCARED since that RUDE lady was so MEAN to you."
I'm 2 feet away in the next stall, thinking, I CAN HEAR YOU, YOU PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE BITCH.  And oh, I wanted to say it.  But I'm always afraid one of these helicopter moms will complain about me to the management and I'll be the one kicked out for saying "hey I'm in this stall" instead of them for going off on me for saying that.  Am I supposed to invite your kid in to sit on my lap and piss between my legs?  WTF. 
Once again I did something that seemed reasonable and logical at the time and I'm branded as one of the worse people on the planet.  Osama Bin Laden himself wouldn't have been so needlessly cruel to that child, I'm sure.

Here's something I witnessed the other day. I told my friend about it and she was horrified as well.
I was eating my lunch in a restaurant, reading my Kindle, and having a FB chat with a friend at the same time. A family came in, grandparents, baby, older toddler (4? 5? I'm bad with kid ages).  Another family came in, young parents, infant about the same age as the one with grandparents.  They sit right across the aisle from me; the grandparents are behind them so both tables are close enough for me to hear everything.
The young parents put the child in some kind of seat right there on the bench with them and the kid never made a peep.  They ate quietly, probably fed the kid something it enjoyed (couldn't tell if it was boy or girl).  It was nice sitting next to them and if I'd had an extra coupon I would have given it to them.
The grandparents, OMG.  They fuss and fuss over the high chair, the baby didn't fit properly in the high chair.  The grandmother constantly talked very loudly in baby talk to the baby and the toddler.  She told the toddler that she could not be expected to sit quietly playing with the crayons the waitress had given her and demanded, "Grandpa go and get the ipad from the car, you know she can't just sit here and color!"  So grandpa goes to get the ipad.  (I felt a little bad for grandpa to tell you the truth. I don't think I ever heard him speak.)  While grandpa is understandably taking his sweet ol' time coming back with the ipad, the grandmother is reiterating how the toddler can't be expected to sit quietly with the crayons.  She didn't give the girl a chance to use the crayons or see if she liked to color, just told her she was incapable.
The baby fussed a bit in a normal not screaming baby way.  The grandmother started handing it random things which the kid would then throw onto the floor.  Just in time for Grandpa to come back with the requested ipad, and she demanded that grandpa pick all this stuff up.  The grandma then accosted my waitress (who wasn't hers) and demanded (the only way this woman could speak was in imperatives--you do this!) that my waitress bring crackers for the baby because he would just "fuss and fuss" until he had something to eat and he was used to crackers.
I think by this point I had forgotten I was reading and I was watching these people like TV and describing it to my friend on FB chat.  First off, if the baby is so addicted to crackers and you know he wants crackers why don't you carry some crackers with you?  Second, why are you teaching this child to gorge itself with empty carbs before every meal?  
Meanwhile the other couple and their baby are having a reasonably quiet family meal.  It was such a contrast.
My waitress goes back to taking care of me and her other tables.  The grandma goes after her again, the same story, crying baby must have crackers now.  The whole time the baby is throwing things, mostly keys, onto the floor and poor grandpa has to keep retrieving them because clearly his job is fetcher of items.  The toddler now is whining about something on the ipad, she wants to download new games and she can't.  (The restaurant actually does has wifi and if it had been the nice couple I would have pointed that out but I kept silent.)  So the kid was quiet when she had the crayons and coloring place mat (when her grandmother said she couldn't be quiet) and once she had the ipad to "quiet her down" she started to whine and cry.  Good plan, grandma. 
My waitress brings the crackers, probably in self-defense.  The grandma starts stuffing them into the baby.  That's one way to shut it up, I suppose.
My food comes and I concentrate on eating and reading.  Since I don't have a lot of food, I finish quickly and notice that the young couple has already left, so quietly I didn't notice.
Grandma has spread a napkin in front of the baby.  She is feeding him...wait for it...french fries and mozzarella sticks.  To an INFANT.  That she has already stuffed 3-4 saltines into.  The baby is crying, it obviously wants no part of the fries and cheese but the grandma insists. She says that thing that makes me want to cry. "If you don't eat all your french fries you can't have ice cream."  As I am eating my own ice cream (because I am already a fat ass, wtf does it matter) I watch the grandmother systematically jam fried potatoes and fried cheese into this baby's mouth and seriously I wanted to cry. 
I love fried potatoes.  I love fried cheese.  And look at me, what I weigh.  It's not appropriate to give those foods to an infant in a high chair.  Maybe one bite of each but not as a whole meal.  Remembering it, I am so sad.  I have seen this scene before, parents who make kids finish unhealthy food in large quantities and reward them with dessert.  Why are children fat? I can't imagine.
As I was leaving the grandmother was spooning ice cream into the baby and the little girl was also eating some, quiet at last, the ipad forgotten beside her crayons.

I lumped these stories together because they both are cases of the (grand)parent telling the kid what to think (instead of letting the child learn).  The first mother told her kid it was okay to try to break into an occupied bathroom stall and that I was mean to say anything different.  The grandmother told the toddler that she didn't want to play with crayons (whether she did or not seemed immaterial to the grandma) and that the ipad was a better play choice.  (It's not.  And not because it's an i-thing, but because it's a consumption device, not a creative device.)  She told the baby (via her actions) that it needed to be stuffed with carbs and salt before eating more carbs (with fat) and that it would be rewarded with carbs/sugar for doing so.  And that it was okay to throw keys at grandpa.
It's not that I hate all children.  The young couple and their baby, I had no problems with.  Quite often I see people like that.  But much more often it's more like the eat-all-your-unhealthy-food grandma or helicopter moms at the pool.  No matter what their child does wrong, the child is an ANGEL and anyone who says different is HORRIBLE and MEAN.
Horrible, mean Rosie, over and out.

If you are reading this ANYWHERE but on itsafatlife.blogspot.com, it's stolen; please let me know. wholelottarosieyoung at yahoo dot com. Thank you.
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Thursday, September 19, 2013

You got birthday cake in my M&Ms...in my everything!

Why does everything have to be BIRTHDAY CAKE flavored lately?  M&Ms are jumping onto the cake wagon now.
I don't want my M&Ms to be cake flavored.  If I want M&Ms I will eat some.  If I want cake, I will eat cake.  If I want cake and M&Ms together I will put M&Ms in my cake or in the frosting.  I do not want to put the cake into the M&Ms.  Yet that is exactly what M&M/Mars is going to do in May.
This is just another thing in a long line of useless, cake scented/flavored products.
I've tasted different (birthday) cake ice cream brands, it just tastes like super sweet white cake and usually has pastel dots in it.  Sometimes it's just called "cake batter" ice cream, but unlike cookie dough it's not hunks of cake in ice cream, it's cake flavored ice cream.  I've tried the brownie batter version (hunks of half-cooked brownies in chocolate ice cream) and it was way too sweet.  And now I realized I've come up with a new thing, someone will put chunks of white cake (with god-awful rainbow pastel sprinkles no doubt) into vanilla ice cream--or maybe the vanilla ice cream will also have the sprinkles.  Like FunFetti cake mix/frosting combos, which is like a weird birthday cake flavored cake thing.
I want chocolate frosting on my white cake, not white frosting and rainbow sprinkles (which, face it, are just pretty bits of pure sugar mixed with wax)!  Now I have to put chocolate frosting on my cake-flavored ice cream to get the right effect.  I don't want to do that.  I've done it.  It's not that great.
And why exactly have I put chocolate frosting on my ice cream?  It was a joke.  My friends were over having dinner outside on the deck with us and we had ice cream for dessert.  One friend said, "What do you have to put on this ice cream?" and I started throwing out lists of mostly inappropriate foods, one of which was chocolate frosting.  My friends then demanded the frosting, and we put it on our ice cream instead of hot fudge and it was only okay.  But now it's a running joke with them as if they think I always eat frosting and ice cream together.
This isn't even all the crazy flavors this brand has!
We can add to this weirdness cake flavored Pinnacle vodka.  Don't get me wrong, I love their chocolate whipped cream vodka (and why, must I ask, does it even exist?), but cake vodka is just weird.  People put whipped cream into drinks so I can understand making alcohol that already tastes like whipped cream (or even chocolate whipped cream) but who pairs birthday cake with alcohol?  (Maybe someone like me who doesn't care for children and being at a kid's birthday party would drive me to drink...)
There are cake and birthday cake scented candles.  Food candles always just make me hungry.  Yankee Candle has some kind of magical machine that can make their candles smell exactly like food and I do not approve at all. (Although I do smell them whenever I'm near a store; then I go buy one of those giant 1,000 calorie cookies someone is always wisely selling nearby--I bet Yankee Candle also owns the 1,000 Calorie Cookie Concession Stand in the mall.)  Their non-food scents, eh, they usually smell like random chemicals to me and I have long haired cats with fuzzy flammable tails so no candles for me anyway.
Cake-flavored lip gloss was probably around when I was a teenager.  Those Bonne Belle things (do they even make them anymore?) came in all kinds of flavors; my mom would buy me a mixed tube for a birthday or holiday gift and I'd use each flavor a time or two and lose them.
And birthday cake Oreos, why are those even a thing?  Why not just eat cake? The cookies sound vile.  I think there might be cake or birthday cake Pop Tarts, again, EAT SOME CAKE.  Grocery stores have single serving cakes (basically an overblown cupcake) for a couple of dollars, eat the real, fresh thing.
I don't understand why all of a sudden, cake is the go-to flavoring.  White cake with no frosting (or with white frosting) just tastes like sugar, all sweetness, no substance.  It's like they want to capture the blandest sweetest part of childhood...in vodka?  really?  Lipgloss?  Candles?  Breakfast tarts?
Now, if M&Ms were to make a chocolate frosting M&M, I'd be all over that.  Then again, I could buy a tub of chocolate frosting and just mix M&Ms into it.  And put it on vanilla cake and call it good.

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Thursday, August 29, 2013

I'm beginning to hate food and I'm swearing about it, plus therapy idiots

I don't get pleasure out of food anymore. I just eat food I don't hate that doesn't make me want to puke from the smell. I don't feel like "oh this is so delicious" I just shovel it in because I have to eat and because it's been more than 4 hours or so since I last ate food (although the doctor I was seeing a year ago said TWO hours which is ridiculous).
There is nothing I want.
There is nothing I crave. (Except to not have to clean the kitchen and do the dishes.)
There is nothing I enjoy.
The best I can summon is "I don't hate this and I don't have to drive to far to eat it and I have a coupon."
Right now I am thinking that I finished lunch around 1 p.m. and it's almost 5 and that means I have to go on the prowl for more food I don't want, or eat some crackers or something at home (dirtying things that I have to wash).  And I can't just eat the fucking crackers because then I go into guilt spasms OH MY GOD CARBS because I've been so fucking mind-fucked by diet doctors.
I have a knee-jerk reaction to being told by someone else what I can and can't eat and that's clearly related to a lifetime of having food neophobia/selective eating disorder and having my food intake already tightly regulated on a daily basis.  If I decide I can't eat something, that's on me (or my crazy brain) but don't YOU come along and tell me I can't eat something that has a hard-won place on my "okay" list.  All you do is narrow my world even more and piss me off.  And don't turn around and say "well you can eat all you like of these foods" which are on my "I don't eat" list.  Because then I want to punch your smug face.  
So the very few foods I did enjoy once, so very few, have been rendered "evil" by having carbs or fat in them.  And those foods now have fear and guilt and shame attached.
I need to eat something (I don't want to).  I don't feel hunger, particularly, unless it's been like 18 hours since I last ate (9x too long!  OMG!  And now you will binge on carbs!  You can't starve yourself like that!).  So here is what I do:
  1. I select a restaurant somewhat nearby with food I don't hate and a coupon in hand.  
  2. I stare at the menu, the few things I like, maybe 4, probably more like 2.  
  3. Should I eat that? No, it's fried.  
  4. Should I eat that?  No it's got bread.  
  5. Should I eat that?  No, it's got sugar.   
  6. Okay now I am out of things on the menu that I will eat.   
  7. So fuck it, give me fried bread and put sugar on it.  (At the church fairs when I was a kid, we called that Fried Dough with Powdered Sugar. Although I always liked the fried dough pizza better, with sauce and cheese instead of sugar.)
Food, and any pleasure I once had in food, has been utterly ruined by doctors and nutritionists and know-it-alls on the internet telling me what I should and should not eat.  "Eat this, not that."  Okay, I don't eat that, any of it.  Next? 
All this is exacerbated by the fact that I got a doozy of an idiot for a new therapist.  Not that I have a new therapist.  The new endocrinologist wants me to see a therapist to get my Wellbutrin prescription as part of the total PCOS package.  Now the Yale endocrinologist just gave me the Wellbutrin but this one won't.  I called the recommended therapist.
"Hi, my endocrinologist needs me to see a therapist to get a new prescription for Wellbutrin."
"What is your issue?"
"I have depression and my other PCOS doctor just gave me the Wellbutrin but this doctor wants me to see a therapist and gave me your name."
"So why do you want to see a therapist?"
"I don't, I just want my prescription."
"We'll call you back."
Week or so later:
"Hello, Rosie?  Why do you want to see a therapist?"
"My doctor says I have to, to get my prescription for depression, for Wellbutrin."
"What other issues do you have?"
"I have an eating disorder but I don't need treatment for that, just the depression."
"We'll call you back."
Few days later:
"Your eating disorder, Rosie, do you eat too much or too little?"
"Neither, I have selective eating disorder, it's like OCD for food, but I'm not interested in treatment for that, I have it under control.  I just need to see someone to get my prescription for Wellbutrin for depression."
"We'll call you back."
I see the endocrinologist again--a month later.  She is upset that I haven't seen a therapist.  I explain that they keep calling me back and asking more questions.  She says that I need to make the appointment ASAP.
A week later:
"Hello, Rosie? We've reviewed your files and the director says you are inappropriate for our practice and says you have to seek treatment for your eating disorder elsewhere.  We suggest the outpatient program at Hartford Hospital." (all day, every day, by the way, group therapy for anorexics and bulimics, talk about inappropriate)
"Wait, I know what that is and it's for anorexia and bulimia, which I don't have.  I don't want treatment for my eating disorder anyway, just for depression.  Aren't you listening to me?"
"We don't treat eating disorders here. You'll have to find someone else."
"Hey my doctor said to call YOU.  For my DEPRESSION."
"Well, tell your doctor we said no."  Click.
Really?  Fuck you.
I leave a message for my doctor, she calls me back the next day, and is going to find another therapist on their recommended list.
Meanwhile I can't find anything I can enjoy eating because it's all contaminated now by bad thoughts put into my head by people who don't FUCKING LISTEN TO WHAT I HAVE TO SAY.
Here is the list of foods that I eat, doctor.  And that's IT.  
If it says I eat something prepared a certain way, that's the ONLY way I eat it.  If it's not on the list, I don't eat it.  And just in case you don't understand the list of DO EAT, here is a much larger list of things I DO NOT EAT.
Well, Rosie, looking over these lists, this first smaller one is indeed all the foods you need to avoid eating and the larger list contains some of the approved foods I have marked off here.
I DO NOT EAT THE FOODS ON THE LARGE LIST.
You're going to have to start.  Next patient, please.
I have been put on "diets" where I'm only allowed water and green beans after they cut everything from my approved list. 
Or only chicken, grilled, and tomatoes.
Or only processed horrible non-food purchased directly from the doctor that is made only of chemical-type ingredients, not actual food.

To synthesize many diets together:
  • Anything fried or buttered or gravied is bad.
  • Any bread or rice is bad.
  • Carbs in general, bad.
  • Sugar of any type is bad.
  • Fake sugar of any type is also bad.
  • Fruit is a carb, bad.  Fruit sugar is bad.
  • Anything with fat is bad.  Meat has fat and is therefore bad so it must be grilled until it is dry and tasteless.  Taste cannot be replaced by anything but those spices I don't eat (no salt of course, or gravy, or ketchup).   Any kind of meat that might actually okay plain like bacon or a hot dog is not allowed because FAT.
  • Anything with corn is bad, people eat too much corn and don't forget GMO whargabble and evil CARBS
  • Anything with wheat is bad, some people have cialiac disease so no one should eat it plus GMO whargabble plus CARBS.
  • Anything in the deadly nightshade family (tomatoes, potatoes, peppers of any kind) is bad because DEADLY NIGHTSHADE whargabble plus CARBS. 
  • Milk products, carbs, evil, no calories allowed in drinks, plus cheese has fat! And butter is pure evil!  
  • No diet drinks of any kind!  
  • Carrots are CARBS and BAD
  • Nothing from a box or can or frozen because PROCESSED FOOD whargabble (except the doctor who only allows HIS boxed food)
  • What's left: a few veggies, boiled or baked (NO OILS of course) or raw.  No dressing allowed because SUGAR and FAT (not that I eat dressing).  So, back to green beans (not canned because SALT) and water.
I'm gonna go eat some crackers and cry.  Because I am out of Wellbutrin AGAIN.   

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Thursday, July 25, 2013

have a poopy day, x2

Ran a half-marathon in the pool yesterday (130 minutes straight).  
Lots of babies in diapers, eww, felt like I needed a shower afterward. I know that baby swim diapers leak.  They are a foul lie.  My friend delights in telling the story of how she and her family were at a hotel and she was taking her baby to the hotel pool. The baby was in her swim diaper.  My friend's brother came into the room and held the baby.  She immediately peed all over him THROUGH THE SWIM DIAPER.  My friend said all swim diapers do is hold in the solid poop, anything liquid goes right out into the pool.  Nice.  So whenever babies are in the pool with me I'm swimming in sewage.  No wonder I get so many eye infections when I get splashed in the face, even with sunglasses on to protect my eyes. 
I honestly think the water in my friend's koi pond is cleaner than the pool water I run in, and she's got a dozen good-sized fish and another dozen tiny ones in there pooping away.
I had lunch and then stopped to get food for my husband who was working from home. The order I called in wasn't ready and I had to wait.  My Habba Syndrome kicked in (about 1/2 hour post lunch as usual) and I had to use the bathroom at the take-out place or else something bad was going to happen in my intestines. It was quite a horrible bathroom, not very clean.  And they had NO TOILET PAPER or PAPER TOWELS. I didn't notice until too late. I had to do something I've never done before, I had to forgo wiping.  Completely disgusting, I know. 
I paid for the food, drove straight home hoping I wasn't soiling the upholstery, threw the bag of food at my husband and yelled "emergency shower, no toilet paper in the bathroom at the restaurant!" and headed for the bathroom. He said "eww did you get poop in my car?" (no sympathy).
Ended up that it was all fine down there but I washed my pants and underwear anyway and took a shower just in case.
And that was my poopy day.
(image source)

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new doctor's office insanity (& someone else's rant)

Finally had my appointment with my new endocrinologist.
Because the one at Yale who is head of the whole endocrinology department obviously isn't important enough for my PCP to listen to.
I arrived early, filled out the paperwork, and was sitting in the waiting room reading on my Kindle when a crazy person came in.
She was insane from when she stepped into the door.  Any little thing was going to set this lady off like a rocket.
Apparently her mother had some test done a few weeks ago and the daughter (crazy lady) wanted a copy of the test results RIGHT NOW GOD DAMN IT because MY MOTHER has to go to the EMERGENCY ROOM because she CAN'T WALK and I better HAVE THOSE TESTS NOW so I can bring her. 
This was her INITIAL contact with the receptionist.  Screaming at her.
Patiently the receptionist looked up the information and said they didn't have said test results.
I shut off my Kindle and put it away.  Because this was gonna be epic.
-I just went to (other doctor) and they said YOU HAVE THEM so GIVE THEM TO ME NOW.  Where is (doctor who ordered tests) I need to talk to her this instant.
-(doctor who ordered tests) is on vacation.  Even if we had the results, we couldn't give them to you by law without the doctor reviewing them first.
-(Doctor who ordered tests) IS A QUACK.  She ISN'T A REAL DOCTOR.  You call (other doctor) RIGHT NOW and GET THOSE TESTS.  My MOTHER has to GO TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM because SHE CAN'T WALK and I CAN'T TAKE HER without THOSE TESTS.
Another lady who is in the waiting room is staring at me in absolute horror.  I'm sure my usually large eyes were probably half out of my head, as the yelling screaming insane woman was standing right next to where I was sitting.
Insane woman keeps yelling.  I DROVE to the other office to get them and they SAID I HAD TO COME HERE.  I NEED those TESTS.  My MOTHER can't WALK.  She is in STAGE THREE KIDNEY FAILURE.  You are a bunch of JERKS.  You don't answer your PHONE.  You didn't know my mother was SICK.  
The poor beleaguered receptionist agrees to call the other office.  Crazy woman stomps across the waiting room, sits next to the "please no cell phone use in waiting room" sign, pulls out her phone and calls the other office and begins screaming at THEM. She has not yet figured out the difference between "tests" and "test results" and I don't enlighten her.
-You SENT ME all the way over HERE and they are INCOMPETENT and they DON'T HAVE THE TESTS and my MOTHER need to go the EMERGENCY ROOM and now they are saying that even if they HAD THE TESTS that THEY WOULDN'T GIVE THEM TO ME and I have to take my MOTHER to the EMERGENCY ROOM she CAN'T WALK and is in KIDNEY FAILURE and I NEED those TESTS right NOW so I can TAKE HER TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM.
Meanwhile, I can hear the receptionist on the phone trying to get the results from the same office at the same time.
Crazy lady hangs up the phone.  She starts yelling at random (apparently to me and the other lady, but we didn't acknowledge or engage her).
-This place SUCKS.  They AREN'T REAL DOCTORS.  They DON'T ANSWER THE PHONE.  My mother is in STAGE THREE KIDNEY FAILURE and they DIDN'T NOTICE.  Now she CAN'T WALK.  She needs to go to the EMERGENCY ROOM.  You better FIND ANOTHER DOCTOR.  These people will KILL YOU.  Now my MOTHER CAN'T WALK.  And she's in STAGE THREE KIDNEY FAILURE.  I need her TESTS.  They won't ANSWER THE PHONE.  
I sit there staring at the wall.  Finally crazy lady gets up and storms out, slamming the door, when no one would talk to her or give her the "tests".
I say to the other lady, "this is my first visit here" and she replies, "we have been coming here since 1973 and they are excellent."

Many points I could have made to Crazy Lady but instead will post here: 
  1. a simple "failure to walk" whatever that means, isn't an emergency if it's ongoing (which it seemed to be from her hysterics) and if anything it should have meant an emergency visit to the PCP office, not to the ER
  2. if someone really suddenly fails to be able to walk and really needs to go to the ER, you don't leave that person at home (or I shudder to think in that heat the old lady was in the car waiting) and drive to random doctor's offices trying to get physical copies of paperwork.  You take the person to the ER and say "She recently had relevant tests done at x doctor's office ordered by y doctor's office, please call them for the results" and the ER gets those results, probably more promptly than you ever could.
  3. A test =/= a test result.
  4. a doctor can't magically diagnose someone as being in any type of organ failure if you don't tell the doctor you're having symptoms.  They don't just randomly test people for organ failures if there's no reason/symptoms.
  5. coming into a professional office of any type and screaming at the staff and other customers (patients) is going to get you nowhere. 

Now onto my visit.
I sit in an exam room.  The woman who brought me in can't operate her laptop.  Flustered, she leaves me there alone.  A male nurse comes in to take my BP.  He can't find my pulse when the cuff is on.  We joke about me being a zombie.  I tell him my pulse might be high because I just came from working out.  He leaves without getting my BP after trying both arms several times.
The endocrinologist comes in, angry about my lack of pulse and BP.  I tell her the first lady's computer broke and that the guy couldn't manage the BP with the wrong (too small) cuff.  I don't make a zombie joke.
The doctor and I talk about PCOS and birth control and hormones.  She agrees to give me new prescriptions for my metformin and the vitamin D but not the Wellbutrin.  Now I have to see a psychiatrist to get my micro dose of Wellbutrin.  The doctor is also confused about my dosage of vitamin D.  (I haven't picked up the prescriptions yet but I think she changed it to a daily pill, that doesn't work, I told her that I need a mega dose every week or two.)
I have to get blood tests in 2 weeks (after I start taking proper dosages of metformin, instead of hoarding it against running out).  I have to see a shrink (huge deductible, not happy about that at all).   And I have to get my blood pressure taken.
The doctor leaves.  The male nurse comes back.  He tightens the cuff so much on my arm I actually start to grey out and faint and gasp.  I say, mildly as possible, "that was way too tight" and he takes it off and sees that my arm is bright red and all creased up.  "oh I guess that was tight, huh?"  "Yes, it was like being strangled by a boa constrictor, but carry on."  He can get my pulse (90) but not my BP.  He asks me what it usually is, I tell him 130/80 ish and he writes that down and I leave.
Not very auspicious, all-in-all.
(image source)

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Monday, July 01, 2013

men as fashion models for women's clothes

My friend posted this on FB:
 "I was just reading an article about fashion models who are so skinny they barely look like women (or humans) and still are considered too fat/hippy/busty to be fashion models. I have a solution. M2F transexuals. Men have no hips, stick a little pair of boobs on a skinny guy and voila, the perfect fashion model! I honestly think this should be a thing, not being snarky."
She is brilliant.
Women tend to feel very bad because they don't look like fashion models.  What they don't understand is that even fashion models don't look like fashion models.  My friend directed me to this article about a woman kicked out of a fashion show because her boobs are too big.  The picture is of that model, Jourdan Dunn.  According to Wikipedia, she is 5' 10.5" and has these measurements: 32-23-35 (US) and wears a size 2 (US).  Clearly she is a big-breasted cow.
However if fashion models were former men with small breast implants, they would fulfil all the criteria that fashion designers want. Tiny hips, whatever tiny sized breasts were ideal.  Women could stop starving themselves and having plastic surgery trying to look like fashion models because all the fashion models would be former men.  M2F transexuals would have lots of job opportunities.  It would be a win/win situation.
And maybe clothing designers would then have an epiphany that if they are designing clothing for women to wear, why is the ideal body to wear those clothes that of a man with tiny breasts?

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Wednesday, June 19, 2013

it's always something

On the 4th of this month I went back to Yale for treatment for my PCOS.  I detailed that visit here and here for those who have not been paying attention.
Today is the 19th.  I still haven't been able to pick up the 3 months of pills from the pharmacy.  According to the pharmacy, they have not received the paperwork from the doctor.
I tried that Saturday.  Nothing.  Pharmacy said they would call the doctor.  Doctor didn't call back.  I emailed the doctor, she said they were sent that day.  I reiterated that the pharmacy had not received them.  She asked me to resend the information for the pharmacy.  I did, last Friday.  Saturday I stopped in the pharmacy and they had nothing.  The woman helpfully looked at every location in the computer in case the paperwork had gone to the wrong place, nothing.  I showed her the emails on my phone from the doctor saying everything had been sent.  She consented to giving me 3 days of pills for free and said she would call on Monday and get it straightened out and call me.
Yesterday I called the pharmacy again.  Nothing from doctor.  Emailed the doctor again, no response.  The pharmacy just called me saying they have emailed and called the doctor repeatedly with no response.  I gave them every phone number I ever had for there and the lady is trying again.
Meanwhile, I am without these drugs that this doctor claims I desperately need.  But not enough for her to keep giving them to me.  Or enough for my PCP to take them over.  Or even for the PCP to have the new endocrinologist call me (I'm still waiting on that too).
photo source: ME!  I took it.

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Tuesday, June 18, 2013

perfect storm eating disorder

I have no idea why I was thinking about this today, but I was, so I'll share it. On the surface I'm a fat person who is a picky eater. I won't (can't) dispute the FAT part but I will challenge the "picky eater" part. To me, "picky" implies a choice. I don't have a choice.
I am a supertaster.  I taste things in food that 75% of the population doesn't know is there.  If I eat something and make a face and say it is bitter or sour and awful, and you think it's fine, that is because your taste buds are different from mine.  Supertasters are really sensitive to bitter.
I have Sensory Perception Disorder (also called Sensory Integration Disorder).  I literally experience the world differently than you experience it.  I took a SPD test and I had almost EVERY taste and smell related symptom.  So even if my nose does work the same as yours, my brain doesn't process the smells the same ways yours does.  I enjoy smells other people don't, such as skunk, and smells that don't bother other people, such as cooked fish, are extremely gross to me.  I am also sensitive to sour tastes and smells, especially what I call the "sour milk family" of ricotta, sour cream, yogurt, and cream cheese, and dirty diapers.  Food neophobia (my "eating disorder") is actually PART of SPD.
Just to prove how fucked up my brain's wiring is, I also have at least two kinds of synesthesia.  That is when your senses overlap.  Letters have colors, sound is visible, things like that.  Unsurprisingly one of my messed-up senses is smell.
As you can imagine, living in a world where most people are not sensing the same things that I am causes me a lot of anxiety. So it should not be surprising that I exhibit of bit of OCD and am a control freak.
I can empathize with those who see dead people and spirits and into other dimensions and how it must make them feel like weirdos and freaks because that's how I am every day.  I could probably ignore spirits hanging out; they wouldn't be messing with my food.
If you wonder why I can't find a therapist...read this post again. 
SPD is treated by occupational therapists IN CHILDHOOD, and a lot of it is treatment of the PARENTS to modify the kid's environment.  I couldn't find any therapists who treat SPD in adults because it's supposed to be dealt with in childhood.  I wasn't diagnosed as a child (who even knows if the diagnosis existed when I was a child?) and now apparently it's too late for me. 
So here's Rosie calling therapists.  "Hi, I have a really complex eating disorder.  It looks like food neophobia on the surface but it's actually a compound of Sensory Perception Disorder, synesthesia, and OCD, combined with being a supertaster.  Is this something you can treat?"
Dialtone.
image source is an English page on SPD


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Friday, June 14, 2013

Imminent Explosion

This frog would do a better job than my PCP.
So, over a week after I went to Yale, I finally get a call back from my PCP's office. We play phone tag.  Finally are able to connect.
First off, it's not even the Nurse Practitioner or the doctor calling, it's some underling who knows nothing about nothing and who is clearly reading notes.  That pisses me off.
And of course what she said made me angry.
"We're willing to refill your anti-depressant but that's it.  You need to see an endocrinologist for the rest."
I am dumbfounded.
For about the millionth time, I respond, "You mean like the ENDOCRINOLOGIST at Yale who is asking you to take over the prescriptions?"
"I don't know anything about that.  I have the name of one you have to go see."
"You guys don't seem to understand.  You are obsessed with these being off-label for weight loss.  They are not."
"I don't know anything about that.  Here is the doctor's name. Do you have a pen?"
So here we go again.  They better not make me take that fasting glucose test where they take 28 vials of blood in a day because I think I might actually expire this time.  Just the thought of 28 needle pricks and that draining feeling makes me feel faint.  Honestly there are black spots in front of my eyes as I type, luckily I can touch-type.
I went one time for a routine couple of vials test.  I was half-dead in the chair as usual.  I can't explain it.  I don't really think I pass out completely.  I can hear people talking to me and around me but it's very far away and honestly I don't care and I don't listen or answer.  My vision goes black and I can't see.  I feel very limp.  I don't really care about any of it, not the talking, not the lack of sight, not the fact that I'm going to fall out of the chair.  The lady starts talking to me about purses, just babbling away and I managed to say something in response, confused what purses had to do with anything.  She said, "Are you back? I never saw anything like it.  You went dead white, even your lips were white, and you were gone."  I can't fake that.  I'm not faking.  Honestly it would be so much easier if I could be like everyone else, roll up my sleeve, talk the whole time, not even feel the prick or the horrible horrible draining, and go about my day as if nothing happened.  Instead of falling into a black hole, having to be driven home and put to bed, and being sick the rest of the day.  Since the very first time I had blood taken, this has happened.  I have zero control over it.
So right now, in general, I am very hate-filled toward doctors.  Yale promised to send 3 months worth of prescriptions to Stop and Shop, and Stop and Shop says they never got them, and Yale says they were sent, so that's that, I'm out of everything.
Rosie, over and out.  Going to smash something.  Maybe my head into a wall.
(The image comes from a site with porn on it so I'm not linking back.)

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Tuesday, June 04, 2013

fat & frustrated

I went to the PCOS Yale doctor today. I was really expecting to get yelled at for what I weighed (I'm not happy AT ALL with the number myself) but she didn't yell at me.  She reiterated that she wants my primary care physician to take over prescribing my medicines.  I explained that when I was at my PCP in November, I asked again about the prescriptions.  Both the APRN and the doctor told me that they are "off label for weight loss" and they wouldn't take them over for any reason.  
The Yale doctor was pissed (not at me).  It is a waste of her time to see me just to write out prescriptions. 
She CALLED my PCP and talked to the APRN.  Got hung up on three times getting the call routed.  Finally the APRN gave the doctor the same old thing, "off label for weight loss, nope, not happening" and here's the Yale doc saying, "she has metabolic syndrome, every page of the notes says metabolic syndrome, the metformin is for metabolic syndrome so she doesn't get diabetes.  Do you just want to not treat her and wait for her to get diabetes or do you want to follow the pre-diabetes treatment protocol and give her the metformin now?  The Wellbutrin is a micro-dose for depression, it's not for weight loss." 
The Yale doc was actually rolling her eyes at whatever was being said, she kept saying "her weight is a moot point, you need to treat the whole patient, and she needs these medicines and it's a primary care situation, not a specialist situation."  So the gist of what I got was, apparently my PCP's office believes that any medicines I'm on are automatically to treat my obesity and therefore they want nothing to do with it.
By the end of the call even though  I was just sitting there not participating I was crying.  It's evident that my PCP doesn't care about me at all, that the APRN would ARGUE with another doctor and refuse me care is pretty much proof of that.
So I'm getting a 3 month prescription for all my pills and then apparently I am on my own.  The Yale doc doesn't have time for me and my PCP doesn't want to treat me.  I tried last year to find another PCP and no one was taking patients.  I might end up going to my mom's geriatric doctor, who IS accepting patients, that's how desperate I am.
If I was the only person in the world who was this fat and I was a total freak I could see all these offices treating me as a hot potato.  But I'm not.  What the fuck, seriously, I'm angry.


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Wednesday, May 29, 2013

900 lb man show (spoilers)

Watched the new TLC offering, 900 lb man. It is the story of Ricky Naputi, of Guam, who initially claimed to weigh 900 lbs.

First off, I was annoyed at the title, because he weighed 775.  He GUESSED 900, but that's not what he weighed. 900 pounds, that's scary.  775, well, anyone can weigh that, that's not scary.  (So I imagine the conversation as they decide what to title the show.) And somehow I doubt that at 775 he was the "world's fattest man" as many people have weighed over 1000 lbs for real.

That is not to trivialize his plight.  He was, indeed, enormous, barely able to move, naked in the bed (and from the frequent blurring of the film in certain regions, shameless).  The skin on his lower abdomen was black from being utterly stretched to the limit, the way some super obese people's legs get when they also have lymph edema.

He was utterly dependent on his wife, who fed him ridiculous amounts of food, 10,000+ calories a day.  She moved in with him pretty much immediately upon meeting him and has been caring for him every since (10 years).  She had some kind of pathology, I don't know the name of it, but it's when your identity is all bound up in being a caregiver and the attention you get for giving up your life to take care of someone else.  Or she's a feeder.  She acted very oddly.  My husband was hardly watching the show and even he remarked on how weird she was.  She'd weep and wail and cry that her husband was going to die, what would she do without him, she had to do everything alone, who would help her so he could lose weight.  And then when someone helped, she didn't follow the diet when feeding him and he didn't lose any weight.

He reached out to a patient advocate from Texas, Angie Flores, a woman who had had successful weight loss surgery.  She befriended him, talked to him on the phone, and did her best to try to find him help.  She flew to Guam to meet him.  She gave him diet and exercise advice (not followed).  Tried to get him into a nursing home where he could be monitored until he lost enough weight to get surgery.  Found a surgeon, Dr. Vong, who was willing to do the surgery if he could be relocated.  

He didn't lose the weight he needed.  The nursing home was wary of taking someone so very large and refused to admit him.  They even tried to see if they could bring him to Australia instead of the U.S. since it's closer, but he still needed to lose a hundred pounds or so first.

I felt bad for him, but he had two years to try to lose enough weight to then be taken off-island to get WLS.  He lost no weight.

And finally, they played the 911 call of his wife saying he wasn't breathing.  He died at age 39 in November 2012.  The patient advocate who had been planning the trip to move him to a hospital for WLS instead went back to Guam for his memorial service.

His weird wife?  She didn't go to his funeral.

I was going to post a picture of him, but all of them make me feel too sad for him.  Google his name.


If you are reading this ANYWHERE but on itsafatlife.blogspot.com, it's stolen; please let me know. wholelottarosieyoung at yahoo dot com. Thank you.
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Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Losing weight for vacation, or not

I don't want to be this anymore on the beach. 
I am planning an anniversary trip with my husband. I was showing my mom pictures of the hotel and its beach. 
Her response was "Well maybe now you'll go on a diet and watch what you eat and lose some weight."
You know that's exactly what I was going to do but the way she said it really pisses me off. Am I a moron? Do you think I think I'm actually thin? 
I do hate the word and concept of "diet."   My mom has a way of saying it that really grates on me.  "I thought you were DIETING why are you eating that?  Aren't you DIETING? Aren't you ON A DIET?"  It's the same kind of slur as "sugary drinks" (although I've seen lately in news articles the phrase "fizzy drinks" which somehow is also offensive).
I prefer to "change my eating habits" which sounds positive, while "diet" sounds negative painful and awful which it usually is. 
Would I like took be smaller before I go away again? Of course. It's easier to fly the smaller you are, obviously. But I'm not five years old I don't need to be told that I'm fat and need to lose weight. 
Oh my god can you believe that I am fat? I never knew that-- what a revelation. 
Actually I had already decided a few months ago that I want to lose weight to learn to scuba dive. I can learn now--I'm not stupid or incapable and I've conquered my water-driven panic attacks. But at this size, I wouldn't be able to easily rent equipment that would fit so I'd have to buy everything special-order giant-sized to bring with me (and pay to bring that extra bag on the plane every time). And having invested all that money in custom gear to then lose weight would seen like a waste of money because the suit wouldn't fit anymore.  Does that make sense?  It's one thing to buy a bathing suit in a different size, I go through them like kleenex because of the chlorine in the pool.  It's another thing to buy a wet suit which should last me forever as I'll only use it once or twice a year.  Plus the thought of squeezing my flab into a full body skin tight suit...ugh.  There are actually videos online mocking fat women trying to put on wet suits.  No thanks.
(Picture is from a website making fun of fat people so I won't link to it.)

Monday, May 06, 2013

Rosie the Writer

Guess what. I have a published novel.  Email or FB me for the link.  It's not about being fat, but it is very funny.  Available in print, Kindle, and Nook formats.


If you are reading this ANYWHERE but on itsafatlife.blogspot.com, it's stolen; please let me know. wholelottarosieyoung at yahoo dot com. Thank you.
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Pod Person Stalker Update (off topic)

The Pod Person saga (detailed in my last post) has finally come to an end, I believe.
I related how T, my transgendered female friend who used to be A, my husband's male friend, was stalking me and using me and threatening me.  As well as friending all my closest friends on FB.
I blocked her from seeing any of my posts except for public ones.  She started to comment on anything my FRIENDS posted on my wall, or vice versa, since there's no way to block someone from seeing those without unfriending them.  One day last week I screwed up and all my posts from my phone were "friends only" instead of "friends minus this person" and BAM--like, LOL, like, like, LOL on every single post.  I wanted to slam my head into a wall.
She invited me and my husband via Facebook to all 3 days of the wedding.  We declined all of them.  She texted me "the wedding's coming up, are you coming?"  I just sat there and stared at my phone in disbelief.  What is the POINT of making FB events if you are going to ignore people's responses there? 
I had already explained in a non-blocked post on FB that my husband is in the middle of a huge project (and if it fails, his whole department could get fired!) and he's on call 24/7 and his boss actually told him "You no longer have a personal life until this is finished." 
After a pause to take a breath, I reiterated that via text message.  Half a second later, "so you are coming by yourself?"  FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THE GODS!  TAKE A HINT ALREADY.  "No." 
Still, T did not go away.
Friday night was day 1 of the wedding.  My husband came upstairs and said that he got a text from some friends and he was going to the bar around the corner for an hour because he was caught up at work.  I warned him that it was day 1 of the wedding and that's really what he was invited to, the pre-wedding party.  He said, "We're not going to the wedding right?" and I said no. And I finally told him about the stalking and the threats and the using.  He didn't seem surprised at all, he wasn't upset, he didn't say "give her another chance."  
When he got to the bar, he sent me a text saying that it was just a few of his friends, no T, and as long as work didn't call he was going to stay for a few hours and hang out with them.  Shortly after that, he texted me "the wedding party is here, I'm coming home" and he did.  He said he stayed with his little group mostly and didn't talk to T. 
The next day, the actual wedding, for some reason all T's posts were coming through on FB even though I have her set to show nothing (everything's unchecked), raving about the wedding.   I said nothing.  The corner of my screen said that T got married.  I did not send a message.
Yesterday, day 3 of the wedding, I logged onto Facebook and saw the message "You have been unfriended by T."  (I use Social Fixer, it's a great add-on that, among other things, tracks who unfriends you.)
And I felt a great sigh of relief, although it didn't have to come to that.  When I told her I was upset by the drink in my face comment and the lack of payment and that I needed space, she could have given me space, space in which to decide if I actually like her.  Instead she pursued me mercilessly and in a creepy fashion and now I am done with her forever.


If you are reading this ANYWHERE but on itsafatlife.blogspot.com, it's stolen; please let me know. wholelottarosieyoung at yahoo dot com. Thank you.
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