Heart's A-Flutter

A funny thing happened on the way to a dream last night. After about three hours of peaceful sleep, I was awakened to my own breathing. Have you ever felt your breathing when you've had a fever? The breathing is just a little bit quick, and a little bit shallow. It felt odd to me, especially since I had no fever, and felt physically fine the day before. But right now, not so much. I got up to use the bathroom, and felt a little sick to my stomach. Then it felt as though my heart was bouncing all over the place! I checked my pulse and was unable to discern an actual rhythm, so, being the nurse that I am, I remained calm and walked downstairs to the kitchen, where there is a clock with a second hand. I found my heart’s rhythm, and then counted… fast. 140 beats per minute. Okay, this is not normal. Could it be my thyroid again?

After about five minutes of rest, and to be perfectly honest, just a little bit of worry, I brushed my teeth and told my husband that I think it’s time we made a visit to the emergency room. Now, if you know me at all, or if you know any nurses for that matter, you are aware that we are the worst patients! Usually nurses don’t set foot in a hospital, no matter what the problem is. And if you know me personally, you know I prefer holistic cures that address the real root cause, rather than allopathic treatments that ameliorate the symptoms and ignore the cause. I walked into to the ER and called to the triage nurse, who was busy chatting with her colleague and watching some late night TV show. When she didn’t respond, I felt it was more important to use the restroom again than wait for her to acknowledge me. On my way back, she did acknowledge my presence and swiftly checked me in. Of course I was feeling better by then, but an EKG was done anyway and my heart rate was down to 106. My blood pressure and my temperature were checked – both normal, and she assured me that I did the right thing by coming in. Minutes later, after the doctor had examined me, she informed me that in addition to running a routine panel of blood work, she would also check my thyroid level as well as do a test to determine whether I had a blood clot in my lung. Oh, I hadn’t even considered that.

An hour after my blood was drawn, a different nurse came into my little holding area to administer Tylenol. But I didn’t need Tylenol, and I asked her why she thought I needed it. And this is what she said: “It will make you feel better.” “But I feel fine right now,” I said, “and I have no headache, or body aches, or anything that would require an analgesic.” She said “it’s safer than Motrin.” I reminded her that I am not in need of an analgesic to reduce any physical discomforts, because I was not experiencing any physical discomforts. She said to me “so, do you want me to cancel this?” I told her “yes, please cancel the Tylenol, and throw it away, because I’m not taking it.” This is a major bone of contention for me. It felt like a pharmaceutical assault, and I was not about to play victim. Too many drugs are pushed legally on too many unwitting participants in the game of pharmaceutical profit. A major bone of contention for me…

As I waited for my lab results to come back, against my better judgment, I submitted to a dose of radiation via x-ray to determine whether I had an enlarged heart. Standing there, it felt as if I was a character in a bad sci-fi film, and I could practically hear the music in the background, low, deep, and sinister… that sort of music the audience hears that warns them of impending disaster. After my lab tests came back, the doctor informed me that my thyroid level was low, which indicates an overactive thyroid (if the level is high, it means that the thyroid gland is pumping too hard to get even a little bit of the essential thyroid hormone secreted, and now it was not having to work so hard to secrete that hormone). So after 17 years of having hypothyroidism, I now have hyperthyroidism! However, the test to determine whether I may have a pulmonary embolism, however vague the meaning of the result, was elevated. So a CT scan was next on the agenda. So here I go again, back to radiology, to submit to an even more toxic assault on my body, with poisonous contrast dye ready to be injected into my veins. In retrospect, I should have refused the chest x-ray and told them that if the test to determine whether I had a clot in my lung was positive, I would agree to the CT scan, because after all, you can have a nice look-see at my heart that way too, and I could have avoided the extra radiation.

In any event, both tests were done, and both tests were negative for any problem. It was indeed my thyroid, as I had initially thought. So the nurse who tried to give me Tylenol for no good reason came back to remove my IV line, and she told me to continue taking my medications as I have been. I was quick to remind her that with a change in my thyroid level, my doctor would want to decrease my medication dose, and it may be actually dangerous for me to continue taking my mediations “as directed.” I’m pretty sure she didn’t like me, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t appreciate her very much at that time, either. When I worked in the hospital… ah, well, that’s for another time.

So the point to this whole long and drawn-out blog post? My nurse practitioner told me a few weeks ago that at some point, with all the weight loss and the incredible health I was enjoying, she would eventually need to decrease the dose of my thyroid medication. Now is the time, and she did, and I’m really sort of overjoyed! Because it just means that I have given my body a chance to heal itself with amazing super-nutrition, and my body, being the miracle that it was meant to be, isn’t letting me down. So my heart’s all a-flutter for so many reasons!

It's Not Just About The Jeans

Seriously, it's not a fluke. I put on my sweat pants today and I could have sworn they were baggier than normal. I'm thinking it's probably my imagination. They're sweat pants. They're supposed to be baggy. But even my sweater was drooping off my shoulder a little. That's odd. Whatever. So my clothes are a little baggy. So later on this evening, I wondered "what if... what if I'm releasing more weight... getting a little smaller in size... let's put this to the test." I walked into my closet and moved to the left of the rack, where my smaller sizes are kept. That's what I do. I keep the smaller sizes on the left and the larger sizes on the right. And the jeans are also categorized by color, as are my t-shirts. Call me crazy, or obsessed, if you want. I call that organized. I never have to wonder where a particular item of clothing is! But if truth be known, you should see my sock drawer. Not so tidy!

So anyway, I quickly found my size eight jeans that have been patiently awaiting my attention for, oh, months and months! You see, a couple years ago I carefully folded and tucked those jeans away in a box - not to be discarded or forgotten, but rather contained and preserved, like a mistress in waiting, dutifully biding her time until her suitor returned for her once again. But when I had finally reached my goal of size 12, for continued inspiration, I took out my size ten jeans and hung them up - by style and color. Left to right. And for giggles and grins, I released my size eights from the confines of seclusion in their turret. After all, that's where mistresses and ladies in waiting... wait. Or in the case of my jeans, in a box. But now they are on the rack in my closet, free!

With just a speck of ambivalence, I slipped on the size eights. Yes. I slipped them on. And zipped them. And buttoned them. And I examined myself in the mirror and thought "WOW!" And I did a little dance and sang a little song, and was just a little bit thrilled. But that's just one pair of jeans. What about the other two pairs. Let's just cut to the chase and let me tell you, they all fit beautifully! It's not a fluke!

You must understand something. In my 30’s and 40’s, my health took a nose dive, and my waistline expanded because of this. And then I became more and more unhealthy, and bigger, and more exhausted… until I reached a point of realization. I might very well die young if I don’t take control of my health now. So having been in deep depression for much of my adult life, feeling sick all the time, experiencing headaches nearly on a daily basis, and unable to sleep for more than 15 minutes at a time every night, and then not being able to fall back to sleep, among many other things… you can see now why I’m so overjoyed to be sharing this little victory with you. Maybe you can see now that I’m not just on a diet, and I’m not just losing weight. I’ve made a choice about how I feed my body. I am realizing my goals that I used to be too afraid to set for myself. I am living my dreams of having a healthy body that moves smoothly and glides through life with ease. It’s not just about the jeans. Every day I get to look at myself in the mirror and say “There you are! Where have you been for the last twenty years? I’ve missed you!”

Excuses (Part 2)

What exactly is a valid excuse? I can think of a handful of “valid” excuses for not taking action steps toward building my business – the earth cracked open and swallowed me up; the mushroom cloud over my house terminated my internet connection; or other more devastating scenarios I will not offer up to the universe right now, or ever, for that matter. So really, I have no valid excuse for not taking one baby step toward reaching my goals. It got me thinking about the excuses I have been using for not stepping it up a bit regarding my journey to better health.

I consume the best, most pure nutrition on the planet. I’ve released 30 pounds so far, and what an accomplishment that is for me! But I haven’t yet “kicked it up a notch”, as they say. I should really be moving, exercising, getting my blood circulating. I could go for a walk, but I don’t have time. Yoga! I could do yoga in my living room, but not on the rug my dog peed on recently. My mentor and friend, Mindy, asked me the other day if I belonged to a gym. Of course not! I’m not stepping foot in a stinky gym and standing in line for a treadmill or a weight machine. It’s counter-productive to my goal to just stand there. I can sit on my sofa and get the same result! Mindy asked me what my next step was. I just blurted out “I’m going to start walking, and I’ll start with 15 minutes”. But oh how I detest the city-zoned, man-made walking trails in my neighborhood (I’m talking about the sidewalks). Put me on a rocky and challenging hiking trail in Sedona and you’ve got my attention. But cement trails that wind around a suburban neighborhood just isn’t spiritually uplifting to me.

But I made the claim. I can’t go back on my word. It is not in my nature to do so. So I must live up to the claim stated to Mindy and to the universe, to the promise I made to myself. So this morning I did it. I took a walk. A 22-minute walk. This is a big deal for me, so please don’t judge me for walking for only 22 minutes, and not 22 miles. I exceeded my goal. It’s a step in the right direction. It’s a baby step. I’m making progress. I’m not making excuses.