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Worth Doesn’t Equal A Size 4

11 Apr

Ashley Judd, talented lady who's gained a few. The nerve of her!

I’m spitting mad.  And for once, I’d like to make that statement literal and spit on a chosen few; namely, the “surgeons” and other idiots who accused Ashley Judd of undergoing plastic surgery because her face is now a little puffy.  

Why do I care?  Because the poor girl got sick and had to take several rounds of prednisone.  

Again, why do I care?  Because prednisone killed my figure as well.  In 2007, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease, Wegener’s Granulomatosis.  I was hospitalized for 18 days.  Then came prednisone off and on for three years, in addition to other immunosuppressives.  There’s still a bottle of prednisone in my medicine cabinet because relapses are a fact.

What else happened in 2007?  I got married.  Every bride wants to look her best.  But despite hiring a personal trainer and religiously exercising, I walked down the aisle 15 lbs heavier than when we met just a year before.  My cheekbones disappeared after one month on the medication.  My waist wasn’t far behind.

The prednisone continued and so did the weight gain.  I tried Weight Watchers.  I continued to pay a personal trainer for another 1-1/2 years.  I mixed and matched my carbs and proteins.  In short, I TRIED, and I still work on it.

My husband continues to tell me I’m beautiful, but my inner voice always replies, “Puullease.”  My friends reassure me that they’d much rather have a chubby friend alive and well than the alternative, which happens to be a dead friend.  

So when the legitimate media attacks a talented actress/activist for “chipmunk cheeks,” you’ll have to pardon me if I reach for my megaphone and soapbox.  They have no right to remind me:

  • Of all the times I’ve left a dressing room in tears.  
  • Of all the skinny clothes I’ve given away.  
  • Of all the times I felt guilty when eating in public.  
  • Of all the times I guilt-babbled my “story” to anyone who’d listen to explain away my size.  

And Now?  Guess what?  I weigh 152 lbs and I’m only 5’1″.  That’s a size 12, folks.

Yes, I go to the gym.  Yes, I watch what I eat.  But I also enjoy a nice meal with friends and family.  I’m not a size 4, and my life happens to be better than when I was, though I have to remind myself of that at times.

Ashley – Stay Strong.  Don’t let the critics (to whom I hope McDonalds delivers daily with an extra side of mayo from now on) get you down.  They only wish their talents were half as deep as yours or their list of humanitarian efforts half as long.  Get well and show them a happy life!

She’ll be interviewed tonight on the NBC Nightly News.  Here’s a clip from her interview.

Carrots vs Cupcakes

17 Aug

I had a checkup yesterday and got excellent news.  The new medication, Imuran, is working well.  My inflammation markers are much lower than a year ago.  They're still elevated above normal levels but, in my world, I considered doing a cartwheel.  The fine folks at Minor & James Medical Center are happy I refrained.

So, the Imuran shall stay at the same dosage.  "Keep doing what we're doing." 

But I have an idea.

An autoimmune disease generally means the immune system is supercharged and now, perhaps being bored, is fighting against natural tissues.  Wikipedia put is this way:  

Autoimmune diseases arise from an overactive immune response of the body against substances and tissues normally present in the body. In other words, the body actually attacks its own cells. The immune system mistakes some part of the body as a pathogen and attacks it.

When we're trying to improve our health, don't we usually push fruits and veggies, take our vitamins, get lots of sleep, and ask for Mom's chicken noodle soup (with a dish of tapioca pudding after)?  In fact, we're planning to get a juicer to increase our F&Vs, hoping to improve my health and maybe drop a pound or two.

Wonder woman But if my immune system is already wearing the Wonder Woman Leotard, with magic lasso, is it wise to make it stronger?  

If it's looking to pick a fight, how about we give it something to do?  What if the secret is more enemies, not less?  What if we put locked it into an immune system cage match?

I suggest we test drive the following mottos:

  • Potato Chips for Life!
  • Down with Spinach!
  • Donuts = Health!
  • Carrots?  I say Carrot Cake!

Who's with me?  I'll see you at the bakery in 10…  (and I'll save you a spot on the treadmill next to mine)

You Can’t Catch Me!

15 Jul

Breakfast-in-bed

When you have an ongoing "condition," your household develops a routine – an understanding of who helps who.  The patient doesn't mean to take advantage, "she" just can't keep up.

Imagine my surprise when JP came home from work three days ago, limping and grimacing. Watching him remove his steel-toed work boots sent shivers down MY spine, and I was wearing fuzzy socks.  

The next day he tries to work, but comes home early, in even worse pain.  (For the record, I told him not to go… why doesn't anyone ever take my advice?)  

A few phone calls later and I had him scheduled to see a podiatrist the next morning.  When he woke up, he was worse, gritting his teeth just to stand.

At that moment, it dawned on me how little I am.  I can't lift JP.  I can't pull JP.  The best I can hope for is to break his fall.  He hopped to the bathroom, managed to shower, and wobbled out to the truck.  Long story short — Gout.  

Now it's Freaky Friday in our house and I'm checking with him.  "What can I get you?  You need anything?"  He's actually a good patient (perhaps better than me? — no comment).  And his sense of humor is not affected.  For example, while reading online the treatments for gout, without missing a beat, he said, "And the No. 1 treatment is the love of a good woman."   However, when he didn't like my shopping list for the grocery store, he texted me to find him "a good woman in the frozen food section."

Uh huh… that's when I realized… 

I can say anything I want, and he can't catch me!  

  • I can tell him, "Wait till the doc gets a load of those Hobbit Hooves."  And he can't catch me!
  • I can tell him, "Get well, or I'll have to move you around on your dolly."  And he can't catch me!
  • I can tell him, "Bye Bye, beloved manly smoker.  Hello, veggie platters."  And he can't catch me!


Notes "Thhhese Are Days….

You'll Remember."       Sing it Natalie!

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