Starting Diet. Wanna Die.

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Okay, I don’t actually want to die. But I do want to ask God why chocolate, pizza and french fries can’t have the nutritional value of broccoli? WHY GOD? WHY? It’s just so unfair!!!!pizza frenchfries

In reality, I rarely eat any of that. I bet I have pizza once every 2 months or so. French fries every 3 months or so. Chocolate…well…more than that, but only dark chocolate and only in very small doses.

The big problem is that I’ve had thyroid issues for 25 years and hideous, horrible, ungodly, spend-a-zillion-years-at-the-doctor’s-office cortisol problems for almost 20. I’ve had cortisol problems for so long that when I was first diagnosed no one had ever heard of it. They’d say, “Do you mean cortisone, honey? (like I’m an idiot)” I’d say, “No, cortisol. Your fight or flight hormone??” “What’s that?” they’d say. It used to drive me crazy. And trust me, being in a constant state of fight or flight is a delightful way to live. NOT! ;) (Oh, and the people asking for the cortisol/cortisone clarification were DOCTORS! I don’t expect us regular people to know what it is…but doctors? WTF?)

The way the cortisol stuff all started, almost 20 years ago, is that I went from a lithe 140 pounds to 180 in a month. I kid you not. It was horrible! I didn’t know what the fuck was going on.  I had black stretch marks all over me. I was barely eating. It was a nightmare.

So off to the endocrinologist I went. They tested me for everything. I had to pee in a jug for 24 hours. I had to be drained of blood every few hours for an entire day. I had to do spit tests. I was told that I had Cushing’s Disease. Addison’s Disease. I got over 12 MRIs and CAT scans. I was put on every drug known to mankind. I was told I had a brain tumor. An adrenal tumor.  Which, by the way, I still get MRIs every few years to locate as my doctors think it’s a sneaky micro-tumor hiding somewhere in my adrenals or pituitary. Basically, it’s been a clusterfuck forever.

I’m severely hypothyroid with a TSH of 16 (if you know about TSH you know that’s 4-to-5 times the highest it should be depending on what scale the doc uses) and a T4 and T3 that are a nightmare too. But no drugs work. Oh, and I’m hot all the time, which is the exact opposite of what a hypothyroid person should be.  I have a ton of other nonsensical symptoms that are completely and utterly adverse to my blood work. It’s so fucking frustrating I could scream.

I’ve had endos fire me as their patient before. Yep, you heard me. FIRED by my doctor. The lazy ones get tired of not being able to fix me. They get frustrated by my weird symptoms and apparent resistance to all medication and give up. Lovely right? Anyone ever heard of the Hippocratic oath? Hello?

I even had a doctor accuse me of being a raging alcoholic as that can cause elevated cortisol. Fuck me runnin’. I bet I have 2 glasses of wine a year, if that.

Anyway, this blog could be a zillion pages long as it’s been a total and complete nightmare for over 2 decades, but to save you time I’ll cut it short.

What’s going on is that my weight varies depending on my cortisol which goes up and down like a yo yo. I literally have 6 different clothing sizes in my wardrobe as my weight fluctuates so much. Holy shitcakes is that annoying!

Unfortunately, there’s nothing they can do about my cortisol. It is what it is. Until they can find a reason for it, I just live in kind of a tough physical state, and quite frankly, a sometimes very frustrating and exhausting emotional one too. Oh, and the thyroid doesn’t help. So I basically spend my life going up and down in weight. Sometimes skinny to the point where people tell me I look drawn and sickly. Sometimes a little curvier than I’d like (but I still like having T&A for days even when I am a wee bit on the heavier side). Think Baby Got Back by Sir Mix-A-Lot. “Little in the middle but she’s got much back.” ;)

Preach on, brother!

So, I’m going to do Atkins. Any diet that lets you eat bacon seems counter-intuitive to me, but I do understand the science of protein, so I’m gonna give it a try.

Anyone done it before? Anyone have any suggestions? Helpful hints? Ways of killing myself that won’t leave a mess? KIDDING on that last part…sort of.

Oh, one last thing, with the cortisol I’ve been told by all my endos that I can’t get my heart rate up as doing so raises cortisol levels, so essentially fuck exercise. Yeah, cause that makes everything so much easier. Ugh!

Feel free to send me good luck vibes (and prayers–I happily take prayers) and let me know if you’ve been successful with Atkins. I usually just eat healthy, unprocessed food, but right now my body is in rebellion, so a girl’s gotta do somethin’! :)

XOXOXOX

Snatch Monster, Muff Mauler and Road Rage. A Rant for all Seasons! :)

Alrighty then…since I’ve used absolutely no tact in my title, I might as well follow suit in my post. Prepare yourself for a flurry of fucks, a smattering of shits (wow, that just sounds nasty) and a bombardment of bitches! ;)

How, you may ask, do muff and road rage go together? Well, I’ll tell ya. Being a girl, I’m blessed (cursed!) to have girl parts. As such, I must make a yearly trip to the snatch monster to ensure that said girl parts are still in one piece and functioning according to warranty. Is this a fun trip? No. Do I enjoy it? No. Could I do without? Yes. Though I must admit my snatch monster is simply delightful. I love her. So, I guess if one has to endure such humiliating things as, “Put your feet in the stirrups. Scootch down a little further. Now spread ‘em. A little more…even more. Thanks,” all the while watching her move a spotlight onto my goods while praying no one is peeking through the crack in the venetian blinds, it’s at least good to love your Snatch Monster.

Just so you know, fellas, I really, really, really hate you for not having to suffer the equivalent junk misery every year of your life. I mean, I love men, but I resent the shit out of having to endure all this muff torture while you just sit pretty with all your external parts. It’s just not fair. I know, I know, life ain’t fair. That doesn’t mean I can’t bitch and whine about it though! ;)

So, that adventure is what took me out of the house yesterday and led me to my first batch of road rage–which we’ll get to in a minute.

Today, I had to go back to the doctor, but this time for the Muff Mauler. Yep, I’ve been violated by a Monster and a Mauler all in the course of 24 hours. I mean, really…what the fuck? Is not once a year bad enough? Twice in as many days? That is just unfair. This visit was to check out my girlie organs and make sure all is well (all is well, thank God!). For those of you who don’t know how this is done, they take a thigh-sized implement of death and jam it in you until it feels like it’s in your esophagus and then they root around like they are mining for gold. YUCK!!! NOT FUN!!! It’s not horribly painful, but it ain’t a walk in a field of lavender either. This visit, of course, is the reason for my second foray into road rage.

Here’s what I think about other drivers (keeping in mind that I’m doubly annoyed because of the muff violations):

  1. If you are scared of driving, GET THE FUCK OFF THE ROAD!!! Good grief. I’m terrified of jumping out of a plane, so guess what? I don’t do it. Maybe you should consider the same thing in regards to driving. Unless you’ve recently been gut-shot by a large caliber weapon and are driving to the emergency room, or have just gotten out of the hospital from 3 horrible surgeries and every piece of gravel on the road is torturous to your poor little healing body, you have NO EXCUSE for DLAT (driving like a twat).
  2. If you can’t drive AT LEAST the speed limit, or preferably 10 miles over it, then GET THE FUCK OFF THE ROAD!!! There is no excuse for driving 30 on a 40 mph road. The accelerator is your friend. Use the fucking thing before I run you over and dance on your mangled corpse.
  3. If you are on the freeway DRIVE FAST ASSHAT as that is what the freeway is for. If you want to drive 45 miles per hour, get on a side street. I’ll never understand why people get on the freeway and drive like they are getting paid for going slow. It makes me want to ram into you, cut you off, side swipe you and then call you a fuckface over and over again until I’m hoarse.
  4. If you are going to turn or merge into another lane, USE YOUR SONOFABITCHING TURN SIGNAL! I hope there is a special level of Hell for people who assume that at 70 mph I can read your mind and know exactly when you plan on merging in front of me with only 3 feet to spare. Can I say asshole????
  5. If you are driving on the freeway in rush hour at 30 mph and all of a sudden the lanes open up (which I’ll never understand why or how that happens) then SPEED THE FUCK UP! Why do you keep going 30 mph in a 65 mph zone when there isn’t a car in front of you? WHY? Why God, why do they do it??
  6. If you see me coming, just move the fuck over and let me by. That way, we can all be happy and safe. ;)
How people really feel while driving!

How people really feel while driving!

Whew, that was exhausting! Driving these last two days in rush hour (I have to make my appointments late in the afternoon so I don’t miss work) has made me 4,000,000 times more thankful that I have a job where I get to work from home. I’m not sure that I could do the whole rush hour thing daily. I used to have to drive 75 miles each way in rush hour and I don’t know how I’m not in prison.

Thank you, as always, for putting up with my horrible mouth, my unending sarcasm and my delight in ranting. I feel SO much better now that that is all off my chest (doesn’t it always look weird when you have “that that”  in a sentence?).

Have a great weekend! Hugs!