\”Happy Heart\” by Andy Williams

I promised I’d let you know the results of my JUST SAY NO TO LIPITOR! regime and here it is:

Total cholesterol down 42 points to 216, HDL (good) up from 56 to 62, LDL (“bad”) down from 184 to 142 with a ratio of 3.5.

My doctor is thrilled and flabbergasted and has advised me to “keep up the good work” without any backsliding because he wants the total count down to 180.  PIECE O’ CAKE  . . . or, rather, square of heart-healthy dark chocolate!

I will post specifics on how I did it, but please feel free to drop me a comment or email and it’d be my honor to create a program for you, too!

Suffice to say that I had only 1 piece of pizza since November, no cheese (or Christmas eggnog)whatsoever, drinking water, having oatmeal daily for breakfast with some ultra-healthy additions (more later), no beef, lots of fish, nuts, veggies and fruit.

It was actually fun and look at the reward I get to reap . . . hardly seems any sacrifice at all now.

I grew up being told to drink 8 glasses of water a day and I pretty much did that.  We drank water or juice at my house – almost never soda.

At some point I got derailed.  I decided I hated water and that it tasted like “liquid steel”.

Then I used the differing opinions about water intake to validate my resistance:  “8 glasses of water a day is a myth“, “drink 10 glasses of water a day,” “you can drink too much water!” etc.  I also whined about how far away the water cooler was, how many times I’d have to trudge to the ladies’ room, how nocturnal “loo” visits interrupted my sleep and presented a health hazard.

In the past several months, Wendy Battles has enthusiastically encouraged water drinking, which got me up to a glass a day . . .  maybe . . . when I saw her tweets . . . 

Then, as you know, my doc told me I had a total cholesterol count of 258 and gave me 6 weeks to “get religion” about my health or start taking Lipitor.  During the course of my research and planning my JUST SAY NO TO LIPITOR program, I read that dehydration can contribute to high cholesterol (or at least doesn’t help).  Besides, excess weight is a contributor to high cholesterol and drinking water reportedly aids in weight loss.  That meant I had to give up my refusal to drink water or wonder if I did everything possible to avoid cholesterol medication.

Day 1.  I drank 2 whole glasses of water. 200% more than usual.

Day 2.  I experimented with simply doubling what I’d done the day before.  4 glasses of water imbibed.

And so it went until I found myself having drunk (drunken? . . . drank?) 8 glasses in a single day.

To combat the gripes listed above, I got a lovely, cobalt-blue 16 oz. glass so I could I’d feel the victory of having consumed “2 8-oz. glasses” with every refill while minimizing trips to the water cooler and drank most of my water before 6 or 7 pm to avoid sleep interruptions.

While I don’t get retested for my cholesterol until January 20, I have lost weight; but that could be because I now also eat breakfast daily, never going more than 3-4 hours without a healthful snack, cut out all the junk, and exercise more.  

So, what’s that got to do with water?  Nothing.  Here’s what does:  my ability to distinguish thirst from hunger and my unwillingness any longer to ignore my body’s signals.   Those are BIG!  I’d been ignoring my body for so long I couldn’t even tell if I was hungry or thirsty, both of which I mostly ignored until I could stand it no longer and sat down with a big bucket-o’something-unhealthy.  I’m back in tune with my systems and that certainly has me feeling healthier and more grounded. 

Do I know whether I need 4 glasses or 10?  Nope and I probably don’t even care.  I’m doing all I can to avoid cholesterol medication and actually feel better for it.  We’ll see what the doc says next week, but now that I’ve turned the faucet on, I won’t be turning it off again.

“When the well is dry, we know the worth of water.”  ~Benjamin Franklin

My pride was not entirely appropriate.

My total cholesterol is 258 and my LDL (“bad”) cholesterol is 184.  Ignominy.

Doc says in order to avoid meds, I have 4 to 6 weeks to “get religion”.  So, while my little weasle mind tried to figure out ways to avoid tending to myself holistically or tried to convince myself that “hey 49 and cholesterol meds isn’t a big deal” . . . I realized I was completely full of donkey dust.

Here are my options as I see them:

(1) take the meds and acquiesce to the middle-age cliches and schlepping myself to the Upper East Side for montly blood tests (that is simply not interesting),

(2) do nothing (could be uninteresting, could be kamikaze – don’t like the odds),

(3) take this thing in hand, make it interesting and fun, and blog about it to help others (and keep myself motivated).

I refuse to eat tree bark or to get on a gerbil wheel at the gym.  Hey, that’s just my take on things.  What I am interested in doing is eating a variety of delicious foods and doing a variety of exercise I enjoy.

I have a blog called VintageAWESOME for pity’s sake and a neighborhood farmers’ market and an Urban Rebounder and a magnificent park with HILLS across the street!

I’m very interested in your feedback, questions, comments, suggestions (all except for the website that recommended Metamucil 3 times a day). 

January 14, 2010 is 6 weeks from tomorrow.

OK, here we go . . .

The state of my apartment always has reflected the state of my mind. It’s as if someone raised the volume on my “YOU’RE A MESS” knob. How’s THAT for a mirror?! Wherever I go, there I am. CRAP!

During such times, I also tend not to feed myself properly. It’s only after returning from my weekly visit to the Inwood Farmers’ Market that I realize how I’ve not been nourishing myself quite the way I had been before August 17.

Even doing the laundry feels like an effort.

All this lack (no clean clothes, no food other than science experiments in the fridge, no order) is a constant reminder that I’m in pain, I don’t know what to do with myself, everything feels like an effort, and my Mom isn’t here to make it better.

Oh, goody – an opportunity to delve deeper.  Ontologically, nourish and nurture derive from the Old French and Latin word “to feed, nurse, foster, support, preserve,” “to suckle”. How apt, then, that the death of my Mom would result in a self-nourishment crisis. No surprise that nursery is also a derivative since I feel like a big fat baby!

I simply do not want to take care of myself … myself.

Some of my best memories of my Mom and I are of days when she’d be cooking in our little galley kitchen in Douglaston and I’d hop up on the counter (which I did through my forties and probably still do with friends when I get the chance). She’d cook dinner for us and we’d talk about everything. I’d tell her about school, ballet class; she’d tell me about work and what she had planned for us for the weekend. I’d ask what her favorite color was, she’d ask what I wanted to be when I grew up. Both questions of equal importance. Thus, nurturing and nourishment are inextricably linked forever for me.

Maybe the lesson for me now is tenderness and self-nurturance; to take everything I learned from her about how to do that and learn to do it for myself or go visit a friend’s kitchen (consider yourselves forewarned). So I find that I begin returning to my kitchen to cook the things Mom made for me that would make me feel better. Chopping onions, I can still talk to her as the smells of comfort fill my home.

Yes, Mom, I know . . . browning the meat before putting it in the crock pot makes a better pot roast (just please don’t make me make those PEAS!).

I’ll do that while the laundry’s in the dryer.

What’s Blog Action Day got to do with VintageAWESOME?  Think about your wonderful lifetime . . . the music you cherish, the memories, the world you grew up in.  Think about our generation’s version of 40, 50 or 60.  We’ve got the technology, passion and creativity to apply the same joy of living and commitment to our own wellbeing to our planet so that future “vintages” can enjoy this beautiful world, its nature, water, air, plants and animals.

Please support implementation of bold, comprehensive, significant and innovative action to reduce greenhouse gases and develop clean energy.

It’s not too late.  Listen.

So, here are some guaranteed, sure-fire, no fail, could-never-be-the-wrong thing suggestions:

• Open your arms. Hug person. Listen. Repeat.
• I’m so sorry for your loss; I don’t know what to say. How can I support you?
• Open your arms. Hug person. Listen. Repeat.
• How are you?
• Open your arms. Hug person. Listen. Repeat.
• Just sit down next to them. Be there.
• Open your arms. Hug person. Listen. Repeat.

It’s that simple.

For Mom and me, memories and music went together.

Most summers when I was a kid (late 60′s/early 70′s), I spent a month in Florida with Aunt Marie and Uncle Jack. Mom got to save a little money on child care, give my nanny a vacation, relax herself a bit, and I’d get to have a month by the pool! At the end of my stay in Florida, Marie, Jack and I would take a scenic drive to New York to pick up my Mom and most of my family to continue up “Up North” to Saranac Lake or Lake George for a few days together.

We’d travel in 2 cars, making funny faces at each other as we passed each other on the highway along the way: Uncle Walter, Aunt Fran, Uncle Joe and Aunt Kay in one car; Aunt Marie, Uncle Jack, Mom and me in the other.

The cabin on Lake George had no television and barely any electricity. It had a deep back yard, a wooden dock and a canoe.

I always knew it was time to come in when I’d hear the singing start.  I’d run up the hill while someone started the barbecue. By the time I got up to the house, the grown-ups were singing all sorts of show tunes, songs from the 30′s, 40′s and 50′s (cocktails apparently hasten the heating of the coals or at least make the wait more interesting).

My Mom, her four siblings and Aunt Fran grew up together in Witherbee, New York and had known each other since the beginning of time; after dinner clean-up always included more laughing over all the “old stories.”

 That’s my first tip:  DO NOT ATTEMPT THIS ALONE!  If people volunteer to go with you, take them up on it.  If you can squeak out a request that someone accompany you, do it.  This is particularly so for only children.

 The grief ninjas struck the moment I cracked the door open.  My entire body remembered what it’s done reflexively for the lsat 27 years:  door opens, “HI, MOMMY!”  I instinctively expected her to come out of the kitchen or down the hall and waited the usual moment for her to appear.  I waited a microsecond.  All is well, the house smells like her.  She must be in the bathroom.  Silence.  Emptiness.  The miliseconds of happy expectation into stunned comprehension.  Denys caught me and I sobbed.  I didn’t expect to get walloped by it so immediately.  I’d foolishly girded myself for something . . . as if I could prepare.  HA!

 Well, at least I got that over with first thing!

 I steeled myself and we started looking through the file cabinets.  We were on a mission to find Mom’s life insurance policy, policy number, information so that I could run (fund) things while waiting for Letters of Adminisration to be issued.  OK, I’ll tell the truth . . . I’ve not done a thing about the will and was hoping finding the life insurance would buy me a little more avoidance time before having to deal with that and probate court.  Yes, I realize I have a law degree, but when it comes to this stuff, I’m a functional 3 year old whose Mommy died.

 Thank God my Mom can always be counted on for funny and thank God we always teased each other about our idiosyncracies.  Heck, thank God I can always be counted on for funny!

 Mom’s filing “system” . . . wasn’t.  The woman who began her career as a secretary for New York Telephone Company had many mislabeled files.  Most of the really important stuff was in a folder labeled “MISC” . . . about 25 folders labeled “MISC”.  ARE YOU KIDDING ME???!!!

 TIP TWO:  Make sure your “important papers” are all together, in one place, accurately marked.  If you put them in one folder or envelope, make an accurate table of contents on the outside.

 I guess she figured I’d figure it out . . . just as soon as I stopped shaking my head and laughing.

 Denys and I were in the kitchen and Dave in the adjoining den when I said, “You know, she always told me she left me a letter, with instructions about what to do, where everything is . . . “  I looked up at Mom (the ceiling has become Heaven) and said, “COME ON, WORK WITH ME HERE!!”  The next moment Dave padded into the kitchen looking like he’d seen a ghost, holding some yellow sheets of paper: “Is this that letter?”  He’d just picked it up the moment I’d “yelled at” my Mom.  It was the letter.

 I guess her miscellaneous system worked.

Psssst . . . your pajamas are open!

What I can tell you is what it feels like. It seems to boil down to, “I’ve completely lost my mind and that’s perfectly normal.” Typically said to me by someone with a piteous tone an a pat on the head; and I’m grateful as I can be for the tone and the pat!

The word that keeps running through my head is torpor (“a state of motor and mental inactivity with a partial suspension of sensibility”) with a feeling of being completely lost. Definitely shaken AND stirred.

In the 70′s there was an expression for when you smoked pot and were a little high . . . “maintain” . . . as in to maintain the appearance of being perfectly “normal” when you walked past your parents in the living room when you were stoned off your rocker, red-eyed and giggling.

In the aftermath of my Mom’s death (today in fact is 2 weeks to the day), I occasionally catch myself thinking I’m just fine and then go and do something completely “off” . . . I think I’m “maintaining” but instead, it’s really like wearing those feetie pajamas with the back door hanging open and everybody can see it but me.

For instance, it took me 5 separate trips from her house to the car the day she died . . . the new locks didn’t work or worked too well and I was locked inside the house. Then I remembered I could simply go out the sliding glass door. I’M A GENIUS! Got to the car. No purse. Tromp back up the little walkway and around back, grab purse and head back out to car. Nope, no car keys . . . and so it went. It wasn’t until the third trip I realize that it might – just maybe – have something remotely to do with my state of mind.

Or just today when I thought I left my apartment perfectly groomed and caught sight of myself in just a couple of hours later in the ladies’ room mirror at my office. My Mom used to describe this particular look as “ready to haunt houses.”

Here I will share what I learned and am continuing to learn as my Mom’s Alzheimer’s finally progressed, her week in hospice, making funeral arrangements as an only child. I will also share the joy, the humor (it’s essential to avoid the booby hatch!) – all of it.

Monday, August 31, 2009

Psssst . . . your pajamas are open!

What I can tell you is what it feels like. It seems to boil down to, “I’ve completely lost my mind and that’s perfectly normal.” Typically said to me by someone with a piteous tone an a pat on the head; and I’m grateful as I can be for the tone and the pat!

The word that keeps running through my head is torpor (“a state of motor and mental inactivity with a partial suspension of sensibility”) with a feeling of being completely lost. Definitely shaken AND stirred.

In the 70′s there was an expression for when you smoked pot and were a little high . . . “maintain” . . . as in to maintain the appearance of being perfectly “normal” when you walked past your parents in the living room when you were stoned off your rocker, red-eyed and giggling.

In the aftermath of my Mom’s death (today in fact is 2 weeks to the day), I occasionally catch myself thinking I’m just fine and then go and do something completely “off” . . . I think I’m “maintaining” but instead, it’s really like wearing those feetie pajamas with the back door hanging open and everybody can see it but me.

For instance, it took me 5 separate trips from her house to the car the day she died . . . the new locks didn’t work or worked too well and I was locked inside the house. Then I remembered I could simply go out the sliding glass door. I’M A GENIUS! Got to the car. No purse. Tromp back up the little walkway and around back, grab purse and head back out to car. Nope, no car keys . . . and so it went. It wasn’t until the third trip I realize that it might – just maybe – have something remotely to do with my state of mind.

Or just today when I thought I left my apartment perfectly groomed and caught sight of myself in just a couple of hours later in the ladies’ room mirror at my office. My Mom used to describe this particular look as “ready to haunt houses.”

At my new blog Lost My Mom & Buried My Mind (lostmymomburiedmymind.blogspot.com) I will share what I learned and am continuing to learn as my Mom’s Alzheimer’s finally progressed, her week in hospice, making funeral arrangements as an only child. I will also share the joy, the humor (it’s essential to avoid the booby hatch!) – all of it.