So there I was, minding my own business in the vestibule to menopausal hell, when suddenly the doors swung open and I was ushered in without so much as a how do you do.
Twenty pounds.
Twenty #;'g+*$# pounds back on my portly little self in the space of about a week and a half.
OK. Maybe it's a little longer that a week and a half, but the fact remains that I have bloated up like a Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon and I am completely and utterly miserable. Every ounce if it is in my mid-section and every ounce of it is screaming at me that I am a miserable failure.
Dr Melfi tells me that this is all 100% cortisol/stress related, and that recent events took more of a toll on me than just a few weepy sleepless nights, and that I shouldn't look at this as a failure but rather as an opportunity to remind myself how strong I am.
I love Dr Melfi.
We pulled nine pounds of fluid off during treatment yesterday, but that was just about enough to kill me. Literally. Blood pressure of 90/40 and lots of oxygen and hollering. Not gonna do that again. Nope. Just not gonna do it.
I'm giving myself precisely twenty minutes to wallow....that's a minute per pound for you more astute observers, and then I'm going to put my old lady sneakers on and go for a twenty minute walk around the apartment complex.
With a mask on.
Tomorrow is Friday, and I will record and report my after-treatment off-weight on this here blog to keep myself accountable, and I will be super super careful about my food and drink choices. There is no way in you-know-what I'm going to lose that kidney transplant. I just know that my kidney is out there somewhere, and when we find it I am going to be ready for it come hell or high water.
Enough of that.
On the stitchy front, I am happy to report that it all comes down to the silk ribbon flower today. This is perfect, because I have a nice long quiet day to stitch this carefully and enjoy learning something new. I haven't worked with silk ribbon very often in the past, so I want to take my time and do this right.
Here's the progress from yesterday:![]()
So there you have it, Dearies. A tale of woe, a fist-shaking promise to bounce back, and a plan for the day. And all executed before 9am.
What's new in your neck of the woods?