Bring It!

So I finally have stuck to an insanely difficult workout and diet plan for the last 3 weeks. I'm a quarter of the way through a 90-day program called P90X. I'm hooked. I've only lost about a pound, but the cage is changing. I now have muscles that I haven't seen in a LONG time! Feels pretty amazing. 6 days a week of working out and 6 small meals each day. The workouts are intense but only about an hour long each day. My son who is 6 has joined me for a few workouts - he's fun to watch and it certainly helps to take my mind off the hard work I'm doing. The only downside to the program is that my social life seems to have fallen off the face of the Earth. Besides having little time to do much else than work, workout, plan meals and be a mother and wife, I don't want to blow the diet with too much alcohol and jeopardize the following day's workout and diet by feeling like crap. So I've haven't made any Happy Hours lately, and even date night has taken on a new twist. No more Appletinis for me. 2 Michelob ultras every Sat night. That's it. Can't be all that bad - if I could just quit smoking, I'd be golden.

It's not a tumor

I have an avid interest in some people's blog who are sick. I mean really sick. I got hooked an a colleague's son website over a year ago and since then have faithfully followed close to 30 caringbridge websites - mostly of children with serious and/or terminal illnesses. So I want to preface this entry by saying I am in no way mocking the horrific experiences that so many families go through every day dealing with these types of issues.

I get headaches. For as long as I've been an adult - all kinds. Migraines, tension headaches in my neck, general headaches. Seems like I'm popping 800mg of advil at least 2-3 times per week. Never really thought much about it until about a month ago, I was getting this sharp pain on the top of my head when I would go from sitting to standing, or when I stretched or yawned. I'm talking the kind of piercing pain that would make me have to sit down and close my eyes. The pain would last only about 10 seconds and be gone. But it was happening 3-4 times a day for a few days, so I thought I would go to the dr. and see what might be going on. I LOVE my doctor. She is so great and totally not hesitant to order tests of all kinds. I love that about her. So she ordered some routine blood work and a CT scan. She mentioned that they don't take strange headaches very lightly in her practice - since her partner's daughter was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor about a year ago (one of the many Caringbridge kids I follow religiously)

So I got the CT scan done last Wednesday - 2 days before my 36th birthday and almost a week after I had seen the doctor. By that time the headaches were gone and I had fallen victim to the stomach bug that was going around and hadn't really eaten in about 4 days. Thursday night, on my way out to a little Girls' Night revelry, I noticed a voice mail on my cellphone. It was my doctor calling to discuss the results of my CT. Never a good sign when the doc calls you back after hours on your cell. Panic set in. I couldn't call back after hours and the office didn't start taking call until the next morning. I had one drink at the bar with my girlies, and went home - I was too distracted to really enjoy myself.

I got to work on Friday (my birthday) and called the dr.'s office right when they opened. I announced myself to the receptionist and before I could explain my call I got "Oh Mrs Scherer, hold on, please." Another unsettling sign that something must not be right. I was asked for a callback number for the doctor to call me back. 5 minutes later the doctor calls back. "How are your headaches?' she asks. I promptly tell her that she's freaking me out and plead with her to tell me what's going on. I reported that my headaches had gone away since I'd seen her last and was just struggling through the tummy bug. She didn't like the sound of the nausea. She let me know the good news - no tumor or growth. Slight sigh of relief, but what in the heck else could be wrong that has her tracking me down? CT showed evidence of increased pressure in my brain. OK. What's that? The official terms are idiopathic intracranial hypertension or pseudo tumor cerbri. I like the first one better. And it occurs primarily in women who are Obese. nice. (for the record, I know I moan and groan about needing to lose weight, but I most certainly wouldn't put me in the Obese category). If the pressure gets too high for too long it can result in permanent blindness and some folks have to have shunts put in to drain the cerebral fluid from their brains to keep the pressures down.

She tells me she is going to try to get me in with a neurologist or ophthalmologist today and if she couldn't she would just direct admit me to the hospital so some tests could be done. Holy shit, I'm really panicked now. She asks me if I'm at work (which I was) but I told her I would head home and wait for her to call me back. I hang up the phone and start sobbing. Tell my co-worker I have to go and start packing up. My hubby calls to see how my Birthday is going so far and I start mumbling thru tears what the dr had just told me. As I'm driving home a strange doctor's office calls and tells me I have an appointment at 10am to see the doctor. At this point, I'm not even hearing what kind of doctor it is. A neurologist would be doing a spinal tap to measure the severity of the intracranial pressure - the eye doctor would be checking my optic nerves for signs of increased pressure. Thankfully it was the eye doctor. I'll take an eye exam over a spinal tap any day.

So the eye exam was normal, no pressure in my optic nerve, but I'm still really confused about what's going on and what's going to happen next. The eye doc tells me he'll call my doctor and I should wait for a call back from her on next steps. In the meantime my husband has left work and is waiting for me in the eye dr's lobby. We both drive home. I give the doctor an hour to call me back. When she doesn't, I call her back and she explains that since my optic nerve is not showing signs of stress, the situation is no longer emergent, and I can go ahead and schedule an MRI/MRA to get a better look at my leisure. My leisure, my ass. I had already not eaten a thing, and I know the test would require me to fast for several hours before, and I'm certainly not going to spend my birthday sitting around if I have an aneurysm or some other freaky thing going on in my head. So I call the MRI place and masterfully get a 4pm appt for the test. MRI test goes off without a hitch. But here's the kicker - I don't get the official results from my doctor for another 5 days! I had to bribe some of my medical friends to pull some strings and try to get a peek at the results ahead of time. I did hear back from 1 friend on Tuesday or Wed (can't remember now) and he told me the initial read of the MRI was "unremarkable". "How dare you call me unremarkable," I joked! The MRA results weren't in yet, but I was a bit relieved, but wouldn't really rest until I got the final report from my doctor.

So Thursday afternoon they called me, after I had called them about 20 times from Mon-Thu for an answer. The nurse made the callback - always a good sign. Apparently I have some kind of congenital vascular anomaly in my brain that they are guessing is causing the increased pressure and if I get more headaches, they can give me medicine for it. So I need to be on alert for any vision changes, sharp pain in my head, dizziness, etc. I may have to stop drinking - I get those symptoms every Saturday night after an Apple Martini or 2, or 3 . . .I'm guessing every little "normal" twinge will give me pause from now on. I still have lots of questions, and plan to pick up all my films and reports and google all the words in the findings to try and piece things together. I wonder what kind of medicine they give you to reduce the pressure in your brain? Maybe one of the side affects is weight loss? I should be so lucky. Awful - aren't I? Hey I'm all about the silver lining.

So the 36th b-day was certainly unforgettable but not much fun. Hopefully 37 will be less eventful.

PS - To all my Caringbridge friends and others I know who are suffering - My thoughts and prayers are with you always.

Another Sunday Night Resolution

What is it about Sunday evenings that brings out my renewed strength and resolve to make this week a better one than the last? 2 words - guilt and frustration. I enjoyed 4 nights in a row of bad behavior. Wednesday night was a monthly girls' night out (GNO) with some lovely ladies. I didn't eat (bonus) but indulged in 2 vodka tonics (the tall ones) and was out until midnight. I've been reading that sleep is very important when it comes to weight loss, which is why I mention the time I got home. I never get more than 6 hours a night, which is probably sabotaging my efforts.
Thursday night's activities involved 2 glasses of red wine, the most tender sauteed calamari I've had in a while and quite possibly an entire loaf of Italian bread with oil and grated cheese. Friday started in the afternoon and went til the next morning with countless glasses of white wine, more calamari (the fried variety) some pizza, and a late night wedge (full of blue cheese and bacon) and a brownie sundae. I would have worked out Saturday morning while the girl was at gymnastics, if I wasn't so beat and bloated. Saturday night for my weekly date night was more of the same - this time apple martinis, some Japanese short rib and a mushroom risotto that I could have eaten over and over again. So that sums up the evenings - the days weren't much better. No alcohol, of course, but lots of bad things. Suffice it to say there were doughnuts, creamed chipped beef, mac and cheese, meatball subs, General Tso's even McDonald's. It wasn't pretty. Remember the five pounds I was bragging about losing a couple weeks ago - yeah whatever. I haven't really lost an ounce.

So I will try again tomorrow. Packing lots of good stuff to take to work. Oatmeal, yogurt, fruit, etc. We'll see. Oh did I mention I'm not a vegetarian anymore? That lasted maybe a week. My bean consumption was interfering with the air quality at work. It's embarrassing!

I can't forget the exercise. Maybe I'll train for the Broad Street Run with my better half. Read that last sentence again. Ha - like if I write it maybe it will happen. You see, I can run for about 45 minutes tops and that's at a pace of no more than 5 miles per hour. I have short legs - what can I say? I swear I can be on the treadmill at the gym running fast - matching the dude next to me stride for stride - my machine says 4.5 mph, and his says 6.5 mph. Not fair. Stay tuned for my 10 mile training regimen. Should be riveting!

Indiscretions

I'm not perfect. The following is a list (not necesarily exhaustive) of my recent missteps as a mother, wife, employer, gym member, dieter, shopper. I'm thinking admission may lead to absolution. At least that's what I'm hoping for.

1. Failed to thoroughly wipe down the treadmill at the gym

2. Sent my daughter to school less than 24 after her first dose of antibiotic

3. Smoked a Marlboro Light during halftime of the NFC playoff game

4. Ate entire package of ELFudge cookies without sharing

5. Took the shortcut on my Kickboxing class run

6.Went to work without showering

7. Got a pedicure without shaving first

8. Blamed passed gas on the dog or a kid

9. Put the kids to bed without brushing their teeth

10. Sent the kids to school without brushing their teeth

11. Swept crumbs under a throw rug

12. Remembered the cat needed to be fed and didn't feed the cat

13. Skipped pages of a long bedtime story book

14. Told my kids there wasn't any ice cream left when there was

Finding a Cleaning Lady

Reflecting on the title I’ve selected it seems to be a little sexist. Cleaning “Lady”? I could have used a more PC term like housekeeper, but then people might think I was living high on the hog and in the market for some kind of live-in Alice-type help. Unfortunately, that is not the case. I’m simply looking for someone, or some pair of people, to show up once a week and scrub floors, clean bathrooms, vacuum and dust. Seems like a simple “to-do”. Seems easy enough. Never for me.

We get flyers in our front door every other month from one of those franchised services Happy Maids or Cheery Elves, some company with uniformed personnel (see, no sexism here) all smiles and whistles. Some of my neighbors have a lady, usually referenced over happy hours and get-togethers as “my girl”. Of those that use the same girl, the satisfaction level is split. Some love her, some don’t. I’m not sure this girl is consistent from house to house, so hiring their girl would certainly be somewhat of a gamble. And if you’ve followed my blog long enough, (right, it’s only been a week, I know) you already know that I have trouble admitting dissatisfaction with service – see last Wednesday’s entry re: Dudley Moore haircut. I’m afraid I would pay for lousy housework and never confront the girl and end up disappointed and bitter each week as I vacuumed or cleaned AFTER she was here. See how hard this is already?

Let’s assume I’ve found the perfect person to clean my house and I can afford the service each week. Now you have to pick a day. If you’re lucky, you get your choice Monday thru Friday. Chances are if she’s any good at what she does, she has a large client base, and they have taken all the good time slots – Thursdays and/or Fridays so that when people spend the most time in their homes on the weekend, that’s when it’s the cleanest. Let’s assume my girl (there I go again, back to the stereotype – sorry) can only do Mondays or Wednesdays. Decisions, decisions, I’m sure there are benefits to having your home cleaned right after the weekend when perhaps it’s the messiest and dustiest. But that leaves you with pretty funky Fridays. Fine, Wednesdays it is. Semi-clean for the weekend, and it wouldn’t kill me to vacuum a little in between visits.

Now I need to figure out what to do with the dog. We have a 90 pound, exuberant, 3 year old Golden Retriever. I’m guessing he would be in the way of any stranger trying to scrub the kitchen floor. I can picture him following her around the house, getting a whiff of every product she pulled out of her arsenal. And if it would happen to be raining on any given Wednesday, the dog’s muddy paws would ruin her work before she was able to finish. So I could either banish the dog outside for the day – doesn’t seem fair to the neighbors he’d most likely bark at all day - or send him to Doggie Daycare for the day. He LOVES it there, but it’s about 8 miles out of my way and getting him there, my daughter to her school, my son on the bus and myself to work all by 9am is pretty much impossible. Plus that’s another $22 a day. That’s why the poor dog has only been there 3 times since September. Come to think of it, I recall one day at Daycare he started drinking the mop water and had to be “observed” for potential poison ingestion the rest of the day in a crate. Another dilemma. Surprise, surprise. I won’t even bore you with the whole my-husband-doesn’t-like-strangers-having-access-to-our-house argument. Exhausted yet? I am. This is precisely why I haven’t hired a cleaning lady – let the dog hair and dust linger on.

Where does the time go?

7 days/week x 24 hours/day = 168 hours/week

I spend about 50 hours each week on Job #1 – innovating and strategizing about creating life-long, engaged banking customers. 84 hours a week goes Job #2 – Chief Executive Officer of my family of 6 (4 humans and 2 animals.) I came up with 84 hours figuring from 8am to 8pm pretty much every day I'm consumed with DayCare, Kindergarten, strep throat, ear infections, breaking up fights over the DS, supervising TV viewing, grocery shopping, meal planning, gift shopping, invitation RSVP'ing, wardrobe selecting, school project designing, calendar/activity coordinating, camp registering, nose wiping, dog brushing and vacuuming. Thankfully, I sleep about 6 hours each night. Altogether that’s 176 hours, which goes OVER the amount of hours available in a single week by 8 hours. No wonder I have no time to exercise.

Post Script (added after my darling husband called and read this entry)
I had drafted some items about his Job #2 as CFO of the household, but took the post in another direction. Just in case anyone thought I was alone at the helm, not so. My partner in crime spends the same, if not more hours per week managing his 2 careers. Job #1 - not totally sure but I know he goes to an office every day, works on something related to accounting and finance, and gets a nice paycheck. Job #2 includes doing laundry, home improvements - and by home improvements I don't mean changing lightbulbs or fixing the vacuum when I've clogged it with dog hair or fixing the remote control when it doesn't do what I want it to (oh he does that, too), but what I really mean is major remodels and repair like basement finishing, knocking down walls, installing new doors and windows (not the replacement kind), bathroom gutting and reconstruction, etc. He cleans bathrooms and runs with the dog. He also chauffeurs the kids to swimming lessons and gymnastics classes and is in charge of Kindergarten homework completion and kidbaths. Love you, honey! What's even more amazing is he finds time to exercise! Not fair.

Jeans Friday R.I.P.

It’s Friday. My favorite workday of the week. Why, you ask? It’s not because after 9 hours in the office I’m free to start the weekend. It’s because I get to wear JEANS to work. Something about not having to figure out which pants go with which sweater, blouse, vest, etc is quite exciting. I’ve recently noticed that Blue jeans are essentially the perfect neutral. They go with black or brown and every color in between (there probably aren’t many colors precisely in between black and brown, and my Mensa friends would remind me that black isn’t really a color, but the absence of color, but you get the idea). That must be why I love wearing them, and I never dread getting ready on Fridays because pretty much everything in the closet will go with jeans. On mornings Monday through Thursday, I start the process with facing the bottoms in my closet and picking a color either from the brown family or the black family. Unless I pick the pants my Mom gave to me. (Back when she dropped a few sizes and she had no use for her 10’s and 8’s – Thanks Mom. So uplifting when you get your Mom’s fat clothes as hand-me-downs) The orphaned pants are neither grey nor brown, and I have never figured out what group they belong to. That’s probably why I rarely pick them – I never know what to put on top. Once I’ve determined the base color, I can work out the rest from tops to shoes, earrings, etc. It’s never easy and most mornings it’s just annoying. I have far too many suede shoes that I’m afraid to wear out in the Seattle-like gross winter rain we’ve been getting. And although I have 2 pairs of short boots and 2 pairs of tall boots (1 brown, 1 black in each style) there is something about boots and dress slacks that aren’t working for me lately. I think it’s perhaps because my boots are so tall, that the pants end up looking like floods. My high heels are pretty tall too, yet heels and my pants don’t yield the same result. Of the heels I have that are season-appropriate, 2 of the 3 are suede and the non-suede pair is brown, so on rainy days with black as my base color, I’m pretty much screwed. See how complicated this dressing thing is? I think I need more shoes.


So, back to my love affair with Fridays. Since I can remember, my department at work has had a Jeans Friday policy. Pay $5 and you can wear jeans. Every month the money was pooled and given to a worthy charity. We raised some serious money for some really great causes. Apparently, there were lots of people that never paid, and someone high up said no more. I can’t tell you what that has done to my Friday morale.

So I’m officially mourning the loss of Jeans Friday and fidgeting in my tannish-gray, hand-me-down, fat pants, trying to have a nice day! Don’t ask about the shoes.