January 5, 2013
The roller-coaster that was 2012 ground to an end after one hell of a year. Most dominant were my health problems. It seemed like the last quarter of the year, with a job change that allowed me to work remotely most of the time, could only bring improvements. But alas, the best laid plans, hm?
A hopeful and determined-to-do-better foray into self care and pain management set off an unanticipated avalanche. Instead of simple relief, I was gifted with a swap of symptoms, incredibly even less manageable and less tolerable than the usual bone-wrenching pain, and unending marrow-deep fatigue.
In my short educational course on chronic pain given by pain specialists, we learned that pain uses the same neural pathways as depression. People who live with unabated or untreatable chronic pain, pain that lasts more than (3, 6, 12 months, or beyond the “expected time to heal”, I was told, are almost certainly depressed: biologically, your brain has been using a pain/depression pathway repeatedly so it’s essentially programmed depression into your brain; realistically, being in pain constantly is draining and having a constant limitation is frakkin’ depressing!
You may have no control over the situation, the pain limits your life and abilities in ways you didn’t anticipate, cannot or do not wish to become accustomed to. “If you’re not depressed now,” the pain specialist physician said, “you’re lying.”
The thing was, I understood the mechanics of why pain = depression thing intellectually. But after nearly twenty years of living with unceasing pain, increasing pain, discovering and failing to surmount increasing limits, I had not yet *felt* the deep-down, isolating, spiraling, rending drag of depression.
I’ve seen it before. I’ve had friends and family drag those demons, firmly attached to their ankles until they finally made it to the other side or curl up in their corners until it all went away. But, for whatever reason, in the face of unrelenting pain and everything else life was throwing at me, I didn’t feel the bite myself.
The pain was a deciding factor in life. Horrible when it flared, but I could trudge through, finding whatever it took to do what I needed to do. (Never mind what I wanted to do. Never mind what I wished for.) I was sad, of course, and sometimes bitter.
Angry at times. I had lost what felt like almost everything: my intended career path, my ability to run, my confidence in my physical strengths which had dwindled down to nearly nothing, my hobbies, my ability to breathe, my stamina to live a full and fulfilled life. I have to question every single thing I do and whether it’s worth the energy loss.
But the anger, bitterness or sad would ebb, and I’d move on. There was work to do. Family and friends to care for. Things to fix.
Until now.
~~~
This fall’s tradeoff for physical functionality being able to get out of bed, walk for more than a few minutes without stopping for breath, not having to hold my breath and force myself power through when the price I pay is being flat on my back for hours or days was mental stability. My center of rational gravity was totally AWOL, disappeared into the quicksand mire of depression and suicidalism.
Each day, though nothing was worth it anymore, though two hands took away and give a finger-length back, a ghost of grit-it-out remained.
At least I can work.
At least I can breathe.
At least I can cook a meal.
At least I can wash five dishes.
At least I can be useful.
Sort of.
(Not really.)
Over and over, day after day, staggering under an assault the likes of which I’d never experienced before, the betrayal of my body seemed like a bargain in comparison to the betrayal of my mind, washing out the foundations of my faith, my drive, my self worth.
Divided against myself, my selves hung, suspended into immobility. The only certainty – I’d done my duty and more than done it and these tatters of my life were a testament to how little my efforts were worth.
Personality, drowned in lassitude, watched the body trying to focus on work, focus on making a dinner, focus on clearing up after.
Body, an automaton, performing duties that look “normal” to keep the world at bay, held off the final dregs of failure, shut out the chant of the mind.
Mind, railing against the life it’d rolled dice for, bore under Atlassian pressures for, sacrificed for. Thrown beyond not wanting to live this life, it couldn’t comprehend anything left, only myriad reasons for leaving.
Every natural instinct was dampened, every nerve and synapse firing prematurely, reactionary and flaring.
Life, I viewed through layers of alternating fury and despair.
~~~
In those muffling and stifling layers, I knew this was off balance. I just didn’t care.
I never don’t care. I care about many things: social equalities, personal achievements, the environment, driving my career, innovating, growing as a person, helping others. Cleanliness, neatness…
But with my mind fractured like this, I was my own worst nightmare. A cripple in every sense of the word. I didn’t have any desire to try when trying was just pain, draining me, like cold death.
For weeks into months, I just held on, anchored by a slim thread. By an unreleased breath. I wasn’t achieving. Wasn’t innovating. Wasn’t happy. Wasn’t resigned or at peace with the illness anymore – I was angry that this was it and none of it worth a thing.
~~~
This was incredibly frustrating for PiC. Because I couldn’t fathom making plans for a day, much less a week or month out. Because all he could see was me, huddled, in the corner. Because he couldn’t hear or understand the litany in my mind. No matter what he said or did, it hurt.
I literally didn’t even have words or voice to speak most days. Because I hated needing help, I hated getting help, I hated that deep down I was convinced that nearly no one believed or understood I had a legitimate problem I couldn’t “just deal with” or “manage.” For certain, no one could comprehend how I really had to live to survive, the world at large just assumed it was easy.
Knowing that I was a frustrating, horrible person to live with, despair or not, underscored the sense of loss. This wasn’t how it should have been. He deserved better.
~~~
For so many years, pretending to the outside world that I was fine, strong and capable was my coping mechanism. Never a smiley chirper – not unless something made me really happy. But fine. Strong. Competent. Unflappable. Partly because no one wants to be around a chronically sick or limited person, accommodating the cripple you’re probably not convinced has a real problem is a pain. Partly because constantly needing accommodations made it more real, partly because if I pretended I was fine, for a few minutes, I could BE fine.
That was maybe not the best way to deal with it. Certainly not for communicating about an invisible disease. But it got me through so much. That and not knowing how to give up.
Then Mom’s passing knocked everything out from under me.
Her support, the sensible loving guidance, I hadn’t had in nearly a decade. I had to think to remember the last time she could travel, could enjoy life, could have fun with me. But I still hadn’t given up, I was certain I could get my Mom back. And I was wrong. For almost a decade, I’d been wrong.
During that time, my sibling’s ups, downs, and ultimate descent into a mad babble – everything I’d done with him was wrong too.
My family, demolished. My strength, gone. My stamina, a faint memory. My future, what future? What future could rise from these ashes?
What else had I been wrong about? Had I done anything right?
~~~
Finally, I gave up on those medications meant to bring me peace, a devil’s bargain, a mind for a body, that revealed a Canto of Hell heretofore unexplored, and took my chances alone, unaided, unbuoyed.
How much worse could it get?
Pain rose and fell as it would. Day after day, I skipped the usual doses until it was unbearable, until I couldn’t move for the lances of pain.
And slowly, pieces of my mind, my self, joined disparate and crackly ends back together. Some quietly, some, continents crashing into each other. The bonding is still fragile, they shiver under stress. But the ragged, jagged edges are less exposed, less a raw nerve laid bare.
I’d never given up before, not even in the darkest nights. So I don’t exactly know what this path will be. How and when it’ll zig, zag or drop out from under my feet.
But I think I remember how to keep moving. That muscle memory may be all that I had left, last fall. And that may be all I need. The worst might be behind me now. Maybe. I don’t know.
Either way, I’m still here today. And I’ll probably be here tomorrow. And that’s not nothing.
~~~
Insight to living with pain, by others:
Katie at Girl with Red Balloon: life with constant migraines, and risk of hemorrhaging thanks to brain
Tessa: writes an incredibly apt comic strip on life with chronic illness.
September 18, 2012
It’s Day Four of narcotics. Narcotics that my doctors dole out as soon as I ask for them because they have no answers for me, because they know I’m not kidding, because they know I don’t ask lightly and because they know I’m not at risk for drug abuse, I practically never use them.
Because steroids don’t work, because every physical therapy has been tried, because every other avenue has been tried, because I grit and bear it every single day of my life. Because I don’t have any other options but to suck. it. up. And hour after hour, I live in pain. And unless it is literally paralyzing, blinding, cut my damn throat now please pain, I don’t take narcotics.
And it’s Day Four of the narcotics.
The thing is, they don’t work like you’d think they do. They’re no picnic. They don’t just magically smooth the pain away like a silk glove, they don’t make the world a happy shiny floaty glowy place. It’s not an All Better for two, four or six hours pill. They make me barfy, they make my hearing go in and out, they give me cotton mouth, I get dizzy or fuzz-brained or talk funny, they make parts of me numb or more sensitive or any number of crap odd things. The more I take, the worse it gets. It does, usually, take the edge off the worst of the pain. And when your pain is so screamingly bad that none of the regular medication can even dent it, it’s worth the side effects.
My god, I want my body back. Every day, I’m grateful I can walk, I’m grateful I can talk, I’m grateful if I can raise my arms or hold a pen, bend my knee or sit cross legged, I’m grateful I can earn a living and take care of myself, and my family and friends and I can finally walk my dog again.
Like this commenter TPP said,
your health situation seems to fall under the “mild” spectrum. There is no doubt that getting out of bed, pushing through long work days, and taking walks are difficult, but the bottom line is, you are able to do it with willpower.
To some degree, yes, that is right. So I am so incredibly grateful that I can get out of bed, when I can. Absolutely. And so thankful to have been able to get as far as I have.
At 21, I was terrified that I would be a bedridden cripple by this birthday. And every time I am bedridden for days and weeks, I wonder, how long, this time? Will this be it?
I deliberately set several goals for my 30th birthday, fearing that if I didn’t get it done by now, I would never be able to reach for them again at my rate of deterioration. Honestly? It wasn’t totally unwarranted.
This weekend triggered those feelings in full force.
I was assured on this very blog, back then, by a very dear friend not to lose hope because medicine would continue to advance, much as my condition might. She was not wrong, but though medicine might have made progress, I still have no real diagnosis. Though I’ve pursued far more help in the past few years than in the preceding 17 years because I was so put off by doctors telling me my condition was all in my head and there was nothing to be done, I’m still nowhere with the medical profession.
So this week, I find I’m so far past the end of my rope, with this nonsense which wasn’t solely about the dog, but really from the offhanded selfish attitude that I don’t matter except in the context that their business is tended to. I’m done with family, and definitely not depending on them for support. I’m nowhere with them.
I certainly give freely but on my terms. Especially when there’s never reciprocation – I never require reciprocation for my gifts but there is absolutely an end to this well.
Damn it. I Want My Body Back. I want to feel right again. I want to feel true to myself again. I want to set my feet on the ground and trust in the stability of the earth, like an athlete again. I want to feel the wind blowing past, love the sun on my face, on my arms and legs and back and stretch my muscles and feel the burning of exertion, not the burning of pain, like a shame of failure and weakness, again. I want to blow it all out on the track, sprinting for all I’m worth, knowing that I can throw myself on the ground and catch my breath again the same day, not three weeks from now.
I wrote this a while ago, out of frustration, never sure if I wanted to share it because it feels ungrateful because I did at least once have this, but I don’t mean it as a complaint. I can miss all I’ve lost while still appreciating all that I do have in my life right now.
This is just apt right now.
**********
I want my body back
Morning.
Joints, roll call.
Who is fit for duty?
Roll call.
Start at the bottom: locked in rigor.
Toes are swollen. All of them.
Needs ice.
Top of the foot.
Needs heat.
Don’t turn that ankle.
Needs compression.
No weight on that hip.
Needs more heat.
Spine’s tweaked.
Needs adjusting.
Can’t raise your arm, that shoulder’s real messed up. Wrists are out of it today.
Don’t breathe so hard, ribs are gonna burst, tear or something.
Chest is compressed, don’t lean forward.
*blink*
Fingers are cracking. That’s kinda gross.
Who’s fit for duty? Anyone?
Neck’s only half bad.
No headache.
Left side’s mostly in commission. Elbow’s busted up but …
Today’s a good day, then.
What was it like again, once upon a time?
I want my body back
Leaning backwards and forwards, hefting and running
Lithe and sweat, burning and all
Punching and kicking, stretching, breaking, building, leaping, again!
Give me twenty.
Give me another.
Another,
Another,
Again!
Tip at the waist, keep your back straight, keep your center of balance low.
Reach further, further, breathe out, reach further.
That hurt? Good.
You’re not trying hard enough til that sweat burns your eyes.
Laughing,
Driving,
Comradery
in the pursuit of perfection.
I want my body back
Brushing a coat, picking out hooves, saddling up,
all rituals and bonding
Sitting a seat, a rider’s seat, a true rider, not a passenger, long years away,
reins in hand,
Hands behind your back,
Back straight,
Shoulders back,
Knees bent,
Heels down,
Head up,
Move with your horse.
Use your weight, shift your body, not your hands,
Fly!
I want my body back
Pick up your pace, pick up your knees, higher, higher, higher
In your nose, out through your mouth,
Elbows close to your sides, like blades,
Work it, work, work,
Exhilaration.
I want my body back
Warm cuddles,
Tiny fingers, little toes,
Perky nose and microscopic eyelashes.
Yes, I’m your aunty, no, I can’t keep you. I
think your mommy would miss you.
But a piggyback ride home would be the best way
to get home, don’t you think?
After we climb that tree and catch that cat,
and teach you how to play one
more
game.
I want my body back.
**********
September 17, 2012
There is definitely something to be said for setting boundaries.
I had plans, it seemed like so many plans for this weekend but they really boiled down to getting a huge list of work done because they really needed doing.
Instead, as I’ve heard it termed, I got VolunTold for a duty that I was very displeased to be set up with. I can’t decide if my favorite part was that I wasn’t even consulted or if it was that it triggered one of the worst episodes of physical pain I’ve felt in months. After all, it was just assumed that since I was probably going to be around, I would deal with it.
Family was in town and instead of kenneling their semi-crazed, oversized, attention-starved pet that couldn’t stay with them in their arranged accommodation, they brought him to our place where, the last time he was left inside, despite being housebroken for his entire life, he peed a pee the size of the Great Salt Lake. But since everyone else had plans for the whole weekend “except for me” because I was “only” working from home, I was responsible for him.
Within minutes of arrival, he starting racking up a body count, human and canine, of targets he lunged at, trampled or nearly trampled in his manic bids for attention or half-mad disregard for current occupation of space and the numbers just kept ticking through the weekend. Any notion of leash manners was laughable, and after two walks, I thought my wrists and elbows might be permanently dislocated in trying to keep him under control. This was great for my health, needless to say, and I was on the heavy doses of narcotics before noon on Saturday. Those meds, I normally never touch. They’re for dire situations, used once or twice a year.
I can’t really wrap my head around the entire situation.
This dog clearly needs help – he’d nearly driven me insane by Sunday, and I knew it wasn’t really his fault. I was bedridden all day Sunday, thanks to his antics having undone all the good of the previous week’s destressing, good eating and exercise.
How is it not clear that this dog has issues?
He: can’t sit still for up to two seconds to have a leash put on, trembles so viciously that he nearly collapses in his anxiety to run when told to wait for that leash to be put on, yowls like he’s being beaten when he’s got to wait for a door to open, is willing to trample anyone and anything in sight to get out and about, barks like he’s being chased like demons if he’s been held back for a few moments from racing down a hallway. If you even look like touching a leash, he goes off like a pinball shot out of a chute. Any movement or sound triggers a panicked scramble to his feet and a racing to your side as if he’d been stabbed in the side. If I stood up, he was in front of me, blocking any step I made, he didn’t follow me so much as paced me backwards, not allowing me even an inch of personal space to even go to the bathroom. The anxiety comes off of him in palpable waves.
In any case, this basket case was beyond my physical capabilities to care for over the weekend, much less to Dog Whisper which isn’t in my job description even were I asked to deal with that. And since I wasn’t even granted the courtesy of being asked if I was happy to dogsit in the first place, the glamorous crippling opportunity that ruined my chances of accomplishing anything between the walking, the stalking, and the constant cleaning of fur and spillage, there wasn’t a bowl of food or water he wouldn’t run through or kick over. I thought Doggle and I were the certified klutzes!
I have no idea how much it would cost to get this guy some therapy or re-training but he seriously needs some help. And no, before you ask, he’s not perturbed because he was a rescue – he was purebred and obtained from a breeder, raised from puppyhood. He also wasn’t always like this.
The point is, the responsibilities of a pet owner are myriad and owners should be prepared for all necessary costs including health care, training, hygiene, and placement if you travel. One couldn’t possibly imagine that pets are welcome everywhere much less showing up virtually unannounced.
The cost of kenneling him should not be worth too much but I’m actually sitting here pondering the likelihood this conversation will go well and hoping the family see reason because either way, this can’t happen again. My health is not a lower priority than the dog’s putative happiness or the supposed value of keeping the “whole family” together. Of course, this isn’t my side of the family so they very well may think otherwise. Meanwhile, this is our home and while I don’t like to make difficulties there has to be at least some basic respect.
More than ever, I’m ever so grateful for Doggle, and he’s worth every penny we’ve paid, every minute we’ve spent playing and training, and a bargain in every sense of the word. He’s finally being more of that therapy dog I wanted, entertaining but mellow. He had his first SQUIRREL! moment this weekend and tried to chase it up a tree, actually trying to run up the tree trunk after it. He seemed surprised when he didn’t make it.
March 9, 2012
Balancing acts in adulthood
I’ve been enjoying the conversations over at Wandering Scientist on work life balance. As I teeter into my thirties, I’ve been examining some of the financial and professional choices I’ve made during this decade and reflecting on how effective those philosophies have been and whether they will continue to hold true for the upcoming decade. I suspect that life and money and career in my thirties will be just as interesting a trip, but beyond that? Well, so far I’ve been terrible at prognosticating so I’ll just leave it at that.
As for my twenties ….
These were absolutely the foundation years: completing the final years of undergrad, deciding to hold off on graduate school until I knew better what I wanted out of it, throwing myself into my career at full tilt while digging out of debt and then building up a nest egg. My approach to my career and my money was the same: more is better.
Philosophically, the natural, deeply ingrained, unthinking element was an intrinsic need to achieve something, a drive to have a discernable growth pattern, to do something that seemed tangible. I wanted to build a career, I wanted to have achieved something substantive.
The logical, considered, and reasoned plan was to aim for a position where my work-life balance wouldn’t be dictated by the company because I was highly placed enough where they didn’t care about niceties like when I showed up or how many hours I worked as long as the job was done well. Essentially, I wanted to achieve the ability to talk terms with the company I worked for as long as I was an employee.
***
In Oil and Garlic’s post, A Precarious Balance, she discusses the ignored constraints in finding work-life balance when your income doesn’t stretch to buying flexibility and help. She lists a number of things that one can do to earn or achieve more flexibility from her perspective as a non-manager with a mid-level salary in a HCOLA. That combination probably describes a fair number of us who simply don’t have the ability to buy out of the choices that we have to manage to run households and feed mouths, day to day.
Meanwhile, she notes: At my company, those in manager positions and above enjoy a higher autonomy. They don’t have to ask permission to work from home. They also have the money for nanny and cleaning help, something that my household has paid for but at a great sacrifice (and only temporarily). They can still enjoy many luxuries like massages, travel and dining out. True, they have greater responsibilities, too, and they’ve earned it. But their solutions often aren’t applicable to those those in lower income brackets. In other words, they can buy some balance while many people don’t have that same privilege.
I very much agreed. Having worked many years in retail and other similarly low-wage environments while going to school, I’d observed very early on the vulnerabilities of being in the middle and lower tiers of any organization. One typically has less negotiating power in terms of responsibilities, is considered more expendable or is less valued as an asset to the company, and blends in with the rest of the equivalent employees holding the same role.
In that position, an individual’s power, and the choices one would like to make for oneself tend to lie in the advocacy and kindness of an immediate superior and his or her ability to persuade at least one or more rungs above if flexibility isn’t part of the company policy.
***
In the long-term, that was far too slim a reed for me to rest my life and my family’s lives on, particularly when I had the additional concern of a chronic illness for which there were no immediate prospects for improvement.
Superficially, need and circumstance dictated that I simply earn a living but I was compelled to steer my career trajectory as steeply as I could, as early as I could, while building a strong reputation in my chosen field. My theory was that should I be derailed for any length of time, for any reason, that reputation would serve to smooth my way.
Cloud, of Wandering Scientist confirms, whatever choice you make to take a break for family reasons after you’ve established yourself, you’re usually starting from a better place:
Once you have kids, you can decide whether or not you want or need to ease up on your career, but whatever you decide, it will be easier to keep your career viable if you have a strong reputation built in your earlier years. Whether you keep working or take a break, that reputation will serve you well. I think that one reason I haven’t suffered from much “working moms are slackers” bias in my own career is that I have a sterling reputation for productivity- and have maintained it. But we are also actively recruiting someone right now who is coming back after about 5 years off with young kids. We actually sought her out and asked her if she was ready to come back, on the basis of having been impressed with her work before she took the break.
Details will differ a bit across industries but the basis makes sense to me – someone who had a solid reputation before taking a break would have a leg up on someone who hadn’t established one.
***
My personal net worth has gone from -$50,000 in family debt to around $100,000 in assets over the course of nine years in addition to paying for all living expenses for a family of four. While it’s no great shakes, it’s certainly a fair start at a real financial basis with which to start a family.
I haven’t taken a break yet, and I don’t know if and when I (or we) will decide that it’s time to, but right now, I’m in a strong building phase of my career and striving for higher earning power. It’s only partly a joke that I’m trying to outearn PiC before the end of this year. That’s partly ego, and partly practicality. If I’m the higher earner, and we start a family, there’s a stronger case for him to stay home with the kids! 😉
In the end, my choices throughout my twenties were tailored to setting the scene and creating opportunities for freedom and better choices in the future.
February 26, 2012
It’s been a heck of a week. Not terrible but tiring. I finally caught up with my dad and found out that there have been multiple deaths in the family. It’s maybe a good thing that I didn’t know about them in time to attend the services as I would have felt obligated to attend. Instead, I’ve been focusing getting things done at home and exercising myself and Doggle.
Kind of overdid it though, between being emotionally overwrought thinking about Mom and seeking catharsis through cleaning. My hands and arms don’t appreciate the outlets that my brain seeks, which is really frustrating as physical activity is so good for the brain.
Posts for Perusal
Little Miss Moneybags and Peanut got their Life Insurance in order. PiC and I organized our life insurance along similar lines, though we will likely be having more conversations to get aligned as things change. At the time we sorted our insurance, he was well able to take care of any financial needs without my income. Without me, he would likely still work in this town and stay in this home. He would need some assistance for sorting things and Doggle, so I still carry insurance through work but both he and my dad would be beneficiaries of my life insurance because I don’t want him to be financially responsible for Dad’s healthcare and continuing care. (I still have to set up a trust for that.) If he’s gone, I couldn’t carry the costs for myself, this home and my Dad however long I had to support him, so I would need a fair amount of extra income from his insurance.
Eemusings on the Cost of Convenience: I’m pretty sure that I’m close to the same as eemusings. I hate spending money on convenience items like snacks when they’re not part of the grocery shop. But I will buy things as part of the shopping trip like chips, nuts, frozen foods for reheating on those nights when we don’t want or don’t have time to cook a full meal.
A Recipe
I have SingleMa‘s Pinterest obsession to thank for this one. She pinned this Crispy Honey Lemon Chicken recipe several weeks ago and the name (of course) stuck in my mind. I rather obsessively went back to hunt for it when trying to decide what to make for dinner and made it with some alterations to the recipe to suit my lazier cooking style and general preference for baked over fried (faster clean-up).
Original:
Crispy Honey Lemon Chicken
serves 4-6
Ingredients:
4 boneless skinless chicken breasts, cut into pieces
1/4 cup olive oil + 3 tablespoons
3 tablespoons honey + more for dripping/drizzling
the juice of 2 large lemons
1 tablespoon fresh lemon zest + 2 teaspoons
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1 cup all-purpose (or whole wheat) flour
2 tablespoons cornstarch
Directions:
In a bowl, combine 1/4 cup olive oil, 3 tablespoons honey, lemon juice, 1 tablespoon lemon zest, and a 1/4 teaspoon each of salt and pepper. Whisk ingredients together, then add chicken pieces to a ziplock bag and pour marinade over top. Let sit for 30 minutes – 2 hours.
When ready to make, add flour, cornstarch, 1 teaspoon lemon zest and the remaining salt and pepper to a large bowl. Mix well. Heat a large skillet on medium-high heat, and once it is very hot, add 1 tablespoons of olive oil. Coat chicken pieces in the flour mixture, then add to the skillet and cook until each side is golden brown, about 3-4 minutes per side. Remove and set chicken on a paper-towel covered plate. Cook remaining batches, adding more/less oil if needed. I used 3 tablespoons, but depending on how coated your chicken pieces are you may need a bit more.
Serve with rice and a few tablespoons of honey mixed with lemon zest for dipping.
Modified
Crispy Honey Lemon Chicken
serves 2 greedy-faces
Ingredients:
4-8 chicken drumsticks and/or thighs, bone-in
1/4 cup olive oil + 3 tablespoons
3 tablespoons honey + more for dripping/drizzling
the juice of 2 large lemons
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1 cup all-purpose flour
Directions:
Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Cover a roasting pan with foil.
In a bowl, combine 1/4 cup olive oil, 3 tablespoons honey, lemon juice, and a 1/4 teaspoon each of salt and pepper. Whisk ingredients together, then add chicken pieces to a ziplock bag and pour marinade over top. Let sit for 30 minutes – 2 hours. (Or overnight.)
When ready to make, add flour and the remaining salt and pepper to a large bowl. Mix well. Coat chicken pieces in the flour mixture, then place pieces side by side in the roasting pan.
Bake for 20 minutes, turn, bake for another 10-15 minutes until done.
Serve with rice and roasted vegetables.
February 19, 2012
Oddly, being in new surroundings, a side effect of the promotion, has actually seen me behaving in a healthier fashion. The promotion itself was meant to promote better health, as I said before, but I truly didn’t have any expectations for it to be this soon or this naturally. I thought expected the stresses of the new role would be obvious more quickly than the benefits and definitely expected to have to be very conscious in my healthy choices.
New things
Diet
I eat now. I never used to eat during my work day. I’m actually eating at a reasonable hour of the day. Snacking a couple times rather than regular meals but that was something my doctor and I discussed as a healthy alternative.
Exercise
Being less sedentary: It’s more than just for meetings, though just barely. The goal is to get away for at least 15 minutes per work day for a walk of some kind.
Logging miles: Though the days can be longer because there’s just that much more work to be done during this period of transition, I’m taking advantage of that and squeezing in nearly a mile walk up to a few times a week.
These are small things, and we’ll see how long it comes without much effort because it’s really early but it’s significant. Already I’ve gone five full days without a stress or fatigue headache despite my still carrying serious responsibility and throughout major, unexpected, chaos. That’s unusual. And reading this post about my friend and professional inspiration, Single Ma’s, Health Breakthrough this week had me absolutely choked up in my happiness for her. I actually teared up at work. That never happens.
See, pain and I have been close companions for nearly 20 years now, and I’d (sort of) become resigned to living with it for the rest of my life. From that vantage point and as a friend, I hated every minute of Single Ma’s struggle with her injury that derailed her journey to physical fitness. The setbacks and the time it was taking to get answers were familiar as well, and depressing as anything. I hated that a friend was living the same kind of hells I had. Hearing that she had a breakthrough was all kinds of happy.
It gives me hope that my dear friend Ruth who is also experiencing some pain issues will find answers that lead to a pain-free life as well.
And there was a minute where I started to wonder if maybe there’s a chance I can improve too, even a little.
Posts for Perusal
Nicole and Maggie asked: How do you pay for presents? This is a new thing for us to work out this year. For those of you who are partnered, do you set a price limit on how much you can spend on gifts for each other? Or is there an understanding?
Stacking Pennies started a weekly Monday list to set up her week back in January. It’s a great idea – you may not have control over how the week develops but at least giving it the best opening that you possibly can keeps you from being flustered out of the gate. I try to do this with cooking and laundry over the weekends, if nothing else.
A Recipe
A delicious, easy, recipe we’ve been enjoying thanks to our one sane neighbor who shares food and recipes generously. Plus: it only costs pennies since almost all the ingredients are in our cupboards. This is one offset to going out to eat with the same neighbor nicely. **We do have more than one sane neighbor, it’s just that this is the only one we trade foodstuffs with.
Lentil Soup
I’ve made this soup twice now, modifying it the first time with cubed potatoes and keeping to the original the second time. It was pretty fantastic the first go-round, just as good the second.
Ingredients:
1 tablespoon canola oil
1 tablespoon margarine
1 large clove of garlic, chopped
1 teaspoon cumin powder or seed
1/2 teaspoon curry powder
1/4 teaspoon cayenne powder (I never cook w/cayenne so I’ve substituted paprika)
1 teaspoon turmeric powder
1/2 teaspoon coriander
6 cups water
1 cube vegetarian boullion (I prefer more fresh ingredients so have just used veggie or chicken broth instead of the water plus boullion)
1 diced onion
1 pound lentils.
Directions:
Saute the onion and garlic in the oil and margarine in a large pot until tender.
Add the spices and saute for 1 minute.
Add water, vegetarian bouillon, and lentils.
Cook until lentils are tender, about 1 hour*.
*I used pink lentils, it only takes approximately 20 minutes to become tender.
Do you have any quick and easy recipes to share? Please do!
September 19, 2011
There were so many great and interesting comments left on my post about whether or not to have children that I had trouble responding to enough of them in the comments. I appreciated everyone’s thoughts on their personal situations and decision-making.
I also had second, third and several other thoughts about whether or not to discuss one particular theme of the comments further, partly because there was a reason I left out some important, relevant information out: I didn’t necessarily want that to be the center of the post and I tend to leave that subject under wraps.
But it was an underlying theme of the comments because I left it out and it is relevant to the conversation because it’s a huge part of my life even if I do try to pretend that it’s not. Like it or no, the physical limitation aspect of my life is a factor in every decision I make, every minute of every day. And it’s not like I haven’t mentioned it once or twice before, so I’m not sure why I still instinctively try to sweep it under the rug like it’s not a big deal.
So, comments first:
@thecelt, you made me laugh out loud. PRECISELY. There IS no “kinda-kid” out there. So I want to know for sure. If I’m doing this, I’m committing!
@Sense: From the Mixed up Files was an absolute favorite. Definitely fed the runaway fantasies. 😉
@MovingEast: I actually think through those cliches without feeling like they’re cliches… they are true. I see new parents experiencing the wonder of new kids in their lives and I love it. And I see the decisions they have to make and learn from that too. It’s not that I don’t think they’re worth it once you choose it, in the abstract.
@nicoleandmaggie: He will have to be more than half the parent, I think, and that’s what I worry about. It’s got to be something we’re both willing to sacrifice for because I suspect (see below) it’s going to be excruciating in the beginning for me and then a huge commitment with most of the burden shifting to him. Emotionally, I may have a lot of trouble with that. For me. (Selfishly. Whatever. Again, see below.)
@oilandgarlic: No judgement on anyone else but I definitely want to know now because I don’t want to start in my mid-30’s. For me, I feel like that would be waiting too long because of how my health has progressed.
*****
On the point where PiC and I have to talk this out: we do, when it comes to making the final decision.
I do only speak for myself on this blog and frequently leave his thoughts out of it because he doesn’t have any desire to be present here. (I’ve asked.) But that’s not to say he doesn’t know my concerns and worries, and he understands them. The evolution of my feelings on the subject hasn’t been a secret to him.
He’s not terribly concerned about our different feelings on the matter, we’ll figure it out together, he’s always known that we’ve been coming at this from different personal experiences.
*****
I live with something that’s long mimicked rheumatoid arthritis (or lupus) and fibromyalgia. It’s neither of the first two so far as tests are concerned, but most of the symptoms match up. It started out affecting just a few areas, umpteen years ago, but now it’s everywhere, and any combination of joints and muscles are usually at some level of pain akin to holding an open flame against that muscle or joint every single day.
I spent over fifteen years trying to get a diagnosis and the conclusion is only that I have chronic pain, which isn’t a diagnosis. It’s only a conclusion and defines my experience: pain that doesn’t stop, that has lasted over six months, and doesn’t necessarily have a definitive origin. Stress, being tired, lack of sleep all exacerbate the pain and pain causes all three in a feedback loop. Awesome. That was still better than the many years of idiot doctors telling me that it wasn’t possible for me to be feeling the kind of pain that I was feeling.
When it flares, I can be out of commission for hours, days, or weeks at a time. At the beginning of any flare, I won’t know what the damage will be or how long it’ll last. Stress of the emotional or physical sort can start a flare. Energy is severely limited. There are days typing on a keyboard, lifting a pen, or using a knife and a fork requires too much effort. I have to be incredibly selective about how much activity I commit to because if I push myself too hard these days? Too much of anything can cause fatigue and pain that effectively destroys my ability to functions for days thereafter.
If you haven’t read it, the Spoon Theory describes the way someone living with this sort of thing has to rework life strategies. And the Bloggess summed up how you feel during/after a flare pretty well.
So you might better understand my reluctance to head right into motherhood on the basis of physical limitations. It’s more than just an age thing, it’s more than just a “normal” reluctance. I’m starting from the knowledge that not only do I not have my once-vaunted capacity to power through any and all challenges anymore, I have to be very careful that I don’t step into, essentially, a lifelong landmine. Bringing life into this world is a serious business and the last thing I want to do is make a hash of it because I don’t have it in me to carry through.
******
One way to make this work is to be financially stable enough to afford child care. A lot of it. I don’t feel right about not raising my own children, but I’m not foolish enough to think that I could do a lot of the physical stuff on my own anymore. If we were earning enough that one of us could stay home with the kids, and also had some help with the kids to make up for my part, that could be one way to handle the situation.
Alternatively, I don’t have to bear our children. Instead, we could do what I’ve always wanted to do: adopt. That comes with its own risks, challenges and expenses but that’s an option I’ve always loved and saves at least the physical burden of pregnancy.
I’ve been concerned about that because, though childless, I help others with their kids a lot, and it wipes me out. Every. Single. Time. That tells me that I’m not prepared for the physical challenges of pregnancy. And as recounted by many many friends in stark honesty? The fatigue, the internal upheaval, the damage to the body? I am not prepared for that.
Ultimately, we have a lot to discuss and decide.