Yesterday I lost a weakling.
Yep, an entire weakling.
When I stepped on the scale, I weighed 98 pounds less than I did on October 31.
By tomorrow, December 31, I may hit 100, and I'm kind of freaking out.
I know you guys are probably tired of reading about this, and hopefully within the next couple of weeks I'll get beyond it.
But for the first time in about 12 years, I actually weigh less than what is stated on my driver's license (I get to keep renewing it by mail since there isn't any licensing office within 40 miles).
Here's a pic of the feet, and my "sharpei" slippers.
I went to see the doc today. My EKG is good, my blood pressure is normal, my heartbeat is in the targeted range, and my oxygen level is great. Oh, and my cholesterol level is fabulous, which left us all scratching our heads.
I confessed that I haven't been able to stay on the oxygen 14 hours a day, because I got stuff to do and I can't carry the nose-hose out of the house, or downstairs, etc. Doc said that's ok, he's cut me down to using it when I'm sleeping or out of breath. His office is almost 10,000 feet above sea level, and when I saw him, I hadn't been on the hose for about 10 hours. If I could have the oxy level that I was at, it means I'm absorbing what I've been sticking in there. Yippee!
And for anyone who is worried---apparently it's not unusual or particularly dangerous in cases of severe edema to lose around 2 pounds a day when monitored and with diuretics. I've had blood tests every other week, and my dance card has been full between family doc and cardiologist.
Which brings me to this....
When we moved up here about 12 years ago, I wanted to lose about 30 pounds. I've gone up from that, obviously. And in the few months between last July and October----way way up.
Now that I weigh less from simple water weight loss, Doc and I are wondering if it all started when we moved up here (oxygen deprivation from altitude) and if it crept up under the radar. You know, like retaining 5 pounds of fluid every year or so, when I thought it was fat. I still have a little water left, and I still want to lose that extra 30 final pounds.
Anyway, now that I've been mostly clear-headed for the last couple of months, I just don't feel funny or even particularly creative. Maybe it's because I had the bejesus scared out of me.
Or possibly it's because all the funny, creative stuff was invented by an oxygen-deprived brain. I've been worried about that. How sad would that be?
I think maybe it's because for the last 2 months, between being scared and trying to deal with it and trying to comfort all my guys, I found out that as prepared as I thought I was about dying as far as administrative stuff goes, I really wasn't.
I hadn't updated my will in years. Both kids are now legally adults. So I had to do that.
I went through a bunch of personal papers I had saved since I was a teen---old love letters, notes from friends, assignments, etc---things that wouldn't be understood or appreciated by anyone else but me. I put them in their own separate tub with a big "burn me" sign on front. There's nothing in there that's going to hurt anyone's feelings---it's all ancient history. But it will be there for me if I ever want to look at it, and disposed of if the worst happens.
I wanted to make sure that there would be current medical information to more than one person out there for my guys in case they needed to access it.
As an adoptee, I had absolutely no medical history until I found my birthmother at the age of 35. Those of you who know me intimately know how much I could have used her information before I decided to start a family. When I first found her through a court order directed to the adoption agency, she was under the impression from old school friends that my birthfather had died of a heart attack while in his 40's.
I searched for his surviving family, and actually found him alive through his military records. I spoke to him once on the phone, and yes, I know it WAS him (not going to tell you why or how I found out specifically), but he didn't want to acknowledge our relationship, so I got no medical information. I didn't want to intrude on his life or hound him, so I never called him again. We did have a nice conversation--he was a nice man--and he was very interested in how my birthmother was.
I felt that I needed to talk to my ex-husband about Little Guy's future if something were to happen to me. As most of you know, this last summer, I went for and was granted legal guardianship for him.
I called ex and laid it on the line for him.
"This is what's going on. This is what I'm worried about. I'm going to send you a file of my med records in case something happens to me for the guys so they have as accurate a history as possible."
He said, "What will happen to Little Guy if you die?"
I said, "I don't know. You're his father, and I haven't made provisions for that yet."
He said, "But xxxx (my hubby) has been his Dad. What do you want to happen?"
Me: "Little Guy loves you too. You're his dad too. He has a life, and a girlfriend, and a community support system here, and I don't know what to do. I'm afraid of YOUR dad. "
I've talked about my ex-FIL and what a controlling SOB he is. I'm afraid that if I tried to "leave" Little Guy with Hubby, ex-FIL would fight to get custody, because unlike the rest of my personal family (my adoption), he is actually a blood relative. Courts are wonky sometimes.
Ex: "If you want to go ahead and make Hubby legal co-guardian, I won't fight it. We can work out visitation with me and other stuff if the worst happens. Little Guy will always have a home here, but I know that his life is there."
How very kind he was.
On the 9th of January I'm going in for some tests to see if I need to have a defibrillator stuck in my chest. I'm sure I'll write stuff before then, but send good thoughts, would you?