I’d Rather Be Crazy

 12 Responses »
May 012012
 

Ten minutes. That’s exactly how long I have been staring at a blinking cursor while trying to figure out how to start this post. It’s not every day I get referred to an OB for possible confirmation of an extremely rare autoimmune disease that would have me considering the possibility of a hysterectomy before my 35th birthday.

According to the US National Library of Medicine National Institutes of Health, only about 50 published cases of autoimmune progesterone dermatitis, although I have come across many more stories on forums dedicated to APD. Basically, it’s a really long way of saying that those who do have it are allergic to the progesterone produced by their bodies. Symptoms typically include severe cyclical rashes and in some cases, anaphylaxic shock. The first time a doctor suggested the condition as a possibility, I think I laughed. I was 30. I’m now 34 and after one nurse practitioner, one naturopath, and one allergist have all told me that yes, I am indeed allergic to myself, I’m wishing I hadn’t laughed four years ago.

To be honest, I thought I was in the clear. My weird and painful full-body rash that seemed to come and go with my cycle had minimized to a tolerable and not so painful rash limited to just under the bra line and my inner thighs that felt more like goose bumps than something to go crying to the doctors about. I had enough things wrong with me already with the hypothyroid and the insulin resistance. The goose bumps I could deal with.

If we hadn’t tried for baby #2, I might have just kept dealing, but the prep for the IUI where they tried to plant a baby with a syringe included a shot of progesterone to get my ovaries moving. I’ve been a fucking mess ever since, tested for lupus three times, eliminated everything but water and air from my diet in an effort to rule out food allergies and put more miles on my gas-guzzling SUV driving to multiple appointments with different doctors trying to figure me out than I care to calculate. It wasn’t until I decided to be a smart ass and suggest to the BFF that I was probably allergic to my hormones that a memory got jogged. A frantic search on Google was immediately followed by combing through my medical records ( because I can keep track of those but I lose sunglasses like I wish I lost weight ) had me looking at that fancy phrase that means I might be allergic to myself.

The condition can be treated by taking medications to suppress hormone production, but I’m fun in an ironic way in that I’m allergic to a preservative used in so many medications I make my doctors nervous and drive my pharmacist crazy, so I’m not sure if that’s an option for me if APD is confirmed. Even if it is and I end up getting a crash course in menopause twenty years before I was planning on it, the bottom line is that the baby making factory is most likely and almost officially being retired. The plus side is that I don’t have to try to lose the baby weight again because that was a total pain in the cellulite still residing on my ass.

My allergist is sending me straight to an OB/GYN with clear instructions to tell her he doesn’t think I’m crazy.

And now I’ve come full circle.

Ten minutes. That’s exactly how long I’ve been staring at a blinking cursor while trying to figure out how to end this post.

So far, I haven’t come up with anything brilliant.

Making Allergy Season Suck Less

 17 Responses »
Apr 112012
 

If you’ve been reading the blog for more than five minutes, you already know that I’ve generally held out on reviewing or mentioning anything other than books and writers since I hit publish for the first time. Mainly because of my years on the newsroom and the knee-jerk reaction to not allow The Big Bad Advertiser to take precedent over The Words That Matter.

I know…this isn’t a newspaper. But I do use this space for Words That Matter.

That being said, I didn’t automatically hit delete when I saw an email from aer1™ filter brand, a new line of portable filter technology which can be paired with their Holmes and Bionaire line of air purifiers.. You see, unless it’s a product I truly need and can speak to honestly, I’m not going to waste anyone’s time. Mainly….mine.

Have I mentioned my severe mesquite allergy? Or the fact that Buttercup is also so sensitive to mesquite that she has to use an inhaler before going outside to play? Or my allergy induced asthma that suddenly appeared after moving here? Living in Tucson kind of sucks when I’m allergic to a tree I can’t walk two feet without tripping over. Even staying home bra-less and in my jammies — cuz it’s classy — when the pollen count is high doesn’t work because I’m suffering through 10 minute sneezing fits and watery, burning eyes before I even get out of bed.

And yes, I’m perfectly aware that allergy meds exist. Only problem is I’m allergic to an ingredient used in so many allergy medications that it’s safer for me not to take any and just suffer.

Note to self: Contact Alanis Morisette and ask if she’s interested in updating the lyrics to “Ironic.”

So long story not so short, the Aer1 Brand sent me a fancy schmancy air purifier and a filter and asked me to try it out for a few weeks and then tell you how I liked it.

I can do that.

Ready?

The Aer1 Brand sent me a fancy schmancy air purifier and a filter and I tried it out for a few weeks and I liked it.

I might have relied on just keeping my windows closed and cranking the air all summer long out here in the desert as a way to limit exposure to pollutant and allergens, but it turns out the level of indoor pollutants can be up to 100 times higher than in my own backyard.

Seriously?

Must be. Because in the time I’ve had my Bionaire air purifier and the allergy filter,  life has sucked much less. I can breathe again. My sneezing fits are fewer and farther between.

As long as I stay inside, that is.

Click here for a $20 coupon off of any aer1™ ready air purifier. Or you can keep reading for a giveaway that can literally help you breathe easier.

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The aeri1 filter brand has generously offered one Aspiring Mama reader the chance at their own air purifier and filter. To enter, simply do one of the following (or more for extra entries!) Each counts for it’s own entry, so be sure to leave me one comment letting me know what you did so I can add up points! Also make sure I have a way to contact you.

To enter:

*Simply leave a comment on this post for one entry.

* Tweet this for one entry and leave a comment : Allergy season sucks. Check out @aspiringmama for a chance at an aeir1 brand air purifier. http://bit.ly/I3arcm.

*Sign up for the AspiringMama RSS for one entry.

*Like my AspiringMama Facebook page for one entry.

*Keep track of your families allergy symptoms (sneezing, coughing, watery eyes, etc) and what triggers them. Come back in a few days and leave a comment telling the aeri1 brand what those symptoms are. This counts as its own entry.

* Comments will be accepted through midnight, EST, on Wednesday, April 18. Remember that for all of your entries to count, each has to be included in its own separate comment.

* One winner will be selected via Random.org and will be able to select one of these air purifiers along with a filter set of their choice (allergy, smoke, total air, etc). The winner will be announced here on Aspiring Mama shortly thereafter.

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Not-so-fine-print: I received promotional consideration such as gifts, samples, content, or other incentives related to a product, service in exchange for writing about this product. Translation? They sent me the air purifier and told me I could keep it if I wrote a review. Either way, what I wrote is all my own opinion. But you already knew that.

 

 

 

Self-Loathing and Chocolate

 29 Responses »
Feb 032012
 

 

I didn’t realize I missed smoking cigarettes until I found myself waiting for my husband to leave for work this afternoon. I had a bag of food hiding in the back of the Yukon with taboo things like Reese’s Pieces and Cheeze-Its for me to bury my feelings with once the coast was clear.

But it’s not completely. Nick Jr. is on and I can say with absolute confidence that the coast is definitely preoccupied. At least I hope she is.

I’m 34 going on the fifteen-year-old in my head. I may call myself a recovered bulimic and, more amazingly, may actually believe it more often than not, but the truth is I’m more of a non-practicing bulimic than anything else. That, my friends, pretty much leaves me with nothing else to describe myself as but a binge eater.

Or a binge eater who only thinks about throwing up.

No, wait. I’d be more accurate if I called myself a Binge Eater who Obsessively Works Out, Avoids All Processed Foods and Sugars, and Puts on a Great Show for the Public for Weeks On End Before Secretly Falling Apart Inside of my Head and Diving Head First into a Pool of Self-Loathing and Chocolate in a Misguided Attempt to Make Myself Feel Better….Who Only Thinks About Throwing Up.

Yeah…

That’s exactly it.

Funny how I don’t see that listed as a condition in any medical journals. Also? It would probably look awesome on a T-shirt.

I was fine until I stepped on the scale yesterday at the doctor’s office. I was there to discuss my need for a higher dose of anti-depressants and what I thought was just a bad habit but is actually an OCD condition called dermatillomania because normal is the new boring, and of course I had to step on the scale before it was time to get down to business. I won’t say what the number was because Ill just trigger myself again, but I will tell you that after giving up (until today, that is) all grains, all forms of sugar including maple syrup and honey, all gluten, soy, and dairy (the last one is allergy-related) I’m down one pound and — even more depressingly — am just nine under what I was the day I gave birth 4.5 years ago.

In the interest of full disclosure, I should be smaller and happier and thinner and more confident and smaller. And happier. I’ve been working out (until a few weeks ago) daily, eating only fresh fruits and vegetables and quality meats and juicing so much spinach I may need to get myself a girlfriend named Olive. Instead of listening to the countless media messages that tell me I should be disappearing before my very eyes, my body is instead working hard to prove it is an exception to the rule. There are doctors and unexplained weight gain and and hair loss and tests for various autoimmune diseases and lifestyle changes (that don’t normally include Cheeze-Its) and more waiting and wondering and woe is me.

Sometimes I’m able to convince myself that it’s all about health and not the number on the scale and that health is more important than weight and that I need to concentrate on how good I feel and not how I look when I get off of the elliptical.

And then I see the number that isn’t supposed to matter and am reminded that it does indeed when it’s not moving in the direction in which I had hoped. It matters much more than it should.

Had I not quit smoking, I’d have lit up and celebrated the fact that I wasn’t binging. I would have not distracted my daughter with television so that I could eat the feelings I am not able to process until the new medication takes my brain to a happy(er) place. I would not be just thinking about throwing up.

Instead, I’d be out in the backyard on the patio, the sounds of Nick Jr. carrying through the glass door, as I smoked away my anxieties and smiled smugly about being stronger than my own mind.

Tripping Over Words

 5 Responses »
Dec 122011
 

This is my third attempt to start today’s blog post. It’s the writer-equivalent to tripping over my own words because my mouth can’t keep up with the ideas trying to pour fourth from my brain. Every time I attempt to start a sentence, my breath hitches in my chest and I stop mid-syllable because maybe I should have said this instead…or maybe it was this…

Or maybe…?

I could go the easy route (for me, at least) and post a few pictures of my crafting/baking weekend with Buttercup and tell you all how the making of the spinach chips…

…and from scratch chocolate pudding…

…and Quinoa protein bars…

…and gluten-free gingerbread men cookies…

 

…and mason jar snow globes we made just kept me so busy I just plain forgot to get on the elliptical. And, to be fair, it would be at least half-true.

Or I could tell you about how I’m wondering how many of Buttercup’s future issues will be a direct result of all the effort The Husband and I are putting into The Great Lie about that guy in the red suit who somehow wiggles his fat ass down our chimneys each year, despite the cookies he pounds down, and leaves gifts for our kids that We Didn’t Have to Pay For because His Elves Made Them in His Workshop before The Flying Reindeer helped him circle the globe in one night to deliver the goodies just because It Makes the Children Smile? If you think I’m overreacting, then I’ll just let the Asking The Husband to Sneak Downstairs to Quietly Open the Front Door last night and Ring the Doorbell before running upstairs with an Elf-Delivered envelope for Buttercup containing Santa’s Magic Key slip into history as a moment of genius and not a reason to funnel Buttercup’s college savings into a Ways My Parents Set Me Up for Therapy fund. And I’ll spare you the details about the raised eyebrow we got in response when Buttercup told us that the elf wasted a trip because everyone knows that Santa just magically makes chimneys appear on Christmas night so Why Would He Need a Key for the Front Door, huh?

Of course, I haven’t told you about new doctor on the other side of town or the MRI I have coming up on Wednesday to see if that pesky little (benign) pituitary gland tumor is back, or the skin biopsy I have scheduled for next week to try and come up with a reason behind this crazy rash on my ribcage that just won’t go away, or the results of the 14 different blood tests I’m waiting on with at least one of them (hopefully) providing an explanation for the changes in hair texture and the piles I leave behind on the shower floor every time I wash it.

Remember the hat? I’m not just wearing it because I think it looks cute.

But then again, if I told you all of that, I’d feel obligated to share the fact that I’m living proof that it is entirely possible to work out almost daily and still gain so much weight that I’m now just under what I was when I gave birth four years ago and that my doctor almost brought me to tears when he told me I wasn’t crazy and that we would work together to figure my body out and fix whatever is broken.

And seriously? I’d rather just avoid that topic altogether.

So instead I’ll tell you about how Buttercup and I selected a snowman off of the Christmas Angel tree at her preschool and went shopping for a two-year-old girl and how I explained to my own little girl that it’s important to help her Angel girl smile because Mama remembers waiting in line long ago for a wrapped toy that came from a big box and was handed to her by a kind stranger. That gift made me smile when I was little, I tell my baby girl, and she asks me if ours will make Angel Girl smile, too. Yes, I say, smiling gently. I think it will.

And then we all go on with our days.

 

The Reverse Sundae (Reappears)

 6 Responses »
Oct 242011
 

I’m combing through my archives in an effort to maintain just a little bit of sanity while trying to do a massive revision of my manuscript, maintain the blogging schedule because I’m OCD like that, and do that motherhood thing. Santa may be receiving a letter from yours truly in the near future asking for a maid, a cloning device, or a one way ticket to Fiji (his choice), but until I actually have time to write it, it’s all about the archived blog posts and a liberally poured glass of wine.

Or five.

And because I am now officially dairy-free, may I suggest coconut milk ice cream as a nice alternative for The Reverse Sundae?

 

sundae

Sometimes, you just gotta live it up. No matter what diet or eating plan you are following, carrots sticks and chicken breasts are going to get boring if you don’t treat yourself every now and then.
So what’s a mama to do?

Live it up, of course! But play it smart.

That’s how I came up with what I like to call the Reverse Sundae. I was up late one night working on my book and decided I wanted to have some ice-cream. Six months ago, that would have meant a huge bowl, ignored serving sizes, and enough sugar to put an elephant into a coma. But things have changed. I’m working with a nutritionist now, eating as clean as possible and learning more everyday, and best of all, I no longer suffer from the All or Nothing mindset that used to doom me and my good efforts the moment I let a pinkie toe off the proverbial wagon.

So I went down to the freezer and pulled out my Haggen Daaz Five Vanilla ice-cream pint and prepped the counter to slice up some fresh berries and a banana. I also made sure to get my dessert bowl out of the cupboard…the huge bowls I used to use are no longer the first thing I reach for.

Once the berries were slices and nearing the top of my dessert bowl (about a cup of fruit, I think), I placed two smallish scoops of Haagen Daaz on top of my fruit. If I had to do this again, I’d probably say I used less than a serving size and may use even less when I make my next Reverse Sundae.

And that’s it! I grabbed a spoon and headed back up to my computer, enjoying every single bite of cooled and creamy fruit as I wrote. I got my fix, a nice serving of fruit to go with it, and felt great about my decision, my new creation, and myself when the last bite was done.

Give it a try and see what you think!

This post originally appeared at Bookieboo.com!

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