Please excuse my pathetically infrequent updates this week. My good days comes so few and far between now that I really have to RUN with them to catch up on all the junk I just can’t handle during sick days. I’ve been very, very fortunate the last two weeks to be feeling SO good and I’ve used all that energy to get back to work—picking up new clients, checking on old ones. I even did an interview for a position this week that I’m actually really passionate about—and I’m really excited about it.
I’ve also started busting my ass in Cardiac Rehab. I’m still feeling pretty miserable about the muffin-top situation—but there’s not much I can do about it while I wait for my new electrolyte tabs to arrive and I continue to drink Powerade in caloric excess…The nurses there gave me a report of my few sessions from last year. Yeah, they were terrible. Really low BP, really high pulse–exactly what we’re trying to avoid. Hopefully by staying well and actually going in a consistant manner I’ll make progress. And fit into my pants.
This meal of pasta, garlic bread, sausage and peppers that R.J and I made one night this week didn’t exactly help with that goal.
My mom took me for a maintenance day today—lip & eye brow wax, bra shopping and clothes shopping, and a little acupuncture. We were both surprised that I managed to retain all my energy until after finishing up the bra shopping at 3:30PM after being out all morning. I can’t remember the last time I was able to do so much in a day.
I kind of paid for it later this evening though. I think I got home at four and rested for about two hours (and by rested I mean I laid in bed and tried to will myself into a REM cycle that never came.) Usually I can crash pretty easily and getting into a solid state of sleep can give me a few more hours in the day, but for some reason, today, that just wasn’t in the plan.
What R.J and I did have in the plan, however, was to attend a boxing match that some of the guys from his gym were fighting in. It was an amateur match put on by the Florida Boxing Hall of Fame for breast cancer awareness. I wanted to go so I could get a sneak peak of what R.J would be doing in the future. Remember when I mentioned that he’d started a new workout regimen? Yeah—by that I meant two hours of boxing every day with the guy who trained Mike Tyson.
I’ve been preemptively worried that he’s going to put himself in matches where he’s going to get his face punched in—but honestly—I was really impressed by all of the safety precautions at the match.
First off—every player was wearing really sturdy headgear. There was a doctor checking every fighter for concussions and other injuries immediately after exiting the ring. There was a paramedic with a crash cart about five feet from the ring—and all of the fighters looked well trained, very controlled, and the sportsmanship is just really incredible to watch. Like did you know they hug after the match? Or that one fighter puts the other fighters medal on after the match?
It makes me really critical about football and cheerleading. These are such crazy high-impact sports. Where are their doctors and immediate checks for concussions? Why isn’t there a paramedic waiting near every field where kids are running head first into each other?
The match itself was a little hard to sit through. It was set up in the grand ballroom of a local hotel. The ring was in the center of the room and we had seats somewhere in the middle. There was a DJ blaring music, people cheering and clapping in the audience, loud bells chiming every few minutes–it was kind of sensory overload for me and with the fatigue on top of it–I just felt like the bells were ringing inside of my head. I think I was fine for the first half hour but after that every little noise was just getting to me. We also didn’t really have time for dinner before the match (which, when we got there ended up being an hour behind schedule) so I’m just now eating dinner on the couch.
I kept walking out of the room every ten minutes to try and reorganize my body. With the POTS I feel like I’m constantly regulating things in my body that should be automatic: you don’t have to pee, you literally just peed five minutes ago. You shouldn’t be thirsty, you just drank two bottles of Powerade. Pump your fists, you have to get circulations back into your hands. Control your nausea, wake up–you can’t go home yet.
It’s exhausting. It makes enjoying the moment almost impossible and after hours and hours of it–you just lose your tolerance to deal.
I can’t even tell you, I’m so happy to just be home in my sweatpants right now. No one here to judge me for walking through the aisles every ten minutes on my way to the bathroom. Total peace and quiet.
Have I mentioned that I’m counting down the days until I go to the Pots Treatment Center to finally get some control over my body and life?
Tick, tock–autonomic nervous system–just a matter of time before I come at you with fists a’ swinging.
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