Yesterday was not only Geekster's birthday, but the day I got a wicked migraine that wouldn't go away. It started just after lunch and carried through until this morning. It was annoying and intrusive upon my day, much like the summer those Jehovah's Witnesses kept coming by with pamphlets during nap time.
Mr. Migraine lingered through my mandatory last-minute dash to the grocery store, the nearly catastrophic layered cake experiment, my thirty minute workout, and homemade pizza-making. He stuck around and poked at the left side of my head when we sang happy birthday to my darling husband, when we cut the cake, when I cleared the dishes. He throbbed at my temple during Obama's State of the Union address, and throbbed even more as I snorted with laughter at the Republican's Response ("Best healthcare system in the world"? Can Republicans read? Ever see the multitude of studies done on US health care cost and overall life expectancy?)
Finally, around 10:30, I just couldn't take it anymore. I had tried Advil twice during the day and it had done absolutely nothing to stop the pounding bass drum in my forehead. I peeled myself off the couch and made my way to the 24hr pharmacy, hoping something a wee bit stronger would kick the it for good.
I asked to see the pharmacist, and started describing the pain. I told him what I had taken, and that it hadn't worked like it usually does. 'Is there something stronger I could take?' I asked, rubbing my head.
It was then I realized where I was: an urban pharmacy in the middle of the night, asking about stronger painkillers. I wondered if I looked like those pill-popping housewives Oprah has on every other month. Maybe if I twitched a little and got a desperate look in my eye, I could really freak some people out...
At thirty-three, I still like to rebel a little.
Disappointingly, I don't behave enough like a junkie to get any kind of uncomfortable look from a pharmacist. He asked me to describe the pain, so I did. When I told him it hurts more when I'm up and doing things, he asked me if I had recently checked my blood pressure.
Well, no, obviously. Because denial is pretty awesome and I liked it there. Why burst my bubble? He pointed me to the blood pressure machine. I took it three times, and the last and lowest reading I got was 141/85.
Not good.
For those readers who are not familiar with blood pressure, that was a really shitty score. It's not a 'run, sobbing, to your nearest heart clinic' score, or a 'time to find a pig with a strong ticker and hope you have the same blood type' score, but it's not exactly great, either. It means my blood pressure is too high, and bad things could eventually happen.
Now, Denial Maven would like to point out the following:
Thank you, Denial Maven. Now kindly shut up, and let's talk to Realistic Maven. She doesn't come out to play very often, but we still need to include her in the group, ok?
Denial Maven says:
The simple fact is that being this overweight is not good for my health. On top of that, the amount of stress I've been under isn't helping, either. it's time for some big lifestyle changes: more exercise, better food, more relaxation techniques, more time for play. I owe it to myself, my kids, my spouse, and of course my countless minions who rely on me to brighten their days with my blog posts. The blood pressure readings I took last night worried me. I've known for a while that I'm heading down a scary path if I don't make some significant changes.
It's time.
Wow. The determination in that last sentence was so badass! I'm going to try it again, but with more emphasis on the last word:
It's time.
I just got all tingly. I might have just turned myself on.
For his birthday - the sixteenth we've celebrated as a couple - my husband got a homemade cake, homemade pizza, and a pretty decent gift he'd been eying for a while. On his next birthday, I hope he has a wife who is a lot healthier. He loves me, and I know wants me to stick around for a while. Not only do I put out, but I make great pizza crust.
Mr. Migraine lingered through my mandatory last-minute dash to the grocery store, the nearly catastrophic layered cake experiment, my thirty minute workout, and homemade pizza-making. He stuck around and poked at the left side of my head when we sang happy birthday to my darling husband, when we cut the cake, when I cleared the dishes. He throbbed at my temple during Obama's State of the Union address, and throbbed even more as I snorted with laughter at the Republican's Response ("Best healthcare system in the world"? Can Republicans read? Ever see the multitude of studies done on US health care cost and overall life expectancy?)
Finally, around 10:30, I just couldn't take it anymore. I had tried Advil twice during the day and it had done absolutely nothing to stop the pounding bass drum in my forehead. I peeled myself off the couch and made my way to the 24hr pharmacy, hoping something a wee bit stronger would kick the it for good.
I asked to see the pharmacist, and started describing the pain. I told him what I had taken, and that it hadn't worked like it usually does. 'Is there something stronger I could take?' I asked, rubbing my head.
It was then I realized where I was: an urban pharmacy in the middle of the night, asking about stronger painkillers. I wondered if I looked like those pill-popping housewives Oprah has on every other month. Maybe if I twitched a little and got a desperate look in my eye, I could really freak some people out...
At thirty-three, I still like to rebel a little.
Disappointingly, I don't behave enough like a junkie to get any kind of uncomfortable look from a pharmacist. He asked me to describe the pain, so I did. When I told him it hurts more when I'm up and doing things, he asked me if I had recently checked my blood pressure.
Well, no, obviously. Because denial is pretty awesome and I liked it there. Why burst my bubble? He pointed me to the blood pressure machine. I took it three times, and the last and lowest reading I got was 141/85.
Not good.
For those readers who are not familiar with blood pressure, that was a really shitty score. It's not a 'run, sobbing, to your nearest heart clinic' score, or a 'time to find a pig with a strong ticker and hope you have the same blood type' score, but it's not exactly great, either. It means my blood pressure is too high, and bad things could eventually happen.
Now, Denial Maven would like to point out the following:
- It had been a busy day
- I was stressed out
- I was in pain
- It was late at night, and I was tired
- Pharmacy blood pressure equipment can be flaky
Thank you, Denial Maven. Now kindly shut up, and let's talk to Realistic Maven. She doesn't come out to play very often, but we still need to include her in the group, ok?
Denial Maven says:
- I am obeseIt's funny, because I've sort of come full-circle: First, I hated my body because I'm fat. Then, I accepted it for what it is. Next, I began to love it as much as I love other aspects of myself (which is a lot, in case you hadn't noticed). Now, I love myself enough to want to get healthier. I can accept my body, but I can't accept my blood pressure, because that can- and likely will - cause major damage to the body I now love.
- I am stressed far too often, and stress kills
- This is a wake-up call
The simple fact is that being this overweight is not good for my health. On top of that, the amount of stress I've been under isn't helping, either. it's time for some big lifestyle changes: more exercise, better food, more relaxation techniques, more time for play. I owe it to myself, my kids, my spouse, and of course my countless minions who rely on me to brighten their days with my blog posts. The blood pressure readings I took last night worried me. I've known for a while that I'm heading down a scary path if I don't make some significant changes.
It's time.
Wow. The determination in that last sentence was so badass! I'm going to try it again, but with more emphasis on the last word:
It's time.
I just got all tingly. I might have just turned myself on.
For his birthday - the sixteenth we've celebrated as a couple - my husband got a homemade cake, homemade pizza, and a pretty decent gift he'd been eying for a while. On his next birthday, I hope he has a wife who is a lot healthier. He loves me, and I know wants me to stick around for a while. Not only do I put out, but I make great pizza crust.