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I have become quite pathetic when it comes to dieting and losing weight. With me, one apparently doth not seem to beget t’other….
For the past couple of weeks, I have intentionally allowed myself the luxury of ignoring my diet plan, eating food that’s unhealthy and by strange coincidence British, and consuming enough chocolate to feed three and a half million supermodels. The reason for this ridiculous and infantile behavior? Simple – the upcoming colonoscopy & endoscopy.
You (and that means me) realize that you (me) have reached an all-time low, when you seize medical procedures as an opportunity and excuse to allow yourself the right to binge eat. Okay, well I stand guilty as charged. Some habits really do die hard, because I did the very same thing when I was pregnant – I chose the old ‘well I’m going to be fat and look like a tick anyway, so why not enjoy myself’ diet plan, and it went so well that I am still carrying baby weight 40 years later.
I’ve had these procedures before, and although they’re not quite like having a big old root canal, (though one might argue that a colonoscopy could technically be called an Australian root canal) they still ain’t no picnic. That was all the permission I needed, why not allow myself the innocent indulgence of a few treats before I’m thrown to the Gastroenterology lions?
Look, it seemed like a good plan to me. I mean, let’s face it, in order to have these horrible procedures I know I have to go through some pretty heinous events. First, I drink a gallon of revolting liquid to ‘evacuate’ or clear things out. This then requires a sit on the pot long enough to compose a symphony, bake a cake, and watch re-runs of Dynasty. Once ‘finished’, the next several hours involve frequent ‘runs’ to the bathroom, all the while experiencing the most appalling stomach pains ever. The only way I can describe this excruciating sensation, is to say that it’s somewhere on a parallel to giving birth to a basketball, from an orifice designed for expelling objects the diameter of a small carrot. The best fun is when you have to spin around and put your face where you were just sitting….lovely.
At this point you feel so miserable that you don’t care anymore about the fact that you have to refrain from eating for the next 36 hours. In fact, you don’t care if you ever eat again! Now that your guts hurt and your entire stomach and other bits and pieces are empty, you feel so exhausted, that you don’t even think about weighing, and this is probably the best number that you might see in months………..instead you just go to bed whimpering and making very unladylike noises.
The next morning you get out of bed and shave your legs (special occasion) and then set off to the hospital. Once you arrive, you join all the other people in the waiting room who look every bit as terrified and hungry as you. Then you borrow a pen, and fill in 100 pages of information they should already know about you – this with a shaky hand. Once the required papers are finished, you give them all of your life savings, before you take your seat again and sit there in a nervous sweat. The person with you (your designated driver) will be gloating at this point, especially if his name is Gump.
When your name is called, you glance at the exit and have a sudden impulse to give Usain Bolt a run for his money. But instead you go into the mysterious place beyond the double doors where you are treated like a voodoo doll and then made to put on an ugly dress that does not fit. Sometimes, if you are very lucky, you get a warm blanket, which makes you feel much better……but only for a while.
The moment comes when you finally get to meet the person who you have made this date on the calendar to meet. This somewhat strange man with long skinny fingers, who although has never kissed you, has somehow earned the right to be paid for inserting a torturous device into a place where the sun isn’t ever supposed to shine, and where no rainbows or unicorns have ever been seen.
Fortunately, at this point you begin to get sleepy, and before the embarrassed blush has a chance to fade from your cheeks you fall into the dreamless sleep of barbiturates, while he starts playing a video game with your bum.
Now are you beginning to understand why I went on a binge? Oh wait that’s not all……just because I am so lucky, I’m getting a good rodgering down the top half as well! I’m getting Joan Rivered……good grief readers, is it any wonder indeed that I was having a difficult time concentrating on dieting. Actually, I’m rather surprised that I didn’t consume more than I did…I just kept telling myself that it was a good plan to allow myself a few small (large) indulgences pre-testing . Once the end of the week arrived and I had my procedures, the big weight loss kick-off would begin!
Well of course it would, do you doubt me?
The tests were scheduled for last Friday…..and that meant just over a week of pure heaven. And I can tell you that it was sublime! Chocolate, potato chips, Gummy worms, Sour Patch kids, English candy….a reckless, carefree abandon, and I snubbed my nose towards calories and fat. I spat in the eye of nutrition! I ate hash browns for dinner, made a French Silk Pie (my favourite)….I ate fish and chips (the fake kind, but delicious) and ignored my stomach that slowly started to rise like a massive blister. By the time my tummy resembled a small circus tent I was avoiding all mirrors, and I spurned any clothing with a waistband. I gave Gump the evil eye if his gaze dropped lower than my chin, and I made sure he never saw my profile because it was the same as Alfred Hitchcock’s.
All was going to plan until I decided to mow the grass. I can tell what you’re thinking readers, what on earth does that have to do with anything? Well let me explain. In Tulsa, Oklahoma, especially during a hot summer, most of the grass in our backyard dies, well except for the grass growing near the sprinkler system of our septic tank (ick). Consequently I mow a lot of dirt. If it wasn’t brown, you could actually imagine you were mowing the Sahara Desert. And if you saw what I looked like post-mowing, you might think I was a Bedouin, because I am wearing most of the yard.
I have to admit though, that it did seem worse than usual this time around. But I wasn’t too worried, that’s what showers are for right? However, I didn’t really stop to consider all the dirt/dust that I had swallowed, inhaled, and blinked into my body. Twenty-four hours later I was sick as an old dog. I thought I had contracted the Zika virus…seriously, I felt that bad – and if you saw some of the mosquitoes around here you would understand. They look like 747’s.
Two days later and it was the day preceding my tests, so I began my fast. This was not actually that difficult, as by now I felt so ill that I had lost my sense of taste and smell. It felt as though there was a whole army using hammers to bludgeon my bones and joints, and I could swear someone was pouring cement through the entire snaky length of my sinuses. Then just when I thought I couldn’t feel much worse, I began to get symptoms of the illness that had prompted me to have all the upcoming tests. Ugh – what a deal….I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t smell, couldn’t taste, and now my digestive system had decided to go on strike.
By the end of the day, even Gump showed concerned (I noted it in my diary with a special miracle glittery sticker). Gump got really authoritative, and insisted that I call the doctor to tell them how sick I was. So after starving myself all day, not to mention mentally preparing myself for the ugly nightie, skinny fingers and rubber gloves routine, I was given a last minute reprieve due to my poor health. I cannot describe how ridiculously happy I felt. It was like a pardon for a condemned man…..immediately I went to the fridge for congratulatory chocolate – I didn’t care that I had no taste buds…..I just relied on my memory and ate the bloody lot.
The tests are back on my calendar, and I’ll have them in ten day’s time, so I haven’t dodged that bullet yet. However, due to my ‘illness’, I was put on some really strong medication. It upsets my stomach so much that I can’t keep anything in.
That should be worth a couple of pounds don’t you think?
Jude