Erika Mott, Blogs about everything

Home Sweet Hospital

2010-09-07T17:19:00.000-07:00

from my journal: September 2nd, 2010

Is it Thursday or Friday? I don't know and frankly, don't care. The nights melt into one another as the same routine commences. I've become familiar with the run of nighttime tv shows on comedy central. I can't seem to get myself to shut the tv off. I've never been scared of the dark but I'm uneasy with hospital sounds as my lullaby. The gentle ticking of my IV pump, the nurses shuffling outside my door in their tennis shoes, and the deep wet cough from the man in the room next door.

I try not to think about this place in its totality. Where it is that I am, this place that has become entirely too familiar in my young life. The TV doesn't erase the reality of my situation but it distracts me temporarily.

3:00am. The pain in my belly announces itself loudly now as the last dosage of medication leaves me. I could care less this time, because the pain in my face is overwhelming. There is a tube taped to my cheek and nose that snakes its way up my nostril and down into my stomach. This is the fourth time I've experienced the nasogastric tube (the third this year) and the first time it's caused this much pain. My sinus, my ear, my eye, and the teeth on the left side of my face stab in synchonized pattern. I try not to cry but soon my cheeks are swollen again with hot tears. My hands are poised on the tube and my instincts are ready to take over and pull it out on my own. But right on schedule, a nurse (is it Anna or Amelia?) arrives with two syringes in her hand. IV dilaudid and because it makes me itch untrollably, IV benedryl.

When Dilaudid enters your IV it hits you like a ton of bricks, first in the face and then more gently as it traverses the length of yourr body. IV benedryl hits my chest until I cough profusely, and then it lulls me back immobilzed.

It is pacifying and yet for a few minutes I try not to fall asleep. I don't like feeling drugged, but for this first 20 or so minutes of the dosage, I feel no pain. I don't want to miss it by being asleep, so I use the controls to raise my bed. and here I am, writing. It probably doesn't make any sense. In the morning I might not remember writing this. But it doesn't matter. Right now it's real. I'm really sitting here, really 26 years old and hospitalized for the 8th time in 2010 for a rare disorder I shouldn't have. Someone once said if you're not feeling good, smile. If you pretend to be happy, you will be.

I try and the fake smile pulls at the tape holding the NG tube in place and I clamp my face in pain. It doesn't work. I'm still here and I'm still sick.

Why?

On Monday night At 9:00, as my husband and I sat on the sofa watching a movie, the phone rang. Surprisinly, the voice on the other end was not that of an inconsiderate solicitor as I had expected, but that of my gastroenterologist, with whom I had had an appoinment earleir that afternoon.

"Your scans came back. I'm very concerned with the amount of distention caused by the ileus. You need to be admitted to the hospital as soon as possibe.

Having been recently discharged from another hospitalization for the same problem, I dreaded having to go back. Although he finally allowed me to sleep at home, I walked into UWMC with my robe and a frustrated scowl. I knew what I was about to face: my absolute and dreaded nemesis of all that I have ever had to face in my four year journey with Gastrointestinal paralysis: the Nasogastric (NG) tube. I am normally a decent patient, but the NG triggers a visceral "panic" button. Knowing this, the kind nurses sedated me as much as they possibly could. They assured me they would make the process as easy as possible. Still, I had to fight back frightened and frustrated tears.

I drank a small vial of lidocaine syrup, which immediately numbed the back of my throat. The nurses sprayed more lidocaine into my nostrils, and lubricated the tube with more so that placement would elicit a minimal amount of gagging. Then I leaned forward, was held still by one nurse while the other looped the tube up around the nasal cavity, and then (with me helping by swallowing small bits of water at a time) threaded it down the throat and into my stomach.

It is impossible to have an NG placed without you looking as undignified as humanly possible. My nose bled profusely, my eyes teared up (as the tube seemed to pierce my sinus) I drooled, coughed, gagged, and spit out saliva. Then to make matters worse they tape the tube to your nose and face with gigantic bandages. Then they hook the tube to a clear vaccum container so tha it displays the green colored sludge it pumps out of your stomach for all to see.

Unfortunately, the NG accidentally blocked my sinus cavity and it grew very painful rapidly. Although I normally have a very high tolerance for pain (out of an unfortunate amount of practice), this was unbearable and greatly surpassed the abdominal pain for which I was being treated for. Despite being given IV dilaudid as quickly as I was metabolizing it, I found myself frequently in hysterical tears: I could only sleep with ice packs strapped to the left side of my face, and even then it was fitful at best. I understood that it was necessary to have the tube placed, but I was on the verge of pulling it out myself, and at one point I threatened that to one of the nurses.

"You might have it taken out this morning, during your procedures" she said "so just try to endure until then."

The procedures she was referring to were an endoscopy, a colonoscopy, and an Endoscopic Retrograde Cholangiopancreatography (ERCP) to see if there was an obvious cause to the sudden progression of my intestinal failure. I don't know if anyone has ever before been so excited about having these performed, but I watched the clock like a child waiting to go to Disneyland. Being in as much pain as I was in, I couldn't wait to go under anesthesia if only for a few hours of rest from the nagging pain. I watched one of the nurses inject the sedatives, and then watched the room grow very blurry before I fell asleep. Whe i finally woke up later that night, the NG tube had been pulled out. The rest of the hospital stay was much easier, and I was discharged yesterday afternoon with a deep sense of gratitude for both being discharged, and for having a medical team that truly cared for my wellbeing.

Several days later I am still having a "hospital hangover": the cessation of IV meds and fluids and the realization that I once again depend on myself to get the food and fluids I need to thrive. It's not as easy as it sounds. This is the first time in my history of having these diseases that I am not able to feed myself well, and this fact became abundantly clear when I weighed myself and found a 20 pound difference than the weight I carried when I was admitted to the other hospital I was in two weeks before.

As such, I am truly exhausted both in body and spirit. I returned to work today a bit (okay...slight understatement) moody. I knew everyone would ask how I was doing, and I hate answering that question. I know what they're looking for. "I'm doing much better, thanks" and it isn't coming because it isn't true and I refuse to lie for the sake of comforting other people's uneasiness with chronic illnesses. At the same time, however, saying "I feel like crap" -though true- doesn't endear people to me. So as a happy medium I find myself using worn-out euphemisms such as "Well I'm here so that's a good sign" or the slightly more imagery-laded "Well I don't have a tube stuck up my nose anymore so I guess I'm hanging in there."

Suffice it to say this day ended with me storming off to my car because of one of my coworker's incessantly complaining about her 'horrid' life in which her greatest antagonist is her relentlessly frizzy hair.

I'm not a fan of being a one-upper. Nobody likes a one-upper, but I've definitely had to bite my tongue recently as in the wake of severe pain, unimaginable discomfort, starvation, dehydration, fatigue and weakness, fainting, internal bleeding, and organ failure, I tend to find a lot of people's problems trivial at best, and incredibly annoying at worst.

Yes there are plenty of people with real problems, and yes there are countless people who have it far worse than I. But I don't regret mocking the girl crying over the frizzy hair. or the person who calls getting a cavitied tooth driiled 'major surgery'.

Was I like that before I got sick? I remember griping about college registration, all-nighters, organic chemistry labs, and Albany State's poisonous attempt at cooking. But I never remember thinking my life sucked as a result of those. (Okay....maybe the food part...)

Oh well. I'll get over it eventually. Maybe. I promised my husband I would stay out of the hospital this week: the first in about five if I follow through with that vow. At my age it shouldn't have to be a difficult promise to keep!

--
-Erika L. Mott-
(253) 239-4205

F----k it

2010-05-08T17:24:00.001-07:00

I cannot keep up with my own emotions. One second I want to lash out irrationally at the world, and the next I find myself with that aggressive "I dare you to stop me" attitude that has been so good at helping me survive these last few years.

I feel awful. I'm sick of saying it. For once, just one day even, I want people to be able to ask "How are you?" and not cause me to stop in my tracks and have to deal with the decision to lie for their sake, or tell the truth for mine. Because everytime in the last two months that I've told someone I was feeling well, I lied. Sometimes I would brush around the lie with semi-truth/vague ommisions such as "better than yesterday" or "as well as I can expect." What I really want to say, however, is the truth: I feel awful and don't know how to meet the expectations presented to me by my own life.

I wish people knew. Knew how much effort it takes to do everything I do. Just for a moment. But since they don't, maybe it's time for me to move on from my probably self-induced isolation.

Fuck it.

I'm back in the gym. I can't keep waiting to feel good again to do the things I want to do. Let them do what they want to me, I'm done putting my life on the shelf waiting for things to improve. They might not. and in the meantime, I'm letting a hell of a lot of time pass with my consent. and so begins another competition prep. I want that feeling back; the feeling of my body cooperating with me rather than betraying me. The feeling that my limitations are in themselves limited in what they can stop me from. Without further ado, it's time to reintroduce myself to the world as the figure competitor that I know I am. I WILL be competing at the 2010 Ironman. Even if I do have more of my organs removed and have an ileostomy bag badaged to my side. Or a longitudinal scar outlining my linea alba. My scars are my testimony and not an embarrasment.

Fuck it.

and I apologize for the language. but if that's what you've focused on in this passage, then you missed what it was I was actually saying.

See you on the stage at snoqualmie casino, Octoner 2nd. I'll be the one winning.

2010-04-29T20:49:00.000-07:00

Three brief days of freedom and I once again find myself at Ten East, in the very same room I was after my most recent surgery, snd three doors down from the room I called home this past weekend. Obviously, I am not feeling well. This week at work was challenging to say the very least. I was still in pain, and still very much fatigued. Yesterday I called my sugeon's office to ask for advice on how to manage the pain, and the answer I received was to re-check myself into the hospital.

I won't deny that I was an emotional wreck as I lied on the cold emergency room gurney. I'd had the urge to cry throughout most of the day; excusing myself mid-afternoon to my car to have a few minutes of alone time. My temper was short and I found myself cursing and flining objects around in the lab. Clearly I was not at my best but it wasn't until I was in the ER that the floodgates opened and I cried.

I don't cry as often as I'd like to which may sound strange to most. For me, however, the act of purging upset that was formerly locked up inside is not only copascetic but totally necessary to remain sane in the wake of medical burden. The thoughts repeating in my mind were self-absorbed and childish: "What the ___ did I do to deserve this?? I'm only 25 effing years old it's not fair! I don't want to do this anymore! I want to be well. I want my husband to not have to carry the stress of caring for a chronically ill wife. I want to get back to being me; a person defined by accomplishments and not by an illness most people have never heard of."

Then the nurse arrived with dilaudid and I felt as ease; ready to deal with my body and all of the challenges it presents once more. Today I met three separate doctors from the clinic that my first surgeon worked at. They are concerned I no longer have any residual function in the remainder of my large intestine. They will get me to a neutral point before discharging me, and then these next few weeks will find me returning to the colorectal clinic assessing the fate of my colon. The general consensus seems to be that taking it out is my only remaining option. As this is very extensive and would require the temporary use of a colostomy, my husband and I will be traveling to the Mayo clinic for a second opinion just to be sure it is the best course of action. In the meantime, I'm kind of at a loss as to how to keep up with my own life. Though not indifferent to my own pain, I do feel a kind of complacency at the moment. Perhaps it is the dilaudid. But being surrounded by a wonderful husband, amazing friends and family, and a compassionate medical staff doesn't allow for melancholy.

It is now 9:15 and the meds are taking me down. I'm ready for a nice long sleep-albeit interuppted every two hours- and possibly a discharge in the morning.

hospital

2010-04-24T21:25:00.000-07:00

I'm cut off from the world here....sneaking a few moments of precious internet time on the nurse's PC in my room that clearly states it is not for patient use. (why leave a computer unsupervised in the patient rooms in that case? Or at least make it password protected.)

anyway I was admitted into the hospital after a surgical followup on thursday went sour. Three days later I am still sitting here with a bowel obstruction that meds refuse to clear. I am in pain, I smell horribly, one of my two IVs erupted in a torrent of blood, I've been shot half a dozen times, and I've had four tests that are not unfamiliar to me, but also too embarassing to detail on a semi-public blog.

I think it is 90 degrees in the room right now. What the hell. I was supposed to be discharged today with the hope that a medication would stimulate my intestine to push the blockage through.

No luck, and as it turns out, the remainder of my colon seems irreprably damaged. Next week I have to return to the Northwest colorectcal clinic to assess if there is any way to keep the rest of my intestine. My latest surgeon doesn't seem to think so. So what was supposed to be my final surgery may well turn out to be anything but.

quickie

2010-04-09T21:03:00.000-07:00

I forgot what brought the subject up, but one of my doctors once informed me that people with chronic illnesses actually grow despondent and depressed if they are 'miraculously' cured or if they favorably respond to treatment such that they resume a normal quality of life.

I hated him in that moment. The message I obtained from that comment was that I should derive my identity and a sense of purpose from having a medically refractory barrage of diseases.

"I think I'd get over that pretty quickly," I said, voice dripping with sarcasm and heavy disdain. There has not been one day since being diagnosed with Gastroparesis, CIP, Lupus, and Antiphospholipid Antibody Syndrome in which I have not felt the injustice of having to bear such a ridiculous burden at such a ridiculously young age. I have looked far and wide for relief, and there have been times where things were under control enough to catch a glimpse of myself sans-sickness. I like that person, and, frankly, I've missed her.

Though I find no redeeming value in astrology, I can't help but notice some accuracy in my being a Gemini. I am indeed two people: I am a victim of chronic illness forced upon me by the environment of my youth. At the other end of the spectrum -the healthy end- I am ambitious, self-confident, more in tune to the needs of others, and generally adventurous. The patient is much less self-assured as a result of suffering from an illness that people misunderstand and label incorrectly. (For instance, I do NOT have IBS. IBS is a 'functional' GI disorder and not life-threatening, whereas GP/CIP-DTP, SLE, and APLS -Good God enough with the acronyms already- are.) So I worry what my peer's perceptions of my illnesses are, and wish I could lay it our in detail what it is to suffer from these unfathomably difficult disorders. What it's like to live two lives so blatantly apart from each other.

Three weeks ago I finally had surgery (hopefully my last) to reconstruct the top of my stomach and to repair a hiatal hernia that came into being as a result of excessive GP flaring and a congenitally deformed diaphragm. I am expected to come out of the other side of recovery with a moderately functioning stomach: enough so that I may be given a chance at living a normal life.

I am brought back to that strange afore-mentioned conversation with my doctor and only now do I see any truth to those words. In a way, illness has shaped me into the person I've become, whether I wanted it to or not. I've lived with it every day; have endured things both small and grand in the wake of debilitating pain and nausea. I showed my doctors their error when they told me I'd never be able to compete with my 'disability'. I've held a full time job, endured a shitload of surgery, and despite the fact that several factors have led to my being a bit 'quirky' I showed myself that I can endure just about anything and still come across as victoriously strong.

I will always carry the diagnoses of GP, CIP, SLE, and APLS, however dormant they may become. But the thought of being able to live my life without their presence constantly demanding my attention is wondrously overwhelming. Will I become despondent and depressed as mentioned by my doctor? No. Will it be a challenge to relearn to live at the level of expectations imposed on a perfectly healthy adult? Absolutely. But if I've learned anything in the last four years, it's that challenge suits me just fine.

And I am more than ready for this one.

recovery

2010-03-28T11:56:00.000-07:00

I am overwhelmingly stubborn for my own good. 12 days post-op from a major stomach surgery and all I want to do is prepare for a fall competition, continue my landscaping project, attempt to keep my house clean despite the three pets....in short everything I'm physically not allowed to do. I'm an impatient patient, and I just want to be well.

Most people would be surprised at how mobile I really am. I did in fact pull up 96 gallons worth of weeds from my backyard, taken my puppy for multiple walks, run some errands, baked, and shopped for groceries. However, I can only do these activities in short spurts; as my stamina has severely decreased likely to having been put under general anesthesia.

The surgery itself was a breeze. Checked in on the morning of the 16th and was given a bed and an electric blanket to chill under as all of my pre-op bloodwork and IV antibiotics were delivered. At 7:40 I was wheeled into the freezing cold operating room. This is usually the scariest part for me but I was immediately sedated and was just barely consious when the mask was placed over my face. What seemed like a second later, I heard my name called in the PACU.

My abdomen didn't hurt but my neck, shoulders and back were hurting from the gas they pump in to inflate their working area. I was on a self-controlled morphine pump at that point and spent a few hours with my hand permanently poised over the delivery button. After a few hours the pain subsided and I felt amazing considering I'd just been through surgery mere hours beforehand. I was even tolerating the NG tube used to decompress my stomach. Thank God for Morphine.

Since then the pin in my abdomen has been more than tolerable, making this surgery the easiest I have had. (well...the tonsillectomy was easier but in terms of abdominal surgery it has been a cinch.) I decided to stop taking oxycodone early on. My neck still hurts sporadically but now it's nothing 1000 mg Ibuprofen and a heating pad can't control.

The frustrating part of the surgery is my inability to swallow. I was warned it would be difficult, and I was also warned I would lose weight. But it wasn't supposed to be this bad. I can sip on thin liquids every 30 minutes or so, but most of what I ingest gets lodged in the back of my throat, prompting me to spit it out. I can't even swallow my own saliva which is dangerous since it can lead to aspiration.

and the weight loss aspect? 20 pounds in two weeks. Not good! If it was all fat, then fine. But I know the muscle I worked so hard for is being stripped away from me. I'm doing what I can to preserve my muscle store, but at 300-400 calories a day and very little protein (too thick for me to swallow)the effort is probably in vain.

I have an appt with the surgeon this week and he'll evaluate my progress and hopefully sign off on my returning to work. Until then, I'll continue learning to paint, quilt, play the guitar (can't play my flute quite yet) and stare longingly at my garden.

recovery begins

2010-03-20T19:33:00.000-07:00

My passages are shortest when i have the most to say.

Large doses of narcotic painkillers will prevent me from getting carried away. It will also likely prevent me from making coherent sense.

I am a bad candidate for having a chronic illness largely because of a congenital inability to sit still for large periods of time. I had another surgery on Tuesday (the one that has been in the works for about a year) and I have been stubbornly refusing to acknowledge that I'm compromised both physically and mentally (thanks to the oxycodone) and shouldn't be doing as much as I can.

I haven't even finished a week of my exile from work and I'm stricken with a post-operative ennui. I took a notepad yesterday and sketched my landscape, then bought bulbs and seeds online. I didn't do any gardening; my husband has seen to that, but I spent hours walking back and forth in my yard to observe.

On friday two of my friends from work made the trip down here to spend some quality girl time. To prepare, I spent the majoirty of the day cooking and cleaning in preparation of their arrival.

My husband was not happy. He had a right to be mad: I am impossible to reason with while under the influence of pain killers. The mental impairment paired with not being able to feel pain can lead to bad judgment. But then that stubborn streak in me would take over and disregard his warnings. I hate feeling useless and dependent.

But I promised him I'd take it easier today, which is why I'm now sitting at the PC slowly sipping coffee and listening to Freelance Whales. (one of my new favorite bands out of NYC)

I can't really give an indication one way or another in terms of how recovery is progressing. This morning I woke with an unbearable sharp pain in my right side. It almost feels like a cracked rib, and is likely costochondritis, but I'm paranoid due to the pain's proximity to my liver. Last surgery I clotted badly in my liver. This time they knew to give me injections of heparin every few hours, but it's hard to stay on the non-hypochondriac side of the fence given my history.

Eating is a huge pain in the ass. I can eat about 2 tbsp of yogurt before my esopahgus closes off and anything else gets stuck in my throat. I have to spit out about 75% of anything I eat which is both gross and irritating. A study done while I was in the hospital showed that the 'wrap' was a little too tight but that it should relax after a couple of weeks. if it doesn't, I'll either have to have a temporary feeding tube, or another surgery to undo the Nissen repair.

cautious update

2010-02-08T06:54:00.000-08:00

I never really understand the line: the line that divides pertinent information for awareness and too much information given at the risk of my own safety. I can't fathom how knowing my medical history is that much of a risk, but in this day and age, you never know.

At the same time, having an "invisible" chronic illness allows me the opportunity to spread awareness. Maybe it only reaches a handful of people, but if the 5 million patients of GP/CIP out there each reach a handful, it becomes a sizable amount of the American population.

Last week I was hospitalized again because of my impaired digestive tract. For five whole days I sat in bed irritable, bored, and incredibly sick. At one point I could have sworn that I was feeling worse with every day spent tethered to my IVs. Last Saturday I had been feeling some minor GI discomfort,but for me that is nothing out of the ordinary. Around dinner, however, the GI pain worsened and I and began losing startling quantities of blood. I'm normally quite stubborn when it comes to the hospital (to the chagrin of my husband) but this time I was absolutely frightened out of my mind and had Andy rush me to the nearest hospital.

I hate this hospital, by the way. In 2006 I had to go there two weeks post-op with severe mid-back/epigastric pain. When I indicated to the surgeon that I had just undergone a subtotal colectomy he looked dumbfounded and asked "What is that exactly?" After the shock of having to explain a medical procedure to a doctor, he then continued to strike the most severe sense of incredulity by diagnosing me with gallbladder disease. This was despite the fact I had also just told him I'd had my gallbladder removed in the same operation. Needlesstosay, I am not this hospital's number one fan.

It wasn't long after being admitted into the ER that the decision was made to admit me into the hospital. The first night was spent in the critical care unit alongside an obviously manic woman whose voice reverberated through my recently migraine-stricken brain. To add the proverbial salt to the wound, I suffered from caffeine withdrawal. Funny how much that was distracting me from an issue of internal bleeding: I was crying in pain from the migraine more than the problem I was actually being hospitalized for.

The following morning I was moved to a regular room and visited by an onslaught of staff: the wing's general doctor, the on call surgeon, and two GIs. A CT scan I had had performed while still in the ER showed a discouraging issue: malrotation of the remaining 21 inches of my large intestine as well as my jejunum and ileum. The fact that the surgeon there, in short, scared the hell out of me.

I am scared of surgery to the point of it being a pathological issue. I didn't realize it for a long time but when I used to work in the lab at Swedish medical Center I was on-call in the afternoons to serve as the pathologist's assistant histotech in the OR. The first and only panic attack of my entire life occurred there while waiting for the pathologist to return from the OR suite with a resected organ. I heard the sound of the OR: the bleeping monitors and the enormous anesthesia equipment that keeps a person alive while their insides are...well.....outside. I flashbacked to the day I was lying on the cold table for the first time, not knowing if I'd come out the other side alive. The memory caught me with a rapid heartbeat and a perspiring forehead. When the pathologist returned, she looked at me and asked if I was okay. I replied that I was fine, far too embarrassed to admit that I had just realized that I was traumatized by surgery.

So as one might imagine, the idea of the surgeon being involved in my case made me want to panic. Which led to about an hour of throwing up, impressive considering I was NPO (nothing by mouth, or 'nil per os' in Latin). I don't actually know if the two were related, but it seems a reasonable assumption.

As it turned out, the bleeding slowed and my normal normalized enough to avoid a transfusion and surgery. Still, for five days total I was prodded every two hours. I felt sicker than I have in a very long time. I smelled, I threw up constantly, I was a lunatic (as is always the case when an already semi-neurotic personality is paired with strong intravenous narcotics), and I was bored out of my mind.

Now I'm out and slowly recovering, but the stay definitely weakened me a bit. I've noticed I'm easily fatigued. And to make matters worse, my upcoming surgery is now much more complicated, since the malrotation has to be fixed lest it turn into a life-threatening issue (again.)

I can't believe I'm here again. it feels like 2006 all over again. What started as a relatively minor ordeal has ballooned into a major and complicated operation. And like 2006, I am about to undergo half a dozen lengthy tests to determine which course of action the surgeon will take. Next week I have an EGD, Barium swallow, ph probe, small bowel transit study, an MRI, yet another Gastric emptying scan (more on that later) and worst of all: an esophageal manometry. That one I am dreading to the point of tears because it necessitates the use of an NG (nasogastric) tube. That of all my medical experiences is by far the worst. And yes, even moreso than surgery. I've only had one once during another hospital stay, and was held down by two nurses while a third took a thick tube and jammed it up into my nasal cavity and then made me swallow it until it was in my stomach. I hate the idea that I have to go through that again. But that test is crucial in that it determines the muscular strength of my esophagus.

The gastric emptying scan is the test that was used to diagnose my delayed emptying in 06, and it will be done again to see how much the Gastroparesis has progressed. If it has become significantly worse than my prior scan, then I will have yet another operation thrown in the mix called a pyloromyotomy to widen the junction between my stomach and duodenum and thus facilitating faster digestion.

So here I am again: depleted energy, belly pain, fear of upcoming complex operations....it's a deja vu I had hoped I would never have. But I'm trying not to get too hung up on the whole thing. I hate Gastroparesis, but succumbing to melancholy only gives it more control of my life. I'm not willing to let that happen. At the same time I'm not the "everything happens for a reason" or 'Illness is a blessing in disguise" type. I kind of wish I could, but I'm not wired to feel a sense of purpose for having to go through chronic illness so young. Instead i will give it the air of an everyday chore, like brushing teeth. It has to be done, and that's it.

2010-01-20T15:47:00.000-08:00

The past few weeks have brought about a myriad of emotion that I have been trying to conceal, or at least dampen slightly.

A year ago I was crushed when my GI was "forced" to shrug off the reflux and ulceration in my upper GI tract caused by a severe hiatal hernia. I was bumped up to the maximum dosage of my Proton-Pump-Inhibitor to little avail: when reflux is caused by an anatomical and not a physiological issue, meds don't seem to quell the irritation in the esophagus.

I recently learned that one of Seattle's top thoracic surgeons performs an operation called The Hill Repair, which is an alternative to the Nissen Fundoplication surgery that my GP/CIP disqualifies me from undergoing. As I've mentioned a few times, the Fundoplication carries the risk of ruining the vomit reflex. This is because of the very nature of the surgery: 5 trocars (the name for the laparascopic shafts that are placed in the abdomen) twist the fundus of the stomach around the esophagus. This forms a makeshift valve, since the LES in patients is dysfunctional or has failed entirely.

Occasionally the "tightening" of the stomach disallows vomiting and belching which may seem like a benefit, but for a GP/CIP patient, vomiting is a survival mechanism against forming obstructions called bezoars. I've had them.....they're frightening and unimaginably painful. (Consider it a gastric version of a kidney stone and we're on the right track for comparison)

You can get the idea for why my GI didn't want to refer me for surgery in this case. I don't fault her for that. However, I do question her on one front: her lack of knowledge regarding the Hill Repair.

The Hill repair is named after First Hill in Seattle because it is performed nearly exclusively there at Swedish Medical Center. Incidentally, SMC is home to every single one of my physicians.....so although I could understand why someone in the Midwest may not know of the procedure, I would expect a Gastroenterology clinic two floor below the office of the thoracic surgeon that performs it to at least mention the damn thing.

The Hill Repair is more difficult an operation, as it reinforces the gastric wall and the LES to regain its natural function. The recovery is longer, but the rate of efficacy is the same, and there are a lot of medical journals published indicating an extreme alleviation in symptoms of Gastroparesis.

I don't pretend to understand how this is true, since the Hill Repair is first and foremost an anti-reflux surgery and not an approved therapy for GI paralysis. But the papers I've read, all which cite the surgeon I'll be seeing, are all praising its ability to improve gastric emptying.

Sign me up. I know surgery is painful. I've been there and I vividly remember how awful it was, but if I have to undergo two months of misery to provide myself with longstanding relief from an illness I absolutely detest, then it's something I want to do. My consult is next Thursday and at that time the surgeon will decide if this is a good course of action. It's likely but not certain: I have several factors complicating the matter; first and foremost being Antiphospholipid Antibody Syndrome. It's been completely dormant since my clotting episode in 2007, but it was surgery that caused the blood clots the first time. I don't know what that means for this time around. In fact there is much I don't know. But the first hurdle was obtaining the consult which is done. I'll post more when I know, but my fingers are crossed. I simply can't imagine having a somewhat normal lifestyle again. It's been a long time and though I'm trying to not get my hopes up, I really want to try it out again.

Veggie Challenge

2010-01-18T16:09:00.000-08:00

As I continue on my journey of learning to become a cook, there are several things that augment with my new found knowledge: self-confidence, pride, grocery bills, and our waistline. As a means of steering us back towards a competition-prep diet, I promised my husband I would not cook any grains as accompaniments to our main courses this week.

Here it is: The first Veggie Challenge of the new decade:

Monday

Sautéed Asparagus with Pancetta

(recipe can be found at http://www.finecooking.com/recipes/slow_sauteed_asparagus_pancetta.aspx)

Note: Asparagus is actually a member of the Lilly family. The white variety that I am using for this recipe is grown by keeping it buried beneath soil to prevent chlorophyll from being stored in the plant's cells. This deprivation of light is known as etiolation and is used to produce a more mild and tender vegetable.

Tuesday

Mashed Parsnips with Lemon and Herbs

Recipe: http://www.finecooking.com/recipes/mashed-parsnips-lemon-herbs.aspx?nterms=53174

Wednesday

Sauteed Kale with pine nuts

Kale may be my new favorite food item and it's especially a great wintertime product. It's sweeter and crunchier than spinach and doesn't wilt as readily. I was playing in the kitchen the other night, heated up some high quality olive oil, browned a tablespoon or two of minced garlic, and added in some toasted pine nuts.

(Note: If you've never toasted pine nuts, start now!! Toast them at 375 degrees for 10 minutes on a rimmed baking sheet, tossing them every so often. I automatically toast my pine nuts after purchasing them because they really coax out the nut's signature earthy flavor.)

6 minutes between start and finish and there I had it: a side that not only stood on its own against the grilled sirloin it was accompanying, but threatened to overpower it as the "favorite" of that meal. Not a bad way to conjure up a quick weeknight meal that is both flavorful and healthy!

Thursday

Roasted Winter Vegetables with a Maple-Ginger Glaze

Another fine cooking find: http://www.finecooking.com/recipes/ginger_roasted_winter_vegetables.aspx

Another great choice for the ethical foodie who likes to eat seasonally.

Friday

Marinated Eggplant:

http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Marinated-Eggplant-351171

I will be most likely making Moroccan beef as the main dish of this meal and this Mediterranean stand-by will go perfectly with the regional theme.

Chestnuts roasting in a.......convection oven....

2010-01-17T19:57:00.000-08:00

Standing in my kitchen bleeding profusely tonight, I vowed I'd never make another attempt at cooking with chestnuts. Peeling them is laborious, not to mention painful. As they cannot be eaten raw - they are highly tart and tannic- they must be soaked in warm water, scored with an X on their flattened side using a paring knife, and roasted for 30 minutes before shelling them. Even after all of the pain gone through to reach this stage, shelling them is by no means an easy practice; a fact I learned quite well as my paring knife scored my thumb as deeply as it had the nut itself.

I strapped a fashionable batman bandaid to my pierced skin and continued. To be a great cook requires great sacrifice I suppose. Two generous glasses of pinot noir probably helped to escalate that situation, but I digress....

Indeed I felt very much solidified in my decision to never cook with these pain-in-the-ass foods ever again. That is, until I tasted the finished product: chesnut soup with crisp prosciutto. The glossy soup tasted heavily of leeks and married beautifully with the pungent and earthy taste of the chesnuts. I had to concede....chesnuts are worth the ridiculous effort required to use them.

Now for the reason behind the blog title change: this blog originally meant to chronicle my journey as a figure competitor, but life has made it so that fitness will never be my sole focus. Around Christmas I was playing with the idea of starting a separate cooking blog. (Cooking is a cathartic means of coping with both a sport and an illness that limits what I can eat) Not too long therafter I suddenly thought of beginning a photography blog: my husband gave me a Canon Rebel XS for Christmas and I thought it would be a fun way to monitor my own progress.

Lastly, the inevitable Christmas aftermath brought about a Gastroparesis flare that inspired me to write about what it was like to live with a myriad of chronic illness. In short, there are way too many things going on to limit my scope here. Because as the title implies, I am a life enthusiast. I have been since youth and it's something I both embrace and scorn about myself. Occasionally I wish I could limit my interests in order to develop a sound expertise regarding them but in the end I rather like being the quintessential Renaissance woman: knowing and craving a little bit of everything that life has to offer me.

Fitness and illness are, of course, intricately intertwined. Unlike most other GP/CIP flares in which I have been able to maintain my weight, this time I can't keep up with the caloric demands of my body on a day to day basis. Today I didn't eat until the aforementioned soup and didn't realize it. I jogged to fred Meyer this morning to buy some leeks and some creme fraiche when I suddenly felt like I was going to get sick and/or pass out. I'm glad I didn't; despite the frequency with which I tend to create scenes it never ceases to be entirely embarrasing. I made it home but was left with a lingering -albeit much more mild- feeling of nausea and lightheadedness. I should have taken phenergen and gotten something to eat in retrospect, but phenergen's side effects are as undesirable as not eating.

Towards nightime the ever-present and ever annoying hernia began to bother me and that's where the pinot noir came from. Stupid, I know. But I refuse to be judged.

My surgical consult was bumped from Feb 15th to this upcoming thursday which I'm thankful for. Knowing that there is a possible impending operation has demotivated me entirely from prepping for a competition. Now I only have four more days of limbo instead of a month.

As much as 2006-2007 and the 5 operations that ensued literally tramautized me and left me with an impenetrable fear of surgery, I kind of hope I'm approved for this one. (The Hill repair/Pyloroplasty). I can't imagine what it would be like to live without the pain caused by the hernia. Oh to not have to sleep at a 45 degree angle anymore! To not have painful inretractable hiccuping and regurgitation! Still, I acknoweldge before going into this consult that my motility impairment may still disqualify me from this surgery. I'm not so much as an eternal pessimist as I am cautious and unwilling to subject my expectations to crushing blows.

Despite the medical drama and the hiatus from the fitness arena, I am complacent with my current status, having finally some time to cultivate other and previously neglected parts of my life. Yesterday morning I awoke to a heavy fog settled in on Puget Sound and hurriedly dressed in my fleece and raced out the door with my camera. I walked briskly to the Des Moines Marina to snapshot the mist dissipating over the placid waters of the sound. It was colder than I had anticipated, and my fingers turned purple from playing with my exposure settings. When I was shooting to the north, I heard a distant voice crying "Take a picture of us!" and turned around to see a sailboat on the other side of the pier with approximately 5 passengers on board. I laughed and complied, shooting freely with different combinations of shutter speed.

By the time I realized I was shooting in monochromatic (ie black and white) mode, they were too far for me to switch over. It was a shame, as all of the sailors were wearing vibrant rain ponchos, and honey-bee yellow rain galoshed. It would have made for a striking visual against the grayness of the day but alas....shit happens.

A chapter closes on another weekend.

conflict

2009-12-30T10:27:00.001-08:00

I remember writing once upon a time in the tumultous year of 2009 that I felt like two different women: the one that has a chronic illness versus the determined athlete. Throughout most of the year I can reconcile the two of them: never quite merging but coexisting in a tepid truce.

As I'm now facing another surgery, my motivation is scattered by thoughts of futility. Should I ramp up my effort to compete in March as planned? I could ditch the carbs now....go downstairs in a few minutes and eat only protein as my second meal. I can bust out a workout in the gym and can even do cardio at this point since my leg is finally load-bearing.

Could I? Absolutely. Should I? Probably. Will I? I don't know. Yesterday I felt the fmiliar pull of a need to compete: the slight coarsing of adrenaline from envisioning the competition forced me into a couple of nonchalant sets of pushups on the floor of my office. But in the midst of my sudden spark of enthusiasm I couldn't help but think: "Why bother if I'm going to have surgery before I get the chance to compete?"

Admittedly this is a destructive thought process: in 2006 when my plans for competition were halted by a major operation (techinically FOUR operations performed in one day) my surgeon told me that my lifestyle had litierally saved my life. So why I'm not even more dedicated right now is an enigma of laziness. Maybe it's because the Nissen Fundoplication/Pyloroplasty isn't as major as the colectomy. Maybe it's because I'm just burnt out from having every repetition invoke a surge of reflux into my throat. Maybe I'm burnt out from feeling like a living treadmill: always moving toward a goal without ever getting there. The latter should not be the case since I have in fact reached many goals I've set for myself. But the ones I haven't frustrate me because it's never been a lack of heart but a literal lack of gut.

This post has come across exceedingly negative which I didn't intend for. I'm fine in all other endeavors of life. The holidays have been very kind to me and I've enjoyed spending time with my wonderful husband. He got me my first DSLR camera and I've been putting hours of focus into learning photography. I'm glad to have at least one hobby that isn't dependent on my health. The conflict over competition vs surgery lingers (obviously) but it isn't controlling my life by any means.

It still isn't even a given that the surgery is going to happen. My GI might not feel comfortable with it. The NF surgery carries a risk of making things worse for me. However, it is potentially reversible unlike my current predicament. I've decided to push for it. It's worth the risk for me to have a little normalcy in my otherwise vastly abnormal life. I'm 25. I shouldn't be waking up in the morning with my nose bleeding from reflux, or not being able to bend over without the contents of my stomach traveling upward. I hate surgery....I definitely got a bit of PSTD after the first round. (I had a minor surgery in 2007: the operating room and the sound of the equipment reminded me of the 2006 fiasco and I had a panic attack on the gurney.)

But what I hate more is limitation without means.

progress halted

2009-12-26T09:43:00.000-08:00

Things can change instantly, as I found out two weeks ago at fitness practice. Upon dismounting a thick iron set of parallel bars I smashed my shin against a crossbar and chipped off a small piece of my tibia. It began to sweel from my foot to my knee and I was sentenced to crutches and no activity as one would expect.

Except for me, that's a very risky scenario. Cardio is the best therapy I have for my GI issues, and four days into being sedentary my stomach flared. I have been in excellent shape for months now. The GERD has still bothered me but not the extent that it had been, and the GP/CIP symptoms were nearly nonexistant. Within the blink of an eye I went from healthy to extremely ill.

Because I am a fitness/figure competitor, I know the importance of eating. I am trained to eat every two to three hours with the understanding of strict consquences should I not follow this metabolic "law". I believe in many ways this has saved my ass from the emaciation and malnutrition of others with my disorders. It's common for them to just NOT eat at all. (Think of how unappealing it is to eat when you have a nasty stomach flu and you'll get what it's like for us) As sick as I get, I always try to force food down. Unfortunately that means throwing up anywhere between 5 and 10 times a day.

Yes you read that correctly. That's how I spent the first half of 2009. And how I seem to be ending it as well. My throat is on fire, my teeth hurt, my stomach and back are clenched in an eternal cramp...all because I'm a perpetual klutz that busted her stupid leg!

At this time my GI and I are going through another myriad of tests to reevaluate the need for a nissen fundoplication surgery. This surgery is inherently dangerous for patients with modeerate to severe motility impairment and pseudo-obstruction such as myself. For me, the ability to vomit (although irritating) is absolutely crucial for my survivial, lest I form obstructions in my GI tract. The NF surgery can actually supress this reflex. But at this time it's a risk I'm willing to take. I have little to no musculature remaining in my Oesophageal valve and it makes for reflux of exorcist-like proportions.

So all that is happening with the next month, making it downright impossible to concentrate on what is supposed to be my fitness debut in March. I PROMISED Tanji I'd compete. But last year I pushed myself towards competitions until I was on the brink of collapse. It made for a very dissatisfying year. And I have no intention of 2010 following that pattern.

memories of an idyllic Christmastime

2009-12-23T16:08:00.000-08:00

My first memory of Christmas was also my first memory in general. I was young, not yet two years old, and it was the middle of the night when my mother rustled me from my sleep, repeating my name in a nearly frantic excitement. I whimper groggily as she bundles me up in a snowsuit and scoops me up into her arms. She carries me outside. The winter air, unreservedly frigid in the middle of the night, passionately bites at my nose; the steamy tendrils of breath gathering at my nostrils stolen by the boreal wind.
The moon was full or nearly so, and in my sleepy blurred vision I can only see the beat up Chevrolet glinting in the moonbeams.
My mom removes one of my woolen mittens, which dangles on a string that runs through the interior of my one-piece snowsuit. "Here....Erika. Touch." Mom is whispering, as though we are witnessing something sacred and can't disturb the sanctimony with the sounds of our voices. I reach out my hand as directed and am met with a shockingly cold sensation running through my fingertips. My fingers are wet and something with a sand-like consistency burns my hand with its unrelenting frigidity. I can't comprehend what it is that I am holding, how something can be hot and cold at the same time.
"It's your first snowstorm." my mom informs me. Suddenly this has a name, this frightening substance. Snow. I don't like it. I wave my hand furiously. Mom covers it with my mitten, chuckles gently and presses me to her shoulder to bring me back into the house.
Perhaps this was my first indication that only the most poignant of memories are impressed vividly onto a young mind; it is those amassed with a jumble of paradoxical emotion, that are worth remembering. My first snowstorm, my first memory, is testimony to this. Time may have blinded my visual perception of the event, but I can still feel the contradicting sensations of that night. The sleepy lassitude and the blissfully aware. The fear of the penetrating cold and the warmth of being closely protected by my mother, and the lullaby sound of the snow crunching beneath her boots on an otherwise quiescent night. That night I only wanted to be brought safely back to bed, too young to analyze the confusion I was met with outside in the snow. But now I am truly thankful my mom thought it important to share that memory. For her, the first time playing with her daughter in a fresh blanket of snow. My first memory of experiencing winter. The first time in my life to be remembered.

This memory, as others centered around the magnificance of the holiday season, seem the stuff of hokey Christmas specials such as the classic "It's a wonderful Life". But my life during the rest of the year was not so idyllic. In my blog I have alluded to the events that continue to plague the darkest parts of my memory. Perhaps I have shared a stray incident or two but never have I gone into explicit detail. Nor will I do so today, for the only point of mentioning it is to serve as a reference for why Christmas was so special for me as a child.

My father, a blue-collar worker for UPS, was often working during the busy holiday season. No matter how fatigued he grew, however, he would always reserve some time for the most wondrous of Christmas "miracles". One memorable Christmas morning he took his skiis and made "sleigh" tracks in the freshly fallen snow on our rooftop and proceeded to carry me up there on his shoulders to see that Santa had recently been there. I'll never forget the sensation of mysticism, of magic. It was in the air that night as it was on the night I touched the snow. The air was thick with it until it saturated me with belief. Still, the most enveloping magic of Christmas was not my hero in red and white but rather the transformation my family undertook during those darkest days of December.

Having a large and separated family inflated Christmas into a multi-day affair. On Christmas Eve my mom would pick Justin, Casey and I up in her blue dodge neon, which miraculously navigated through the snow and ice that cover the roads in wintertime. The radio would be blaring Christmas music to which the four of us would sing along with during our 40 mile journey to my grandparent's home in Otisco, New York.

I loved Otisco. I was born and raised in this bucolic town lost among the rolling hills surrounding the "vast metropolis" of Syracuse. It was always so dark on winter nights: the serpentine roads seemed to curve into nothingness. But as we drew deeper into the hills the stars exploded into a gargantuan cluster of brilliant cystals. It was here that a house stood, a single beacon of light, in an otherwise solitary countryside. My grandparents house, a warm ranch style wreathed in evergreens, was a beacon of hope: a place of solace for us anytime of year and a place of magic in December. What memories I have here baking sugar cookies with my grandmother. What joy I feel to remember how she always let me place the angel on top of her perfect tree when we had finished decorating. Here my apron-clad grandmother would answer the door with such unenamored enthusiasm it was as though we were being reunited after years of separattion rather mere days.

My family's facial expressions at Christmastime remain a stronghold of my yuletide memories: the look of excitement in my mom's dewey eyes that met if not surpassed those of my brothers and I as we beheld the livingroom heavily laden with gifts. I know now that Christmas wasn't just a gift of beauty for we children: it enraptured all of us: all of the weariness and sorrow of our lives diminished as soon as we were awash with the lights from the tree, reveling in each other's company.

We'd all be up before dawn on Christmas morn and from an extremely young age,I had fallen into a yearly habit of stepping outside wrapped tightly in a down blanket so I could having the world to myself for just a brief moment on my favorite day of the year. With the snow casting an ethereal glow in the dark velvet blanket of the early morning and the stars in their infinite glory dancing in space, I felt Christmas as it should be felt: I felt the reality of it, the love and beauty that Christmas stood for. I would stand paralyzed by this yearly revelation until my mom and grandmother's laughter emanating from the kitchen would draw me back into the house.

My family was always of very limited means but my mom saved her pennies all year just for this day: on the morning of the 25th we'd awake to a sea of colorful boxes spreading so that the carpet of the livingroom had dissapeared beneath their grasp. Stockings, too full to hang from the mantel, sat on the floor near the fireplace.

I mourn for the loss of these Christmases. My family is shatered, but the memories remain. As I write by the light of my own Christmas tree, I find myself instantly brought back to a moment frozen in time: with Justin Casey and I enveloping one another in warm hugs while adorning our heads with golden garlands and strands of tinsel.

Yet, despite the strength with which I miss these Christmases, I am blessed all the more for the new ones and the new traditions I am creating with my husband. I can't wait to become a mother to my own children. I hope the night I bring them outside to caress their first snowfall will be the start of a lifetime of unimaginably beautiful memories.

As it was for me.

in laws

2009-10-12T15:02:00.000-07:00

I'm currently learning Italian on my own as I gear up for my trip in November. Part of my curriculum includes a commuter audio track, and today's chapter reviewed family members. Father and mother in law were "suocero and suocera" respectively. Being a fan of mnemonic devices, my mind automatically gravitated to "sorceress" since most people would describe their mother-in-law as a witch.

Though I did use that as means to remember, I don't actually think that. I'm very fond of my inlaws, and am {mostly} looking forward to their impending visit. I say mostly because the week they're coming out is quite possibly the worst one to do so.

Peak week. The final week before my competition...where food is even more restricted than it currently is. When I drop my sodium levels and purposely dehydrate. This wouldn't be so bad if my inlaws didn't insist on food-oriented socializing. Every time they visit, the fridge is automatically filled with items I would NEVER keep stocked PERIOD, much less on contest prep, and absolutely not peak week!

And yet for all of my complaining, I myself am doing a lot of menu planning. I think it's human nature to want to impress the inlaws. As my mother in law is a self-taught gourmet cook, I know one of the best ways to ensure their son is well taken care of is through the use of food.

So here I am, four weeks pre-contest and heavily carb depleted, perusing my cookbooks and testing recipes. Last night I made a special pumpkin pie for my husband using several ingredients. He said it was the best pie he's ever had and I was happier with that than if I had had a slice myself. This is going to sound horrible, but the fact that he said that means I surpassed his mom in this respect.Since when is this a competition? I feel like I'm making my own episode of everybody loves Raymond!

In a way it is oddly therapeutic to center myself around food that I cannot eat. I guess it's the closest I can get to eating, so it's a vicarious thing in a strangely masochistic way. Given my obsession with pumpkin, you'd think that baking a pumpkin pie and then having it in the house would be fatally tempting. On the contrary, I'm rather pleased to have it around. I can't say why. But why is it different to have inlaws bring stuff during peak week. Is it because it wasn't made with my own hands? Who knows.....half of pre-contest emotions seem to make no sense whatsoever.

bored

2009-09-29T16:04:00.001-07:00

There are days in which I don't mind have a lessened work load. Then are are days, such as this one, when there is so little to do that boredom penetrates deep enough to render all ambition useless.

I accidentally left my badge at home this morning, since it was raining and I wasn't able to wear the leather coat that I did yesterday. Unfortunately, the door to my building is locked until 7am and I was there at 6. It worked out well for me, since I went straight to the gym and did set after set of shoulder exercise hoping to eventually feel some measure of fatigue in my arms. However, one cup of coffee and one potent fat burner later, I was in too much of a body high to notice how hard I was working myself.

Still having more time to kill, I did 30 mins of HIIT on the stepmill, as opposed to my usual 20. I was totally dripping with sweat by the end and my skin was scarlet, which means I did it correctly.

Got back to work and finished my project in record time. decided to return to the gym for (gulp) yoga.

Not a fan. Never have been. I'm not patient enough. I like exercise that forces me to collapse to my knees. and the lingo? I'm sorry but I don't understand what it means to have my third eye cast into the river of my heart space.

WTF. But the stretching and plyometric balance act is good for counteracting the hell that I put myself through with everything else.

Got back to work. It was 1pm and I had nothing to do. Thought about returning to the gym. Instead went for a long walk.

Now I'm exhausted. But I STILL have another hour here.

Maybe I'll go to the gym.

The good news is I get to have carbs tonight!!!!! One cup of oatmeal, two Tbsp of peanut butter, and 4ounces sweet potato!!! Can't wait!

no life but a fit life

2009-09-19T18:17:00.000-07:00

I quit.

About three weeks ago, for a total of 12 hours. I was feeling sick and finally convinced myself that by competing last year I had irrevocably harmed my body. I picked Andy up from a bike ride and voiced my decision. As usual he listened quietly and compassionately, but ended by telling me it was a bad idea.

You see, for me, eating clean and staying fit is more than aesthetically pleasing. It comes down to providing me with a quality of life that dozens of medications and surgery has ever done. Somehow I had forgotten this.

I remembered it the following morning upon waking. In the back of my mind I felt miserable for not having a concise goal in mind to focus on during my day. I knew there was another contest in November. I thought about it, but then realized that I love fall foods, and didn't want to miss out. For the next hour I was uncertain of my priorities, until a competitor in the DC area had listed on her facebook page that she had just sent in her registration for a November show and that was it: she had to go through with it.

This person has gone through health problems as I have, and like me has been thrown off course by surgery (more than once). and so her post, though only a sentence, inpisred me greatly and I followed suit: my registration for the November 7th Northwest Championships was postmarked and in the mail.

Everything has improved since that moment three weeks ago. I took my diet into my own hands, going on last year's "keto" diet. Within a week I had dropped seven pounds, but even better?

No GI issues whatsoever.Like last year at this time, my exercise regiment has helped me so immensely that it's as though I don't have GP/CIP. I'm eating fully solid foods, and even fiber. A striking difference from my flare this past spring, in which I was relegated to only liquids and even then facing a feeding tube.

Why did I forget how well I felt last year? Why did I allow myself to get sick?! It's my own damn fault I felt so terrible for the better part of this year. Because after the Northwest Championships LAST year I thought I was owed some reprieve in my diet. and by reprieve I mean "eating whatever the hell is in front of me for two weeks straight."

I forgot because some part of me wanted a normal life at least for a while. To not have to be so eternally mindful and meticulous of my diet, and to not HAVE to work out three hour daily.

who was I kidding? Without competing I have no chance at normality. My body doesn't function otherwise. Hospital visits...feeding tubes...throwing up several times daily...writhing in abdominal pain...and living in fear of needing a 4 organ transplant? Who's normal is that? Not mine. No longer.

Now, there IS another issue going on, but I'm not sweating it. My podiatrist has put me in a walking cast temporarily because my toes are beginning to angle inward and arthritic degeneration is wreaking havoc with the whole foot. If the boot works then that means an operation will ease the pain I've felt for nearly two years. Unfortunately this nulls my previous diagnosis of having lupus. Lupus causes arthritis, but only of the nonerosive variety. Seeing as I have joint degeneration in most of my joints, it points to something called Systemic Sclerosis (aka scleroderma) which my mother has. This makes more sense given my GI complications, and the fact that my connective tissue all but disintegrated when my surgeon opened my abdominal cavity in 2006.

Really don't care all that much. and a foot surgery is nothing compared to the bowel resection/enterocele repair, intestinal relocation....etc etc. Moving bones around in my foot seems nothing in comparison. I'll process things as they come. I'm done being hindered by autoimmune issues!

This operation will not take place until December at the earliest. My doctor did not have a choice in the matter.I will go out on that stage with a missing foot if I have to. I'm THAT excited about getting back up and rocking the figure stage.

Eurotrip

2009-06-29T18:47:00.000-07:00

A lot can be said for practicality. For financial awareness and flawless calculation and managing things so that priorities are arranged in order of importance and responsibility.

But sometimes a lot MORE can be said for throwing reason out of the window in lieu of sheer exhilarating spontaneity.

I haven't kept it secret that I've had a relatively rough year. My faith in myself and in general has been fully tested, a test which I believe I passed with maybe a missed multiple choice question here and there.

I've now had to put off TWO competition seasons, putting me ill at ease regarding my career in fitness competition. Spring didn't work out well because I was too sick to do much of anything. I recently decided not to do nationals due to unpreparedness. I was going to do local shows instead, but after 16 weeks of stringent contest prep, I've GAINED weight. My body actually defies physics! In addition to my GI stuff I'm having issues with my hands and my left foot (I've had plantar fasciitis for years and have dutifully ignored it the entire time.)

I'm still not used to having a million seemingly unrelated things go wrong all at once. It's tiresome trying to keep up with autoimmunity!

So anyway I had a severe F___ sensibility moment and booked a trip to Europe for Andy and I. Hell, we deserve it!!!!! And now we're both so incredibly excited we can hardly contain ourselves.

The trip, happening this November, will begin as a cruise around the Mediterranean Sea, stopping at venice and Anacona (Italy), Mykonos, Santorini, Corfu and Athens (Greece), on to Dubrovnik, Croatia and back to Venice.

On the phone my husband said "well we're already out there, do you just want to stick around Italy for a while and explore the country?"

To which my response was "Well......if you insist." LOL.

The best part? This will all be happening just a couple weeks after the fall season (which I WILL compete in!!!!) and that means I don't have to refrain from pasta, pizza, gelato, and WINE!!!!!!!

Four more months!!!

June 4, 2009

2009-06-04T08:49:00.001-07:00

I haven't written in a while, at least not here. Funny how I always seem to write in punctuated bursts. So much has going on, it seems, that I haven't been able to collect my thoughts in a manner that would come across as being anything that resembles coherence.

1.) Swine Flu. Andy and I traveled to Southern California at the beginning of May for an absolutely amazing vacation. Unfortunately Andy contracted the dreaded swine flu at Disneyland. I then caught it from him. My work essentially freaked out and I was banned from work for a week. I returned the following Monday to no avail: they heard me coughing and sent me home for the remainder of last week as well.

I do have to say; it wasn't bad. a mild flu at best. I've had colds that felt worse than H1N1. The media frenzy over this strain has blown it out of proportion.

2.) yesterday was our third wedding anniversary. I love June 3rd! On Christmas, people celebrate a savior. On my anniversary, I celebrate my own personal one. When I got to the bus stop where he picks me up, he jumped from behind the jeep with a dozen roses and an extremely sweet card.

Tomorrow morning we're heading out to Orcas Island: the most popular of the San Juans at the mouth of Puget Sound. We haven't been there yet and have wanted to since we moved to Washington. We'll be camping in Moran State park, near the base of mt Constitution which we plan to climb on Saturday. In addition we're going to go kayaking, whale watching (orcas island is named after our three local whale pods) and maybe scuba diving if we find the time.

3.) Competition stuff is progressing, albeit more slowly than I would like. I'm still planning on going to USAs. People have advised against it, saying that it's a blow to the ego to be a newbie among those huge women who are ready to go pro.

Don't care. I'm going to be in Vegas anyway, and I qualified so why not do it strictly for the experience? I'm not planning on making it past prejudging and I'm totally okay with that. It won't discourage me, it will motivate me. As I was telling one of my friends "I should familiarize myself with the show where I'll be getting my IFBB procard someday."

And I meant it.

I'm also doing a show two weeks prior, which was an incredibly spontaneous decision made about three days ago. Much smaller show: NPC Oregon State in Portland on July 11th.

4.) Health stuff: (it was inevitable for it to come up at some point) It is forever a dichotomy. I haven't been able to shake a bout of fatigue recently, and I'm having some slight issues with the GI stuff. It is nothing like it was over the winter: I haven't had an emetic episode since April. But the fate of the remaining 12 inches of my large intestine will be decided soon. I have a surgical consult on Monday with my surgeon which I am pissed about. I don't want to go. I desperately want to cancel. He was the one of the three surgeons that I didn't have a great opinion about. He was only the fellow at the time, but thought my entire colon should be removed, and a colostomy put in to relieve my constant abdominal pain caused by the lack of contractions in the tissue.

Call me crazy, but a bag permanently attached to my side doesn't sound like a hell of a lot of relief. Besides, how much would it help me in the longrun? Sure, I have paralytic ileus (aka colonic inertia) and having no colon would eradicate that. But it wouldn't resolve the CIP and GP. It's hard to say how much benefit I would get from another resection. Not to mention my quality of life would be tarnished if I was required to have an ostomy. Fitness and figure would be out of the question. I wouldn't ever be able to lift weights much again for the risk of herniating through the stoma on the side.

ugh. Needlesstosay, if this is what the surgeon says needs to happen, I'll leave and find an opinion more to my liking.

There are only some other minor things going on, and all of them are triggered by my training. My right Achilles tendon and knee have been bothering me a little when I run or do gymnastics, and my right pinky and ring fingers are currently stuck in the bent position unless I physically pull them back up with my other hand. I had never heard of it before, but apparently it's caused by repetitive gripping motion. Since I lift all the time, and also grip a lot in my job, it's not that much of a surprise. I need to go get cortisone shots, but haven't been able to squeeze it in to my already insane schedule.

That's a synopsis of what's been going on in my life. I had more originally, but as pitiful as this sounds, I am too drained to go on. I need to save what precious little energy I have at the moment so I can get to the gym.

every day is a sick day!

2009-04-02T08:49:00.000-07:00

well I'm home after a miserable day yesterday. This is boring. Remember when my life used to be running, lifting, etc? I liked that. Being sick lacks creativity and inspires existential ennui.

After my spontaneous nap on the floor of my lab, I couldn't keep anything down, not even water. I foolishly went to work yesterday, where I spent most of the day crouched in the restroom losing my battle against my stomach to keep stuff down. After about 5 tries, I gave up and finished my work. I had surpassed 24 hours without any fluids or calories, and I was starting to feel it.

long story shorter, I am rehydrated and home today. I actually feel worse off than I did yesterday, but I was warned that could happen. I am completely weak, walking is an issue for me at the moment, even typing is tiring me a little. so I'm going to curl back under the covers for a while. Then I'm going to get my reading on. :)

and then there wasn't light

2009-03-31T19:52:00.000-07:00

Carrying my stuff down to the microscopy suite at work, I suddenly was crippled with a dizziness that carried such weight it felt like iron was clinging to every molecule of my body. My labcoat felt like lead. My stomach hurt,my vision and hearing dimmed. I tried to grab onto the wall which felt liquid and unstable beneath my touch.

The next thing I know I hear someone frantically calling out my name and shaking my shoulders.

"What is this guy doing?" I thought. "I'm asleep." Then the feel of linoleum beneath me and a sense of growing panic among a number of people suggested that I was, in fact, NOT at home curled up in bed.

Fainting is not a new concept to me; it goes along with the territory of having a badly damaged vagus nerve. In a normal person, this nerve can get stimulated in a way to elicit an abnormal response; a sudden drop in blood pressure that results in passing out. But despite having done it probably a dozen times in the last decade, it is always severely embarrassing. People were running around. Someone rolled me over, someone rolled up a labcoat under my head. Our safety officer stripped me of my lab gear. The informatics team walked over in curiosity. My supervisor and his boss were there. and echoes of "Oh my God is she okay?!" rang throughout the corridors of the lab.

I would have blushed scarlet had there been any blood left in my face!

In truth, some of us at work were not surprised it happened. I became severely sick to my stomach on the bus ride into Seattle. Considering my lengthy commute, I knew I had to take something to quell the nausea lest I make enemies out of my fellow commuters by vomiting while stuck in a poorly ventilated bus on a very congested I-5.

Phenergen, an antiemetic drug I carry on me for this purpose, is a medicinal metaphor of signing your soul over to the devil. Sure it helps in the nausea department, but the list of side effects so long and terrifying that you are actually acknowledging that you'd risk death to avoid puking.

Among others, my favorite side effects of phenergen are hysteria, catatonic-state, hallucinations, nightmares, psychosis, gangrene, agitation, blurred vision, euphoria, arrhythmias, death (yes, death) and surprise! FAINTING.

I was feeling funny all morning: my hands, feet and tongue were all numb. I had double vision, slightly slurred speech, and general "trippiness" So it wasn't unexpected to lose consciousness, but it doesn't make it any less humiliating.

My boss brought me home, made sure I got into my house, and then I fell into a deep sleep. I fell out of the seated position I'm required to sleep in, and woke up choking on reflux. That turned into a full session of vomiting. Now I'm not keeping anything down, even liquids which is worrisome.

Wasn't it just five months ago I was on stage in a bikini feeling better than I ever had? What the hell? I don't want to be sick...I want to be an athlete. I want to be unbroken for my husband. I want to be unbroken for my friends. For my job. But mostly I want to be unbroken for myself, because I'm struggling to come to terms with my body's piss-poor attempt at function. I can't get over the fact that I'm 24 years old. I don't drink or use drugs. I eat (or ate) healthy, am active. My lifestyle should have better results than this myriad of hell called autoimmunity. Where do I go from here? Am I going to feel better soon? Or ever? Can I continue to hold the job I love? Can I have kids? How long can I endure this? These questions are fully loaded, and as painful to contemplate as the pain itself.

I am strong, I know. But even strong people have their limitations. It seems like I've never been given a good break. I finally escaped an unfortunate past to live in my dream house with my dream husband and a dream job. Seemed as though I was finally seeing the fruits of my laboring through extreme adversity. And I am still very grateful for the good things in my life. They are plentiful...but they have come bearing the price of my wellness too.

I told my husband earlier that more than for me, I wished I would be well for him. I think people overlook him as a victim of MY circumstances, while I believe he has to suffer more than I. He's 25 and shouldn't have to deal with a spouse's chronic illnesses. We should be out doing crazy wild adventurous things....not playing with the bed controls in the emergency room, and massaging my belly. I feel very guilty about this. My friend Lindsey would say "Stop being so catholic" but in reality it has nothing to do with faith and everything to do with circumstance. We have been dealt with harsh ones, and we're left to figure out the purpose.

health update

2009-03-22T19:35:00.000-07:00

This past week has been met with a myriad of mixed emotions. For the last few weeks, a new symptom has emerged that has me knocked down frequently: a jarringly painful cramping across my sternum and across my rib cage, into my back. It's the pain that put me into the ER a few weeks back. It would come and go but lately it has stayed with me, day and night. Last Wednesday, in order to not create a scene at work, I shut myself up in the privacy suite and spoke to my GI. I went in for more tests, more speculation, and a pretty disappointing appointment.

I have a severe hiatal hernia, which is pouring tons of acid into my throat. My stomach apparently likes to wedge itself into my esophagus. My small intestine has become dilated from motility impairment, which is why the CIP has progressed. I have reflux laryngitis, and am constantly choking on acid from my throat. The doc is worried that the changes in the lining of my throat will lead to something called Barretts....a precursor to Esophageal cancer. I also have to have my liver scanned because my clotting factors are elevated again and she wants to make sure my pain is coming from the hernia and not from a recurrence of the blood clots that damaged my liver before. I hope this is the case, because I hate blood thinners. They landed me in the hospital more than the clots themselves!

BUT the best part???????? It can't be fixed. The surgery to fix the hernia is called a nissen fundoplication. I am a contraindication to this surgery having GP. I need to be able to retain the ability to vomit, and the NF surgery can disrupt that ability.

There's also nothing that can be done to quell the pain. and I mean nothing. I can't have Tylenol because of my liver issues. I can't have nsaids because of the ulceration in my GI tract. I can't have narcotic painkillers because they make motility worse.

I'm so tired from being in constant pain I don't quite understand how I'm supposed to cope with it. MY GI looked like she wanted to cry telling me there weren't many options left, and that at this point the main objective in my treatment is to try to keep me off of a feeding tube for as a long as possible. sounds optimistic, right?

what am I supposed to do here?! I keep trying to run, but the endorphin high is very temporary. lol. and I have other life-engagements that impede me from running 24 hours a day. Not to mention I'm not altogether THAT fond of cardio. ;)I pray something comes along soon to aid me.

In the meantime, my joints are beginning to ache pretty badly. I don't know if this is stress wreaking havoc, or the fact that I've been forced to discontinue the use of nsaids, which was what I was using for lupus. Although for the past few months I've been skeptical of the lupus dx, last night I began to wonder if maybe I was wrong. My hips ached so badly I was sobbing.

so lots of not so fun stuff in the worls right now, but on the other hand there are lots of good things happening as well. Today I pushed through and ran in "The Big Climb" which is a stair race to the top of Seattle's highest building for the benefit of the Leukemia and Lymphoma society. I made the climb in 14 mins and 9 seconds without having prepped for it! I felt so accomplished today that I also signed up for Seattle's "Beat the bridge" 8k to raise money for the Juvenile Diabetes Foundation. I can't wait!

title?

2009-03-08T18:15:00.001-07:00

I don't know what the hell I did. why am I suddenly in so much pain???? I've had liquid today....LIQUID. Walked around Seattle with Andy. were driving home when suddenly I felt sick. I don't even remember the ride home after that. I am still really dazed.

Having CIP is absolute agony...of all the issues I have, CIP outrank them all. my small intestine is really stupid....just suddenly decides "oh there is an obstruction" and STOPS. belly distends...pain radiates....life is put on hold.

I can't take pain killers. so I....blog? I guess it's what I have to work with, so I'm gonna try to distract myself from the fact my entire abdomen, from my chest to my pelvis, feels like it's being ripped apart.

I had a terrible dream the other night that led to a wonderful discovery. In it, Lowes was forcing us to move out of our house to build one of their stores. They were going to pay us the market value of the house, but nothing beyond that and we had no choice but to comply. somehow Lowes had been able to file it under eminent domain laws in my dream, and were able to change the zoning laws but residential to commercial. (yep....I'm even a nerd when I'm unconscious....now THAT takes talent!)

In the dream I was crying, pleading, throwing tantrums the likes of which I haven't since before I was fully potty trained. For days I was bawling uncontrollably, and nobody understood why. "It's not like you lost someone close to you" someone in the dream said.

"But it is," I argued. "This is my dream house. and now I have to watch you take it apart demolishing it and all the memories that reside in its foundation."

When I woke up I told my husband about it, and he said "Well, this isn't exactly your dream house, though."

I thought for a moment. "Yes it is."

"Even though there isn't room for your horse? or a fireplace?" he asked.

"Yeah...in spite of those things...I never thought I'd be in the position to live in a house I love so much, one I fall in love with every day when I pull in the driveway and admire how welcoming it is."

The truth is, the deep red and forest green house on 12th ave in Des Moines Washington is more than wood and nails: it is my home. It is the house that Andy and I own together as husband and wife. It is the house that will be home to our children. It is the home I come to after a fulfilling day at work. It is a home where I come home to a man that I am forever falling more in love with. It is my refuge and sanctuary from an uncertain past that I always believed would dictate a much less inviting lifestyle than the one I am grateful for today.

It is in this house that wake up with a sense of purpose. I take my coffee and sit in the back to watch the morning sky cast it bright colors on the placid waters of Puget sound. It is in this house I realize my dream of becoming a writer by sitting in the livingroom with my velvet embossed journal, writing while torrents of rain coarse in pit-patter tributaries along the bay windows and the boughs of the birch tree tangle like lovers locked in fervent embrace.

I love my house. But perhaps my husband is right: perhaps it isn't the house of my dreams.

My dreams never allowed me to envision a house so perfect, so warm....so...me.

AMAZING DAY!

2009-03-04T17:12:00.001-08:00

I can't exactly explain why I am so happy right now; call it superstition, but I want to wait until this particular piece of news is set in stone. Today I got an email with some information that made me squeal and jump out of chair at work. Not exactly the person prone to fits of random outburst, everybody at work was surprised as I was.

This news, which I will talk about the moment it's a reality, is amazing. Just incredibly amazing. I might be the happiest person in the world right now. I was so suddenly struck with pent up energy I rushed to the gym and beat up my legs until I could barely walk. (nothing like good news for a strong dose of masochistic tendency!)

I guess I don't have anything else substantial to say.... I did science today, as usual. I commuted on smelly King county metro, I ate clean, trained.....and am about to head home. (hey even the two hour commute through the city won't dampen my spirits right now.)

Just about 5:30 now. time to grab some starbucks and get caught in the rain!

what is my prognosis?

2009-03-01T08:58:00.000-08:00

some people say that life is a one-way street and I wholeheartedly disagree. Life to me is a six lane highway where you occasionally take the wrong exit and go 60 miles an hour in the wrong direction on the side streets. You panic inwardly, narrowly missing an 18 wheeler and a tiny prius whose driver is devoted to putting on her eyeliner. Then you get back on the highway but you're still shaken so it take it SLOW.

I have been feeling much better in the last couple of weeks. I began eating solids again, my strength was back up in the gym, and my attitude really settled into a good place. I felt like this latest flare was behind me.

Then on thursday in my staff meeting I was very suddenly stricken with pain and dizziness. I hid it as hard as I could-which was to say- not very well.I've never had anything like that: one minute I felt outstanding, the next? My friend is helping me lay down in the break room and has my gastroenterologist on the phone. She said I needed to get into the ER. My husband concurred.

I was....well to be honest 'reluctant' wouldn't exactly describe my desire to avoid the hospital. I was refusing. I HATE the hospital....I grow more disdained by it every time I have to go. I couldn't believe I had to go, since I had been feeling so well that morning. My husband hates it when I put up a fight against going to doctors....but in fairness, I hate the hospital more than he hates my hatred of the hospital!

I went. was discharged with meds. Meds didn't work so I had to go back. was pumped up with a ridiculous amount of medicines. I think my veins were full of magnesium citrate and not blood by the time we were finished with me.

Overflowing with morphine and dialudid-induced boldness, I asked a question I have never actually asked. "What does the future hold for me?"

The doctor didn't know how to respond. said that GP is hard enough to treat, but CIP (chronic intestinal psueo-obstruction) is much more complex and misunderstood. Said that mycase could stay as it is... moderate but livable.Or it could progress to needing TPN and ultimately, a small bowel transplant.Luckily, he said....he doesn't see why my case should get worse, with me being healthy and fit and of sound mind. But he did throw the word "life-threatening" in there for extra measure.

Hearing that term isn't exactly scary when you choose not to believe it. I just don't. and I don't think it's denial either: I just can't believe that this would ever claim my life. I'm really strong and do quite well in comparison to others I know facing the situation. It is still impossible for me to consider myself as being chronically ill. It's a label that just doesn't seem to fit. How could I have a life-threatening array of medical disorders when I'm a powerhouse in the gym? Or a full time Biologist, a writer, a wife, and homekeeperextraordinare?

so I'm making my own prognosis. I'm going to be just fine, just with a little more obstacles than someone else.

catholic discussions on pizza

2009-02-26T08:10:00.000-08:00

Who says that you can't have fun during Lent? My husband, having decided to go on a contest-prep diet of sorts as his sacrifice for the next 40 days, was not a happy camper yesterday when a pizza craving hit him. Hit him hard.

"Can I have pizza?" Andy asked
"You know the answer to that." I responded.

Several minutes pass and a pizza ad comes on the tv. "Look! It's God telling me I should get pizza! It's a sign!"

"No it is not," I said, "Pizza ads come on every commercial break."

A couple minutes go by. Then he looks at me. "PIZZA!" he screamed, sending the dog careening wildly into the other room out of fear.

"Andy, are you serious? It hasn't even been a day...... I've been eating like this for three years so I don't want to hear it."

"Shut your face. Unless you're getting me a pizza. In which case I allow you to talk."

so I did something I rarely ever do: I quoted the bible passage that had been read at mass earlier that day. The passage, from the book of Matthew, states:

"And when you fast, be not as the hypocrites, gloomy; for they disfigure their faces so that they appear fasting to men, Amen! I tell you, they have their reward.
But when you fast anoint your head and wash your face
So that you do not appear to men you fast, but to your Father the One in secret, and your Father the One seeing in secret will repay you."

Andy glared at me. "You know, I can quote the bible too. In fact, I know of a few secret letters to the Corinthians."

I laughed. "Oh yeah?"

Andy said. "uh Huh. It says:

Dear Corinthians: Ye on the creation, God created pizza and it was good.
Sincerely yours,
Ye Olde Dominoes."

When I woke up, I saw that Andy had written the word PIZZA in the sand of the zen garden my grandmother made for me. Needlesstosay, I will be extremely impressed if he makes it to Easter.

gym class un-hero

2009-02-17T08:56:00.000-08:00

You know the kid that's always picked last in a gym class game of dodgeball?

That would be me this past Sunday in fitness practice.

Back info: Sunday morning I was startled into being awake when I was choking on my own blood. Lots of it, in fact...it ran in torrents down my face and pooled on my pajamas and blankets. When I stood up I felt like Carrie at the end of the movie when she's been doused in pigs blood, and was equally as startled (minus the telekinetic destructiveness). It turned out to be a nose bleed that had just gone unnoticed for about ten minutes.

What a way to wake up.

That day I had my monthly session with the save fitness crew and couldn't have felt more like a lumbering moron. Trampoline session was okay, stretching was fine. Then we got to trick development, and I was a sorry sight to behold. I finally got the backroll extension down, but then attempting a front handspring and FORGOT -somehow- to land on my feet.

The sound of my neck and back slamming hard against the floor made a very impressive splat sound. It echoed. Oh yes, very impressive indeed. I stood up and suddenly my head felt very heavy, and to lift it up I had to use my hands. Not good. Luckily we have a chiropractor on a team, who did a manipulation for me. I've never experienced it before and can only describe it as somebody trying to tear your head clean off. My neck and spine made a crunching sound that I don't think it should physically be able to make without me subsequently breathing through a trache tube, but it did feel better afterward.

But that is only saying so much: I still can't move it much and it hurts like hell.

I took a time out from practice to ice my neck for a good 20 minutes, and then jumped back in for handstand work. Nosebleed decides it wasn't done and makes a rapid and dramatic entry all over my shirt and the floor. I rush off, dripping blood, with two IFBB pro fitness competitors running after me in panic.

Then, as though my stomach is pissed for going 35 seconds without being the focus of my attention, it protests the negligence by getting upset (I had swallowed blood) and I threw up.

So much for fitness practice. and I've now traumatized the team, Michele Mayberry, and Tanji Johnson. Way to go, Erika. style points, minus 10.

the up side of down

2009-02-10T10:22:00.000-08:00

There isn't much change in my physical health. I still haven't perfected the art of keeping food down. On sunday during an intense workout, I threw up between sets of bench presses. Wiped my face, drank some water, and hopped right back in.

Then yesterday I walked down to the grocery store because I wanted some sugar free coffee creamer (and wanted it so badly I was more than willing to walk the 4 miles to get it.) I was walking past the deli aisle when the smell of rotisserie chicken made me instantly queasy. I tried to walk it off, breathing deeply though my mouth and keeping my head down, but the scent seemed to cling to me, and I found myself running to the restroom. It was the first time a smell has ever provoked that response.

The liquid diet has, on the whole, helped. It kind of makes me crazy, but my stomach is only half as distended as it was, and I'm able to get more stuff to stay down where it belongs. I'm so tired, though. I don't know if it's all the medications, the liquids, or just being ill in general that has made me feel downright zombie-like. On the commute to work this morning I could barely form a sentence and things at work that would otherwise take a minute at best seemed to take half the morning. I really hope this flare subsides soon so day to day life isn't so darn hard!

mentally, however, I am in a good place. I've been reading "The Art of Happiness" (again) and in it, the dalai lama brings up a good point: we self-create suffering by taking the challenges and sorrows in our life and dwelling on them until that's all we think about. It magnifies the problem many times over, and we become consumed by it.

That has definitely been me. I've gone through the motions: go to work, go home, gym (if I feel okay) take meds, etc, and start over. But there has rarely been a moment where somewhere, even in the back of my mind I wasn't thinking of how truly awful I felt.

It's hard not to think that way. Living with these issues makes it feel as though you live inside a perpetual stomach flu. Persisting nausea, vomiting, fatigue, and so much abdominal pain you can't even touch your own belly? people can't stand a few days of that, let alone....forever. trying to ignore it is exceptionally hard but I'm doing whatever I can. I do hope that being strong of mind will help my body to follow.

sooner rather than later, please. I have a lot of things to do this year.

OH NO. I'M ANCIENT!

2009-02-04T08:37:00.000-08:00

Remember your thought process as a kid?

I don't wanna go to school, I don't wanna go to school. I forgot to do homework. oh well I'll say my baby brother ripped it. Brat. well actually he's not a brat because he let me play nintendo when he wanted to watch nickelodeon. I hope mom packed a peanut butter and fluff sandwhich and not peanut butter and jelly. The fluff is much better. It's okay if she forgot to take the crusts off again but she better have cut it diagonally. If she cut it vertically again then my day is F****d

And that was the general way that life worked when you were a kid. Thinking like an adult is the least of a child's desires. adults are incredibly boring, and I knew I would never really become one, like my mom and her insatiable love for cookware.

I was disgusted with my mom the day she swooned over a calphalon omelette pan. It was Christmas morning, and when she unwrapped the package she elicited a shout of joy that made the walls shake. My cousin Tori and I looked at her in disdain. My mom laughed at our reaction.
"What's wrong with my pan?!"

"I hope I never get to that point in life where this stuff is the most exciting thing ever." I replied.

Mom laughed. "You will. Just you wait. One day you will understand."

"Nuh uh. Never." My cousin and I said in unison, shaking our heads emphatically.

Later that day my cousin and pinky swore (the most sacred of prepubescent oaths) to never "get old." Aging, of course was inevitable. But there were certain things we could do to avoid being "old", among them the following:

1.) Discuss the economy
2.) Drink coffee
3.) wear boring adult clothing (as opposed to something that had a head on collision with a bedazzler)
4.) discuss gas prices
5.) get excited over omelet pans and/or fancy carpet shampooers
6.) Have to use one of those 7-day pill organizers
7.) inform kids how we had to walk to school barefoot
8.) Do ANYTHING remotely monotonous and adult-like.

No, Tori and I sure had it planned out. We detailed every aspect of our future lives one sultry summer on my aunt and uncle's trampoline. we sketched it on pale engineering paper: who we would marry (her choice being Arnold Schwarzenegger and mine being Jonathan Taylor Thomas) what our houses would look like, and what we would do for a living. She was a punk artist, and I was a brain surgeon and actress on the side. Life was going to be wild.

Fast forward to february 4, 2009......14 years after the promise Tori and I had made.

I woke up at 4:30, fed the pets, showered and dressed. Took meds from handy 7 day pill organizer. Rummaged through the house for my glasses. Found them near the TV. Stopped at the TV because the news was on, detailing Panasonic's new layoff numbers. I frowned....the economy is terrfying, I think, pushing my glasses back from the spot where they slipped on the end of my nose.
I leave early because the car is low on gas. stop for gas. wonder if my cell phone really can elicit a charge that can ignite the gas vapors. Look at the gas prices accumulating on the turning dial.
wow....I just filled up my jeep for 40 bucks. Not too long ago it was over 100! I wonder how much the gas prices will increase again. hopefully not too much.

Done with gas and I only drive 100 meters before veering right into a starbucks. I haven't had coffee and I need it. Need it badly! I even packed a small tuppeware bowl of my sugar free creamer because their soy milk is sweetened and has 27 grams of sugar per serving.
Yikes. People need to be more responsible with their sugar consumption, I think.

Finally on my way I make the way into downtown Seattle. A billboard advertising some financial planning business has used poor grammar. I begin to think about grammar. If it is a lost art. If lingo used in emails and text messages like 'lol' and 'ttyl' will replace their polysylballic counterparts.

and exactly how do you pronounce polysyllbalic?

My thoughts are interuppted by the timer on my cell phone that alerts me it's med time. (yes, again.) I have another more portable daily pill organizer sitting in my coat pocket. But this means I have to set down my coffee. Oh crap. This is a dilemna. The wall street journal is jammed into the cup holder so my crotch will have to do. I struggle to pop the meds into my mouth, and then grab my coffee which then spills on my pants.

damn....this is a nice pair of slacks. I just got them from Jcrew.

WAIT! Did I just call them slacks?! I'm suddenly distracted from my coffee flavored burning pelvis by the idea that I just used the universal old person word for pants. Then the whole previous hour flashes back to me and I see now what I have become!!!!! 24 years old and I'm already breaking all of those rules within the first hour of my day!

and what the hell is the wall street journal doing in my cup holder?! I don't even read it! I'm being framed! and mom was right! I love pans! I read cookbooks like novels and peruse the williams sonoma website when I have a couple of moments. and for the record, I did actually walk to school, even in subzero temperatures!

I think I need to go watch some cartoons and shop at Deb. Maybe buy a Jonas Brothers CD (oh has it really come down to torture?!) Something needs to be done about this aging process. and my Dove ultimate moisturizing ageless serum isn't helping.

I'm going home.

confessions of a wanna-be gymnast

2009-02-03T10:47:00.001-08:00

The scene: Metropolitan Gymnastics Academy in Kent, Washington. It is crowded, with hundreds of kids in sequined leotards tumbling and performing gravity-defying acrobatics.
A 150 pound 24 year old walking disaster stands perched on pointed toes on a long trampoline. She takes a deep breath, poises her body......then realizes something:

"Hey....you know I should probably confess to something here." she says.

The gymnastics coach, holding her by the small of the back and behind the knee, looks up from his position as a spotter. "What?"

"Look, coach: I love how much faith you have in me. But I need to tell you who I am."

The coach laughs. "Okay...."

"I am, undoubtedly, the biggest klutz on earth."

"You're doing just fine." the coach responds, reassuringly.

"Oh I know. But I need to warn you. It will eventually rear its ugly hea....."

CRASH!

Our subject has fallen through the mesh of the trampoline and is laying splayed out on her back on the matted floor below.

My life is a comedy.

3 good things......

2009-01-27T07:52:00.000-08:00

It seems like -along with most that make new years resolutions- one of my 9 are falling along the wayside. I promised to make everyday a good day. On and off in the last week I have been doing as I promised: writing down three ways that made the day a good one. But sometimes I sigh as I set my journal down by my bedside. Sometimes I can't deny that I feel like I'm lying myself because I'd feel too guilty to admit that I had a bad day.

we always speak of perspective. we point to cases such as starving children in Africa, or terminally ill patients as a reference point for the goodness in our own lives. Is this fair? Or does it simply make us feel more guilty and does it undermine our personal suffering?

Who am I to judge that someone else's bad day really wasn't exactly that? Yes, their situation could be in more dire straits for sure. But why do we insist on making the person feel even worse for feeling bad? It seems to be metaphorically pouring salt into one's wound.

That being said, I do think we need to be proactive in our anger and sorrow. Those emotions are powerful, and can take you downward swifty and unrelentingly. They can propel themselves from a day-long slide to negativity, or can rapidly progress to an infinitely long vortex of melancholy.

Which is why I came to the "3 things" philosophy that I adopted with the new year. It doesn't mock suffering but merely suggests an end to it in addition to a way to prevent it on the subsequent day.

How today be a good day........

I will perform tasks assigned to me at my job with integrity and clarity. I will be thankful to have job security in an increasingly unstable market

I am feeling well enough to work out, at least to some extent. This always helps lift the mood and provide motivation.

I will go out for coffee with a friend. She always makes me laugh and I always feel much more lighthearted when we leave the cafe

I will help someone. I don't know who or how but by the end of the day I will have helped in some capacity to someone, regardless of whether or not I actually know this person.

I will cook a nutritious meal for my husband. Knowing I have aided in keeping his body healthy and strong mirrors the effect within my own self.

Already, reflecting on these helps ease my state of mind. As I stated a few posts back, I always feel better when I have a goal to focus on. That way at the end of the day, I feel accomplished, with a diminished sense of self-doubt and a more relaxed outlook for the following days. It doesn't mean I won't have my down moments, but it will endow me with an ability to accept and cope with those ones without apology or regret. Because in the end, the good still vastly overpowered the bad.

Which makes for a good day after all.

I love mondays

2009-01-26T08:09:00.000-08:00

I really do. But that's because I don't work. ;)

I always wake up with my husband, grab my coffee, and write in my journal as I watch the sun come up. There is something undeniably ethereal about watching a sunrise. The dawn is almost like hope in the form of electromagnetic radiation. (dork, remember?)

It is so beautiful outside right now, and part of me wants to rush through this entry so I can run down to the sound, the surface of which will be gilded from the rays of the rising sun. I live in heaven, pure and simple. Seattle is such a perfect place for me. I am blessed.

I mention dawn being hope, because it is this time of day that I have the most. all obstacles in my life are trivial, and I'm endowed with a sense of being able to do anything I want.

Friday night wasn't the case. I was in bed very early, not feeling well. Before falling alseep I was dwelling on many negative aspects of my life. In short, my mind was bound with such doubt that there was no room for optmisim. Hopelessness prevailed.

I had doubt coupled with anger. (This is so unfair. I'm only 24! I shouldn't have to be dealing with this)

then coupled with fear. (how am I ever going to become a mother -my greatest dream of all- when I sometimes struggle with just taking care of myself?)

doubt with self-pity (why me?)

doubt with lonliness (nobody understands my situation)

and, doubt with guilt. (why can't I be thankful for what I have?)

I fell into a broken up sleep and woke finally when Andrew crawled into bed and enveloped me into one of his all-encompassing hugs. Feeling the built up tension in my muscles, he asked if i was doing okay.

"No." I responded

"Still not feeling well?"

I hesitated. "Not really. But I'm more upset than sick."

He didn't need to ask why. "Because you have to endure so much?" he asked.

"Yeah. But normally I pride myself on staying positive and strong. It seems like these past few days I've been down about it all and can't get back up."

Andrew pulled me closer. "Erika, you are the strongest person I've ever met. But you feel guilty when you might falter a bit. You shouldn't. Look at what you do even when you feel so awful. You are the best wife a guy could ask for. You work full time at a job that has the capacity to change the world, and you do it with a smile! You were able to compete in a sport that Dr. Cox said would be impossible to do. "

"yeah but I can't see those right now, past the anger of feeling sick."

"I think you're entitled to a few days of frustration. What's important is that you get past them eventually and see what I see: a strong, beautiful woman."

The next morning I awoke during sunrise; the golden glints of light poking through our venetian blinds to pore over my husband, who slept still with one strong arm protectively draped over my chest. and I instantly fell in love. Just just with my husband, but with life itself. It was like I woke with a newly refreshed outlook. But it dawned on me (no pun intended) that the source of my strength doesn't actually come from me.

It's from my husband. It always has been. he has unconditionally been there for me. he has remained perfectly in tune with our wedding vows. In sickness and health, he has loved me. his was always the first face I saw after surgery. His was the one tear-stricken, proud face I caught when I walked on the figure stage. He has cried with me, laughed with me, celebrated with me, and loved me. as I have with him.

Suddenly here I am, sitting at my computer, feeling the warmth of happy tears start to moisten the crest of my cheekbone. Just picturing him makes me feel stronger. Therein lies the source of my perspective. No physical illness could ever overpower the sense of perfection I get from being married to Andrew. My life is bliss because Andy is bliss. and he is my life.

so maybe in the end it isn't the sunrise itself that eases the sorrow I sometimes feel. Maybe it's because I associate dawn with waking up to find the man of my dreams, isn't only in my dreams but there.....always. no matter what challenges arise.

needing to vent (again)

2009-01-23T19:10:00.000-08:00

sigh. a bit of a drab day. This is one of those days where -for the life of me- can't seem to adopt a good attitude. Sometimes being sick just sucks....and I can't convince myself otherwise. Luckily the good days far outnumber the bad and I know I'll bounce back. I just feel crappy and I can't keep up with my thoughts enough to lower my sense of frustraton right now. I will. Just maybe not tonight.

The problem is the guessing game that is my medical situation. Yesterday I had an endoscopy to evaluate the difficulty swallowing, regurgitation, reflux, and the recent GP flare. My gastro. suspected that reflux had caused my esophagus to form a stricture (narrowing the passageway.) But she said the "sorry state of my stomach was suprising" (can you say that 5 times fast?) I have erosive esophogitis, several ulcers and widespread inflammation extending into my small intestine. They took 14 biopsies which seemed......excessive.

I can deal with that. Fine. I'm used to new crap being thrown at me. What I'm not tolerating very well anymore is that the apparent cause of this stuff changes ALL THE TIME. The doctor who did my endocopy (not my normal GI) said that she would suspect Crohns, based on my longstanding history with GI problems.

I do not have crohns!!!!! I know I'm no doctor, but I have been through that. When I had my large intestine resected, it was clear from any lesions suggestive of an IBD. That was one of the first things that was excluded based on my lack of appropriate symptoms. By the way......so was Lupus.

I shouldn't think the findings of my endoscopy would floor the doctors. I have GP. Stuff sticks around in my stomach so the acid builds up. I vomit frequently and have reflux, so the acid moves to my throat. Is it so hard to believe that this might be the reason for the ulcers and inflammation? It seems more easily believed than to suspect a condition to which I meet very little criteria to merit diagnosis.

for that matter, why do the doctors always speculate out loud? They worry the hell out of me, and then drop the matter like water under the bridge when they find out it's not the case. Like the one DR who thought I had MS. It turned out that I was having a typical neurological response to a medicine called reglan. Why did the Dr have to get me all worried when he had done nothing besides a reflex test?

Can't they wait to voice their suspicions when there is more conclusive evidence? lol. They are turning me into a basket case.

I think I need to go to bed. ;)

Becoming beautiful

2009-01-20T11:03:00.000-08:00

Before and after every practice with my coach and fitness celebrity Tanjo Johnson, she gathers in a cirlc eand encourages us to find the beauty to within. On Saturday she announced that she was going to play a Jordan Sparks song for us. Internally I was cringing, as she's not my favorite artists, and certainly not my favorite genre. But she assured us that the lyrics would touch those of us who have competed in some way or another.

And they did.

"God Loves Ugly"

You said that I wasn't pretty
So I just believed you
And you said that I wasn't special
So I lived that wayWith critical gazes and brutal amazement
And how my reflection could be so imperfect
With all of my blemishes,
how could somebody want me?

[Chorus]But God loves ugly
He doesn't see the way I see
Oh god takes ugly
And turns it into to something that is beautiful
Apparently I'm beautiful
Cause you love me

Whoa, ohI tried to clean up the outside
All shiny and new
Worked over time to thin up and look rightB
ut inside I knew
That deep in the bottom were secrets I thought I could try to ignore
Old ghosts in my corridors
Never get tired of haunting the past that's in me

[Chorus]But God loves ugly
He doesn't see the way I see
Oh god takes uglyAnd turns it into to something that is beautiful
Apparently I'm so beautiful
Cause you love me

Help me believe why you love me
When I know you see
You see everything
Help me believe why you love me
When I know you seeInside and you still say I'm beautiful
You're telling me I'm beautiful
Your screaming out I'm so beautiful
And I'm finding out I'm beautiful

You're making me so beautiful
And I can see I'm beautiful
Cause you love me

What a beautiful song. and so true. Throughout middle, high school and even college I hated myself because I saw ugly. My roommates were strikingly attractive women that drove the men on campus crazy. I refused to go out with them because when I stood alongisde their svelted and perfectly curved physiques, I felt like a second-class human being. I swore tearfully at the reflection that seemed to be eternally mocking me.

Then I moved out to Seattle, and eventually became a figure competitor. My self-esteem, previously nonexistant, had risen to wonderful exciting levels. I didn't hide from the camera shutter and every morning I learned to face my reflection head on and with confidence.

In short, this last year my entire opinion of myself has changed because I changed physically. and it's great that I've done what I have. I know I'm entitled to feel accomplished and proud of my lifestyle change. But I should have seen what was there the entire time. I should have seen a compassionate caring human being: smart and with an entirely inimatable drive to do whatever I put my mind to. I should have seen the beauty in that. Because in the end, those things are more virtuous than my V-taper or toned obliques.

Tanji's encouragment really helped me. I stills truggle occasionally with my self-image. I have found myself once again lately chiding my physical appearance: I've looked nearly as sick as I've felt lately. The skin beneath my eyes broke out in blood blisters from vomiting. My face took on the palor of illness, and my hair became a little patchy around the temples. (I lose hair when I'm stressed). How on Earth could I consider myself to be attractive when I was such an obvious mess? But after we talked on Saturday I saw myself in a different light: in spite of everything, I never stop trying. Last night I fely terrible, and yet I pushed myself to go to gymnastics. Because I will do whatever it takes to ahieve my goals.

and that's not ugly at all.

around the river bend

2009-01-16T15:56:00.000-08:00

I don't have anything overly inspiring, and am in fact writing out of sheer boredom rather than the need to share my thoughts. (It's Friday, 4:00 and I'm still at work.)

I find myself occasionally split into several different people. This isn't in the sense of having multiple personalities, but there are divisions within my life that are strikingly different than one another. It's exhausting sometimes. for example; this weekend I have some major things going on in regards to fitness. I have gymnastics and routine training for most of the afternoon tomorrow, and posing on sunday. This is on top of my normal schedule of working out and eating strategically.

However, this coming week I have several doctors appointments, one of which will determine whether or not I will soon be having two stomach surgeries.

Since developing Gastroparesis, I have also developed severe GERD. It was only inconvenient at first, but now has really begun affecting the quality of my life. I take it all in stride of course, but I would rather not deal with it. For instance, I now have difficulty swallowing. I seem to choke on nearly everything, and not one cup of coffee has gone down without one instance of sliding down the wrong tube. (as a result I tend to have large coffee stains on every article of clothing I own) My hiccups are also getting unmanageable. I got them a lot before, but now I'm getting up to 20 violent episodes a day. it happens whenever I eat or drink anything....and since I eat six times a day and drink two gallons of water I find myself hiccuping all day long. They themselves are only a nuisnace, but it drags acid into my throat and then I start coughing. Today my friend and coworker came and began to slap me on the back to get me to stop hacking up a lung. (I have wonderful friends, don't I?) :)

I also need to sleep at a 45 degree angle, which is immeasurably uncomftorable. If I don't I cough all through the night. also, if I lean over.....well. I have issue keeping things in my stomach.

The doctor thinks that the lstest flare weakened my esophagus to some extent, and therefore will have to have a monometry done to test the muscular strength of the sphincter muscle that would otherwise keep acid in my tummy where it belongs. If it has weakened, she will suggest what is called a Nissen Fundoplication; a procedure which takes the fundus (upper part) of the stomach and twists it around the base of the esophagus and forming a tighter seal.

what is crazy is that my husband actually had this same surgery when he was 12; the youngest child at the time to ever have the procedure. (he was even on TV for it.) How weird is that?

The second of the two surgeries is one that I continually postpone. It is a type of stomach pacemaker called an Enterra gastric stimulator, and is supposed to stimulate contractions in people with motility disorders. I've been avoiding it because it only has a 50% success rate in symptom alleviation. but if they already will have my stomach open for surgery #1 then they might as well throw it on. buy one get one free? Hardly. lol. But they might as well while they're in there.

Then again, there's a good chance I won't need either right now. After all I'm feeling much better than I was in the last two months. Who's to say that I won't continue to do so, gerd included? Do you know how many times I've been threatened with surgical procedures that ended up unecessary?

so far so good, 2009

2009-01-07T16:00:00.000-08:00

Okay here's a preface............ how on Earth do I get that ridiculously, monstrously grotesquesly huge picture of me half-naked off the top of my blog? It seemed to go on quite easily but now I find myself slapped in the virtual face with my own image. One that I can't get rid of.

"Hello potential blog readers. Take a nice long look. Don't act like you're not impressed." (I find 50% of my life can be described using quotes from Anchorman, by the way.)

Anyway........

After a grueling two weeks in Dryden New York I am thrilled to find myself sitting at work in Seattle, coffee cub glued (as is local law) to my palm. The weather is unapologetic in dumping torrents of rain on our frizzy-haired heads. It is dark enough to feel like 5pm all day, and the wind has rendered all umbrellas useless by turning them inside-out at the most inconvenient of times.

and I love it!

It sounds insane to love something so universally hated, and yet after two weeks of incorrigable winter weather, this is a vertiable paradise. Plus I absolutely love the sound of rain. Not the drizzle variety, but the bucketloads that form a constant whirring sound upon the roof. There is something so inherently cozy and ethereal about settinling into my recliner with some furry socks, a mug of coffee, and an empty journal page filled with possibility.

Today was my first day back at work, and I missed it. I always forget how much I love my job when I'm out on vacation. (I do happen to love vacation slightly more than my job, but that's beside the point currently!) The first thing I was reminded of was how much I missed my friend Lindsey.

Lindsey, who is 25 years old, is my closest friend out west. She and I are vastly different, and yet simultaneously are somehow very much the same. She is extremely gregarious, occasional vulgar, uninhibited at all costs, spontaneous and free spirited. In contrast I am more reserved, can be shy at times (although I've been growing out of that). I am much more conservative in many ways, and by comparison am more prude. and yet we share the same love of life and desire for constant adventure. We thrive outside our comfort zones. In fact, it could be said the entire world is our comfort zone. We share a love of photography, art, and literature. We are both 'sationary wanderers' as I would like to put it. We are stable in our relationships and in our repsective homes and jobs, but are always planning for the next adventure. We also share unfortunate stories of hospitals, doctors, blood tests, and medications.

The difference there is that I have Lupus, APS and Gastroparesis. Chronic and yet manageable.

She has terminal cancer.

It is an awful thing, to think of a wonderful caring person such as Lindsey being dealt the short stick in the game of life. 25 years old, and not just having to contemplate her mortality, but accept it at the present time, is something most of us can't fathom. and yet she does so in a blinding course of optimism. She has never, in the past few years, let the promise of death interfere with her life. And she has lived more in 25 years that most people could ever dream of in 80. I hate to think of having to lose such a good friend. She once asked me why I risked getting so close to her when she is not long for the world. It was a tough question to answer, mostly because I don't exactly know what I am supposed to say. What I eventually told her was that friendships could not be evaluated by longevity, but by the memories and influence they cause. Lindsey has unintentionally helped me to become a better person. By inspiring me, she has helped me to further inspire others. She has showed me that minute things can bring unadulterated joy. She has taught so many that life is what you make it. You can drudge along in mediocre despair......or you can let it all out. Let life be inflicted on your body and soul. Let it swallow you up, spit you out and start again. To understand that even the bad times only serve to deepen your love for the good times. and to do what makes you happy with disregard to the judgements of others.

Lindsey has also, without fail, loved me as ME. Not the person I've sometimes become in my past to satisfy others. I can truly be myself with her.....dorkiness and all. She laughs at my nerdy jokes, and jumps in with my eccentricity. She is encouraging and compassionate, exciting and understanding. She is all the things I've wanted to be. I find myself excited by life just in her proximity, even if we aren't doing anything!

Today, work was slow, and she without warning sailed across the room on her desk chair with a penand notepad in hand. "2009" was scribbled on the top, with the intention of detailing out the things the four of us (she, myself, her boyfriend Austin, and my husband) MUST do this year.

1.) Camping trip at Yosemite, with hike on half dome
2.) skydiving on June 11th (my birthday and also the day she was diagnosed.)
3.) whitewater rafting in Leavenworth
4.) Bake cookies and distribute them to all the homeless we find in Seattle
5.) Go on a photography roadtrip.

I have no doubt these will all be accomplished. Lindsey never leaves a to-do list unfinished. There's too much life to be lived in a short period of time and naught can be wasted on wastefulness!

Happy New year

2008-12-31T18:26:00.000-08:00

I noticed tonight I am at my best, be it mental, emotional, or physical when I keep goals and focus daily on doing whatever in my capacity to adhere to them.

Yesterday I was extremely ill. so much, so, infact, I was actually wondering if I would even make it through the night. though the fever and pain might have been causing some melodrama on that front, I was seriously concerned. We had to drive 6 hours back to Dryden New York from Andy's uncles place in Madison, and no doubt that was the more untolerable six hours of my life. Even in the painful moments after my operations I did not feel as terrible as I did yesterday. I couldn't lift a finger without a terrible dizziness threatening to take over. My husband had to carry me to the car and even through that I was in unbelievable pain. I was trying to hide it as best as possible, so as not to worry anyone, but it wasplainly obvious. Lying down caused sharp pain in my pelvis but sitting up to relieve it caused my stomach to hurt in horrible new ways. I finally threw up en route somewhere near Poughkeepsie, and it did help a little, but I still felt worse than in any of my hospitalizations.

I should have gone to the hospital, but frankly, I'm stupid when it comes to that. Luckily I have one rememdy that occurs whenever I deal with my dysmobility: milk. I am severely lactose intolerant, which serves a great blessing to me if I'm dealing with obstructions. The reaction in lactose intolerant people involves the intestines drawing in too much water, causing the unwanted side effects in those suffering from it.

For me, that was exactly what i needed. I slowly sipped 12 oz of milk over a period of an hour (it was the only thing in two days I could eat) and 6 hours later it was working. Today I'm fatigued, slightly achy, and a little sick to my stomach, but otherwise normal. I am blessed to bring in the new year feeling decent, and I thank God for that.

But the state I was in yesterday reminded me of something I can never afford again to take for granted: clean eating. I don't think people understand quite how important nutrition plays into daily life; ESPECIALLY to those suffering from chronic illness. during contest prep, I was almost ready to argue the fact that there was anything wrong with my body. after my contest, after a week's worth of semi-poor eating choices, I remembered vividly what was wrong.

so today I ate clean. call is a slight head start on my 2009 resolutions. My father in law was after me to try some fancy italian wine he had imported, in addition to a cake recipe passed down through the generations. I remained steadfast, saying only:

"This is more than a diet. What I choose to fuel my body with directly correlates to my wellbeing"

Enough said. I no longer will defend my dietary choices. I am doing what is right by my own health, which in the long terms maintains good relationships with those around me. Even those who feel awkward by my choosing a nonindulgent lifestyle, would feel more awkward next to me when I am feeling terrible. This is good for everyone.

so at midnight, my husband and his family and I will have a toast after the kissing and the wellwishing. Their flutes will no doubt be filled with the finest of french champagne, whereas mine?

Chocolate protein and water, clumps and all. What better, stronger way to start 2009 than a toast to my body.

No, not a toast. A promise. I will not ignore you. I will not treat you as a burden in my life. I will care for you, prioritize you. Understand the special needs of my illnesses and take care of them, rather than dismiss them. However, I will not regard them as a large part of my life, as i have been doing thus far. Instead they will be like my mortgage. A requirement, something to take care of.....but in the end of the day it's just another card in the deck of life.

So excited have I been about my newfound resilicnece that I drafted a small list of resolutions, knowing that once I seriously set myself a goal....I will achieve it.

1.) compete in fitness. despite being so far out of comfort zone, this helps one grow as a person. I have sought to achieve this goal by becoming one of Tanji Johnson's SAVE FITNESS competitors.

2.) Take better care of my body. This goes beyond competition. Even cheats this year will be good for me. I will listen to my body and not push myself over the edge. I will push it within its limitations.

3.) Show compassion for others. This past year I've been very self-absorbed with competition. I haven't been bad by any means, but am excited to get back into some volunteer work. I have joined the LFA (lupus foundation) and will be serving as a mentor/peer counselor to others with the disease.
HOWEVER.....knowing my busy schedule I am only doing this in limited capacity. There's nothing worse than signing up for a million projects, have people depend on you only for you to not follow through.

4.) be spontaneous. Done about 15 mins ago actually! While mindlessly perusing the local community college's extended learning catalogue through an email I received, I came upon a landscape painting class. I have always wanted to learn this. (always thought it would be neat to have your own work on your livingroom wall) but because of my schedule always said 'Maybe next quarter."
This time I opened the link to the website, jotted down all of my info, and am officially registered for the class! being spontaneous really is a great mood-elevator, i am definitely excited and glad I'm finally going through with it!

5.) make every day a good one. Back in eighth garde I had a friend named Lauren who once decided that no matter what, she would be happy every single day. if anything were to go wrong, she would do something to combat the negativity of the event.
What a visionary at 13! I have kept this with me since she first told me, and finally I'm going to enact it! I keep a journal religiously, and this time-at the end of every day- will jot three things down that made the day remarkable. and after that, place three things I should do on the following day to make it even better! I think this is a great idea!

6.) Travel. My husband and I haven't gone on a vacation just the two of us since our honeymoon. Don't get me wrong; traveling with the family is special, but we need some "us" time, especially because with the coming of every new year bringing us close to the time where we decide to have children. This year we will embark on a truly special trip. (we are between Italy, New Zealand, and Australia.) I have documented for him the ways in which I will cut down on things to make the trip more financially feasible. This was part of his Christmas present, actually so I can't go back on it now!!!!!

7.) Publish something. I have been working on a memoir that has been done for the better part of the year. Mostly it requires rearrangement and editing. It's time to stop being stagnant. This has been a goal of mine since I was 8 or 9, it's about time I reach it!!!!! Even if it's only an excerpt in a writing contest; I must do something before 2010 to prove I'm serious about my writing.

So there you have it. The minutes are starting to dwindle and I want to spend the trivial time remaining in 2008 with my husband, who is responsible for 2008 being the best year of my life. so far. Knowing 2009 is going to be even better, I feel it prudent to be upstairs, in his arms, when the new year comes to call.

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE! May this year be the best of your life! You can do it with the right attitude, perspective, and realization of the blessing that surround you!

need to rant a bit

2008-12-29T18:43:00.000-08:00

I try to stay as positive as I can around other people....mostly because I like to motivate and inspire. but also because negativity is draining on other people even if you aren't letting it out intentionally. I've been trying to do the same in this blog, but remember that this is really my outlet to vent my frustrations. If I do it here, I'm through.....I'm done complaining, get happy, and get on with my life in my normal happy disposition.

But good lord!!!!!!!!!!! MY INLAWS ARE DRIVING ME INSANE. Don't get me wrong, I love the people, but wow are they cruel when it comes to food. and also employ selective amnesia.

yes things have not gone well with my GI stuff since the contest was over and I was given more free reign over my diet. In most ways it was my own fault; had I been in more control I might have been able to prevent this flare. But what happened happened and I can't go back and change things.

But my inlaws have not been helping. I have been sticking to liquid and mushy clean food....no raw fruits or veggies, and decreased portions of cooked ones. (this is contrary to bodybuilding, but gastroparesis requires a low residue diet during active disease) They keep offering me garbage. I keep turning it down.....they keep offering me garbage. On Christmas, my fatehr in law, handed me some pandolce bread studded heavily with chocolate chips and a glass of egg nog. I said I couldn't, on behalf of the GP and lactose intolerance. He said (exact words) "Oh but Erika, this is my great-grandmother's recipe directly from Tuscany. It's a family tradition on Christmas morning"

what on earth?! I love tradition.....and heck I love eggnog and pandolce, but I can barely drink water without issue! He looked mad, so I was infuriated. My hero husband swooped in and defended me, but still.

Then on the way to Connecticut I asked if we could stop at a grocery store so I could get some whole wheat crackers to try to calm my stomach. We had a six hour drive ahead of us and were running late, so we didn't stop. but we DID stop at Burger King!!! i didn't order anything and instead put a scoop of protein into some warm water (cold water is a no go) and again, daddy-in-law was miffed. "Can't you at least have a salad?"

I have explained 583 times I absolutely CANNOT eat raw vegetables. The fiber is too slow to digest, and can (and has) caused issues with gastric obstruction by forming what is called bezoars....hardened balls of undigested food that block the pylorous. since an NG tube and lavage was by far not on my Christmas list, I passed. But I was irked that we still couldn't afford the time to go into a grocery store for something.

Tonight we went out to dinner. After throwin up severely last night, i was eating light the whole day. I only wanted soup, but when I went to the bathroom, another -expensive- entree was ordered for me. Their reasoning meant well: they wanted to get more calories and nutrients down since I hadn't eaten much today. But it hit my stomach like a lead balloon and I had to rush from the table very suddenly. I was dizzy, sweating, my heart rate elevated. Miraculously I kept it down but caused a scene rushing away like I did.

I got back to my seat, and my grandmother-in-law wanted a picture. I didn't want to stand up. I was dizzy and nauseous. "You only have to get up for a minute. You can handle that."

I did. but then after I sat back down, she got into this random conversation about my family. "That man, that man. your father. terrible. unfriendly. unclassy."

WTF. My dad might not be a senate-hopeful but he's the nicest man I've ever met and would do anything for anybody. If you want to be completely uncompromising for me, FINE. But don't talk about my family. They don't have any money, sure......but they are the finest people I know.

so sorry. I'll probably turn around and delete this post in the morning. But I needed to vent.
Meds are kicking in now so I'm going to go to sleep. :)

MERRY CHRISTMAS

2008-12-24T08:13:00.000-08:00

I might as well have downed about 90 gallons of red bull; I am so excited it has turned me into a hyperactive maniac that would put the energy of a 6 year old with ADHD to pure shame. I'm quite literally making myself sick with excitement, and yet.....don't care. Nothing could harness my joy right now. It's Christmas eve and I'm packing for New York.

I'm going home! and it's Christmas eve! I am so happy I am holding back tears. I keep imagining jumping into my daddy's arms. (yes, daddy....when you haven't seen you father in two years you tend to regress to a childlike state) He always wears the goofiest grin at Christmastime. My parents certainly have their issues but not in Christmas. No....on Christmas they are perfection. Their unorthodoxy is based on their ability of retaining their childhood for important times. and what is more important for that than on Christmas? They make the magic that has endeared Christmas to my heart for so long.

This really is the most wonderful time of the year. To all y'all Christmas haters.....eat my mistletoe. or suck my jingle bells. (okay.....Erika way overused her Starbucks gift cards this morning....enough to start referring to herself in the third person. This is BAD.)

This is the first time since 05 that I'll be spending Christmas with my family. (I moved to Seattle on New years day, 2006) That is way too long, but my health impeded both previous years. I was still using a walker in 2006, and was dealing with blood clots last year. This year I pretty much declared that nothing was going to stop me. I miss New York.

I do love Seattle, and the city is great for Christmas activities. Downtown is very festive, and the people are wonderful. But what is Christmas without family? I have the most amazing collection of memories all because of the people I grew up with it, in that tiny unknown hamlet nestled within the hills of the finger lakes.

Will there be drama? lol. OF COURSE! But the mass chaos, melodramatics, exaggerated emotions...that's the family I know and love. It would be totally uncharacteristic if they didn't smother me immediately with the oddest assortment of sympathies and gossip. I told my mom that I have lupus, with the added plea that she keep it to herself. So naturally....the 400 people that my family conists of, in addition to family friends, neighbors, the owner of the local apple orchard, and every horse trainer in Onondaga county know about it. I can only imagine the homeopathic remedies that'll be shoved at my face. any other time of year I'd lose my patience. But not Christmas. On Christmas everything is pleasant. Even misled attempts at spiritual cures.

As for fitness news? lol................ well. Diet has gotten better, really it has. Not perfect, but the more holiday junk I consumed, the worse my GP flared. I was supposed to see both my GI and my rheumatologist (Good lord that's an annoying word to spell) but due to the apocolyptic nature of the Seattle blizzard of 2008, the clinic was closed. My GI is slightly worried about something called Barretts Esopahgus. I have really terrible GERD because of the issues with vomiting that I have as a result of Gastroparesis. I can't lean over without issue, can't sleep flat, and have to really work at swallowing. I keep choking on liquids, which the dr said happens a lot with people who have achalasia and esopahageal strictures. It can lead to pneumonia.....which makes sense, since I've had it about 8 times in my life, february being the most recent episode.

So when I get back from New York I'll have another endoscopy.

The rheumatologist meanwhile, mentioned mixed connective tissue disease, rather than lupus, being my issue. Because of the esophagus issue, I might have a combination of both lupus and systemic sclerosis (scleroderma) I had a skin biopsy and it was fine, but apparently the disease can evolve slowly. That's also why my DNA counts took a while to catch as being positive.

the reason that lupus was thrown out initially is because of a recurring facial rash. I always thought I had super sensitive skin, and rosy cheeks, maybe even rosacea. But the way it spreads from my cheeks and over the bridge of my nose is characteristic of lupus (called a malar, or butterfly) rash. The malar is usually only seen in lupus and not in its sister autoimmune disorders.

oh well. either way I am fine. For three years I've really wanted to know the answer. Too many different things in different systems went wrong for it to be an unlucky coincidence. Knowing what it is I'm up against makes me feel stronger. I feel like I've armed myself against it just with the knowledge of what it is. I've done pretty well with it running unchecked, so imagine what I can do now! Unstoppable!!!!!!!!!!!!! and I'm now an official team member of Tanji Johnson's SAVE fitness team. I can't believe that me, the supreme klutz of all creation, is actually considering doing fitness. lol. But I can't wait!

Okay. why am I not packing?!

Lupus

2008-12-16T11:05:00.000-08:00

Every year as a swimmer, my coach would gather us by the side of the pool and tell us the same motivational story. It involved a farmer and his donkey. As they worked the fields, the donkey fell into a pit, which was too deep for the animal to climb itself out of on its own. The farmer nonchalantly took his shovel and began to throw dirt into the pit. Once a fair amount had gathered on the donkey's withers, the farmer said:

"Shake it off, step up."

The donkey did so, and the farmer continued to shovel soil into the pit. Every few minutes, the donkey shook it off, and stepped up. This cycle continued for some time until the donkey reached level ground, shed the last of the dirt from his back, and walked along with the farmer as though nothing catastrophic had just transpired.

When I was 16, this story was a cute anecdote but didn't really strike me as anything of much profundity. And with many other things learned in high school (locker combinations, geometry, constructions of iambic pentameter) the story fell along the wayside as things like organic chemistry, calculus, and reasoning with a maniacal drunk streaking through the dormitories replaced them.

Then, as some of you know, in 2006 I hit some rough times. I've explained before so I won't know. Just to say that severe GI failure and blood clots rallied to form a medical "perfect storm"

It was easy to succumb to the depression caused by a severely altered lifestyle and having to be sedentary. (never has been my strong suit.) Then one day as I lay in my recliner, having no segway, the words popped in my mind.

"Shake it off, step up."

and as cliche as I had thought it was then, that's how meaningful I thought it was at that moment. The greatest of burdens can be shrugged off until it is debris at your feet. Every obstacle can be tackled. It was that mentality alongwith a strong mind and dedication that i was able to recover as well I did. (the most miraculous recovery my surgeon had ever seen, according to him.) It was through that I was able to meet my goal of becoming a figure competitor. and through that I was even able to sruvive.

Two weeks ago, I was finally diagnosed with Systemic Lupus as the cause for all of the problems I have been dealing with over the last few years. I had been praying for an answer, but was still angry when I got it. Lupus treatments have come a very long way and most people live a normal life span. But I was told those with the blood clotting disorder I have are the ones that have their lives shortened by the disease.

After about 30 mins of self-destruction. (I bought myself a maple latte......oh no!) those same words played over in my head.

Shake it off and step up. So I will. because I've proven several times now that impossible means nothing to me. I've already been a medical miracle before so I'll do it again. Staying healthy, active and positive is my medicine, and I won't be stopped by it. My health issues have enough control over my life; I refuse to give them more. What a waste of time it would be to dwell and wallow in self-pity!!! Furthermore, although I'm told that people with antiphospholipid antibodies lose some life span, there is no data on exactly how much. It could be 30 seconds for all I know! Even if it's ten years, i guarantee I'll be packing more memories and experiences in that time than somebody that pushes into their triple digits. Quality over quanitity, my friends. and nobody can ever accuse of me not living my life to the fullest. I'm 24 and accomplished nearly every goal I set for myself as a child. (The only one missing is becoming a mother, and that will happen with time.)

That being said, in lieue of this latest news, I'm upping the ante on personal challenges. I am making the transition between figure and fitness by joining Tanji Johnson's SAVE FITNESS team. I'm honored and excited to be a part of it. It is entirely out of my comfort zone, which makes me thrilled beyond measure. I might break my face trying, but at least I did it.

and in the event I do fall?

I'll shake it off. and step up.

update

2008-11-28T17:17:00.000-08:00

I wish my motivation was the same now as it was throughout the first ten months of the year. It seems in the midst of the holidays, fitness has taken a back seat to other festivities. It does show, unfortunately. Because of my stomach I had to switch to low residue foods and liquids. Which brings me to high glycemic loads. I hate having to cut down on protein and veggies because I fear muscle loss. However, my choice is either that or don't eat. period. I have probably thrown up in the vicinity of 100 times since October 18th if not more. (don't act like you're not impressed!) in addition, abdominal pain has been nagging me. They always go hand in hand, since when I flare up, my stomach, small intestine, and what's left of my large intestine pretty much such down.
My energy levels have been okay though, so I'm still in good spirits. It's when all of the GI stuff weakens me that I have to fight to stay positive. I'm so hyperative and needing to be on the move constantly that when my own body immoblizes me, I sometimes want to scream.

anyway enough of that. There is another obstacle this week. I actually amputated the top of my left middle finger on tuesday. I suddenly felt very drained at work....I kept shutting my eyes at my lab station and then jerking myself forcefully back awake. I kept telling myself to go on a coffee break because I couldn't be trusted to use the uber-sharp dissection blades, but I stupidly ignored my own warnings, because the tissue I was working with can't be left alone for more than a couple of minutes.

I went to tirm off some cutting medium from around the brain, and forgot to put the role plate down...which is a small rectangular glass plate that among its primary function, also serves as a shield from my hands and the most ridicuslously sharp blade on Earth.

The cutting medium gave way and my hand flew downward, sending the blade about a quarter of an inch down my finger and shearing off a large chunk of skin. I knew it was going to be bad so I was reluctant to bring my hand out of the cyrostat. When I did it was pretty much how I imagined it would be. I was dripping blood all over: my lab coat, the floor, my friend's lab coat, my keyboard.....etc. Lindsey pulled off the nitrile gloves, my coat, and held onto my finger to get it to stop bleeding, put a tourniquet on it...etc.

You know you have a fantastic friend when that happens. Granted my blood is pathogen-free but still....

she brought me to the ER and I have to admit, it was the best time I've ever had in a hospital. Lindsey has cancer and therefore knows the need for hospital humor. she took pictures, made me a crown out of tissue paper. (writing "special dork" on it with marker.) I don't remember half of the convos, but we were laughing so hard I thought I was going to bleed out of my eyes. and we watced in sheer fascination as the doc stitched my finger tip back on. (It was pretty awesome, I must say)

so now I have an enormous bandage on my left hand. It's comically large and whereever I go, it looks like I'm flipping people off. It hasn't stopped me much though, except I can't do dishes or laundry for 10 days.

Darn it. I'm devastated. Really I cried in envy watching everbody else on kitchen duty after thanksgiving dinner. I guess I'll just have next year to look forward to.

lol.

My hero: Robert Carl Hansen

2008-11-04T11:43:00.000-08:00

I can remember the first time I followed my grandpa around with a notebook and pen; pushing for him to indulge me in his experiences as a soldier in world war two. He would tussle my hair, chuckle and say "You don't want to listen to a boring old man drone on about the war."

But I did. Grandpa Hansen was a spectacular story teller. He lived to tell stories to children so long as they ended happily. Maybe that was why he had trouble talking about the war. There was so much horror, pain and sadness that he couldn't bear to trouble a child with those thoughts. Our happiness was of utmost importance to my grandfather.

Several times a year, the Hansen clan (comprised of my brothers and dad, his parents, sisters and their husbands and children) would caravan our way up to my great-grandparents house in Laconia, New Hampshire. The house was magical in its quality to turn on our imaginations full blast. Grandpa included. My great-grandfather had built the old mansion himself, and it stood enclosed in a vast circle of elm trees whose branches caressed one another in the night wind. Leaves rustled and whispered their secrets against the rough stone fireplace in the backyard. we could see all this, and the night sky from the "sky room" in the back. It was this room, enclosed in glass, where my grandfather most loved to tell his stories.

The abominable snowman was his favorite, and he always put me into the story as the innocent protagonist: a young pigtailed girl in a pinafore out in the woods collecting firewood for her parents. Then he would make the terrifying sound of the approaching beast.

thump thump, thump thump.....THUMP THUMP!!!! I would squeal and bury myself into his strong arms in horrified delight.

as it turned out, however, the yeti was friendly and only wanted a friend. Happy ending, always, unwavering.

But that day, following him about his house in Liverpool New York like a tenacious reporter, all I wanted was to know what it was like, happy ending or no. World war two was always in my school books, but from a third party perspective. I wanted to know firsthand the experiences of one of the most catastrophic events to transpire in human history. and so we sat down with fluffernutter sandwiches, and, in his Boston accent and peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth, he regaled his personal account.

My grandfather grew in a well to do family in waltham Massachusetts. His parents were Norwegian immigrants and had found their place in society: my great-grandfather is to this day considered one of the most well-loved mayors of Waltham. The Hansens, a family with 8 children (my grandfather being the youngest) were known as being compassionate, loving and very family-oriented.

Shortly before my grandfather's 17th birthday, his dad was auctioning off the famous "waltham watches" to raise money for the war effort. The mayor was on the stage giving a speech when he suddenly dropped dead from a heart attack. The Hansens for having so much heart, had as many heart problems.

My grandpa barely had time to mourn his father's death when he enlisted into the army. He immediately was sent to North Carolina for training, and not long after was shipped to Europe. His mother traveled down to North Carolina to bid him farewell, but never found him in the large crowd of people gathered to offer their support to the departing soldiers. They would never see each other again: my great-grandma Hansen died on Christmas eve 1944, also from a heart attack. My grandpa wouldn't find out about this until shortly after his third gunshot wound when he was laid up long enough in a London hospital for a telegram to reach him.

My grandfather stormed the beach in Normandy: one of the most unimaginably awful things a person could conjure in their worst of nightmares. He said the water off of the coast of France ran red with foamy blood, and watched as many of his friends dropped at the mercy of enemy fire. My grandfather himself was shot, but adrenaline kept him going. He was only out of commission for two weeks before being sent back into battle.

At the Battle of the Bulge, December 16 1944, he was shot again in the chest: the bullet exiting through his back. His two best friends accompanied him as he tried to crawl out of range. They crawled over land mines, and my grandfather watched in horror as his friends died in the explosion. Now alone, my grandfather continued crawling until he came upon a deserted house. he crawled, bleeding, into the basement and cried over the memory of his close friends and fellow soldiers, so many of which had perished. He wondered if he would last the night, and had come to terms with his own death when he heard the distinct sound of Nazi soldiers entering the house. It turns out my grandpa had crawled into a house used as a meeting place for Nazi soldiers. If they found him in the basement, he would surely be killed. This sparked a desire to go on living, and my grandfather again crawled out through the window and across enemy lines until an English convoy found him and brought him to safety. It was at this time he learned the death of his mother.

But there were fleeting moments of goodness in these troubled times. One of my grandfather's brothers (My great Uncle Earl) had been fighting on the Pacific side of the war as a fighter pilot. His plane had gone down somewhere near Iwo Jima, and had been assumed dead by my family. As it turned out, he was brought to the same London hospital as my grandfather. They hadn't seen each other in a year and it was a happy reunion as they recovered together.

All in all my grandpa was shot five times during his service to our country. He has shrapnel in his arm and eye socket. he has had recurrent melanoma on his face and skull due to long hours of marching in the Sahara during training. General Patton had considered this strategy one of his most ingenious: denying his soldiers even a small canteen of water as they marched 30 miles through 120 degrees of scorching desert drove them mad which made would in turn make them fearless in battle. It didn't work. It gave my grandfather, a fair headed Norwegian man, cancer.

In addition, my grandfather's heart matched those of his family: weak and poorly put together. He had had several heart attacks before 1990, and three open heart surgeries. Visiting him in the hospital, however, I only remember his big smile as he proudly showed me the thick black wire sutures that ran longitudinally through his chest. He usually had a teddy bear waiting for me, having wheeled himself to the gift shop on the first floor when finding out I was coming.

He is the only person I've ever known to be a patient in the hospital and GIVE gifts, rather than receive. That is just the man he is.

My childhood could be rough at times, which is a story for another decade. (if ever) so in hard times we lived with them. My grandfather spoiled us to the best of his abilities. We spent hours in his underground pool, and only came out when my grandfather ran outside with dollar bills in his fist, screaming "Kids!!!! The ice cream truck is coming! Hurry! You don't want to miss it!" He always marveled at the disposition of my brothers and I, and would frequently turn to my father and say "Eric, you have three amazing kids, you know that? they're just......stupendous. I love these little guys. " I would blush and smile coyly at his compliments.

In college one day I realized I hadn't spoken with him in quite a while, and I suddenly was compelled to call him. After exchanging greetings, all I could blurt out was "Grandpa, I just wanted to let you know you are my hero. You always have been, and always will be."

My grandfather choked back tears on the other end and said 'Likewise."

Now I'm at work, and I get a call from my father. Grandpa is in surgery to have a lung removed. Cancer. Metastasized from the melanoma that had invaded his skull. Two years ago, he'd had most of the right side of his face removed. But they thought they'd gotten it and declared him in remission. Now it looks like our time with my hero is limited. The prognosis isn't good. After beign such a survivior for so long, it's hard to imagine losing my grandpa. I can't come to terms with this. I know it's a part of life: grandparents aren't around forever and we must be content with what memories we have been endowed with. And mine are numerous but selfishly I can't help but want more. I want my children to know him.....to shiver with excitement during story time. To see the heartbreaking smile on his face. To know him as I always have: a hero: to the Hansen Family and to the world.

I love you grandpa. You mean everything to me.

the offseason begins

2008-10-27T10:33:00.001-07:00

I haven't updated this blog in a long time, primarily because I have so many thoughts pertaining to my first season as a competitor that my fingers can't keep up with them.

Suffice it to say, most people wouldn't consider bodybuilding a life altering endeavor. Most people admire my discipline and willpower, but would think of bodybuilding as a life achievement about as much as they would to...say, cleaning out the lint pocket in the dryer. It is an obscure sport, and doesn't get the attention that it deserves. Because I feel more accomplished, more determined from competing than from graduating with A Biology degree.

Don't gasp in shock. I know I've always been one to criticise the pedestal that athletics is placed on while academia sits in the corner, ignored. But hear me out: Biology is contained well within my comfort zone. I'm a hardcore science nerd. I read medical texts for leisure, and thoroughly enjoyed learning what I did as a premed student at Albany State. Although some things (organic chemistry, for example) presented challenges at time, I never once doubted my ability to succeed.

This is unfortunate because I believe pushing through self-doubt causes great personal growth.

Figure competition, on the other hand, really required for me to leap blindly, frightened into the vast unknown. I hated my body. I hated my complusive eating habits. I was so ashamed of my body type that I ate scantly in front of my friends, and then binged behind the closed doors of my dorm room. (More than once my friends mused why I was so overweight when I seemingly never ate anything.) So the thought of bringing myself to a point where I not only accepted my body type but was willing to share my physique on a stage in front of countless people was light years away from my comfort zone. But I needed to change. My lack of self-esteem had guessed such timidity to border on social-phobic. It bothered my boyfriend, and my friends that I was constantly down on myself. So I set the goal of competing.

As I continued on, I learned that figure/bodybuilding is much more complex than lift weight, put it down, lifet weight, put it down.... The sport was as mentally challenging as physical. I began to learn about my own body, about exercise science, nutrition.... I developed immense perserverence and self-control.

It was from competition, and not from college, that I learned the self-reliance that applies to everyday life. And I'm a better person for it.

When I watched the ball drop at times square on this past New Years, I remarked to my husband "2008 is going to be the rgeratest year of my life." 2007 had been extremely rough, and I knew it was about to get better. And I can for certain that I had correctly guessed it: this year has been simply amazing. My health, so fragile before, is strong. I'm happy with myself and my image. I'm proud of my accomplishments, that I did what others deemed "impossible."

I know this sounds really corny and chick-flickish, but now I am endowed with a feeling of being able to do anything I set my mind to. I'm not a dreamer anymore. My dreams become reality because I strive to make them so.

Not bad to believe the world is in your corner.

:)

update

2008-09-11T08:59:00.000-07:00

Less than four weeks out, and the time has become a whirlwind. It's going reasonably well, although I can still I'm starting to lose a little strength, and energy for that matter.

I have also become obsessed with food. As it is I am sitting in a tiny little office next to a delectable smelling pan of magic cookie bars. For those of you who aren't familiar with these, they are purely amazing: graham gracker crust, sweetened condensed milk, then layers of chocolate, butterscotch, and coconut. Named as they are because they have a seemingly 'magical' quality of fattening your his and thighs instantaneously.

Why am I torturing myself? The aforementioned obsession with food, cooking and general domesticity that I incur with the onset of every fall season. I love to cook, and especially love to bake. I love to fill my house with the aroma of autumn, because it is so wonderfully nostalgic. I shut my eyes, and I can easily picture myself aproned and licking the beaters while my grandmother and I recite poetry over a busy oven laden with comfort food in the making.

Yesterday I called in sick to work. Nothing serious; just excessive fatigue levels and a cranky stomach. I spent the better part of the day sofa-bound with the food network on. My choice of reading material, instead of the novels and science nonfiction text with which I am accostomed- I was devouring everything Martha Stewart had to say, and finally rupturing the prsitine creases on the spine of the good housekeeping cookbook my grandmother bought me my senior year of high school.

Inspired, I first baked a loaf of Hawaiian Sweet Bread for my husband, as a cute little surprise for when he returned from work. not entirely satisfied, however, I continued on my journey to torture myself and went to the grocery store: practically passing out in the baking aisle simply from the simultaneous opportunity and lackthereof (since I cannot eat any creation I could come up with.) I bought everything....different grades of chocolate and baking cocoa, butterscotch, toffee bits, marshmallows, corn starch, marzipan, almond extract, brown sugar, white sugar, cake decorating kits...... just to have it for experimentation sake.

What the hell is wrong with me. why couldn't I have waited just a few more weeks...to become the barefoot contessa?

Oh well. Andrew is happy.

Progress wise, I still don't think I'm anywhere nearing contest shape, despite how close show #1 is getting. My trainer is doing everything he can, and is doing a fantastic job too....but I doubt I will be lean enough. That's okay with me. I've said it previously and will do so again: I never set a goal of winning or placing this time around. All I said was 'in 2008 I WILL get on that stage." and that is certainly a kept promise at this point. In the future I will hone in on my strengths, play down my weaknesses, and be out for Gold. But for now....having done what i did....I feel more accomplishment than any trophy ever could. I beat the odds and proved the mantra of 'mind over matter' is a very real and powerful entity. I accepted my limiatitions, broke barriers, and improved my sense of health, wellbeing, and best of all.....self-acceptance. I feel great and it shows in my interactions with others.

I already won. Thje stage is just the spot to showcase my dedication.

sick but proud

2008-08-17T19:45:00.000-07:00

I don't feel well today. I'm lingering between that line of ambiguity that distinguishes sick from merely 'under the weather.' But instead of moping about, depressed over the state of affairs I found myself in, I felt genuine pride today....one of the seven sins perhaps, but better pride than sloth. :) I picked myself up with the most stripped naked of cliches "Champions never take the easy road" picked my ass of the couch and worked it like any other day. My first round of cardio his morning started after a particularly ghastly discovery: a gaping hole in my pantry where the beautiful and highly treasures bag of starbucks coffee beans usually resides.

Holy shit we're out of coffee! Suddenly the person that was stumbling half-asleep through the kitchen in that hazy still-too-early kind of way was hurriedly strapping on her Ipod and running shoes. Luckily I live in the Seattle burbs, so the nearest Starbucks is a mile away (actually that mght in fact be a record distance for a house-to-starbucks ratio out here) but it was up a steep hill and provided me with some satisfactory pre-breakfast running.

I then cleaned my house. pruned the 80 gazillion rose bushes we have (not complaining.....they're beautiful) pulled weeds from the flower beds, washed the house (yes you heard me correctly.....the birds are seemingly attracted to christmas-colored houses) shampooed the carpets, bleached countertops, grilled several meals, dusted, folded laundry....etc. At that point I was getting literally weak in the knees. I had that awful feeling where you question an impending vomit that never quite comes but leaves you wary of leaving the house. I thought I was done for but then yet another totally lame cliche hit me.

In the last issue of Oxygen magazine, Robert Kennedy said "Don't want to go to the gym? Go to the gym. Don't want to go for that last set? Go for that last set" or something to that effect. And so I did. I went to the gym. I executed an AWESOME leg and abs routine that left me nearly keeled over and drenched in sweat, smiling all the way for having pushed myself that far.

the same thing happened yet again when I got home. I procrastinated for a while; worked on my application to my phD program. I tried to convince myself that I didn't need to do cardio. It obviously wasn't working, so I told myself to just do one interval at a time, one minute on one minute off. Once I got the first few done, I told myself to just do a couple more and see how I felt. I continued to do this until I racked up an hour's worth of intervals!

But now I am done. lol. I am going to bed early. I think I deserve it today!

uh oh......panic ensues. run!

2008-08-05T12:46:00.000-07:00

Oh man. I've been pretty laidback, dedicated and completely focused/driven, but relaxed and calm in regards to this competition.

Except here's the catch......part of my subconscious was sure I was going to need another surgery and have to step out of prep for the third year in a row. I decided to focus on the NOW rather than on the uncertainty of tomorrow. So here I am, less than 9 weeks from the contest..... muscles are showing. I've now been asked by strangers if I am a competitor based on my arms.

This is happening. Fast. and now I can't take a moment to catch my breath having been caught totally off guard by good health and outstanding progress. And now my composure is rapidly deteriorating into a panic. I can lift weight, set it down, lift it again, set it down. I can put one foot in front of the other really really really fast for extended periods of time, But I have to actually present myself as feminine up there on stage. I glance down at my dilapidated Nikes, the jeans with the torn cuffs, the lack of makeup, the unbrushed hair......and I think:

Oh F**k.

Now I'm spending every last second learning how to not only walk but POSE in five inch clear "hooker" heels, saturating my skin in layer upon layer of fake tan, learning makeup, ordering velvet bathing suits with crystals. My confidence began to wane last night during posing. I walked well enough in the shoes, but upon stopping to strike my individual pose, couldn't stop my own momentum and lurched forward. every damn time. I feel so awkward! and my lat spread? I look like the she-hulk (ERIKA SMASH!!!!) instead of a graceful muscular woman. Then Andy for the third night in a row slathered me in protan, the favorite self-tanner for bodybuilders. after 11 coats I still am not as dark as I had hoped, ad my hands look like those of a burn victim.

and the other thing? My diet plan came from my old trainer; the guy I worked with via email for my brief attempts at prep in 2006 and 2007. But after paying for them, I then needed surgery as we already know. This sport is freakin expensive! supplements, bathing suits, shoes tan, membership and registration fees, hair, makeup, accessoires, vast quantities of protein, two gym memberships......I'm sure I'm missing a ton, but the point is, I couldn't really justify throwing even more money towards a trainer when there was a very good chance, according to all of my doctors, that I was going to tangle with surgeries and health issues for the third year in a row.

I decided to follow Sully's plan, the one he gave me back in 2006. It's a good one.....12 weeks, 3 phases that consistently get more strict. The problem is, for this prep I started his 12 week program when I was 17 weeks away from the contest. That leaves 5 additional weeks. two of them I can do his famous 'death circuits' (sounds fun, right?) but that still leaves three weeks. One of those is 'peak week' and I have absolutely no clue how to deal with that at all. I know the night before the contest you eat carbs to fill out the flattened muscles, but which? How much? How often?

and the remaining two weeks....am I going to have to resort to just eating straight protein nothing else? Because I have to admit, I'm not far from that as it is. I'm supposed to be eating two cups of veggies in meals 3, 4, 5, 6.....but my stomach can't take that many. I do drink tea with a meager amount of skim milk. Milk isn't a great ally to contest preparation but for me? I am lactose intolerant. BUT the reaction that ensues is beneficial to me, as it draw water into my gut, which aids in my paralysis. So about two splashes of milk is it for me in those meals.

Crap. what on Earth am I going to do?

how the hell..........

2008-07-29T19:32:00.000-07:00

I erased my last post. It was just a long winded complaint that ended very abruptly when I glanced at my foot and say that it was mysteriously saturated in my own blood. I simply stared.....how on earth could that have happened? I Hadn't moved from my spot in quite a long time. There were school papers soaked in it, the carpet had a six inch diameter puddle. The cuff of my jeans was sodden. part of me was sure I was seeing things. yes I am a klutz.....ridiculously so....but I hadn't moved!!!!!!!!!!! And as far as I could see there was nothing too destructive around the area where I had been resting my foot.

For two hours I held paper towels over my foot, until I got bored, wrapped it up and went to bed. In the morning I attempted cardio, but after one block realized I was being stupid and turned back. Took off my running show: the sole has small splotches of blood. I showered, wrapped it up again, and went to work. Around 10 I pulled off my shoe because the foot felt wet. My white sock was purely red along the bottom, from the toes to the heel. The shoe itself was sos covered it was going through the bottom. My lead happened to walk by me and nearly panicked "HOLY S*IT!" and told me to head the bathroom to clean it up. For a while I sat on the floor.....bored....wondering if it was ever going to stop. My manager walked in, saw the injury and immediately called a cab to take me to the emergency room. I pleaded with her, telling her it would stop. I hate the ER...hate the hospital, hate everything about it: the smell, the sounds, the blinding white color of everything, the stupid backless hospital gowns they made me get in despite the fact it was my FOOT that was injured.

An hour later I am given crutches and told that I have an avulsion so they can't stitch it. But it won't stop bleeding if I don't stop walking on it.

F!

So let's recap the 2008 year, which admittedly has been my best since 2005

Pneumonia
Injured right shoulder
broken pinky toe
hospitalized for gastric obstruction
Hospitalized for bradycardia and pleurisy
avulsion on right foot

GOOD LORD.

WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH ME????????!!!!!!!! I don't even know how I managed this one! I was sitting innocently. Great! now I have to use the stupid looking hand bike for cardio. I won't look at all conspicuous.

one day. One day I will be cured of my disaster-itis. and it will be good.

lol.

Less than 11 weeks

2008-07-23T09:23:00.000-07:00

I can't believe how fast October 4th is approaching. I sent in my NPC membership application last friday and will finally get measured up for my two piece when my husband gets back from LA. I'm starting to have the occasional expected nightmare about not being prepared for the competition. I have forgotten to register and stand outside the venue completely prepared but unable to enter. I have also had the one where in the midst of getting everything ready, I forgot to diet during the last few weeks of prep and gained all the weight back. The worst is when I have a dream that I binge on something like cake or cookies. I wake up and believe it actual happened, so I am infuriated with myself for the first 10 minutes upon waking, at which point I realize it never happened. I think the lack of carbohydrates is testing my sanity. I hope that test has a curve!

Prep is going by surprisingly well, in spite of the health crap. (How eloquent) I have lost 18 pounds since beginning my journey to the stage, and I can finally see the muscle I've been working so hard for underneath the dissapearing layer of fat. It's extremely exciting. I will lament the diet, the grueling regiment, the lack of social life.....and then I look in the mirror and can't help smiling. I think I could get used to this whole self-esteem thing.

I still haven't gone to the rheumatologist. This is admittedly a stupid decision, but I just want a little bit of time, even if it's just a couple of weeks, out of the doctor's office. It's so boring! I need the mental break from it for a bit, especially while I'm making gains in strength and energy levels. The only issue I'm really fighting right now is reflux (complication of GP) It's been so violent I have to sleep sitting up. It takes a little longer to fall asleep but otherwise I wake up coughing. It's only temporary: my GP meds are shipped in from New Zealand and this one got stuck en route for some reason. As soon as they get here the reflux subside. It's just been a very interesting three days, lol.

I have to say that all of this stuff has been a blessing in that it has provided me with direction. There are only two things I've ever truly wanted to be in life. (well technically three, since I want to be a mother more then anything) These are a doctor and a writer. The latter is not something I can use to financially sustain my family. The former is not one I can use to emotionally sustain them. I do not want other people raising my children. I love the practice of medicine but there would be too much compromise. Too many weekends and nights away from my family. I think, therefore, that I am going to pursue a phD in Immunology. I've become fascinated with the field through my own experiences, and should use my science background to propel this fascination. Don't get me wrong, I carry loads of respect for neurobiology and I like my job very much. But I've learned that there are too many people in worse positions with autoimmune disorders than I am. It is still such a new field that treatments, and even knowledge for these diseases is limited at best. There are so many people searching for an answer that doesn't yet exist.
In addition, I am going to join and volunteer my the Pacific Northwest chapter of the Lupus Foundation of America, and also for GPact (gastroparesis group). In the meantime I am still training for competition, and am nearly finished with my first novel.

Life is good :)

the power of positive thinking

2008-07-10T10:40:00.000-07:00

I never really bought into the self-improvement hype. I never really equated stress levels and depression with physical characteristics. Until I landed myself into an array of medical issues, at which point I came to realize that your mind can be worst enemy or your greatest ally in the fight for physical, mental and emotional wellness.
I try to remain positive in the midst of everything that goes on with my health, but being human, I have my moments of downtroddeness. (Which is now a word in the personal dictionary of Erika L. Mott!) On Tuesday, still not feeling well, I took some herbal tea down to the Lake Union ship canal and sat during my lunch break, glowering at the geese swimming by my feet. I put on my sunglasses, cranked up angry music on my Ipod and with my back against a tree thought:

"This is not fair."

That was pretty much the thought that echoed continuously as I reflected on everything that I have been dealing with, and also the struggle that somebody else (going through similar issues) very close to me has been enduring. The more I was angry with it, the worse I felt. I felt noticeably more fatigued, and subdued. Hopeless.
After several minutes went by, a young family out enjoying the sun stopped a few yards from my spot so the toddler could splash his feet in the water. He was laughing joyfully, as young children do. The mother played with him and gave that look that can only be given by a parent who unconditionally and unequivocally loves their child. I think it was a combination of that expression of love and joy that pulled me out of my pitiful mood. The toddler waved his chubby hand at me, and I smiled and waved back. Then, like a cloud that temporarily shadows the summer sky and then passes on, I bounced back to my normal self. And instantly, my energy levels returned. and though I was still dizzy and still had some pain, the mere fact that I could channel it more positively seemed to ease my discomfort.
I still don't feel 100%. My work outs are slightly weakened and I can't run well. But the benefit of walking outside instead of being on the treadmill last night was a long and thankful gaze at the painstakingly beautiful sunset over Puget Sound. I felt well rested and happy to have taken in that moment. I am dizzy, my chest still aches, but I can smile knowing that any small measure of control that I have over my health, I have put in all the effort I can. None of this is due to poor choices on my behalf. There is no blame nor regret, but only 'focus on what you can do rather than cannot.'

and the list is insurmountably in favor of 'can'. I win over the Gastroparesis, APS, and whatever autoimmune disorder they think I'm fighting against. I win. And that's a trend I expect will continue until old age.

That is all.

ps. this may have been a cheesy post, and I apologize if you now have 'eye of the tiger' stuck in your head now. (I admittedly did while writing this!) but I wouldn't have written this post if I didn't fervently believe in every word. Positive thinking better medicine than our doctors could ever provide!

sit-n-spin

2008-07-09T09:51:00.000-07:00

My completely random rant of the day: the sit-n-spin.

I have some pretty severe dizziness today. Sitting at my lab station I was trying to remember when in the past I have ever felt vertigo quite this severely. Then it dawned on me that I have....from the iconic childhood Fischer-price toy:

The Sit-N-Spin.

Does anybody else remember this child-sized torture chamber? It was a small blue plastic seat, resembling a Lazy Susan with a handle. You sat with your legs curled about the rounded bottom, gripped onto the steering wheel, and whisked yourself into a projectile-vomiting frenzy of centripetal force. If the 3, 456 RPM spinning didn't send your stomach into launch, the pattern of Dark Side of the Moon- variety rainbow swirls will.

My question is: who the Hell invented this thing? Today we have medications for people suffering from dizziness, while at the same time we develop objects that create it?! I can tell you precisely who.....

somebody who hates children, that's who. Imagine....it would be the perfect Trojan horse for an obnoxious neighbor. An unsuspecting fool that has committed some heinous neighbor-rule violation. Perhaps their dog eliminated in your prized azaleas. Maybe their son rode his tricycle through the pumpkin patch. so what does the affected neighbor do? Come up with a toy that, although it may seem generous on the exterior, inflicts torment on the child. "It looks like fun, little Johnny, doesn't it? Take a spin on it, won't you?.......what's that? You vomited all over mommy's Waterford crystal collection? Oh that's too bad. sorry to hear about that."

Thanks Fischer-price. Childhood apparentaly didn't have enough challenges until you came around with your sick and twisted ideas of pleasure. You are the reason my stomach is dead! You subjected it to space-shuttle gravitational force when I was 3! Way to go jerks.

post-hospital pondering

2008-07-08T13:31:00.000-07:00

I started out my Tuesday feeling hopelessly subdued. I spent yet another day in the hospital tethered to a heart monitor. I had been feeling chest pain since Saturday after a very tiring cardio circuit. I at first thought my sports bra had been too tight, but instead of going away after I changed clothing, it grew stronger. It ached when I inhaled, picked objects up, laid down, or brought myself back to a sitting position.
Still, I thought it was costochondritis, an inflammation of the cartilage in the chest wall that is relatively common among athletes, so I ignored it. On Sunday, however, I felt absurdly weak in my legs, and had to concentrate hard to keep propelling my feet forward to walk. Yesterday morning my husband had trouble waking me up, and I had difficulty getting out of bed. I still went to work (again I am used to this) but remarked to a friend about the pain I was having.
"Don't you have a blood clotting disorder?" she asked, bringing up a good point that I hadn't once considered in the three days of pain I'd been having. I called for a consultation with a nurse, who literally screamed at me, threatening to call 911 to my location if I didn't do it myself. I had my husband come pick me up instead, and off we went to the hospital, where Like Cheers.....everyone knows my name.
My EKG was hooked up and the first obvious finding was an exceptionally low heart rate...in the 30s. I shrugged it off because I am a really fit girl and probably have a strong heart, but my kidney tests came back abnormal which they thought meant the bradycardia wasn't normal, and could potentially explain the fatigue and weakness.
The other running theory is (and I am getting so tired of this one) lupus. That the inflammation and pain in my chest was from pleurisy/pericarditis or both which are both indicative of an inflammatory process such as SLE. Last year I had a lupus scare for the following reasons because several of my issues add up. But there are glaring omissions as well, which is why I doubt that's what's going on. I don't have too much joint pain, other than inflammation in my elbows and shoulders from weight lifting. I don't have positive ANA antibodies, also a big one. I do not have a malar rash or much skin involvement. My sed rate was normal last year.
But I have to meet with both a cardiologist and a rheumatologist to see what's going on.

13 weeks and counting!

2008-07-05T19:49:00.001-07:00

Let me explain........myself.

I was confronted with a question recently in which my response shocked the person doing the asking. A coworker asked if i was going to win the competition i have been working so tirelessly for.
"Nope. I probably won't even place." I said, and continued working without an ounce of regret.
"Then why are you doing this to yourself? it seems like you're working awfully hard to not even place."
I smiled. "It's not about that" I said. I then offered him a summarized version of the following:

I have been through a lot. I was born with several defects that finally started shutting down internal organs when I was 13. I never really felt that great, all the way until just after my marriage at which time these problems were finally discovered. I was attempting my first competition then, and was upset when I learned I had to give up something I'd worked so hard for in lieu of a major operation. (I admittedly did ask for a postponement, but the surgeon said I'd never live that long......kind of convincing for me to stop and have the surgeries!)

That was a long and lengthy ordeal that was riddled with hospitalizations, complications, liver failure, blood clots.....etc etc etc. Still recovering, however I set my sights on competition attempt #2. But I was worn out. I had developed depression, which oddly enough is a common side effect from abdominal surgeries. I was still tired from the anesthesia, and a life-threatening dosage of Coumadin kept my ambitions at bay, and in fact once landed me in the hospital with internal bleeding. I did manage to keep up as much as possible, even going so far as competing in my first triathlon. But at that time, another doctor discovered I had severe obstructive sleep apnea from grossly scarred tonsils and adenoids, which were removed last August. That was the final nail in the coffin for competition numero dos. In fact it was around this time, that my gastroenterologist told me that figure competition would never be possible for me, in regards to my stomach and intestines.

We'll see about that! This is year #3....and despite having to cope daily with several Gastrointestinal disorders, I am feeling strong and dedicated. I don't care what my doctor's say I can or cannot do. What happened to "mind over matter?" I am going to prove that old mantra by showing that I do have a measure of control over my own body. It is a challenge, yes, and it will be harder for me than other people. But I can't focus on that; it isn't productive.

Instead, I focus on what fitness has given me. A sense of self. Of strength. To know that if I put my mind to it, limits are only a temporary entitity. It is gratifying to know that barriers are obstacles put there for the sheer purpose of bringing them down. But the best of all is that i can face my image in the mirror and see the person I always knew was there. Aside from all of my crazy health issues, lets not forget that I went through high school college as overweight with literally no self-esteem. I hated myself, and frequently became emotional while having to see my reflection. My crazy lifestyle is the reason for my current self-confidence. isn't that worth the sacrifice?

which brings me back to my original question.....why am I doing this with no chance of winning? Because I am doing this to prove that I CAN. Sounds cliche, trust me I know, but it is also the truth. In subsequent years I will refine my physique and go for the gold. But for now, getting on the stage will bring me more sense of accomplishment than any trophy ever could.

Energy Levels Down

2008-07-05T10:20:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a rest day, and even rest was taking too much energy from me. I can't tell exactly where this fatigue is coming from. I guess the obvious answer would be the diet/work out combination. The diet is really low carb and the work out plan demands a lot out of me, but I've done this before and didn't feel the change that I do now.
Yesterday I got up, at breakfast, drank coffee and then crashed into my recliner with my heating pad and a good book. Then I took a long hot bath, which tired me out to the point of needing a three hour nap in my hammock. The most tiring thing I did was walk the 1 mile down to the marina to watch the Des Moines fireworks, and then the return trip back to my house. And that was more than enough: by the time I was home I could barely stand up.
Today seems better so far, but we'll see as the day progresses and I head off to the gym.

more fitness stuff

2008-06-30T09:15:00.001-07:00

I could not even begin to accurately describe how unbelievably sore I am. I am hurting so badly my in intercostals are flaming with every inhale. I am dizzy, I want to vomit, or faint. And I am a needlessly complaining about everything.

I started a new program on Saturday. My diet has gotten very low carb and until July 25th, looks like this:

Meal 1: 1/2 grapefruit, 6 egg whites w/ 1 whole egg
Meal 2: two scoops protein, 1/2 grapefruit
Meal 3: 5 oz. lean meat, 2 c. green veggies
Meal 4: 6 oz lean meat, 2 c. green veggies
Meal 5: 10 egg whites, 1 c. veggies

every third day: meal 6 (carbup) 1/2 c. oats, 2 tbsp PB, 8 oz sweet potato, and 1 c. veggies

Today is my third day and thus carb-meal tonight! If I can survive today (big IF) it will be like Christmas. A lot of people are surprised at how low calorie I am, with 14 weeks left to go. The answer is of course, because I have much more challenges than the average bodybuilder. In a sport that requires a lot of eating, I am a girl with Chronic and severe Gastrointestinal motility disorders. I need to have a much tougher regiment than anyone else, or I will never make it to the stage.

so despite being majorly carb depleted, my workout regiment has become much more involved. which comes to the reason why I feel near death today. Saturday (day 1) started with the most amazing arm workout I've ever had, making PRs on most of my weights

Barbell "buddy" curls (55 reps, 2 sets at 40 lbs)
Incline DB curls 3 x 6 x 50lbs
Preacher Curls 3 x 12 w/ 45lb plate (plus whatever the machine weighs-forgot to check)
Weighted bench dips 3 x 20 x bw
triceps pressdowns 3 x 15 x 50lbs
skull crushers3 x 12 x 60lbs

Cardio circuit:
jump rope, 1 minute
Jumping jacks 30 seconds
bench wide lateral jumps 25 reps

this went on for 30 minutes

That, not the arms, was what killed me. First I was an idiot by doing the cardio in my hiking sandals, and not my running shoes. By nighttime my calves were as hard as rocks and on fire. I had a terrible time trying to sleep.

Then yesterday Andy and I went hiking. On days 3 and 6 I have a lighter lifting schedule (only abs and calves) but am supposed to do 2 hours of lower to moderate intensity cardio beforehand. Because Andy and I love to hike, we decided that was the perfect way to get this done. Since my legs and back (jump roping tired out my lats) were still pretty worn out, we found a trail that a website listed as "easy", a 7 mile round trip. This would have been perfect, about exactly 2 hours....had the website not been a total LIE.

we got lost in snow. on a 92 degree day at the end of June.

The trip up was great: a beautiful view of Snoqualmie pass. But it was a steep ascent and not easy on my already sore legs. After 2 hours we were knee deep in avalanche-prone snow cover. In our sandals (I decided not to wear my hiking boots since the trail was listed erroneously as 'easy' and I assumed we would not ascend into the snowline). eventually we ended up in a forest, looking for Annette Lake, and because the trail and the trail markers were buried in snow, we lost our bearings. Luckily we ended up hearing a dog bark from the trail and found our way back up through that. (we had wandered a quarter-mile west of the actual trail). On the way back I fell in a creek. I had thought I was crossing snow-covered ground, but in truth it was over water. Because it was such a hot day, the ice had weakened, and collapsed underneath the weight of me and my pack. It was only about a two foot drop and the creek only came up to my knees, but it was quite a shock nevertheless, lol.

5 hours, 15 miles, no carbs, and 4 bloody hiking-sandal-clad feet later, we got back down. When we got home I still had every intention of working my abs and calves, but after falling asleep in the bathtub, I knew it wasn't going to happen. I was so sore and tired I was delirious (still am if you couldn't tell). From the feel of it, I had already worked my core and calves more than was needed.

did I mention today is leg day?

Barbell squats 3-4 x 6-20
ss w/ walking lunges
Leg press 3-4 sets of 6-20 reps
Leg Extensions 3-4 x 6-20
ss w/ jump squats 3-4 x 6-20
Romanian Deadlifts 3-4 x 6-20
Lying leg curls 3-4 x 6-20
ss w/ jump squats 3-4 x 6-20
calf raises 2 x 20

At least the cardio is ONLY jump roping for 40 minutes of 1 minute on, 1 minute off.

Oh my. It'll be interesting. for sure.

the dumbest thing of all? I can't wait to do that trail again (in boots). What a beautiful and perfect place I live in. :)

Okay I am no longer coherent.

back to fitness

2008-06-24T08:54:00.000-07:00

I've noticed this blog has strayed far from its original purpose; that being to document my journey to the stage. Truth is, I have many different interests and so some of them seep in from time to time. I think that's a healthy part of my contest prep. To focus on one thing intently can bring about a burn out. I still devote what remains of my free time to things like writing and reading, and so my dedication to the figure stage remains unfettered.

Despite spending the last week of May engorging myself on Irish delicacies (and no that is not a paradox!) I'm making excellent progress. After I returned from Ireland, I went in 100% on preparation. I sacrificed birthday cake and instead made my husband put a candle in a fillet of fresh grilled halibut. I had mixed feeling about this. On the one hand I was proud of my willpower, and my incessant drive to get to 10% body fat. I realized how far I had come in the last two years to reaching my goal. On the other hand I was indignant at how much competing takes away from you. I couldn't even have a slice of birthday cake! Then last Friday my husband threw me a party. My kitchen was filled with goodies. My husband baked two cakes that smelled heavenly, and favorites such as stuffed grape leaves, foccacia, and Spanish white wine filled the air with an aroma that almost drove me insane. I kept away but it wasn't easy.

Now I'm sore, extremely so. I can't figure out my own body. For the past three weeks my legs have been sluggish and somewhat unresponsive to whatever I tell them to do. It progressed until Friday, when my left leg went numb, collapsed from beneath me, and I plummeted head first down a concrete flight of stairs. When I stopped tumbling, I didn't dare move for several minutes, sure that I was hurt. When I finally did, I was amazed to find myself relatively unscathed. My heel hurt, I bruised my ribs and had several sore spots around my back, but I stood up, and walked away. For being such an unlucky girl, that was a very lucky moment. (in an unlucky situation!) best of all, my broken toe (a stupid injury sustained in Ireland) was fine. I have stopped taping it up now and am walking fine.

So the fall concerns me, though there are several non-serious reasons for why my leg did what it did. The first and most probable is that my tummy meds cause an array of neurological symptoms. Second is that I'm newly on a very low carb diet and in addition, gave up caffeine cold turkey. That could explain the sluggishness as well. But it's still there, and still unwavering.

Still, in the last two years I've become uber-paranoid about the slightest symptoms. This may be because the last time I shrugged off a problem, I literally almost killed myself. So it seems understandable for me to be a little nervous about things my body does now.

At this point I am 14.5 weeks from my show, and well within reach of it. I am officially registered for the Iron Man and have a suit designer geared up for making my two piece. After two attempts marred by surgeries, I find it hard to believe I'm making it this time. It's gotten tough: I have two daily cardio splits and one weight training session every day, and as I mentioned, had to become even more strict with my carbs. I'm exhausted, and need to try to get 8-9 hours of sleep on a more frequent basis, but other than that I am dropping fat. I will get there!

what happened to poetry?

2008-05-20T07:22:00.000-07:00

I spent the better part of my morning on King County metro scaring other passengers. They had to have been questioning my sanity: with rain soaked glasses and hair frizzy on behalf of a Seattle trademark rainy day, dribbling coffee down the front of my anorak as I laughed uproariously over what probably seemed like nothing.
What brought this on? Metro's attempt at invoking a 'cultural atmosphere' on their buses. They could have done any number of things to make we the passengers more comfortable during our commute. For one, they could have put in air fresheners, as the perpetual scent of urine and vomit does little to my palette. They could have played classical music over the radio, rather than the driver droning on continuously over his/her latest relationship sagas.
What they didn't need to do, was post the world's worst poetry above our heads. On most days I find myself shaking my head with disgust, wondering what happened to poetry in the last decade. This morning, however, the poetry reached such a level that it struck in me a laughter cord that I could not repress until I had finally reached my destination.
When poets need away with the conventional rules of poetry, they did it in the name of liberation: freedom so that they had free range to convey deep meaning that poetry is intended for. I disagree: without the traditional constraints in poetry, the genre has become a nonsensical clusterf*ck (excuse the language, but it is the best adjective to describe it).

Let me exemplify my frustration. Thanks to Seattle local Mr Ray Baldwin, we have this precious treasure:

Biscuit, my duckling. Lamb.
whose woolly coat I comb. My own
Nubbin.
Pink button, shine of my leaving
pinkly. meant for my hand to cup
clean licked foal, tadpole
a push against my pull
and still
I try to spread my fingers wide
enough to let you go

I find myself compelled to ask Mr. Baldwin: were you under anesthesia? Did you suffer irreparable brain trauma? Were you high on illegal narcotics? Please tell me there is some extenuating circumstance for this unspeakably horrifying train wreck! This is not poetry! Poetry has meaning. It doesn't need to be plainly obvious, but after three or four times I should be able to dig out some hidden message buried within. T.S. Eliot takes a few tries to understand, but there's SOMETHING there, other than a pile of sewage steaming beneath the afternoon sun. If the great poets of our past were brought to life, they would die immediately of shock after seeing what has happened to their beloved genre.

Listen, just because you string a bunch of pretty words together doesn't make you a poet, it makes you a dictionary. And using the word 'ethereal' 9 billion times in a stanza doesn't make you seem intellectual, especially when used out of context.

Just because you do write poetry doesn't mean you should. My morning commute is challenging enough on its own, with Seattle's characteristically bad traffic, and dirty buses that only know consistency in their ability to run late. I don't need nightmarish attempts at poetry to complicate the matters.

Then again, perhaps I should adopt the mantra of 'if you can't beat them, join them'

The moonbeam tilts
over the fresh baguette
muttering in French vernacular
and shining with an ethereal luminosity
that bind to the elements in this realm
and I eat it

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the end of the literary world: contemporary poetry.

cake frosting

2008-04-09T12:38:00.000-07:00

I normally don't get too many cravings during prep, but I have been on a serious frosting kick. All I want is to sit down with one of those canisters of betty crocker chocolate buttercream frosting and stuff myself into oblivion. Of course, I won't. But in my dreams I am in buttercream heaven.

Really, this prep is going by better than I ever could have imagined. Despite being told this wasn't a possibility for me, it is rapidly becoming one. I can't deny there is still plenty of progress to be had, but for once, I am actually looking like a competitor. There is noticable definition in my arms and legs, my abs are flatter, my lats are wider. It will be years before I have the symmetry and conditioning needed for a procard, but I'm on a great track right now.

I'm also having an easy time with diet (minus the urge to frost my innards with chocolate) and that is making a huge difference in my motivation. The twice sabotaged attempts at competing have proven very useful for me, because although I have never competed, I feel like a veteran in prepping for the show. I'm well balanced between the problems with my stomach and with the contest prep, which I wasn't sure I could do.

I only have two potential hindrances, and one of them I doubt will end up being that way in the long run. First, my shoulder. After 8 weeks of physical therapy it was feeling great and both my physical therapist and I thought I had escaped a need for surgery. I was finally cleared for some delt work, and on sunday I celebrated with one of the best chest/tri/delt workouts I've ever had. But on high lateral raises something suddenly didn't feel right. It wasn't painful but not altogether normal either so I backed off from the rest of the delt work.

Then last night, ironically reaching for a tub of protein powder on my kitchen counter, I heard a snapping sound and my shoulder suddenly erupted with pain. I can't say it was dislocated, because 15 seconds later I could move it again, and the pain lessened, but that 15 seconds was worrisome. Today it's sore but not unbearable, though I am having some issues with mobility and when I rotate my shoulder it pops painfully. I am praying this is still remedied without surgery. I'm doing too well. I'm too excited and too motivated for this contest. I don't want any more postponments, but I'm not about to compromise the future of my shoulder. we shall tomorrow, after my doc's appointment.

another unrelated posst to fitness

2008-03-30T18:11:00.000-07:00

what happens when you know you were meant for a certain goal, but were NOT meant for the path one has to take to reach it? how to reconcile something like that?

Through the vast 23 years of my life, I have thought of becoming many different things in my adult life. I wanted to be a Spanish teacher, a Biology teacher, an astrophysicist, an actress, a fighter pilot, a paleontologist, and a nutritionist. but there are two more options that have always been on my mind, and that is being a writer (an endeavor I'm actually putting effort into) and a doctor.

Everybody has their strengths and their weaknesses. Knowing that I have a plethora of weaknesses (I struggle with math, totally blank out on politics and am not the handiest mechanic around) I also feel it not conceited to note I have a gift to practice medicine. That is my strength, my passion, and my delight. The human body is a fantastic thing: multifaceted and complex, and a deep gratification comes over when I can explain to somebody why their body acts a certain way.

I can be slightly shy at times, and can have trouble finding words in a social situation. But bring up lupus? I will immediately cite you the criteria used in diagnosis, as well as the titer your antinuclear antibodies would need to be for a positive result. Talk about prada and hairstyles and I'll blank out. mention the ampulla of vater and I'll instantly transform into a talking gastroenterology textbook.

This morning I was sought after by two different people for medical advice. This happens frequently, and I often turn out to be right. reading medical texts for fun would eventually endow your with the same knowledge that the doctors have in their field. And I knew with both of these people what was ailing them. (Long QT syndrome and Endometriosis, respectively.)

so why am I not in medical school? Because my own illnesses struck so vehemently in college that I almost had to withdraw. Looking back on it I should have; I could have begun again afresh, and ready to tackle the 4.0 needed for medical school admission. Instead I called myself pitiful and weak for succumbing to the pressures of pre-med. I was ashamed of myself. I didn't realize why I felt so awful those 3.5 years. I didn't have medical insurance. I thought it was all in my head, brought about by the extreme stress that is pre-med.

how ironic, that the thing I wanted to study most, Gastroenterology, was what ruined my chances to study it.

In short, my GPA is not up to med school standards. It isn't bad, by any means, but medical school requires almost flawless marks. the university of Washington medical school told me to pursue another degree, preferably masters or phD, and then try again.

I am almost 24 years old., and approaching my second wedding anniversary. I can't quit my job and become a full time student. (our mortgage sees to that) That tacks on additional years to my education. I'd be approximately 28 or 29 before I could even start medical school, and that is about the time I want to pursue the only other thing I've ever wanted more than being a doctor:

a family. How can I have kids when I'm going through medical school. Then what about residency? fellowships, clinics, weekend conferences. Not to mention the 200,000 dollars in debt I'd be. How could I do that to my husband and my future children?! But do I really want to stay in research? I'm reasonably good at what I do....but not with the same aptitude that I would have with practicing medicine. It's a different mindset, in a different world.

I wonder if I will always regret not becoming a doctor. But I also wonder, if I did become one, if I would regret all the time I spent not living my life?

splenda haters

2008-03-20T13:23:00.000-07:00

you are driving me insane. Knock it off. Stop telling me how bad splenda is in between bites of your big mac. Every day I eat about 6 cups of green veggies, half a grapefruit, nonfat cottage cheese, egg whites, 1/3 cup of oatmeal, grilled chicken, and whey protein. I drink two gallons of water a day, one cup of coffee, and two cups of tea. I take a multivitamin, and supplement with Vitamin C, calcium, and fish oil.

I work out 6 days a week: 5 days I go running at 4 in the morning. 6 days I lift weights. I walk over two miles a day. I've never smoked once in my life, and I have wine once or twice a year. So stop criticizing me! Especially if your idea of fitness is walking to Haagen Daz or playing Nintendo Wii....I think I'm on a pretty good path here.

By the way........your pizza will kill you waaaaaay before my artifical sweeteners kill me.

So shut up. Thanks.

Celebrate Life Day

2008-03-12T08:34:00.000-07:00

A friend, and founder of G-Pact (Gastroparesis awareness) sent me a message a few days ago asking me to participate in "celebrate life day". I had thought the idea was wonderful and inspiring, but didn't know how to personalize it for myself and therefore never responded to her.

then, last night, heading back home to Des Moines after a rigorous upper body work out, I came across a very grave situation. As I approached my bus stop, I could see a pair of legs lying motionless on the sidewalk. I passed around a group of stoic and immobile people, about a dozen in all, to ask a man who was kneeling on the concrete if everything was under control with the man who lay unconscious beside him.

"Nah....I think he's dead"

I felt a torrent of anger and adrenaline rush through my veins as I knelt beside him, and asked in a very sour tone, why the heck everybody was just standing there watching this poor man die. Somebody answered that they'd called 911 and 'what else can we do?' because not one of them knew CPR.

At that point the man had a weak and thready pulse, but upon cupping my hand over his right eye and then removing it, noted that his pupils were fixed and dilated. I knew he was in rough shape, and about the same moment as that revelation, his pulse ceased. I rolled him from his side to his back, unzipped his vest and sweatshirt, and commenced CPR.

Always in first aid class, you wonder if you would be able to remember all of the steps if you were faced with needing to do it on a real person. There isn't that same sense of urgency with the rubber dummy. But this is the second time I've been faced with this situation, and I can now say that nothing becomes clearer than when you are handed the task of trying to save a life. It comes almost reflexively.

When it came time to administer rescue breathing after the first round of chest compressions, I knew I was faced with a problem. I didn't have a CPR mask on me (ironically it was one of the only days I didn't) and knew that I couldn't make mouth to mouth contact with the man. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something bright pink, and I recognized it as a drinking straw from a smoothie I had finished minutes before. Knowing at that point, sanitation wasn't an issue for him, I grabbed it, and used it to deliver breaths. It actually didn't work well; his teeth were clenched, and his chest didn't rise, so after a round of it, I tossed it back on the ground, and continued.

At that point a Seattle officer came and took over compressions for me, while I kept his airway clear. We briefly considered the pen-tracheotomy when we finally heard the sirens screaming down 2nd ave. (which was good because admittedly.....I had no idea how to jam a pen in somebody's trachea!) When the medics sprinted for him, I quickly backed out of the way to let them work. They checked his vitals, looked at the officer and me, and said "You got a pulse back!!!!"

I couldn't help but cry. The officer and I congratulated and hugged each other, and the large crowd of people that had gathered to watch curiously (and morbidly) began to applaud. CPR works roughly 20% of the time that a victim loses their pulse. That guy was of that minority. Of course, I know he's not out of the woods, by any means. But a kind police officer and I did everything we possibly could, and he was alive when we were relieved by the medics.

I've never been hugged by so many people. Everyone asked if I was okay, if I needed a ride home. One kind old lady asked if I wanted to go have a glass of wine. Finally, the officer helped escort me to my bus stop. When I was there, a few ladies that stood there had also been part of the audience, and exclaimed "oh my God, it's the girl who was doing CPR!' and the questions and handshakes began all over again.

This wasn't what I expected to do on my way home last night. But it was one of the most amazing experiences of my life, despite the sorrow of the man's situation. What bothered me, though, was the lack of response from other people. Many had walked right by him, even going so far as to step over him! The others gathered only to watch him draw a dying breath. This could all have been altered if any one of them knew CPR. so for my friend Carissa, I will be promoting CPR awareness for her 'celebrate life day'. After last night I realized that life is the strongest force known, and yet with unpredictable frailty. We all owe it to each other as one race to have the knowledge to preserve that force in one another.

the muffin

2008-03-04T14:04:00.000-08:00

wow I was angry at myself last night. My inlaws are in town, and just like last year, wasted no time whatsoever in stocking the house with crappy food. It's apalling ,really. My jaw dropped open as my father in law proudly carried in "breakfast" into my kitchen. It was a metric ton of cream cheese danishes garnished with icing, and chocolate chip muffins the size of my face. In my cupboard alongside my oats and whey, were massive bags of chips and cookies. Shoved on top of my eggs in the fridge was an enormous cherry pie that had to be somewhat mutlitated to even fit on the shelf. My diet soda was pushed back in lieu of "real soda". One bag of edamame was sacrificed to make room for frozen pizza.

I was a little repulsed. but then yesterday, I did something I have never once done in my prep for the stage: I ate a muffin. I don't even like muffins all that much, at least not enough to feel okay with wasted hundreds of calories on! I've always been strong during prep. I wasn't craving it either. I was home alone, with my dog, my cat, and a countertop laden with chocolate muffins, and the next thing I know, I'm wiping crumbs from my mouth and feeling like a total ass.

I wanted to blame my inlaws for this; after all, they were the ones that brought that crap into my house. But who am I kidding? It's not their fault. they weren't forcing me at gun point to eat that thing. (as I mentioned, I was alone) I had every chance to say no, but I didn't, and now I'm about 600 calories in a guilty debt.

who on earth would ever consider a muffin an acceptable breakfast anyway?! It's a BALD CUPCAKE! It's like a mother telling her child he/she can't have a kitkat for breakfats, but then making french toast. There's no difference!

When I bring myself off of this shame spiral I've sent myself on, I do know it isn't the end of the world. I'm not competing until October (on account of my injured shoulder) and 7 months is more than enough time to recuperate from my faux-pas. It did remind me that my old compulsive eating self is still buried back there somewhere, and maybe it was a good time to let me know I should keep my diet varied. I've been too machin-like lately. No real spices and the same things day in and day out. I thought it wasn't bothering me, but maybe it is.

I am a total spoiled brat

2008-03-01T09:18:00.000-08:00

Here's my so-called dilemma (You'll understand why I titled this post the way I did momentarily)

My husband and I have been dying to go to Hawaii for a while. He's been to Maui a few times but I've never been to the island at all. We were unable to take a relaxing vacation last year together. I went to NYC for a week to visit my best friend, and we went back to Ithaca for a week when my brother-in-law graduated from high school (on our first wedding anniversary, no less!) But other than that I was on a boatload of medication that really made me sick and prevented me from doing a lot. so anyway the last vacation we took just for us was our honeymoon, in July of 06. We planned on going to Hawaii the last week of May.

Then my husband picked me up yesterday, with the look of someone who's deep in thought. "we have to make a decision," he said. His parents had called and told us they were planning on a family trip to Ireland, that very same week in May.

we were now forced to choose between Hawaii, and my favorite place in the entire world; Ireland.

earlier in that day, Andy had contacted me to say that 5 or 6 of our friends would also be going to Hawaii, and we'd all share hotel rooms. Luckily, it would only be from the Thursday through Sunday (half of the trip) but whereas he was ecstatic by the idea, I was not a happy girl. Don't get me wrong, I love our friends, but like I said, we hadn't had a vacation just the two of us since we went to Mexico, so I was a little disappointed.

However, going to Ireland would be with his entire family. and here's another kicker: we only pay for our air fare to Chicago. That's it. 247 dollars per person. (his family is amazing, by the way. They are the most generous people I've ever met in my life)

so we went home before heading out to see some friends, so we could draw out pro versus cons. It was almost evenly matched between the two, and when we finally left the house to go to the party, we still hadn't decided. Andy was downright grumpy trying to figure it out. And then I made the decision.

"Andy, the thing is, Hawaii will always be there for us. It will costs us roughly the same amount to go whether we go in May, later in the year, or wait until next year. When are we ever going to get the chance to go to Ireland, all expenses paid, again? Besides, your mom said this was likely the only chance we'd ever have to have all of us be able to go on vacation together."

I called his mom and let her know we'd canceled on Hawaii to be able to go to Ireland with them. The joy in her voice was tangible, and made me more than pleased with my decision.

But when we got off the phone, Andy and i were both quiet for a few minutes, like we'd lost something. Until I began to laugh "Andy, you do realize what's going on, right?"

"what?"

"The biggest problem we're facing right now, is that we just postponed our trip to Hawaii for 5 or 6 months, because we HAVE to go to Ireland!!!!!!! What the hell is the matter with us?!"

he began to laugh too, realizing that we had actually took this dilemma to heart.

Later that night I couldn't sleep because it was hitting me that I was going back to a place where I desperately would want to live if we could. I LOVE Ireland. I'm obsessed with it. I studied there three years ago, and cried when I had to leave. While I was lying in bed last night, I tried to retrace the streets of Galway in my mind. It will be so surreal to go back to the city I lived in, to visit with my host family, and to be able to introduce them to the guy I spoke so much about.

As funny as I thought the whole ordeal was, something did in fact make me a little uneasy. I do feel I'm becoming the spoiled kid i detested so much in high school. I grew up in a poor family, and got a paper route in 6th grade just so I could afford to join the swim team, and buy some clothes that might help me fit in. i watched so many other kids with richer families get whatever they wanted, without having to feel thankful for any of it.

As much as I resented my family's financial status as a teenager, I grew ever grateful for it when I was in college. I struggled hard to get myself through school, but I learned the value of money, and of hard work. I learned to not take for granted the good things that came from my labor. I felt that the struggle had enabled me to grow as a person, and brought me to a maturity level far more vast than my 20 years.

But here I am, just a little more than 2 years later, and I wonder if I'm losing that. Do I wish I were poor again? Of course not. Andy maybe I'm making this out to be more than it is, but being poor was almost a piece of my identity when I was younger, because it was what strove me to work as hard as I could to get out of that. Now I'm out of it, I'm comfortable. I'm whining about having to choose between Hawaii and Ireland, and I was serious about it. I don't want to become the person I hated when I was in school!

why do I have to make an issue out of everything? lol.

yet another obstacle.

2008-02-29T07:47:00.000-08:00

Somewhere in November, I began to notice a very slight "pulling" sensation in my right shoulder when I doing upright rows. This pulling sensation was only slightly painful, not enough to really dwell on it other than to jot in down in the note section of my w/o journal. As the weeks progressed, though, I did begin to notice that more and more exercises were causing that shoulder to ache. Knowing I was putting myself at risk for injury, I stopped working my delts directly to let them rest. It was only a few weeks ago that I began working them again, and they felt great.

Then last week I began to notice that my shoulder was hurting (again, only slightly) when I was doing any kind of upper body work. Lat pulldowns were especially rough, so I decided to re-make the appointment with a sports medicine doctor. (I had had to cancel my previous one because of jury duty)

Yesterday, the doctor walked into my room and asked what had brought me in. I replied, verbatim "well I feel kind of silly for coming in, actually. It hasn't been hurting much at all, and when it does, it has never been bad."

She nodded, and preceded to twist my arms around my body like a pretzel. on three different occasions my shoulder really did hurt, and she sighed and said "this is a textbook labrum tear."

"You're kidding me!!!!" I was in complete shock, and it showed. I thought I was being so responsible, and I only thought I was going to PREVENT a tear....not to be diagnosed with one! I went back to my other training journal and read the words "I know far too many bodybuilders who train with torn rotator cuffs thinking it's nothing more than a muscle pull, and I don't want to be one of them" How ironic.

Now I'm going to go through 8 weeks of physical therapy to avoid needing surgery. if everything works itself out, great. if not..... well I guess we'll see in 8 weeks.

I can't decide exactly on what I'm feeling right now. I'm exasperated by how much disaster I seem to distract to myself. When I was looking at my training journal, it seemed more like a log of mishaps than actual exercise. surgery, surgery, surgery, flu, twisted ankle in a pothole, surgery, blood clots, coumadin, pneumonia, shoulder......

I am indeed a personification of Friday the 13th.

On the other hand, I'm also varying between apathetic and amused by the whole thing. It hasn't really affected my drive to get on stage, although I do know that this will kill my chances at placing well. (my delts are the one muscle group that is in major need of growth. Now I won't be able to train them until I'm about 8 weeks from contest) On the other hand, though, winning or even coming close to winning hasn't been a thought to me at all. Eventually I would like to earn a pro card, yes, but after all that's gone down, I simply just want to be able to get on stage. It sounds cliche, and Disney-esque, but really what is comes down to, is to do it for me and nobody else. I've been trying to do this for over two years now. I need to prove to myself that I have what it takes before I try to reach anyone else.

so what's another challenge? ;) If I can get through everything else but then balk at a torn labrum, then what kind of message is that?

I'm still in this.

Pneumonia

2008-02-21T19:58:00.000-08:00

So I'll give a moral of the story before I even tell the story itself: never and I mean NEVER brag to your friends that you don't catch colds.

here was the scenario: a beautiful sunny Seattle day about 3-4 weeks ago, walking to an espresso place with my friends from work. One of them asked about my surgeries, and after I was finished she gave me a look and said "oh you poor thing!"

to which I replied "yeah.....but at least I never catch colds

fast forward to two weeks ago, after my husband brings home a dreadful cold, and passes it right over to she-who-never-catches-colds. It was AWFUL. i had jury duty at the time, and sat in a terribly uncomfortable courthouse chair blowing my nose until it bled. People kept giving me apologetic smiles, and moved away from me while clutching their bottles of purell. I looked disgusting!

It had begun to go away and I was back in the gym, but last Thursday night I developed a cough, which worsened steadily through the weekend. I have had pneumonia many times (I used to get it a lot as a kid) but was vaccinated against it in 1999 because I am so susceptible. Apparently the vaccine didn't work as well as I had planned it to. Monday morning I was having a hard time breathing because there was phlegm in my lungs. I knew what it was and the doctor confirmed it, saying "your right lung sounds like it's underwater. you really are very sick, young lady"

When we got back in the car after the appointment I looked at my husband with an incredulous look and shouted "Son of a bitch! My body betrays me every chance it gets!!!!"

so yeah......I NEVER get sick, huh? This is fate kicking my ass. I deserve this.

The worst part of pneumonia is not being able to work out. when I have a head cold, I usually truck right through and am none the worse for it. But this is different. still, I tried to tell myself on tuesday that I could eek out a light w/o. The 2 mile walk to the gym winded me enough as it was, but still I was stupid and tried a chest w/o. I was halfway delirious throughout most of it....almost always on the brink of either passing out, hacking up a lung, or both. After 4 exercises it finally dawned on me what an idiot I was being, and so I walked the 2 miles back home.

Then last night was to be my weekly 3 hour stint at the gym while my hubby was at class down the road. I was dead set on going, although Andrew kept giving me looks that suggested he was married to a crazy lady (arguably....those looks were pretty damn accurate). He didn't protest, knowing full well how stubborn I am, and how I do not think clearly when under the influence of insanity. But right as he was about to leave for class, he said "Oh...I brought your codeine cough syrup. why don't you hop in the car and take some?"

I did, and he revved the engine and peeled out from the parking spot before I even had the chance to protest. He gave me a triumphant look and said "There was no chance I was going to let you work out in your condition" and he parked me in front of a fireplace at his school with an espresso, where I read for three hours.

I love my husband. :)

so now I'm just recovering and counting the minutes before I can do cardio again. I've kept my diet clean, but that irrational idiot inside of me feels fat. I instead focused my efforts on registering for my figure competition. I finally did it! I am a member of the INBF and an official competitor for the Washington championships in August! This really is going to happen! (assuming I don't tempt fate much more in that time span, haha)

gym class hero

2008-02-10T16:13:00.000-08:00

I realized today I'm becoming a huge fitness snob. I enthusiastically went to the gym today, despite the fact I have the flu. (stupid I know.....but it's going to get worse and wanted to get in a solid w/o before I can't)

I was doing rocky presses when an enormous guy lugged over a barbell near me and began to curl with it. I couldn't help staring at his physique during my set. He was gigantic in a way that can only be described as......unnatural as %$@#. It looks like someone had injected a mass of cotton balls into his calves, and they were like knotted tree trunks. I was guessing snythol, and then was even more certain when I watched the guy work out. The barbell that he was curling in a loud disgruntled anguish, was....... 10 pounds. I stifled the urge to laugh, even more so when he couldn't finish 8 reps. He tossed the barbell on the ground, dramatically, wiped sweat from his brow, and preceded to spend the next 15 minutes on the phone bragging about how he was "shredding it at the gym." he then dragged his beloved pink barbell over to the same corner where I was doing preacher curls with my husband, did 5 wrist curls, and then, doubled over in agony, called somebody else to talk about how he was "dominating".

if he talked about his guns I was prepared to throttle him with the 10-pounder. For a shy person, I had no qualms about being openly hostile. I really wanted to tell him, in my feverish delirium, how ridiculous he looked and that he wasn't fooling anybody that he wasn't chemically or hormonally enhanced.

Then I felt badly, because who am I to judge what he does to himself? I guess it's his decision if he wants to ruin his body with steroids, but I can't help but feel disdained. The "naturals" spend years carefully manipulating their physiques. they have to constantly assess, revamp diet and w/os to assure correct width, tone, symmetry, etc. I hate that people think it's perfectly okay to bypass the actual challenge, and just maintain the false appearance of it.

it's guys like that give a bad reputation to those who dedicate their lives to doing it right. Now anybody with a lean physique, or anybody that touts the bodybuilder name, is assumed to be on steroids by so many people. People are fine with taking away our integrity.

so forgive me if I get a little bitchy when it comes to steroid use. I know I should be mad at the system rather than the user, because no matter what anybody says, it's difficult to rise to the top of the game without them. Has there ever been a Mr (or Mrs.) Olympia that was 100% natural? I don't know but my guess is no. it's true it isn't fair for top level athletes, and that it's easy to give in to the appeal. But still, I can't help to think that deep down....no matter what the hardships are.....that these people are cheaters.

over training

2008-02-08T21:00:00.001-08:00

I'd like to point out that it's friday night and I'm blogging about my contest prep. Social life, say what?

Actually, my hubby is sick with possible pneumonia, so in between making tea, getting meds, and back rubs, I thought I'd share a few thoughts from my day.

Today was mostly a hellish day. I had to section a brain in the coronal plane, which takes nearly all day. On top of that I had a FAD shift (fixation, acetylation, dehyrdation) for an hour and a half. In my line of lab work you spend your day in ergonomic hell, bent over your station awkwardly and putting your shoulder into your work.

so when I grumpily walked into the break room holding a carton of nonfat cottage cheese and half a grapefruit, I didn't expect a comment that ended up giving my day a 180 degree attitude adjustment.

"Holy crap, Erika. You look jacked!" I looked at my coworker, confused and with a questioning look.

"I mean your arms. You can see your biceps, and your shoulders right through your shirt. And that shirt isn't meant to be tight, is it? God you have big muscles."

another coworker chimed in "yeah Erika, you could seriously kick my ass"

I was dumbstruck with joy. keep in mind I am very self-conscious about my arms, considering them puny and asymmetrical to my tree-trunk legs. So to have somebody say otherwise, made my day.

and got me so pumped I immediately regretted my decision to lighten my training over the weekend. I'm overtraining, I can feel it in every muscle fiber, joint, internal organ, etc. My right rotator cuff is sore, my glutes hurt so much I can barely sit without wincing, and my arms are still dead from Tuesday's workout. I'm also exhausted beyond comprehension, though when I DO try to sleep, I toss and turn all night.

classical signs of overtraining. But I don't want to stop! I feel better than I have in two years, and that stubborn fat that my doctors said might never go away is lifting! I see my linea alba! How can I slow down when things are progressing so well that I'm in a constant state of motivation???!!! especially when that girl made that comment....I just wanted to get in the gym that moment. But I know I'm only going to harm my chances at competing if I run myself into the ground. I just have to sternly remind myself that giving myself a rest this weekend is as important a training concept as the training itself.

at least I'm not undertraining. I can be happy with the knowledge that I'm so enthusiastic I need to cut down a little, rather than having to face the fact that my heart wasn't in it. I don't think I need to worry about that at this point!

second blog in a day

2008-02-06T19:22:00.000-08:00

I haven't moved much from this spot since I posted this morning. I feel so proud of myself, in having accomplished so much today.

I know the point of sicks days is to rest, but doing nothing drives me crazy. I tried to do some cleaning up around the house; an endeavor that lasted about 15 minutes before I began to shake. I had some coffee, downed some protein, then attempted a run. I half jogged/walked around my block twice before I started to feel like I was going to collapse and went back for a long bath.

I tried to study french. Got bored. Tried reading 'candide' by Voltaire. Got extremely bored. Tried finishing catch-22. got annoyed by the constant contradictions in the novel that are supposed to be humorous but really just annoyed me. Tried reading the joy luck club. Got bored and distracted by an episode of family guy. realized it was a re-run. got bored. came back up and tried to do some writing. Got bored by own characters. Went on myspace. got bored. Went on facebook. Bored.

This is precisely why I will always need a job to keep me occupied. Left to my own devices, I go insane. and would probably blog myself to death. Still, i think my body needed a boring day. I keep feeling like I'm letting myself go, going today without a workout. But the truth is, I'm probably verging on overtraining. With two gym memberships and a one-track mind, I know I can easily run myself into the ground. plus, having a day like this one only fuels my passion to get right back in the gym tomorrow morning.

At least I kept my diet 100% on today.....and was able to keep it down!

the point of this second post was a self-evaluation of where I am on the road to competition. Except after a long hard look in the mirror I'm beginning to think it's less of a road and more of a dirt path carved in a vertical ascent.

My hamstrings are displaying some impressive saggage. My arms are smaller than I would like them to be, and my delts leave something to be desired. I could use wider lats. and my glutes remind me more of apple pies than an apple.

At least I have my quads and calves. they'd never let me down. ;)

I know I sound like a pre-teen with low self-esteem, but that's part of the fitness life. You have to scrutinize your physique with utmost criticism. especially when you're probably around 22% body fat and surrounded by lean beautiful women that look like they could be on stage anywhere, anytime.

Despite the intense amount of work I have before me, I'm mostly undaunted. I have time, and even more heart. Now only if my GODDAM stomach would follow I'd be all set!

sick day, and Happy Lent

2008-02-06T12:58:00.000-08:00

I struggled getting ready for work for about 7 minutes, until I crashed on the sofa and decided it wasn't going to happen. I went back to sleep until noon, and even now I'm contemplating going back to sleep. My stomach has been on and off for a couple weeks, but has mostly been more than manageable. Even now my stomach is fine; I'm just so exhausted small tasks like making coffee are too much. so it's a free day for me.

Today is also Ash Wednesday, which has me thinking a lot about Lent. After taking in everybody's ideas about what to sacrifice, I came to a conclusion we've made a total mockery of these 40 days. And a huge amount of people are treated Lent like a diet plan.

For example, the girl next to me on the bus who was on her cellphone "Oh my God, I'm like totally giving doritos and ice cream up for lent. Like, maybe if I say I'm doing it for God, I'll like totally finally lose some, like, weight."

God. The new weight watchers.

In all seriousness, I think about 90% of people who practice Lent have given up a junk food item, and most of it will do it with the utmost reluctance, and won't miss an opportunity to complain about it. (you all know the inevitable pout, followed by the overly whiny: 'ohhhhh......I caaaaan't. i gave it up for leeeeeeent)

Without sounding preachy, Lent is supposed to be about sacrifice. if you follow Catholicism, then you follow that Jesus sacrificed his life for humanity.

we gave trouble giving up candy.

what have we become? If you can't do it for the right reasons, don't celebrate Lent. There's no sense in being faithful to something you have no real faith in.

thoughts and feeling about the weeks ahead

2008-02-05T11:31:00.000-08:00

I started this week off strongly, as I resisted (for probably the first time in my life) a gluttonous super bowl sunday.
It wasn't easy. Andy and I volunteered to bring the chocolate fountain, to begin with. What a cruel punishment for an aspiring figure competitor to have in her house: a machine that creates a literal cascade of oozing melted chocolate. What's also cruel is that this same competitor-hopeful is married to the world's foremost expert in baking chocolate chip cookies. I can only go running for so long as these little devil-cookies are in their creation, but after an hour or so I run out of steam. And at that point the kitchen counters are laden with cookies, and the scent has permeated through every square nanometer of our home. Now add cookies, dipped in fondue chocolate and you have yourself a serious temptation.
Miraculously, I resisted. Those, and pizza, and chicken wings, and garlic bread. subs, mozzarella sticks, someone's leftover Christmas candy, and chips. I sat there dutifully with my cottage cheese and trying to turn my olfactory mechanics off.

Yesterday wasn't the greatest day in terms of my fitness goals, although I kept my diet clean. I was feeling under the weather, as tends to happen once or twice a week, and had a nagging pain in my lower right hand side that ached every time I took a step. I verged on hypochondria all day as I wondered if my appendix was going, and several times considered leaving work for the emergency room. Somewhere in the vicinity of noontime I finally remembered that my appendix is no logner located on my lower right side, since what remains of my large intestine is tied around my backbone. I was somewhat relieved after that, but the pain still kept me from a workout. I was able, however, to go for a 45 minute run last night.

Today is painfree, thank Goodness, and an exciting day for me, because a few newfound friends from my new job are coming to the gym tonight to lift with me. Normally I prefer to work out alone, simply because in college everybody was chatty when it came to gym-time. However, these girls are pretty hardcore and seem serious minded when it comes to fitness.

In addition to that, I think I'm sick of being on my own in this quest for the stage. Of course I have a supprotive husband, but some times it seems as though the world is out to collectively sabotage my goal to compete. (take ten mintues ago, for example: when someone tried to force king's cake into my mouth. It's called Fat Tuesday for a reason, people. Leave me alone!) So to have people genuinely interested and wanting to participate in what I dedicate half my life to, is exciting!

and I'd continue rambling nonsensically, except today is my first day as an associate in the molecular genetics lab at my institute, and break time is over. Work before working out, I suppose!

goals, dreams, and aspirations

2008-01-30T11:30:00.000-08:00

First: an unecessarily long introduction. My name is Erika Mott (previously known by my friends as Erika Hansen) and I am a 23 year old Biologist living in Seattle Washington with my wonderful husband, whom I was married to on June 3, 2006.

I grew up in a virtually unknown rural town in upstate New York called Otisco, 15 miles south of Syracuse. My family was a hearty farming one, and thrived on fattening foods laden with carbs to fuel the long working days in the fields. When my parents divorced, my father Eric found himself a single father with three young kids. he ebcame so downtrodden with the responsibilities of being a full time parent and a worker, that food was limited to anything fast food. I gained a lot of weight all the way through high school, despite the fact that I was an athlete. The trend of unhealthy eating continued well into college; a pre-med Biology major has little choice but to forgoe sleep and live on whatever the vending machines in the dorms offer.

My outlook and lifestyle would change almost overnight when I moved to Seattle, where my husband (then fiancee) had moved six months before when he was offered a job with Boeing after he graduated from RPI. beforehand he and I shared a common lifestyle, but when I arrived to my new home on New Year's day of 2006, I was immediately struck by how healthy he seemed. His enthusiam for fitness was so contagious thay my first meal on the west coast was a protein shake. It was only a matter of days before Andrew and I began discussing the possibility of me competing. It would take a lot of work and dedication but I decided to try for it, even maintaining a (mostly) clean wedding and honeymoon.

In August of 2006, eleven weeks into contest prep, I woke up jaundiced and nearly stricken immobile with abdominal pain. I wasn't overly surprised: I had suffered from chronic abdominal pain, bloating, vomiting and inretractable nausea since early childhood. My family had labeled me as a hypochondriac, and because we hadn't had medical insurance, left it at that. Now, many years later, I knew I had to finally address the problem.

originally I figured that the worst case scenario was a need to have my gallbladder removed, and that I could possibly postpone the operation until after my contest. So you can imagine the terror I felt the day when I was told I had severe life-threatening defects in my digestive system that would most certainly kill me if left untreated any longer.

I was strong and atheltic looking: I had lost body fat, could run 5k without breaking a sweat. so how on earth could this be possible? It felt so surreal that I barely believed it until I was being put under on the operating table.

On Halloween, 2006 I had four simultaneous surgeries. I had a third of my colon removed, and the remainder of it tied to my backbone. My small intestine, which had collapsed and tangled with the large one, was lifted back up and secured with titanium stents. I also had my gallbladder removed, as I had initially suspected as needing to be done.

two days after the oepration, tied down with catheters, drainage tubes, oxygen, IVs, and an epidural, I began doing hundreds of reps with my small 3 lb running weights. The next day I began doing slow laps with a walker around the post-op wing of Northwest Hospital.

I had been told by my surgeon that I could be looking at a three month hospital stay because surgery performed on digestive organs can shut them down in a condition called post oeprative paralytic ileus. if this was the case, I would gave to have more surgery to have a feeding tube placed in, as well as a colostomy.

Amazingly, my intestines "woke up" and four days later found myself ordering oats and protein shakes from the hospital cafeteria. In a record time for someone with my kind of operation, I was discharged one week later.

At home I continued to walk small laps around my neighborhood, and two weeks after my operation, was beginning to be able to do 10-20 minute walks without using my walker. I suddenly felt pride towards my strength as it occured to me that my activity levels were better, with over 300 staples in my abdomen, than the average American.

The surgery, unfrotunately, was met with unseen complications. I had a very rare blood disorer called antiphospholipid syndrome, which caused me to clot in my hepatic portal vein, depriving my liver of blood flow. Immediately I was put on a very potent anticoagulant (blood thinner) called Coumadin.

Coumadin heavily disrupted my lfiestyle, as I warned to not undertake any activity that could cause bleeding. Favorite pastimes such as skiing, skating, scuba diving, and heavy lifting were eradicated from my daily life. Even without taking these risks I was hospitalized several times for internal bleeding. Still, I continued to stay as active as I could, occasionally cutting a run short due to severe nose bleeds.

Also, the cause of my collapsed GI tract was pinpointed: I had a condition called gastroparesis: a chronic and debilitating paralysis of the stomach that is incredibly difficult to treat, as the vagus nerve tends to not respond favorably to medications. For me, the heavy load of food that remainded undigested in my stomach put such an undue amount of stress on the rest of my digestive tract that everything caved in, spiraling in an undignified heap on my pelvic floor. In order to prevent the same thing from happening again, I was placed on a low residue (low fiber) diet, which heavily conflicted with the diet I was supposed to be on in order to compete in figure.

When I asked my gastroenterologist about the possibility of competing she said "It might not happen for you. For you, losing weight might be nearly impossible" This is because I "superabsorb" calories from my food, do to food being present in my system far longer than a normal person.

so now I HAVE to do it. I'm the type of person who needs adversity to flourish. I do things best when I'm told I can't do them. I do things the most bravely when I'm terrefied of them, and impossible is not an answer.

so the point of this new journal is to document an "impossible" journey to the stage. It is both for other people who might benefit from my story, but also for me to look back on to learn and grow from my own challenges.