Health & Wellness

creative2ventures

Weighty Words: What I’ve Learned From My Weight Loss Journey ~ It’s All-Consuming

obese fat man injecting Semaglutide Ozempic injection control blood sugar levels

Every morning, I step on the scale and cross my fingers. Sometimes the number is up. Sometimes it’s down. Sometimes the reason is obvious (a pizza and wine binge); other times not so much (a week of no alcohol and plenty of fruit and veggies).

I pour my morning coffee, contemplating whether I should dilute the fattening half and half with unsweetened almond milk, before injecting myself with 3 mg of Saxenda, which I credit for my weight loss of 40+ pounds in the last 11 months.

I’m not an actress or a super model trying to maintain a trim figure to please an agent and audiences. I’m just trying to be reasonably healthy.

My life is busy. I have a career, a home, a partner, pets. Exercise is a struggle for me – I’ve never been athletic (owing to my bookworm childhood and studious youth) – and placing self-care ahead of my professional or domestic responsibilities elicits guilt. I blame my parents for that.

I had accepted my status as an overweight – clinically obese – person. One could be fashionable, professionally successful, even somewhat physically active, without being thin. After all, I have a pretty active brain. Then it sideswiped me: the genetic information I had gleaned from a DNA test.

If I don’t reduce my weight, I could die.

Talk about a wakeup call. As my mid-50s zipped by – and I began to approach the age that my ancestors died of cardiac arrest – doing something to slow health decline became more important.

That, and my love of travel. A hike through a Costa Rican rain forest that I thought might kill me was a bit of inspiration, too.

My endocrinologist prescribed Saxenda, a weight loss version of the diabetes drug Victoza, to help me lose weight. Despite several levels of appeal, my health insurance wouldn’t cover it. My mail order pharmacy that provides my two blood pressure meds for a very low price charged me $1685 for a one-month supply (and refused to honor the manufacturer’s coupon that would have shaved off $200). Obviously, that wasn’t a viable option for the long term.

I found a Canadian pharmacy that caters solely to Americans who can’t afford their medication (there are several, sad commentary on the state of our government’s relationship with drug manufacturers) who offered the drug for $500 a month. I earn a good living, but I’m not rich. I discussed it with my partner, and we agreed that being bankrupt was better than being dead.

So here I am. And I’m telling my story because it’s a story shared by 70 million or so Americans classified as obese. Most of them can’t afford $500 for a drug to help them lose weight.

It’s time to take on the health care establishment, employers, insurers, and public opinion: obesity is a disease that deserves treatment.

creative2ventures

I’m back

istock.com/agsandrew

I’m back.

I can’t believe it’s been five years since I have posted to this blog. So much has happened – Mom went to a nursing home, then another. There was a pandemic. I telecommuted for two years, then had to go back to the office two days a week. Mom died in November 2022. So much angst, stress and change. So many thoughts rattling around in my head begging to escape.

So here I am. The blog has a new name and tagline. I no longer kill spiders. I’m no longer middle aged. I’m exhausted and seeking inspiration.

As I speed toward age 60, I’m finding a new perspective, and looking for new purpose.

So here I am, back again, giving the voices in my head expression.

creative2ventures

Embracing “Voodoo Medicine”

dollI’ve started seeing a witch doctor.

No, I don’t sneak off during the full moon to chant incantations in the graveyard.  I go to a modern medical office in broad daylight.  And I don’t have to bury bodily fluids and sprinkle potions on the spot  — but I do have to mail them off to a lab on the west coast.

“Black magic never stops. What goes from you comes to you. Once you start this s—, you gotta keep it up. Just like the utility bill. Just like the grocery store. Or they kill you.”

 

Minerva in “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil”

The health care practitioner I’m seeing wouldn’t appreciate being called a witch doctor or his practice voodoo.  That’s what traditional medical practitioners call their brethren who embrace homeopathic or alternative medicine.  Not to their face, but behind their back.

The purveyors of non-traditional therapies call their practice “integrative medicine,” and there are official organizations that provide board certification and continuing education for the high priests and priestesses of homeopathic treatment.  They combine evidence-based (traditional) medicine with homeopathic or non-traditional treatments.  To the hard-core, traditionally trained medical doctor or osteopathic physician, it’s a betrayal of the brotherhood (or sisterhood).

I didn’t find this new-age doctor in a voodoo shop.  I clicked on a Facebook ad offering relief from my thyroid disorder.  I had rapidly gained 20 pounds, feel fatigued all the time, and suddenly developed high blood pressure and high cholesterol.  Despite taking synthetic thyroid hormone, I still feel like crap.  My primary care physician, a graduate of a traditional medical school who operates within the usual volume-based practice, refused to prescribe natural thyroid hormone.

When I went to the voodoo appointment, I went with a healthy dose of skepticism.  While I’m not in the health care field, I was previously married to a provider.  Therefore, I have about six years worth of second-hand medical training.  What I was going to experience would have been called “hooey” by my Ex.

I felt like I was in a college biology class as the doctor explained the relationship between the liver, brain and adrenal function.  I had read about “leaky gut syndrome,” and was ready for the lecture.  I have a colleague who has undergone a similar regimen.  I was ready for the spiel — the sales pitch — for a treatment that is likely not covered by my health insurance.

When I walked into the office for the $49 consultation, my plan was not to buy into the program, but to walk away with the info.  However, the program was dangled in front of me, and I felt bad enough that day to say “I’m in,” and plunk down a credit card to pay the fee.

The new dining room suite can wait a bit.

Tomorrow I embark on the big step of the program:  The Diet.  The philosophy is this:  if you cut out everything that can cause inflammation in your body, you can rid yourself of toxicity and heal from the problems caused by the bad foods and chemicals that cause it.

This morning, I drank my last cup of coffee.  At lunch, I ate my last sandwich and drank my last diet soda.  I’m preparing to cook the last meal of shellfish and processed frozen vegetables (broccoli with cheese sauce).  I’m sipping on my last glass of wine.

For the next 30 days, I can eat only poultry, beef or fish (no shellfish or pork), certain vegetables (no potatoes, beans, corn or peas) and specific low-glycemic fruits.  No gluten, grains, nuts, caffeine or alcohol.

Yikes!!! I can live without gluten, grains, sugar, artificial sweetener, preservatives, or nuts.  But caffeine and alcohol are the foundations of my existence.  They are how I cope.  How will I survive?!

This blog will be the diary of my penance.

I’m putting my faith in “voodoo medicine.”  I’m turning my health over to a so-called “witch doctor.”  I’m also investing a significant amount of money in this program.  But it’s time for a change.  Traditional medicine isn’t serving its purpose.

Stay tuned!