diets and diabetes

I really want to do the 5 minute Friday posts and this week is ‘bacon’. Well I think I can go with this and bring in my health but I will content warning at the moment for weight loss.

Still with me? Cool. Ok so I did a weight loss programme four years now and I lost a couple of stone. I hit my target weight which was based on my height and such but then changed to account for my huge boobs. One they are heavy so any ‘weight’ I get, I really do take with a pinch of salt because I know anywhere between half and a full stone of weight is those horrid fat glands. It is also abou tmy body shape. Even when I was at my fattest I had a very narrow back size. I stopped losing weight because despite being over 10 stone I was in danger of having a 29 inch waist and so unable to get a bra to fit my HH/J cup size. I kept losing weight though and looking back I think I looked too thin. I never dropped below 10/5 and yet the group I went to would look for me to lose another stone. At least.

Well, it all fell apart anyway. I got my insulin pump. Suddenly I was not afraid to eat. So yeah, I crawled over my limit deemed by the diet. I enjoyed myself with friends in the way I had not been able to for years. My thyroid fluxed and so I needed more . I gained weight while following the plan to a letter and just got told it was my fault. It wasn’t. I was trying.

So I dropped off and by the time I decided enough was enough I had put on most of what I lost even if I looked different. I suspect being more toned and such. The fact is that my diabetes just reacts better when I’m slimmer. I don’t know why. I wish my body shape did not dictate my health but like most of my diabetic things it just doesn’t follow the textbook.

I am who I am and to be the best I can be I’m on another healthy living plan. This one allows pasta and potatoes and noodles and rice and I am so on board with that. Not so much the toast and porridge without counting it but I can do that. Bacon, chicken and low fat meat though. So on board. SO ON BOARD. I will do whatever it takes to be the healthiest I can be and I don’t want anyone judging me for it. We all have our roads to health.


Pneumonia Yes, Asthma Possibly

So that pneumonia illness saga we thought was over. Yeah. No. I had my chest x-rayed and did nearly two weeks of ‘peak flow’ readings which basically mean I blew into a tube that gave me a number and that number tells people medically smarter than me if my lungs are ok. Today I went back to see the Doctor. He was half an hour behind schedule and it made me really love my smartphone because I was reading articles for university while I waited in the nice and quiet. Not bad.

Well, he confirms I have had pneumonia. But now he’s sure he’s sure. However, he is still not convinced that is the only thing going on. According to him the severity of my symptoms, the results on the x-ray and the fact that I have FINALLY STOPPED COUGHING yet am still wheezing and puffing my way through life imply that I could have asthma. I felt like the bottom of my world had fallen out to be honest. If he confirms it that will mean the only organ in my body to never have stopped working in full at some point will be my heart. I mean, the heart is pretty damn important for a woman of 24 years old that is a pretty shocking statistic. My kidneys and liver and such were impacted by DKA years ago and thankfully recovered in full but still. It is a stat my depression is trying very hard to wave in my face right now. I’m writing and watching tennis to try and distract myself. My dog has luckily caught on to my mood and has left his perch of the bed to sit directly at my feet.

So. First I must say I was impressed that the GP immediately referred me to the asthma clinic while stating frankly that he was less knowledgeable it. Doctors can be put on a pedestal a lot of the time. It was really nice to hear him say that even though I do not for a second doubt that Doctors are aware and respectful or everything nurses do. I need to do more flow tests which is pretty horrible. Anyone who has done them will know doing them makes you feel worse but they need the information so off I go. I swear I spend half my day filling out health logs. I cannot see the nurse for two weeks but that will overall give me a month of logs which are about the required average to diagnose asthma if that is the case. I also have an inhaler to take twice a day. It would be an understatement to say my first attempt at that went badly. Got it all over my tongue and I can still taste it hours later. However, I think I got some of it down the old gullet. If my condition improves while using the inhaler and the logs match up then I would probably be diagnosed.

It is a scary thought. A resentful one as I said. I associate pneumonia with old people and asthma diagnosis with the young. I now know both are untrue and can happen at any age but it does feel like being kicked in the teeth. I know that life will go one whatever they find. I may be lucky in that I have just been very unlucky and my lungs are just still reeling and will right themselves in time. I may find this possible diagnosis does very little to change my life. That does not mean I don’t have a part of me that wants to kick things and throw things and scream about it all being unfair.

skye to daisy and why that is fantastic.

*because this blog is no longer just me going waaah over health. I do other things! 😀 IMMA SHARE

I have seen a lot of people upset that Skye decided to go by her birth name of Daisy in Agents of Shield. It has got to the point where I want to put my own feelings down about it and why I understand her doing so. I would compare it to my own asexuality. If you grow up knowing who and what you are a label is an easy thing to dismiss and think unimportant. If you grow up wondering who and what you are a label can be a huge sense of relief and belonging.

Did Skye/Daisy’s parents turn out to be horrible and wicked people? Yes. Does that mean they did not love her? No.

Skye picks her name not initially because she likes it but because she doesn’t like the name given to her in her orphanage. A hats off to fandom and fanfic is that it is Mary Sue. (By the way, that is the first hint that Skye was never going to remain Skye and that this show had big plans. I have always thought Skye was the main character of this show. ) A Mary Sue is known to be a fandom insert that looks flat and lacks purpose and personality. Skye decides to pick a name she likes and not be just the childhood that she hated so much. She is viewed as an orphan so decides to shed that skin and become her own person. She develops a life for herself and ok when we first meet her in Agents of Shield she is living in a van but she seems pretty happy to be there. She’s doing what she wants to be doing and that happens to be hacking the government and so on.

She then goes and finds herself in the position of being able to find more information about her birth parents after becoming a sort of mini-agent. Many children who grow up in orphanages or are raised in adopted homes, for any number of reasons, decide not to pursue this information. Many do. Yes, there are inhumans and murders and secret agents but at the heart of it is a very real desire for a young woman to learn where she came from in regards to her heritage.

My father is no saint. In fact, I have hardly spoken to him for a year and it was a long time coming. I know that tug of ‘he’s my dad‘ and ‘wow he’s an arsehole’ rather well and that is without aforementioned inhumans and murders and secret agents. Many struggle to just cut ties so severely. It is natural to want to at least know and to know all of it. Then many feel, you can walk away. Cause you know, you know?

The search Skye goes on can appear frustrating as she bugs Phil for details but as someone with a broken family and a small militia of step parents I can relate. If your family is whole or you are adamant a certain member of it should remain blacklisted then it can be hard to relate to those feelings, or perhaps more importantly easy to dismiss them. I think Skye worked because a lot of people across the world went ‘aliens aside I’m Skye, fml, even if my ‘hacking level’ is html on livejournal and streaming on putlocker’.

Skye’s discovery of her parents is bittersweet and the struggle between S.H.I.E.L.D and the Inhumans in season two is a very gritty representation of what many adopted and orphaned children can face. It is the family you chose/chose you, against the family that you are tied to by blood. Both want to know you. Both lay claim to you. Both can sling mud at the other and you are left there, as Skye was, in the middle. I’m just glad I did not have shields and societies crashing around me, you know?

Skye finds herself in the position of realising that her chosen family is the one that is doing the ‘right things’, realising that both sides love her and on top of that she finds herself with weird powers. She finds the name she could have had if her parents had raised her and the kicker is that they wanted to. She finds that they did not want to give her up. For someone who grew up in an orphanage that must be a huge thing. While wrong, corrupted and murderous her parents wanted her. That must be a thing so many children in dorms of beds dream about.

Skye grew up with a name a nun found for her and a very generic nun name at that. Mary? Really? In the 80s? Harsh. To find a name her parents gave her and to find it is a nice name must have been pretty awesome. Of course at first she rejects it. Look at who it comes from! But the fact remains that they loved, wanted and cared for her as long as they could and at the time canon suggests they were decent people. This is also when she finds out that she is not human but inhuman and has this weird power from an alien race. Friends turn on her and those who do not are at least suspicious. She is basically left with Fitz and while he is great he is also outnumbered.

Skye becomes a whole new person. She is no longer the hacker girl in a van. She is a shield agent with skills with a computer and a gun. She has knowledge of things her boss can only hope to understand and powers she does not understand. She has transitioned into a new person. Daisy was the name her parents, whom she craved for so long, gave her. Is it really so bad she chose to be Daisy? People change their names all the time. Because they feel it does not fit the gender or because they do not like it or because they need to flee. Daisy chooses it because it should have been her name as she should have been raised with her power. Now she has a family name to call her own. She has a history, a sense of being and belonging even if that past is not good. It is still more than she had.

Maybe it is that so many fans have never considered a name change. I had one forced on me at ten years old. My mother took my father’s name and replaced it with my stepfathers so my birth certificate is like a relic of my past. I don’t use my name of ‘Samantha’ a lot. It can sometimes take a couple of listens to register you mean me at all given years of spending classes with several girls with the same name and a boy called Sam.

Who you are and where you come from and who you will be are shaped by so many factors. Given everything they had to look at and adding the murders and inhumans and the agents in too I think S.H.I.E.L.D did damn well with Daisy Johnson. And if you look back from the first episode I really think it becomes clear that this show is not about Phil, the agent we roared over being killed by Loki, but about Daisy. Frankly a show around Phil would be rather boring in comparison. IS he just going to walk up to people and say ‘classified’ get Fitz to say something is alien and then put a tent around things? Everything comes around to her in the end and I think it always will. So if that is really an issue. If a person choosing to change their name because if makes them happy makes you sad.

Well, you’re watching the wrong show.

And probably need to stop and think.

Endometriosis is an irritatingly clever disease. It adapts.

It is coming back. Slowly. Surely. Painfully. My endometriosis pain. I am currently on my fourth type of treatment for this disease as I had a coil fitted some months ago. Those months have been glorious and the aches and pains of my body have been related to my other illnesses. My ovaries and uterus have remained blissfully quiet. Not even a drop of blood has hit my knickers. Then, as usual, the treatment started to become less effective. The dull throbs have started to return to my lower abdomen. Rectal pain has crept back into my life. It is not a huge problem at the minute. I throw some mefanemic acid at them and I continue with my day. The pain fades quicker than before and it does not disrupt my life nearly as much. But it is the beginning.

I have had one really bad moment since I started the coil over six months ago and that was last week in a history seminar. I found myself in unbearable pain in my abdomen and where I know the utter bastard of a left ovary sits. (It is always the left one). I could not sit up properly. I spent the seminar perched on the edge of my seat, my left first curled up and pressed into my side to try and create a different sort of pain that would cancel out the searing from within. How screwed up is that? I strategically fluffed up my parka jacket on the back of my seat to try hide my first based pain treatment from my classmates. I turned my pad of paper sideways on the desk so that I could still take notes and I hoped that the tutor who was sat less than a foot in front of me would not say anything because her eyes said she had noticed.

I know how this works by now. Each treatment is a plaster but as time passes it is like my life is a shower that is slowly peeling away the adhesive. Everything works for awhile and then life slowly falls apart. Now, I am pretty sure I will at least see the first three years of this coil out because the pain is so rare but I don’t see it working forever. Endometriosis is an irritatingly clever disease. It adapts. I better see this coil out. Due to narrow, tilted and high sitting cervix I had to be put under to get the damn thing.

It just horrible to be reminded that this won’t be the answer forever. If the disease keeps adapting then I will need to keep adapting too. I need to keep reading articles to look for possible treatments down the road. I need to lock them away in my mind and then present them to the Doctor when the time comes because Doctors are pretty shambolic about this disease. It is on my file but Doctors will still look me in the eye and tell me that they are not convinced but ‘if X says so’. Every stage is a fight. Every appointment has those disgusting demeaning words of ‘a lot of people have painful periods, you know’. They are thrown in my face as if I have not seen gynaecologists and I have not been knocked out and had some strangers hand right up my vulva and in and my uterus scraping around with a tool to do tests while I hobbled around for days afterwards. They say these words as if the tests did not prove that they are talking crap. If the only issue I had with this disease was that my period hurt I would be happy! I hobbled my way through life and bled through jeans in exam halls for a decade and I’m still here. It is the rest of the bullshit that pushes me over the edge. No one should have to deal with periods that are as painful as mine were but honestly, I could cope.

Plus, I don’t want to read articles that are in depth about endometriosis. Who on earth wants to read about linings of their organs packing their bags and moving to other parts of their body? That is horrific sci-fi shite right there. That is not people being squeamish about bodies. That is just nasty. The innards of my womb should remain in my womb. If my brain matter was leaking people would take issue with that and be sympathetic and horrified. The minute it is my uterus I’m probably calling bullshit and latching onto a term from the internet.

So the whole pain thing coming back is not just the pain. I can take the pain. I’ve lived with the pain with nothing more than standard ibuprofen and heat pads. It is all the bullshit that comes with it.

#nobraday and the bullshit it reflects.

Going to have to talk about #nobraday. For some to go outside their house today and not wear a bra is scary and a huge achievement. For others it is normal. For others still it is an act of defiance though we don’t want it to be.

Many people who grow breasts do not grow large ones. This means that wearing a bra has little impact on the appearance of their breasts to the outside world or that a jumper would mask the yes or no impact of a bra. No one can tell. It certainly does not lead to much judgement, or not in the way others feel it.

For some their breasts are larger and wearing or not wearing a bra is noticeable but still deemed acceptable by the public. Some people call it a rebellion or cool or ultra feminist or hipster.

For many others their breasts are larger still. Once you get past a D or DD it is very obvious you are not wearing a bra. Once you get past a EE or an F people start to call you names. They say trash, common, uneducated, poor, idiot, slut ect. This is only because the fat glands that all cis women grow happen to be bigger lumps of fat that the cis women around us grow. Society says that breasts should be perky and small. Don’t kid yourselves people, a DD is not big. I would cry buckets if a surgeon said this instant they would reduce my Js to DDs.

Society claims that people who are attracted to breasts like big breasts but are they really? Evidence suggests they like big breasts till around DD and then they like surgically big breasts which sit high and are perky. The naturally drooping H, H, J, JJ breasts that will never sit around the area of a person’s armpit are not deemed attractive. They get called saggy and grandma tits and worse. All those ‘largest boobs in the world’ articles tend to focus on surgical implants that have those attempts at perky. Real boobs drop. Not to the knee as fools claim but certainly mid chest at least. It is not pleasant. It does not feel sexy at least. Clothes are not created to fit my size. And even when they are they seem to just scream LOOK BOOBS.

I don’t wear a bra all the time but it is not an achievement. My back hurts every day. Wearing a bra and then not moves the pain from the top to the bottom of my spine and therefore creates a balances. A dull ache. I’m never not in pain but that balances means I can walk without gritting my teeth and wanting to cry.

Not wearing a bra has become this image of feminism. I understand why it was but hate that it still is. People should be over that. People should accept that a bra is just another article of clothing. I wear a bra to university and to important society shit like the doctors and meetings. Most of the time I wish I did not. The bra comes off after uni and doctor visits often upset my rhythm. The position of breasts on a person’s chest should have no relevance. Ever. I have amazing friends in that the first time my back was truly in agony in a bra I asked a FRIEND if I could visit without one. She was bewildered that it was even a question. Maybe you have friends like that but don’t know it? Ask. To be honest those who have an issue sound like bad friends. Is whether a person uses some cotton or wire to position a body part really what defines a person and as a result a friend? I don’t think so. I hope not.

I hope no bra day will bring more people to realise that a bra is what you make of it. If pushing your breasts up and creating that cleavage you what is what makes you happy then I will support you all the way! I just want to support the person that doesn’t want to wear one at all too! I want both of you to get a job, whether your cleavage is obvious, drooping, or as society says it should be. Where your boobs are and what they are doing should mean nothing in regards to your employment or whether you meet a partner or how you get seen on the street by others.

For some they are cages. For some they are freedom. For some they are gateways.

We need to embrace all of those opinions and we need to realise that breasts are glands of fat and no person should be judged by the size of them. Ever.

Pneumonia and The Saga It Has Become

For context in this post I refer back to THIS post from August. I was horribly ill, nearly ended up in hospital, and have not stopped coughing since. People insisted it was the ‘100 day cough’ and it would go away soon. Personally I did not fancy hacking my way into November so I went back to the Doctor (a week after I asked for an appointment urrrrgh). It was ten past seven in the morning on a Thursday and I was the first patient. Dr C looked about as awake as I felt. He picked up on three things. 1, the delirium I had at the beginning, 2, I was still coughing and 3, my diabetes was still fluctuating.

That got him all suspicious and so he listened to my chest, listened to me cough between that and testing my peak air flow thing and hummed a lot. My peak flow was not high enough but he said results fluctuate through the day so he wanted a week’s worth of results. Red flag one. He implied it could be asthma. Red flag two. I have had one severe chest infection in my entire life never mind anything remotely sounding like asthma and he did not sound convinced when he said it. He asked if I had been in any contact with anyone who has tuberculosis. Red flag three of the violent flashing variety. I’m going to refer you to St John’s for a chest X-Ray to check your lungs. Well I had a panic attack then and he had to calm me down. Head between legs and everything at twenty past seven in the morning. When I was once again converting oxygen to carbon dioxide at a normal rate he calmly stated ‘To be honest, putting this all together I’m convinced what you had and still do have is pneumonia’.

Well. Well. Well how on earth do you respond to that? Pneumonia is for old people in January surely? It is not for twenty four year olds, bad immune systems aside, in freaking July! Surely?! Along with my referral to get an x-ray and a meter for flow I also got a bottle to, get this, spit into when I brought stuff up from my lungs. Charming! He printed off my prescription for the peak flow meter and printed me off several for my anti-depressants and insulin. I left rather daze and with a fistful of orange paper slips I could not put into the chemist as it was not open yet.

Seriously though, it was a reminder of just how weak my body is and just how ravished it is due to my various ailments. It was also a reminder that I am the one who knows my body best. Family kept telling me the cough would go, I’d stop being tired, it would be ok. Something kept nagging at me though that told me that was rubbish. I knew I had to be back at the Doctor and I regret not having the strength to listen to myself and just go. I feel like a weight has been sat on my chest for months now and that is not acceptable at all. I should have gone sooner.

Given I have been walking around, attending university and even previously working I assume I am beyond needing hospital treatment. Other treatments could involve yet more antibiotics but having spent months being told to basically get it together I almost don’t feel sick enough for them. I’m so used to being sick. I spent three years worse than this, constantly picking up bugs and ailments and fighting them off three times slower than anyone else. My family think I am always ill and complain a lot but the reality is I’m nearly constantly unwell and I don’t mention it most of the time. It is hard for me to admit that maybe I need something. Rest is the important thing and frankly I don’t have time for that. The first draft of my dissertation is due next month. I have source analyses and essays to write. I feel rather lost with it all. Take paracetamol, drink a lot, wrap up and slug on. It is just who I am. I go back to the doctor next week hoping for help but…the sort that does not interfere with my life.

My Big Boobs and Why I want Rid

I meant to blog yesterday for the Friday prompt thing but I got distracted by friends all but planning to kidnap me to a formula one race in Italy. I have awesome friends. Today though I want to talk about my back problems and that is mostly because they are causing me a lot of bother at the moment. I’m currently waiting for my painkillers to kick in.

I’ve had back pain since my breasts started to develop when I was eleven. By the time I was thirteen years old I had my J cup breasts. From the minute my breasts appeared I wanted rid of them. They brought me unwanted attention and led to people sexually abusing me in the hallways of my own school my grabbing and touching them without my permission. That is assault. I just did not realise it at the time. The media makes big breasts seem like a fantastic thing but the reality of living with them is not so rosy. Along with the unwanted attention is the fact that bras will always be more expensive, harder to find, and don’t last very long. Wires are kind of required to hold the breasts up and they are not the most comfortable things in the world. People forget that breasts do not exist to be sexy. They exist to feed children and big breasts just mean there is more fat tissue there. Hunks of fat to feed babies. That is what omgb0oBs! are.

My boobs suck. I don’t want to have children so they certainly are not required but they also have the audacity to be really damn heavy. Really heavy. As in a stone between the buggers. Yes I weighed them…with the kitchen scales on the edge of the counter. Problem? The thing is I have very narrow shoulders and am all of five foot three inches tall. I really don’t have the frame to support those melons. And I can say melons because my boobs and melons size up together rather nicely!

The thing is, that much weight asking your spine to support it doesn’t go down well. I am in constant pain. My back is never ‘ok’ but I know I can’t be on painkillers all the time or I will get hooked so I only take them when it gets really bad and moving causes more of a ‘searing’ pain than the dull throb I feel every minute of every day. I have an orthopaedic mattress to help and a pretty pricey one too. When my pain got really bad I could not sleep in my bed. I tossed and turned and cried all night and when my dad got up at five am I would go to my parent’s room and sleep in their bed with mum because they had a special mattress. When I eventually got the same mattress for my single bed I found the mattress on it was also orthopaedic. It just wasn’t good enough. I love going on holiday and visiting friends but they are painful experiences where I don’t sleep much. When I visited a friend for a week this summer I slept badly and one morning had to spend an hour awake but unable to get up as I worked out the kinks in my back.

Having back pain is expensive. I was nearly £400 for my mattress and the reusable heat pad I use was another £40 and then there is the pain killers and the specific type of bags I have to buy in order to stop pressure building. When I go to university I actually use a little suitcase because I cannot handle the weight of my lunch, notebooks and any library things I need.

So, surely I did something about it you must wonder? Why yes I did. I went to my doctor. I want a breast reduction but that is not a conversation my doctors are willing to entertain. As far as they are concerned my spine remains in alignment so I should just carry on with life. Life. My life that constantly revolves around choices in regards to my back. I can take 15 books from the university library but I never do, even if I need them like right now as I work on my dissertation. My back could never get them home, even with my suitcase bag.

The NHS has a lot to answer for in regards to people who desire breast reductions. Or my surgery does at least. People with mental conditions are granted breast implants for self esteem. I have a physical condition and I cannot get a reduction. That is not fair. I do not compare the two types of condition as one being superior to the other but desire the same treatment. I am ill. They are ill. If one gets treatment then so should the other. We’re all in pain. For me this is not a cosmetic surgery. It is a way to deal with the pain I’ve lived with for twelve years. Daily. I no longer care what other people think of my breasts. Those who stare do not get my attention. They are like a warning system for arseholes.

But yeah, I have this pain all day every day and still society tries to say big boobs are good. Still people try and get my size and then go ‘oh it hurts.’ Yes. Yes it does. It hurts a lot. I don’t want to hurt anymore. Is that really such a huge ask to a health system set up to care for people?