cindy's world

Oh, how could I forget? On Sunday before Disneyland, Mr. W and I went to a new-to-us massage place recommended to us by a friend of his. It’s not like the nice full-service Burke Williams or Glen Ivy I’m used to going to. There are no whirlpools, no cucumber lemon water, no sauna or quiet reading rooms. This place, called Blue Sky, is a small storefront on the second story of a three-story strip mall in Westminster. We were told it was run by Vietnamese immigrants but that it was “the best message” Mr. W’s friend ever had, and super cheap at $15/hour. So of course I was instantly suspicious of what kind of operation this place really runs, but even more mysterious is the information that the place has no separate or private rooms.

So we made an appointment for two for noon; good thing, because this place was PACKED when we got there. It’s a small open office space with three rows of massage loungers, 3 or 4 loungers per row. The receptionist in front checks you in, then takes you to an available lounger. The male patrons appear to be shirtless and in shorts; the females appear to be in tanktops. I say “appear” because once I laid down, I generally didn’t see much anymore, and the customers were all covered in large towels anyway. I had been advised to wear shorts and a sports bra, so once I got to my station, I stripped down into my minimalist running shorts and tanktop, and my belongings were hung on a peg on the wall next to me. I started in an upright seated position on an ottoman in front of the massage chair, and my feet were placed in a large bucket and soaked in a hot herbal bath as the therapist worked behind me on my neck and shoulders. I heard the guy who supervised and appeared to act like a manager or owner tell my therapist in Chinese, “All the things hanging on this peg are hers, keep an eye on it.” That’s how I knew to speak to the lady in Mandarin, since her English was pretty limited. Turns out everyone working there are Chinese (altho patrons appeared to be of all races), and had been trained as massage therapists in China. The firm and no-nonsense, thorough techniques of accupressure and massage, and even the foot bath were very similar to the massages I’d gotten in China (for more than $15 a pop there, I might add).

My sports bra proved itself to be an impedence to the massage, as the straps don’t move around much, so she asked if I minded if she moved it out of the way or removed it. I said it’s removeable (I’m used to naked massages anyway, altho I normally have more privacy in a room than here) and we discreetly removed it as I was covered with a terrycloth wrap. It was slightly uncomfortable as I lay face-down knowing I’m in the front row by waiting customers, but that’s the way of services in China — no-nonsense, no frills, very matter-of-fact. Nothing lewd, everything was business-like, and she wasn’t shy about hitting the glutes and upper thighs (over the towel), which I appreciated cuz if I’m sore from a workout, chances are my butt muscles are sore, too. The place had the air of practicality of a doctor’s office, except the lights were comfortably dim with soft instrumental music playing.

One of my peeves getting massages is that we end up paying something like $3/minute, and sometimes the therapist gives you 5 minutes to undress and then stops 5 minutes early to let you get dressed, so that’s $30 for nothing. Because there’s no locker room or leaving to let you get dressed/undressed, the hour-long massage was a solid hour. I got in the chair at 11:55a, she stopped at 12:55p. Big points. I also liked the firmness and thoroughness of the massage, altho she did keep checking to make sure the pressure was all right, asking if I wanted it stronger or if it were too strong. I liked that they didn’t tiptoe around “sensitive” body parts like my lower back and behind. It felt like a therapeutic session, not just a pampering rub-down.

As we returned to the front receptionist area to pay (Mr. W’s friend advised us this place is cash-only), we saw a few promotions. If you pay for each session individually, it’s $20 for the hour, plus tip (you tip the massage therapist directly). Or, you can buy 7 vouchers for $100 (just over $14 per hour-long session); or if you buy 10 vouchers (I think this is $130), you get 1 free (which averages out to less than $12 per hour-long session). Mr. W bought 7 vouchers, and we turned in 2 right away to pay for our current massages. The vouchers looked transferrable, so it’s a great gift or an easy way to introduce someone to this place.

Mr. W said that he was happy with this place and would go here from now on, and seemed to expect me to feel the same. He was surprised when I looked dubious. I explained that sometimes I just want to be in a calm zen-inducing environment where I can bond with a girlfriend or two in whirlpools or steamrooms, drinking honeyed tea as we waited for our massage therapist to come get us, and I liked the conversations I can have in the privacy of an individual room with my therapist. Then afterwards, I like the rainfall showerheads and the spa shampoos and bath gels and the hot water spraying me from four directions in the showers. Mr. W said men’s sections of day spas don’t have stuff like that, and he’d never bonded with his therapist like I do with mine (Scott, for example), so he prefers this cheaper no-frills Chinese place. I guess if I were sore from exercise and would like to just stop someplace on the way home from work really quickly, this place would be it. But if I want the package relaxation treatment and I want to enjoy some friendship, then I’d still go for “spa days” at Burke Williams or Glen Ivy. If you’re the shy type and don’t need sports massages, Blue Sky is probably also not the place for you.

It’s funny where inspiration comes from. Dwaine met a girl on Valentine’s Day and decided to go old-school wooing style and was going to make her a mixed tape. An actual mixed cassette tape, reminiscent of the 80s and 90s when we grew up and would make mixed tapes on the regular, for ourselves and to show our love for the lucky recipient(s). So I brought him my compact boombox which played CD, radio and cassettes. He’d have to convert his mp3s into an audio format, burn his song selections onto a CD, then play that CD on the boombox while pushing “record” on the cassette. That’s how you get backwards-compatible technology. While I was there on furlough Wednesday working on this project with him (among other stuff), he showed me online photos of this girl. Yesterday, I took a peek online at this girl’s photo album. And then I texted him.
“[Girl]’s profile isn’t private, so I took a peek at her old pix. She is sooooo your type!”
He responded, “LOL…yeah, she seems fun and silly.”
I wrote, “& she looks like she works out. Sorry, I gotta ask…are her boobs real?!”
He responded, “YES! She enjoys working out and they are real! ”
I wrote, “omg. omg. U ARE SO LUCKY!!!” and then quickly texted again, “I mean, SHE is so lucky. Yeah.”

Yesterday, I thought about this pretty girl who “ENJOYS WORKING OUT.” I used to enjoy working out. Now I’m a slob at it. I’ve been to the gym like twice in the past 2 months. So I went to the gym at lunch and pushed and pushed and pushed and had a painful but complete workout which left me shaking afterwards for hours. I’m in pain today, but I’m going back to the gym again…RIGHT NOW.

The Calendar
This year, Asian New Year and Valentine’s Day fall on the same day. So Happy New Year’s Eve and Happy Valentine’s Day Eve, people!

I like the above photo because it’s clear that as I’m lighting a giant string of firecrackers, the white boy has no idea about his precarious position. One can imagine that, right before this photo was taken, I said, “Here, Mr. W, hold this,” and he happily obliges, and I’m in a position where I’m about to light, cover my ears and run, and he’s just naively standing there. =D
Claudio & Ann
This is a long 4-day weekend for me, thanks to Lincoln’s birthday on Friday and President’s Day on Monday. I spent my day off yesterday hanging with Claudio for the first half and with Ann the second half. Claudio and I started out our time together how we have always traditionally started our time together — with exercise. We met at the gym and I was game for whatever he wanted to work on, so he slaughtered my biceps, triceps, shoulders and abs. Those are what I consider “minor muscle groups” (which means they’re smaller supporting muscles that get worked out by proxy when I work on “major muscle groups” of chest, back and legs), so since I haven’t been at the gym much lately, I’ve been mainly ignoring them as far as isolated exercises go. Well, I can’t ignore them now! They’re SCREAMING at me and cussing me out as I type this. Thanks, Claudio, my body hates me now. But that’s how he felt when he followed one of my workouts, so that makes for a good day at the gym. After we left the gym, we hung out at the Irvine Spectrum and started out healthy with a vegan lunch and kale, but we soon deteriorated into some Starbucks Frapp drink for him and a hand-dipped ice cream bar for me.

After we parted, I gave Ann a call and she was working from home, so I went to visit her at her new apartment. I helped her set up some new patio furniture that had arrived that morning, played with her dog, had ice cream (I must surely be PMSing), and caught up with her. We had a good time, and I continued the laughter I had from the earlier part of the day into the early evening. Ann’s so funny; she was sad that she has no plans this Vday, so she bought herself flowers. While I was there, she clipped the stems of the roses and irises and stuck them in a drinking glass because she didn’t have a vase (since no one gave her flowers this year). She was in total self-pity mode. I said, “Surely, you’re not actually buying into this commercial holiday enough to feel BAD, are you? Just don’t think about it and don’t celebrate it.” She sadly took out a big container from her refrigerator and put it in front of me.
“Want some fudge? I made Valentine’s Day fudge,” she said in a small sad voice.
I laughed at her. “Why’d you do that?!”
She said, “Well, I still wanted to be FESTIVE!” As I shook my head at her silliness, I watched her reach behind her for yet another container, which she also put in front of me. “And I made Valentine’s Day cookies, too,” she said, offering me round cookies with red heart cutouts in the middle of them. We both laughed at her “festiveness” despite it making her sad.
I did tie some more loose ends that were laying at my feet before I left, though, much like I’d done for my friends the day before, so hopefully things won’t be as bad as she’d thought they’d be this weekend.
Mr. W & Me
When I got home, Mr. W was already home. He’d been at a leadership training thing all day. He told me that everyone there had to pair up and interview the other person, then introduce their partner to the class. One of the interview questions were, “If you could have dinner with whomever you want, whom would you choose?” As people were introduced to the class, he heard about wistful dinners with President Obama, one’s deceased father, other prominent historical figures and current icons. When Mr. W was introduced, his partner said, “This is [Mr. W]. If he could have dinner with whomever he wants, he would choose to have dinner with his lovely wife.” The entire class reacted and people said, “Aw, who in here knows his wife that he’s kissing up to?!” Mr. W explained that he really did think about it, and sharing a meal with a stranger — not to mention an idol — would be too stressful for him to enjoy so the only person whose company he likes (he claims) is mine. He seemed sincere. And it’s probably the nicest thing he’s ever said about me. “Aww, that’s the best Valentine’s Day present!” I told him.
The Lynx & Dodo
But here’s what Mr. W actually offered to buy me for Vday:

Claudio and I saw two male Highland Lynx kittens at a pet store when we were wandering around the Spectrum earlier. They’re genetically desert lynx, wildcats, so they’ve got leopard markings and bobcat tails, slightly longer and very strong hind legs, and huge paws. Plus the little curled and tufted ears are ADORABLE. I’d have two rare breed cats (the Highland Lynx is registered as “wild & exotic”), a Scottish Fold with tiny ears, and a Highland Lynx with curled ears. Plus, it’d just be cool when someone asks if I have any pets, to say nonchalantly, “Yeah, I got a lynx.” Right??? Claudio asked the employee how much the kittens are, and the answer is $1500 each. YOWCH. “They’re cute, but not $1500 cute,” Claudio laughed. Just as well… as tiny as these kittens are now, they’d probably still kill my older mellow Dodo. One of the boys even has 6 claws on each foot! I can totally imagine this cat as the neighborhood pimp. Other cats have to come and offer mice and birds in homage, or they walked away with 6 parallel lines across their faces. “I got bitch-slapped by the Lynx.”

…siiiiiigh…

“Bat” and Jordan are coming on Friday and I’ve got all kinds of things planned for the weekend, so I’m terribly excited about that. It also gives me a “clean up the house” deadline of Thursday. I was already doing laundry on Monday with my clothes in various piles on the spare room bed categorized by color and severity of agitation they’d get in the washer. By Tuesday, I had my “delicates” hanging on a drying rack in the spare room, with some remaining piles of clothes to be laundered still on the bed. I knew I was going to lose Wednesday night to do what I had to because Mr. W made our tax appointment super-early for Wednesday after work, so I also needed to get my tax documents in order on Tuesday evening. I could do that while laundry is going, no problem, except that since it was so early, I hadn’t received any tax documents in the mail from my banks and mortgages, yet. I’d managed to pull some 1099s from online, and just needed my mortgage statement for my old house. I couldn’t pull that from online since I don’t have an online account with that lender who had recently bought over my loan from my original lender. So I was a little stressed about that. On the drive home Tuesday, while I had all this on my mind, Mr. W said that his son had decided to come over that night and stay over. “Maybe he’ll already be there when we get home, and then we can all go out for dinner!” he said. I immediately thought of the lingerie hanging on the drying rack in the spare room (where Son normally stays when he’s over) and the piles of dirty laundry on what would be his bed. Crap!! All my financial stuff is also kept in that room, so I’ll have to pull all that out of there FAST to get out of Son’s way. I hoped Son wouldn’t already be there, cuz I don’t want him to walk into a room with embarrassing laundry all over the place and then my having to kick him out of the room so I can pull receipts and statements. So…things to do ASAP:
* finish laundry
* pull tax stuff
* see if the mortgage statement miraculously made it into our mail box; if not, then get on mortgage lender’s website and make a new account so that I can download the statement immediately

It also occurred to me, as I’m thinking of all this, that I’ll have to wait until Son leaves to clean up the guest room and bathroom, launder the bedsheets, etc, and I can’t do it Wednesday because of the tax appointment, so I’d have to do it Thursday. So Thursday, I gotta clean the house and guest rooms, get fresh sheets put on, find time for a haircut, AND oh, crap, Mr. W’s daughter needs black work clothes for a new job she got as a singing hostess at an upscale restaurant. She needs this before the weekend, and I’m busy all Friday with my out-of-towners, so that only leaves Thursday, too. I felt the stress mounting with all these impending deadlines, and a rare headache started creeping in. That car ride home seemed interminable. I have things to DO, man!!
“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to go out for dinner with you guys,” I told Mr. W. “I have too much crap to do.”

When we got home, Son wasn’t there yet, so I immediately went to work putting stuff on my drying rack away. On one trip downstairs, I noticed Mr. W by the front door, hand on the doorknob. He said to Daughter, “You ready?”
I asked, “Where’re you guys going?”
He said, “To dinner. Wanna come?”
I said, “I can’t. I’ve got too much stuff to do before [Son] gets here.”
So they left, and as Mr. W didn’t extend an offer to bring me back dinner, I figured I’ll just find something really quick and simple to eat while I’m at home. It started as a productive evening; I put in a new load of clothes and moved the remaining load to our bedroom, then boiled some instant Ramen on the stove and added yolkless Eggbeaters and baby spinach. While that was cooking, I pulled tax documents from the spare room upstairs so I could be out of Son’s way ASAP when he got there. I ate the ramen straight from the pot as I worked on the tax documents. Then I got online to register for a new account with my mortgage lender bank since indeed, my mortgage tax statement was not in the mail. At the final step, I was eager to get into my account and download the last missing item for the tax appointment the next evening. Instead, I was aghast when I read on the monitor, “Your password will be mailed to you within 5-7 business days. You may then come back to this website, put in your login, and enter that password to access your account online.” I don’t have FIVE TO SEVEN BUSINESS DAYS!!!

An unfeminine word escaped my lips. The headache was greater, and I felt sick. I was feeling sick pretty soon after I ate the ramen, but it was more than just a nuisance now. It was incapacitating. By this point Mr. W and Daughter had come home from dinner, and I showed him the message on the screen. He said the same unclassy word, and was upset about my inability to be prepared for the tax appointment the next day. I teetered upstairs and fell over sideways on the bed, hoping to ride out the sickness within a few minutes. An hour went by. Another hour. I told myself I’d be up to move my laundry from the washer to dryer once the clock reached 8:15p. Everything hurt at 8:15 and I was severely nauseated, so I stayed in the same prostrate position. (I couldn’t tell if the body pain was sickness-induced, or due to the 4-mile hilly run I took Daughter on the day before, or maybe it was the heavy weightlifting I did at the gym at lunch.) I heard Son arrive. Soon Mr. W came to see what had happened to me. I mumbled that I needed to get downstairs and see about my clothes in the washer, but that I couldn’t move. He asked if they just had to go into the dryer, and I said I’m not sure, I’d have to see what the clothes were because some may have to be air-dried on the drying rack. He left. I receded from reality again, and was soon after aware of the sounds of the washer and drying going downstairs, so I knew that Mr. W had put in additional laundry, which meant he took mine out of the washer and likely put the load in the dryer. I forced myself up to go downstairs, opened the dryer and pulled the damp, hot clothes out of there, closed the dryer, and went back upstairs to put them all on the drying rack. Mr. W said something about how they’re not dry yet, and I responded that if this particular load dried in the dryer at the setting he had, all the clothes would shrink. I arranged the wet mass on the drying rack, and then went in the bathroom and threw up.
Half an hour later, I threw up again.
Fucking ramen. I figured I’d been eating so well now for so long that my body totally rejected the preservatives, chemicals, sodium and MSG in the instant ramen, which I’d always known is one of the worst things one could eat, but there was one package left and SOMEONE had to eat it so it doesn’t go to waste. It was soooo not worth it.

The next day, despite not sleeping well at all, I forced myself to go to work, knowing I was going to abandon my judge on Friday to pick up Jordan at the airport, and we’re in trial so he’s very anxious about my not being there. He even offered his WIFE to pick Jordan up so that I didn’t have to take the day off, but of course I couldn’t let her do that. I threw up at home before we left, and felt so much better after doing so that I figured I was fine for the rest of the day, but was wrong and threw up again at work. I’ve never vomited 4 times like that in memory. Fucking ramen. I couldn’t believe I still had ramen to throw up after 14 hours; my body was obviously not letting any of it go down. I pensively sipped at only a mug of cool tea all day on Wednesday. Mr. W ended up trading our tax appointment with one of his friends, who had a March appointment, so at least that pressure was gone.
Around lunchtime, I’d totally forgotten it was yoga/pilates day at work, which I normally participate in, but I couldn’t do it. I instead crawled into the jury room to nap at lunchtime, and dry heaved a little upon waking, but didn’t vomit again. I could just feel the pregnancy rumors starting at work.

I did get better throughout the day, enough to try a small bowl of plain miso soup for dinner, and altho my stomach protested a little with a small stab of pain, it didn’t come back up, so that’s a good sign. Mr. W and I also went to some clothing stores and got Daughter her work clothes on our way home yesterday, and shopping is much faster without her, so that’s out of the way. She was happy with our purchases. This morning, I was dying of thirst and weak from malnutrition, so I sucked up two cups of soy milk for breakfast. My stomach protested a little, but insignificantly, so now I’m having more tea at work. I’m slowly expanding my food capacity again. Today, Daughter and I will go get haircuts after work and she needs her work shoes and I wanted to get her running shoes, so maybe that can all be done in one shot. Then Mr. W will help me clean the house. It’ll be okay, I tell myself.

I vowed to never eat instant ramen again.

After I had my crazy nauseating vertigo on Saturday, I’d expected it to be gone on Sunday, but it wasn’t. I had occasional 1-minute dizzy spells through the day. Monday, same thing, even tho I made sure to stay hydrated. Tuesday, same thing, with very little hydration. I’d noticed that the bouts of spinning would be preceded by a buzzing sensation in my brain. It got REALLY bad on Wednesday despite my drinking a ton of fluids and eating a small lunch; instead of the occasional spinning, I’d be consistently loopy with regular bouts of significant spinning lasting up to 10 minutes or more, the more significant of the bouts would make me nauseated (altho still not to the extreme of Saturday’s onset). I described the sensation as a buzzing that felt like my brain was trying to peel itself away from my skull and crawl down my spine, and then everything would spin as gravity pulled me from the side (usually right side). An attorney in my courtroom with a medical background suggested I get a ear-nose-throat specialist to examine me, and that he doesn’t buy that it’s dehydration-related. He said they’ll likely give me a pack of steroid pills that I’m to take over the course of about 5 days that specifically addresses this vertigo symptom. So I called and made an evening appointment with my primary care doc (who’d [mis?]diagnosed me with GERD) for tonight, to request a referral to an ENT specialist.

Meanwhile, I’m still trying to isolate the vertigo trigger myself. This morning, I drank a cup of water (in case it’s dehydration), a protein shake (in case it’s malnutrition), and am wearing glasses instead of contacts (in case Jordan’s right and something’s suddenly wrong with my contact prescription, since the disorientation was first noticed immediately after I put in my contacts on Saturday morning). So far, I’ve gotten the brain buzzing once in the car on the drive to work, I feel a TINY bit detached/medicine-head-y, but that’s it. So either I’ve mitigated the problem, or it’s getting better on its own.

In email, I received something called “Home Remedies” and I was hoping there’d be something in there to address vertigo, but no such luck, cuz here’s what the email said:
~ * ~
AMAZINGLY SIMPLE HOME REMEDIES (That Really Work!)
1. AVOID CUTTING YOURSELF WHEN SLICING VEGETABLES BY GETTING SOMEONE ELSE TO HOLD THE VEGETABLES WHILE YOU SLICE.
2. AVOID ARGUMENTS WITH THE FEMALES ABOUT LIFTING THE TOILET SEAT BY USING THE SINK.
3. FOR HIGH BLOOD PRESSURE SUFFERERS ~ SIMPLY CUT YOURSELF AND BLEED FOR A FEW MINUTES, THUS REDUCING THE PRESSURE ON YOUR VEINS. REMEMBER TO USE A TIMER.
4. A MOUSE TRAP PLACED ON TOP OF YOUR ALARM CLOCK WILL PREVENT YOU FROM ROLLING OVER AND GOING BACK TO SLEEP AFTER YOU HIT THE SNOOZE BUTTON.
5. IF YOU HAVE A BAD COUGH, TAKE A LARGE DOSE OF LAXATIVES. THEN YOU’LL BE AFRAID TO COUGH.
6. YOU ONLY NEED TWO TOOLS IN LIFE – WD-40 AND DUCT TAPE. IF IT DOESN’T MOVE AND SHOULD, USE THE WD-40. IF IT SHOULDN’T MOVE AND DOES, USE THE DUCT TAPE.
7. IF YOU CAN’T FIX IT WITH A HAMMER, YOU’VE GOT AN ELECTRICAL PROBLEM.

DAILY THOUGHT: SOME PEOPLE ARE LIKE SLINKIES – NOT REALLY GOOD FOR ANYTHING BUT THEY BRING A SMILE TO YOUR FACE WHEN YOU WATCH ‘EM FALL DOWN THE STAIRS.
~ * ~

I spent much of Saturday afternoon in Urgent Care due to severe vertigo. It had only happened to me once before a couple of years ago when I was in NorCal visiting college roommie Diana, but I didn’t care to ever go thru that again. Like that makes a difference. I stumbled a bit Saturday morning after putting in my contacts, but I figured my eyes just needed to adjust to the contacts for whatever reason. I then proceeded to drive to WalMart to buy a laundry hamper. The road was spinning around my head and I felt off-kilter. I suddenly recognized this as a mild version of the first time. I managed to get thru WalMart fairly normally and drive home (altho upon exiting the car and walking, I did fall left back into it), taking good care to leave space cushions around me on the road. Mr. W thought it may be dizziness due to sugar low, so I had a bowl of cereal and felt a little better. We then plopped on the couch to watch some Ally McBeal. Some time went by and when I sat up again, the spinning was back, and worse. He tried to convince me I needed medical attention as I tried to convince him I was fine. To prove my point, I got up to continue my laundry chores, but in transferring clothes from the washer to the dryer, everything spun so severely I had to brace myself against the washer and try hard to focus on one point, and even then the dizziness got me so nauseated I wobbled upstairs to the bathroom and hugged the toilet, breathing erratically, waiting for the cereal to make its way back up. As soon as I sat still, leaning my head sideways against the tub, I felt better. Things were still moving on their own, but at least the nausea was gone. I pulled myself up to look in the mirror. The motion alone brought the spinning sickness back and I observed I’d never seen my face and lips so colorless. I slumped back down. Mr. W found me in the bathroom like that a few minutes later and this time when he insisted I needed to go to Urgent Care, I was too weak to deny it.

At the hospital, the nurse weighed me (I apparently lost weight since being flakey on the gym the past few months, which could only mean I lost muscle mass, damn it — at least I returned to the gym on Friday), took my blood pressure (108/69, pulse 64), checked my oxygen saturation (98%). All vital signs looked normal, healthy even, as usual. I was sent back to wait in the lobby for the doctor. Hours went by and the spinning lessened until I was comfortable walking steadily to the restroom on my own. When the doctor finally saw me, though, he gave me a lot of time and very thorough testing. Mr. W saw that as an opportunity to rat on me to the emergency doctor. “She doesn’t eat breakfast, doesn’t eat lunch, and works out at the gym at lunchtime. She only eats once a day. She won’t listen to me!” I gave him a flat look. The doctor (as other doctors before him) didn’t seem concerned with my level of nutrition, especially after I told him I start every weekday morning with a hot mug of chia seeds in water. He checked my reflexes, walking, balance, took blood pressure laying down, sitting, and standing (pretty minimal changes), checked in my ears (no inner ear infection) and nose (passed the booger test). Then he had this tuning fork thing he put on various parts of my body to ask if I could feel and/or hear it. And then, Mr. W thought he’d pipe in and tattle on me about my recent omnipresent breathing difficulties and tried to relate it to malnutrition. The doctor looked over my past medical records on the computer, going back 6 years. Then he took an ECG (my heart’s normal, too) and listened to my lungs. So here’s his bottom line:

Looking at the progression of data from past blood tests to present, I apparently am dehydrated. This is why in such an otherwise normal healthy person, my sodium and potassium are in the high-normal range. Concentrated blood. He said this is also the reason why my pulse and blood pressure are so low (and I thought it was just cuz I’m athletic). He also noted that in more recent blood tests compared to before, my kidney function has gone down gradually, and he attributes their not doing as much filtering to that I’m not supplying them the tool with which they filter things — water. He asked what color my urine usually is. I couldn’t tell him, considering I pee probably twice or three times a day so I don’t notice. He balked. Now I’m QUITE dehydrated. Having ruled out everything else, he diagnosed the dizziness as Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo (calcium stones that detect balance float on fluid in the inner ear, and when one’s dehydrated, the fluid level drops), and gave me a printout of Care Instructions for the next time this happens. Apparently you just do Brandt-Daroff exercises, really easy stuff. You sit on the edge of a bed or something, and lay down quickly to the side that causes vertigo (for me, this time I fell left). Stay there with that ear flat on the bed at least 30 seconds as the vertigo subsides, then sit up. If vertigo is still there, go quickly down on the opposite side. If things spin then, wait for it to stop, then flop back to the 1st side. You just do this like 10 times. I guess it dislodges the little calcium stones that perceive balance in your inner ear or something. For the nausea, he recommends over-the-counter anti-motion-sickness medication meclizine, which we already have at home as Mr. W’s Disneyland roller coaster rides excuse-eliminator.

Now here’s the interesting part. As for my breathing difficulties, which I described to him as feeling like my lungs won’t expand when I breathe so I respond by taking deeper and deeper breaths until I’m lightheaded, he could find no organic cause. So he thinks it’s psychological. I said the other doctor there had diagnosed it as GERD. He doesn’t think it’s GERD. He said being full may put some pressure upward but that it shouldn’t impact my diaphragm to where I feel like it won’t expand outward. He thinks I’m having unconscious anxiety attacks. But I’m not stressed or anxious, I tell him, and even Mr. W agreed. He said to start writing down what I was doing when I find myself gasping for air, and note what I was thinking right before. I tell him it’s usually immediately after I’ve eaten that I have symptoms, sometimes I’m just sitting there after eating, watching TV, when I start the breathing struggle, hence GERD, right? He still didn’t think so. He said it’s likely a more deeply rooted issue than a conscious awareness of something that causes me stress or anxiety, or I’d have stopped the trigger myself by now. So a new theory was born.
Maybe the anorexia has come back, but only subconsciously. I’m so (subconsciously) freaked out that I’d overeat and get fat, that I don’t eat often, and when I do, the feeling of fullness triggers guilt, and that guilt triggers an anxiety attack that gives me the only consciously noticeable symptom: difficulty breathing. Hmm.

Today, Sunday, I was involved in a major furniture exchange. My parents gave me their current newish dining room set, I gave our too-large dining set to my aunt’s family, gave my parents our credenza, matching coffee table, bookshelf, and gave Kevin and his U$C roommates our leather living room couches (I visited enemy territory on Trojan turf for the first time today — can the place USE any more bricks?! It looks like the 3rd little pig put the campus together.). Our new couches will be delivered on Tuesday (yay!). I was talking to my mom about my recent hospital visit, and it turns out she’s had acid reflux and vertigo for most of her life! “So it’s a genetic thing! So this is all YOUR fault!” I joked, pointing a finger at her. As a matter of fact, she’d even had a random attack of vertigo Saturday night right after I’d recovered from mine. “You passed it on to me! So this is YOUR fault!” she accused, pointing back at me. The last stop was my aunt’s house to deliver the dining table, and she had us all sit around it and kept feeding us tea and junk food. After all the furniture was delivered and exchanged, I drove home and found myself again gasping for breath in the car. It suddenly occurred to me to relax my diaphragm and stomach. My full tummy extended. And breathing got easier.
Oh.my.God. I didn’t even realize I was sucking in my stomach. Thinking about it, when do I most tend to suck in? When I’m full, cuz that’s when I feel fat with my protruding tummy. I also suck in when I’m sitting, because that’s when fat folds over (blech) and is the most obvious. So if I’m wearing fitted clothes, feeling fat, sitting at work, my diaphragm is constantly being restricted from expansion — by ME! I’m gonna test out this theory. So far I’ve ended two bouts of breathing issues tonight by forcing myself to relax my stomach. It’s not the most attractive thing in the world, but at least I can stop gasping. I’m not subconsciously anorexic; just subconsciously vain.

I got my blood test results back from my doctor’s visit, and every component in my blood was within “normal” ranges. So, my trouble breathing is not a symptom of lung cancer, anemia, asthma. I am diagnosed with something else much, much simpler. An email from my doctor just now:

“This is GERD.

1. Eat 5 to 6 small meals a day instead of 2-3 big meals per day.
2. No eating 3 hours before bedtime. Do not lay down after eating.
3. Avoid alcohol, spicy food, Advil, Motrin, ibuprofen, aspirin, naproxen, Alleve.”

During my visit, the doctor had discussed with me his theory that I have a rare acid reflux reaction in which the stomach acid comes up the esophagus and makes a turn straight down into the lungs. The result is usually coughing and/or chest pressure (trouble breathing). He says in these cases, the affected people do not feel the acid’s movement from the stomach into the lungs. He said it IS possible that it takes 2 weeks for my lungs to clear out and hence have breathing issues for 2 weeks. This makes sense, since I’ve had acid reflux before from a stress-induced stomach ulcer in 2000, and last nite, I spit up a mouthful of acid (and half-digested dinner) just getting up from a laying position on the couch.

Aside from the list of over-the-counter pain relievers I can’t take (which I don’t take anyway unless I’m writhing on the floor foaming at the mouth from pain), my doctor’s suggestions sound like weight-loss tips. I guess one side effect of un-GERDing myself will be trimming down my body. I can live with that.

Today is furlough day, and it’s a rare furlough day when I’m not at the dentist these days. Instead, I went to a Kaiser appointment for a physical, and to check up on why I’d been gasping for breath for the past couple weeks. Of course, by the time I obtained this appointment, the breathing difficulties have been over. My first air-restriction-less day was Monday. I sat there at Ann’s apartment chatting with her and suddenly realized, I was breathing normally! Tuesday wasn’t bad, either, despite walking to lunch and back. I also haven’t gymmed in a few days, maybe that helped. The doctor checked me over and said all four quadrants of my lungs sound great, I don’t appear to be anemic, I’m in great physical shape, oxygen saturation at 100%, blood pressure 104/59, pulse at 62. He was impressed by the decades of gym dedication and said I’ve saved myself from at least 80% of physical ailments due to my exercise regimen. He ordered a blood test to rule out anemia and kidney disease anyway, just in case.

At the lab, I was freaking out remembering my last blood-draw experience at a different Kaiser, and I expected to be pricked 3 times on each arm for nothing before they threaten to draw from my foot. *shudder* Instead, the guy had me squeeze the ball, tied my arm, did a poke-poke inside my elbow with his fingertip, set up his needles and test tubes, did another poke-poke, wiped my arm with a swab and wiped it off with a dry swab, I turned my head, he poked with a needle, I saw out of the corner of my eye that he was rapidly changing test tubes as I filled what I needed to fill, and he pulled the needle out and taped a cotton ball to the prick site. “Okay, you’re all done,” he said, not a hint of stress on his face.
“Wow, you’re SO MUCH BETTER than the last phlebotomist I had!” I said in happy surprise.
He said modestly, “Oh really? Probably just my lucky day.”

So now we wait for blood results to see if the cause for my sucking wind can be uncovered there.

Earlier in the week I received my dental statement for the work Dentist Andy had to do on a molar that had a chunk crack off last month. It was just shy of $1K. Insurance took care of about half, and I paid the other half out-of-pocket. That was the second or third time that a molar fell apart on me; the first one was while eating a Zone bar some years ago, and I had another one that seemed like the filling and part of the tooth fell out, and Andy had repaired both last year, and this one happened while I was eating a panini last month. Andy determined the tooth was so compromised that I needed a crown, so I have a temporary crown in place right now (my first one, and I was hoping that’s the end of crowns for me) and the permanent one will be installed next month. Well, on the same day that I received the dental statement, I was laying in bed when I realized I was so thirsty, that I just HAD to go downstairs for a drink of water. While I was drinking, I realized I hadn’t flossed yet that night, so I went to the bathroom and started flossing. The floss got a little stuck between two teeth (on the opposite side of where I had the temporary crown), so I gave it a little tug. That freed the floss, all right, but it also freed something else that flew out of my mouth and landed with a rattle on the bathroom sink counter. I looked closely, and recognized it immediately. I mean, I’ve had enough practice. It’s a chunk of ANOTHER molar!! Who the hell’s teeth fall apart like this?! I’ve been going to the dentist nearly every furlough day to get work done and just when I was finally done, my teeth start falling apart. I already have a dental appointment for mid-January for the crown, I suppose I’ll just wait till then. I went back to bed and laid there lamenting and regretting my thirst and good oral hygiene (WHY did I have to floss?!) and gave myself acid reflux all night.

On top of teeth problems, I’ve also been having the old breathing difficulty again. It feels kind of like my lungs are unable to expand to take in more air, or the air isn’t filling up as much as it should, even though I can tell air’s coming in. I think it may just be a sensation of not having air since I’m not wheezing or choking or anything. Maybe something’s wrong with my diaphragm. I end up gasping for deep breaths, trying to get all the air in I can, and then get light-headed from hyperventillation. That means I must be getting some oxygen, right? I asked Vicky yesterday whether anemia would cause the sensation of not getting enough air, and she said yes, so maybe that’s it. I’d rather think it’s that (which makes sense cuz this happens when I’m eating little-to-no red meat, such as the summer before my wedding and now), or what she thinks — slight bronchial inflammation from the cold or the bad air quality — than to think it’s something like lung cancer. I had the suffocating feeling fairly often summer of ‘08, then periodically earlier in the year, and recently it’s been all the time, all day long, so I finally had to call the doctor for an appointment. The attacks have never lasted this long; usually they’d come and go within minutes, and in the past week it’s all the time. I also think I may be a little short of breath, as at the gym I now have to stop and breathe before moving on to the next exercise. If I’m sitting very still, I don’t have the problem.

All this could only mean one thing — my manufacturer’s warranty must have just expired.

As a general rule, it’s easier to prevent than to repair, right? It’s much more economical in the sense of time, money, stress, etc. to prevent a problem than to have to fix a situation that’s already occurred. Why, then, do we as a species put so little thought into prevention? We could eradicate HIV. We could dramatically reduce car collisions. We could save ourselves years of heartache. I’m more aware of prophylactic measures and make more effort than your average Joe to keep myself from being in a situation I’d regret later, but average Joes roll their eyes at me. I look back at my life, and have I really missed out on anything by being the way I am? I honestly don’t think so. I don’t get a high from dangling from the edge of destruction and being able to come back to tell about it. It makes no sense to me — why gamble with something that has no gratification? It bugs me to watch people close to me take risk after risk just because they’re impatient or can’t see anything beyond a potential miniscule reward. I constantly picture one of those old-fashioned scales in my head like the one that Lady Justice carries: on the left is arriving at the destination 30 seconds sooner; on the right is traffic ticket, traffic school, further delay as the cop issues the citation for the crazy illegal manuever just pulled, or maybe a collision with expensive repair bills and/or injuries. It’s a no-brainer to me, but apparently, only to me. I quit drinking sodas 3 years ago and aside from the occasional splash of lemon-lime in a mixed drink I may order, haven’t looked back and have saved myself 3 years (and counting) of chemicals, dehydration, sugar, empty calories, fat cells.

So I was thinking this morning, why human nature doesn’t just do the easy thing, foresee the plausible outcomes of a decision and make the smarter one. It’s not much more effort than the other thing, and often it’s less effort! A stitch in time saves nine, right? I think our brains are just not designed to be affected enough by negative possibilities. The possibility of a car accident doesn’t spur us to not speed or run yellow lights; the potential of something being messed up that we’d have to repair later doesn’t keep us from NOT messing that thing up. But the panic induced from having to repair something broken drives us to action. It just seems so very backwards and unnecessary, that we have to be goaded by negativity and not encouraged by peace and tranquility.

Oh well…people robbing banks cuz all they see is the next 10 minutes of being in possession of wealth — as opposed to the 10 minutes after THAT of police chase, jail, humiliation and disappointment of their family, etc — is what gives me job security, I suppose.