health | BulgingButtons

October 30, 2013
by BulgingButtons 9 Comments

Where Do I Even Begin?

No doubt many of you have already seen this little gem by now and have formed your own opinions about it. My first reaction? You have got to be kidding me. My next reaction involved some choice words that I prefer to keep out of print for now.

I think the story goes something like this: a woman in the midwest wants to do her civic duty by proclaiming her neighbors’ children obese and giving them notes to that effect instead of candy on Halloween night. The notes not only explain what a wonderful service she is doing them, but go on to suggest that the parents ration the candy the children happen to accumulate from the disappointing neighbors who might stoop to give them any.

Jeez, talk about fat shaming. This is fat shaming and parent shaming and just plain old nastiness all rolled into one self-serving holier-than-thou pile of crap. Let’s face it, this note is just plain mean.

Here’s the deal, I’m usually a pretty open minded individual. I like to give people the benefit of the doubt, and I generally try to convince myself that people have others’ best interests at heart. In this case I just don’t see it.

If you think giving candy to some kids and mean spirited notes to others is somehow going to improve their health, you’re out of your mind. You’re worried about childhood obesity? Don’t give out candy. Better yet, don’t give out anything. Turn off your light and stay away from the windows. Your neighbors will probably thank you. Especially those with the chubby children who you will target with your ill conceived notes.

Notes which, by the way, you apparently spent considerable time on, including a cute graphic. Which makes me wonder if this is even real. Who shared this with the world? Halloween hasn’t happened yet. Is someone pulling the wool over our eyes? Are we being pranked?

I hope so , because you don’t know every child’s story. You don’t know every family’s story. Neither do I. If they’re letting their kids trick-or-treat that’s their business. If you don’t want to participate, don’t. You don’t get to pick and choose which kids get a treat and which kids don’t. If you don’t have something nice to say, say nothing. Sit this one out and admit that maybe you’re not the expert on everything. You want to help kids? Help your community? Fantastic. This is not the way to do it.

October 25, 2013
by BulgingButtons 9 Comments

Feeling My Age – What a Pain in the Back

So there I was, minding my own business, asleep in my bed. The alarm has the audacity to wake me at its usual mocking time of 5:25. I hate you, 5:25. I hate you alarm. I hate early morning in general. It rubs me the wrong way. Anyway, I get up after just one touch of the snooze button and start my day. Woo hoo. I feel a little stiff, back a little sore. Hmm, maybe I slept funny. No big deal.

I shower, dress, and go about my business. I drive to work, do my teaching thing, and have a generally so-so kind of day. Then it starts. OW. My back starts spasming and siezing. Damn, this hurts! Fortunately I have already released the cherubs to the care of the music and PE teachers, and I have time to writhe in peace. Seriously, this f’ing hurts.

I leave, wince as I buckle my seatbelt, and gather my teen. He is sympathetic. Bless him. Then I head home to start dinner and face the evening. My sweetheart comes in the door with not only the rest of the dinner fixin’s, but relief for my crazy back. Ben Gay adhesive patches. I’m thrilled to see them. I had been hoping that there might have been a painkiller or two left over from my last surgery, but then I remembered that I was prescribed a very small amount of those… I was rationing them from the start.

We finish dinner and he puts one on me. OH! It feels like ice cold goo is being applied to your back, then it almost instantly turns warm. Not overly warm though. It helps. So does the ibuprophen. I’m a bum all evening, barely moving at all.

I get ready for bed, changing patches (with sweetheart’s help, it’s hard enough to put something on your back, but when it’s painful to twist, well, that’s another problem all together), and hoping that I will sleep. I do.

The alarm rings at 5:25. Dammit. I hate that alarm. But I can move. Yes, it still hurts, but the stabbing sensation is gone. Thank goodness for ibuprophen, a wonderful man, and a gooey feeling bandage. Like my mom says, “getting older sucks.” That may be true much of the time, but it sure beats the alternative.

October 19, 2013
by BulgingButtons 6 Comments

What’s in a Name? Hopefully Not More Surgery

If you happen to google the name “bulging buttons” with a space in between, you will see all sorts of posts related to umbilical hernias. Of course, when I chose the name, I was only thinking about the poor overworked buttons on my blouses and jeans, not medical issues. Still, the umbilical hernia is appropriate to this blog also, I’m sorry to say.

First, what is a hernia? I always thought it was something that only men got and only by lifting gigantic and terribly heavy objects. Not true. It’s what happens when some of your guts spill through a tear in your muscle. It turns out that there are different types of hernias and different ways to get them.

***Let me pause for a moment and declare, quite plainly, that I am not a doctor. I am not in the medical profession at all. Just in case there was any doubt. I took biology for non-majors in college, and much of that wasn’t clear to me. I’m just repeating what I’ve been told and read, and some, or a lot of it, might not be 100% accurate. Now that the disclaimer has been offered, let’s continue.***

I know that women can have hernias because I’ve had not one, but two of them. The first was of the umbilical variety (you know, the bulging belly button kind). It was weird, because I had an innie, then I got pregnant and it disappeared, then I had my son and the innie reappeared, but misshapen, then, a while later, it disappeared again. Some astute doctor along the way said something to the effect of, “Oh, you have an umbilical hernia. Here, see a surgeon and see what he thinks.” So I did.

I saw the same brilliant surgeon who removed my terribly infected gall bladder (but that’s another fun story for another day). Not surprisingly he suggested surgery. Which he did. It was the beginning of summer break, and I had plenty of time to heal. I took it easy, and in spite of a little infection which required a giant needle to the belly button (yes, I know it’s horrific, I lived it), the outcome was good.

Fast forward a few years, and my ample belly had become misshapen. It also felt weirdly hard in some areas, and typically mushy in others. Almost as though I had swallowed a football. I didn’t get it. Hoping it wasn’t a tumor of some sort I sought medical advice. I was told it’s nothing. I disagreed. It was obviously something, I hadn’t been like that my entire life. A different medical professional told me, “I think you may have a hernia, but let’s do some tests.” Super.

Ultrasound, x-ray, and CT scan were completed. Surgeon was consulted. MY surgeon (he really is a genius) now specializes in breast surgery, but another in his group saw me. Fixed me. Coaxed me through recovery. OMG, it took so much longer than the last time. He reminded me that 1. it was a huge hernia (a lot of guts poking through the muscle tear) and 2. I wasn’t as young as I used to be.

Recovery really was a bitch, and by association so was I. It f’ing hurt. I couldn’t sit, I couldn’t stand, I couldn’t lay down, I couldn’t sit up. I wore a huge elastic band around my midsection to keep it all from falling apart. My dog didn’t understand me. She tried. She licked me and wagged her tail hopefully. I patted her and grunted. I was afraid to shower and afraid to look. I developed an allergy to the adhesive holding my bandages in place. My incision opened and required daily cleaning and packing. It was revolting.

It took a good three months before I finally began to feel like myself again, and then I got pneumonia (just for something different, I suppose).

The lesson has not been lost on me. I am too big. I am too heavy. I am stressing my body in ways that it cannot cope with. I need to give it a break. I need to take off some of the weight, improve my muscle tone, and avoid another surgery. If you learn anything from bulgingbuttons, please learn that you are worth the effort. I’m still trying to learn that lesson myself.