The Orange Cat Doesn’t Believe in Walking the Dog

So, I’m coming back from walking the dog and who is sitting at the edge of the AT&T lot, hollering away, but the orange cat. Whew and we got the stink-eye.  And then he herded us back to the house. From the outside, it certainly must have looked like I was walking the dog and cat, but trust me, the cat was walking us.

I was talking with the Professor about this a little bit yesterday–not about the strangeness of our cats, but about walking, and about navigating healthcare professionals who are so focused on weight. I mean, in my own case, I have to wonder where the balance between one’s mental health and one’s physical health is? Because if I have to weigh myself every day and carefully measure what I eat and know my numbers the way some guys know sports stats, I can tell you from experience that I will be in a very bad mental place, especially if it results in what it usually results in for me, where I am hungry and miserable and still fat, and still, according to well-meaning family members, never going to get a man to marry me, and still, according to doctors, lying or not trying hard enough.

So, I’m trying to figure out how to negotiate a way to emphasize health sort of uncoupled from weight.  And I’ve been wondering about what kinds of guidelines we would use?  Would you say that a person should be able to lift 10 pounds ten times or twenty or whatever?  Do ten pull-ups (in the interest of full disclosure, I have never done a pull-up in my whole life. I’m not sure my arms actually work that way)?  Walk three miles in an hour?

I mean, you start to see why weight becomes a stand-in for health.  Even if it’s completely implausible that every woman who is 5’7″ should weigh 130 pounds, that’s a lot easier than collecting charts and data about what someone with arms that long or legs that long or these breathing issues or those could possibly do.

But it seems to me that there should be some guide, even if it’s only keep your heart rate above x but below y for z number of minutes a day, that is not so intensely focused on women’s bodies and on women’s bodies as belonging to everyone who can see them and not just to the woman herself.

I just don’t know what it is.

But I feel like a guide like that “heart rate x for z minutes” is something I could work towards without feeling like a failure as a human being. So, I’d like to keep my doctors focused on that.

But damn, I’m fighting this urge to just go along with whatever the endocrinologist says in the moment, bitching about it, and then ignoring it because I hate it, rather than standing up for myself and being clear about where we need to put the focus, because I don’t want to be seen as somehow non-compliant.

But I also don’t want to think about food that much. I know a lot of women who think about food all the time and, I love you guys, but I’m kind of horrified at the thought of that. I think about food at the grocery store and at mealtimes and otherwise? It doesn’t really cross my mind. I’m not a big snacker, even less so now that I’m on the metformin and my blood sugar is more even throughout the afternoon.

But the ways that women can know how many calories are in a thing and how many grams of fat and how much this and how much that and can hold in their minds what they’ve had to eat for the past week or longer? If you can do it, more power to you, but nothing about that interests me.

And having to live my life that way?

I just won’t do it.

So, maybe I am noncompliant after all.

Oh god, you know, it’s only Monday. The appointment is four days away and I am already this worked up over it.

I swear.

Two Things I Have My Eye On

Ugh, I forgot to take my pill yesterday morning. Seriously, of all the things that wig me out about being medicated for the rest of my life, the ease with which it becomes such a part of your routine that it can just so easily slip your mind scares the shit out of me. I need a low level of anxiety reminding me to check and check again to make sure I’ve done it, but I don’t have that. Luckily in this case it was just the Pill, but I forgot to take the metformin the day before the Butcher’s birthday and I spent that whole day feeling like I was fixing to die.

Anyway, I think GoldnI is doing some of the best blogging on Cooper of anyone in the country right now.

And it doesn’t look like Tom Wood’s story about soldiers being exposed to dangerous toxins by KBR and Halliburton is behind the paywall yet, so read it and weep while you have the chance.