I was jazzed when I lost 50 pounds.
Now after 20 months of watching my food and my weight, I’m creeping up. Instead of 50, I’ve lost 43. Ugh. My doctor said that I hit my plateau (at 46).
But I’m still creeping. Up.
My doctor said I need to eat less and exercise more. I can’t eat any less or else I’d be on an air diet.
And my back is so bad with arthritis and a bulging disc (old ski injury from March 28, 1978 —funny that I can’t remember anything from room to room, but I do remember that date!) that it’s been impossible to do my walks. So my new back doctor gave me an…dang…forgot what’s it’s called…oh an epidural…maybe he should give me an injection for memory.
I was lying on my stomach in the surgery theater room and not really knowing what he was doing because he had given me a shot for pain. I did feel pressure, though.
Then he did one shot that felt like a lightning bolt jetted down to my knee. “Sh##!!” I yelled. Then “F###!!” The doctor and nurses laughed because right before that epidural, I had said, “Good thing I haven’t sworn.”
Doc said, “I got it!” Meaning he hit the right spot. I think I mumbled, “I hate you, I’m never coming back!”
Before he left the theater, I think I mumbled, “I love you.” The nurses laughed again.
My friend Mabel’s husband Bart said he had to be scraped from the ceiling when he had his epidural. But it worked for him.
My friend Ivy (his name changed to protect the guilty) said he thought his arm exploded when he got the shot in his neck. But it worked for him, too. More encouragement.
That night I believe I texted Mabel over a dozen times whining about my pain. She had driven me to Santa Rosa, good thing too because I moaned all the way home. But not at her favorite lunch place where she got her favorite food; curry, where I took her for her belated birthday present.
I apologized for being such a sucky friend but she said, “Why? You took me to my most favorite restaurant where I got my yummy noodle curry soup.”
What a dear friend. I have really great friends.
Mabel might have rethought that comment after my sixth text to her after 8pm. Definitely after the twelfth one.
We made another pit stop in Ukiah before heading home. To Costco. I only needed my kombucha and Mabel only needed two things. So, I figured we’d be in and out. Not something that’s on Mabel’s agenda when she goes shopping. She reads every label on almost every item!
I figured I could deal with her dilly dallying since I’d use one of Costco’s electric carts. Nope. They were all in use. There was no way I could walk around the gigantic store. Mabel eyed some wheelchairs and grabbed one. I spied carts that connected to the wheelchairs. Once assembled, we started off with Mabel turning the chair and me turning the cart. Sometimes in two different directions. But we did it, in record time. Amazing.
I did eye several of the electric carts and wanted tip over the riders, until I saw a man with an oxygen mask, putzing along. Guess he did need it more than me.
Once home, I definitely crashed while Mabel so kindly put my treasured kombucha in the refrigerator. The whole night was miserable. I wasn’t allowed to take anything (NSAIDS – non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs) for the pain, so I just binged out on a Netflix series. And texted, and texted and texted Mabel.
The next day, however, was great. I was able to walk without pain on my left side. I had my fingers crossed that the pain free situation would last. Still have my fingers crossed.
I’m not back to exercising yet as the right side crumbles as I walk. But I am still on the journey to keep losing the dreaded yo-yo weight — for the second (or hundredth) time. “It’s a process,” says Mabel, in her sweet condescending voice (disguised as support).
What’s a girl to do? Make the appointment for the doctor to zap the lightning bolt down my right leg. Then, watch out! New York Marathon, here I come!
Lucy Llewellyn Byard is currently a columnist for the Record-Bee. To contact her, email lucywgtd@gmail.com