It's A Living

Chris Byrne of The Anarchangel has been posting about some of his health problems lately. He's got some sort of imbalance going on, plus he has a tumor in his neck. The health care pros do not want to operate until he loses weight, and one of the symptoms he's dealing with is edema. His weight has been cycling up and down with the excesses of water retention, and he's found that temperature regulation is a bitch as well.

Welp, welcome to the club, dude. Just call me stumpy.

My toes look like little sausages, and that is scar tissue on the shin. About all I've gotta do to bleed is brush against something solid, and then I've got a slow healing wound that leaves a mark. Do that for several years, and you get some seriously unattractive skin. The longitudinal scar is where the heart surgeon harvested some veins for my bypass surgery. And yeah, I think that big toenail has a fungus - I keep forgetting to say something to the doctor.

More of the same. I've gotta wear diabetic socks because the tops of regular socks cut into the swelling and hurt like hell after several hours. Even the diabetic socks leave a mark - these pics were taken in a motel after a couple hours of running barefoot, so the indentations were gone.

What makes my situation irritating for me is that the diuretic (furosemide, or generic Lasix) is supposed to be taken daily, preferably in the morning. This stuff fills the ol' bladder about every ten minutes at first, to every half hour after four to six hours. Which means a lot of peeing. Which means were I to take it driving, I'd be pulling over more than going down the road, plus probably getting ticketed for indecent exposure. Okay, so take it at night. Mmmkay, let's say I get checked in to a motel at seven or eight pm and have to get up at four or five am. Just because I took the pill does not mean it acts immediately if not before - it may be an hour or so before it takes effect. So, now we're looking at four to six hours of visiting Mr. Commode starting at eight or nine pm. Which means no sleep for the fat boy. Tubby trucker kinda likes his seven to eight hours of sleep.

So, I get caught up on weekends. I'll double down for two or three days, and spend most of the time off doing number one. If I want to go somewhere and do anything - it has to be timed with the cleansing ritual, unless I feel like embarrassing myself.

During the week, the water build up makes shoes, socks, and clothing ill fitting. I gotta have a belt on to keep the ol' jeans halfway presentable, but it feels like it and the jeans waistband are cutting me in two by the end of the day. When I bend my knees, I can feel the movement is restricted by the extra fluid. I can lose all the weekend's "work" by Monday night, too - I can be swollen like I'd never done a thing about it all weekend long. My watchband is too tight at it's normal setting. By Friday or Saturday, I'm beat from lugging around the extra poundage.

Chris's frustrations are based on the idea that not a lot of his problems were his fault. Mine? Well, let's just say that being the poster boy for how NOT to live your life put me in this position. Eating what I wanted when I wanted in the quantities I wanted, smoking, exercising only when work required it - welp, a self indulgent lifestyle and my body just didn't mix. So while I'm willing to "piss and moan" as it were, the voice inside my head that says: "It's your own fault, dumbass!" just won't go away. Which is just as well, I'd be delusional if I didn't acknowledge my own responsibility.

Plus, I've certainly gained a large measure of sympathy for all you gals out there. When "Aunt Flo" comes calling and y'all retain water and swell up, let's just say in the words of one of our illustrious former Presidents: "I feel your pain." Just that quote, not the "I didn't have sex with that woman" one.