What is Strength?

It's the end of May. The blossoms have disappeared and soon there will be a fresh crop of cherries on our tree. My garden is struggling to defend itself from earwigs and caterpillars, but inch by inch it grows and thrives. Queen Teen is back in school half days and this morning she rode the bus, happy to once again sit with her best friend in the front seat. And very slowly, I am regaining a little of my balance. That balance is delicate, but strengthening. Day by day, I feel my breath return to my body and the shaking in my hands has stopped. I'm not perched on the edge of my couch ready to leap into action at the first sign of trouble from Queen Teen. My teeth hurt from clenching my jaw too tightly for months and there are much bigger bags under my eyes, but overall, I am stronger.

When Queen Teen got sick in early March and her health quickly declined, it felt as if I'd been kicked in the gut and thrown to the ground. Frantic became the norm as I struggled to take care of her and deal with her new challenges, while also working in my first year as a teacher and coping with "IEP season." Forget writing, I didn't have the strength to do anything more cerebral than watch stand up comedy on Netflix. I knew I had to hold it together, and the funny thing is my depression improved with the immediate crisis. I didn't have time to be depressed, my daughter needed me.

Is that what strength is? Putting your own needs aside for the benefit of another? Perhaps, but when I began to have dizzy spells from lack of sleep and nutrition I realized being strong is much more complicated than having the ability to calm your child after she's thrown up again in the middle of the night. Knowing how much you can give, and what you need to do for yourself so you can continue to give, seems to be an important part of strength. What good is mental strength if your body is exhausted, or vice versa?

As Queen Teen's health worsened, I watched the people around me fall apart too. This made it even more imperative that I stay strong, because I honestly felt that others were unable to be there for her. Funny, I don't blame them. The first weeks of this crisis were terrifying, and some people just can't face the idea that a child might die. As others withdrew, I did too, deciding it was better to just focus on Queen Teen's needs and ignore my own.  But now that the weeks have turned into months, I understand how important it is to surround myself with people who will be there, no matter what. And many people have stepped up; friends who live far away have sent flowers and encouragement and little gifts to Queen Teen to keep her spirits up. My boss has been wonderful. I'm basically still on probation and have had to miss a lot of work to take care of Queen Teen, but my boss says, "Family comes first."

The second ingredient of strength: a support team. But before I can build a stronger team, I need to understand what my needs are beyond just taking care of Queen Teen; what do I need to thrive, be healthy, mentally strong, and balanced?  What are my boundaries? I've decided to surround myself with people who will stand by Queen Teen no matter what may come and dump the people who can't deal with her illness: that includes family. I will not feel guilty for setting boundaries. Guilt is a strength stealer.

Queen Teen has shown me the third major component of strength: laughter. Despite being sick, hospitalized, run through invasive tests and looked at by more doctors than she can comprehend, she continues to smile. She fights every day for her life, and will not give up easily. She is able to find joy everywhere and under circumstances that would cripple a Viking. She cracks jokes easily and when she laughs everyone around her has to smile. Where does that ability come from? She is able to stay right here, right now, and not worry about next month or next year. Yes, I know it's easier when you're not the person tracking down doctors, filling out forms, and planning for the long term, but she is the person who lives with the disability. I can escape it for a precious few hours or a weekend away. For her, there is no escape. Instead of letting that reality destroy her, she keeps fighting, and laughing.

A little bit of laughter and searching for the tiniest spark of joy in what seems to be a tragedy can create strength when I'm at my lowest. I work in my garden and watch the tiny plants turn dark green in the sunshine. Taking a deep breath, I smell the dirt as it tumbles through my bare fingers. The hummingbird who won my feeder through hard battle with at least four other hummingbirds zips over my head. Queen Teen yells, "Mom!" through the back door. "What are you doing?"

Gathering strength, I think.

Fat

What does being fat mean? What I've discovered from learning more about measuring percentage of body fat is that whether someone is fat or not has nothing to do with the scale, or with how people appear. Perceptions of being fat are cultural, and in our culture we idealize those wispy ballerina types, all muscle and bone, with only the smallest ounce of fat supporting our boobs.

But the reality is that those skinny chicks are just as unhealthy as someone with a percentage of body fat of 35%. Too little fat is as big a problem as too much body fat. Whoever said a woman who is 5'10" should weigh 118 pounds is a psychopath. Unfortunately, we all tend to think that way on a deep, collective-unconscious level.

A woman who appears "fat" as she's walking down the street in a size 14 dress may be more fit than I in my size 6. She may weigh 155 pounds, but only have a percentage of body fat around 22%, which is excellent. That makes her strong and healthy, even though we may roll our eyes at her when she orders a mocha and a cookie at Starbucks. I appear healthy, but my higher percentage of body fat makes me more susceptible to health problems like osteoporosis and diabetes. The reason is because I don't have enough muscle on my bones, and muscle keeps our endocrine systems working properly and our bones from deteriorating.

How we look or what the scale says are not good indicators of health. Dress size doesn't matter, percentage of body fat does. Women who are healthy and strong need to stop beating themselves up for not fitting into a size 8. Throw out your Vogue! Go find out your percentage of body fat and work with that instead. You may be surprised how lean you actually are.

When I picture myself at 50, I see a strong, muscular woman who likes to run in the evening after a long day of teaching. I do not see a weak, weary woman who struggles to load a wheelchair in a mini-van, which is me now. 50 isn't that far off, so I need to focus on strength training to meet my goal.

But at the same time, I need to be careful not to obsess about this. Once an anorexic, always an anorexic, and I've caught myself a few times ignoring hunger pains because I didn't want the calories. It's a slippery slope for me, so I need to focus on exercise and not counting calories. Although I have cut waaaaay down on sugar and upped my veggie intake, which seems like a good idea for everyone.

Here's something else I've been thinking about: Jennifer Lopez is considered fat. Can you believe that? The woman is GORGEOUS, but because she's got a big butt, the media labels her "overweight." People make jokes about her ass. I'll bet she's about 25% body fat, another excellent number, and could probably kick all of those paparazzi asses without breaking a sweat.

Need more proof that percentage of body fat is more important than scale weight? Check out this short article that explains how it works and what it means.

Understanding Your Body Fat Percentage

Owwwwww!

Day two of an IBS flareup and I'd like to say.... owwwwwwwwwww! It feels like I have several spinning, rusty razor blades trapped in my intestines, which are being constricted by some of that yellow, rough rope you get in hardware stores that keeps tightening more and more. Then the pain will suddenly stop and the relief will be immediate. I'll think, thank God it's over, but then a few minutes later the tightening will start and the razor blades will start spinning and I'll just want to curl up in a ball and cry. Throw in nausea and fatigue and once again I would like to say, ow!

Since I'm Gluten Intolerant, I tend to blame these bouts on gluten. And maybe it is, but I've gone over my diet for the last several days and unless I accidentally ate a slice of my daughter's bread (not likely) I don't know what I could have eaten. My stomach has been "off" for a few days, with too much acid (something else I tend to have trouble with). I hold all my stress in my stomach, so bouts of nausea aren't unusual for me, especially around my cycle. For years I've seen doctors to try and figure out what's going on with my digestion, and what they say is I "probably" have Irritable Bowell Syndrome, and "probably" have esophageal spasms, and am "probably" gluten intolerant and "probably" create too much stomach acid which is aggravated by stress, which means, they don't know what's causing my symptoms.  

Very, very, very frustrating.

So here I am, day two of an IBS flareup, forcing myself to drink tea and trying to get myself together so I can help my daughter and get through my day. We're supposed to be in Santa Rosa by 11:00 to get her wheelchair fixed and then to San Francisco so she can visit her dad and I can go to class in the morning (internship meeting on Saturday). I have plans to have fun with my good friend Barbara tonight and go explore Hayes Valley after class tomorrow. Spending the evening in her bathroom is not my idea of a good time.

Wish me luck, people. And if anyone else out there deals with something similar, tell me what has helped you.

Vaccinations, sunshine withdrawals, and Laurie Berkner

"Rain, rain, rain! Why is it always raining?" Queen Teen shouts. She has said this every morning and several times throughout the day for a week. I can't really blame her. I love the rain but even for me this weather is a bit excessive. 7.25" in only three days, and it's still pouring. Occasionally it hails and the wind blows so hard from the south there has been rain-water pushed under my front door, making the entry damp and slippery. Queen Teen is a sunshine girl;she needs sunlight to make her smile. When it's gray and cold for more than a couple of days her spirit matches the weather: she gets gloomy.

And then to make the week extra fun, she got vaccinated.

We were finally able to get Queen Teen the H1N1 shot. She's been on the waiting list at the pediatrician's office for two months, and although there have been open clinics via the health department in our area, there was no way Queen Teen was going to stand in line for two hours waiting for a shot. Going to the doctor to get one and waiting 35 minutes was bad enough. She screamed and cried and hit. Luckily her dad came with us to help hold her down while I shoved up her sleeve, held her arm out to the frightened nurse, and said, "Now!"

I hate doing this but it's the only way to get her vaccinated, or her blood drawn. But I know every time we do this it just adds to her trauma and PTSD. I'm surprised she doesn't break into hives just at the word "doctor." By the time she's grown-up and able to make her own medical decisions, she's going to need daily therapy just to walk into a doctor's office for a check-up. That's why I only force this on her when it's really, really, really, really, really, really, really important. The H1N1 virus made this year's flu shot extra important.

Queen Teen was so upset she didn't even want to go to Starbucks. She wanted home: now! Then she hid in her room and rubbed her arm where she was injected. I keep trying to tell her that if she relaxes it won't hurt so much, but in the throes of panic she can't hear me. I gave her tylenol and juice and left her alone to sulk.

After a few minutes she came to find me. I supposed I was forgiven. She came into my room where I was surfing the internet and I suddenly had a brilliant idea.

"Come here, doll." I pulled her toward me and sat her on my lap, then clicked on Laurie Berkner's website. Together, Queen Teen and I watched a few of Laurie's webcasts. It was like the sun had broken through the rain clouds. Queen Teen was laughing and singing along to the songs. She grinned and then hugged me tight, and then we sang, "The Goodnight Song."

"I'm a little frog and my daddy loves me.
I'm a little frog and my mommy loves me.
And when they tuck me in to sleep at night,
they say Ribbet Ribbet Ribbet, good night.

Goodnight. Goodnight. Goodnight little froggy goodnight..."

No matter how bad things might get in Queen Teen's world, Laurie Berkner always makes her feel better.

Mourning for Chocolate

(image from: Koichi Kamoshida/Getty Images)

I don't mind being 42. In fact, in many ways it's really great. I feel emotionally and mentally stronger. I know what I want, what I need, and what I dislike. My boundaries are clearer and I'm not afraid to say no. In so many ways, being 40-something is magic.

Unfortunately, my body isn't keeping up with my spiritual growth.

On Monday, I visited my Chinese Medical doctor for another acupuncture treatment and we talked about the chronic pain and stomach trouble that has slowly gotten worse over the years. I've been to doctors and specialists and no one can find anything wrong, therefore the consensus is that my symptoms are stress induced. Really? Gee, I'm shocked.

Anyway, after being told to avoid stress and try to relax more (yeah, I'll get right on that), I started getting acupuncture treatments by a really good Chinese Medical doctor. Slowly some of my symptoms have improved, but not enough to make either of us happy. Time for drastic measures.

"You have to stop eating chocolate," he said.

I just stared at him.

"And you should avoid red wine, cheese and coffee."

I think I fainted.

He leaned across the table and folded his hands. "If you don't give up these things, I don't think I can help you."

"I don't drink coffee. Only decaf." My voice sounded breathless.

"It's not the caffeine. It's the tannins. Too drying. They create too much heat in your system which is causing the pain and acid reflux."

Then he reemphasized the point, as if telling me I had lost all my money and was bankrupt. "If you don't stop eating chocolate and drinking coffee, I can't help you."

I nodded and said, "Of course." But as I walked home from his office I knew I was in big trouble.

Chocolate is more than a treat to me: chocolate is way of life. I am a connoisseur of that delectable nectar. I can taste the difference between Ecuadorian chocolate and Peruvian chocolate. A Hershey bar is NOT chocolate, it contains chocolate. Same goes for Nestle. I love the smell, smoothness, bitterness, and flavor of good, strong, dark chocolate with just a touch of cream to even out the waxiness. It makes me shiver with delight and helps me smile when I doubt I will ever smile again.

And now, to save my health, I have to give it up.

To say I'm suffering from withdrawals is an understatement. But I have to ask myself, how badly do I want to be healthy? Is chocolate worth being sick all the time.

YES!!!!!!

I mean, of course not.

Last night, I ate the last bit of chocolate in my stockpile of chocolate I keep in my bedroom for emergencies. There is no more chocolate in the house. None. At all. Not even chocolate chips. I am 100% chocolate free. Lord help me.

Once the withdrawals end, I'll eliminate coffee. One thing at a time please, or I might go into shock!