Mind your metabolism

This post has been a while coming. I’ve been freaky tired, but fear not dear readers. Knowing is half the battle and good humor is two thirds, so I’m running a surplus.

Get a load of my visit with the doctor last week. She tells me she wants to go over the good stuff from my labs first. The word ‘first’ was my cue to stop paying attention until she said ‘second.’ The second part was the list of stuff we expected to be off after the chemo last year, and that was my cue to start holding my breath.

Then she went over the results related to metabolism. After presenting the numbers (contrasted with what’s considered normal), followed by a masterful execution of the pregnant pause (something I’m convinced they teach in residency), she asked: “does anyone in your family have diabetes?”

I have this thing I do when I’m surprised. Many of you have seen it, either from me or others trained in the emotive arts: the diameter of my eyes double. (No, I’m not blessed with supernatural powers that change my body shape. My eyeballs and occipital cavities remain unchanged. I just make a whole lot more of them visible with my excellent facial muscle coordination.) Sensing that I was mixing surprise with alarm (something I don’t recommend by the way), she added something to the effect of “… you don’t yet, but you’re just short of the line where we’d start to talk about doing more tests.”

My body might not always be healthy, but I think my reaction was. I went home and threw a fifth of the food we had in the trash (including all the leftover Halloween candy). What can I say? I’m weak. My best coping mechanism is removing temptation.

Then there was yesterday. I had another visit with my doctor to go over my sleep study results, which again presented me with good and bad. The good part was that I don’t have sleep apnea. Woo hoo! No funny masks forcing air up my nose in my immediate future! The bad part was I’m still having an average of “40 arousals” per hour.

My first instinct was to blush. My second was to wonder, “is that even physically possible?” My third was to realize, “she doesn’t mean THAT kind of arousal.”

Many people have something called restless leg syndrome. As it turns out my version of the syndrome is more of a full-body experience, not unlike a small seizure… 40 times an hour. It’s just one more reason why Cheryl really loves me.

But I’m in luck. There are several medications used to treat RLS. Too bad they tend to counteract one of my other medications.

This is my life.


  1. Your doctor sounds like she has great dramatic timing.

    WRT RLS, if it’s not contraindicated, you might try a large daily dose of magnesium, maybe as part of a calcium/magnesium multi-vitamin in a 1:2 ratio. Also, increase potassium if necessary. This formula pretty much eliminated my nighttime twitching, which was beginning to morph into daytime twitching.

    And for the metabolism, maybe iodine? There’s a test in alternative circles: paint a silver-dollar sized patch of iodine on your body somewhere, and if it disappears before 24 hours have elapsed, you’re iodine-deficient. You can get oral iodine supplements, but I find it’s more fun to paint designs on myself everyday.

  2. Hah! Speaking of nuns, they had a power over Cheryl when she was a young child in Catholic school: their presence made her throw up. Instead of using this power for good, they tried to exert more power over poor young Cheryl… expecting her to vomit only on their terms… preferably when their shoes weren’t in range.

  3. John: So, Steve, give me the news.

    Steve: I’ll give you the good news first.

    John: Uh oh.

    Steve (following a masterful execution of the pregnant pause): Does anyone in your family write creatively?

    John (the diameter of his eyeballs doubling): Don’t mind my eyeballs doubling. That’s just a manifestation of surprise mixed with alarm.

    Steve: You’re not a writer yet. You’re what they call a “natural,” however, and that’s what concerns me. If you practiced and submitted you could come down with terminal publication.

    John: I’ll go home and throw all my books in the trash. My best coping mechanism is removing temptation. Now, what’s the bad news?

    Steve: Forty arousals per hour? Is that all? I get more than that attending church.

    John: Nuns?

    Steve: Call it a fetish.

  4. Having met Cheryl, I can attest that the number 40 would not unreasonable.
    I know she loves you, you lucky…… ! I pray she’s feeling much better now.

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