cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (Yummy!)
Time between "This chicken is nasty" to "You poor, delicious chicken":

36 hours.

Stomach complications were minimal this weekend--I still lost sleep--but I got some breathing room, so to speak. I'm pretty sure tomatoes are a problem, but the jury's out on the rest of the nightshades. I'm afraid to even look at a bean right now. I remain suspicious of gluten and soy.

I've come to the conclusion that, just as the best way to not be poor is to start off rich, the best way to not be sick is to start off healthy. It's really really hard to improve your situation when you're starting from a deficit.

Threshold

Feb. 27th, 2015 11:28 am
cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (whiny Cas)
Something really weird happened last night.

I ate chicken. On purpose.

I've been a vegetarian for over 10 years. I backslid a bit when I was pregnant, because it made me feel more secure about getting all the nutrients I needed. I've also made nice and eaten tiny amounts of meat when I ordered badly in restaurants.

I've been vegetarian because of my concern for animals. That hasn't changed. What has changed is my health. For almost a year, I've been suffering stomach problems of one kind or another. I can't count how many hours of sleep, work, and family time I've lost due to stomach woes. I've tried a lot of things to be healthier. When I was on prescription-strength acid reducer, I felt pretty good--which meant I only felt wretched for a few days once a month, rather than a few days every week. I'm on non-prescription meds now, and I'm maxing out the daily dose and still having symptoms. So I'll have to go back on prescription.

When some people first consider going vegetarian, they worry a lot about nutrients and protein and minerals. Usually much more than they ever did when they ate meat by default. I find myself on the opposite side now: I could stay veggie, but I don't have the spoons to do the differential equations necessary to achieve the balance I need if I don't want to be in constant pain.

I don't know that incorporating small amounts of meat into my diet will solve my stomach problems, either, but it could solve some, and frankly I'm nearing the end of my rope. If I could just not eat anymore, period, I might do that. It's that bad.

So, I ate chicken last night. And it was nasty. But I'm only in slight discomfort this morning, not pain, and I'll take it.
cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (neon sign)
Bogi Takács ([livejournal.com profile] prezzey) recently featured my poem "Golden Age" in eir #diversepoems recommendations on Twitter. Knowing how much Bogi appreciates bonus notes, I thought now would be an excellent time to elaborate on my poem, which originally appeared in Devilfish Review.

A note about the venue: Okay, coolest name ever! And some kind of cephalopod on their banner? I was sold! But when I read the editors' profiles, I realized they too are from the Rio Grande Valley. That definitely influenced my decision to send them "Golden Age."

I titled this poem "Golden Age" because I thought a certain type of science fiction becomes really appealing when one is first coming to understand mortality, specifically the mortality of our older loved ones.

Diabetes runs in my family. The grandmother I grew up with had Type 2 and her brother had Type 1. He needed regular injections, and the needles frightened me. I don't actually remember him doing the blood test strips, but he'd already lost an eye from diabetes complications. His glass eye was another fright to me, especially when he didn't have it in the socket or he took it out to tease us kids. Not understanding the difference between the two diabetes and seeing the common problems they caused my grandmother and her brother, I had a constant background worry that my grandma would get "as bad" as him. (And, in fact, she did have a host of health problems, related and not to the diabetes.)

Bogi mentioned the code-switching in the poem, and honestly, I had to go back to see what I'd done. I knew I'd used Spanish, but I'd forgotten how I'd had the child and Abuela go back and forth from English to Spanish, the give and take that was necessary to have that conversation between a mostly English-speaking Latina child and her mostly Spanish-speaking grandmother. That bilingual waltz was so ingrained in my childhood--and continues to this day between me and my mother-in-law--that it naturally emerged in the poem.

I had a difficult relationship with my grandma. In my opinion, she was not a good mother and she was unfairly thrust into the role a second time when my parents separated and she became responsible for us kids most of the time. I've written unhappy, even angry things about Gram, so I was glad to write a small, intimate remembrance that condenses the tender moments we shared.
cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (castiel sigh)
Last Monday, we found out Tweetie had strep throat. We started giving her antibiotics, and she improved. But then Thursday, when I was trying to get her to school, she couldn't walk without crying. So back to the doctor, who assured us the strep hadn't moved into her joints, but her muscles had shrunk up while she was stuck in bed. So Friday I finally got her back to school. I still had to administer antibiotics at lunch time, but fine. Yesterday when I went to dose her up, I noticed her cheeks were really rosy. Last night I realized they weren't rosy, they were rashed. As were her legs, belly, back...Back to the doc this morning, who diagnosed an allergy to the antibiotics and prescribed prednisone. I dosed her up and sent her back to school. 

I am so tired. Can I just be done with this now?
cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (whiny Cas)
...but they will not, because Tweetie has strep. I've already been having trouble processing info--I have this sense of implications looming just beyond my mental capacity--so this does not bode well for my spoonage. Just FYI.
cafenowhere: coffee cup with sugar packets that read WTF (so tired)
squirrel with arms raised in Lloyd Dobler pose



Day 9: Two smileys that describe your life right now.

Too sick to bother searching for appropriate smileys. So instead I offer you appropriate icons.

which is to say, I feel bad.


but I still have my Christmas spirit. It's just a little twisted right now.

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