Here we are, closing out 2018, heading into 2019. The only thing I associate with 2018 is the death of my father. I watched the man die. It wasn't really peaceful. At. All. He went from his usual self to a half-comatose helpless human being in a matter of days. But then, after that...slowly dying. The death rattle they call it...horrible. Perhaps starving, definitely dehydrated. This is palliative care? Pain meds are the ONLY comfort measure? Oh, don't get me started.
It definitely affected me. Traumatized more like. This leads me to the "take away" from that whole situation...
"I'm not going out like that."
And, if I am not going to be overweight, riddled with cancer and diabetic or whatever at age 83, I had better be on top of my game at my current age. (44)
Probably should have started sooner. I might have been able to help my Dad. He was not ignorant of his health, nor did he disregard it. He used to swim, lift weights, walk, ...he USED to exercise. It got harder and harder for him to do those things when his balance, eyesight, and body started to break down. He tried to counteract that by researching and trying vitamins, supplements, and natural and homeopathic remedies. This may be the very thing that helped him survive more than eight years during which he had two different cancer diagnoses, cancer surgery and open heart surgery. But, if there was ONE thing that sabotaged all his own efforts, it would be....his DIET.
The standard American diet full of processed foods, fast food, and the ass-backward advice of the national American Heart Association (and even the American Diabetes association). Erroneous recommendations, which include a significant amount of carbs and minimize the benefits of good fats. They are even pro-canola and against coconut oil! What the hell?! Even the average American is getting wise to the benefits of coconut oil! MCT's! And have you heard that you are "supposed" to eat six small meals a day to keep your metabolism revved???Where did that get started? Bullshit! So, sorry...this stuff makes me mad. Eating frequently only serves to trigger an insulin response...and we already have too much insulin...you can tell because the excess gets stored as fat. Aren't we one of the fattest cities in the U.S.?
I know I am not a doctor, I don't have a medical degree. But, I have a brain, I know how to read and I like to research and study. Isn't that how you get any degree? Medical or otherwise...read, research, and study.
I appreciate those with precise medical expertise being there for acute care and emergency situations. I also appreciate those doctors and nurses who can put two and two together and search out the truth of our sad medical crisis in this country. Pills are not always the answer.
Check out Dr. Jason Fung, Dr. Mindy Pelz and Dr. Eric Berg on Youtube for some enlightening info.
This has been my catalyst to add to my teaching degree. I am in the middle of a certification course to be a Holistic Health and Wellness Coach. It is quite a general class so far, and I want to specifically help people lose weight and adopt a healthy diet ...for life!
In all my research so far, I realize that my usual way of eating most closely resembles the Ketogenic diet. And I have never really struggled with my weight. When I get that "extra" 10+lbs it is always directly correlated to an up-tick in my sugar/carb consumption. Also, something that I have nearly always done, and didn't know it had a name, is "intermittent fasting". That part is key, I believe. I would love to help and support as many people as I can so that they don't have to go out of this life the way my Dad did either...ya know! Reach out to me if you are interested in starting the Keto diet or Intermittent Fasting. I am not fully Keto yet, so maybe we can start it together. Happy New Year!
Thursday, December 27, 2018
Tuesday, October 23, 2018
Grief is a *bleep*
I am struggling. With grief. And it makes things harder. There, I said it. There is some sort of weird pride thing inside me that doesn't want to let that out. Or, maybe I just figured it out...I am kinda slow on the up-take sometimes. It is so strange that now, of all times, I have to admit it. Life has been way more hectic than this before, I tell myself. I have had babies, toddlers, kids, jobs and stress all at the same time and functioned better than I am now. (Although still not that great.)
I tell myself a lot of unhelpful things.
Writing used to be one of the ways I processed things...notebooks (literal notebooks) full of writing. I was one of those nerds who loved writing essays, research papers and the like. Now, I like to read what someone else has put the thought and effort into writing because I am exhausted. But, here's goes nothin.
During my Dad's last days on this earth, his day to day care was mentally and physically draining. Let me just get this off my chest, hospice care wasn't nearly as much help as I thought they would be. Don't get me wrong, though, every nurse, nurse's aide and administrator that we talked to was caring and intelligent and did their job well. The people were great. The actual physical help they employed was bare bones minimum at best. They could assess his health, tell us what to do in certain situations, prescribe meds, order supplies big and small, but me and my brother were the ones changing catheter bags, cleaning him up, moving him around via a provided hydraulic lift (even with that, maneuvering a 200lb man is challenging) giving daily meds, eventually feeding him...you get the picture. I was under the impression that they had his quality of life at the forefront of their mission, but honestly, to me, it seemed there was an unbalanced focus on pain medication.
At one point, he had been prescribed oxycodone, fentanyl, atavan, and roxynol which is liquid morphine. An opioid overdose waiting to happen, I am not 100% sure that wasn't the true cause of death. I know he was indeed dying of cancer. However, it seems everyone else besides my dad feared the pain so much that we , rather, I... I can only speak for myself...I went against my gut telling me the pain medication we were to give was too much, too soon. And now he's gone. And now I have guilt.
I just hated recounting the events of the day when I would get home. It was hard enough to witness his rapid decline step by step. Was it really the disease weakening him day to day, or was it the pain medication? The initial doses really made it hard for him to communicate or swallow, so he could no longer take pills or eat or drink and that might have helped him live longer. Why am I not a quick thinker??? Why am I just now getting clarity on that???
It is too late.
And I may be completely wrong, too, so why even torture myself?
So, now I feel like I am functioning daily in a fog. I am living my life as usual, but there are no vivid details.
The grief is not so strong that it is debilitating, nor is the sadness overwhelming. It is just part of my new personality. Unfortunately, joy and happiness and general life enjoyment seems to have a lower ceiling...it is all meeting in the middle. Averaging out. Bringing my average down, mind you. Oh, hey...this is sounding familiar. I think they call it depression. Well, then,...depression is a *bleep*.
I tell myself a lot of unhelpful things.
Writing used to be one of the ways I processed things...notebooks (literal notebooks) full of writing. I was one of those nerds who loved writing essays, research papers and the like. Now, I like to read what someone else has put the thought and effort into writing because I am exhausted. But, here's goes nothin.
During my Dad's last days on this earth, his day to day care was mentally and physically draining. Let me just get this off my chest, hospice care wasn't nearly as much help as I thought they would be. Don't get me wrong, though, every nurse, nurse's aide and administrator that we talked to was caring and intelligent and did their job well. The people were great. The actual physical help they employed was bare bones minimum at best. They could assess his health, tell us what to do in certain situations, prescribe meds, order supplies big and small, but me and my brother were the ones changing catheter bags, cleaning him up, moving him around via a provided hydraulic lift (even with that, maneuvering a 200lb man is challenging) giving daily meds, eventually feeding him...you get the picture. I was under the impression that they had his quality of life at the forefront of their mission, but honestly, to me, it seemed there was an unbalanced focus on pain medication.
At one point, he had been prescribed oxycodone, fentanyl, atavan, and roxynol which is liquid morphine. An opioid overdose waiting to happen, I am not 100% sure that wasn't the true cause of death. I know he was indeed dying of cancer. However, it seems everyone else besides my dad feared the pain so much that we , rather, I... I can only speak for myself...I went against my gut telling me the pain medication we were to give was too much, too soon. And now he's gone. And now I have guilt.
I just hated recounting the events of the day when I would get home. It was hard enough to witness his rapid decline step by step. Was it really the disease weakening him day to day, or was it the pain medication? The initial doses really made it hard for him to communicate or swallow, so he could no longer take pills or eat or drink and that might have helped him live longer. Why am I not a quick thinker??? Why am I just now getting clarity on that???
It is too late.
And I may be completely wrong, too, so why even torture myself?
So, now I feel like I am functioning daily in a fog. I am living my life as usual, but there are no vivid details.
The grief is not so strong that it is debilitating, nor is the sadness overwhelming. It is just part of my new personality. Unfortunately, joy and happiness and general life enjoyment seems to have a lower ceiling...it is all meeting in the middle. Averaging out. Bringing my average down, mind you. Oh, hey...this is sounding familiar. I think they call it depression. Well, then,...depression is a *bleep*.
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