I met up again last month with some colleagues that I hadn’t seen for a year, and two of them asked me if I had lost weight. I muttered that I didn’t think so, and let it go at that. How do you know if you’ve lost weight if elastic waistbands are part of your daily life I ask you?
I stepped on the scales last night and was surprised to find that I was 25 pounds less weighty than the last time I checked. (About a year ago) The scales were pretty dusty, and I was wary of touching them, as they had been living in a nook in my bathroom. The first thought I had was that they were gummed up by the dust of disuse. It’s a possiblility.
My stepping on the scale was a sort of benchmark gesture, since my physio exercises have made me feel so much better that I have been motivated to try other exercises to build up my core strength. That way, my back will not be painful, and sucking my gut in and walking with my shoulders back improves my appearance. Still in pajamas, mostly, but now with a model’s walk.
Okay. A fat, old model. But still.
I do not need wine to dull the pain in my neck and shoulders anymore. I barely take anti-inflammatories. (compared to earlier, when I swallowed them on a schedule. I still had breakthrough pain)
My blood test results were pretty good. Blood sugar: fine. Cholesterol: pretty good. Liver, kidneys: okay. Thyroid: all good.
Now the only thing left is that pesky smoking habit. It’s next.
I think I’m finally starting to emerge from the deep blow caused by my mother’s death. It feels good to be alive.
Now, if I can only keep Herman in check, I’m golden.