Posts Tagged ‘health’
Me and Alcohol
Long ago in my life, so long that it’s embarrassing to admit, I discovered I don’t care for alcohol one bit. There was a brief period where I figured I should learn to like it, seeing how it was such a large part of people’s lives and a pretty significant expectation in which to imbibe upon attaining legal drinking age. But my better sense overcame that idea, aided nicely by my ongoing dislike of the taste of alcohol in all its forms. Among the multiple reasons I’m grateful for that, the most significant is that it tends to be the number one drug of choice for people with depression, and I would have likely complicated my experience of seeking a remedy for that mental struggle –and more likely than not, made a bigger mess of things up to that point.
At the time I was making my decision to just do without alcohol entirely, I was struck by the presence of the drug in 100% of the conflicts and life-dramas I was witnessing. It also seemed to be present in every violent crime, auto death, and domestic dispute I was reading about in the paper or hearing of in the news. I figured I was improving my odds greatly by avoiding it altogether.
Still, it has never been far off. Nothing is more difficult for me than the role it plays in the lives of people close to me. How I have wished to just have them make the same decision I did and abstain entirely. It frustrates me that there is no definitive point clarifying that intangible transition from unimpaired to intoxicated. How much is too much? How long is too long? I’m afraid, as patient a man as I am, I have no patience for enduring the period of increased drinking, and the associated consequences, that must eventually build up to earning a justifiable intervention.
It all seems so unnecessary and entirely avoidable.
I suffer the fact that even though I am able to completely eliminate my intake of alcohol, I remain under the influence of its impact, through the experiences of people around me.
Conscientious Ingestion
For almost my entire life I bet I’ve heard the phrase, “You are what you eat.” Whatever. Does anyone really heed these tidbits of wisdom beyond the surface first impression that hearing them elicits?
Then along comes a medical procedure requiring a couple of days avoiding all the foods that are supposed to be good for you… raw fruits and vegetables, whole grain breads, cereals, and nuts, followed by almost 2 days of a purely liquid diet. When you get all done with that and your insides have been entirely cleared out, there is a whole new appreciation for what food will restart the process of fueling your activities and becoming the building blocks for your cells.
I started with Dairy Queen ice cream on the way home, in celebration of my restored freedom to choose from my regular culinary passions. I love cereals more than anything and heavy whole grained breads are a close second. Vegetables are good, but they do lack the sweetness of breads and cereals. For my palate, it’s all about sweet and crunch. Fruit is something I whine about. The sweetness inherent should make it a winning choice, but they often also pack that sour twang that causes the twinge in the back of my jaw. That, and the fact there is such a wide disparity in what you might find under the outer covering. Ripe? I am a terrible judge. And I’m picky. There is about a ten minute period of ripeness that my palate seeks as ideal. Before or after that it’s too green or too mushy. Nuts are a winner all around, any kind and any way they come.
I’m finding it not as easy to just make those choices based on pleasing my mouth now that my ‘system’ has been reset for a fresh start. All this recent focus on the intricate workings of breaking down proteins and moving nutrients through cell walls and passing the mixture along through the system has me unusually sensitive to what I put in there. What better time than now to adjust my behavior and heed the wisdom that I am what I eat?
It’s hard to argue it. I guess for the short-term, I’m soft-serve ice cream.
A Taste for the Past
There are plenty of reasons to long for the good old days, but what I want more than anything lately is food of the caliber I was able to eat when I was young. It is not impossible to cultivate this outcome, but it would require an effort that those in my household have yet to rally toward. It would mean a change in the way we shop, the places we shop, and the planning for and preparation of our meals. Most of all, it would require that I take a much more prominent role in the process. Unfortunately, I find it easier to wish for things than to actually take action to bring about real change.
I want to go back to a time before corn-fed cows, before the development of high-fructose corn syrup, before mass production, before chemically ripened fruit. I actually want to only be able to find fruit that is in-season in my region of the planet. I want things that taste better than they look, not the other way around. I am tired of strawberries that look picture-perfect but taste like nothing at all. I don’t know why I bother having tomatoes on a sandwich any more, since it has been so long since one added any flavor to the ensemble, I have forgotten the last time I experienced that pleasure.
In the corporatization and globalization of food production, the fat and fiber have been stripped out, sugars replaced, and packaging maximized. Corporations have devised ways to extend shelf-life to an insane duration and hyper-sell image over substance. They repeatedly design ways to appear more health conscious and convenient in an evolution that seems to be building regrettable changes on top of earlier regrettable changes. Some of the modifications made to processed foods end up developing an addictive craving in the body. I find it hard to trust that these results are entirely unintentional.
Take sodium. Try eating a snack that is totally sodium-free and discover how easy it is to stop snacking, even before you approach the recommended serving size. That salt on your usual snacks makes you want more. Cover the saltiness that makes you crave more, with sweetness, and the process can be stretched out to an even greater extent. Makes a person want to just stop sodium and high-fructose corn syrup, altogether. Go ahead and try. Look at the labels of everything you currently purchase and note how pervasive these ingredients are in our diet today.
One possibility of wanting to return to the food options of the past might be that I end up getting what I wish for. The mono-culture of genetically altered foods, like corn or soybeans, could collapse when nature produces a plague or pest that wipes out entire crops. Nations going bankrupt, or transportation costs becoming prohibitive, may end global exportation of foodstuffs. I could end up hoarding what little crumbs I can muster like some of my ancestors were forced to do back in the past, back in those periods of time between the ones we like to think of as “the good ol’ days.”
No Dodging the Dr.
As much as I’d like to focus on the positive of striving for optimal health, my attention of late is uncontrollably dominated by my suffering lungs. The other day at work, someone asked me if I would like a cough drop. My reply: “No, thank you. What I would like is another set of lungs.”
Over the weekend I decided to return to the twice daily dose of controller medication that I stopped using about a year ago. The inhaler comes in 1-month doses. Since I don’t know how much is left in the one I have from last year, Cyndie checked with the local pharmacy to see if the prescription still allowed automatic renewal, or whether I would need a new prescription from the doctor. First, we needed to wait till the weekend was over for an answer, then it took all day yesterday to learn the good news and the not as good news.
My Doc authorized a new prescription! But he only allowed this one dose, with no refill. Plus, he requires that I come in for a complete checkup since I never returned for a follow-up to my pre-trek physical in 2008. He requires that I come in today! Twelve-hour fast required and I need to arrive 30 minutes early to fill out an extensive 6-page survey. Oops. I guess that is what I get for neglecting to proactively schedule myself for that follow-up doctor appointment.
I failed to see the value at the time. I was back from my trip and I felt just fine. No need to take up his time when I have no needs. Plus, with my rogue decision to stop using the drugs that I’d been prescribed, I wasn’t being the best behaved patient, either. I’d already made a choice to take responsibility for my own treatment plan. Now that I’m again interested in a little support from my health care provider, I must play by their rules.
John: “Doc, it hurts when I do this.”
Doc: “Don’t do that.”
John: “Doc, my asthma is kickin’ my butt lately!”
Doc: “Take your meds, John.”
My goal is to get out of there without him finding something else wrong. Last time I saw him, he came up with several things to warn me about. I need to help him focus on all of my features that are still working the way they were designed to work.
The next trick will be finding where the heck the paperwork is for the warranty on my lungs. They definitely aren’t behaving properly.
Relative Health
Compared to many people, I am pretty healthy. Compared to people who are perfectly healthy, I’m not doing so well today. The asthma disease which I discovered back in December 2008, when it was required I have a physical to clear me for a trek in the Himalayan mountains, is flaring up significantly. It is now clear that I need to be much more prudent about properly treating this affliction.
I have preferred to gloss over the details of the disease and minimize the impact it has on my life, partly in hopes that I could, by sheer will, dispatch it from interfering with my interests and activities. I’m finding that it doesn’t work that way. This morning I am feeling more pressure to begin the effort to better track my symptoms, and as much as I dislike the prospect, investigate the chance that something in my environment is serving as a trigger. I may need to actually engage in the act of dusting. I may need to remove carpeting, change pillows, kick the cat out, change air filters regularly, and confine myself to air-conditioned environments. Sounds just like me, doesn’t it?
You can see why I have been hesitant to accept the situation.
I can also begin the process of exploring possible connections to foods I eat. Maybe my current flare-up is simply a carry over from a recent cold virus. Two weeks ago, I came home on a Friday with a sore throat and spent the weekend nursing a cold that eventually landed in my lungs. The lungs haven’t recovered since. Meanwhile, all the classic spring allergens have burst forth in full force.
It is possible this flare-up is a result of a combination of several, if not all, of the above. Regardless, it will be logical to return to the prescribed routine of medication to control the ongoing affliction so that I am better positioned to treat flare-ups before they become extreme enough to demand emergency treatment. That, and begin the complicated exercise of identifying specific triggers to allow me to practice the fine art of avoiding that which makes me sick.
It’s too bad for me that just the thought of needing to deal with it all, makes me sick, …if you know what I mean.
Eating and Exercising
It is Saturday and I don’t have any commitments. After a full week of activity that began with cycling last Saturday and Sunday, included three days of soccer, one of floorball, and two days commuting to work on bike, I am worn out. I believe I will allow this to become a day of rest. It being rainy helps make that an easier decision.
All this activity is a concerted effort to return to my former level of sports participation from the hamstring injured and sports-limited person I have been for the previous 8 weeks. I saw an article just the other day that reiterated a point I have already witnessed over and over with regard to the limitations of exercise for losing weight. Being active burns more calories, for sure, and a person is always better off for having exercised, but people are generally inclined to eat what they burn and weight loss doesn’t happen.
When my activity level dropped during the period of weeks after my injury, I gained weight. It was effortless and surprisingly swift. I am a victim of my diet. Decades ago, I adjusted my diet to reduce my intake of butter, salt and condiments. I learned to love potatoes dry. The flavor inherent in them, and the differences between varieties, actually surprised me. I discovered that popcorn has a distinct flavor of corn when not masked with salt and butter. I prefer my vegetables not be buttered. I don’t drink carbonated beverages and choose water for most every occasion. It is not enough.
I have yet to master portion control. I love salty snacks. I am probably addicted to carbohydrates. I love bread in all its shapes and forms. My craving for sweet is probably the strongest urge I experience every day. When I give in to it, there is a cascading desire for further indulgence.
I can exercise everyday, but I won’t lose weight unless I take more steps to improve my diet. Most importantly, to reduce my calorie intake to a level below that which I burn. What actually happens, is that I eat in compensation for the work I’ve done. When I’ve just ridden 40 miles on my bike, I feel that I deserve an ice cream treat.
Any bets on how many calories I will take in today while I’m on break from burning any extra with exercise?
Time Shifting
Big deal, move the clocks. I’m not a fan of shifting the clocks, but it’s not so significant to me that it causes me to have health problems. I saw one report that indicated an increase in heart attacks in the three days following changing the clocks. This morning was dictated to be the time for moving the clocks ahead one hour to Daylight Saving Time. Imagine dying from this time change. Wow. That’s extreme.
I would expect more heart attacks this time of year to come from trying to follow your hockey team or your basketball team in the post-season tournaments. I join my good friend, Rhonda, in having a weakness for the drama of Minnesota Gopher basketball games. Even as much as we love the team and the sport, it’s hard to endure the rough parts of their performance. They made it easy on us yesterday, (although past experience as a fan leaves one weary that any lead can be lost) as they overwhelmingly dominated Purdue to advance to the championship game of the Big 10 tournament today. This is the first time in the history of the event, which began in 1998, that Minnesota has made it to the championship game.
The Gopher hockey team squeaked out a victory last night against North Dakota to force a third and deciding game today in their playoff for access to the Final Five of the WCHA tournament. So, today I run a much higher risk of succumbing to anxiety as a local college sports fan than from the adjustment of the clock.
At least there will be more sunlight later in the day to console me if the sports outcomes are dreary for me.
Just move the clocks, and suddenly there is more sunlight in the day! It’s a miracle!
Humans. Aren’t we just so silly?
Rehab
I can’t count the number of times that I have seen stories of individuals who have made unbelievable recovery from physical trauma through their tenacious and dogged determination to endure endless hours of rehabilitation. I have much more respect for all their accomplishments now that I discover I can’t seem to tolerate even one session of focused exercise to recover a torn hamstring muscle.
I don’t understand what it is about me, but even though the tasks are incredibly simple and I know it is bound to help speed my return to the activity I crave, I can’t seem to muster the mental tenacity to pull off the suggested regimen of exercise in more than occasional, light intensity attempts. I am my own worst enemy.
I am free to exercise within the full range of pain-free motion, but need to avoid ballistic movement of quick bursts or starts and stops. The good news is that cycling would be just the type of exercise that I am able to do right now. Unfortunately, I am not a great fan of early springtime riding. I deserve to get over that mental hurdle, I know.
The simple exercises are painful to me in a mental way. The level of strain on muscle is so minimal that I get bored very quick. It is hard to feel that the muscle is even working, so multiple repetitions are what is required to tire the muscle. BOOOOORRRIIIIIIIINNGG!
Actually, my whining here is really just revealing that I am bummed out over the realization that I discovered I probably am not far enough along in healing to get back to my regular sports activity this week, like I had previously hoped. When my boredom over the lame exercise got to be too much yesterday, I tried running around in the house a little bit. Since that felt entirely pain-free, I got cocky and hopped a couple of stairs to quickly discover why it is prescribed to avoid ballistic moves. Ouch. Back to the wimpy, repetitive movements of the leg. Whooppee! I get to pull myself along forward on a rolling chair. I get to bend my knee and stretch the elastic band taut with my foot and slowly allow it to return. Thrilling, I tell you!
I am far from proud of my accomplishments in this area. Those who have spent years doing the smallest of exercises for days on end to regain their mobility, for maybe just a small portion of their former lives, are stronger than I ever imagined. Even though they are always impressive stories to learn about, such accomplishments now leave me awestruck over the implications of what significant achievements they truly are.
My Communities
I am feeling particularly grateful for all my communities lately.
Com • mu • ni • ty: (noun) 3. a feeling of fellowship with others, as a result of sharing common attitudes, interests, and goals.
First, and most recently featured here in my previous two posts, there is my online community, Brainstorms. Next, there is the group I am missing the most right now, because I normally get to see them three times a week, my LIFA (Lifetime Indoor Football Association) soccer community. Rehab on the strained hamstring is commencing into the 2nd phase, so I hope to rejoin you all before the snow is completely gone.
Then comes my cycling community, which primarily is made up of the folks who I have met through participating in the annual Jaunt with Jim biking and camping week in June. It consists of approximately 150 friends whom I spend an intimate week among, and then, for the most part, don’t see again until the following year. Each year, on the first night of the ride, when we re-meet all the familiar faces, it is as if we have hardly been apart. Luckily, after having done this ride many times, I now also have a subset of friends from that larger group which I remain in contact with throughout the year and with whom I enjoy sharing a wide variety activities, interaction and support.
There is one other athletic community in which I claim membership: Floorball. Once again, due to my hamstring injury, I have been unable to participate for a few weeks, but they are a unique group with whom I share a special bond of love for playing this customized version of floor hockey in the evenings on Wednesday nights in the winter.
Interlaced within a couple of those communities are members of my group of life-long friends that I grew up with in Eden Prairie, Minnesota. I often see that group as overlapping one last community I will mention, easily defined by one word: family.
Our communities enrich and support us in a multitude of ways and play an important role in nurturing our better health and well-being. Within a community there are opportunities to serve and to be served. Together, those two simple tasks provide connections that sure help me to exercise critical aspects of my deeper mental processes.
As a reader and viewer of my postings here, it is more than likely that you are a member of one of my communities, or possibly only slightly removed, and as such, I salute you for all that you provide me in so many valuable ways. Here’s to community.
Sad Reality
Yesterday, when I did the laundry, I was presented with a vivid depiction of a brutal reality I am currently facing. Happily, it wasn’t a decline of my mental balance that was bringing this to my attention.
If you research the word addiction, you can find that it isn’t automatically framed as a negative affliction. For many years I have been playing indoor soccer early in the morning, three days a week. It provides a combination of physical exercise and social camaraderie to which I can admit being addicted. It happens to be one of the primary activities that I undertake to manage ongoing depression without medication. And when I play three times a week, it creates a lot of laundry that needs to be washed on a regular basis. When I picked up the basket of dirty clothes, there was hardly anything within. It being a day of rest from the normal day-job work week, I had enough free time to pick up around the house. One area that was long overdue for attention was my mystery pile of clothes that have collected from the returning clean laundry and the things I’ve worn recently, but don’t require washing. There I found stacks of the shirts, socks and shorts that I wear for morning soccer. With a heavy heart, I put it all away for now, wondering how long it might be until I can return to my favorite pastime.
In two more days, it will be two weeks since I injured my hamstring. The first weekend after the injury was really promising and I had high hopes that the damage was minor and that I might not have far to go to rehabilitate it. But for the last week, I have suffered a confusing series of signals leaving me unclear about what’s going on. Part of what happens is I detect discomfort from other areas that are either referred pain, or irritation from ways I move in compensation, or a result of my icing and compression regimen. I’ve done some research and am encouraged over recommendations for massage to speed recovery and allow correct fibre realignment and minimize scar tissue. I was under the impression that massage should wait until later, but I would like to begin as soon as is safe. I will now set my mind to working a routine of stretching and strength building within the limits of pain-free range.
Unfortunately, it is a far cry from the fun and fellowship of which I am being deprived.
Relative Something 