Am I religious?
No, not particularly.
Do I believe in miracles and the power of prayer? That I do. Wait. A public proclamation of that nature does ring rather like the voice of a false prophet, doesn’t it? Akin to a 21st century messiah but that’s not what we’re talking about today. I’m here, neither to preach nor propagate words from any book of old. I am, however, going to share what I did on Monday (which, incidentally, prevented me from publishing my regular post) and how I think it might change my life.
I’ve talked about my weight issues here and here. Since then, I’ve gained another 17lbs despite a strict, clean diet coupled with exercise. No matter what I did, the weight just kept rising. I couldn’t understand what was going on with my body. I was doing all the right things. Protein-centric diet. Minimal to zero carbs. No wheat. No sugar. Loads of greens. Loads of exercising. And still the scales showed that my weight was continuously on the up. In the span of a year, I went from a Size 0/2 to a 10/12. It hurts to even type that number.
I GAVE UP.
I did. I stopped working out.
I sat on the couch and watched TV all day long.
I didn’t even wash my hair for days.
My husband recognised the signs. His mother suffers from chronic clinical depression and anxiety, and he saw the beginnings of the same in me. What’s a man to do in such a situation? Make an appointment for his wife to meet a team of specialists.
And so, for the better part of Monday, I spent time with specialist after specialist after specialist after specialist. Bloodwork panels. Sonogram for this and sonogram for that. A cognitive test here and a cardiovascular test there. Bone density and total body composition exams (these were really cool, you lie on a bed, and the overhead camera takes pictures of the inside of your body, segmented by body water, dry lean mass and body fat mass). Even a test to measure if my lean muscle was over, under or of normal range, and to determine if muscle mass was distributed evenly throughout the body.
REALLY, REALLY COOL.
I felt all sorts of Peter-Parker-stung-by-a-radioactive-spider vibes. Stop laughing.
What did I learn from spending 7 hours with them? That my heart is really quite strong, stronger than I thought it was. That my testosterone, progesterone, cortisol and thyroid levels are practically non existent, which explains things such as the chronic fatigue, the neverending weight gain, the inability to get out of bed let alone accomplish anything. It was a golden moment. A miracle moment.
To understand why this moment means so much to me, you need to know that since 2013, I’ve consulted with 3 neurologists, 2 endocrinologists, 1 rheumatologist, 1 hormone replacement therapist, 2 gynecologists, 2 family doctors, 1 internist, 1 gastroenterologist, 2 immunologists, 3 dermatologists and 4 allergists, all of which have either (a) checked only one specific area and, worse, found nothing; (b) prescribed the bare minimum medication even if it was clearly not working; or (c) told me to go home and stop being a hypochondriac.
Things are happening, at long last.
Finally, I could put a name to my enemy, or rather, names to my enemies. To all those mysterious things plaguing me since 2013. Finally, I can fight so, this is my fight song. My “take back my life” song. I’m being corny and I really don’t give a shit.
I have specific medications to address all those things my body is running empty on. A customised meal plan to address the various autoimmune issues wrecking havoc inside of me. An exercise regime tailored to ensure I burn the optimal number of calories without raising my heart rate so high, it triggers an Angioedema flare-up, and potentially kills me.
I now have a plan. And with a plan, all things are possible.
THIS IS MY FIGHT SONG.
And it’s music to my ears 🙂
p/s photos by Sofia Touassa
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