Trilostane Day 7

Or is it Day 6, since we skipped Friday, Day 5? Gretchen wouldn’t eat her breakfast, so I called the vet and they advised that I skip her dose for that day, as the side effects we’re monitoring her for include decreased appetite and lethargy.

Her tribe concurs that it’s likely heat and long work days that caused her behaviors, but there’s no denying the girl is off her game. She didn’t go to Ladies Group (workout) yesterday morning. Her humans had decided she wasn’t going because she hadn’t eaten, but she also made no effort to come with me until I was basically out the door, so she somewhat opted out; she didn’t know we had decided she wasn’t going.

She always sleeps a lot on Sundays, so it’s hard to judge what’s going on today. It’s also hard to say whether we’re seeing positive changes, because her routine is so far out of whack, but that’s necessary because she needs constant supervision for the first couple of weeks on this medication.

This is hard. I trust our veterinary team explicitly, but in the end, it’s up to me to figure out what’s working and what gives Gretchen Greer the best quality of life. We’re waiting for the next round of testing to see what the labs say, because Gg’s Cushing’s journey is so muddy and muddled because the symptoms are so very similar to the anxiety issues she’s had her whole life.

Trilostane Day 1

Have I even blogged about Gretchen’s Cushing’s diagnosis? (I mentioned it, but barely.) So, let’s recap:

The week after Thanksgiving, Gretchen had a binge bender than brought me home mid-day to figure out why the puppy cam was upside down. She did some impressive at any age table-surfing and found her “headed out the door”dog treats, AND an old powerlifting meet gift bag that included some (non-chocolate, thankfully) KIND bars in various stages of all gone and what was left was in shredded plastic! She repeated that feat again on Saturday morning (but with no nommies found), and then came absolutely unglued when she was crated (rare, but she was crate-trained) while we went to the work holiday fete that night.

To the vet we went, and we were all surprised when this healthy-looking gal tested positive for Cushing’s Disease. (I’ll probably add her results here at some point so they’re all in one place.) At the vet’s recommendation, we went holistic, in part because she was back to being all but symptom free by then AND because our vets are friends and they KNOW I’m resistant to certain big pharma medications. That went really well for several weeks, and again, I’ll almost assuredly create a Cushing’s page here to track it all, but then in late April, she began having acute anxiety again. On May 31, our holistic vet broke up with us. (No, not really, but I try to keep things light, and when the holistic vet tells you it’s time to use conventional pharmacology, it’s sobering.)

And somewhere in the midst of all of that, baby girl was also diagnosed with high blood pressure. She’s on a microscopic dose of Amlodipine (2.5 mg tab QUARTERED, and one of those pieces twice daily), and while it dropped her BP a bit, it remains a little higher than desired. With everything else going on, we’re going to re-evaluate THAT when the vet tells me it’s time… I think in September?

So, today is day one on Trilostane. She’s on a whopping 15mg compounded into a chicken flavored chewable tablet that the princess rejected as a “treat” but thankfully, she did gobble it down with her breakfast. Yes, that’s a high-maintenance, home-made meal, which I’ll also include on the Cushing’s page. She loved it at first and seems bored with it at this point. I know there’s plenty of room for discussion; my dogs have put me in camp “we like variety when a slow switch is done”. They definitely seem to get tired of the same flavors day after day, week after week.

So far, so good. She’ll be at my side for the next 10 days, until we do her first monitoring bloodwork to assure this is the right dose for her. Despite what I’ve read, I’m still insisting she’s going to live to be 20, and have a happy, healthy life until then.

Privilege

It is my duty and a privilege to care for Gretchen Greer. She’ll be 13 and a half years old in a couple of days. She has Cushing’s Disease, hypothyroidism and a lifelong anxiety issue.

I’m still announcing she’s going to live to be 20 every chance I get. I take great pride each time I hear she doesn’t look like a senior dog. But the truth is, she isn’t getting younger and none of us know when our time will be up, so I’m taking every chance to snuggle, wog, talk… to do anything she wants to do.

So yes, my chores wait, my feet go numb and I go out of my way not to disturb her when she naps on my legs. Heck, I don’t even lean forward to pick up my phone, water, etc. Some say she’s spoiled, but I say I’m just doing my job. It’s my job to try to return the love and devotion she gives me, to take the very best care of her that I can.

Binge-watching

I’m beginning to think that when I’m not reading and writing, I’m not at my best. I’m not sure which is the chicken and which is the egg, but yet again, I’m going to try to write and read – READ ANYTHING – more and specifically, daily.

What do you know you need to do to be at your best? I also know I need to get back into a fixed fitness schedule, no matter what activity I do during those times. I sleep better, I feel better, my body just IS BETTER when I’m exercising 4-6 days a week.

Yes, I’m eating well enough, drinking enough water most days, and getting decent sleep. I’ve always needed less sleep than some, but I do still try to get 6-7 hours per night without fail.

What I am doing is binge-watching all kinds of things like never before. Currently, it’s Discovery of Witches, and I think that’s my next binge-read too. Do you binge-watch TV?

Authentic vs. Imposter

I don’t talk much in detail here about the people in my life, but I need to open this post by saying I know I’m blessed. I have some of the best people possible surrounding me, cheering for me, supporting me. I have a good job with the very best co-workers, many of whom are dear friends. I have the most devoted (read: clingy, neurotic, riddled with separation anxiety) dog, and life is good.

One night last month, I had one of those sweet, simple and yet so impactful nights that I know I’ll remember for the rest of my life. A friend coordinated a get-together, and four of us whose lives intersected through the Junior League but have stayed entwined through cross-country moves (and thankfully, back again!), seven children, my divorce, and more, sat down and picked up as though there had been no pandemic, no years since we all laughed together. (I’m pretty sure the last time we were together was the baby shower we hosted for the first of the group to have a baby, probably about five years ago?)

I hope each of you has a tribe like that, or at least one friend with whom time and distance don’t exist, where conversations flow as though you’d just clinked glasses together the day before, NO MATTER WHAT.

… which brings me to the meat of this soul-barring confession…

My name is Chan and I am an imposter.

… and those brilliant, strong, beautiful ladies knew it all along and loved me anyway. Each of them tried to love me towards being authentic in her own way, but ironically, it took a pandemic and the isolation that came with it, our busy lives and all of the other circumstances that led me to being able to look them in the eyes and admit that I’ve spent my ENTIRE LIFE trying to be what I thought I was supposed to be in that moment, for this person or that one, for this role/job or another…

I was proud of being a chameleon, and I actually said so out loud many times. I NEVER stopped to question my logic, or to wonder if I could just be me and see what happened.

Honestly, it began before I have any recollection of being aware of my behaviors. I had to be on my best manners for this person, so she’d give me presents. (Literally… one of my few memories of her was of a post-toddler-nap moment when she rather succinctly explained that if I couldn’t be a happy, grateful little girl, I could give the toy she’d just given me back and go home.) Then, I was told I couldn’t pursue tennis as a passion because it required someone else to play with me. Then, yet another nurturer told me I couldn’t major in music in college because it would lead to frustration (as so few make it as professional oboists) and I didn’t want to be stuck being a music teacher.

I can go on and on, but my point isn’t to blame any of these people; I just want to know why it took me 52 years to realize I’m perfectly good the way I am and I don’t have to try to be what ANYONE else thinks I should be, or most specifically, I SHOULD NOT try to be what I THINK someone else wants me to be!

Impostor syndrome and the idea of being authentic are getting a lot of press right now, but this is hardly a 21st century issue. We’re watching Reign on Netflix, and certainly the characters depicted within were not afforded the privilege of pursuing what made them happy, fulfilled, etc. Nor is it uniquely an issue for females; people pleasers come in all shapes, sizes and costumes. I don’t think anyone in my life intended for me to make a life out of trying to guess what someone else thought I should be and doing my best to become it, but that’s just what I’ve done.

What’s most difficult for me to talk about, what I’m still very much working on, is how this all relates to my self-confidence. Up until very recently, I and most people who know me, would say I’m a very confident person. But the truth is, confidence is just one of the many costumes I’ve learned to wear well. I appear confident and self assured when I am feel I’m doing a good job in the role/image I’m projecting, when the people I am trying to please are pleased.

So tell me… what is one thing that is authentically you?

Plant based?

Edited to add… I thought this posted several weeks ago. (Read: at least 6 weeks ago?)

I’ve started so many posts, here and in my head. I know writing is a great release for me, and yet I don’t prioritize it… but that’s for another day.

I try to avoid the diet scene, especially after my failed efforts at even the modified Whole 30. (What’s the name of the version that allows beans?) If you don’t recall or weren’t around, basically I didn’t manage to get what I needed nutritionally from my not-meal-prepping effort, and I rather literally collapsed in the gym with a really heavy bar on my back. (Three cheers for the amazing trainer whose strength and attention saved the day!)

I knew better; I have a metabolic challenge (I’ve used the word “disorder” in the past but it’s not clearly defined and yet is quite manageable), and I know what my body likes/needs, and yet… I allowed myself to get caught up in trying a trendy thing that worked for my friends, even against my better judgment. It’s simple; my body NEEDS a lot of protein, a lot of fiber, water and very little sugar and/or “white things.” My body LOVES beans and legumes, doesn’t mind dairy, etc. There was no reason for me to jump on the bandwagon, but I did anyway.

So, I hate to say I’m eating more plant based now, because that’s a trend too, right? But my primary care provider (aka: nurse practitioner) gave me one more chance to lower my LDL cholesterol (hello, double-sided genetic whammy) and suggested just ONE plant based meal a week.

I agreed, and then got in my head. That’s like a diet, right? And we said we weren’t doing that again, right?

It’s not that hard. Most of my already fairly healthy recipes do quite well swapping beans (black are my favorites, but white works too) for ground turkey. Much to this descended from dairy farmers girl’s surprise, I often don’t miss the cheese when I leave it out. I add ground flax seeds to things when I can (it doesn’t work in smoothies), and I’m hoping the next round of blood work will be favorable.

Are you interested in my altered recipes?

21.2

Humbling is thinking you’re fit and strong and doing a workout of the day and discovering you have PLENTY of room for improvement.

Disclaimer: I don’t speak Crossfit. The only reason I know to call what I just did 21.2 is because CVG’s Instagram feed told me to. I happen to know how to do dumbbell snatches because I spent 3 years in a great gym, but I had to turn to YouTube to figure burpee box jump overs. (Hint: burpee + box jump ain’t quite it. Again, I’ve done something similar, but my gym was no Crossfit gym.)

Empowering is making what you have work for you – and work you HARD. I don’t have heavy dumbbells at home, so I scaled down by more than half, which honestly, wasn’t ideal. I’m not going to be so bold as to say I could have pushed through with a 35# instead of a 15#, but… instead of saying “I don’t have the right equipment so I can’t do it” I modified and I assure you, I still got a great workout. I don’t have a box for box jumps, but ironically, I’d just whined about this to my guy, and he – King of adapt and blow them away anyway – pointed out that the two stumps in the yard are roughly level and roughly small box, big box sizes.

So, after roughly a year of no box jumps, I started on soft, mossy ground (read: unlevel), and did it anyway. I still want heavier dumbbells, and I still want the sweet, dense foam boxes I once knew… but I can make do and sweat heavily without them.

As always, my faithful cheerleader kept me company, even if she thought it was weird. She also enjoyed looking for her lizard friends (too soon, sweet girl) and chasing squirrels, which she can’t do in a gym. Pros and cons…

What are you making excuses to avoid?

No More Yeah, But…

Do you listen to podcasts? I’ve had to work hard at being able to say I do, and all the ones I subscribe to are fitness-oriented. But right now, I’m binge-listening to Thick Thighs Save Lives, from episode 1 to date.

Firstly, as a gal who has battled “strong thighs” since maybe before I could walk, how could I not subscribe to that one?! I used to blame – yes, BLAME – my athletic legs on my father putting me on a horse before I could walk. Really, it’s genetic, and I’m going to point to my paternal side because all the women on Mom’s side have longer, leaner legs than I EVER could. I don’t know where these densely muscled legs came from, but I love them.

This is also a find your tribe and love them hard shout-out. There are so many strong women, and a few men, who are my tribe or have been pivotal in my fitness journey over the years. But CVG – Constantly Varied Gear – does community like no one else. They have expertise, candor and a business plan that should be the envy of all. I came for the leggings – they really are the best out there – and am digging in deeper because of their Facebook Group, but this reluctant podcast listener is hooked.

I have an amazing tribe and I’ve been blessed with very talented coaches, but good grief I wish I could go back in time and have had these women and their empowered candor years – YEARS! – ago. I knew 20+ years ago when the first doctor told me even yoga was too dangerous for me that not moving wasn’t going to help me recover from my nerve damage and back injuries, but no one else was giving me movement advice. For YEARS, I’ve plodded along, trying to find someone who didn’t seem to be giving me bad advice in the name of medical expertise. I’m supremely grateful for the gym and coaches who got me back into fitness as a way of life, who eased me into lifting again, but over a year ago, I knew they weren’t the forever answer for me.

I kept hearing buzz words that made sense, but couldn’t quite find the right TRULY functional fitness programming for me. That’s another story for another day, but in the past week, I’ve realized that despite my generally good disposition and my life-long experience in sports/fitness, I’ve never addressed or trained the biggest part of the process – my mind.

All the way back to ice skating, I’ve excused any compliments and brushed off all success with some variation of “yeah, but…”

Let’s avoid the time machine and just look at the one, shining, beautiful, huge gold medal from my first powerlifting meet. Last I knew, I am still a state record holder, and yet, I wave off any and all recognition of my performance that day with “Yeah, but I was the only one in my age/weight class!” True, but the fact that one or two of those records stood for a couple of years means it wasn’t all the good fortune of being the only one in that class that day. And you know what?! Even if that was the ONLY reason I won, it doesn’t diminish my efforts or results.

I think a lot of us, especially as women, were taught – directly or not – that pride is all bad and that humility is all good. There’s a meme one of my friends and I share with each other every time we see it… because it’s so very true. There are countless studies and references that illustrate that certain traits are admired in male leaders/bosses and condemned in women in the same roles. That’s also a topic for another day, but what I do want to address is the power – as in empowered – that comes from success in athletics or anywhere.

When we feel strong – physically, mentally, spiritually, etc. – we carry ourselves differently, but it’s bigger than that. “Yeah, but…” is part of an old regime I no longer want to embrace. It diminishes the compliment someone is trying to give me. It dismisses my own accomplishments. It may discourage someone observing the whole mess, who thought “If she could do it, maybe I could too?” but after I make excuses for why it isn’t a big deal, why would she feel inspired?! We never really know who is watching, who is listening, who is reading.

It’s more than okay to be admired, to be an inspiration. Each and every one of us does more than one thing well enough that we can show someone else how to do it, and we owe it to the world to share our strengths. Everyone can smile, a real smile that lights up her eyes. Sometimes it really is that simple.

Ripples

Most of you have heard me say that in 1989, I had no real understanding of my role as a barrier-breaking, trail-blazing, glass ceiling breaker. I was just a well-supported girl chasing her dream. It was easy for me.

Yes. I said it; IT WAS EASY FOR ME. This is my story, and I have to own the support, the doors that were opened for me. I was a daughter of fortune; my father was a legend in the fire service, so much so one snarky recruit school colleague dubbed him “The Legend” because frankly, even I tired of EVERY SINGLE instructor and/or seasoned firefighter who just poked his head in, all asking how Scotty was and asking me to give him their best. I am white, well-educated, and my father and his friends made sure I was set up for success.

Sure, I had hecklers and hazing, but it was extremely mild and I won’t pretend I was scarred for life by wearing men’s gear, uniforms, boots, etc. I didn’t have to fight for anything, and at the risk of sounding smug, before I left my career as a firefighter, even the hecklers had come to respect me. It’s only in looking back that I truly understand that I was a pioneer, and that no matter how easy my trail, I was at the front of a huge change in society, in the fire service, in how the world views old stereotypes and gender-biased professional roles.

I’m reading an advance copy of Molly Galbraith’s Strong Women Lift Each Other Up. It’s good stuff, and she talks a lot about the ripple effect. When we buy coffee from a woman-owned coffee shop, there’s more impact than meets the eye. When you compliment or encourage another woman, the good will spreads far beyond that moment and that person. Not only is it polite to hold the door open for the person behind you, it makes you a better person too, whether they smile or acknowledge you or not.

That’s the thing about ripples… you don’t necessarily know when you are making one.

I’m glad this post sat for a few days, because I’ve had two significant ripple moments since I unintentionally abandoned the start of this draft. I have one of those jobs where I know my friends and family only ask how work is now if they truly care, because we all know I’m going to say it’s been a brutal week, things are still crazy, etc. The truth is though, I love my job. I work for a great company – and yeah, I complain anyway – and I work with and for sincerely GOOD people, who inspire me, who make me laugh, who make me a better person.

Ripple one:

Big boss stopped at my desk and exchanged pleasantries on his way to another part of the building. I asked about the training he’d mentioned at our last chat (he was out of town for several days for said training), and somehow from there, he also tossed out a “Thank you for always being upbeat; it doesn’t go unnoticed.”

So yeah, I’m re-committed to being positive, especially when it’s not easy to do so. Maybe he said that to inspire me to do better, but while I don’t know him well, I believe he speaks his truths, and … I shall endeavor to be upbeat, even when we’re having the 83rd Monday in a row.

Ripple two:

This one really is a HUGE ripple. There’s a guy at work I really and truly begged his supervisor to fire for about a year. Just in case, I won’t share too much of his story, but our manager kept believing in the guy and saying so, and somehow, one day several months ago, I found myself defending the guy. There’s a ton of story in between, with tough love – as the guy calls it – and lots more story. But we’ve turned a page; turns out he’s always respected me and knew/knows I just want him to be the better man he’s becoming. He’s now in a VERY elite club of co-workers who can actually show me recipes and ask me to bake whatever they’re requesting.

That’s not the BIG ripple though, nor is the fact that I not only tolerate him calling me “Mama Chan” but I’ve come to like it. The big ripple came on Saturday. We work in different buildings, so the first time we crossed paths, he shouted out for me to “come over;” he had something for me. Curiosity got the best of me, so it wasn’t long before I went over. He had a 7-11 bearclaw for me, and honestly, it’s the second-best bearclaw I’ve ever had. See, one day last week, we found ourselves talking about local eateries, and we both mourned the loss of Spudnuts and the first and only bearclaws I’ve ever liked.

He listened, and he shared what he’s found to be the closest replacement, complete with instructions to heat it in the microwave for 8-10 seconds. Aren’t those the best gifts?! When a present means something to both the giver and the recipient, it’s truly special. And a great gift that warms at least two hearts (it was huge; I shared) is a very big ripple.

And here’s how ripples work… hopefully, something I’ve written will resonate with one of you, and you’ll say something/do something that will touch a heart or improve a life…

Midnight… Dream

Call me weird, but I love a good Zoom book club. I left video off (and am always on mute) until I finished my late lunch, and there were no fewer than three dogs and perhaps one cat present at one point or another. Gretchen and Knox can sometimes tolerate each other, but it didn’t matter, because… Zoom. And while I’d NEVER go to a “live” book club immediately post-workout, I did just that with Zoom. My hair was pulled back, I probably stink, but I got to see four of my favorites and “meet” a couple of friends of a friend, the discussion flowed well, and thanks to the click of the host’s finger, no one stayed too long.

(If you’re interested, let me know and I’ll add you to the group on Facebook.)

Our first read was The Midnight Library by Matt Haig. I highly recommend it. It’s a quick read, but I wouldn’t call it light. It caused us all to think, and was great for discussions on regrets, choices and more. Out of respect to the times we live in, I will offer the warning the book did not and share that suicide is a key part of the book. Book two hasn’t been announced yet.

My second book of the year wasn’t fluffy either, but it was a pleasant read. It Began with a Dream by Dr. Glady B. West is an autobiography about a local (ish) hidden figure. I learned of the book from my aunt, whose life intersected with Dr. West’s because their children attended the same schools. It’s sobering to realize that when my mother (and her sister, and Dr. West) was born, society was segregated. Women didn’t necessarily pursue higher education (but those three did), and pay – opportunities for advancement and more – was far from equal when the women did work in their chosen fields. I am blessed that I was raised in a home where racial and gender equality were the norm, and I marvel at how ignorant I was of the world around me. I stand in awe of women like Dr. West who broke those barriers with grace and poise, but there is still so much work to do. And let’s be honest; I admire anyone who works in STEM, because those are not my strengths. I did okay in math and science, but there’s more than a little irony in those fire science classes on my college transcripts.

I’m currently reading a very fluffy cozy called Peach Pies and Alibis by Ellery Adams, with the most darling Jack Russell named Charleston Chew on the cover. Sometimes I need a change of pace, and a little paperback that fits in my handbag.

What are you reading? Do you mix it up or do you tend to stick with one genre?

For the record, I’m not much on peach pies, or any fruit pie. I do love pies, but my favorites are pumpkin, pecan, chocolate chess… Full disclosure? I just don’t eat a lot of fruit. I can manage a bit of chopped apple in my oatmeal or some sliced banana on my peanut butter sandwich, but I go for veggies over fruit just about every time.

Where do you stand on pies and fruit? I’d love some ideas on how to sneak more fruit into my daily diet.