Snowpocalypse and South Beach

Maybe you heard: Atlanta had some snow.  So I've been stuck in my apartment for the last couple of days.  I may also hold the distinction of being the only person in the city to make it home in 20 minutes on Tuesday (aka the day the snow and ice came).  I knew my low-rent apartment located 1.5 miles away from the office would pay off in spades one day.  Most people were not as lucky, including my mom who took 23 hours to get home, and slept in her car (this is why we both carry emergency supplies in our respective vehicles).

Anyway, it hasn't been so terrible. Buca and I had been Netflix-binging, reading, and sleeping 9-10 hours a day.  You may have also noticed the "I'm single/childless" subtext of that sentence. *Shrug*  The only thing I've run out of was dog food, so my critter has been eating cornflakes and snacks of peanut butter in his birthday Kong.

One unforeseen benefit of being home and stranded is it's a surprisingly excellent time to start a diet.  Background: there's an attorney in the city who's opposing counsel in a large number of cases our firm takes.  She really likes and respects my dad, and her sister passed away from cancer a few years ago, so she sort of took me under her wing, sending me little gifts after every round of chemo and radiation.  I hadn't seen her in some time when we went to lunch a few weeks ago and she looked fantastic, having lost at least 20 pounds.  I was interested in her secrets and she wonderfully decided to take me on as her dieting protegee.   She's been doing some combination of The Thin Commandments and The South Beach Diet and so she gave me copies of both and told me to read the first four commandments and and Phase 1.

Blah blah blah... I'm four days into South Beach and it's not terrible....  Okay, that's totally a lie.  Diets suck.  I have semi-lustful feelings for carbs and anyone who believes "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels" is obviously eating the wrong stuff.  I like vegetables.  I like healthy food, I just get a little resentful when someone says it's all I can have.  Among other things, I miss my favorite TV snack of real popcorn with a bit of butter and salt.  Phase 1 of South Beach is only two weeks, and I can live two weeks without most carbs and red wine.   And while I don't have to like it, I will like smaller, cuter dresses.

Fitbit Stats, Report 1

Today, I learned to how to do/make a screen capture.  The only reason I wanted to do this was because I have yet to figure out how to add an app to my Blogspot that will show my statistics automatically.  Rome wasn’t built in a day. 

Looking at my chart, I think for the next report, I’d like to get to 60,000 steps and 45 flights of stairs.  I should also probably sleep more.

Fitbit and Other Follies

I’ve always been a person who’s motivated by the visual.  To that end, my late Christmas present to myself was a Fitbit One tracker.  And I’ve totally become a disciple of the Fitbit in the 10 days I’ve owned it.  There are several models one can buy; I picked the clip-on version that tracks your steps, basal (not “basil” as I keep misspelling) metabolic rate, and sleep patterns.  I don’t really know what kind of sorcery it uses to make this magic happen, but it does, and holy crap, is it cool. 

I definitely notice that I’m challenging myself more and taking extra trips and steps, even when I don’t have to.  I’m sure I’m driving people at work crazy, as I seem to get up and walk more than they do, but I can always tell them my doctor wants me to move around as I’m at risk for blood clots (which is actually true, so it makes an excellent excuse). 

The coolest thing to track is my basal metabolic rate.  I don’t exactly understand the science behind all of it, but it’s basically the number of calories you’re burning through the day naturally and can vary with your weight.  Even on my laziest days at home, I was still burning a minimum of 2,100 calories per day.  So, theoretically, I could eat 1,500-1,600 calories per day and still be on a weight-loss track.  Excellent. (Please visualize an evil genius of your choice tapping his fingers.)

In the job-hunting forum, I’m racking my brain, trying to think of every person I know in the education field that I can remind I’m job-hunting.  Per a networking meeting, I was told to get in touch with the principal of one of the best private schools in the city.  I have a cover letter ready to go and I’m just paralyzed with fear to send it.  It’s really well-written, brief-yet-informative… all the things you want a cover letter (with resume attached) to be.   But making a leap and giving someone even a small chance to reject you is just terrifying.

My therapist says I worry too much.  I hope he doesn’t charge me for that insight, as it isn’t news to anyone who’s met me ever.

I’m also making headway on my second goal of the year, which is to increase my writing output via this blog (and in life).  My writers’ group had its first meeting last week and we set goals for ourselves.  Mine include more blog posts, work on my bridesmaids play, and to start drafting a story I have in mind for a screenplay.

In the Miscellaneous Problems section of life, with the cold weather of late, my dog keeps sneaking onto my bed while I’m sleeping.  I should kick him off, and do if he wakes me up, but it’s really hard to mad at a supercute creature who just wants to snuggle with me and wags his tail even when he sees me in my early-morning glory.

Victory... Take 2

For those of you just joining me, let me recap the last few years and the origins of this blog:  In 2011, I finished grad school with an MAT in English Education.  Because we graduated in August (awkward time of year to begin a teaching job search), my dad and his partners let me work at the family law firm in the interim.  In November of that year, I started to get all manners of sick.  Night sweats, vomiting, weight loss, congestion.  I assumed I had bronchitis because I didn’t want to be a panic-monger and believe what the WebMD was telling me.

After a miserable holiday season, my dad’s paralegal/my friend demanded my dad send to his personal physician (who’s also his best friend).  Long story short, they found a shadow, and I find out a few days later I have Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma.  And fade to black.

Obviously a lot more happened.  This blog alone chronicles the initial cancer journey.  When I started the blog, it was meant to be a voice for young-adult cancer.  Sadly, it’s only now becoming a thing, and there still isn’t a lot of data or research on what my long-term prognosis is.  Thankfully, the odds of the lymphoma not coming back are in my favor.  The treatment was rough though.  After some horribly aggressive and painful chemotherapy and radiation, I’m now more at risk for breast, lung, and thyroid cancer.

The blog’s original title was created by someone (me, in case you were confused) who believed “victory” simply meant curing the cancer I had at the time, and liked the punniess of the title (I was on a lot of heavy medication).  Almost a year and a half after finishing treatment, “victory” means… Well, I’m not sure exactly.  I know my cancer is cured, but life and my spirit aren’t.

I have a nice therapist, excellent friends, a good Sunday school class, a much better relationship with my dad, and no excessive amount of hospital debts.  But I still suffer from insecurity over my future, and my body took a beating.  My body is really what led to the rebirth of this blog.

As you can imagine, chemo and radiation can be bad enough in themselves.  My tumor was 14 cm by 12 cm before we caught it and managed to damage my lungs, my heart, create hairline fractures to the breastbone, and paralyze a nerve down the left side of my body (resulting in a paralyzed vocal cord and left diaphragm).  As a result, I feel like I haven’t been able to take a deep breath since November of 2011 and I’ve also put on about 50 pounds since college.

A close friend invited me to be a bridesmaid at her wedding in October of this year.  As things stand now, I’ll be the only single bridesmaid, as all the others will be married by that time, or are married now.  I don’t mind being single at a wedding; I just don’t want them to look at me and think, “Well, obviously.”

2013 wasn’t bad per se, but my only standard to make it a good year was “Don’t get cancer again.”  Hence, my new definition of victory has become creating a life I can be proud of.  I’ll be chronicling my job search for a teaching position, my weight loss victories, and general musings as I blunder through life.   Armed with a trainer, more cookbooks than the CIA, and this fine blog, 2014 will be the year of change. 

True story: This was my fortune from my lunch cookie today.

I don’t plan on most entries being this long, don’t worry.  And if sarcasm and cynicism aren’t funny to you, I am not your blogging soul mate.