Bust a Move

Good news! This infirmity has allowed me a handy excuse to consume carbohydrates in excess. Another day or two, and I shall have made up for all the pounds I so recently lost. Why is it that protein is so unappetizing to an invalid?
Is it just me?
As I wallow in inertia, I find my palate drawn to fruit, chocolate, bread, and ....well, that about covers it. I was consoling myself earlier with the promise that my eventual return to running, bodybuilding and intentional eating is bound to be such a shock to my system that excess weight is certain to fall right off.

To add variety to the staggering boredom brought on by the profound lethargy I'm experiencing, I learned something quite sobering. I learned that several human beings are more sedentary on a healthy day than I am in debilitating illness.
I learned this thus:
I believe I've mentioned my Fitbit obsession to you. Yes? Well, Fitbit allows friends to compete with one another for steps. Monday through Friday, every week, I am privileged to compete with a varying number of friends for the most steps during the work week. Every week I come in second place to my insane baby sister, Bentley (not the runner, but an equally energetic and youthful sister).

Bentley routinely "steps" in excess of 25,000 steps per day. Sometimes she goes over 40,000. No one can compete with that, except perhaps my sister Dani. But, I digress. My point is that this week I am still in second place.
In competition with five fine human beings, I have been on the couch since early Tuesday, yet I am still 7,000 steps ahead of the number 3 position.

How is that even possible?

I'm utterly flummoxed to consider that there are four people on the planet who have moved less than I have this week.

There is evidence to suggest that I am destined to survive the ravages of this illness. I'm not saying that I'm ready to commit to actually getting anything done just yet, but there is a good chance that I will be able to avoid the recliner until naptime tomorrow. Unfortunately, this means that I will have to adopt a moderate pace for my Mozart in the Jungle viewing. Hopefully I'll be able to accelerate my Fitbit pace, though. It would be nice to give Bentley a run for her money next week.

And people, please, don't be sedentary. Sedentary is bad.

At death's very door

I may be slightly alive, but I am in no way happy about it.
I have been on my deathbed all week, or on the couch anyway. It's a glorified cold. The indignity of being sidelined by a sneeze is more than I can bear. It's been a long time since I found myself sick enough that I was willing to sit in a chair and whimper. Or complain voraciously to anyone fool enough to approach. Yet, here I am. My nose runs a great deal, considering it never leaves my face. My head aches, my body aches, I cough at the slightest provocation. I'm disgusting.

I've been sleeping and laying about for three days now, so the inactivity is extremely mind-numbing.
This afternoon I succumbed to onerous ennui by turning on that strange blue glow; the Television. Well, nothing so primitive as that! In truth, I dialed up the old Amazon Prime on my trusty Kindle. I sat for hours watching one episode after another, and blowing my nose. From time to time, I arose to wash my hands and spray Lysol.

Sick, I tell you.

 

The TV show I found to watch was quite diverting. Never mind the sex, drugs, and swearing. It's called Mozart in the Jungle. It's a whole classical music thing, so it feels quite erudite. If one is to suffer the various ignominies of common illness, one should at least be allowed the fancies of cerebral entertainment. Don't you agree?

 

If I survive until tomorrow, I'll drag my frail person right back to the computer to report on my health. Won't that be riveting?

A suitably dramatic end

Blood pressure monitoring becomes fascinating over 40. A jolt of caffeine can have an impact. Crackers can move the dial. Cardiovascular exercises.....perhaps it's anything that begins with a "c". Yes, that sounds about right. Children begins with a "c", and I know they effect my blood pressure.

I bought a blood pressure monitor that fits on my wrist. I press a little button, and it gives me a read-out of blood pressure and pulse. It's quite diverting.

The thing is, I don't have high blood pressure.

The thing is, I need it to be low blood pressure. Otherwise, my aneurysm could expand and rupture, and I could perish in a dramatic and sudden manner. You've no idea how such a death appeals to me. Not like I want to die, you understand. It's only that I accept the inevitability of death, and I'd like the event to have some aplomb.
Ironically, my life post-diagnosis has been structured to avoid such a death. I eschew salt and cholesterol. My caffeine intake is limited, as is any alcohol indulgence. I no longer run, and can't lift weights above 30 pounds. I own a blood pressure monitor and a Cardiologist, and one of those pill boxes like a Christmas Advent Calendar. (The pill box is silver plated, and engraved. It was a gag-gift from my sister on the 40th birthday. Who knew I'd employ it in all seriousness a year later?)
So, I'm rather an old lady. Give me a minute and I'll be doing water aerobics.

It's really irritating, to be honest.

My future holds the assurance of surgery, though the goal is to forstal that by a decade. Meanwhile, I eat salad and refrain from sudden movements. And I complain.