The Fluffbucket Diaries

My kid’s dog should not make me want to be more of a cat person.

At least I know where the hard-boiled egg I left on the kitchen table went. The yolk-yellow dog vomit confirmed it.

It’s been a week since my first visit with the bariatric doctor: a week of carb limits, new meds, and scrambling to find bread and cracker recipes that won’t kill me.

I’ve lost 6 pounds. At least 74 more to go.

So, here’s the gist of my doctor’s weight loss prescription:

• 100 grams of carbs per day
• 15 to 30 minutes of activity a day (on top of ultimately 10,000 steps daily)
• low doses of phentermine (appetite suppressant) and hydrochlorothiazide (diuretic)
• 3 to 4 cups of fruits/vegetables daily
• 64 ounces of water daily
• “Don’t drink your fruits” (or, presumably, vegetables)
• MyFitnessPal to log food intake

I’m failing miserably at the activity part. I did discover chair workouts to do during work breaks late last week; the one I actually pulled off – a whopping 10-minute session – left me achy and winded the next couple of days. But I intend to keep trying.

Although I’m barely meeting the water and fruits/vegetables goals, I’m doing okay with the carbs thing. Limiting my carbs is more of an issue with Chris' dinner planning than anything else, especially on my meatless Fridays. (He generally dislikes fish, except for sushi and some salmon.)

The doctor said it’s not the quantity of food I’ve been consuming that’s the main problem; it’s what I’ve been eating that’s the problem. I’ve been carb-heavy – lots of breads, chips, and sweets – and drinking juices rather than the healthier approach of eating fruits and vegetables. I confess I didn’t grasp a lot of what he said, but he talked a lot about blood sugar spiking and insulin and fast carbs. And he got into sleep quality and how my suspected apnea issues may be complicating my weight issues and ultimately my overall health.

It’s only been a week, and the road ahead remains overwhelming. I have an awful lot to learn about how all of this works. But I still think this is the right way to deal with what has been a lifelong weight problem that I can’t afford to continue.

Sometimes, you have to do nice things even though you really don’t want to.

This weekend’s Sunday Mass video from Holy Name Cathedral opened with one of the few contemporary Catholic hymns I actually like: “Here I Am, Lord.”

The hymn reminded me of when I drove 3 hours from Raleigh, North Carolina, to see Mother Teresa speak in 1995. The song was featured after her talk at the Charlotte Coliseum, and I remember weeping throughout.

I was thrilled to find Mother Teresa’s talk on YouTube. I look forward to viewing it again; I confess that I was so absorbed in the moment and the experience of seeing a living saint that I only remember a small handful of snippets from it (namely where she spoke up against abortion and pleaded to give her a child poised to die in a clinic). So delighted to be able to see her speech again and actually listen closely.

Relieved to know that my morning inertia thus far has been validated.

One of the many guidelines my bariatric doctor gave me Monday: Don’t drink your fruits. So, now I have to modify my morning smoothie recipe and ditch the Naked juice smoothie component. I also added Amazing Grass Organic Supergreens Powder, which unfortunately makes it taste weirdly fishy. Not sure I’ll get more of it after I’m done with what looks like a month’s worth of the stuff, but I might as well use it while I have it.

Had my first visit with the bariatric doctor today. No surgery, but I’m going forward with a significant change in my eating practices. Minimal carbs – less than 100 grams/day – all the way, baby.

There goes most of my lifelong diet. More later.

Geez, that second sentence.

I’ve become way too enamored of “The Big Bang Theory” in recent weeks. I never saw it during its network run; now I watch clip collections on YouTube and reruns on cable.

It’s light viewing, and it’s become YouTube comfort media in the same way Colbert clips, Conan interviews, and John Mulaney monologues are. Old baseball games do the same for me on the DVR. All of it makes for a fine antidote to the doomscrolling habit I’ve found hard to break.

“Many members of the Capitol’s janitorial staff are people of color, and it did not go unnoticed by people scrolling through photos of the destruction online that Black and Latino custodians — plus one first-generation Korean American congressman — were the ones picking up a mess left behind by a mostly White group that included, among others, a man carrying a gigantic Confederate flag.”

“Removing Trump from Twitter does not fix our politics or bring millions of Americans back to reality. But it does make it significantly harder for disinformation to enter the mainstream. And it makes it harder for Trump to reach his followers.”

Fun with Google.

“In most cases, if you’re saying ‘we’re better than this,’ it’s coming from a well-intentioned and optimistic place. But it’s a reductive statement, and one that underscores, albeit ironically, the circumstances that led to Wednesday’s horrific events.”

“Houston Police Chief Art Acevedo, president of the Major Cities Chiefs Association, said he worried that the lack of preparedness was rooted in police’s perception of the crowd. He said officers might have seen a largely White group as inherently less hostile.”

No. Really?

Nothing like logging in and getting a note from HR that a fraudulent unemployment claim has been filed with your name and apparent Social Security number. (The employer and I are both reporting it to the state.)

Is there some sort of DC law against inciting violence? Presidential pardons don’t cover DC criminal charges, right?

I know I’m not the first to think this, but I sense that if these were BLM protesters, we’d see water cannons blasted through the Capitol in a New York minute.

I am morbidly obese. And on Monday, I have my first appointment with a bariatric doctor.

This is a long time coming. Too long. And I don’t even care that much anymore about the appearance and clothes-fitting parts of this. Between being particularly susceptible to COVID-19 illness and generally being more conscious with age of my mortality, it was time to take a step beyond half-assed commitments to everything from Weight Watchers to intermittent fasting.

I’m not looking into weight-management surgery; I want to explore nonsurgical options. I found that despite the horror show of colonoscopy prep last summer, the clear-liquid diet actually provided some gut relief and left me feeling physically better. Not sure whether a liquid diet is an option with the clinic I’m visiting, though.

Lately, I’ve been drinking a green tea kefir smoothie in the mornings, shaken in a Blender Bottle, that keeps me going until the early afternoon:

• 1 cup plain lowfat kefir
• 1/2 tsp matcha green tea
• 1/2 to 1 cup Naked juice smoothie (any flavor; I like Mango Madness or Berry Blast)
• 2 tsp Benefiber (per my urogynecologist)
• Optional: 1 packet stevia

That and water (or VitaminWater Zero) keep me sated and energized till I find myself craving something like chips or cookies or whatever after my 2 p.m. meeting. Trying to be better with healthier options.

It probably doesn’t help that we eat dinner pretty late. Granted, I don’t eat nearly as much at the dinner table as I used to (rarely seconds, and I’m more adamant about a simple salad at the outset), but I have slightly more of a sweet tooth afterward. And eating only 2 to 3 hours before bedtime probably isn’t a good idea.

My pelvic floor dysfunction diagnosis last summer, and subsequent physical therapy in the fall, got me much more conscious about my food intake and overall health. I’m much more aware of links between my abdominal pain and my bowel and bladder activity, as well as the importance of gut health. I feel like I’m on the verge of something.

I’m not completely free of my abdominal pain, but I know what causes it, and how to relieve it through mild exercise. Now if I can only be free of my chronic lower back pain.

I look forward to talking with the doctor about all this Monday.

I love my husband –and even like him – but somehow this blog headline just spoke to me: “If Your Spouse Is Annoying the Shit Out of You During Quarantine, You Are Not Alone.”

So, I ended up on some right-wing Catholic organization’s mailing list and got a magazine in my mailbox today. Between the articles and the accompanying letter listing in detail the way the current pope is destroying the Church (not to mention the world), I was done with this mailing in all of 2 minutes.

I took the letter (addressed to “Mr. Joyce Garcia”) and promptly scribbled, “PLEASE REMOVE ME FROM YOUR MAILING LIST” across the top, added the postscript “God bless Pope Francis,” signed it MS. Joyce Garcia, and put it in the included envelope — with my own stamps so I pay for my own enraged reaction — for mailing tomorrow.

(I think I also tucked into the envelope the little form they included to accommodate banking information to allow them to siphon donations from a bank account.)

Look, I may have my differences with the present pope (as I have with every pope of the past several decades), but the level of vitriol and calumny leveled against him is out of control. And calumny and its sister sin, detraction, are cut from the same cloth of evil. Both are sins when directed against anybody, but especially against the Holy Father.

The Church has enough problems without having to deal with divisive conspiracy theorists among its members spewing rage and hate.

Fingers crossed.

There needs to be a way to achieve Happy Time (that is, my creative and reading time) and enough sleep within a 24-hour period.

It’s almost 2 a.m., and I am catching up on journaling, almost nailing down my 3 words for the year, and watching birds and squirrels on a YouTube video apparently intended for cat viewing.

Being up so late before the first day back to work after a holiday is insane. Yet this creative time alone in the wee hours, with only virtual birds and squirrels to keep me company in my home office, is also some of the happiest time I’ve had all weekend.

The husband, upon hearing that the Bears lost but still managed to get into the playoffs: “How many times do you have to shoot a bear before it goes down?”

I hate Facebook with every fiber of my being.

But I also hate the Bears, ice storms, and coronavirus. I’m stuck with their existence and have to come to terms with them, too.

I have thought numerous times about pulling the plug and deleting my Facebook account. The anti-Facebook crowd that drives this blogging platform I use would say it’s the only way to go. But there are people who are dear to me on Facebook (and its sister platform, Instagram), and I don’t see them removing themselves anytime soon.

Over the past couple of years, I have distanced myself from Facebook, posting sporadically at best and lurking occasionally. It did me a lot of good to break my addiction to the site; it fed a compulsion to compare my paltry lives to that of others, reminded me that there’s too many stupid people out there, stoked my desire for the attention of “likes,” and stole too much precious time.

In recent months, I’ve tiptoed back into the fray, only posting maybe once or twice a week, if that. When I feel myself growing anxious about something I posted (i.e., being bothered by no “likes” or being annoyed by an obnoxious comment), either I delete whatever comment annoyed me or delete the post entirely.

These days, I’ve found an excellent reason to use Facebook. There are numerous groups devoted to rallying snail mail enthusiasts to send cards and notes to people who need good cheer: sick kids, anxious or otherwise troubled kids, lonely or ill seniors, others who could use a kind or encouraging word. As I’ve been charging into a snail mail habit that I hope to develop throughout the year, this is a perfect use of an otherwise insidious social media platform.

The only pitfall here, besides the fact that I’m pulled back into the Zuckerberg vortex of online traffic, is that I’m now buying greeting cards and postcards in bulk. But it’s worth it if it means sending a stranger a little bit of kindness. And I’m enjoying it.

Even Facebook can be redeemed. Somewhat.