Happy New Year!

So Christmas was lovely but it seems like forever ago because SO much has happened between Christmas and New Years.

To rewind, Mr. MLACS flew into the  nearby city and we enjoyed a weekend of holiday fun there, including seeing The Nutcracker ballet (an annual tradition) and riding on The Polar Express train.

BG is at a *magical age* and she had started ballet/tap class in the fall. She LOVED The Nutcracker this year! I loved watching her watch the performance–she was riveted. We had balcony seats close to the stage and she loved being able to see the performance and the people in the audience below us. Mr. MLACS bought her a Clara dolly and a Rat King dolly and watching the two of them pretend to fight during intermission, hearing BG squeal and giggle, and feeling LS kicking in my belly is a moment I’ll never forget. BG looked so precious in her red and navy blue plaid dress, with her little pearl necklace–she looked like a real little lady. For the record, BG looooooves to dress up! Lives for dresses, bows, jewelry and “make ups” (which are lip balms). I wore a dress and make-up to The Nutcracker but I am generally a person who loves sweat pants, or for more formal occassions, jeans. I definitely did not spark her “extra-ness” because I am super low maintinence. But I do love to watch her shine ❤

The Polar Express train was really the best. BG was excited and bouncy! She was enthralled by the performances and the characters/actors invited her to participate several times. First, she got to help turn pages as a portion of The Polar Express book was read. Then, she got to be a reindeer–they placed an antler headband on her–and march down the aisle as we sang Rudolph the red nosed reindeer. But the most precious part, was when Santa stopped to say hello to her abd give her “the first bell of Christmas”. BG thought she was supposed to tell him her Christmas list, and she was so excited to see him she could barely get the words out, so I interpreted. She asked for “Toys for baby sister, toys for me, toys for Koa and Kitty, and toys for Mommy and Daddy”. She’s so sweet and thoughtful. And taking in her good intentions and her wide-eyed innocence, Santa turned to me and said “You’re very lucky”. And I know I don’t count my blessings on this blog very often because I mostly talk about the heavy stuff, but please know that I feel profoundly blessed/fortunate/lucky and that Santa didn’t have to remind me–but I was touched.

We returned home from our adventure on Christmas Eve and I was super sick with what seemed like the flu. I felt miserable. Luckily Mr. MLACS was feeling great and he got everything put together for Christmas morning–Santa brought BG a teepee playhouse and he got her a big-girl monogrammed chair and had a matching little-girl monogrammed chair for LS (since BG was adamant that baby sister needed gifts). Mr. MLACS and I each got each other one gift from ourselves + BG. It was sweet and funny because BG had watched a cartoon (Arthur?) and the kid was REALLY excited to buy his Mom a glass bird. So BG had decided I needed a glass bird, and Mr. MLACS went to great lengths to find and purchase a glass bird. I love it because it really shows how much we all love each other. BG and I gave Mr. MLACS cologne, which is what we always gave my Dad for Christmas when I was little, and it’s weird to be “the parent” now.

BG had some unwrapped presents and a stocking from Santa, and then 9 wrapped gifts under the tree, 4 of which were from my sister and the rest from us. I know she had a wonderful Christmas and that she got plenty of great gifts. But I cannot seem to shake feeling guilty that she isn’t showered by presents and attention from our extended family. I want Christmas to be special because we spend time together and make great memories, and not because of how many presents are under the tree. I genuinely feel that we–that our precious children–are better off without toxic family members in our lives (and that includes keeping my sister at arms length, although she does have a relationship with BG). But the holidays stir up my feelings and make me wish things were different–and I second guess myself. I miss my good old friends and wish we lived closer–it would be easier to accept the severed ties with our relatives if we had “framily” to spend holidays with. But all our friends are spread out and we move too much to really create a “village”.

I had a village though, in the town we just moved from. I didn’t fully realize how much some of my girlfriends cared for me until I had to say goodbye. And I felt sad to lose them, and bad for “abandoning” them since they were clearly more invested in our friendships than I thought.

The movers came to pack on Dec. 27th, they loaded on Dec. 28th, and on Dec. 29th we bid farewell to our dream home, and all the craziness of the past 2 years. Mr. MLACS and I shed some tears for what was and for what might have been. And then we journeyed for 3 days, and celebrated NYE in our new town.

Let me close by saying 2018 was a legit roller coaster of a year, with huge ups-and-downs. I worked hard to regain my health and fitness, while navigating life as a fledgling ostomate–I did it! I even put myself out there and became the leader of a fit moms club, got my friends involved, and met new people. I dealt with my Father’s death, my Maternal Grandmother’s death, and the absolutely maddening struggle with my sister over managing our trust. I started my own LLC and did grown-up stuff like creating my own will & trust and purchasing burial plots for myself and Mr. MLACS. I paid a lot of bills. We took a beautiful trip to Hawaii. I dealt with the constant fear of losing Mr. MLACS and dealing with his health scares. I did lots of stuff with BG and she started preschool and dance classes in the fall. We sold our house, and we moved a 17+hr drive North of where we lived. I’d say the most amazing and insane plot-twist of 2018 was we got pregnant quickly and without fertility treatments–now I’m 30 weeks pregnant with a healthy baby girl.

2018 was very trying, but I really feel like every bit of it was filled with purpose.

I wouldn’t change a thing.

XOXO,

MLACS

Advertisements

Wow…second trimester already!

Hey guys, today makes 15 weeks! I had an OB visit today and her heartbeat was spot-on at 160-170 bpm. My belly has been expanding, but not like it did with BG–even though I weigh less now than I did with BG, my tummy is soft/squishy instead of hard. I presume this is because I have loose skin and, moreover, because I don’t have my colon (which was impacted due to taking Zofran with BG).

I loved my body/my belly with BG, but between my squishiness, scars from surgery, and my ostomy bag, I don’t feel very cute. I think part of my lack of enthusiasm for my “bump” is also that it’s my 2nd pregnancy and I have A LOT more on my plate–with BG, Mr. MLACS was gone 50% of the time, we lived in an apartment (now we are homeowners) and I didn’t have a toddler, plus it was a hard-won pregnancy, so I reveled in my ‘pregnant-ness’ and had lots of time and money to buy cute maternity clothes and take bump photos. I can’t be the only one–has anyone else found that their first pregnancy was all pinterest-y, but subsequent pregnancies were less so? I don’t want baby sister to feel less important or celebrated, because she is my little miracle and just because I’m not into *myself* right now is no reflection on how much I’m into her. I hope little sister understands and doesn’t take it personally. Because once she’s here, I’ll give her everything I’ve got just like I did for BG. Oh, and henceforth little sister will be referred to as LS.

So maybe you are wondering…how is pregnancy different with an ostomy? Well, first off, my ostomy bag covers the right half of my belly. As my belly grows and changes, I’ve had more challenges…

1. I eat more–a lot more–so my stoma and ostomy bags are getting a “workout” from all the food I consume.

2. My stoma is changing size. It has increased 2-3mm in diameter (so currently 28-29mm) and is protruding more.

3. Because my belly isn’t flat anymore, my stoma is changing size, and I am eating more, I’m having more leaks. In fact, I’ve gone from changing my appliance once every 4 days to changing it almost every day. And when I have leaks it irritates my peristomal skin.

4. I’m going to try different bases/bags to see if I can prevent leaks, and also because my preferred base only goes up to 35mm and may become too small.

5. My bag is much harder to hide under clothes. I had an easy time concealing it, even under skin tight clothing, prior to pregnancy/my belly growing. But now I can see my bag through almost anything I wear, tight or not. I’m frustrated about that. And between wanting to prevent leaks and also wanting to be comfortable, wearing compression garments is basically out of the question at this point.

6. I need to buy some new maternity clothes that suit my new body, but because I’m not into myself right now and I’m busy, I just haven’t made the effort. I really need to. I really wish I had a good friend here who I felt comfortable asking to go shopping with me.

So to be honest, having an ostomy has made pregnancy less enjoyable for me in some ways, as much as I hate to admit that. But I’m grateful to be healthy and moreover I’m grateful that LS is healthy, and that’s what really matters. The rest is trivial.

XOXO,

MLACS

 

It’s Benign!!!

Hallelujah! Praise the Lord! It was not melanoma, or any variety of skin cancer. It was a blood mole–I had never heard of such a thing and google is a b*tch for never suggesting it could be anything other than melanoma. In fact google took my paranoia to a whole new level by informing me that in men nodular melanoma is usually on the trunk of the body, but in women it’s on the legs! I almost had a brain anneurism.

Here’s how it played out…

I cried off/on all weekend and had visions of what treatment would be like, how my family suffer through the same painful process that *I* endured when my Mom was diagnosed with terminal breast/lung cancer. How awful it would be for BG to have to grow up without a Mom–would she remember me? Would any of the memories be good ones? Would Mr. MLACS die too and would my good friend and fellow blogger Steph Mignon have to raise my kid??? So. Many. Thoughts. I was overwhelmed by all these thoughts and feelings.

I had a hard time getting to sleep and when I woke up Monday morning I wasted no time–I was going to ambush my dermatologist and insist he cut this thing off/biopsy it, and let me know how screwed I was. TODAY. I didn’t even make my coffee (you KNOW it’s serious) I just got in my car, called the dermatology office, and by some miracle they had an appointment with my doctor in 30 minutes, which was precisely my commute time.

I sat on the edge of my seat as I waited, my body buzzing with anxiety. And when the nurse called me back and asked me why I was there, I tearfully told her I’m afraid I have melanoma on the back of my leg. She looked worried and gave me a gown to put on. I was in suspense as the doctor walked in and I quickly moved to show him the black growth on the back of my leg. And he said…it looks like a blood mole but we’ll take it off and biopsy it. A blood mole. He told me to call if I hadn’t heard from them by Thursday.

After rebounding from the fear of cancer and the revelation of a blood mole, I sheepishly asked him if he had time to do my botox. He did. So I left the office with a hole in my leg and a face full of botox–I haven’t had botox since before my wedding in 2012 but my 20 year highschool reunion is coming up, I’m 38 years old and I have the money, so don’t judge me, ok?? Thanks.

Anyways, I called Mr. MLACS to give him the good news, and decompressed on the way home.

But then as Thursday approached and I hadn’t heard from my doctor’s office, my anxiety started to build. What if…

I called early Thursday (yesterday) morning but no one called me back. I thought “This is a bad sign”… I cried. I rocked back and forth. And I called again…the nurse put me on hold and I thought “Oh God, maybe she’s getting the doctor so he can tell me the bad news…” But she returned on the line and said gingerly “It’s a benign mole”. BENIGN. As in NOT cancer. A wave of relief washed over me.

But lemme tell you, this experience made a profound impact on me. I am slathering BG with sunscreen, even on her ears, because *90% of sun damage occurs during childhood*. I mean I used sunscreen and hats on her before, but now that she’s a threenager it’s a chore, as we do lotion on the face/neck and spray on the body. But I make sure she’s covered because it doesn’t take long to get a sunburn and just 5 sunburns in childhood DOUBLES your kids’ risk of skin cancer. So fight the good fight with the sunscreen folks.

As for me, I diligently use sunscreen but I also cover up a lot with hats and rash guards (shirts made of SPF50 material), since I am somewhat allergic to the sun these days. But I used to blow off moles that looked suspicious–now I am on high alert.

I’m also writing a piece for a local moms blog cautioning them to be ready with the sunscreen and also to take care to have themselves looked over by a dermatologist annually and pay attention to their skin. I feel like this experience was my “call of duty”, and I’m on it.

XOXO,

MLACS

 

Blunted. Muted. Faded. (Adrenal Fatigue after Prolonged Corticosteroid Use)

Terms which describe how I feel right now. I’m exhausted. I have alot of aches and pains in my muscles and joints. I’m cold all the time, and when I’m cold I can hardly move–it feels like a chore to get up from a chair and go to the next room. I’ve gained weight even though I’ve been eating healthier…

This is Adrenal Fatigue.

Post-surgery and a deadly fight with chronic illness. When does it get better and STAY better? Because I felt fabulous right after surgery…but then weaning off the Prednisone and pain medications revealed that my body is in rough shape and in no way back to “normal”.

It’s good that I’m off the Prednisone–my face has shrunk and I recognize myself in the mirror. My body now has a chance to recover from the damage the Pred did. But how f*cking long will it take to heal???

I’m tired of feeling like sh*t.

And I’m trying to help myself. Been eating more whole foods, way less sugar/processed foods, even though I crave sugar because *adrenal fatigue*.

I started going to the gym again, taking barre and power yoga and lifting weights. I only manage a couple days a week though, so I haven’t seen much results. I’m sore.

I started taking CW (charlotte’s web) brand CBD oil (cannabinoid oil) and it has helped me to feel somewhat better–it successfully weaned me off pain killers, as I was dependent on Hydrocodone (small amount, half of a 5-325 daily). And thank goodness because I have no way to obtain more pain meds at this time. Nor do I want to.

While I like feeling calm and not angry all the time (‘roid rage from presnisone), I miss having energy. I miss having intensity. I feel so lame now.

I read that it could take 12-18 months to recover from “moderate” adrenal fatigue. I really don’t have the patience to feel like crap for another year. I have an almost 3yr old to chase after. I have a house I still need to finish moving into and organize. I have a garage that is full of stuff that I need to declutter (sell/get rid of A LOT). I want to get in shape and look/feel amazing–I also have my 20th highschool reunion coming up in August. We might be moving again (Mr. MLACS is looking for a new position). And if I’m going to TTC, I have to do it soon because I’m 38yrs old already! Plus I want to do more with my life…

I don’t want to just feel ok, I want to feel *good* again. Soon.

XOXO,

MLACS

The Aftermath: Traumatic Brain Injury

I am grieving right now, because Mr. MLACS has come so far…but he is not himself at all. And nobody can say how much he’ll recover or how long this might take.

His voice is different. It’s weak and soft and I don’t recognize it.

His personality is flat. Like he’s stoned, but he’s not on any mind-altering drugs anymore.

His facial expressions are odd. He has this smirk/smile that he does at inappropriate times and it creeps me out.

He remembers A LOT, which is good–his long-term memory is quite good.

But his short term memory is very bad.

And he is delusional.

He imagines things happened that truly didn’t or sees things that aren’t there (ordinary things like he thought his tablet was on the table).

I gave him his cell phone last night and he hasn’t texted or called. When I go see him he doesn’t ask me how BG is or what she’s up to–but he says he does want to get home to her…

But I can’t imagine him being home like this.

I can’t handle it.

It scares me to death.

I can’t have him around BG like this. If I’m freaked out by the changes in him, I can only imagine what it would be like for a little girl.

And I can’t trust him.

So far he’s shown no aggression or sexual inappropriateness but I worry. I can’t help it.

I won’t leave him alone with her. I can’t.

I don’t want him driving anytime soon if ever, and I can’t let him drive her because what if this happens again?

I feel like his death is imminent. I am scarred and have PTSD from his heart failure in 2014 and now this apparent heart attack (though docs are not sure if it was a heart attack, as his heart went into v-tach and then v-fib).

I want to run away because I can’t take this anymore. I want to protect our daughter and shield her from this pain and future pain. It’s her pain that kills me–she doesn’t understand why her daddy is gone. And also she is out of her element because…

We just moved into this new house two weeks ago. It is big and feels foreign to me. It’s full of bad memories, of the fire that happened and now this. I hate this house. I want out. I want to move back home to the Midwest.

You know we just moved to the South a year ago in September. I’m not comfortable here.

I need comfort and familiarity. People here have been very nice and reached out to help but they are either aquaintances or strangers to me. I’ve never gotten used to living here–really the trauma of the house fire, me being sick, and Mr. MLACS’s job being so demanding has kept me from liking it here. It’s also very conservative and that makes me uncomfortable as well.

But Mr. MLACS is the sole breadwinner. His job is here. They will make acommodations for him. He has benefits–including life insurance that I would desperately need when he dies, and he is not elligible for private commercial life insurance, for obvious reasons. So to move, he’d really need to get a different job in order to keep his benefits.

Or, he could end up on permanent disability. I doubt that though, because his functioning seems very high–for someone who died 5 days ago.

People tell me to be patient, he will get better (though how much better is a mystery) and don’t think too far ahead…

Seriously, that is the worst advice. I mean I appreciate their faith and optimism but I need to re-route my family’s future and that starts NOW.

So many things to worry about.

I need to have my surgery so I can feel better and have the stamina to deal with all of this. Then…

I need to figure out what to do–go back to school for nursing? Become a real estate agent? I want to be self-sufficient.

Sell all BG’s baby stuff because it’s just impossible to even consider another pregnancy and child under these circumstances? This makes me want a sibling for her even more–someone to weather these times with her…

My sister is currently here caring for BG so I can go to the hospital and be with Mr. MLACS. It’s not perfect–she smokes cigarettes and I hate having that around BG. Also she is messy and I am currently very anxious and OCD. But I’m so grateful she came to be with us. And my aunt and uncle are coming when my sister leaves sometime this week. I have not spoken to Mr. MLACS’s mother or sister and do not intend to involve them, as we have not been in contact for 2+ years and I do not want them involved with BG. I did speak to Mr. MLACS’s brother though and I dont know when but he said he plans to come see him.

There’s more but to summarize, I’m in a very fucked up situation. But it’s going to be ok–I’m going to take care of myself because I have to and make sure BG has a magical childhood no matter what. I’m going to do right by Mr. MLACS but BG comes first and he would agree. I love him and he loves me, but she is our world.

I am doing my best. That’s all I can do.

XOXO,

MLACS

 

 

A Tale Of Two Boobs: The Finale

So for those of you who missed the first few installments of “A Tale of Two Boobs”, this is a series of posts about my struggle with breastfeeding. I felt this primal urge to breastfeed my BG, and I put my body through hell to make it happen.

Well now, 2.5 years later, I have finally weaned BG.

I haven’t nursed her at all in 3 days. It was time–I had only been nursing on my “business boob” for months, as my “casual boob” was never a good producer anyways. And the milk in “business boob” had been reduced to a trickle within the last few weeks. I don’t know why exactly, maybe my hormones shifting as I’m weaning off the Prednisone. Maybe the Stelara. But both BG and I were ready and in a good place to stop, so it doesn’t really matter what the catalyst was.

As I lay here with cabbage leaves tucked into my tank top (a trick to help dry up your milk), I can reflect fondly on my breastfeeding relationship with BG, without any tears. I’m ok that we’re done breastfeeding. I feel like “my work here is done”. Often it’s emotional for moms to quit breastfeeding, and after how emotional I was and how desperately I wanted to do it, you’d think I’d be heartbroken. But I’m not.

I feel relieved that weaning happened organically, and did not end in dramatics (as you know I am prone to dramatics). I’m grateful that my chronic illness didn’t dictate my breastfeeding relationship with BG–I breastfed her through all the turmoil during the past 8+ months of my flare. It would have been traumatic if my milk had dried up while I was hospitalized. This flare shook up my relationship with BG, and breastfeeding was one thing that I was able to continue to do for her even when I was otherwise incapacitated. It was our foundation.

I shared countless tender moments with BG while breastfeeding. I will always treaaure the memories… sitting in the rocking chair in her nursery, light streaming in, rocking for hours and just staring at her in my arms (propped up on the boppy pillow–we got more than our moneys worth outta that thing). I remember breastfeeding her under the trees on the beach in Costa Rica, while a mommy monkey and baby monkey played right above us, and the sound of the ocean lulled us to sleep. There were also lots of backseat breastfeeding sessions in the car–sitting in the target parking lot. And all the times BG needed comfort–when she was scared of a thunderstorm or in pain because she was teething–that I was able to comfort her by breastfeeding her. It was such a relief to me to be able to pop a boob in her mouth and instantly make her feel better.

It’s been such a journey. I didn’t really even want to breastfeed before BG was born–it just seemed so foreign to me. But from the moment they placed her on my chest it’s all I wanted to do, as a way to love and protect and provide for her.

Through excruciating nipple injuries and mastitis. Through a struggle with low supply and taking ALL the herbs and finally, Domeperidone. I have no doubt that all the antibiotics I took and the Domperidone contributed to my current flare. But I don’t regret any of it.

My BG is healthy as can be–only had a handful of colds and I nursed her through those. I know that my milk helped to build and support her immune system. I believe that she will be spared the autoimmune issues that I am plagued with. That’s priceless to me.

I really don’t think that everyone should struggle to breastfeed the way I did. Obviously, there are plenty of healthy, happy kids out there that were given formula. We as mothers have to follow our own paths and no two will be exactly alike. I never, ever want to make another mother feel bad for how she feeds her baby!

But for me, I am so grateful that I was able to breastfeed BG. I never imagined how difficult it would be–the amount of tears that I would shed as I struggled through pain, frustration, guilt and worry. I couldn’t fathom the amount of joy I would feel as I cradled her in my arms and breastfed her for countless hours…I wouldn’t trade a single second of it.

But it’s ok that we’re done. I still cradle her, carry her, hold her and rock her. She still falls asleep nestled in the crook of my arm with her head on my chest. We say “I love you” to each other 1,000x per day and we smother each other in hugs and kisses. We have evolved, but no love is lost.

XOXO,
MLACS

My Potterybarn Life

So of course the house won’t be finished on schedule. My gut instinct (and plenty of experience dealing with contractors) told me as much. They said it will be a “couple more weeks” and we can deal with that–but no more than that.

Meanwhile, I have been entertaining myself by shopping both online and in stores. It’s been quite a thrill! Mr. MLACS and I agreed on a budget and he has given me carte blanche to do as I please. I’m happy to say that I have been able to buy a lot of my first choice high-end items (potterybarn, restoration hardware, crate and barrel, west elm, williams sonoma, etc.) and then some lovely modestly-priced items as well (target, wayfair, hayneedle, home goods, etc.) and even some custom pieces from etsy and local artists.

But the “pièce de résistance” is my PB comfort slipcovered custom sectional sofa in “everyday linen”. I have always dreamed of having a potterybarn slipcovered sofa and I ordered exactly what I wanted–even upgraded to the feather down filling.

I also bought a PB leather recliner that I adore because it is very stylish, but it’s really for Mr. MLACS–mostly as a decoy so he doesn’t sit his greasy a** on my PB couch when he gets home from work or comes in from playing outside with BG and the dog. Mr. MLACS has been wanting a recliner for ages, so it’s win/win for both of us.

I see my facebook newsfeed full of fiery indignance about politics/politicians/social injustice/other very important things that I should be more aware of. And I wonder if I’ve truly become a shallow person, because I give no f*cks about any of it. None. I watch cartoons all day and sing songs and play playdoh and buy groceries and sweep up gobs of pet hair and cook dinner. But do you know what really inspires me??? What really matters to me???

My muthaf*ckin’ potterybarn sofa sectional. That’s what.

Sorry to disappoint you if you thought I was better than that. I’m not.

I have literally spent hours agonizing over which throw pillows to accessorize my couch with. HOURS. Who does that???

Me. I do that.

All the pinterest’ing and online shopping has been great because it keeps me off social media (I love/hate social media–mostly hate) and gives me something to look forward to. I feel giddy every time the doorbell chimes and I see the UPS/FedEx/USPS carrier making haste toward their vehicle, because I know that means there is a special delivery for moi! BG gets excited too and loves to open the boxes with me and reveal the “prize” (BG’s short for “surprise”) inside. It never gets old for either one of us.

I could sit here and wax poetic about all the faaaaaaabulous things I’ve recently acquired (the boxes of which are cluttering my foyer and the UPS guy has to wonder WTF is going on because I can barely open the door).

But let me also enlighten you about the current state of my colon.

I will see the IBD Specialist this Thursday (so 3 days from now). I need to discuss some things with her:

  1. I’ve still got this perianal fistula. Lately it itches a bit–is that good or bad? It doesn’t hurt though. And I’m still slightly incontinent (anal leakage). So I’d like to see one of their Colorectal surgeons and get their opinion. Also, I want to know if they will do a laser fistulotomy. And if they are capable of doing a colectomy laproscopically. Sh*t I should probably already have asked, but did not have the presence of mind to even consider until recently.
  2. The Stelara is working, but I worry. I just hit the 3 week mark post-infusion and I’ve read the half-life of Stelara is 3 weeks. I woke up today with a bit of blood and mucus. Is it wearing off already? Or is this a blip on the radar? My concern about it “wearing off” is legit IMO because I “failed” Humira due to my serum levels never accumulating to theraputic levels–because as IBD Specialist phrased it, my body “clears it too quickly”. So, like, maybe it’s clearing the Stelara too quickly? They have me scheduled to take my Stelara injection 8 weeks from the initial infusion, but they could move the Stelara up to every 4 weeks. My question is: what has to happen for them to give me Stelara every 4 weeks?
  3. I’m very determined to wean from the prednisone, and I’m down to 27.5 mg, but I was supposed to drop to 25 mg today and decided against it due to the blood and mucus. Frustrating.
  4. As my prednisone goes down my weight goes up. Isn’t it ironic? Prednisone was like dexatrim for me at higher doses. I lost almost 30 lbs. And now I’ve gained like 25 of it back. I feel much stronger physically and much sharper mentally, so I’m grateful for that and I would WAY rather be chubby than sick. But, it’s still disappointing to have a fat face from prednisone and now a giggly tummy to match. This is definitely something I have some control over and I need to go back to recording my food on myfitnesspal and making better choices. However, it’s harder to make good choices when I’m tired and sore due to prednisone withdrawal–the fact is that I crave sugar. I should probably see an endocrinologist regarding my hypothyroid and adrenal fatigue.
  5. I still want to start TTC soon and I need to know the IBD Specialist’s criteria for when it’s in the realm of possibility. I don’t intend to wait until everything is peachy and perfect, because that likely will never happen. I just want to safely muddle through a pregnancy before having my colon surgically removed–this doesn’t require me to be in full remission, as half-assed remission will suffice.

Ok that’s all for now because BG is peeved that I have not been catering to her this morning and I’m afraid she’s going to complain to HR. Gotta go.

XOXO,

MLACS