Reform. Rehabilitate. Restore.

Definition of infuse
infused; infusing
transitive verb
1
a :  to cause to be permeated with something (such as a principle or quality) that alters usually for the better infuse the team with confidence

No matter one’s political lean, Bernie Sanders infused a large percentage of US voters. I was (and still am) drawn to the sheer sensibility of it all.  Sure, some say he’s “out there with the numbers” and yet who do I turn to in order to verify data? Whose numbers should I believe?

People here in the US are living with an instability in our leadership that is unique in current memory.  I can’t help but daydream now and then about what a Sanders presidency would have looked like. Campaign promises be damned, I have no doubt that he would have legislators scurrying to address domestic reforms.  That would be refreshing.

When Jane and Bernie Sanders look at each other you know there is real admiration. Not perfection – we don’t need perfect leaders. When I see the current First Lady shun her husband’s extended hand, and see her stiffness in his proximity, my stomach flips a little. Sure, people have to fake it sometimes but something very off there.  Very, very off.

 

via Daily Prompt:  Infuse

via Infuse | Definition of Infuse by Merriam-Webster

Canopy of Politics

It’s hard to see the forest for the trees,

Amid trunks, needles and leaves.

Does the bird’s eye view give clarity?

To lift us out of this parody?

A deliberate hoax?

No danger but joke?

The canopy sways.

Ill wind it betrays.

To shadow the forest-floor folks.

Via Daily Prompt:  Farce

Photo by:  Trump by IoSonoUnaFotoCamera

“Abby Normal”

I have a special love for the movie Young Frankenstein. One of my favorite takeaways is the stolen brain Igor recalled as belonging to “Abby Normal”. The comedic callback gives me a brief smile in times of stress.

“Your test results were abnormal. Doctor needs to see you sooner than your next scheduled appointment.”

Oh good. Now I get to stew in my own imagination for the next 6 days.

I didn’t get a “head straight to the ER” call. I wasn’t told to show up at such-and-such a place for more testing. I didn’t get a call from a random surgeon or cancer doctor’s office about a referral.

You can see that I tend to imagine the worst at the drop of a pin.

Yesterday, face-to-face with the doctor and my abnormal test results, she was chipper. “I’m happy to report that we need to reduce several of the meds you are taking.”

That’s it???

I’m stunned. Once again I am reminded how quickly my imagination gets out of hand.

In retrospect, the nurse might have said, “Doctor wants to adjust some of your meds.” Yeah, that would have been nice. But then I don’t know what the protocol is for such things.

Either way, at my age, there are plenty of blood draws and routine doctor’s visits to ensure that I will always have some qualms when I take a call from my doctor’s office.

After all, I think I have the brain of “Abby Normal.”

Photo by Pat David

Via Daily Prompt:  Qualm

 

Where is thy sting?

Where did I misplace my cynicism? It must be here somewhere!

Snarky comics dangling bitter words. Me, eager to feed.

But wait. What now? Not funny?

NOT FUNNY???

What happened to me?

I’d cry depression if I were depressed, but alas, no such thing.

I’m happy.

I never suspected that happy was a bitterness repellent.

Perhaps I’m wrong.

It must be a 24-hour thing.

The old sting will be back tomorrow.

For today I will just try to adjust.

🙂

via Daily Prompt:  Bitter

 

Vertical Gastric Sleeve – Day 52

My last post on this topic was March 1, 2017 – just 1 week before surgery (March 8, 2017). I write today just to touch base. To give myself a marker.

I am very pleased with my progress. Sure, the numbers on the scale are fun but they are just little validations.

I was still a human being when those numbers grew and grew over the years, and I will be that same human being as they diminish. My value won’t change.

One of the greatest heartaches of being obese for a lifetime is the mental anguish. Oh, I can talk for a good bit about the physical anguish. It has been very real and very debilitating. But it’s the mental anguish that I am working to expel, not just for myself but also for others. The guilt. The blame. The limited thinking that defies belief that anything can ever improve. There is a girdle, so to speak, that keeps one bound in repeated behaviors and thought patterns.  A restraint that is difficult to break.

I am chipping away. This surgery has given me the understanding of “full”. This was never really apparent to me before. I’m not alone. I used to chase the elusive “full” and wonder why it escaped me. How do “normal” people know when to stop eating?

Now, I don’t have a choice. I am living with a stomach that quickly lets you know that it is not wise to take another bite.

What the heck? This is a complete mind blower. So I am learning to choose food wisely. I am not eating to a mental state of satisfaction. There is a gap between full and satisfied. I am accepting that gap. Yes, it feels strange.

The challenge these days is to turn from expecting my meals to “satisfy”.  I mean, satisfy what exactly? Beyond a feeling of physical fullness, what else is it that I am expecting food to do for me?  That is the most important question.

90% of the time I am adapting very well. 10% of the time I am momentarily caught in a sense of urgency to “chase the dragon” so to speak. The good news is that I am able to quickly dispel the urge.  I can smile about that.

These are good things. I do not sit in judgment of others and what they eat, why they eat, and what diets they do or do not go on.  My “plate is full” of challenges and changes.  It keeps me busy.

Anyone who has walked with obesity is a brother or sister in many respects. We should be kind and encouraging, as this condition never truly goes away. Weight loss be damned, a return to our former behaviors will get us the same results. It will be the smallest, daily decisions that will determine whether I lose, maintain, or gain. This truth alone must be my mantra.

There will come a day when I stop losing. I may not want to accept that “number” on the scale. But I must reconcile my mind to accept what my body has to offer.  After all, I have always been more than a number!