Tag food

A taste of Hinduism

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

When I was in college at what is now Moravian University, we had to take several religion classes to fulfill our liberal arts requirements. We had to take one on the Bible, and I took Old Testament. For one of my world culture religious requirements, I took Religions of China and Japan, where I learned about Confucianism, Taosim and Zen Buddhism.

My daughter, now at Lafayette College, also a liberal arts institution, has taken several religion classes because it seems to be the only department with courses open when her class year registers. And unlike her parents– she has no interest in English classes. She also can’t take classes at lunch time because of her dog walk clients, and she would prefer not to take any more classes with labs.

This semester, she has two religion classes, an astronomy class (space math) and a class in her major department on psychiatric diagnoses. Her two religion classes are Religion in World Cultures and Anthropology of Religion. For her world cultures class, she has to visit a religious site/service and write a reflection paper.

Some members of her class are visiting the local mosque. Not us. During the summer, I had seen a video or some social media post about BAPS Swaminarayan Akshardham North America. I was pretty sure the TikTok algorithm suggested it. I showed it to Eva because I thought then it would make a fun road trip– simply because of the architecture.

It’s about 65 miles from our house, and a lovely scenic 95-minute drive. Visit their web site here.

We watched the orientation video that discussed the basics of their beliefs and the construction of the campus– which began around 2011 on 185 acres, took 12,500 volunteers and was more or less completed in 2023. The limestone was carved in India and shipped to the United States where it was reassembled “like a giant jigsaw puzzle.”

Even without reflecting on the spiritual spaces on the campus, their design includes so many statues, people, animals, and even hands and feet (as a sacred connection to the divine).

Our first stop was the mandir where we joined a prayer ceremony. Shoes off and divided into men and women, we sat on the heated marble floor in silence. The chants and prayers were familiar to the Hindus in the audience who joined in with strong voices and rhythmic claps as the leaders (monks? swamis?) in orange performed gestures before the (shrines?).

This was my first time experiencing anything Hindu, and I apologize for mixing up the words regarding the leaders, the representations of the Holy, and whatever instruments they used for the prayer ceremony we attended. I do understand and appreciate that touring the campus is an exercise in personal spirituality and a journey into the divine.

Swaminarayan refers to the type of Hindu faith and Akshardham means large temple.

And the architecture of the Akshardham in New Jersey follows the guidelines from Hindu scriptures, including an 80-foot spire that reminds those viewing it of the search for higher truth and the divine.

Let me repeat that I know nothing about Hinduism, but I did buy some books today: Hindu Vegetarianism, Hindu FAQs and Hindu Funeral Rites. So, hopefully this will spark a journey. I marveled at the expansive statues in the Akshardham and compared them to Christian stained glass window, as a way to share with the illiterate population the tenets of the faith. (And I loved the reminder that feet connect to the ground and the spiritual.)

The campus itself was beautifully landscaped and organized and moved people from place to place, maintaining order yet allowing everyone freedom to explore. Everything– from the statues to the levels of the water feature in the front of the grounds (symbolizing purity and the sacred rivers of India)– had symbolic meaning.

After we perused the grounds, the buildings, and even the construction timeline, we visited the food shop. And we bought a bunch of snacks to bring home (mango cookies, cashew fudge among them).

Then, we hit the food court. I wish we had a paper menu I could share with you. Eva had a saucy cheese street dish (Pav Bhaji) with toasted rolls, a mango lassi, a fruit drink AND a cup of hot masala chai. I had the cauliflower (Gobi Manchurian) and a odd little cookie coated with saffron (Kesar Vati).

We spent $20 in the gift shop, $20 in the snack shop and $40 on lunch.

The scents of incense, tastes of good vegetarian Indian street food, warm floors beneath our feet, exquisite art surrounding us, welcoming staff and volunteers, beautiful chants and prayers, and the deep spiritual vibe made the day an enlightening adventure.

We now have a deep freezer

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

We recently got an old, hand-me-down deep freezer.

And at the same time, the federal government shutdown and Pennsylvania state budget impasse have complicated SNAP benefits for families who have them.

I heard on the news that 1-in-8 Americans have SNAP (Supplemental Nutrition or “food stamps”). I heard one story this morning about an unemployed widow with a 15-year-old son whose soundbite suggested she sent him to school so he could eat breakfast and lunch.

I hope she’s sending him to school for an education, first and foremost.

I consider myself a fiscally-conservative Democrat who believes that education and healthcare should be attainable and fair. I would love to have a Ph.D., but I can’t afford to finish my masters and I refuse to go into debt for it. I also have a disability, and even when I am well-employed I often have to make choices about my medical care.

Right now, I have my own small business. I work a part-time job in the food service industry to provide some reliable income on a steady timeline. I am an adjunct instructor at my local community college, and if you break it down to an hourly rate, I probably make a similar wage at my fast food job (because of the fact that I did not have the money to finish my degrees). And I have freelance writing and editing jobs and a mini author’s assistant job.

And I’m always on the look out for more. Applied for another this morning.

I started my career in public relations, and ended up in print journalism, which led to a long career of lay-offs as newspapers died. I worked in non-profit communications and development, where I learned a massive amount of useful skills like grant writing but also experienced a ridiculous amount of toxic managerial behavior. Some people work in the non-profit sector because they want to make the world a better place, but at the same time, many of those people have either childhood trauma and/or personal insecurities that create some challenging environments in an already difficult field.

I mention all of this because I have experience with unemployment. I have experience with being the single mom with maybe enough resources to survive a month. I was a single mom raising a teenager who lost her job during the pandemic and did not find out if she qualified for unemployment until the weekend after she accepted a new job. I was unemployed for four months and had opened my home to one of my daughter’s friends who didn’t feel safe in her own home.

I applied for public assistance because I was volunteering at a non-profit that provides services for people exiting human trafficking situations and my “boss” suggested it. Because I had no income and I had an official dependent, I received more than $700/month in food stamps. And Medicaid. Which was a great help. Even though I only received food stamps for four months, I rationed them so they lasted almost a year.

I had accepted a job in the warehouse at Stitch Fix. I loved that job, and the company, but after three years they decided to close our warehouse. After three years at a wage where my take-home pay was the same as what I had made as the development manager for a small non-profit with a two-million-dollar annual budget (thanks to the fact that Stitch Fix offered their employees free medical benefits), I found myself laid off again.

And when my unemployment ran out, I once again applied for food stamps. I had gone on multiple interviews, built up my small business, but still struggled with the cost of my medical care– my estranged husband put me on his benefits but my medicine was $50-$100 a month and all my doctor’s appointments I had to pay out of pocket because of the high deductible. So I really hoped I would qualify for Medicaid again. And I did.

I also qualified for $525 in food stamps.

Around this same time, Trump got re-elected and the cheap refrigerator I bought started freezing the food in the refrigerator and not freezing the food in the freezer. But I couldn’t afford a new fridge– and I still can’t– so we started buying only what we could eat in a few days, or foods that could safely thaw and refreeze.

Lettuce is not one of them, if you were curious.

The point of all this is to ask: Regardless of how you feel about who uses food stamps or how the government distributes them or whether or not people try hard enough or work hard enough, why is no one asking why we have a system where 1-in-eight Americans qualifies for food stamps?

I have seen and heard so many things about the system, and I have known people who work in the branches of government that distribute these types of assistance and they are all people who want to help. I have met people afraid to work because they might lose assistance, and I have seen people who need the help lose it because they made too much money. (And, like me, it’s usually people who need medical care.)

I have about $2,300 left on my deductible this year, and I have spent almost an equal amount if you read my EOBs from the insurance company. I’m losing my hearing in one ear and I need a hearing test and a visit with the audiologist. The muscles in my one leg have been spasming 24-hours-a-day for almost a year now and I just blamed it on my cerebral palsy but my neurologist has concerns that previously noted damage to my spine (from all these years of walking crooked) may have caused nerve damage in my lower back. And my one finger has been doing crazy things for about a year.

That’s probably at least $6,000 worth of tests. Do I just try to schedule it all before the end of the year and finance the $2,000+ remaining of the deductible on a credit card? Or Able Pay? or do I wait until I am better off financially?

Back to the deep freezer. A friend of the family was hoping to get a decade-plus year old freezer out of his house. We took it. We took all the stuff from our cheap refrigerator that needed better freezer conditions and piled it in. And I thought– when Trump was elected an I was worried about the future of food stamps, I didn’t have a freezer to fill. I did however invest in every non-perishable food item I could tolerate.

Dried Beans. Plain-old Rice. Canned Fruit. Canned Vegs. Nutritional Yeast. Some condiments. Canned Tuna. Spam. Canned Chicken.

My childhood traumas leave me to ruminate frequently about food scarcity, financial security and general stability. I will probably always behave as if every trip to the grocery store is the last one I can afford. And I have done my grocery shopping at the Dollar Tree and the Grocery Outlet because I only had $20 left to feed us for the week.

The Office of Vocational Rehab considers me the most severely tier of worker, whereas the federal government says I do not qualify for disability because I work so much and at so many jobs. But the federal government doesn’t take into consideration that I have to work that hard to make ends meet. And I don’t always succeed and I often hurt myself doing it. And I just work past it.

But how do you determine an equitable way to decide who deserves help? And I ask a third time: Why does 1-in-eight Americans receive food stamps? What is wrong with our society if 1-in-eight people cannot afford to feed themselves according to the criteria the government sets forth?

Food for thought.

The bee, the blues, the books and the… pizza?

Angel Ackerman 2 Comments

I will be telling parts of this story on my Substack newsletter that I plan to post tomorrow morning. I write about my publishing company, Parisian Phoenix Publishing; books, the ones we publish, books for writers and fun books to read; and writing. You can subscribe here.

I had booked a table at Books and Booze 2 at Madness Distillery in the Country Junction Plaza in Lehighton, Pa. (With a name like Madness Distillery, how could I stay away?)

I had packed the books earlier this week but left decisions about signs and other marketing materials until today, and despite sleeping decently last night, my brain would not kick in. So it took all my focus to get out the door on time.

And I had to drop Eva off at her dad’s so she could borrow his car for the afternoon.

About a mile from the house, a bee flew onto my windshield at a stoplight. I pointed him out to Eva. About four more blocks down the road, he was still sitting there. I said to Eva, “If we take him all the way to your dad’s, he’ll be more than a mile away from his hive. How will he find his way home? Will he have food? Will he be warm? How is he just sitting on that windshield?”

And then I added a final thought: “If we leave him at your dad’s, that’s like someone dropping you off in England and telling you to swim home.”

We stopped. I said my goodbyes. I waited for my daughter to cross the street. The bee had not gone. So I resumed my drive.

About 4 miles later, I got onto the highway. Little bee did not fare well as my speeds increased. He slid across the windshield (toward the top), putting one foot down and another up, trying to get his grip.

I had to speed up even more, and now we’re about 12 miles away from home. The bee is starting to curl into himself and press down into the glass. I wonder: Would it be kinder to turn on my windshield wipers and smoosh him?

I can’t stop watching him, but I have to, because I’m driving 70 miles an hour on the highway. I’m getting upset, and fighting tears as my nerves fray. I ponder exiting the road because of this bee. I call Eva. I tell her everything.

“Mom, it’s a bee.”

“He doesn’t deserve to suffer. Nothing deserves to suffer.”

“Mom, life is hard.”

I cackle. I hang up. I get one more mile, and the bee rolls into a tight marble and disappears. He was on my windshield for about 15 miles.

About this time, I realize my mother married my father 50 years ago today. My father died three years and eleven months ago. My wedding anniversary was Thursday. My husband and I married 26 years ago. We splint up six years ago. And my mother’s 71st birthday was also Thursday.

The GPS took me past the site of the dirt track where my father raced micro-stock when Eva was a toddler. Past the post office where my father got his mail. Past one road to his house. Past the diner where he ate most of his meals. Past the gas station where he bought his cigarettes. Past the other road to his house. Past the funeral home where we had his services.

My parents divorced when I was 15. But my mom always loved my dad. And I think he never got over her. So I texted her when I arrived at my destination– which was alongside the lake where my dad would drive his boat.

“You married Dad 50 years ago today. I miss him soooo much.”

I set up my table, met some of my fellow authors, and tried to shake off my nerves.

Photo by author Shannon Delaney, a family member of my dear friend Mitzi from Pocono Lehigh Romance Writers and Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group

I counted about 20 people who attended the event– not including anyone with the other vendors at the event. I sold three books: two hardcover copies of Larry Sceurman‘s Bookworm’s Magical Journey and one advance copy of Geraldine Donaher‘s young adult Mouth Shut Head Down, which doesn’t officially launch until January.

The distillery had a sign in the window. It read “Adult Book Fair Today.” I think what they meant was “Book Fair for Adults today” or because it was a distillery, “Book Fair today. Adults only!”

But it immediately made me think I should have brought more erotica. The only erotica title I brought was Juicy Bits. Most of the authors for Booze and Books 2 were romance authors, and it looked like the most popular offerings were romances-with-shirtless-men-on-the-cover. It looked like most vendors sold 2-4 books, though I later learned that some vendors sold none. (To be fair, tables cost $10, so no one had huge expectations of kicking off a bestselling book tour at this event.)

The event is between coal country and the Poconos, so I thought my spicy horror novels would do well. I also brought our romances, Trapped: What if Skunks Were Matchmakers? and Any Landing You Walk Away From… (the author of the latter, Dawn O’Harra, is from the Poconos). I made a Halloween section on the other side of my novels, with Hugo Yelagin‘s Lovecraftian Deadlights and Eva Parry‘s tarot journal. Any Landing served as a transiton into non-fiction, and I brought Motorhome Gypsies and Coach of the Building (as the author of Coach teaches public school in the area) and then Larry Sceurman‘s fiction to appeal to any men accompanying wives and his children’s book because many romance readers are moms. And Geraldine’s book? Not even sure why I tossed that in.

Two hours into the event, my mother returned my text. “Hadn’t even given it a thought.”

When I left the event, I was hungry and pining for pizza. The GPS took me a different way home, perhaps recognizing my emotional distress from the previous route. It took me home the route I had anticipated on the way up– it took me through Palmerton, Pa., one of my favorite places. I celebrated my 49th birthday in Palmerton. Read about that here.

As I was driving away from the venue, I thought to myself: That looks like I’m heading toward Palmerton. Maybe I can find that awesome little pizza shop in Palmerton. I looked at the GPS. It told me my next turn was onto Delaware Avenue, which, if I remembered correctly, was the main street in Palmerton. And the pizza shop was on it.

Sure enough, I entered Palmerton. Pulled up right in front of the pizza shop. Went in, ordered two slices dine in, grabbed a boxed iced tea, and paid the employee $8.64 (which is roughly the price of one Grilled Club Chick-Fil-A sandwich).

15 minutes later I was back in the car.

That little detour changed my mood. Perhaps a gentle reminder that we find our own destinies and don’t have to conform to outside expectations.

Yesterday was hard

Angel Ackerman 3 Comments

I don’t want to write this. I am tired and I want to go to bed and pray that I am not in too much pain to sleep. I won’t post it until tomorrow (Hence referring to today as yesterday in the title.)

Nothing bad happened. It was just a bad day physically, and it’s been a long time since a day hit me this hard.

I need to write about it though, because I am under strict instructions from my doctor to pay attention and note anything unusual because she’s heard some of my symptoms and said that if I were any other patient I’d be going for tests.

And if I don’t write this blog, I will forget today was a bad day physically.

It started nicely enough. Visted Nancy Scott and noticed then that climbing the stairs felt more stiff than usual.

Ate decently. Tried a sample meal replacement bar for breakfast and ate a HUGE brunch of potato, broccoli, multi color peppers, egg and feta. Had two pieces of licorice and a whole bunch of unsweetened and barely caffeinated tea.

I noticed while changing into my work uniform that my knuckles felt achy and weak and like I was about to injure my middle finger as I did with my mallet finger/sock incident of 2022. (If you want to read more about my mallet finger, click here.) This sensation returned again at the end of the night before I showered.

I took 10 mg of baclofen. In the morning, I took five.

Left for work at 1:30. So here’s the big reveal– in addition to my publishing company, I took what was supposed to be a very part-time job at Chick-Fil-A. My reasons for selecting that particular job were very specific. That might be a good topic for another post.

Once I arrive, I grab some Coke Zero. I usually stick to unsweetened iced tea or seltzer while I’m at the restaurant, but tonight I needed something a little extra. The back of my right thigh is spasming.

I started my shift running people their food inside the restaurant. It’s not my strongest position, but I like the movement. Then, I went to the drive-thru window for an hour, before I went back to running. My legs felt very heavy and clumsy the whole time.

Then, I went on break. And I ate a fruit cup. Everything still felt hard to move.(I walked a total of 15,000 steps today and two hours of my shift registered as exercise on my Apple Watch.) While outside I started stumbling, and twice I almost pelted some cars with bags of food.

And it was cold outside! Then, the icy rain started. Eventually, I got a poncho, and after about two hours I went inside and washed my hands for five straight minutes trying to get them warm again. At this point, my lower half hurts and I can’t bend and reach the floor.

And one of my supervisors accidentally clocks me in the cheekbone with his elbow. Hard.

I finally leave, and my phone alerts me that my heart rate is high. It hovered around 120-135 most of my shift. It usually does.

My toe hurts– not sure if I’m getting a blister or the toe I almost broke or the neuroma giving me trouble.

I came home, showered and made myself some food. And took 20 mg of baclofen. Making my grand total for the day 35 mg. I think. My blood pressure is also trending upward, at 112/78.

My phone says my average walking asymmetry for the day was 2.5 percent, but I noticed there was a lot of asymmetry. Often when my numbers are bad, they are a lot higher but only happen once. This was happening frequently. It looks like it was happening a dozen times an hour.

So, I came home wet, cold, stumbling and hurting.

I record this now to improve my memory of what the bad days feel like.

The close-out of my medical fitness program

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

Monday is my last session as part of the Thrive medical fitness program at St. Luke’s. Working with the trainers in the program has reminded me of some hard truths– and the part that’s hard is the reality of your own habits and thinking patterns.

The numbers show some nice progress. I lost four pounds of fat and gained one pound of muscle. (And had I eaten better imagine what those numbers could have been.) My blood pressure according to their records has stayed the same, but based on my home readings has gone down and requires less medication. The strength-based tests– well, I kicked butt.

I certainly feel better, and stronger, though I still have work to do on my cardiofitness. That won’t really improve until I commit to more cardiovascular exercise, even if it is just walks around the neighborhood. I would love to return to riding my bike again, but there’s a fear factor there. It’s an activity I don’t want to do alone, which is also true of walking.

But here are the lessons:

  • When my body hurts and locks up, strength-training stretches all those muscles and gets rid of the pain.
  • I can only lose about a pound a week if I eat well and exercise at least three times a week. Diet alone won’t do it. And my food choices don’t have to be perfect but they have to be solid.
  • Salt is my nemesis. Too little and I experience orthostatic hypotension and lightheadedness, too much and I end up with as much as five pounds water weight.
  • I must be choosy about my fast food. Domino’s or Little Caesars pizza will put me in a coma, and I will sleep so well, but the impact will show on my heart rate, blood pressure and weight. Wing Stop has no benefits, only the effects of the salt. I now keep various processed chicken products in the freezer because while they are not a wholesome choice, I can make my own sauces to replicate Wing Stop and save the truly detrimental health effects. Taco Bell in small doses can be tolerated, and I usually get a cheap box deal and make the items all vegetarian. It adds some extra fiber and vegetable matter to the mix.
  • And out of all the fast food chains– I can navigate the menu at Chick-Fil-A and not notice any real impact. Their fruit cup and kale crunch salad, especially when paired with grilled nuggets, are solid choices. They also have a chicken (or vegetarian) cool wrap, which, while it is calorie dense, is easy and quick to eat– with a good portion of lettuce and cabbage. (Yes, they also have amazing salads, but those big salads are realistically three portions. That’s a lot of salad and chicken. A lot.)

Do I have the discipline to not only continue but improve upon this progress? I don’t know. Honestly. IF I made a commitment to meal planning and cooking, I could. But with money and time always an issue, I don’t know. With stress leading me to seek comfort in my favorite foods– did you know they have Sour Patch Kid Jelly Beans? Eva says they flipped Sour Patch Kids inside out… With fatigue influencing my choices– caffeine and sugary carbohydrates, anyone?

Will I get up in the morning, drink a glass of water, and commit to some sort of exercise in my home gym?

Damned if I know.

Stay tuned.

The healthier side of fast food

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I worked my way through school at a very busy McDonalds franchise, working full-time there after college graduation until I found my first professional job four months later. When I returned to food service in my thirties, it was at our local Target (in the cafe, making official Pizza Hut pizzas and popcorn and selling icees) so that I had the income our family needed to make ends meet yet have the flexibility to raise our daughter. And go to school. And travel. And all the quirky things I have done.

So throughout most of Eva’s childhood, we didn’t eat fast food and I certainly didn’t set foot in a McDonalds for 20 years. (When I finally did, it smelled exactly the same as I remembered.)

Once Eva started to work and drive and as the pandemic changed a lot of our shopping and eating habits, we have revisited a lot of the fast food options. (There is a reason I gained 30 pounds since then, I guess.)

I was vegetarian for about eight years before Eva was born and fast food is traditionally not a place where vegetarians find many options– I remember making vegetarian Big Macs and “grilled cheese” at McDonalds. Basically, take the meat out of the traditional burger. Frankly, I always thought that sounded gross.

So imagine my surprise when I was recently scrolling the Chick-Fil-A menu online and discovered a host of vegetarian and potentially vegan options. And I decided to work my way through them. Now, I have had Chick-Fil-A’s salads, and any of them can be made without the chicken (and cheese or bacon or egg depending on the salad). They even have three vinegar-based salad dressings.

Now, let me say that I am no longer a vegetarian but I still gravitate toward vegetarian options.

I am in love with the relatively new kale crunch side salad– kale, cabbage, and almonds with the apple vinaigrette dressing.

The fruit cup surprised me. It’s mostly apples, but it also has fresh strawberries and blueberries and a couple mandarin orange slices.

The macaroni and cheese is a unique take on a classic. It does not have the uber-creamy texture of velveeta like most fast food macaroni and cheese, but almost has a rich gruyere flavor and a thicker texture.

Yesterday I tried the vegetarian cool wrap, which is the traditional cool wrap (with cold chicken, lettuce, cabbage and shredded cheese) but with the beans and corn from the southwest salad as the protein.

I’m surprised at how many easy options there are.

And there is also applesauce.

Colonoscopy

Angel Ackerman 2 Comments

Yesterday I had a colonoscopy, which means that I went 36 hours without food and experienced my first bowel prep. As with many things, I approached it with the same curiosity I would other aspects of life. Like how long does it really take to clean one’s colon? How does it feel to fast for an extended period of time? Can I find a broth or a gelatin dessert I like?

I’m not a big meat eater, and was vegetarian for eight years before my daughter’s birth. So the clear liquids diet seemed abhorrent to me, and the fact that they asked you to avoid nuts, seeds, whole grains and vegetables and fruits with skin for five days also troubled me.

The directions for the prep said I needed a 64-ounce bottle of Gatorade, but not in red, orange or purple as those colors could look like blood in the colon. I didn’t know if blue were okay. I looked at all the flavors in ever store and it looked like yellow was the only color that was safe. Except Gatorade is gross. And it’s hard to find a 64-ounce bottle of Gatorade, so I had to hit the grocery stores. That’s a LOT of Gatorade.

I told myself– find a small bottle of a flavor that might work and taste test the Gatorade. But even then I could not do it.

I looked at this logically. The whole point of the Gatorade is to suspend the Miralax powder into a liquid and to offer the body electrolytes so you don’t end up horribly dehydrated. Gatorade is not the only electrolyte drink out there. There’s also Propel, G2 (okay so that’s just diet Gatorade), and high-end products like Liquid IV. I’ve been down this rabbit hole before with research when my primary care provider suggested I drink more electrolytes to treat my orthostatic hypotension. I already had a favorite.

(Here’s an old blog entry about the cardiologist I now refuse to see who thought he knew better than my primary care provider. Smug little doctor man. And here’s another that mentions electrolytes.)

I ordered myself some of my favorite electrolyte powder (Powder Vitamin Plus), in lemonade, unflavored and ginseng green tea. No colors.

As for clear liquid diet… I made chicken stock and froze it. But, I don’t like chicken broth and I could not convince myself to thaw it out and drink it. I found some gelatin that expired in 2022 from when I promised I would make Eva finger JellO, but I couldn’t find the JellO. Eva also brought home a bottle of Sprite.

I used the Sprite and a random can of Beetlejuice spiced apple soda from Fanta to make one batch of finger JellO but the color of the soda was bright green and I expected it to be golden. I also made a batch with white grape-strawberry juice (and that was diet).

Saturday morning I had a big salad, removing all the items from the “avoid list.” Then I had a decent dinner, and a few homemade Christmas cookies. Lately, if I have more than three Christmas cookies, the sugar makes my belly feel wonky and this night was no exception. I stopped eating at 6:30 Saturday night (and didn’t eat solid food again until 10 a.m. Monday).

On Sunday morning, I made some electrolyte water and a hot ginger drink. Midmorning I made black coffee and laced it with a little chocolate chip cookie dough Torani syrup. For lunch, I had a heap of finger JellO and a small cup of vegan soy ramen broth. In early afternoon, I drank a cherry Coke zero.

I took my first set of laxative pills at 2 p.m. and an hour later, well you can imagine the results. I already had no stool left in my colon, but as most of my intake had been brown liquid…

At that point, I filled a glass jug with 64 ounces water, and a scoop of lemonade electrolyte powder and a half scoop of the ginseng powder. I shook and started to add the miralax powder. Except it didn’t fit. Even with me stirring with a long spoon as I added it slowly.

I poured it all into the blender, which resulted in about 72 ounces of final mixture.

I put it into the fridge, with the overflow in a mason jar so that I could track how much I was drinking.

At 6 p.m., I started drinking. At first, it tasted good. The directions said to drink half. Now, at this point, it already looked like my colon was clean. And I was supposed to drink it in about an hour. A glass every ten to fifteen minutes. I managed the amount suggested in an hour and twenty minutes. By the end, I never wanted to see the mixture again.

The final set of laxatives were at 8 p.m. I went to bed about 8:45 p.m., but my lingering cough kept me up, and every time I coughed I had to use the bathroom. I finally dozed off at midnight, only to be scared awake by my alarm at 3:45 a.m.

My procedure was scheduled for 9 a.m. and the directions said to finish the prep mixture four hours before the procedure. I went downstairs and poured a glass, drinking while I watched the Apple TV program Trying. I made it through almost two glasses. Then the drink started to gag me. And I used the bathroom and saw that my waste was still as clear as my urine so I returned to bed.

Around 6:30 a.m. I woke again and took a shower. Checked my blood pressure and my weight. Blood pressure up, weight down by 3 pounds.

Eva took me to the hospital at 8. They had asked me to arrive by 8:15 a.m. Now, I schedule a lot of these procedures at St. Luke’s Easton Campus as it is about 600 steps from my house. It’s usually empty, and the doctors and medical professionals there always seem to take good care of me. I used the self-check-in kiosk and went up to the Lotus waiting room.

That waiting room is full of the chairs that I love. We had a teal chair that we called “the throne” that I bought myself when I found it on clearance. I loved that chair, but in its first few months of owning that chair, we got a puppy who ate the chair. We tried several times to fix it, but she repeatedly ate the chair until there was nothing left. For a while, we took the legs off and set it on the floor with a slipcover over it and just gave it to the dog, but eventually, we gave up and threw it away. Which broke my heart. Because she also ate holes in my couch.

When I ended up in the ER for stitches in March 2023, after the fall that left the scar under my lip, I noticed the Lotus waiting room was FULL of my chair. Half of them in the color I had purchased, half in St. Luke’s blue. I had been admitted to an upper floor, perhaps the third. I looked down upon the chairs as I headed for the door.

It’s an ugly waiting room with a collection of my chairs.

They took me back to the unit at 8:40. Eva had to leave to feed some clients breakfast and the nurse told her to come back to this waiting room. The unit looked the emergency room from every television medical drama made in the last thirty years. There was another person there getting prepped for something. And maintenance men changing the lights which technically put them at an angle where they could see through all the privacy curtains from above. Not that I care.

Two nurses started prepping me and the doctor and the anesthesiologist lined up for my consent and the consent of the person next to me. The whole process was a very efficient assembly line. I mentioned that during my prep all I could think about was saltines. And the staff laughed and said they could handle that. The nurses took one look at my tiny veins and I think they panicked. They got a third nurse specifically to start my IV.

That IV was beautiful.

She was like an IV angel.

Normally IVs are a tumultuous experience for me. When I had my tilt table test, the man who administered that IV dug around under my flesh for what felt like an eternity and left bruises all over my hand and arm from his failed attempts.

I have never had blood draws as smooth as what this nurse did yesterday. I included a picture: If you see the three dots on the top side of the frame in the middle of the edge of my hand and think of them as Orion’s belt (they are from an old cat scratch) and travel to the middle of my hand slightly to the left, you will see a tiny pin prick– and not the one between the two lines on my wrist– that’s where my IV was. There is no bruising. At all. I had an IV in this hand and there isn’t a single piece of evidence that it was there!

As the placed an oxygen mask over my face and told me to turn to my side, someone else gave me an extra pillow concerned for my comfort. My last thought as I watched the nurse or whomever finish pushing the plunger on my medicine was “Why do I need to be comfortable? I’ll be unconscious.”

It was 9:20 when I woke to a small bottle of water and a pile of saltines. I texted Eva and she was almost to the hospital. The doctor told me he did find and remove a polyp. And I was home by 10 a.m. And the saltines were delicious.

Gunk and other updates

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

It is Saturday, December 28, around 8:30 a.m. when I start this. Do not expect much eloquence from me, as the gunk Eva passed on to me from her recent illness is still interfering with my ability to think and sleep. It has instead given me a lovely cough, which now after more than a week is getting “wet” and “productive.”

I FINALLY finished my medical intake at the St. Luke’s Medical Fitness program. Because of my paused membership, I’m not sure when my end date in the Thrive program is but let’s assume mid-February for now. This whole journey started in early November when I visited my neurologist-physiatrist to talk to her about my recent mobility issues and any concerns she had about me returning to an exercise program.

The older I get, the more I worry that my cerebral palsy will cause me to hurt myself because I tend not to notice when my body is doing the wrong things.

Eva has worked really hard on remodeling the garage and including a space for a home gym, so I need to pay some attention to myself in that regard. But I’m out of shape, and falling more than usual, so I’m scared.

My neurologist referred me to the medical fitness program, and I had my first medical intake appointment on November 11. My blood pressure spiked during that appointment, so they sent me home without doing the baseline exercise portion of the intake. I returned two days later, and they almost sent me to the ER because my blood pressure was still bad.

Here are the previous entries recalling all of that, when it was happening.

Two trips to the primary care doctor, two trips to the cardiologist, and two or three falls (depending how you count, one was a trip, but I still believe it happened because of balance issues which makes it a fall) later, my blood pressure seems under control again.

And of course, yesterday, when I turned up at the gym in the basement of the hospital, it was 130/90.

Since I’ve been fighting the gunk, I almost canceled the appointment, but I filled a water bottle with my electrolyte flavor, grabbed a scarf, forgot a mask, and hopped in the car. My fear was that if I canceled the appointment, the intake would have to wait until after my colonoscopy and I was worried that one thing would lead to another and I’d never get this done.

When I arrived, I forgot my water bottle in the car, still couldn’t find a mask, and realized I had no idea where my membership/gym tag was. In the back of my mind, I knew I had packed a gym bag at my last attempt and that the tag was in the gym bag. But where was the gym bag? And what bag did I use?

Lots of hand sanitizer and frequent hand washing and I refused to shake the young man’s hand. I also told him if I continued to cough and he had to send me home, I understood. But I reiterated that I had had many trials to get to this point and I would rather be sent home than continue the cycle of not trying.

Onto the fancy scale I went (168) and I know that body fat percentage was in the forties, wish I could remember what it was when I was super lean a decade ago. Turns out that information may only exist in paper journals in my attic.

39-year-old Angel … with something to prove before hitting 40

The Angel in the pictures is 45 pounds lighter than me, and I think those 45 pounds, age and stress have had a ridiculous impact on my blood pressure and my mobility. (And for the record– the sweatpants worn by Angel in the pictures were my favorite sweatpants ever.)

I have learned that my body reacts strongly to salt and sugar, and that I “do better” when I cook, and that I have no self-control with processed snack foods like potato chips and doritos.

The trainer I met with yesterday talked about maximum heart rate and how hearts slow down as we age. The highest my heart rate reached in 2024, according to my AppleWatch, was 186. 207 was the highest since I got the watch. The online calculators I have seen suggest that my maximum heart rate for my age is between 170 and 179.

The trainer, and maybe his name was Ryan but maybe I invented that, would like to see me four times a week. I still have the mental mindset to make this work, but my physical stamina and fortitude have worn me out to the point where I can talk myself out of my own efforts.

I found this post from when I started my journey with Apex Training in 2021.

Maybe, someday, I will get my discipline under control and be one of those old ladies who powerlift. Screw the whole red hat/purple dress thing.

Meanwhile, Monday is my first colonoscopy. It was supposed to be the Monday after Thanksgiving but the doctor had a death in the family. Tomorrow I start my official bowel prep, and it scares me, because I get shaky without food, and low blood pressure without salt, and I already have a mobility disability. Then they will knock me out on Monday, and I tend to have a heavy reaction to medications and anesthesia. So none of this makes me comfortable. The actual colonoscopy, that doesn’t scare me. But everything else does.

So tomorrow, unless I experience miraculous healing today, I will be expelling mucus from my lungs and all the poop from my bum.

Did I just flunk out of fitness?

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I started my new fitness journal Monday and have been making good choices, tracking my activity and walking the dog everyday.

Each day my number of steps increases by about 500 and today I made it up an extra bend of stairs before I was out of breath– Nan lives on the third floor and I always take the stairs instead of the elevator.

I’ve reduced my caffeine intake, resumed taking my beta blocker and have taken my baclofen regularly. Today was my second try to finish my intake for the Thrive Medical Fitness Program at St. Luke’s Hospital. I even arrived 15 minutes early, used the restroom and sat in the waiting room imagining petting my cat, Fog, and listening to his purr.

They wouldn’t let me finish the intake on Monday because of high blood pressure and heart rate and I was determined to do everything I could to come in on target.

Well.

My heart rate passed.

My blood pressure, despite several attempts by more than one person over a course of 20 minutes, did not. They asked several times if I had any symptoms– and I said no because I didn’t. They asked several times. And the last time my trainer emphasized if you have any symptoms at all I will accompany you to the E.R. right now. They let me go home with a promise that I would call my primary care physician and go talk to them tomorrow. And they instructed me to take my blood pressure as soon as I got home.

My numbers there were: 180/120, 180/117 and 160/110.

I came home and the numbers had fallen: 123/91, then 116/82, and finally 115/71.

I went to the bench outside the hospital and called my primary care physician from there. The office is on the way home from the hospital and it was only 4:30 p.m. so if they had concerns they could have me come immediately to the office or stay at the hospital.

I have an appointment for 8:45 a.m. tomorrow.

And the staff at the fitness center thanked me for being so flexible and understanding, acknowledging that the whole situation must be frustrating, but getting angry about it won’t help me– or my blood pressure.

Honestly, I think my body is just anxious about being in/near the hospital.

So we’ll see what my primary care physician’s office says tomorrow.

Obesity

Angel Ackerman 2 Comments

Last week, I went to the doctor for my annual physical. The following day I went to the gynecologist for the same.

Between the two appointments, one of the medical professionals listed me as two inches shorter than my average. That led to my status as overweight being upgraded to class one obesity.

I have been struggling for months to resume exercise and return to healthy eating. I go back and forth with losing the same five pounds, based on what I choose to eat.

A lot of my issues with mobility and my heart stem from my extra weight. No doctor has said that to me, but I know based on how I feel and how my body reacts. I need to lose thirty or forty pounds.

About the same time my primary care physician quietly labeled me as obese, murmurings happened on the internet that suggested that the BMI was an imprecise and outdated model of determining health. The suggested replacement is a roundness index, which looks at how much weight people carry around their middles.

If I felt good, I wouldn’t care what they labeled me. But I don’t have the stamina I once did. And that has an impact on my activity which causes more issues.

I think as a society we should promote different body types and multiple standards of beauty, but if I know my weight causes a decrease in my quality of life, it is nothing more than denial to say that weight doesn’t matter.