Recently in Health and well-being Category

Friday I ended my 12-year run at a large academic medical center in New York City. I started out as a nurse in the ER after moving into the city to live with Jeff and continued through the hospital as a nurse in the cath lab then a research coordinator and then slowly falling into more managerial and administrative jobs. I finished with three years of a directorship under my belt, an MBA, and some great experiences. The thought of leaving made me sick to my stomach...the idea of a sense of belonging, of knowing my environment, of the safety of where I was and what I knew.

But I need more and I need to see what is on the other side of the grassy hill. In my quest for being better this year, I've tried to embrace risk both personally and professionally and so I decided it was time to seek other adventures.

I'm taking two weeks off then jumping head-first into a corporate consulting gig that will have me whirling around the US most of the time. Something so completely different and foreign to anything I've know before but I'm not only thrilled and excited but strangely less anxious and panicked. I take this as a good sign that I'm on the right path.

They cut the cast off today and while there were no maggots, there was a lot of grossness that a good couple days of exfoliating needs to work over. I'm also, for lack of a better term, limp-wristed as I'm simultaneously without any strength in my wrist as well as having frozen tendons from the non-use. I can mince around but I can't let my wrist dangle ever so elegantly before me. It's imposed butchness, I suspect.

What I just realized is that on my wrist now I have my very own lightening bolt scar, ala Harry Potter. Just not on my forehead (which is where my inverted 'V' resides denoting not so much a Muggle but neither a wizarding wizard of wizards.

The physical therapist cautioned me against using my right hand for any kind of activity when I left him this afternoon. "Any kind of activity," I inquired. "Any kind," he said with a knowing look. Sigh..Looks like Jeff isn't off the hook yet, if you get what I'm sayin'.

The fading black cast I've been wearing on my right arm for the last three weeks is finally coming off today. I can admit as a health care professional that I VASTLY underestimated the impact this little surgery to repair some damaged cartilage in my hand would have on me and my day to day life. It was a much more painful recovery then I expected and the having a cast on for four weeks inhibiting simple things like typing, taking a shower, and other more intimate personal time really just annoyed the hell out of me.

Not one to let an opportunity for self-inflicted drama to go by, the impending removal of my cast unburied some old ER nursing days for me way back in the day when I was working at the city hospital in St. Louis. We had a homeless man come in who was wearing about seven pairs of thick cotton socks which probably had not been removed for months if not a year. They'd hardened into a close proximity of a plaster cast which forced us into using the cast saw to cut them off. The whole time the guy kept repeating "don't take 'em off, don't take 'em off" which is what I'd now term a red-flag and worth listening to.

With the sock cut, we literally cracked it open to reveal a foot that had been halfway eaten away by a writhing, slimy ball of maggots. From what we could piece together, the guy must have gotten some kind of wound and had flys on land and lay eggs on it. As bad as it sounds, he's actually pretty lucky because the maggots did exactly what they were suppose to do which eat rotting meat so instead of him developing a deadly case of sepsis and gangrene, the maggots kept his wound cleaned and cleared of debris. There is even a controlled therapeutic intervention for similar problems used in hospitals using maggots.

This is not to say that several of us didn't have to leave the room to puke on the ER floor. I'm just saying nature takes care of itself in strange and unusual ways. Of course he did loose his foot, tool, so that wasn't really great.

So when my cast comes off, I'm hoping I don't have any maggots in there. That is all I'm saying.

My first attempt at spin class which Jeff invited me to attend with him last week was, with my thinking at the time, going to be my first and last. It was horrible and trumped with me being lead through the spin by my peddles rather than by my legs. Nothing worse then feeling like you're trussed into some kind of torture machine that is going to spin you right off the front because there are no damn brakes on the thing.

But I'm nothing if not a trooper so I went to Monday night's spin class again because Jeff asked and thought I should give it a good second try...getting back on the horse and all that mishigas. That instructor, a tight knot of a UK chick named Jess was awesome. Great music and she came around and set me up correctly so that I was peddling the bike instead of it peddling me. I was able to stand in position two and three at all the right spots and put in the full workout. In fact, I worked out so hard, by the time we got done and I wobbled down to get my stuff from the locker, I thought I would puke. Which, while bad enough, was only outdone by me getting on the subway, still sure puking was eminent, with the additional feeling that I could very well crap myself before I got home. And when I got home, the urge to purge had subsided but the underwear didn't make it. So essentially, I worked out so hard I partially lost bowel control. So, like, yay me again. Feh.

It's unfortunate to report that I am that guy in the beginner yoga class I started last week. I wanted to be the A+ student, the one who, without any previous training, is able to do amazing poses and be in total sync with my body and breathing. I wanted to be that favorite pupil to the instructors; the no-bother, no-worry student. But no...I'm none of those things. I'm the class SWEATER. After the first ten minutes of our Sun Salutation, I look like I've been hosed down by the NYC Fire Department. Seriously, I've never thought of myself as an overtly persperate kind of guy but something is happening because I'm simply drenched by the end of class...and everyone notices!

When I mentioned to the instructor who walked by to re-pose me in Downward Dog that I was sweating like a pig and sliding all over the mat, he very kindly let me know that was just my body getting rid of all the unhealthy toxins and it was natural. Toxins, what? I've been on the most healthy diet for the past six weeks and haven't put a scrap of crap in me since January and I'm detoxing from what, exactly? So I'm not liking the detox line, but I appreciated him not saying how gross I was.

This week was even worse then last week though I did manage to bring a towel with me that I used frequently. My Downward Dog is a bit better but my Warrior 1 needs some major work. I can't be the bow and arrow when my inflexible, tight unworked 36-year old arms don't bend like that, McFlexible. I know the other class members were still just agog at the river pouring off me but I felt a little more in control AND I did lose about two pounds of water weight by yesterday morning which I've since put right back on, so there is that. Hi, I'm Beau and I'm a sweater.

I'm at the end of my six-week Abs Diet program today. I did my final weigh-in (unofficial since I'm weighing myself and not for any non-judgmental, unbiased person) to see where I stand this morning...to see if this damn thing actually worked at all. Of course the irrational worry is that I'm doing all this work and nothing is happening which I know isn't true because I can actually get some fingers in my 34-inch Levi's without sucking in the gut (and I do love slipping some fingers in my pants every now and again). On the other side of the spectrum is the irrational frustration that I'm working my fucking ass off and only getting this far? I mean, WTF? I work extremely hard in a difficult, challenging, frustrating management position and am compensated accordingly so it's a little shocking that in six weeks, I'm not down to 138lbs with rippling abs. Unrealistic, I know but that's where my head is.

In the last six weeks, I've lost 10lbs bringing me down to 198lbs or 1/3 to 1/4 of where I want to be, depending on the day. I had been shooting for losing 2lbs a week to get me to 196 by now so I'm marginally disappointed in my end weight but on the plus side, losing any weight and getting fit is most important and I embrace it. Also, my diet needed very little tweaking which might account for the slower weight-loss I've had these past weeks. I was not starting from a 3-Cokes, 14 cookies, and a can of frosting-day diet. I had a pretty sensible diet with some fast-food issues around dinner time that needed attention as well as adding daily exercise. I'm looking now into reassessing the good carbs I'm taking in to possibly exchange and reduce them further, focusing on more protein.

My original goal of 170 was based around the BMI chart but my general opinion, based on what I'm seeing in the mirror, is that I need to seriously reassess at 180lbs before losing anything else. I like a little meat on a man and I have no interest in being ectomorphic for the sake of getting down to 170lbs. I still have a buddha belly but it seems incredible to me to think that I'm could still be carrying an extra 30lbs. Maybe I'm in denial or maybe I'd feel differently if I had quickly dropped 15lbs over the last six weeks but reassessment around 180 is pertinent, I think.

Additionally, I'm moving out of obsessing over the weight goals. They're good to have but I'm focused more now on what I generally look like. The waist and stomach are definitely disappearing and the muscles are growing. Jeff caught me several times flexing in the mirror to stare at the arms, shoulders, pecs that seem to be taking some definition right now. I do kinda get hard looking at myself so there is that.

So it's all good with me right now. I feel terrific, centered, focused, and healthful. We're six months out from the Big Gay Cruise and I'm heading into what is typically seen as a good growth period in terms of working out. I've always read that the first month or two using weights is really nothing more than waking up the muscles. I expect to see some visible growth and increased strength as well as increased cardiac capacity (God willing, I'm tired of feeling like I'm going to puke after 30 seconds of jumping jacks). I'm also just into my 8-week high-intensity interval training which is suppose to melt pounds like butter in a hot skillet so I'll be interested to see how that pans out as well as starting my escalating density training with weights which is suppose to produce some significant muscle gains over the course of the next eight weeks. Add in a modest decrease in carbs and I think my next goal date, April 27th, should show some significant progress. Even at an expected, steady 1.5 - 2lbs a week, I could potentially be almost to the low 180's and with time to reassess how much I want to molest myself on a daily basis. The test will be putting on a white t-shirt and seeing if I have a perky ridge of moobs with the arm-holes straining around the guns.

My New Years resolution for the last five years has always been: Be Better. It’s a good catch all and like all good goals, it is achievable for me. Unlike good goals, it’s very hard to measure in any quantifiable way but as the years wrap up, I have a general sense of myself and whether or not I have, in fact, been better. I’d become anxious and dispassionate over previous year’s resolutions and one year tried the “no more resolutions” resolution which made the year seem pale and apathetic to myself. I read information about goal-setting and concluded I needed to set small, successful goals that are directly tied into me making them possible, not some external force (get a raise, etc…). And so I looked at myself and realized that most of the time, I felt that in a lot of situations, if not most, I could just be better; more engaging, more friendly, more helpful, more loving, less angry and sarcastic, more present. I could just be myself but be better.

This past year, it was not only about being better to others, which I think for the most part I accomplished, but also being better to me. I was put into a difficult, stressful situation at work having to take acting leadership for my office, a task that just happened to coincide with my starting graduate school, and for the first month I was miserable but then I started trying to be better to the people I worked with and worked for and I found that my goal of just keeping the office afloat until a new director could be brought in was within my power. I cut off that pessimistic, redundant inside voice of fear and impending failure (a hallmark of an INTP) and just did the task. At the end, when the new director started in October, I was relieved but I was also confident in myself that I’d managed to keep the office running for the previous 8 months and learn a great deal in the process. So I was being better to myself for not giving into those perfectionist rants of it not being perfect and that felt pretty good.

This year my being better extends back out to those around me. I did maintain and cultivate my friendships this year but there were a few people who I still didn’t feel I reached out too enough and I’d like to make that different. Jeff and I are celebrating our tenth anniversary this spring and I think that this past year, like so many years before, have just gotten better. We’ve shared a lot of common goals and plans for ourselves this past year and we continue to be better, more loving partners to one another because of it. But after ten years, sometimes the routine and the ingrained interplay can be difficult and so I want to be better and really take this year to be a better partner, more loving and less critical, more honest and sharing and less selfish.

For me, much of what has held be back from being a better person was the risk and fear involved. I’m not a social person and very much uneasy with how I see myself in a group, whether social or professional all the while wishing I could be better. I found a quote by Eleanor Roosevelt this year that says, “You must do the thing you think you cannot do.” so I’m going to use that as my stepping stone to being better. I’m going to take more risks and charge forth in things that I think I can’t do and I’m going to round myself out a bit, personally, professionally, creatively, socially, and intimately to just be better.

I wish for everyone in the New Year, health, happiness, and good fortune.

Like everyone else, I'm not getting the flu shot this year and I'm a nurse and work in a hospital. Of course I'm not doing patient care and that's the requirement for the shot but I'm OK with it. I'm relatively young and healthy so I'd rather someone who really needs the shot get mine. My 80-something year old grandmother is going without so I'd like to think, idealistically, that someone in need is getting my dose. That being said, for anyone living on Pluto who doesn't know, the single BEST thing you can do to protect yourself at any time of year, not just the cold and flu season, is WASH YOUR DAMN, DIRTY HANDS. Wash them all the time, with the hottest water you can stand and regular soap. I say this because working (and now living) in NYC, I regularly ride the subways and buses and we know that means I come into contact daily with poop, Ebola, and other assorted micro-organisms smeared on the handrails and seats of public transporation, doornobs, and any piece of common office equiptment available. I make it a routine practice to wash anytime I come in from outside and even though I'm a nervous, hand-wringing, anxiety-prone, worry wart, I've consciously willed myself to stop my neurotic ticks like fiddling with my contacts and picking my nose. Keep your damn, dirty hands away from your face! My new best friend is antibacterial hand sanitizer which I have stashed at home, in the office, and in the cars. I use it anytime I can't get to a sink to wash and periodically throughout the day. Are antibacterial washes helping to create antibiotic-resistant super strains? Uh, maybe...but then again, that's someone elses poop you just touched during that handshake or on that cup of Dunkin Doughnut's coffee someone just handed you.