I have not died. I have not lost the ability to type nor the senses with which to produce inane drivel. I am not trapped beneath a heavy wardrobe unable to reach the laptop nor am I being held captive by the fashion police (yet). I am also, contrary to popular rumour, not engaged in a torrid affair with Ryan Reynolds this rendering me too exhausted from lust and the deception to blog-on.
I am just a lazy, lazy moose.
I last bored everyone on the 4th of May. It is now the 12th June. This is poor even by my standards. Much has occurred in this time. Some of interest.....most of mediocrity. I shall burden you with the details- you might want some alcohol to get through the next few paragraphs.
Since the 4th, I have been to see a very lovely nutritional therapist due to the fact that exercise, virtuous living and an absence of cake were just not cutting through the podge. I had to complete a really long questionnaire about my health, conditions, history etc prior to my appointment which was actually quite interesting to do......a bit like the polls you used to get in "Just 17" but with less about snogging techniques and more about bowel movements.
During the appointment, she looked at all aspects of the questionnaire and we identified my main goals (weight loss). She checked my zinc levels (utterly pants) and looked at my diet and all the parts of the questionnaire. It was really nice (and entirely self indulgent) but spending 90 minutes talking about yourself is pretty ace.
She felt that I may be wheat intolerant (not something I'd ever thought about) and also prescribed some tests which you pay for separately and which get sent off to a lab in Germany. With 3 bottles of Omega 3, multi vitamins and something called "Multi-guard control" tablets and a HUGE amount of information and a plan for my diet, I headed off feeling pretty good with a follow up appointment for next month. The test kit duly arrived and I embarked on the (entirely rank) process of collection the er, samples. These then get boxed up and sent to the lab in Germany.......I can't imagine that the steady stream of these er, 'deposits' do a great deal for German/Anglo relations.........
I have also been forced into a healthy, lentil-heavy diet which has left me feeling both smug and virtuous. It also makes me think of a very lovely friend Ben.
Ben was a vegan and living with him was an eye opener. All of Ben's food came in brown paper bags from the local health food/organic grocery shop. Each bag contained something heart-stoppingly foul in appearance or desperately healthy in attitude. When he cooked, the kitchen smelt like boiled hippy and there were permanently vats of some sort of broth steaming away. Like a small bearded wizard, he would nonchalantly add a variety of vegetation to these dishes like some sort of Glasto Harry Potter........for years, I quietly mocked his culinary habits whilst chowing down on a plate of processed, meat based awfulness. Tragically, lovely, lovely Ben was was killed several years ago whilst working abroad but in the last few weeks, I have thought about him a LOT as my kitchen has slowly filled with lentils and has taken on the faint aroma of boiled hippy. I would like to think that somewhere he is quietly smug and throwing a good dose of 'told you so' in my direction.
I had a slightly unusual experience this last fortnight however which threw an odd perspective on this whole shebang. A lump. A big 'un. On the boob. The obligatory panic set in followed by GP appointments, hospital referrals and the slightly disconcerting scenario in which I walked around a hospital bra-less and in a less than opaque hospital gown to a room where a large, camp male doctor rubbed gel over my boobs and then attacked them with a large microphone.
It (thankfully) has all ended well, although the words "at your age" and "one bigger than the other" are never greeted with enthusiasm or boosted self esteem but hey ho, it appears that I am just blessed with harmlessly lumpy boobs. We'll add them to the list with the desperately attractive line-up of greying hair, morbid obesity, roadmap stomach and gravity-ravaged décolletage.
I just cannot understand why Ryan Reynolds is not beating down the door.
The reason I raise this delightful incident in my glamorous life, is twofold. One: CHECK YOUR BOOBS!!!!! If you are in possession of norks, check the bloody things and regularly. Two: For a brief moment between discovery and diagnosis, I did have a flash of hope. What if my boobs are hiding a 2 stone, benign tumour?? What if I am actually at my target weight and am unable to lose any more weight because it's not a persistent 2 stone of lard, it's a TV Documentary-worthy growth.........oooooohhhhhh. Not the case. Am still fat. Arse.
Life is very precious. Embrace, enjoy and remember.
Rest in peace Ben xx
