FINALLY Winning the War

Kelly Clarkson’s song “The War is Over” is all I can think of to describe how I am feeling right now.  While this song is about a breakup, my elation pertains to my long battle with high cholesterol: the war is finally (almost) over.   

Last Friday I participated in a health assessment at work, and while a chunk of the results haven’t come back, the ones I was interested in did — cholesterol.  And I am more than happy to report that my cholesterol is now 201 (normal is less than 200)!

I've had high cholesterol since I can remember. When I had it tested for the first time at age 22, I sat vulnerable in my barely-there, raggedy patient gown as the doctor told me I was fat. When I started to cry, she shoved antidepressant samples into my purse and handed me glossy brochures of cholesterol medications. I refused to take medication despite my cholesterol being upwards of 260.

Six years later, in March 2011, I was lectured again (minus the tears).  My cholesterol was 241 and my doctor told me to lose ten pounds before she threatened medication.  I began chronicling my battle with high cholesterol and struggle to lose weight on this blog.  Despite best efforts and seven months of trying, my cholesterol didn't change much.  

It wasn't until this past fall spring when my number began to budge, dropping to somewhere in the 220s. There was still work to do.  I stopped eating processed foods and began cooking more because I enjoyed it and felt better about myself when I did.  I began running and working out for the fun of it, not to lose weight.  My pants started feeling baggier, but the scale didn't budge, so I put it away for a while. 

When I decided to check it a couple weeks ago, I had reached around 160 pounds (depending on the day, between 162.5 or 160.7) — a weight I haven’t seen since probably high school. And now, as I continue to stare at my test results from Friday, I still can’t believe I’m seeing numbers I never thought I would — 201, thisclose to the normal cholesterol zone.

In my post from March 2011, I wrote:  “Here I am, a month before my 28th birthday, and my cholesterol is still on the move... upwards. I needed to listen and obey, do whatever I could to fix it.” 

Now, here I am a month before my 30th birthday, my confidence is the only thing on the rise.  Although I still face daily battles — like slightly high LDL cholesterol — I am winning the war. FINALLY.  I guess this is proof that hard work and determination can pay off (and that it really does take a while if you aren't a celebrity).

Tim McGraw has a song called “My Next 30 Years,” which is about celebrating his age and focusing on the future. That’s what I’m going to do.  My next 30 years are going to be great, and what a better way to start than with semi-normal cholesterol.  

P.S. Thanks to everyone who has been so supportive and encouraging during this time -- and always. Love you long time. 

Baby Love and True Love

I have the most adorable nephew ever.  Life just always seems so much better whenever I am around him.  

This past weekend when I was home for a visit, poor little nephew was sick. But like the trooper he is, Baby D was in good spirits whenever the Motrin kicked in. On Sunday morning he was feeling a little better and woke up early. My sister didn't hear him, but I did, so I tiptoed into my old bedroom—his nursery—to hang out with him, excited to steal some Baby D and Auntie Kim alone time. I tickled his belly and made some funny faces until his whimpers turned into soft giggles. The best part was when I bent down to pick something off the ground, disappearing out of his sight, he started to cry. Once I stood up and was back in his sight, he looked at me and flashed me his infectious little (but big) baby smile. 

It melted my heart. I can still picture it in my head, and the memory never fails to bring a smile to my face. It made me so happy to think that maybe he really likes me, and that he loves me back, even though I only pop into his life once every six to eight weeks.

Although Baby D’s four months of existence has been short, he has made a huge impact on everyone’s lives—especially mine.  Thanks to him, I am now certain of one thing: I definitely want kids someday.  Having children of my own one day was always something I assumed I wanted and would eventually happen after I got married. But I was never 100 percent sure like I am now after hanging out with him. 

Although I'm sure I want kids, some days I'm not so sure I'll ever get married. I joked the other day that I was saving money for a sperm donor instead of for a wedding.  Of course there is a part of me that certainly hopes it doesn't come to that, but, hey, you never know. As I learned in college, the only way to fail is to fail to plan!  

I've come to terms with the fact that I might never meet Prince Charming—trust is a huge part of a relationship and I’m not sure I’ll ever find someone who is worth the sacrifice of handing over the little bit of faith and self-preservation that I have left. It’s not pathetic; it’s reality for those who know what I’m talking about. 

I’m a jaded, nearly 30-year-old woman with trust issues. My heart has been broken and betrayed so many times I don’t even know if it still looks like one anymore. Sometimes I envision it looking like a lump of play dough that’s been mutilated by a five-year-old—a traumatized clump of misshaped mass that might resemble one of those hearts Hallmark sells on Valentine's Day, imprinted with dozens of little finger marks from all the touching and squeezing and manipulating it's been through.

Please don’t confuse me for someone who is looking for sympathy or whining about being single and alone. I am miraculously OK with this (on most days). I take solace in what one of my Chicago friends--who is 34--told me during her wedding reception last December. She said she learned to accept that she might have to find happiness elsewhere in life rather than in a marriage she so badly wanted.  And she did.  And a few short months later, she met the man of her dreams and her future husband.  

  

Like my friend, I've gotten to a point in my life where I’d rather be in love with myself (in a non-egotistic sense) than put up with anyone else’s crap and waste my valuable time. Since giving myself permission to just be happy no matter what, I'm the happiest I've been maybe ever in my adult life. 

Happiness can be defined by many things—for some it’s a white wedding; for others it’s a night out with friends drinking too much wine, or completing a half marathon, or the look in the eyes of a baby when he smiles at you. That is an unconditional love I can get behind. The love between friends, the love I have for myself and the love I have for a tiny person.

My mom might cringe while reading this, but she has to know by now that marriage and men are not like they were when she found honest and lasting love with my dad nearly four decades ago. I want what they have someday but I’m not sure that exists anymore. I've kissed way too many frogs.

  

And while I might not ultimately find my Prince Charming, I will most certainly live happily ever after. Even if it's just enjoying the moments I get to have with my adorable nephew. But hopefully, one day, I'll have some with my own child.