Hello friends, foes, and other folks. Behold, I have returned.
It has been an eventful month in which many changes have taken place and still more changes were prepared for. Announcements and entertainment shall soon pour forth onto this here page and tickle your senses.
But tonight, my dear bloggerpals, I'm spitting mad. Well, more spitting and less mad. Unless, that is, a person can actually be madly spitting. Yes, that's the perfect description.
Tonight, I am madly spitting. Into a teeny tiny little jar with a blue plastic lid.
No, I have not taken up "dipping," and no, there are no watermelon seeds involved.
I am in fact, taking a medical test.
Apparently, all that juicy saliva that floats around in our mouths holds boo-koos of hormones - testosterone, progesterone, cortisol, adrenaline... the list goes on.
Want to know the story?
Well, it AALLLL started around the time I got engaged (almost 5 years ago). With no change in diet or exercise, I gained 15 lbs. in 8 months.
To make a REALLY long story short... the weight gain hasn't stopped since then. And along with it has come even more problems. Fatigue. Nausea. Shaking spells. Arthritis-type symptoms. Female issues. And the list goes on....
After much poking and prodding from friends, family, and my general practitioner... I finally saw a specialist.
His theory goes back to the caveman days. You see, back in the day of the caveman when a traumatic event happened - a death in the "clan," a broken bone, a natural disaster - the body would begin to overproduce a hormone called Cortisol - the "stress hormone." This hormone causes the body to store up excess fat and water in preparation for starvation that may come as a result of this change.
Our bodies react in a similar way today when any traumatic event happens.
For me, the "trauma" occurred about a month before I got engaged. It was the near death of my step-dad, whom I love dearly and who helped raise me. His illness struck quickly and sent him into a full-blown coma in a matter of days. My mom (being a wonderful wife) stayed by his side 24/7, while I (at 18 years old) was responsible for making all other arrangements - including notifying family members and flying them in to "say their goodbyes."
Most bodies, once the traumatic event has subsided, will reset themselves.
Mine never did. So this stress hormone has been coursing through my body (and in my saliva, apparently) ever since. It triggers adrenaline (hence, the shakes) and causes my body to store more weight than necessary (effectively shutting down my metabolism). Basically, my body has been in high-stress mode for five years, regardless of how peaceful (or stressful) my surroundings are.
So, before we decide on a treatment option, he wants me to spit. Every three hours. For 24 hours. Into tiny little tubes that somehow morph into 1-Gallon Mason Jars that are impossible to fill.
Ok. Maybe they don't morph. But, sitting here at 11:30pm, after a long day of "pool and drool," this last tube looks like an Olympic size swimming pool... of drool. Heh.
So, test results and treatment decision will be discussed around the middle of this month.
I'll keep you posted.
In the meantime, I am off to dream of cave men spitting into swimming pools... fabulous.