In reality, the last 400 days have gone so fast I've forgotten how long it has been since my last entry. It's rather frightening, really. How does one possibly sum up over a year of events, complaints, celebrations, successes, not-so-successful attempts at things, road trips, holidays, deep thoughts, random thoughts, no thoughts, etc?
I suppose it isn't possible to chronicle that many activities/emotions, especially without illustrations, and hope to keep a captive audience. Instead, I'll try my best to sum up. Most reading this understand that I don't "sum up" well. . .
I started school at the Institute for Integrative Nutrition (IIN) in September 2012. There are several reasons why this is miraculous. First, it offered me a chance at a career as a Certified Holistic Health Counsellor that I could see myself doing well and absolutely loving every second of. Secondly, it gave me an opportunity to see my health as a priority instead of the thing preventing me from a happy life of thinness.
It is that "thinness" part that is the most devastating to face. I'm OK with being a little chunky. My weight does not define my worth, and, as my husband so lovingly points out, is not a definition of a good or bad person. However, when it gets in the way of pregnancy I get a little antsy and a lot discouraged. (Disclaimer: those who have heard this lament about infertility or have no interest in it can just skip ahead to the end.) Jonny and I had decided a little less than a year after we were married that we wanted to start a family. That was almost two years ago now. I made every effort possible to move forward with faith in the beginning, trying to understand that God has a plan and we just needed to be patient. That concept became progressively more difficult as I watched friends and family alike get pregnant left and right with what seemed like little effort. It was immensely frustrating. Finally, I went to my OB to get some answers.
It was a few months before I started school. I sat on the exam table while my OB sat in a chair next to me, test scans in hand. She told me I had at some point in my life developed Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS), a metabolic disorder that causes pesky little cysts to invade a girl's egg-making parts. I was numb. I was angry. I wasn't really that surprised. At least I had an answer. . . right?
I was further discouraged as the doctor offered to put me on Metformin, a drug typically given to diabetics--which I was not then nor am I now. She told me it would help me lose weight and set my cycles straight.
"After all," She said to me, "getting pregnant without it will be a craps shoot at this point."
For the first time in my life, I understood why America is so over-medicated. We just want what everyone else already has and we're offered it in a little, harmless capsule by the doctors we trust. For me, my "quick fix" drug was just around the corner at my local CVS. (Don't get me wrong, modern medicine has it's place, but it certainly isn't in every bathroom cabinet in America.) Despite my protests to go at it naturally and fix my diet instead of relying on a pill, my OB decided she would call in that prescription anyway, "just in case I changed (my) mind." Boy, was THAT hard to hear. I understand why she expressed a bit of disappointment in my convictions to avoid the prescription world. She resides on Planet MD, where everything is solved in the pill section. I don't blame her, really. It's her job. I'm sure she's seen plenty of women try and fail. After all, wasn't swallowing a little medication every day easier anyway?
It took a while to shake that feeling of being lost and unsure of myself. Everything I had believed to be true was being tested. I believed that the human body is miraculous and can cure itself of almost anything if given the right fuel. I believed that "quick fixes" in pill form isn't the right way to go in most cases and it certainly shouldn't be the very first thing we try. I believed that modern medicine is taking away our ability to listen to our own bodies and be our own source of strength. I believed that we should be the pioneers in our own health and take control again instead of searching endlessly for diagnoses. But now, that was all so muddled in my head. I had been trying and trying to take control of my own body and I could not find success. Were all my hypotheses about God's greatest creation incorrect? If so, what was I to do next?
My answers came through IIN. What I then believed to be true has been solidified to me now; the human body IS miraculous. It can grow new skin cells to cover a wound, it never forgets to breathe or misses a heartbeat, it can create life, it can take us to amazing heights, it can be trained to function off of medications it was once reliant on. We just need give it the right fuel and information and love to do so.
Ok, my hippie feelings aside (also, if you're curious about what I do, please visit my website at www.cereliahealth.com...*wink wink*), I'll finish up what is turning out to be a rather lengthy story. . .
January 2nd, 2013, I gave up processed sugar after an immense and in-depth look into the harm it does on the human body. I went almost 90 days without it. I slowly added a little bit back in (depravity is really not my style) on special occasions and still mostly avoid the stuff. And guess what? Miracle of miracles! My cycle was 28 days on the dot for two months straight. That was SERIOUSLY miraculous. That hadn't happened to me in almost a decade. I was elated. I found success and slow weight loss as I started really taking care of myself and I felt a sense of empowerment that I hadn't felt in a long, long time.
Then, in March, I was 10 days late. I was so disheartened. I felt upset with myself because I had allowed myself a single rice crispy treat and ruined my body's progress. I felt a little glimmer of hope, however. "Maybe I'm pregnant?" I thought to myself. Just to be sure, I took a home pregnancy test.
I didn't see that little plus sign. It was negative.
I'm not going to lie, I went on a sadness binge that rivaled most melodramas. Jonny got home from work that day and took one look at me and knew exactly what had happened. He hugged me and held me for the longest time as I sobbed on his shoulder (another work shirt ruined by my mascara). I went to work the day after and cried for nearly 8 hours straight. I cried when people were nice to me, I cried about a work meeting I wasn't invited to, I cried when I forgot to clock out for lunch. . .
It was really, really pathetic.
The very worst part about that were my angry vents to the Lord. I wanted him to tell me when we were allowed to have children; I wanted him to speak to me in ENGLISH because I was so tired of listening to the Spirit because I didn't understand what message I was missing. I screamed and cried and felt sorry for myself for two straight days.
Poor Jonny. Poor sweet, loving Jonny had to listen to this for hours on end and he never complained.
Eventually, I did feel better again, but that comes in Part II of this little adventure. In the weeks following there was General Conference and Time Out For Women and some really wonderful revelations about how much the Lord loves us. But all that can wait for another entry, as this one has gone on long enough.
(What did I tell you about my ability to sum up?)
It was a few months before I started school. I sat on the exam table while my OB sat in a chair next to me, test scans in hand. She told me I had at some point in my life developed Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS), a metabolic disorder that causes pesky little cysts to invade a girl's egg-making parts. I was numb. I was angry. I wasn't really that surprised. At least I had an answer. . . right?
I was further discouraged as the doctor offered to put me on Metformin, a drug typically given to diabetics--which I was not then nor am I now. She told me it would help me lose weight and set my cycles straight.
"After all," She said to me, "getting pregnant without it will be a craps shoot at this point."
For the first time in my life, I understood why America is so over-medicated. We just want what everyone else already has and we're offered it in a little, harmless capsule by the doctors we trust. For me, my "quick fix" drug was just around the corner at my local CVS. (Don't get me wrong, modern medicine has it's place, but it certainly isn't in every bathroom cabinet in America.) Despite my protests to go at it naturally and fix my diet instead of relying on a pill, my OB decided she would call in that prescription anyway, "just in case I changed (my) mind." Boy, was THAT hard to hear. I understand why she expressed a bit of disappointment in my convictions to avoid the prescription world. She resides on Planet MD, where everything is solved in the pill section. I don't blame her, really. It's her job. I'm sure she's seen plenty of women try and fail. After all, wasn't swallowing a little medication every day easier anyway?
It took a while to shake that feeling of being lost and unsure of myself. Everything I had believed to be true was being tested. I believed that the human body is miraculous and can cure itself of almost anything if given the right fuel. I believed that "quick fixes" in pill form isn't the right way to go in most cases and it certainly shouldn't be the very first thing we try. I believed that modern medicine is taking away our ability to listen to our own bodies and be our own source of strength. I believed that we should be the pioneers in our own health and take control again instead of searching endlessly for diagnoses. But now, that was all so muddled in my head. I had been trying and trying to take control of my own body and I could not find success. Were all my hypotheses about God's greatest creation incorrect? If so, what was I to do next?
My answers came through IIN. What I then believed to be true has been solidified to me now; the human body IS miraculous. It can grow new skin cells to cover a wound, it never forgets to breathe or misses a heartbeat, it can create life, it can take us to amazing heights, it can be trained to function off of medications it was once reliant on. We just need give it the right fuel and information and love to do so.
Ok, my hippie feelings aside (also, if you're curious about what I do, please visit my website at www.cereliahealth.com...*wink wink*), I'll finish up what is turning out to be a rather lengthy story. . .
January 2nd, 2013, I gave up processed sugar after an immense and in-depth look into the harm it does on the human body. I went almost 90 days without it. I slowly added a little bit back in (depravity is really not my style) on special occasions and still mostly avoid the stuff. And guess what? Miracle of miracles! My cycle was 28 days on the dot for two months straight. That was SERIOUSLY miraculous. That hadn't happened to me in almost a decade. I was elated. I found success and slow weight loss as I started really taking care of myself and I felt a sense of empowerment that I hadn't felt in a long, long time.
Then, in March, I was 10 days late. I was so disheartened. I felt upset with myself because I had allowed myself a single rice crispy treat and ruined my body's progress. I felt a little glimmer of hope, however. "Maybe I'm pregnant?" I thought to myself. Just to be sure, I took a home pregnancy test.
I didn't see that little plus sign. It was negative.
I'm not going to lie, I went on a sadness binge that rivaled most melodramas. Jonny got home from work that day and took one look at me and knew exactly what had happened. He hugged me and held me for the longest time as I sobbed on his shoulder (another work shirt ruined by my mascara). I went to work the day after and cried for nearly 8 hours straight. I cried when people were nice to me, I cried about a work meeting I wasn't invited to, I cried when I forgot to clock out for lunch. . .
It was really, really pathetic.
The very worst part about that were my angry vents to the Lord. I wanted him to tell me when we were allowed to have children; I wanted him to speak to me in ENGLISH because I was so tired of listening to the Spirit because I didn't understand what message I was missing. I screamed and cried and felt sorry for myself for two straight days.
Poor Jonny. Poor sweet, loving Jonny had to listen to this for hours on end and he never complained.
Eventually, I did feel better again, but that comes in Part II of this little adventure. In the weeks following there was General Conference and Time Out For Women and some really wonderful revelations about how much the Lord loves us. But all that can wait for another entry, as this one has gone on long enough.
(What did I tell you about my ability to sum up?)
