Except that the only way to find out for sure sure is a blood test, I’m pretty sure my sodium or something is being weird. I have a few reasons to think this is the case. I wish they made home tests like they can do for blood sugar, but of course, it doesn’t quite work that way. (I guess there are a few, but generally speaking, I’ve heard doctors and people with weird electrolyte thingies going on say that the best way to tell is weighing in and a home blood pressure cuff. Even if the cuff isn’t as accurate as a human reading one calibrated in a doctor’s office, it is close enough that you’ll pick up any real drift. I’ve found, personally, the scale lets me know quite well.)
Anyway, the scale has cued me in on the idea that there is something being skunky, and my clothing confirms it.
I have to buy new shoes. Shoes, people. I have long suspected many people (and not just women, c’mon) like buying footwear because by and large, your footwear doesn’t insult you when you gain or lose even substantial amounts of weight. I mean, I did have to lose the wide shoes when I lost weight, and often people need to switch to a larger size or wider shoe as they age depending on whether they’ve had weird postural things go off over time (I guess high heels tend to make one’s shoe size change a bit if they’ve been worn for years and the person suddenly goes to flats or something. I couldn’t ever verify this though. Put a three quarter inch heel on my shoe and I’m falling down. That’s not high.)
Anyway, you see those shows on TV with the makeover people and every person being re-made is all about the shoes. They won’t tell you you’re fat. They don’t care if you’ve eaten at P.F. Changs all week. They don’t care if you’re getting your period.
I have to buy new shoes. I have to buy fat shoes. And what blows? I really don’t have to buy new pants. I mean, I have to replace the ones that have calf openings that cut off circulation. See, I’ve put on thirty pounds or so (almost) since… March? And, um… My shoes and socks don’t fit. This makes me suspect there’s a problem… beyond the fact that I hate buying clothes of any sort and I don’t understand why anyone needs more than three pairs of shoes at any time, possibly two or four, depending on where you live. I totally don’t get the fat shoe thing. I do know I can’t wear my sandals all summer though, and given my sock issues, I don’t want to wear my old running shoes. They are a bit manky.
It’s little crap like that that makes this just completely, aggravatingly, totally laughable. Also, where they took the tumor from my ass cheek does actually feel a bit tight in clothing. As I said, I’ve gained nearly thirty pounds, and I am willing to concede that some of it is not water weight or… whatever the hell is going on. But the difference is I can feel it there, and I can close the waist on my pants quite easily. When your calves are muffin topping out of your capri legs, there’s something wrong.
I think this tends to feel a lot like altitude sickness. Of course, then doctors ask if you’ve ever had altitude sickness, and ask how the hell you could know that if you haven’t. I watch the Travel Channel, asshat. But I think I’m going to say that I spent a summer in college living in a yhurt with a family of yak farmers. The summer before that I was flying a crop duster dropping DDT on jungles in South America. Because I am expert in yak husbandry, have a pilot’s license, and couldn’t possibly have a clue whether how I feel now is much different than how I’ve felt in the past. (I will admit freely I have no damn clue if I could ever be called quite normal. But deviant normalcy can still deviate to something else entirely.)
Anyway, I can only last doing stuff for about fifteen minutes. As you can see, I grab that when I can.