Valium, reality, and my fat ass

I spent the day stoned on 5 mg of Valium (which is why I'd make a shitty drug addict). I think I sent a few tweets while higher than a kite, but I'm pretty sure I didn't embarrass myself. Now before you go thinking that I pop Valium for fun, I did have a legitimate reason which involves a little tumor on my pituitary gland which makes it next to impossible to lose weight. It's benign, but kicks out all these hormones that wreak havoc on my body (and my self-esteem) and since it was discovered, it has turned into a huge pain in my ass.

We found out I had this little thing about four months before I got pregnant. I had been in the care of a fertility specialist after 18 months of no baby and with all the testing, we also learned that I was insulin resistant and had polycystic ovarian syndrome. That only added to the fun of my hypoactive thyroid.

And yes, each of these factors made it hell on earth to get pregnant.

Good times. Had I lived in the stone ages, I would not have had to fear long winters with little food since my body is primed to store fat like a Sumo wrestler. While the rest of the inhabitants in my cave would all be dying from starvation, I'd have been happily living off the fat stored in my thighs for the first half of the winter and my ass would have coasted me through the rest.

Either that, or they would have jumped me and roasted my cellulite over an open fire when I wasn't looking.

But today? Life pretty much sucks.

So I popped a Valium this morning to help calm my claustrophobic nerves as I spent an ungodly amount of time in that damned MRI coffin while the techs took scans of my brain. We're waiting to find out if the tumor has changed size, for better or worse, and I'm trying to stop feeling sorry for myself. It's not like the tumor is going to kill me. It just likes to piss me off.

Until then, I'm off to make an appointment with an endocrinologist to help me figure out why no matter what I do, my body is refusing to let go of the fat.

The irony is that I am knee-deep in a memoir about my post-baby weight loss and by all accounts, I should be in smaller clothes by now. But after I go and announce to the world that my intentions, I am suddenly reminded that I am not the only one involved in the decision making process.

I'm considering an application for Bookieboo's Mamavation campaign, but the Not Knowing I've got going on right now is making me wonder if I should be throwing more public pressure on the situation. The motivation would be great, and I'm sure I'd be able to add some great material to the book, but still...

Here I sit, coming down from my Valium high, and staring reality straight in the face.

Sometimes, it's just not easy being a smart ass.