#i lost track of the weekly doses but I felt like posting it

[heyharoldsboo]

Your weekly dose of Percy with puppies 🖤🥺

[arclightbutterfly]

2017: Year In Review

2017 was a crazy year for me on my transgender journey. Here’s sort of a recap, as I read through all of my old posts, I guess?

January 9th: Took my first dose of medication; the start of my journey officially transitioning into a biological female. Very exciting.

January 10th: First day on meds! No morning wood! Basically no erections!

January 16th: One week in. Dysphoria subsided. Felt like I could finally start living.

January 21st: No sexual changes that I could tell of yet.

January 22nd: Had some religious contemplations. Decided to continue on with my journey.

January 25th: Two weeks in. Definitely softer skin. Novelty wearing off a bit.

January 31st: End of three weeks. Differences in smell becoming noticeable. Decided I wanted to go to senior prom in a dress, but was unsure whether it was going to happen (@ past me, don’t worry-- it’s definitely going to happen now)

February 1st: Lost my job as a tutor bc mom made me stop. Needed new way of getting money.

February 7th: One month in (Even though I think I started on the 9th??). Some depression returns.

April 13th: Big update! Ran out of estrogen pills. Running out of money. Thighs are now sensitive! Chest still sensitive! Which is an issue because korean males like to hit each others’ chests a lot. Told my school counselor that I was trans.

June 3rd: Lost track of how long I’ve been medicating. Getting better at changing my voice (as of date, I am now very good at this and am very happy with my voice). Smoller wrists! More feminine face! Existential crisis regarding whether or not I’ll ever find someone who loves me!

June 20th: Somehow scraped together the money to buy meds again. Ordered an asymmetrical hoodie while I was at it (my first self-bought feminine article of clothing!). Everyone thinks I’m 14, and I love it.

June 27th: Brother called me “she” by accident. Little happy things.

July 2nd: Went to Korea! Korean grandmothers all thought I was female! Pissed off my parents but I was happy

August 5th: Came back from church retreat. Met some very accepting freshman girls who I talked with until 4 am in the morning. Am still friends with them! They’re so great and I’m v. happy. My brother found my meds on this day, but I managed to bullshit my way to safety.

August 8th: Plucked out facial hair by hand. Ouch. Got catcalled for the first time, and told a cashier my name was Alina. Evan Low, California legislator, referred to me and my friends as “girls” when we were running our non-profit c: also got an ID photo for school and looked like an ugly girl but still a girl >>

August 16th: Started taking medication sublingually. Lots of angst about pronouns and people treating me like I’m trans rather than as a girl

August 19th: Doctor confused as fuck regarding my sudden change in BMI. No one at school seems to have noticed much.

August 24th: Took senior photo in a fucking tuxedo. Felt disgusted. Still feel disgusted four months later.

August 31st: Got a new job. $35 an hour starting salary, for two hours a week. Enough money to buy meds and some clothes. Very stressed out and tired.

September 6th: Someone who didn’t know I was trans heard me make a squealing sound when I fell and told me that I wasn’t a girl so I kicked him. Felt a little bad about it, but didn’t regret it. Mom found my jewelry, so had to bullshit my way out of that one.

September 7th: FUCK TUXEDOS. Also fuck my brother for finding out that my friends call me Alina. And teasing me about it.

September 8th/9th: FIRST TIME PRESENTING AS FEMALE IN PUBLIC. Went to a cross-school mixer. No one suspected anything and I was just,, so happy,, and I never could have imagined that I’d make it this far. Sucked going back to “normal” life at school.

September 24th: Mom found recommendation letter draft. Saw part about being transgender. Had to bullshit out of that one too.

October 3rd: Planned to buy a dress with friends!! Finally starting to feel successful.

November 5th: Friends all flaked on me; couldn’t buy a dress. Still watched No Game No Life: Zero with them, though.

October 12th: hahahaha fuck all my friends I had a mental breakdown because they made fun of me for being trans

October 17th: Spent all of my remaining money on a dress and makeup and facial hair removal cream. Sort of like a “treat yourself�� kinda thing bc honestly fuck my life

October 21st: Homecoming!!??!!?!?! Possibly the best day of my life???!! Basically came out to everyone who was there and people told me I looked pretty and I felt pretty and people hit on me and it was fucking amazingasdlfjflgaldsf

October 22nd: Posted homecoming pictures on instagram!!! Lots of positive reactions!! I love my friends

October 26th: I hate my friends theyre dicks and they make fun of me for being trans and I cried during a friends date I don’t hate all my friends just some of them sometimes most of them are actually pretty great

November 6th: Decided to double my dosage after like 10 months or something! Old people have started to double take on my gender! All around good stuff except for the fact that I ran out of money and am going to get meds two weeks after I run out

November 8th: Being off of meds starts getting to me. Dysphoria is coming back. 

November 11th: Church sleepover thing. Hated being there. Didn’t feel like I fit in with any of them. Still don’t.

November 15th: Bought a razor!! Basically a magic hair removal wand!! Am very amazed. Everything feels so smooth. Medication arrived!! Happy girl is happy.

November 19th: I suck at shaving and I cut myself everywhere but its worth it

November 23rd: Aunts and uncles came over. Transphobia ensued.

November 30th: College apps asdfhjlgashdlfjadfhl?? But also bought shittons of clothing!!! Met someone who made me feel super insecure because she was so naturally cute!!

December 5th: Someone sent me $1100 in bitcoins what the actual fuck is this angel

December 7th: I feel like my mom knows. I can sense it. (Spoiler alert: I was right)

December 17th: Had a joint bible study at church with girls and guys mixed. Felt very resentful that I was denied a childhood with the girls class at my church. Hated being there. Once the class was divided by gender, I just left. Didn’t come back.

December 18th: Feeling okay. Voice is still high. Am glad I practiced it since seventh grade.

December 22nd: Mom bought me cute clothes! Also speaking of cute clothes someone moved stuff in my drawer it looks like?? (Spoiler: it was my mom)

December 23rd: Mom found out I was trans. GG rip. She took it better than I thought she would, where shes definitely not supportive, but told me she couldnt stop me. Still, going to be a long ride

December 26th: Went to a counselor that i was set up with to see if I was “really” trans (spoiler: i am). He was pretty nice and understanding.

December 27th: The first of what would turn into weekly talks about my transness and my mom reconsidering her leniency. I hate my life. Also, met an old childhood friend before I went on my church retreat. Was very surprised at how feminine I’d gotten. Was very happy.

December 29th: People at my church are so accepting its great. I should come out to the senior girls class but idk how :/

December 31st: Mom walks in again, complains about how much she hates that I’m trans and whatnot. Fuck that noise. I’m going into the new year; new year new me. I don’t care what my parents think or what happens. This is who I am. This is how far I’ve gotten. I’ve gotten this far without them, and I will continue to go on as such. This is my life y’all.

[kootenaygoon]

So,

I was watching music videos again. 

Dragon smoke unfurled before me, my living room throbbing with purple Targaryen magic, while Tove Lo sang from my glowing laptop. I gotta stay high all the time to keep you off my mind. I was shirtless in my Shambhala tights, allowing YouTube to send my mind careening through what some algorithm had decided should be my mental breakdown playlist. Repeatedly it returned to a haunting electronica track from Disclosure: You help me lose my mind, and you believe something I can't define. Help me lose my mind. Mika was at class at Selkirk College while I raved, trampling her rabbit’s shit pebbles into the carpet with my slippers.

All around me were canvases, procured with my final cheque from the Star, at various states of completion. I’d finished a couple more flamboyant self-portraits, but now I’d moved on to psychedelic dinosaurs, shape-shifting jelly-fish, and paintings of both Mika and my barber Jesse Lockhart. Right now I was working on my first nude, a beach scene set on the fictional island of Quatsino, with my UBC manuscript’s protagonist knee-deep in the surf. Paisley’s dreadlocks hung blonde around her shoulders, and on her forearm I had painstakingly recreated the rose tattoo her real-life counterpart got back when we lived together in Victoria. I could’ve easily been painting Kessa. A joint hanging from my lips, I felt tears slide down my cheeks like fat slugs, my mind flashing back and forth between fiction and non-fiction. Sometimes it seemed like there was no difference — these were all just characters in my mind, and real or not they spoke to me. 

Stacked on the kitchen counter was three or four copies of my last issue of the Star, the one featuring the #MeToo story with Mharianne and Laela. I’d asked Ed about the story while collecting my things from the office, and he’d hinted that it may be on the chopping block due to my departure. I insisted it was done, everybody was interviewed and signed off, it was all ready to go — “you would literally be silencing sexual assault survivors,” I made sure to say. Then I called the president of Selkirk College, begging him to talk sense into Aaron Layton and letting him know I was planning to publish it online myself. They couldn’t kill it, not now. They could take my job away, but they couldn’t take that story. They ultimately ran it without my byline—a masterpiece without a proper signature.

Meanwhile, I had other things on my mind. 

“You didn’t wear a condom?” Mika asked, when I told her about Natalya’s potential pregnancy. She was looking increasingly more concerned when she returned to the house to find me manic and monologuing.

“I hate condoms.”

“So what were you using for birth control? Wasn’t this chick married?”

I dragged my knuckles against my temple, my skin trembly and sweat-slicked. “I thought she was too old. She’s like 42 or something. And she’s already got kids, right? I thought she was on top of this shit.”

Mika rolled her eyes. “You have nobody to blame here but yourself. Seriously, you don’t get my sympathy.”

I had initially intervened in Mika’s life because she was in the midst of a break-up, and I empathized with the struggle of going through something so publicly embarrassing in such a small town. It wasn’t until we moved in together that I encountered her real personality — she was a hyper-nerd, into science and learning and the weekly Bingo night. She was one of the bud tenders at the local dispensary, which was a convenient way for me to meet the owners.  Amidst my chaotic and prolific dating life, I was trying to keep her on a platonic level. 

My Nelson sister, something like that.

“This is toxic masculinity, right here. I’m such a fucking asshole,” I said. “This is what Me Too is all about.”

“Not everything is about Me Too. You’re just obsessed with that lately.”

I shook my head. “Kessa’s dead, Mika. That’s a real thing. Fucking pedophile rings and rape everywhere. This is what the woman are raging about. They’re dancing.”

“Dancing?”

“Like those girls on roller skates, in the Chet Faker video. You know the one?”

By this point she knew me pretty well, and as her eyes narrowed I realized this was more than a normal high. I was operating from an extra elevated plane, like I’d lost sensory hold over my body. It was an intoxicating place to be, far from the shame and darkness of the banal. I’d tried one of the pills Natalya gave me, and it was making the room vibrate.

“You’re on something,” she said.

“Natalya gave me this shit to micro-dose. Like mushrooms and speed or something. I just had one like an hour ago.”

She sighed. “You need to be careful, Will. You’re acting strange.”

However I was acting, things finally made sense. I felt like I’d peeled back a layer of existence and discovered the writhing snake-belly of reality. Trump was grabbing everybody by the pussy, waging Twitter war with Kim Jong-Un, while here in Nelson there was some sort of conspiracy to ruin my fucking life. Was it really the Kessa situation that did it? How did they convince Ed to betray me? I thought of that cop who punched a woman, how he sat on the pay roll for years while they figured out his outcome. Was I worse than him? Did I deserve to have my life up-ended for going to a fucking funeral? What were they afraid of? I rattled through my theories on this as I drove Mika to school, and she mostly looked out the window. I wondered if she regretted moving in with me. I’d become that mentally ill freak people talk about, posting my shit all over social media. I just didn’t care anymore.

“So is she going to get an abortion?” Mika asked. “Did she say?”

I shook my head. “She hadn’t even taken a test yet. She said she was just feeling funny, and when she was leaning over she felt something weird.”

“Something weird like what?”

“She said it felt like a tear, like a muscle tear maybe? I don’t know, I was fucking panicking. I told her to call my sisters.”

“Your sisters?”

I didn’t feel like explaining this to Mika. She wasn’t tuned into the greater conversation that was going on, the one coming at me through social media. Men were failing to acknowledge their complicity in rape culture while women bled in public. Nobody was willing to admit they were wrong, because everyone was worried they lived in a glass house. Lately, though, I was wondering if I could break my own glass house. That way I could throw some stones.

“What do you mean throw stones?” she asked.

“These men need to be held accountable.”

“What men?”

“These rapists and abusers and pedophiles who took away my job.”

“I thought you got fired because of Kessa.”

I grunted in annoyance. “I wasn’t fired. I was let go without cause.”

Back in my bedroom, Lt. Aldo Raine marched before his carefully assembled killing team in Inglorious Basterds. I’d watched this clip multiple times, and had the words memorized. Brad Pitt sneered, his throat sporting a nasty scar. I sure as hell didn’t come down from the goddamn Smoky Mountains, cross five thousand miles of water, fight my way through half of Sicily and jump out of fucking aero plane to teach the Nazis lessons in humanity. Nazis ain’t got no humanity. They’re the foot soldiers of a Jew-hating, mass-murdering maniac and they need to be destroyed. 

That’s what was happening here in Nelson, but with rapists instead of Germans. Andrew Stevenson was sitting on the edge of my bed, wiping down the barrel of his shotgun, as I lit up another joint. Now I was watching that scene from The Sopranos, the one where Tony wants to kill the local soccer coach for molesting one of the teenage players. This shit was real life, right here. Like my Trent situation. I thought of the local soccer team, and all the abusive shit-heads that were coaching there. I wondered if one of them had crossed the line, if I’d have to add him to my kill list.

I want my scalps. 

Somewhere around that time, I realized I was expected soon at Tony’s Taphouse for my Friday night shift. That was how I was battling rape culture now, working the front lines on the bar scene. My favourite moment of each night was when frightened women approached me at the end of the shift to ask me to stand guard until some creep moved on. I took this role very seriously. This week I’d purchased a new accessory to my vested get-up: a bright red bow tie. I checked myself out in the bathroom mirror, trimmed my moustache, and thought of how Tony stumbled home drunk after choosing to spare that soccer coach of his mobster justice. 

“I didn’t hurt nobody,” he said to Carmela. “I didn’t hurt nobody.”

As I grabbed my things and headed out the door, I noticed the Ziploc of pills. There were four left now. The first one had gotten me into this productive headspace, so maybe another would help me tap-dance through this rest of this night. Why the fuck not, right? I’d been receiving upsetting emails, crazy messages, death threats. I couldn’t comprehend it all. Unzipping the bag, I cradled one pill in my palm then threw it back, washing it down with tap water. I was tired of feeling morally exhausted, defeated, exiled. I deserved a little pick-me-up. The clientele at Tony’s Taphouse would have no idea their doorman was rip-roaring high. I would be like Bodie from The Wire, standing on his corner while the hitmen descended. 

This is my corner! I ain’t going nowhere!

Before leaving, I decided to re-listen to Eminem’s duet with Rihanna, “Love the Way You Lie.” I watched my favourite rapper rock rhythmically back and forth amidst hip-high grass, his voice filled with regret and grief. Here was the ultimate embodiment of rape culture right here, the meta-Chris Brown taking swings at Megan Fox while Rihanna curls her lip. Thing was, Meghan Fox looked exactly like Paisley. The real one. And as Slim Shady rapped in front of a burning trailer, I couldn’t help but think of Ryan Tapp. I can’t tell you how it is really is, I can only tell you what it feels like. And right now it’s a steel knife in my wind pipe. 

Andrew Stevenson was waiting at the door, in a black balaclava, with the shotgun sticking out of his backpack. He cracked his knuckles together as I reached the top of the stairs.

“I need your help. You can never ask me about it later, and we’re going to hurt some people,” he said.

I blinked in surprise. “You’re quoting from The Town. That Ben Affleck bank robbery movie. Right? That scene with Jeremy Renner?”

He opened the front door.

“We’re going to hold court in the streets.”

The Kootenay Goon

[foursprout-blog]

Why I’ll Never Regret My (Awful) Audition to Be a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/health/why-ill-never-regret-my-awful-audition-to-be-a-dallas-cowboys-cheerleader/

Why I’ll Never Regret My (Awful) Audition to Be a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader

As a high school cheerleader, one of my favorite perks was the body. Growing up, I’d always been slightly pudgy, but the extra pounds magically melted off once I started cheering. By senior year, I was a size two, and my prom dress needed to be tailored closer to zero. Some of my neighbors thought I was anorexic, but I loved to eat everything from hero subs to Cap’n Crunch. My extreme weight loss was simply the product of a suddenly sky-high metabolism and cheering at practices and games.

My newly concave stomach followed me to college, where I proudly wore crop tops and skimpy bikinis. Even the discovery of alcohol and late-night Papa John’s at my self-professed “party school” didn’t do much to derail my svelte shape.

That is, until after graduation, when the realities of a desk job and lack of exercise caught up with me. I’d gotten out of school and onto a rollercoaster that would take me on a 15-year ride of gaining and losing the same 20 pounds again and again. (At one point, I was 45 pounds heavier than I’d been in college.)

I tried every means possible to reclaim my former form, from the Curves diet to Weight Watchers to Nutrisystem to juice cleanses. I even took part in several infomercial focus groups and adopted a rigorous workout regimen and the lean diet required to participate. My attempts almost always succeeded temporarily, but like a stubborn rubber band, my weight always snapped back to its new, higher “anchor” number.

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Though I’d lost my fit cheerleader physique, I hadn’t lost the desire to cheer. After college, I spent a few years dancing for a semi-pro team in Chicago, but I secretly yearned to take the floor with the Luvabulls, the Chicago Bulls dance team. This desire followed me when I moved to Los Angeles, where I longingly eyed annual audition calls for the Clipper Girls and Laker Girls.

Next year, when I have a better body, I promised myself. Not surprisingly, I found myself making that same promise every year—and never hitting that magic number on the scale.

So naturally, when the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making the Team reality show debuted on CMT, I was hooked. I couldn’t get enough of watching these women endure the rigorous training camp and—if they were lucky—receive their reward of those coveted white boots at its conclusion. I became intimately familiar with the organization’s impossibly stringent standards, from a dangerously lean figure to Rockette-worthy high kicks.

My husband often teased me about my about my guilty pleasure. (“Watching the DCC again?”) It was clear: The DCC had been indelibly added to the wish list that the Laker Girls, Clipper Girls, and Luvabulls already occupied. Except the DCC somehow seemed different—their big, flirty style of dancing was closer to my own, and they didn’t mandate technical dance experience like many other pro squads. Maybe I could actually do this… if I could get the body.

When I turned 35, a sense of urgency struck—it was now or never. Ten long years had passed since I’d begun my annual “next year” resolution. I was well aware that I was far above the age (and weight) of most NFL cheerleaders, but the story of 40-year-old Bengal cheerleader Laura Vikmanis gave me a glimmer of hope. It was time to hit the gym and go for it—or let go of the dream for good. So I booked travel to Dallas for the May auditions, figuring that would make me accountable for follow-through.

I was on a mission.

I began exercising six times weekly, throwing myself into Pilates, Zumba, Spin, yoga, kickboxing, and weightlifting with a vengeance. I took burlesque and hip-hop classes. I enrolled in a weight-loss challenge at my gym, which tracked my measurements and body fat percentage. (Let’s just say it was considerably higher than the DCC average of 12-15 percent.)

At my audition It was harder to get my diet in check. With every indulgence, I felt increasingly guilty and worried. I knew all about the catty comments made by the audition judges and the way the reality show worked. “I just don’t want to be in the fat montage,” I said to my husband, picturing the sports bra and booty shorts I’d have to wear on national television.

When the scale hadn’t moved much by April, it was time to employ extreme measures: I resurrected the lean protein diet I’d learned from the infomercials; I stepped up my exercising, working out daily—sometimes twice or several times; I turned down business lunches and dinners, knowing the caloric avalanche that accompanied. I had already given up alcohol, but I started adding aloe vera juice and protein/flax smoothies into my daily regimen.

The scale finally dipped, and not a minute too soon—tryout week had arrived. My anxiety escalated as I scrambled to achieve the look. I ordered compression tights for the illusion of thinner legs. I booked a colonic for a flatter stomach. I purchased water pills to ensure minimal bloat. I spray-tanned for a more contoured look.

EDITOR’S PICK

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Somehow, I arrived in Dallas two pounds from my goal weight, with an acceptably flat-ish stomach. I felt like I actually might be able to wear a midriff in front of the masses.

When I arrived at Cowboys Stadium for the audition, 400-plus girls were already in line. It was an attractive pack, with former Pro Bowl cheerleaders, college dance team captains, and even high schoolers on the verge of graduation. I was one of just a tiny handful over 30—including a 56-year-old who aspired to be the oldest DCC in history, and a 62-year-old grandma who’d undergone thyroid surgery and realized “life was too short” not to chase your dreams. Like me, she’d kept her decision to audition a secret from almost everyone she knew.

The day went like this: Hit the “fluff and puff” area for beautification, hear a pep talk from fearless leader Kelli Finglass, and then hit the tryout floor in groups of five for the carefully cultivated panel of judges (including a tanning salon owner and the DCC fitness guru).

When my group’s turn came, we stood in front of the judges under the relentless glare of the hot CMT reality show lights. This was the moment. I tried to stop my leg from shaking as I introduced myself on the microphone, then stepped back as the music began.

I purposefully launched into my freestyle combination and swiftly made rookie mistake No. 1: My hair got caught in my lip gloss and completely covered my face. My cheer career had trained me never to stop for snafus, so I kept going even though I probably resembled Cousin It.

Though I’d lost my fit cheerleader physique, I hadn’t lost the desire to cheer.

I then committed rookie mistake No. 2: completely blanking on my choreography. I went into full-blown panic mode and ended up doing an unflattering squat and some other, equally uninspired moves.

As the music wound down, we stood in front of the judges for final scrutiny. My hair continued to stick to my lips. I scurried offstage, bewildered and mortified. My many months of preparation had culminated in… that?! I managed to sit through the rest of the groups and make peace with it. At least I’d gotten out there—at that point, all I could do was laugh.

After the audition, a CMT producer requested an interview in one of the stadium suites. My mind raced—I knew how the show worked. I was going to be the older “hot mess” candidate who’d completely flubbed her audition. I decided to take them up on it, figuring I could redeem myself and give them some footage beyond a flailing mess of an audition.

When the semi-finalist board was revealed, I wasn’t surprised to see my number missing from it. My spirits were still somewhat high as I said goodbye to new friends and took one last look at cavernous Cowboys Stadium. I drove back to my hotel in a daze and immediately passed out from mounting exhaustion and disappointment.

I awoke a few hours later, completely disoriented and half unsure whether the whole thing had been a dream—then the panic washed over me, as I pictured looking ridiculous on reality television. Despite all of my hard work, I’d managed to neglect the one simple thing I needed to survive the audition in style: They hadn’t seen the real me, the person who loved to dance and excelled at it. Sure, I fit into skinny jeans, but did it matter?

Then it hit me: I’d been so obsessed with my body for so long that I’d lost sight of my real purpose—honoring my lifelong love of dance and enjoying one last hurrah. My fixation with my weight had overcome me. In the end, I’d gotten the look that I wanted, but my audition couldn’t have gone worse.

Sure, I fit into skinny jeans, but did it matter?

That was the healthy dose of perspective I needed (along with a juicy Texas burger). With the DCC audition experience checked off my bucket list—for better or worse—I decided to grant myself a pat on the back and move on. And thankfully, the reality show gods took pity on me when the show premiered, as I was nowhere to be seen on screen.

The experience helped me realize that while I may not be waif-thin—and no longer pro dance team material—I’m a lucky woman, with a supportive husband, a fulfilling job, and a life she loves—curves and all. And that alone is more than enough.

For me, that’s the spirit.

Jen Jones Donatelli is a freelance writer and editor who recently relocated from Los Angeles to Cleveland, Ohio. She is also the author of the Team Cheer fiction series and a contributor to numerous dance- and cheer-related publications. Say hi on Twitter at @creativegroove.

[theycallmetubeless]

001. (b)

Since its been so long since my original endo post, I decided to start over. And to start from the beginning. So here it goes.. 

Age 11 : Seventh grade.

Starting middle school was exciting for me. I was homeschooled through sixth grade, so it was nice to go back to school with my friends. Despite my excitement, my body was slowly figuring out other plans. I would go home early weekly for nausea, stomach pain, headaches – all generally unexplained. Me and the school nurse got pretty close. I’d go to her office and she would pretty much ask me, “Advil? Or do you just want to go home?” You could tell she was skeptical but, I looked miserable, kinda hard to argue with it. Teachers would get frustrating with my sleeping in class, but it wasn’t out of disobedience, it was merely out of necessity. And they could only argue with my grades so much because I was doing so well. None of this drew many red flags, just assumed to be a preteen on her way into puberty.

 Age 13 : Summer pre high school

Good old mother nature decided to bless me on the wonderful summer when I was on my way to high school. From my first cycle, the pain was terrible. But that’s what you’d expect right? Bleeding from the inside out, all you ever heard was about how cramps sucked and methods to manage them. So I managed. I started high school at a vocational high school where you graduate certified in a trade. I was going for Cosmetology, and we had to go through an interview process before being accepted into a trade. During my interview I was questioned on my attendance record.. At a vocational school attendance is less lenient than public school due to the fact that each certification program requires a specific amount of hours. I had missed almost double the amount of days allowed. Despite my 4.0 GPA, my health had started to take a toll on my life path. I knew I couldn’t promise to miss less days, because with my body was starting to show me it wasn’t set up that way. So by the end of Freshman year, my health had pushed me to transfer to a public school despite my goals.

Age 14 : Summer pre sophomore year.

I managed to convince my mom to make me an appointment with her GYN because this pain was not going away, and the irregularity had moved towards being regulated 0% … The GYN summed it up to dysmenorrhea (bad cramps) and sent me away with birth control and advice on how Advil and heating pads can be helpful.

Age 14 – 16 : Sophomore & junior year.

Throughout this time I went through multiple birth controls, none helping the pain. I had moved from Advil to prescription strength Naproxen three times daily. And I had to pay attention to when my cycle would come because I would have to start my pain medicine 3 days prior, because if I waited until it actually started, the pain would already be too far gone and I would get no relief. I got switched to Seasonique birth control because my GYN decided since we couldn’t stop the pain, we’d just have me get the worst of it as little as possible. In addition to the ever so painful lady blessings, I began to be greeted with daily nausea, irritable bowel, daily pain, weight gain, severe fatigue. I could not understand why this was so awful, but it got swept under the lovely diagnosis of Dysmenorrhea. Since its impossible to know what other women’s cramps feels like, its hard to tell what’s normal and what isn’t. Both years I always used the maximum amount of sick days allowed by the state, my junior year I actually had to appeal my classes because I had missed more than the maximum amount..

Age 17 : Senior year.

Less than a month into my senior year I ended up in the ER because I was unable to eat without excruciating pain for two days. Even drinking was borderline unbearable. I spent the day getting scans, and tests. The ER docs summed it up to acid reflux, and sent me home with some type of gerd medication. When I continued to follow up with a GI doc – all his testing concluded “chronic constipation” I was just full of shit. That was my problem. So I started getting treated for that and again, brushed under the rug. I managed to graduate, again, missing the maximum amount of sick days. I had lost most of my friends because I was miserable from feeling so awful all the time, many didn’t believe me. I was 45 pounds heavier than when I started freshman year. But as usual, nothing medically was wrong with me. 

Age 18 – 19 : Post graduation.

I started beauty school just as I turned 18, and was beyond excited. The program was based on hours, and quickly I realized how my health was going to play a part in this new journey. I was still battling this horrible pain, and many other symptoms, and trying to live a normal “full time” life. What 18 year old wouldn’t expect to be able to do such? It took me an extra month to graduate because of how much time I had missed. And with another year going by and my pain not changing I finally made a new appointment with my GYN. I was a week past 19, and I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. I went into this appointment with a mission and that was for someone to finally listen to me. I explained my continued symptoms of pain, fatigue, nausea, constant weight fluctuation. But this time, I had a new symptom to lay out to her, one that I knew for a fact was abnormal.. I had met a boy after graduation and while getting into a serious (teenage) relationship with him I became sexually active for the first time in my life. They tell you it’ll hurt the first few times, ya know, getting used to it or whatever they want to call it. But this pain was not a soreness, it was stabbing. In my low pelvic region and lower abdomen. I was unable to have sex without severe pain during, and then hours of stabbing pain afterwards. Curled up in a ball, unable to move pain.. My GYN finally decided to look at everything again. By the end of that visit, I was told to take my birth control continuously (no placebo pills) and I was given a 3 month follow up, and I was given a word that could potentially explain all my suffering : ENDOMETRIOSIS.

December, I went back for my follow up. The pain had not changed, or subsided. Next step was to officially get my diagnosis, in order to do that, I got scheduled for surgery in February. That surgery gave me an answer to why I felt so terrible, and it hushed part of my mind that was starting to believe I really was imagining it all to be worse. So endometriosis treatment began. Now, this treatment isn’t curing, its not guaranteed to help, and it can come along with its own lovely rap sheet of side effects – but its goal was to manage the endometriosis hoping it wouldn’t get worse. Though relieved I got a diagnosis, treatment began and I started to wonder if it was any better. I was put through a medically induced menopause. Then put on hormone medication to ensure I wouldn’t get osteoporosis at the age of 19.. At that time you could only be on the medication for 6 months at a time. So I was in menopause for six months, and then put on a high dose of birth control, no placebos, so ensure my time of the month, wouldn’t show up.

Age 20: June.

I had been through my endo treatment for just over a year now. While on my family vacation in North Carolina, I ended up at the medical aid unit because I thought I was having bad UTI symptoms. The MAU found blood in my urine, but no trace of infection. At this point, they started to worry and question me about pregnancy. I said “if its not a UTI, its just my Endometriosis” – they looked at me like that was such foreign word. And insisted I couldn’t leave until they had a negative pregnancy test, because they thought I was having an atopic pregnancy due to the blood and the severity of my pain. Once the test was negative, they reluctantly let me leave, and advised if anything got any worse I was to go to the hospital on the island. Instead I just slept for almost 24 hours. I spent an entire day of my vacation sleeping because it was the only way the pain wasn’t bothering me. Once back home I had a new appointment with my GYN, she suggested we redo the treatment we did before, but I refused. It obviously hadn’t worked the first go around, so why try again? She had nothing else for me and finally referred me to an endometriosis specialist.

Age 20 : late summer.

After seeing the specialist, I was put back into menopause and on hormones, and I was on track for my first excision surgery. In November I had my first surgery. Waking up I felt relieved, despite being in pain from surgery some of it had subsided. I thought finally, some light at the end of this long ass tunnel. My Dr explained that my endometriosis was type 1. Type doesn’t determine severity, just how it acts. Mine acts like saran wrap and sticks all my organs together, and then to the sides of my abdominal cavity. It can be one of the most painful types. I really thought after this surgery I would be free. But… then insurance decided I could only be in menopause for 6 months on this medicine, then I had to come off.. I eventually had to go through the actual company that made my injections to get assistance. That lasted for 1 year. By this point, my endo had caused me to step out of being a hairdresser because physically I was unable. I couldn’t stand that long with my abdominal pain, and just the chronic fatigue was enough. My body was unreliable, and you cant have a career as a hairdresser under those circumstances. So I stumbled through retail, constantly being late because I overslept for shifts, being exhausted, and just plain old being in pain..

Age 22: Spring.

My financial support for my injections had ran out, my dad had passed away, my insurance had changed, and I ended up off all of my medication, no hormones, no birth control. My last dose was at the end of April. By the beginning of July I knew everything was coming back with a vengeance. All of my symptoms returned and continued to worsen as time went on. 

Age 23 : Fall.

I got a job working in a doctors office as medical assistant, it just so happened to be my primary care office. When I got hired, I didn’t realize how lucky this opportunity was for me, and for my health. Severe unexplained abdominal pain landed me a nice overnight trip to the ER. I was given pain meds, scanned, and left with a diagnosis of “an unexplained muscle issue.” Luckily that didn’t come back. But it came with more scans showing cysts on my liver and kidney which could have potentially caused the problem, or not.. and whatever caused them? Who knows. By December I was back in my specialist’s office, starting back on new hormones, and on my way to surgery #2. This menopause inducing hormone was different, a nasal spray. It caused severe headaches, metal taste in my mouth and throat all day. It was awful. Eventually we got my old menopause hormone injections approved. 1 month after restarting that, I got scheduled for surgery. March 3rd, 2017. My second endometriosis surgery, this one also included removing both of my fallopian tubes (this can reduce risk of cancer in women with endometriosis). Again I left feeling the same as I did the first time. And at my post-op it was explained that it had come back almost just as bad. I needed to stay in medical menopause until I wanted to try and become pregnant using IVF therapy..

Age 23 : Post surgery to current.

My pain and symptoms never fully stopped no matter what treatment I was in. I had developed constant body aches, muscle fatigue. My abdomen is still filled with scar tissue and organs that will never sit right where they’re supposed to be ever again.. My boss (also my primary care doctor) decided to start taking my pain treatment into her own hands since my Endometriosis specialist had pretty much thrown her hands up in surrender when I insisted I was still in so much pain. I had loads of blood work done to check every level in my body – all functions fine. I was a Urologist-Gynecologist, he insisted my endo caused no lasting damage to my urinary system. I got put on medication for nerve pain, was given a 10 pill supply of Percocets for the days when my normal meds weren’t enough. Medication for bowel spasms from all my intestines still being mildly stuck together. Finally – my boss and I realized there was no way Endo was the only thing I was dealing with. My chronic fatigue was very abnormal, and I have had episodes of nodding off while driving since I was 17 (but my fatigue used to be summed up just to my Endo). I was referred to a sleep specialist. One sleep study later, and I’m on my way to number two. My sleep specialist diagnosed me with narcolepsy. Unfortunately due to certain meds I was on, the test could only conclusively prove severe Hypersomnia, within dangerous range. I fall asleep in under 40 seconds.. it takes the average human between 3 and 7 minutes to fall asleep…

So now, I’m in a struggle. I’m titrating off of my antidepressants, and my nerve pain medication so that I can retake the sleep study and get my actual diagnosis. I’ve started meds, and yet I’m still managing to fall asleep all the time: nod while driving, sleep through everything, fall asleep at work. I’m lucky that I have an understanding boss or else I would be jobless.

I’m 3 days away from being 24 and I have a disability, a chronic illness, pain PTSD, and chronic depression from constantly having to battle my own body. When I got my diagnosis at 17, I thought I was on my way to normalcy. I had no idea…

I’m currently at the point where my health has taken away dreams from me, my time, my energy, my money, my friends – and so much more. And the reality of it is, I’m still just getting started in the diagnosis process. Once the sleep specialist has me stabilized, I can finally move to a Rheumatologist to figure out my muscle issues. That could land in a muscle biopsy, more scans, more bloodwork, more waiting. I was in nursing school, and I’ve now had to take off two semesters because I physically cannot go to school and work. I cant even manage to stay at work all 40 hours a week. I get sent home weekly due to my symptoms being too much for me to handle. I’ve gotten harassed by coworkers because when your illness/disability are invisible, if someone doesn’t understand from a personal level, then it all looks fake, exaggerated, whatever.

That’s a rough background on the last 12 years of my diagnosis journey, that is still no where near over. I want to be able to use this as a log, an outlet, and possibly inspiration for other to listen to their body and fight for it. You know how you feel, you know when something is wrong and when no one else will stand up for you, you MUST be your own advocate. It took me yelling at my doctor at 19 for her to finally take my pain seriously. She knew my symptoms for years, and brushed it under the rug, didn’t think to look for other reasons.

To my fellow spoonies, always remember, we’re not alone. You’ve gotten this far, you know you have the strength to move forward despite feeling every possible negative emotion.

[justmissjewelz]

2017: My reality

It has always been a mission to keep fit and healthy especially after giving birth to my kids. Prior to marriage I had the time of my life doing what I wanted to do and like in the sports realm. Adrenaline was the game and satisfaction was the reward. My yearly planning revolved around sports events.

  Fast forward to now, I still needed to keep active, but smartly and realistically with the assumed role of mother and wife. When I start with that goal (being fit and healthy), it makes it easier for me to plan what I would do to be able to achieve. Its like opening a map, and I am at point A. I have an end destination, and will have to find a way to get there. Obstacles are part of the ‘tour’ package. With that in mind, I am prepared to make alterations in planning need be, but still, with that end destination in mind.

  Deciding on Standard Chartered KL Marathon

With this being said, I intentionally booked my dated for the Standard Chartered KL Marathon as a reason and motivation for me to keep moving. You know that ‘lost’ feeling when you don’t have a goal or purpose? Well, I turned that around and decided that KL Marathon will be one of those smaller goals (bigger goal –> keeping healthy and fit) I can look forward to. Of course there are other events, just that timing wise, it clicked with my current fitness. I did train for the Powerman Malaysia duathlon event where I did the Short Distance. It was fun and I did not finish last! Special thanks to Azhar for accommodating with my training plan request.

For the Standard Chartered KL Marathon (registered for half-marathon) , I was on Hal Higdon novice 12 weeks program. Again, this is all about planning and being objective and real with what I wanted to do, and how realistically I can achieve that. So this was the way:

Registered for the event. Carefully handpicked a distance suitable for my then suitable fitness level

Look for a suitable training program. I could never go wrong with Hal Higdon’s program for running events

Put down the plan in writing into my organiser/planner . Writing it down worked for me as I can see on a weekly and monthly view my training plan

Work to achieve each week’s training goals AND being able to breath daily as a full time data analytics executive, a mother and a wife. Creativity is essential in ensuring our training is on track regardless of the obstacles we might be facing

Planning my logistics was exciting. It flexes my problem solving ability !

  It is also important to ensure all bodily systems are given their rightful maintenance. I was having some plantar fascia issue which I got fixed with a couple of session at my favourite physio. Sports massage or deep tissue massage are options to rewards your muscles and joints after the weekend long run 🙂 You need it !

Race day

So fast forward to race day, I was at the back end of the half marathon lot. Thousands of runners but managed to bump into my Robert Downey Jr. look-alike triathlon buddy, Azman. He rides with the BJCC group by the way (they ride like the wind!).  Arif Sidek was running the half too but he was at the front. Parked about 1km or less from the start line, dropped off my backpack at the luggage area and pee-stop at the ladies at Dataran Underground. I took my wudu’ (ablution) as race start was just a couple of minutes before Subuh.

I had my trusted Suunto T3 with me and that was all I needed to steer and keep me on track. Of course had to have my phone with me to take photos. I was there to finish the race. Quietly aimed for anything sub 3 for this come back half marathon.

Gun-off, and there we were shuffling our feet through the start line. It took about more or less 8 minutes if I remember correctly ! Subuh (fajr/morning prayer) came, and I saw a group of runners already performing their prayers on office building walkways. I quickly dashed to join them without much thinking. So there I was in submission alhamdulillah.

Continued the run, and was super excited to run through Jalan Ampang and the AKLEH highway. I basically grew up in Ampang and being able to scale the street in the early morning was just somewhat momentous. Passing the Rubber Research Institute Jalan Ampang on foot was just amazing. So apparently I am not the only one in love with this historic art-deco building designed by Arthur Oakley Coltman.

Up on AKLEH (Ampang-KL Elevated Highway) was a thrill (for the love of hills). We’re into our 9-10th kilometer and it normal to see people already slowing down at this stage, more so up a generally steep hill. Slowly cruised my way up  before stopping briefly at the mobile toilet stationed around the 11km mark for a quick relief. Not long after that bumped into Kam and Fiza (they just got engaged recently, Congratulations!) , a quick photo op (don’t we love taking mid run photos!) and off I went. Now heading down to Sultan Ismail toward the Jalan Kuching turn off, passing by the Sultan Ismail LRT Station. There was this water mist balloon arch thing, but did not feel cool at all. So best just pour out a bottle of water on the head when passing a water station.

From Jalan Kuching through Jalan Kinabalu – Jalan Parlimen – Jalan Damansara – back on Jalan Kinabalu passing the National Mosque on the left and PosLaju building on the right (Malaysia national courier), and straight ahead to the finish line in front of the 12 year old Bangunan Sultan Abdul Samad.

With Edwin Thiang, upcoming national triathlete 🙂

Spotted Bacin and Dett at the race kit collection

Find your name 🙂

Sultan Abdul Samad building in black&white

PC post event with Malaysian top marathoners

My fav art deco building in KL 🙂

Me and Shaik Jamil’s family

Collage – photo collage by Arif

OK, not bad !

Overview of the route and basic stats from MapMyRun

Cool analysis !

Half-marathon splits

    Half-marathon splits

  The splits, water station etc

1KM – Subuh (morning prayer)

4KM – Toilet stop

12KM – Water/Toilet stop

21KM – Stopped to help a cramping runner

There were another 2-3 water stops not listed above, even a ‘banana stop’ which I felt was a bit too into the race.

The water stations were located at acceptable distance from one another, likewise the mobile toilets. All in all, it was an enjoyable run. Couldn’t be any better if not for the right dose of training and preparation.

I was also given a media pass, thanks to my blog, to cover for the event including their prize giving ceremony and press conference.

The KL Marathon was first organised in 1989 and was previously sponsored by Ambank before Standard Chartered took over as main sponsor in 2009. Can I see some hands up if you still keep your AmBank KL Marathon certificate? I have mine !

Standard Chartered Kuala Lumpur Marathon official page

  To all finishers, Congratulations. Those who didn’t , look forward for this annual event next year ! There are many other events nowadays. Just gotta pick wisely !

With this half marathon done, I am looking forward to start training for my next event in September.  Been off running for while now after Ramadhan (fasting month) and Eid !

  I have this thing for brick stairs and wall! 

  Thanks for reading, and have a nice day !

Yours in writing,

missjewelz

    Next post : KL SEA GAMES 2017 Update #1

    Standard Chartered Kuala Lumpur Marathon 2017 (belated report) 2017: My reality It has always been a mission to keep fit and healthy especially after giving birth to my kids.

[beefybrit-blog]

Day 1

As I sit here lying on my sofa, waiting for the fast food to come, the events of the past few days have affected me greatly. Last night I went and saw a music school perform as my girlfriend was in it with a group of people. She is a great drummer, having come from nothing to being able to keep a beat for half a dozen songs from memory in about 6 months. Between the ages of 12 and 15 I was an avid Drama enthusiast, my love for music, drama and public performing has never really left me. I always get a tingle before they roll out on stage to do their thing.

As I sat there watching in-between sets, I saw the stage floor. It’s a soft rubber matting that doesn’t reflect light and is extremely grippy. I remember what it felt like to be on that, especially in just socks. You felt glued to the ground, your every step slightly cushioned by the rubber absorbing your energy. Felt good.

Food just came, my Mrs is off to see her family this weekend so we had a ‘goodbye’ meal of ‘Tost’ which, since I’m in Turkey right now, means ‘Toast’. It’s basically a toastie with extra shit inside like Salad and stuff, well see for yourself.

Not good for you, but tasty. Anyway, I decided last night that once my girlfriend had left that I would fly right. Before I came down from 160kg to 100kg. I then put back on 25kg, since I hit my goal, I lost the track. I was so focused and disciplined, I even lost weight on a 10-day holiday. But I lost it all. I want that back. I figure the best way to do that is to set myself another goal.

I originally set 100kg as a goal, because at 160kg I thought to myself ‘No Fucking Way Can I Ever Get there’ I went past it and got to about 98kg. It’s weird, I’ve never actually written it down, seeing it go from 3 digits into 2 is a strange thing.

So I’m starting at 125kg and here is me. Anon. I am going to sign myself up for a bodybuilding physique competition next year (2018) so I have a goal. Having a structure, like I did before, will enable me to remain focused and concentrate. I believe I have what it takes this time. I’m ready to make a go of it.

I’d managed to Vlog most of my transformation, but keeping up with a daily vlog, I realised that my life as it was, was way too boring to vlog about once a week. I would set myself unrealistic goals and ambitions. And never ever keep to them. I figured that writing my thoughts down and just spilling onto a keyboard might be a better way of tracking it, including photos of highlights, rather than trying to maintain a ‘WHATS UP GUYS THIS IS JOEY SALADS’ kind of personality that YouTube content is driven by.

I can’t blame YouTube, but I do feel as though I’m not ready to continue my Vlogs, since I’m down in the dumps about this whole weight gain thing. Once I’m back on track, I’ll try to transition into doing both. I’m sure at least 100 Blogs a day are started about ‘This is my first day’ and I’d wager that 90% of them fail in the first few weeks. I’m going to try to succeed in keeping up with these entries once or twice a week, some might be shorter and some might be longer.

I’d say that my knowledge of Diet, Fitness and Nutrition rivals about 80% of the publics, that’s not to say I know everything, it’s to say the public are massively ill-informed about both, I’ve read the books, watched the videos and asked the right questions. So I will be making the correct choices in that respect. One of my friends, who I met at the gym, offered me the advise of not eating carbohydrates after 5 o’clock. He is very lean and looks great, but I didn’t even bother explaining the logic flaw to him.

Him, like many others, look for that ‘1 Method’ of doing something. If I stop eating this I’ll lose weight, if I don’t drink that I’ll lose weight. And sometimes it works, but not for the reasons they think. These methods/theories/techniques often work because these people radically change several things at once and they see results, however, they tend to glorify the catalyst that started it all i.e. not eating carbs after 5.

The best diet is one you will stick to, the body responds to consistent changes over time and doesn’t like flip-flopping between extremes. Moderation is the key, no matter what you say or see, moderation is the key. Sooner or later, those who don’t moderate (like me the first time) eventually burn out.

My first massive weight loss, I completely cut dietary fat out of my diet for a whole year, all I got was the bear minimum from chicken breast and a few eggs and nuts. Not even close to the RDA. You know what happened? My Testosterone, a hormone that uses saturated fat to synthesise crashed. I’m not sure the exact science about what happened, but my body shut down producing testosterone.

I noticed it when I felt so incredibly weak, wasn’t making any gym gains, ZERO sex drive, tired, moody and just feeling off colour. One of my co-workers at the time said I looked anaemic, so pale, weak with bags under my eyes. I knew I wasn’t, since I give blood regularly and they test for iron levels before they take the blood. I ordered a ‘Full body blood test’ off the internet. Why would I do that? Because if you go to the NHS and say, ‘I feel rough’ they will make sure you don’t have anything deadly, which is fine, and then begin a very long process of finding out the rest, sometimes not even doing that. I know a little bit about cars. I spent years fixing up my land rover, I can diagnose what’s wrong with my car these days to a close margin. When I go to the mechanic, I can tell them pretty much exactly what is wrong and what needs replacing. Then, them being the experts, will tell me if there is anything more. I took the same approach with my doctor, I went there with a professional private medical blood test result and showed them.

To their surprise my testosterone, which an acceptable tolerance is between 10nmol/L – 31nmol/L, mine was 1.8nmol/L. The NHS use a different tolerance than this company whose limit is lower, but as you can see below. I was half way to losing my manhood!

After a whole YEAR of tests including an MRI, Ultrasound and several blood tests, they couldn’t find a reason. Doctors can be very ignorant when their patient suggests something like diet. But that’s by-the-by in the end I went for treatment privately since a whole host of NHS incompetence’s left me massively under dosed for 6 months, causing me to feel worse not better. I am now on 500mg of Sustanon a month which I inject into my quad once a week. Lesson for every man, don’t neglect dietary fat.

It took about 6 more months to feel the effect. So a 2 year payment for a stupid mistake. But I started getting my old self back eventually and made gains etc, I even went on to compete in strongman competitions and training. Although I was seriously bad!

So other than that, that’s been my life. Now it’s time to change. Now it’s time to set another goal and stick with it. A goal has to be SMART

Specific Measurable Attainable Realistic Time based

So my smart goal is this:

I want to compete in a bodybuilding physique competition in 2018, although not officially released, the dates tend to stay fairly similar each year. May 26th is my date . I will measure my progress with 3 steps, short term goal, medium and long, the latter being to compete. It is attainable based upon the large timeframe I have given myself and it is also realistic because of that. Time based, meaning I will track myself weekly to gauge my aesthetic appearance and my weight.

I will start with a 16 week ‘Cutting Period’ During this time I will lose 30kg at a rate of 1.8kg per week following a strict diet. I will measure if my progress IRL is matching with my predicted progress and adjust as needed, I will be setting my goal to what I know is safely attainable, through personal experience and research recommendations. Once this 16-week cutting period is over, I have left myself 4 weeks to pick up any slack and make any corrections to the diet, meaning, if I arrive at my goal weight/physique of 90kg and I am still not happy, I have time to continue before moving onto the next step, this should bring me to October 2017.

If I am on course I will begin ‘Lean Bulking’ on a small caloric deficit each day. Until a physique which I believe is presentable has been attained. Since the competition is on May 26th that will give me 6 ½ Months before cutting down 8 – 12  weeks prior to the competition date.

I am aware of the emotional problems, since a member of my family has terminal cancer, they will likely die during this period, I am prepared and won’t let this affect my progress.

I am determined. I am ready for it. I’m not ready to share my social media or anything yet, nor will I be posting pictures on my social media until I am confident enough, this is, after all a mind-game.

Wish me luck buddies.

Love you Bye.