So, … The Medical Meat Market

I have been quiet on this front for a bit.  Well at least I’ve been quiet since June 1st.  Check out here, here and here for the three most recent mini-rants.

I’ve been making decisions or burying my head in the sand.  Bottom line, I will not take either of the potentially cancer causing meds even if the potential is “rare”.  I mean c’mon!  Who would do that?  Not I … said the spy … who is me … and not a gambler.

Instead I have been working toward the original therapy of walking.  Yep!  Not enough doing unfortunately but I am turning over a new leaf.  Starting right now!  And borrowing from Sunny Stephens of Hello Sunshine “it occurred to me that turning over a new leaf probably involved saying it less and doing it more”

When I work out of RW, I take the stairs in the garage.  I purposefully park on Level 2 and walk to Level 5.  Prior to diagnosis, I used to park on Level 3 and walk to Level 4 :).  To help me succeed, I curse my way up.

I hate this shit, I hate this shit, I hate this shit (12 steps right there).  lol.

I have to say cursing does help.  Plus, I’ve been told a way to form discipline is doing something you don’t want to do.  Pushing through.  For me that is walking up the dang stairs.

I have not been as disciplined about the general walking – 30 minutes a day 3-5 days a week.  I was trying and I was listening to music to help me push through but the music stopped helping.  It’s hotter than Hades out there and no amount of music takes the heat away.

I tried a different tactic today.  We’d been to the Pearl taking photos which caused walking by default.  I could have stopped there but in the effort to become disciplined, I walked again around our place.  We’ve got almost 5 acres of prime real estate.  I have no excuses.  I took my snake gig (even though too hot to see them; better safe than sorry) and as I proceeded I repeated FTS, FTS, FTS.  And not the acronym, the words! And guess what?  I’ll be darn if I didn’t walk 25 minutes (felt like 5) when I started out trying for 10.  Gotta start somewhere right?!?!?

I hope to eventually work my way up to 30 by 3 or 5.  I can do it Ricky Bobby.  FTS, FTS, FTS. Say it with me.  🙂

I remember fondly that my dad would not cuss in front of us.  He’d used initials too.  Mainly BS and CS with an occasional PF worked in.  The three littles (J, P and J) would always ask “what’s a PF daddy?”  He’d laugh – a pink flamingo but he never say what it really meant.  Maybe I should work PF into my walking routine.  No telling how far I’d walk powered by those memories.

Happy Sunday y’all.  Hope it’s been a good one.

As always, more to come.