Healthy Living

Hey Baby, Can I Get Some Sugar?

/ Dr. Patty J / Leave a comment

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I was ballooning into the marshmallow man. I thought I might just up and fly away at any moment. The doctor completed several tests as part of the joy of pregnancy. “Spit into that, drink this, let’s draw your blood twelve more times.” I was an ever-growing guinea pig.

Ultimately, the doctor came back with the dreadful diagnosis of gestational diabetes. I wasn’t expecting any diagnoses, especially not that, despite a strong family history of diabetes. I guess I figured I was young, a ripe 21-years-old and generally healthy, so there couldn’t be any concern. Yet, I was predisposed. I was told that it would likely go away after pregnancy with the warning that if I didn’t take care of myself, I could develop diabetes. “And that can cause many problems,” he added. For a fun read on complications of diabetes, check out the Mayo Clinic website: http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseasesconditions/diabetes/basics/complications/con-20033091

I was crushed by the news that someone, a very tiny someone, was currently getting in the way of me and my sugar fix. And that it also meant there would be an ongoing obstacle between me and my sugar. No one had ever stopped me from my destiny before – candy bars, lollipops, ring pops, brownie a la mode, rock candy. It was a free-for-all. In fact, everyone encouraged my love for it. If they loved me, they knew that I loved sweet things. When I was younger, my grandma would sometimes wake me up to deliver a variety of candy in the middle of the night, which she obtained from my aunt who returned home with goodies after working the second shift. With a big smile, I would sleepily gobble it all up and go right back to sleep, as though it was a normal nighttime ritual. When I visited my other aunt’s house, she would have cupboard after glorious cupboard fully stocked with cookies, ice cream and chocolate. When speaking with her before my visits, she’d give me a run down of the expansive sweet inventory that she obtained.

Sugar and I, we were always great childhood friends. If I couldn’t get a hold of some form of candy, well, I’d just rip open a packet of sugar, pour it into the palm of my hand, and throw it back. Of course, because it’s one of my few vices anymore, my body recently said I couldn’t have it. When I eat sugar, sometimes even if just a couple of bites, my head starts hurting and my ever finicky digestive system screams out in frustration, letting me know that I’m heading toward fast, furious sugar overload.

Surprisingly, I’m not as disappointed as I thought I would be once I came to find out that sugar has turned its back on me. For a delusionally long time, I’ve known that sugar is terrible, and that I should cut down. But now, my body is quite adamant that things have changed. It rejects even my small indulgences rather quickly. And I’m trying to accept this by rejecting it back. And that’s okay. Because who needs sugar? Nobody (Wait, wait, I do. No I don’t. Yes I do. Ugh. It’s a hard fight).

The Freedom to Make Resolutions Any Ole’ Time You Please

/ Dr. Patty J / 2 Comments

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Did you get that gym membership yet? Swear off sugar, wine or cigarettes? Feeling a bit overwhelmed? A little jittery from chocolate withdrawal, maybe? Yes, yes, I know it’s only January 3rd, but a sense of discouragement can set in surprisingly quickly sometimes. Why? Unattainable goals are not real goals. They’ll only lead to quick burnout and bad feelings.

Resolutions are decisions. We make them at a point when we’re so tired of wanting to change that we decide to take the steps to do things differently. For many, coming to that point is a journey of frustrating and sometimes unfortunate events. And this is precisely why New Year’s resolutions usually tend to fail. They begin on a day chosen collectively by society, rather than by a true inner desire to change and the much needed experiences that drive our resolve forward.

New Year’s resolutions may often feel like a burdensome obligation instead of an exciting, well thought out plan. Just because we’re embarking on a new year doesn’t mean a resolution is required or that we’re mentally and logistically prepared for it. And that’s okay. There are some folks who have prepared and are ready to make a change on January 1st, and that’s okay too. However, for most of us who may not be, especially followed by weeks of indulgence, the societal pressure to make an impactful change can only cause us to feel discouraged and guilty. Not the ideal place for new beginnings.

I was in my early 20’s when struggling to quit smoking and made several half-hearted attempts. I had asthma and it didn’t make sense to smoke anymore, not that there’s a time it ever made sense. The defining moment in which I knew it had to be done however, was when my daughter came home from preschool and declared that smoking was an illegal drug. She authoritatively handed me a sheet of paper that contained a picture of a cigarette within a circle and a thick slash going through the image. She tearfully demanded that I quit because if I didn’t, the police would find me out and throw me in jail forever and forever. Rather than explaining that it was legal, I resolved instead that I had to stop, because either way, she was right, I had no business smoking. In the following weeks after the discussion, I pulled together friends and family who would encourage me, got rid of all objects related to smoking, learned other ways to deal with stress and prayed for strength, a lot. It wasn’t easy, it wasn’t quick and I slipped up periodically. But, ultimately I was successful.

Instead of succumbing to expensive gym memberships, attempting to quit smoking in a week (which I attempted many times) or trying to save ten zillion dollars within three months (yup, another one I failed at horribly), allow yourself the time, emotional support and space to figure out what you’d really like to achieve and how you want to go about it.

Have a healthy, beautiful new year.

 

 

 

Why Does Leaky Gut Have to Be so Cruel?

/ Dr. Patty J / 2 Comments

IMG_1667   Leaky Gut Syndrome. It sounds nasty, not very medical, and not even a little official. It reminds me of a lame insult you’d throw at your Kindergarten nemesis. “Ick, you look like a leaky gut.” So why do researchers, clinicians, doctors, and all those guys continue to use that term? Well, despite its disagreeable name, the description very precisely depicts what’s occurring. Thus, the not so beloved term, leaky gut. So what does that mean? It means the intestinal tract is unfortunately getting beat down by various digested toxins so badly that it’s becoming porous. These areas become permeable, leading to toxins then literally leaking out into the bloodstream and causing all types of terror in the body. For more detailed information on how the gut may become leaky, check out this article by the The Daily Beast.

By the way, I hate my gut.

I’ve had to be very careful what I eat and drink in the past few days because for whatever reason, I seem to be so sensitive to just about everything that I my body reacts disapprovingly. It’s so bad that someone recommended I find a bubble I can crawl inside and live in. Thanks, friend. I’d rather not. Instead, I’ve been on one of my many crazed searches to find out what the heck is going on. Of course I’d see my doctor if I thought I’d find solutions that were more long-term and eventually preventative rather than pharmaceutical bandaids, but it’s usually the latter when I do go, so I knew I wouldn’t find solace there.

The most annoying symptom is that I can’t breathe. My asthma’s triggered by foods that I normally have no problem with.  Not breathing is no fun, but even more so when you have no idea what’s making it more frequent. I thought I was coming to learn many of my asthma triggers – preservatives, gluten, animal hair, pollen, dust, strong scents, smoke and strong spices when cooking (thus thus the bubble suggestion) – all irritants I can identify as harmful. But all of a sudden, I started to feel like I was having spontaneous asthma attacks without a trigger.

I hated not knowing when I would have another attack. It used to be so predictable that I would just do what I needed to do in order to reduce inflammation and go about my day, accepting that one of the usual culprits invaded my body. But this new unknown trigger was like the boogeyman, stopping me in my tracks. Not only was I frustrated that I was experiencing symptoms but I was angry because I’ve been so diligent in avoiding triggers. I mean, I even did the unthinkable recently and significantly reduced my sugar intake. Ugh. Who does that? I hated it at first but that’s another story. Ultimately, it was worth it.

Anyway, I was doing all the normal stuff I usually do in an attempt to flee from triggers, so I wasn’t sure where to go from here. I decided that the only option I had was to become even more obsessively hyper-vigilant about what I ate, and maybe, just maybe,  I’d start to see a pattern. So, I became the even more annoying, abnoxious restaurant goer. “Ma’am, do you know if this has ANY unnatural additives, strange colorings, harsh chemicals or hidden gluten in it?” I usually got the disgusted, but casual “No, it doesn’t” just to get me to shut up. It helped to know that I was being lied to, because at least then I had an answer. Twisted, I know, but still helpful. This seemed to help at times, as I realized that maybe the take-out place that claimed to have “all-natural” ingredients included fake natural ingredients under the guise, “natural flavors” that may come hidden in some of the products they purchase. Even more twisted. I’d like to believe that even most restaurant owners are bamboozled by this stealthily hidden problem rather than assume that they’re cut-throat, greedy bastards, but I guess I’ll never know.

Even at home, though, I was having weird inflammatory responses. My breathing became labored and I turned into a blow fish within a few minutes of eating something. “Hey kids, check this out, I look nine months pregnant.” They threw me glances of pity followed by scrunched up expressions that guaranteed they were thinking, “She’s so weird.”

One evening, I decided to have some coffee. I had a few sips from the same cup much earlier in the day and it was delicious. Being the true coffee drinker that I am, I had no trouble reheating it hours later and enjoying it as much as I had that morning. And if you’re a real coffee junky, you’re not one bit judgy or grossed out by my coffee drinking rituals right now.

For whatever unknown reason, this same, innocuous cup of coffee that tasted oh so right and was well-received just hours prior by my finicky gut decided to reject it in the most violent of ways. Once again, I was turning into a puffer fish, uncontrollably transforming like the Hulk when someone ticks him off. The breathing, then the pregnancy belly, which further exacerbated the breathing, then the trying to take deep breaths, then the sheer hopelessness, and ultimately feeling very stuck and desperate for answers.

Wait a minute, I thought. It made sense. It was related to leaky gut. In my gut, I just knew it, quite literally. My gut, although welcoming the coffee with open arms earlier that day, had somehow changed its mind later in the evening. Just a few hours later, the environment in my gut must’ve changed so much that a substance that was harmless so quickly betrayed me. While waddling around feeling forlorn and simultaneously making pitiful attempts to implement some deep breathing, I realized that I was again being stripped away from yet another one of my loves. I couldn’t drink coffee the way I used to any longer.

It’s nothing short of grief, not only because it’s one of the few vices I have left, but because it speaks to the body’s imperfections, to the various phases of life, to aging, even as I often jokingly share that ,”I used to be able to eat anything.” And this modification I have to make, just another thing to add to the now long list, has attempted to conquer me. And I must surrender, not because I’m weak but because in my acceptance lies my fight.