Cold Hands, Warm Heart

Genetics are a strange thing, kind of like an experiment in mixology. You really never know what kind of cocktail mom and dad will serve up, but you hope the drink isn't a mess. If you're lucky, sometimes you get the good stuff, like a high IQ, a creative talent,or the the ability to labor and deliver in record time. However, this on it's own is too sweet and will need some sour to make the perfect blend.

One of my top negative inherited traits, (aside from a propensity for neuroticism, impulsive behavior, and a disproportionate chest size) are small veins. Thanks dad. As a kid, this manifested in an unusual interest in bubble baths and fireplaces just to stay warm. Then, as I became older, there were other signs of something amiss. I had freakishly low blood pressure and poor circulation which lead to my arms and legs frequently falling asleep and random fainting spells. Yet I wasn't really aware that my veins were the genesis of my physical quirks until I tried to donate blood in college. I was actually turned away after four nurses, who drew blood on a regular basis, couldn't find a good vein. So much for being any good to any fellow B+ blood types.

Since then, blood work has always been a source of a lot of time and effort. I know going into it that the tourniquet will be pulled extra tight and that my arms will be slapped until they are as red as an abused kid's bottom, but I always hope that there will be a successful outcome each and every time. In the beginning, the nurses are always optimistic, believing that the other arm will be better, only to end up using the back of my hands or neck in a final act of desperation. The veins here are even closer to surface, making it more painful as they dig numerous times trying to find any viable source. Then, when this doesn't work other staff members take a stab at it as if they're trying to beat the odds. If I'm lucky they get just enough blood to fill a small vial, but in most cases they reschedule me to come back. In the aftermath my weak arms are left covered in trail of bruises and bandaids that tell the story of stinging defeat.

Tomorrow will be my third attempt at the weight loss clinic to collect a sample to determine whether or not my bad cholesterol has lowered. All I can say is that those wimpy blood vessels better pump up the volume and the blood better start coursing through my body cause I ain't no pin cushion and I'm tried of all the boo boos! If people twice my age can have juicy ones then why can't I? It's just weird and everyone is probably secretly beginning to wonder if I even have a heart. I can run my arms under hot water at length and do push ups until I drop, but there is only so much water a woman who has had children can guzzle and retain.

Making Friends and Influencing People

As a Psych major, I'm familiar with the multitude of methods to change behavior but was never a big fan of the external reward for reinforcement. Although I don't doubt it works, I always thought that it was more effective in the long run to find the internal incentive. Speaking for myself, I believed that all that I needed to continue with a desirable behavior was for it to really matter to me.

Well, I'm only human and I discovered that I was slightly off. Case in point: Today I met with a new doctor at the weight loss clinic I've been going to for months who stated, "Oh my God, I thought I had the wrong patient, your photo at the beginning doesn't even look like you! You're beautiful. Wow, what does your husband think?"

I don't know whether the white smudge on his tie was crack or powdered sugar from a carb saturated donut, but the man was clearly high on something since the last time I checked, 4 hours of sleep plus jeans and a t-shirt didn't equal aesthetically pleasing. No, I wasn't the type of person who, after first sight, could inspire someone to write a touching tribute song but something all together different. I'm more likely to give the impression of being too nice which explains why the only lyrics anyone ever wrote me were apologetic by some jackass Kurt Cobain wannabe with the refrain "Sorry" screamed over and over again into a breakup song. But I liked this doctor's forthright style, positive attitude, and exuberant enthusiasm enough to politely go along with his delusion. Besides, as a woman, you can never hear that compliment enough, especially when it comes from someone you just met. It works for me, as now I've got that extra boost, in addition to my own resolve, to literally go the extra mile in my cardio regime. He's my new favorite doctor.

And at this rate who knows what could happen next. Somebody could discover my photo posted in the lobby and offer me some spokeperson deal like Valerie Bertenelli has for Jenny Craig. Maybe I could even be on Oprah and get a book deal too. Hell, I would settle for a lifetime supply of their chocolate protein bars.

Back To Life

Most women, after having children, still posses a pair of "skinny" jeans hiding somewhere in the back of their closet in hopes that, someday, they will see the light of day. In fact I can remember checking out "Losing the Baby Weight" shortly after my last child, motivated to find my waistline again only to have the woman behind the checkout counter say, "You never really lose all the baby weight, I had my daughter six years ago and I'm still twenty pounds heavier. You're books are due back in three weeks, have a good day and good luck sweetie."

Despite those ever supportive words of encouragement from Debbie Downer, I resolved to give it try, knowing deep down that it wasn't going to be easy, especially since I spent most of my days at home with my two babies. Shortly after, I managed to make enough progress to warrant buying new clothes, but never reached my goal. Fast forward a few years later and my weight was higher than ever with the only remains of my former self being a bathing suit from a spring break trip to Cancun back in the day.

For the longest time the suit only served as a sentimental reminder of the carefree days my husband and I shared before we got married and I never thought I would ever wear it again. Well, today I reluctantly tried it on as my other suit was too loose and it fits!? Holy shit! I guess it just shows that with a little faith, a new mindset, and some hard work, you too can get there ladies.

And when you do, make sure you celebrate your victory properly. I'm off to a weekend full of sun, waves, tropical drinks, and cool breezes at Siesta Key Beach. I just hope I can still stay on my feet after two daiquiris.