I promise to get back to updating you on my successes but had to post this in follow up to my last rant.
No one tells you that borderline starvation will cause serious lapses in mental capacity. No, I learned that the hard way.
Monday was probably one of the most emotionally overwhelming days I have had in a long time. This in part was due to the fact that had I not been starving it could have been just another manic Monday.
But it wasn't. When I found out that I was cutting out way too many calories and could my intake by at least 300 I was pumped! I was starving for a week so I really couldn't wait to eat. Then my office phone rang. It was my doctor's office telling me that I had an appointment for a kidney ultrasound at 2:30. I was not allowed to eat or drink anything.
On any other day I could have handled this news, but today it messed with my head and all I could think about was food!
So I did what I do best and complained to Sid about how I was starving, I couldn't concentrate etc. I even raged out for a minute and yelled at a gift bag under my desk. Sidney pointed out that I was losing my mind and we had a good laugh about it.
Then I realized that I was wearing knee high boots and would most likely end up in only a hospital "johnny" later. I conveyed my fashion worry to Sid, who convinced me that would not be the case and I would probably only have to unbutton my pants for the ultra sound later. So with her sound advice ringing in my ears, I opted not to go home and change first.
So 2:00 rolls around and I'm famished, barely able to focus on anything. I register for the ultra sound and am lead to a change room. That's right a change room. I'm handed a Johnny and a clear garbage bag to put my clothes in. I almost passed out! Sid was wrong! She's never wrong! In fact we call her "the wizard" at work because she has this crazy way of always being right and knowing everything. For a brief moment I hated the wizard.
So I sucked it up and changed. I emerged wearing my johnny and went to take my seat in the waiting room next to two 400 year olds and a guy who looked like he just escaped from prison.
Then I looked down. And I was indeed sitting in a waiting room wearing knee high hooker boots and a johhny. Tears! Let me just point out that I am not that girl that cries at the drop of a dime. I bet it’s safe to say that even my closest friends have only rarely (and with good reason) seen me cry. But here I was feeling the draft from my johhny, rocking hooker boots and crying into my Chanel satchel while clutching my Glad bag of belongings.
It is a day I have put far behind me but will not soon forget. Oh, and I did not go to the gym that day.