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Part 3-- Flaccid Hose: Ecstasies and Agonies- 6 months on Weight Loss Drugs

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Air- Sweet Air Losing weight rapidly on Mounjaro® has made it so I can finally breathe at night.  This is may be the best result of my weight loss journey.   6 months ago, I was struggling with breathing, mostly because my neck-fat and my large, floppy boobs were strangling me.  I can’t speak for other’s sleep disorders, but mine was completely fat-related.  In the back of my mind, I feared having to strap on a CPAP in the future. My ex-husband, Hyde, had a tiny, baby-sized mouth and the tongue of Jabba the Hutt .   I don’t know how he could even talk .   In 1993, when I started dating him, he had a Model A version of a CPAP.    Model A consisted of a thick, wide hose and a little hat (for his head) to keep the nose-hose in place.   In the shadows of the night, the hose looked like a long, flaccid proboscis that I was hoping was not meant for foreplay. “Hyde, can you take that thing off before we have sex?” “Haaaaaaaah.  Haaaaaaah”   was all I heard, like Darth Vader’s fat cou
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Part 2- Flying Squirrel Woman: Ecstasies and Agonies Chronicles: 6 Months on Weight Loss Drugs

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Pancreas Bitch-Slapping Mounjaro ® is mostly responsible for my pancreas being kicked into modified submission.   To my endless joy, I no longer need to take Insulin.   My A1C is down to 6.1 and I’m only monitoring my blood sugar. Additionally,   I have no more back pain, and my sciatica has been tamed like a lion with a chair.   I have a lot more energy and I don’t think of things in terms of places to sit anymore. Thanks, Mounjaro! Hairnado! Hair loss is possible with fast weight loss (your experience may vary). The first time I noticed it, I was sent a picture of me in a group shot and I swear my forehead looked bigger. Think Casper the Friendly Ghost.   I blamed it on a lighting problem.   Next couple of months, my bathroom sink wouldn’t drain.   I plunged it out and a major clump of black, slimy hair emerged   “Huh?   How long has that been there?” Not even denying it —just plainly not seeing the truth. A week later, I dropped a box in my bedroom which caused a hug
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Ecstasies and Agonies: 6 months on Weight Loss Drugs

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  Part 1  -  (your experience may vary) I am a card-carrying fat person.   Fat is in my DNA.  I’ve struggled all my life.  I love food.  My favorite hobby was Sheet-caking. I’m almost 60 years old and I’ve tried almost everything to get thin.  I have Diabetes Type 2 and my doctor approved me for a weekly injectable weight loss drug- Mounjaro®.  My first shot was April 4 th , 2024. A little Ecstasy first: Exit Stage Left About 5 minutes after I gave myself a shot (the needle is tiny and doesn’t hurt at all)—I lost my appetite.  Almost immediately, my body got rid of anything that it had been holding inside it--Earth, Wind, Fire and Water  I burped more times that you can ever imagine.  4 days of this, and then I felt fine.  Not hungry.  Not thinking about food.  And so the journey began—The Deflation of Ms. Heidi. Nothing prepared me for how easy the weight fell off.  Mounjaro is a miracle.  In 6 months, I’ve lost 68 lbs.  Teenage Dream I am living my teenage dream--
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Always Put the In-Laws on the End of a Group Photo: A Divorce Survival Story

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I am still dumbstruck by people who can co-parent and co-exist with someone who has broken their heart.   There is a hollow, gnawing black hole in your body when you end a marriage. A massive, vacuuming abyss, and sometimes the only thing that makes it feel better is imagining your former love dangling above a pit of hungry (hungry) hippos. Later, you’ll catch sight of a family picture with HIM and his fat face in the middle of it, spoiling your happy memory.   You morph into a pulsing, sweaty bull, snorting, stomping-- getting ready to charge.   And then you find a pair of scissors and you cut that face—the face you once loved, the face that now mocks you, out of the picture, leaving a blank silhouette.   Childish?   Maybe.   But I was 24 when I divorced my first husband.   I was a child.   It would have been easier if I’d put the in-law on the end for less compositional disruption.   It would also save me the trouble of sticking a picture of Sponge-Bob in the vacant gap in the ph
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My Mother The Honda

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Believe it or not, “My Mother the Car” was real sit-com in 1965 starring Jerry Van Dyke who owned a car who was inhabited by his mother’s spirit.   She talked to him via the radio.  Nightmare?  I say yes.  My own car makes passive aggressive suggestions just like my mother did, especially when she was driving with me.   My Honda reminds me all the time about cars approaching me on the right and left.   “I KNOW!” I hear in my brain.   Dolores (my mother) is just trying to be helpful.   There are lights, but that’s not a good enough warning—I need to be beeped at as well. Apparently, I don’t brake soon enough for my car’s taste.   Just as once, my mother’s foot used to stomp on the floorboard while she road shotgun alerting me that she thought I should slow down, Honda flashes a BRAKE warning in orange, large font.   “Yes, Mom, I know, I see the red light.”   Annoyingly, Dolores, as my Honda, will turn down the air conditioning fan if I’m making a phone call.  “You can’t hear the
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A Third Elephant’s Tale

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While waiting to board my recent flight, I sat amazed by the number of passenger classifications who were welcomed onto the plane before me.   By the time they got to calling the Basic Economy group, I got a sense of what the Steerage class must have felt like on the “Titanic”.   “Sapphire Perks Members! Come on down! May we rub special lotion on your dry, back skin?” “Knights of Serbia, enter!” called the flight crew in unison, holding up the heart-sign with their hands. “Emotional support animals?   COME!” “Bueller?” The airline kisses up to its elite customers, thanking them way too many times for flying with them.   I watched a flight attendant divide the entrance way into 2 separate lanes, so that the special passengers could walk down a special path and not co-mingle with a line meant only for substandard customers.   Was the carpet puffier on that side of the room?   I’ll never know. “Who wants to sit on the plane longer than you have to?” I reasoned.  
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Bigamists, Bearded Women and Hairy Beasts: Welcome to My Family Tree

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I always knew I was different.  Thanks to my brother’s research on Ancestry.com, I know why. Springing from closets, slithering out of old books and pictures, arising from graveyards across the 7 seas, my relatives have been creeping their way into my life. I’m fascinated— and terrified . I can be really clumsy. Could that be a gift I inherited from great-grand pappy “Trips in Front of a Train?” How about my crooked lower incisors? Yarns have been spun about Great Aunt Mill’s oral self-care. So objectionable were her rotten teeth, she pulled them out herself with a pair of pliers. I’ve always had untamable eyebrows. It makes perfect sense now that I’ve met Uncle Canis lupin.  Of course the odd ones stand out. My grandma once told me about her Aunt Amelia who was nervous and fuzzy. Today I would have asked her a LOT of questions, but as a youngster, I just sat mute. I have ever since been hyper-vigilant for signs of either trait. I wonder what they would think of m
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