Today I went to work after the business meeting nightmare. I had an early meeting with my boss's boss (COO of the ultramegamedical conglomerate) who was very understanding of my battle in the office.
Anyway, as I headed back to the office (after picking up Erin who got sick at school, parking myself in my own bathroom for 20 minutes (antibiotics....), I got to work and immediately started to feel..."off". It's the only way I can describe it. OFF. And then my left arm started to hurt which for any heart attack surviver is like some someone pouring gasoline over your head and approaching you with a lit match. Am I gonna get it? Am I not gonna get it?
So I decided to have my blood pressure taken by one of the nurses. It was a hefty 160/100 on the first run, 158/98 on the second. I took klonopin and within 2 hours, it was down to 131/82 and then a delightful 119/75.
Erin and I went out for a bit where we ran into some credit card disaster. I went to buy milk and my credit card wouldn't work because they had noticed a fishy transaction on it (which turned out they were right) and put a hold on my card. So I got home and fixed that. Then I noticed my cat Mena is missing. I've called her and called her both inside and outside the house. She must have slipped out -- so anyway after looking for her I sat down for awhile and took my BP again. 141/94 first try, 138/92 on the second. 132/82 after deep breathing with my eyes closed, another klonopin, 2 aspirin and a celexa.
Could this be my wake up call? I don't know. I'd love to spend a week at the Duke Health Hospital in North Carolina. Then I thought I could take a week off and do it myself at home. Order food from Seattle Sutton. Gentle workouts everyday. Meet with a dietician. Meditation. A massage or two. And it wouldn't be as expensive as going to The Duke with it's $3000 price tag. But I'm worth it right? Yea, right.
In today's eonomony I'm struggling to pay for my 6 week hair cut and touch up. I just CAN'T give up on that. CAN'T. I'll starve first. Which isn't likely.
So what I'll do....I don't know. I need to take care of myself and I'm not good at it.
But I'll try.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Work = Stress = Eat = High Blood Pressure
Work = Stress = Eat
Don't get me wrong. I like my job. I feel like a make a difference. 80% of the time, I don't mind getting up and going to work. I think those are pretty good odds.
But there's one thing I don't understand.
When I'm at home, day off, putzing around, I NEVER overeat. Weekends? I'm fine. The second I go to work on Monday, I'm looking for anything to shove into my mouth. I'm not even hungry and I'm searching out something to eat.
It's like a disease.
For example. I work for 4 doctors. One has decided that I am the reason for the stock market crash, her failing marriage, her sick kids, the fact that her husband lost his job, world hunger and paper jams. Ok. Fine. Whatever. But THEN, she had the nerve to pile up on me at a business meeting. She's done it before and both times I held my own (BTW, she double-teamed my boss also) but afterward I threw a Big Mac down my throat faster than you can say "heart attack on a sesame seed bun".
I was so poised in the meeting. No one would have known that I was so angry except my boss, whom I'm predicting might have thrown a Big Mac down his throat too. She told him that she had discussed this "issue" with the other docs, but didn't include him. He's the president of the practice. C'mon. Really. But she did it to get the other 2 physicians on her side, because she knows the president and I are in agreement about the issue she's concerned with. At that is.....she wants us to hire her kids to work in the office over the summer. Hello? Nepotism calling. And as I had to police her daughter last summer ("file? I don't file...") I wasn't looking forward to babysitting both her son and daughter THIS summer.
I was saved however, by the ultramegamedical conglomerate that we merged with last June. No hiring of the kin in the same office. I told her we could get them a job in the company, just not at the office. What the frick is the difference? Well, she didn't like my answer, ladies and gentlemen. So I am the evil one.
She is a pain in the ass, has no understanding of the term "group" practice and has never, ever, given anyone a compliment at the office. She's miserable, self centered, a blow-hard and has told the other physicians that I'm "out to get her."
Please. Me? I've got enough on my damn plate. Besides, I avoid confrontation. I HATE it. But if you corner me, like she did at the meeting, you won't get me to back down. I back down in the privacy of my own car as we whiz through the drive thru.
I know. It's bad. It's not healthy. The only person I'm hurting is myself. I KNOW this. But she pissed me off and well, I ate.
Perhaps I should just accept this and move on, realizing that acknowledgment of your eating disorder is the first step.
uh huh. Ok. Sure. Anybody got the number to Weight Watchers?
