Donation Station

Being poor SUUUUUUUUCKS.

I really took so much for granted over the past decade or so. Life is just very, very different when I can't reach for my credit card to solve any problem. It's been kinda nice that I've been forced to eat at home (and I have truly been eating like a depression-era peasant...I've gotten extremely creative with nothing much more than a potato). But it's crazy not being able to swing into Starbucks for a quick caramel frappachino, or to the bar for a shot when a friend is in town. It's been embarrassing making excuses not to hang out because I can't afford the gas to get there, or dinner or drinks or whatever we were meeting for. Now, I literally find myself questioning if I'm using more toilet paper than necessary, and wondering about the legal hurdles keeping me from shutting off my utilities and living with kerosene lamps and an outhouse.

Seriously, though, I had to be very, very, very desperate to consider plasma donation. Not because it's inherently risky—it's not—but because my personal health history makes me a really terrible candidate, and my immune system is 100% not adequately prepared to keep me alive through this. Their screening process is designed to keep people like me from donating due to the risks to our health, but I have honestly never been this desperate for money. Even during that brief period between semesters in college when Rob and I squatted in an abandoned house and bought cigarettes with pennies, I still felt more financially stable than I do right now. So, yeah, I'm fucking desperate. And it's quite clear that the other donors are also not being entirely truthful for the sake of remaining eligible, but the instant cash for a relatively painless couple of hours is more than enough incentive to lie. I'm just not certain that the money is worth what my body is going through.

I've felt like I've had a cold basically since the first session, and after each donation I crash for the rest of the night and usually the entire following day as well. When I donate on Wednesday, that means I'm a zombie basically until I wake up Friday, but Friday is designated as my second donation day of the week. So I go again, and end up feeling like crap until Sunday. From Sunday until Wednesday I feel "okay", and then the cycle starts again. But I don't really feel totally "okay", ya know? By then, my arm is less sore and the bruising around the injection site has disappeared, but the constant slight head cold has kept my throat sore, my eyes dry, and my nose running. I even have a scab on my nose behind my septum ring from where I've been blowing with cheap toilet paper instead of the Puff's Plus with Lotion that I never fully appreciated before.

The donation itself isn't exactly fun—you're trapped there with the needle in your arm as it sucks out your blood, then spins it in a centrifuge to remove the plasma. While the blood is being sucked out, the blood pressure cuff is constantly as tight as it will go, and you have to keep pumping your fist like you're milking your own udders. Then the centrifuge brakes and the cuff loosens, and you have to sit still while the machine pumps your plasma-less blood back into your body. NOT a great feeling. This cycle happens over and over until they have a full liter bottle of plasma, maybe 5 or more cycles. At the end, your final blood round is mixed with saline, and it's pumped back in while you freeze to death and hourly workers pull out the IVs and put cash on your card.

My next donation is Wednesday, and I'll only get $25 for it. But my boyfriend and I have talked about the idea of me being a camgirl, so hopefully something will come of that before I let the plasma center suck the rest of my life out. Not sure how much of a market there is for pudgy camgirls with stretch marks and low self esteem, but I'd rather find out than risk getting the plague from the plasma center.

Ruh Ro, Stomach Flu!

I am home sick today with stomach flu...which was a polite way to tell my employees that I'm violently defiling the bathroom right now.

Unfortunately for me, I'm only experiencing the intestinal distress. My appetite is entirely unaffected. Once the horrible stomach cramps started last night, I felt vaguely nauseated and was a little optimistic that I'd start throwing up along with everything else. But NOPE. I'm actually starving. I'm basically shackled to the toilet at this point, but I am not benefiting one ounce from the helpful vomiting that generally accompanies any stomach bug. I know I should definitely not WANT to throw up. I hate throwing up. Who actually likes vomiting? The problem is that we have a pack of Swiss Cake rolls in the pantry, and I would LOVE to eat them knowing that I would get sick and throw them up so I wouldn't have to count the Points.

Pretty twisted, huh?

I never had the courage for bulimia, nor the discipline for anorexia. I never had any real desire to become anorexic--I love food far too much--but I always thought I could solve all of my problems if I could really binge and purge. My old roommate attended bulimia support group therapy in hopes of picking up some tips and becoming bulimic herself (which, she reasoned, would be easier than, you know, eating right and and working out). It didn't work out for her. Like, at all. She and I both had the binge part down pat, but we just couldn't make ourselves purge.

She was messed up too.

So when I do get sick, as much as I hate it and it makes me cry because I'm a big baby when I'm sick (despite surviving multiple heart surgeries--dumb, right?), I also secretly enjoy being able to eat whatever I want. And sometimes eating delicious stuff and then throwing it up has a dual benefit: everything is out before I digest it, AND it looks so gross that I don't crave those treats for awhile.

Like I said, though, I only have the awful and painful diarrhea. No vomiting. Which means that I'm trapped here, hungry, in the house with Swiss Cake rolls, Smart Ones, hummus and pitas, colby cheese slices, fresh baked bread, crunchy peanut butter, jalapeno pepper jelly with crackers, and a bunch of other shit I'm trying to block out right now.

And I have ZERO weekly Weight Watchers points left for the week, thanks to an ill-advised margarita lunch at work on Friday and a really good queso and enchilada dinner on Saturday. 

I'm trying to keep my mind off of food by immersing myself in A Storm of Swords and cranking up the Fleetwood Mac on my record player, but I'm still making a mental inventory of everything in my kitchen. I can't help it. It's my fat girl mentality striking again.

Being at home alone has always been my time to binge, just like when I would get off the bus and have the house to myself for just long enough to gorge myself on secret Girl Scout cookie stashes or leftover candy hidden behind my bed. When I was in third grade, I would come home and if I was alone, I would immediately grab two cookies (sometimes chocolate chip or Magic Middle, sometimes oatmeal cream pies pulled apart) and cover one with a mound of Reddi-wip, and then make a cookie and whipped cream sandwich, which I would eat in two bites. Now when I'm home alone, I stick my finger in the peanut butter jar and then dip the peanut butter in the fat free whipped cream tub, because I reason that if I eat less than a half tablespoon of peanut butter I don't have to count the points.

So far today, besides the food I actually counted, I've had 5 maraschino cherries, three spoonfuls of fat free whipped cream, 3 Cheetos, half a Ritz cracker, 4 chili cheese Fritos, a lick of honey, 2 Baked Lays dipped in hummus, a pinch of shredded cheddar, 5 semi-sweet chocolate chips, and half a marshmallow. I feel like the queen of eating JUST enough that I don't feel like I should count it. Of course, if you add up all of that shit, it's like at least probably 6 or 7 Points.

But I'm sick so I have every right to stay in denial, right?

Maybe I'll get lucky and end up getting sicker and throw it all up anyway. Then I'd be home another day, though, and faced with the same temptations all over again.

Hopefully I'll just feel better, get back to work, and spend the next two days at my desk, which is stocked with NOTHING delicious. I say two days because...in three days, I go to Key West. For another all-inclusive work trip. Just like the Cancun trip last year. And I know I'm going to gain about 20 pounds in beach cocktails and buffet deserts.

After spending all this time in the bathroom while it's a wind chill of -10 out, though, I am SO ready to go, even if I do end up eating enough for five people!

Haribo Sugarless Gummy Bears: Mmm Laxatives!

I AM GROSS.

Okay?

I admit it. I do gross stuff. I eat gross things. And I really, really like to poop.

If that grosses you out, you should probably stop reading right here. 

I haven't always loved pooping. In fact, I never used to think about it at all. I would poop once, maybe twice a day, and go about my *ehrm* business. Never paid it much mind, as they say.

That was before the Great Constipation Event of 2013. You know, when I ate box after box of Fiber One Bars and completely stopped pooping. It was horrible. I never really wished for poop before then. I had never once hoped for a bowel movement. I reached a new low.

Then, I had heart surgery and things got a little weird in my intestines. I don't know if it was the pain killers or what, but I went from being a daily plopper to a cross-your-fingers-today-is-the-day gross old lady straining on the commode. Not at place I thought I'd be at 31 years of age. I started taking Milk of Magnesia once a week or so (okay, every Tuesday right before my weigh-in on Wednesday) to help clear out my system, but it never seemed to work that well. I still felt all bloated and blocked up.

Recently, I rediscovered what my friends used to call "Poo Poo Tea." It's this Super Dieter's Tea and I had tried it a few times back when we were doing a weight loss challenge at work. This was maybe 10 years ago, and I managed to go from 235 pounds down to 228 pounds. That was a big deal at the time. It didn't last long before I gained it right back, but the one additional thing that I gained from that experience was the knowledge that "Poo Poo Tea" will turn a normal person's gut into a boiling river of hot diarrhea lava. I never knew seemingly benign tea, something so weak and flavorless that I never drank in any version, let along shit-inducing varieties, could wreak such havoc on your digestive track. I had maybe two mugs full back then and never tried it again. Until two or so weeks ago, that is. I bought a box on Amazon, cleared my schedule for 24 hours, and prepared to be amazed at the volume of feces exiting my colon. Unfortunately, not much happened. A little gurgle, a little tummy cramping, and then a decent but solid stool the next day. Hardly the apocalyptic anal nightmare I was expecting. But I was still happy SOMETHING came out.

So when the reviews for the Haribo Sugarless Gummy Bears went viral (the Amazon reviews are here) I was crying and howling with laughter while also thinking, "Hmm...wonder if they really work...?" So while everyone else I know was sharing the hilarity of the comments and taking pity on the consumers, I was clicking "Buy Now!" and hoping the 2 day Prime shipping got them here before my next weigh-in.

They got here, indeed. And passed right through!

I ordered the one pound bag and carefully portioned out 12 bears. To me, they were indistinguishable from the regular Haribo bears. They were awesome. I LOVE gummy bears. I love all candy (except orange candy...or Tootsie Rolls...so obviously I picked out the orange ones). It was really hard to only eat 12 gummy bears. I don't think I've stopped at 12 bears in my whole life. I waited eagerly for the trumpeting gas, the "Niagara Falls through a straw" effect, the total colonic cleanse. Unfortunately, I got a couple gurgles and that was all.

Then my girlfriend started having major stomach pain (she did NOT have the gummy bears). I drove her to the hospital and we got checked in to the ER. That's when my stomach started feeling...well...I was just very aware of my digestive system. A little crampy, a little pressure, a few funny squishy noises. This was around three hours after eating the bears.

We were in the ER most of the night--it turns out she had a really bad kidney stone, which she's never had before. I kept going to the bathroom but not GOING to the bathroom. A little gas (some of it pretty loud) but that was it.

When we got home this morning, I ate another 12 bears. It was around 12 hours after the first handful. This time, I finally started to feel things moving along. I went to bed for a few hours and when I woke up I ate another 8 bears. Within the hour, I was in the bathroom, making progress for the first time in three days! It was great! Nothing loose as reported in the reviews (or, more accurately, no "chocolate rain" as they described it) but a respectable amount.

I weighed myself before and after my bathroom trip: two pounds down!

This afternoon, I'm still a little gassy and I actually feel like I might go again. Here's hoping--I have weigh-in tomorrow, so it would be really nice to empty out a little more of my intestines!

I was really hoping for a more dramatic effect, but I have to say that this is a MUCH more delicious way to get things moving. No more Milk of Magnesia--I just need some sugar free gummy bears and I'm golden! This might become my new pre-weigh-in ritual.

(I am sad that I am so excited about pooping. But I had to share.)