There’s this amazing mom-blogger that I read even though I would not wear 90% of what she does and fashion blogs are not a healthy place for AnaMias to hang out, no? I read her blog because she gets what it’s like to be a mom, to love your kids like crazy, to feel a little crazy, and to act a little crazy. Then last year she was diagnosed with breast cancer. And in between posts about skinny jeans and hairbands there were posts about losing breasts and hiding baldness. Instead of cocktails with her friends, she wrote about chemo cocktail hour at the hospital. And now, thankfully, she is cancer-free.
I bring this up because while I am not a fashion blogger (nor do I wish to be) and I don’t have cancer, I got my biopsy results this morning. And at age 43, for the second time in my life I found myself waiting for the news that hopefully some of my cells haven’t gone all wacky on me. I thought I’d feel relief but instead I feel numb. Continue reading
When I tried to think of a name for this blog, I thought about various denigrating names for recovery, but then dismissed them as rather one-sided. After all, I’m hoping recovery is a good thing. At least, everyone tells me it is, and that it’s worth the hell I’m currently in. I came up with the blog name when I realized that I’d gotten to the point one afternoon before going out to run errands when I had to pack a lunch bag with various “safe” foods so that I would eat something moderately decent so I could avoid the freaking-out-from-hunger-but-there’s-nothing-safe drama, and as I’m picking foods that my dietician and I had agreed on, I sat there counting Triscuits and wondering if a broken Triscuit counted as half or a third of one cracker. In a way, it was brilliant. I had come up with my own one-question quiz to see if you have an eating disorder:
Question: Have you ever spent twenty minutes debating whether a broken tasteless cracker should be rounded up to the nearest whole cracker?