There Is No Wealth But Life

Bogus Diagnoses

By Rae September 5, 2012 Endometriosis 6 Comments

Six years ago on Easter morning, my plans for going to Church were thwarted by the car that drove into mine. My cheap car was wrecked because the cost to repair the driver’s door and front axle or something simply was not worth it. I climbed out of the car worried about everything from the old man who had been driving far too fast for his failing eyesight to the fact that I now had a broken car blocking the road. I knew that serious injuries sometimes do not show up for hours after an accident, but I wasn’t especially concerned about that.

The next day my parents’ D.O. took a look at me and determined that I was fine and should just take painkiller as needed. A week or two later I went to see a NP because my neck was worse and it hurt to hold up my head. She informed me that I had brought this upon myself by just living with the pain and not taking NSAIDs to prevent inflammation. She gave me a cervical collar to wear along with the lecture about two weeks of triple-dose NSAIDs.

It took a few months, but eventually my neck was fine. The odd thing was that my left shoulder had started to randomly ache, and would make an odd crackling sound when I rolled it. During the worst flare-ups the pain would radiate down my arm and part of my forearm would go numb. I could always control it with NSAIDs, but rarely did because I was ridiculously concerned about the dangers of such things and thought I should save the poison for those times of the month when I would really need it.

This spring I finally saw an orthopedic specialist. I was feeling well enough over all to realize that maybe it was stupid to passively accept chronic pain, even if I would only rate it as a 3-4 on a typical day. After physical therapy, x-rays and an MRI I was ready for a solution and would happily have had surgery ASAP if the doctor recommended it.

The doctor diagnosed me with snapping scapula and basically told me to live with it. He thought that it was probably something I was born with since it was not a sports injury, and he thought it was unlikely that it was the result of the car accident. But in any case, I had had it for a long time, physical therapy had not worked, and while there was another test he could order, he doubted that it would show anything.

Externally I accepted the diagnosis and left, but I lamented the fact that I had not gotten a diagnosis, merely a catchy descriptive term. I did not need someone with a million years of school to tell me that my shoulder popped and made funny noises! Josh thought that it would be worth seeking a second opinion, but I already felt like a whiny hypochondriac. The only thing I had legitimizing my condition was the fact that my mother–the woman who raised me for almost 18 years without ever having me see a doctor–my mother thought that there was something very wrong with my shoulder and agreed that it most certainly had not been like this prior to the accident. So I was supposed to find another specialist and tell them that my mother thought I had a real issue? Cute.

After a bit more reflection I realized that this bogus diagnosis wasn’t really all that different from what women receive every day from their gynecologists.

I have a diagnosis of endometriosis. What does that mean? Pretty much nothing. Women with endometriosis are often asymptomatic. Women may have endometriosis and be pain-free with perfect fertility. Women without endometriosis may experience horrible dysmenorrhea and infertility. Women who have never had adequate testing done will go around declaring themselves to have endometriosis based purely on symptoms which may or may not match up with endometriosis. And word on the street is that tossing the term around is a great way to get sympathy. Which is kind of funny, because in real life I have probably only spoken about it with 10 people, including doctors and family members. And since these days I have “‘normal’ bad periods” I am outraged at women who have “bad periods” who talk about it as if they understand what truly horrific pain is like.

No woman should have to deal with anything beyond mild discomfort and inconvenience when it comes to menstruation. It is bad enough that any woman should have to suffer because we as a culture do not take women’s pain seriously. But just because you have real pain that requires OTC meds does not mean that you have any clue what it is like for women with debilitating pain. Ironically enough, the fact that we are finally getting wider awareness of gynecological health problems means that people are more likely to dismiss women with extreme issues because everyone knows someone with issue X who can live with it perfectly well.

Of course the issue goes far beyond the question of pain. What about our good friend PCOS? The question these days is who does not have this amorphous diagnosis? Unlike endometriosis, which has an objective, unchanging criteria for diagnosis (if the doctor and patient happen to actually be interested enough to pursue such) PCOS is highly subjective. A woman with polycystic ovaries may not have PCOS, and a woman with PCOS may not have polycystic ovaries. One of my friends was diagnosed with PCOS based on the fact that she has long menstrual cycles and is overweight. The gynecologist said that she was able to make the diagnosis just by looking at my friend. No tests needed, thanks to the fact that bogus diagnoses are standard of care when it comes to gynocological health. Women with PCOS who fight very hard to maintain a healthy weight are sometimes told that they could not possibly have PCOS because they put the work in to control their weight. And don’t even get me started on those who feel the need to call it PCOD because disease sounds worse than syndrome?

And then what about the fact that these bogus diagnoses are made for life? People don’t walk around saying that they currently have cancer if they have been successfully treated. But somehow the same rules do not apply when it comes to women’s health.

I believe that bogus diagnoses are a problem because they prolong unnecessary pain. When women do not have an accurate understanding of their condition, they go along with inferior plans for treatment. When doctors are satisfied with slapping a convenient label on a woman without so much as running the only tests by which an accurate diagnosis could be made… well we already know what happens then, because we all live with it.

4 Years

By Rae August 30, 2012 Things of Which We Do Not Speak 2 Comments

I am still not a fan of marriage. This surprises me.

People are drawn toward liking that which they know. Mental illness aside, we humans love to love what we live.

And so I would have guessed that I would be a fan of marriage by the time I had been married for more than a year or two.

Yet here I am.

This month I was once again exposed to a direct dose of “love is a choice” rhetoric in situations in which “love” meant “married love.” It saddened me deeply. If love is just a choice, then prudence should dictate that one choose not to love.

After all, marriage is… how do I say this… marriage is not exactly ideal. It does not matter whether I think about marriage from a sacred or secular standpoint, marriage is meh. Sure, there are many lofty ideas about marriage, but those don’t really appeal to me. And in reality? Whom do you think you kid with your talk of marriage as a wonderful castle of love built on the foundation of choice?

Yet here I am.

Four years later, I am once again happier than I imagined on my wedding day. I do not love more deeply, but I am so much happier.

Of course things have been difficult. But I expected as much.

True, it was only this past May that I finally realized that it may indeed always be this difficult (what can I say, I’m slow) but at least I never expected marriage (read: life) to be blissful. And on good days, waves of despair just remind me of the ocean. And who doesn’t love the ocean on a gray day?

Perhaps it is just that when we started us it was the music of a well-established couple trying to find themselves again that most resonated. Do perhaps our relationship was all wrong, and that is why it is right for me today. Who could know?

And so a week ago I answered easily, even as I surprised myself with my answer to a childhood friend’s question of how I liked marriage. I told her that I do not yet appreciate marriage, but I really love living life with Josh.

I am sure things will change some day. I am so very certain. This makes it funny to think about the fact that 4 years seems so very much like 3 which seemed much like 2 which seemed much like 1.

I suppose that eventually I just won’t remember details such as years.

Obama, Hope, and NFP

By Rae July 22, 2012 The Feminine 2 Comments

This is perhaps my favorite video on all of Youtube:

“We have been warned against offering the people of this nation false hope. But in the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope.
…
Yes, we can. Yes, we can. Yes, we can.”

Fabulous, right? I think it perfectly epitomizes why so many of my peers showed up to vote for the first time. Barack Obama convinced people that words mattered, and that there was HOPE.

Four years later it is clear that words only mean so much, but since I never thought Obama was Superman, I still love that video.

Change, hope, the power of working together to create a better world… that we all know isn’t especially likely to actually happen. This is heady stuff!

But I am not really talking about politics. I am talking about NFP and fertility awareness.

I originally planned to post about why I hate NFP a year ago. I planned to post it in the context of posts about NFP Awareness Week, NFP as a Liberator of Women, and whatever it was Josh felt like saying about why he charts.

But I left the post in the draft folder for a year, not because I thought it was too negative, but because I decided it was too Catholic. After all, as some people have pointed out, there is a pretty obvious solution to half of the reasons that NFP is challenging. I know this. In real life I have given away several copies of Taking Charge of Your Fertility but never actually recommended NFP to a non-Catholic.

Practicing NFP without a profoundly Catholic view of sexuality borders incomprehensible. I am always astounded at the strength of women who are able somehow to practice NFP despite not having Catholic husbands.

And yet, deep down, as much as I rationally know that this is crazy Catholic stuff, I still believe that it is something more. I secretly believe that NFP is best for everyone. Even though I prefer to spread fertility awareness and let others come to their own conclusions about how to live it out, I can’t help thinking that it will be best if they can find their way toward a cohesive sexuality which is never forced to separate sexual pleasure from fertility.

I know that it is absurd to those worn down by a life that is far from ideal, or even to those who are simply content with a greater dissonance between biology and spirituality. But, NFP seems to me to be an essential practice for living well as a complete person.

As the president would say, “We have been told that we cannot do this by a chorus of cynics.” I know, I know, I know. I know that NFP is unachievable for most people and almost as often undesired. I know that this doesn’t work in the context of the world as it exists for most people. Yet I dream of what could be. I hope.

And so it makes me happy to listen to some of Obama’s best, most hopeful rhetoric, even on days when it feels like his administration is playing Boehner to my cries of “YES WE CAN live well without destroying our fertility!”

It is absurd, I know, but I still believe that there is hope. NFP has been good for me, and I hope that it can be good for everyone someday.

3 Things I Secretly Hate About NFP

By Rae July 20, 2012 The Feminine 48 Comments

I have not always been a fan of NFP.

First I grew up thinking that NFP did not work for avoiding pregnancy.
Then I got to experience how frustrating charting is when it enables one to see health issues at a time when one does not have the resources to pursue treatment.
Then I saw how people misunderstood the Church’s teaching on birth regulation and contraception, and how couples ended up miserable because of their misunderstanding of NFP.
Then I learned that it is often far from instinctive for a man to take serious interest in the workings of his wife’s body.

Eventually I made peace with NFP, but peace is not synonymous with perfect love. There are some things about NFP that I expect to always hate. These things will not show up for all NFP users, or even for any individual NFP user all of the time. But they are as inherent to the use of NFP as patience is to parenthood. Sure, you can be a parent without patience, and sometimes you can even be a good parent without needing patience during a particular time in your child’s life. But, overall, it would be silly to think that patience is not inherently required to parent well.

I am very thankful for NFP and the many ways in which it has benefited me personally, but I cannot be blind to its shortcomings.

That said, here are the 3 things I passionately hate about NFP:

NFP requires a good marriage. Now you might think that I should love this requirement of NFP. After all, who doesn’t like a good marriage? Besides, so many people will tell you that NFP creates incredible marriages. Yet while I do believe that good marriages are fabulous, and the patient practice of NFP can indeed make a good marriage great, I still hate the fact that in order to work well, NFP requires that one begin with an already good marriage.

People with not-so-great marriages probably need NFP more than anyone else. But NFP is unlikely to work well for them.

NFP, especially in the early phase of its use, can add significant stress to a relationship. And that isn’t the worst of it. NFP not only requires good communication and profound love, it also requires sexual abstinence at times when a couple may really, really want–or in some sense even need–to have sex.

Couples with not-so-good marriages often rely on good sex to make up for other areas of weakness in their relationship. Even if they can’t talk through their problems, at least they can reassure themselves of their love with a good time in bed. Happy hormones go a long way to compensate for a love which is too immature to deal directly with the troubles which every marriage inevitably faces.

NFP, on the other hand, not only requires decent communication and a strong love which goes far beyond the physical to work well, it also periodically deprives a couple of sex as a way to gloss over serious issues.

This means that for couples who do not have a good marriage, NFP will be anywhere from miserable to impossible.

And I hate that. I really hate that. It just isn’t fair, or helpful for those who want to have a good marriage but aren’t there yet.

NFP demands too much of men. This might also seem like a funny objection. After all, isn’t it the woman who actually has to pay meticulous attention to her body, and give up sex at the times she most desires it?

Sort of. But sex always places a disproportionate burden on women. In order for NFP to truly work well, it is the man who must work to be an amazing husband.

The proper use of NFP requires that men become good husbands, husbands in the fullest sense of that word. It is not enough for a man to simply be a husband (n.) by legally connecting himself to his wife, he must also be willing to husband (v.). Instead of merely being able to appreciate his wife’s sexuality, a man must understand his wife’s fertility as well. Most women will at some point become tired (often physically tired) of carefully practicing fertility awareness. For NFP to work, it is essential that at such times men are informed enough to be able to understand what is going on, and adequately solve the problem. A man who wants to enjoy a full sexual relationship, but does not really want to be a husband, will be incapable of understanding the problems which inevitably arise with NFP.

Furthermore, NFP requires that men not only become good husbands, but great lovers as well. Although there is no scientific evidence of the common canard that the female libido rises with ovulation and falls thereafter, there is significant anecdotal evidence that many women find sex more appealing at times the couple has decided to abstain, and that women are often disinterested in having sex according to a pre-set schedule. In order to compensate for this aspect of NFP, men must be able to overcome a natural adolescent sense of entitlement, and be willing to work to make sex appealing to their wives.

NFP requires a woman to value her body as good in itself, not merely as a tool for reproduction or male pleasure. Many women want to use NFP as a Church-approved or healthier way to avoid babies, but find it incredibly challenging because they do not appreciate their fertility cycle for its own sake. This is a problem because, aside from calendar methods such as cycle beads, NFP can be difficult to practice when one does not begin with the base of reverence for fertility, particularly that of a woman’s body.

Once again, this is an area where the patient practice of NFP will tend toward cultivating the quality necessary to live it well, but I have seen too many women miserable and resentful of NFP because all they wanted was something to space out babies, and instead they found themselves incredibly frustrated because NFP demanded greater self-appreciation than they possessed. While I appreciate the fact that NFP constantly beckons women toward a beautiful appreciation of our bodies, I hate the fact that women who do not already live with an awareness of the inherent awesomeness of their bodies are likely to find NFP too frustrating to benefit much from it.

All these things I hate about NFP. I suppose that much of it boils down to the fact that I hate that NFP requires self-discipline. Self-discipline is by definition difficult, and least likely to be had when needed most. Of course the practice of NFP cultivates self-discipline, but it often takes years for a person to really mature, and NFP requires self-discipline from day one. It isn’t as if charting is guaranteed to start out interesting and easy and only become a boring (or challenging) chore once one has cultivated sufficient self-discipline to accurately track one’s fertility regardless of how dreary it may be on any given day. And let’s not even talk about the abstinence part of couples using NFP to avoid pregnancy.

It is one of the nastier ironies of life that those without self-discipline are most likely to really need to avoid pregnancy, and, of course, to have the most difficulty with NFP (or any method of avoiding pregnancy, to be honest, but this post isn’t about how I hate the work required to refill prescriptions and remember to take pills).

So here I sit, thankful for the ways in which NFP has enriched my life, but sad that those who need NFP the most are the least likely to be able to practice it successfully.

Relative Incomez

By Rae April 16, 2012 Things of Which We Do Not Speak 9 Comments

I am not an especially smart person and so it is difficult for me to understand how intelligent people can completely fail to grasp concepts such as the dramatic differences in cost of living from one region to another and from one socioeconomic group to another in our own dear little country. And yes, in case it isn’t obvious, the royal “we” in this post refers to my good lil’ group of college educated, married, one spouse earning well above the poverty line income peeps. Speaking of which, I’ve never actually eaten a peep. Am I missing something?

Ehem. Anyway.

When Josh and I were filling out the demographic data sheet thingamajig for CrMS it was all I could do to keep from running out the hospital door to immediately look up data for where this system is actually used or how long it had been since they had updated their questionnaire. I was taken aback because they had household income broken down into several increments, but the highest, yes–the very top income bracket–was one that would allow a couple with two children to qualify for at least some forms of State assistance where we currently live. And this was apparently the highest income bracket they could imagine would be useful on a form handed out where we live?

And then of course there is the underlying problem of the tremendous socioeconomic gap in our country. Everyone seems to think that she is a part of the middle class and that her perception of reality is the accurate one. And so we act as if it should be easy to pay off two JDs and raise a family and save for retirement on one early-career income, because one income works for our family. And then at the same time we completely fail to see that what we think of as the basic demands of family life- dad being gone for the vast majority of his children’s days- is, in fact, an indication that we ourselves are probably choosing luxury because we want it. After all, so many people survive on so much less. Or is it so little less? Anyway, we could live with our parents, and our husbands could work part-time gigs and actually be around to see their children’s first steps. Is it not possible that the one full income we think of as basic is, in fact, as much of a luxury as someone else’s second income which is so obviously frivolous?

Instead we act as if the only question is one high income or two, and are quite convinced that those who see a SAHM as a sign of luxury are absurd.

And then there is the other side. The family with the multiple grad degrees from prestigious universities who likes to talk about how there is no need to worry about saving for our children’s undergraduate educations because they were fine paying the equivalent of multiple mortgages. And if they could pay that much, then surely everyone else can? It doesn’t matter that they have the earning power of the MBA/JD/MD/WhaverD. They seem unable to comprehend that this is not the case for most of those with the pathetic BAs.

Honestly, I’m not smart enough for all of this. My head hurts from trying to figure out what $xxx.00 converts to in y situation. There are helpful cost of living calculators for the simple geography question, but they come up far short of helpful with figuring out social expectation and debt repayments.

So for now I’m going to go back to work and give up the question of what is or isn’t a luxury for someone else. Please let me know if you can figure out if I am living in luxury or not because I certainly can’t tell.

I am not who I am today

By Rae April 9, 2012 Good to Know 4 Comments

You reap what you sow.

Except that you don’t reap when you sow.

And yet the sowing itself is reaping what was previously sown. After all, you sow only because of what you have previously done which has gotten you to this new place, to this new need to create something different, to grow something more.

We like to separate doing and being. Then we say that the latter is more important while at the same time demonstrating that it is really the former that is key.

But if being is the result of doing (and I sincerely believe that it is) then what I am today, my being, is a result of yesterday’s doing. Thus I am not who I am today, I am–in my lived experience at least–what I did yesterday.

Only tomorrow will I really be the one I am today.

And this is all terribly frightening because I am a half-decent person today because I was good years ago. But I am not doing good today, and so someday soon I will be what I am today, and then I shall be dreadful indeed.

But this is all very confusing, and so instead of asking if you could follow any of that, I will ask this far more pressing question:

Can you explain how people can be disgusted at the dissection of fetal pigs while at the same time loving bacon?

Doctors and Fat Pregnancy

By Rae March 30, 2012 The Feminine 10 Comments

I am overweight. I have small bones, little muscle, and am overweight according to every chart I have seen.

In the past year I have seen four doctors. Three of them directly addressed the subject of pregnancy. Two of them urged me to do everything reasonable to achieve pregnancy ASAP. None of them mentioned the fact that I am overweight or provided suggestions for a plan for losing weight and becoming more fit prior to seeking pregnancy.

If my only knowledge came from my doctors, I would think that weight and fitness were inconsequential in achieving a healthy pregnancy, carrying a healthy baby to term, and delivering that same healthy baby without complications. If that is what I thought, I could not be more radically incorrect. Is this reasonable?

What do you think about medical professionals who counsel overweight women regarding pregnancy without ever mentioning the numerous risks to the woman which could be reduced if the woman would lose weight prior to becoming pregnant?

What do you think about doctors actively providing fertility treatments to overweight women without first addressing their weight?

Does it make a difference to you that getting to the root of the weight issue might actually resolve the fertility issue?

What about the fact that the more first-time mothers weigh, the more likely the baby is to die?¹

Or is it insane to imagine that a woman could be overweight in the U.S. without being fully aware of the issue? Do you think that it would just cause more pain for doctors to insist on confronting the health issue of fitness and weight prior to either suggesting or facilitating pregnancy?

What is reasonable?

1. “Among nulliparous women, the odds ratio for late fetal death were increased among women with higher body-mass indexes as compared with lean women, as follows: normal women, 2.2 (95 percent confidence interval, 1.2 to 4.1); overweight women, 3.2 (95 percent confidence interval, 1.6 to 6.2); and obese women, 4.3 (95 percent confidence interval, 2.0 to 9.3).” [Source]

Worst Run of My Life

By Rae March 29, 2012 Things of Which We Do Not Speak 6 Comments

I ran my first half-marathon a week ago. It was by far the worst run of my life. It was not at all what I expected.

In the week before the half-marathon two people asked me if I was excited or anxious about it. I wondered if they had misunderstood: I said that I was running the HALF-marathon. You know, 13.1 miles instead of 26.2. And, more importantly, it is the first half, not the second half of a marathon. I was pretty sure that while all of the marathoners were running their grueling second half, we half-marathoners would be sitting around eating specially formulated high-carbohydrate bonbons.

Sure, there is the scary word “marathon” in the name of the race, but I triple-checked and all of my sources confirmed that it really is only 13.1 miles. Back in the day, I once ran 15 miles through New Hampshire mountains on a hot summer day with only 16oz of water. This race, on the other hand, was scheduled for March–still winter!–with lots of nice people handing out bananas and beer along the comparably flat way.

It wasn’t that my long-lost victory made me over-confident. Oh no, I had a secret. I was not going to run a race. I was going to go for a 13.1 mile fun training run with the police keeping cars out of my way!

My resolution was further sealed when it became clear that DC has no idea how to do properly cool spring temperatures. I get a headache from running one mile in 70 degree weather, so there was no doubt that this would be a slow run, even if a bit less “fun” than previously planned.

So I filled up a huge hydration vest, took the nicest cheep skort I could find for a test-run, and packed my camera. This run was going to be a joke in terms of running, so I might as well get lots of pictures for a blog post! Josh got the picture-party started while we were waiting at the metro station…

And then informed me that the only bad thing about our nice little camera is that the battery indicator goes from full directly to empty. I had checked the night before to see if it needed charging, but apparently the full battery symbol meant nothing.

I decided that if I couldn’t use the camera I might as well leave everything behind. I wouldn’t take the hydration vest or any of the cellphone, candy etc. that I had planned on. Because what was the point of carrying all of my crazy stuff without the camera?!!

The race started off well. After not shedding any tears over not taking pictures of the awesome signs, costumes, and cute pregnant runner in front of me, I started off at the perfect pace. I identified two skinny-but-not-too-athletic-while-still-athletically-clad young women (clearly they’d read all the right running magazines) and pretended that they were my friends. I was quite motivated to keep up, because who wants to be left behind by their imaginary (but visible!) friends?

Unfortunately they failed me after a few miles and it would have been a little bit awkward to wait around for them to get back in the race, so I ran on alone. With only like 8,000 other slow runners to keep me company!

But when I say slow, I mean awesome. By the half-way way point (quarter marathon?) I knew that I could beat an elite runner… provided that she was about to give birth later that day.

So yeah, maybe not ready for a marathon, but this was working. As the stupid running skirt worked on rubbing my thighs raw, I comforted myself with the fact that it wasn’t actually my body hurting me… all I’d have to do would be to dress differently in the future!

And then as I ran down the hill past mile nine I saw a man on a stretcher. He was wearing the same color shirt and shorts as Josh. He was about the same height and had the same hair color. But there was no moment of recognition, so I kept running. Just as I went past I decided to double-check. I couldn’t see his face clearly, but I could see his shoes. They were pale yellow. Josh, on the other hand, was wearing insanely bright yellow shoes. This wasn’t Josh.

As soon as I got around the corner and it was too late to turn back I wondered if they even make pale yellow shoes. What if they only looked pale because I wasn’t looking clearly, or they were covered with dust?

I’d never gotten a clear look at the guy’s face, and how many men could there be around Josh’s size with very similar clothing? And what was I expecting? That if my husband were hurt I’d have an intuitive knowledge that would draw me across a crowded racecourse without needing to really see his face?

What if it was Josh and I had just run away from him?

The problem was that I did have an instinctive knowledge that whoever this guy was, he was not okay. This wasn’t just a twisted ankle or hip strain. So maybe there was a low chance that it was Josh, but that low chance was paired with the possibility of Josh dying.

I was clearly the worst wife ever. I was listed as one of Josh’s emergency contacts, but my cell was checked in my bag with everything else. If that guy was Josh it wasn’t like he was conscious enough to need me, but I needed to know if it was him. I promised myself that if I got through this I would never, ever run a race with Josh again without keeping my phone on me.

The only thing to do now was to get to the end of the course and either find Josh or else find out where they had taken him.

And so I ran. Or, more correctly, I zigzagged. Apparently everyone else thought that the last third of the half was the perfect time to slow down! What?! And when I got to mile 12 I found that they had put the largest mountain there. Um, why on earth did people warn me about the joke hill at mile 6 but say nothing about the unending climb at 12?! Perhaps because it was such a huge mountain many people decided to randomly stop running. Right in my way!

By mile 13 I was worn out. Thankfully there was more space to run at any speed I liked, but I just looked for Josh and told myself to save my energy since I might need it to get to the hospital to be with Josh.

I couldn’t even figure out where the finish line was so I am not sure if I stopped running before or after it. But somewhere around the end I slowed to a walk and started making my way through the crowd.

And there was Josh.

He had hurt his hip when he and another runner both decided to pass a third runner at the same time, but he was fine. And it is not like I’m the sort of obsessive wife to care if her husband hurts his hip a little! Right? Right.

I grabbed a drink and calmly (tiredly) informed Josh that I had been concerned about him and was glad to find that he was well and not on a stretcher.

And then I came home and wrote a post about the most horrifically emotional run of my life. Please don’t tell Josh.

Lentil Sprouts

By Rae February 23, 2012 Food 7 Comments

Guess what is coming back into my life…

That’s right, the wonderful (cheap) goodness known as lentil sprouts.

Dried lentils + lots of fresh water + about four days = I dare you to eat this and try to be unhealthy.

Okay, okay. So they’ve never actually made me healthy. But I’ve also only eaten lots of lentil sprouts at times when I couldn’t afford things like vitamins and green leafy vegetables. And Josh is convinced that they are a secret weight-loss food. Which kind of makes sense when you read the nutrition stats and feel how full you, well feel after half a glass of them.

So here’s to Lent lentil sprouts. I dare you to try them.

Lemon Rinds and Gluten-Free Failure

By Rae February 18, 2012 Food 9 Comments

See these poor lemon rinds? They ended up in the trash. Now I know that is an incredible shame, but I just could not think of anything to do with them other than set them out to dry (and then toss them away).

The lemons had a good life. First I used one to make Josh some lemon-honey hot water for his sore throat. Then I decided to make some gluten-free lemon poppy seed muffins.

The muffins were an incredible failure. I think the thing I hate most about giving up wheat is not so much not having wheat as it is messing around with substitutes for wheat.

I know how to bake with classic gluten-filled ingredients. I know nothing about gluten-free baking, and reading a few blog posts just hasn’t cut it. Want proof? Look no further!

I tried to save the muffins by using yet more lemon to make a glaze. It didn’t work.

Josh claimed that the muffins were good. He isn’t much of a liar, so we’ll chalk this up to incredibly poor taste in baked goods. Or, more likely, such extreme deprivation that even corn syrup on a throw-rug would be a welcome diversion from yet another salad.

In any case, if you’re looking for gluten-free lemon poppy seed muffins I suggest that you try something like this. And maybe actually follow the recipe!

Anyway, most of the muffins ended up in the trash can along with the lemon rinds, and I don’t feel badly about that. But I just can’t get over wasting such perfectly good rinds. I know there must be a better way.

What would you have done with the lemon rinds?

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