So I finally broke down and sought out medical care today when I took my resting heartbeat once again, and it was 100. Same old, same old. I figured that can’t be healthy. I haven’t been able to do my treadmill routine ever since I was vaccinated twelve days ago, and nothing has improved.
I went to the immediate care center, and they were very nice and helpful. They told me that a resting pulse of 100 isn’t abnormal or too concerning unless it gets jacked up to 120 and stays there, at which point I should go to the ER (since I don’t have a primary care doc). They said that an exercise pulse of 155 on the treadmill isn’t worrisome if I’m not lightheaded. (Sadly, though, when my heartbeat goes that high on the treadmill, I do get lightheaded.) They said I can resume using the treadmill if I can go slower, and I can stop for a full minute if I feel iffy.
They did an EKG and said my heartbeat’s fine. That was a relief! I had no clue how that would turn out. I’ve been worried, because nothing has improved since after I got the vaccine. Nothing. And the side effects were supposed to last a day or two. (Or, at least, that’s what they chose to tell the public…?)
Oh. And I’m fat. (They didn’t say that, but my weight’s on the paperwork. Ugh. Their scales were conspiring against me! Bad scales.)
Gee, Meg, like you didn’t know you’re overweight?
Seriously, I was fat three years ago, but I weighed twenty pounds less then than I do now. Now, I can only aspire to be as fat as I was then… if that makes sense.
They said, “Your heartbeat’s 98 now. That’s good. You should seek out a primary care physician, who might want to put a monitor on you for a few days.” They’re going to send me a referral to a gen doc, which is nice. I told them how my last gen doc fired me because I didn’t get sick for three years, and they were sympathetic to my plight. (Stupid doctors! Ugh. Of all the idiotic, bureaucratic reasons to fire a patient!)
So, armed with this knowledge, I want to return to the treadmill. I’m going to do things a little bit differently. I’m forming a plan of attack:
- Better hydration: I’ll make sure to have a beverage at all times. Sadly, the water fountain at the gym is turned off due to the coronavirus. However, you can still get refill water from the higher spigot, so all I need is a basic drinking container.
- A thinner mask: I’ve been wearing the extreme KN95 masks, but hello, I’ve been vaccinated. I’m going to switch to a mesh mask, and woe betide he who says anything to me about it. Hey, I’ve done my duty with the masks thus far, but with the vaccine, I’ve earned some leeway, yes? This alone might make it doable for me to have a fabulous treadmill comeback. I mean, MASKS! It’s hard to breathe in them.
- Lowered expectations: until I manage to rediscover my fitness joie de vivre. Hopefully that’ll happen soon.
I guess going to the immediate care center has put my mind at ease about a lot of things. But it seems so senseless. Almost two weeks have passed, and I’m not feeling 100% anymore. Like, why? No clue. I want to go back in time and skip the vaccination. Is that wrong of me? Of course not. Geez, Meg.
Message to all of my internet loved ones: my period’s scheduled to start tomorrow or thereabouts. I’m concerned it might be a helluva doozy because:
- People are reporting menstrual issues after the vaccine.
- The vaccine has slugged me in other ways, so I have trepidations.
- Every time I make a change in meds (and this could include receiving a vaccine), my next period is hellaciously hormonal.
Hellaciously hormonal! Patent that, Meg.
So you all will have to bear with me. I’m trying to think positive thoughts similar to those thoughts that are thought while you’re hiding in the basement from an impending tornado. [Groan.] I always take extra Prozac for the week leading up, and I started it a day early this month, just in case. Trying to cover the bases here.
So I’ve got to thank my dad again for taking me to immediate care. Yesterday he rescued me when my car broke down, and today he took me to the immediate care center. (It’s right up the street, but still.) And how, pray tell, have I thanked him so far? I broke into his room and ate all the cookies. Yeah.
He was aghast. “You ate all of them?”
I shrugged. “It’s been a hard day.” [Groan.] (In my defense, they were small cookies of about two inches in diameter, soft chocolate chip. Bite-sized, really. I mean, what did he expect? His halfhearted attempts to hide them were pitiful, and… yum!)
I found a local weight loss clinic, but I was perturbed by the opening of their video (scroll down for the video) in which the doctor makes a pejorative comment likening psych meds to ice cream. (It could just be me, but I find that ice cream tastes better that Prozac. Oh, good one, Meg. I see what you did there.) It’s disheartening, considering that their Google reviews are beyond stellar. I emailed them to ask about that comment, and I’ll report back. Hopefully they’ll have a valid explanation or… some other miracle. If not, I can go elsewhere.
I want some professional help with weight loss. I think I can do okay with exercise if I can get back to the treadmill soon. But what I can’t handle on my own is eating healthier. I need professional intervention and around-the-clock support. I can’t use Noom because it’s cellphone-only, but I’ve heard that it’s helped my mom’s boyfriend. If I could find something similar, or something local, I think that would be good. I could probably put up $50 to $150 a month, tops. I mean, it would be worth it, I’d hope. And I still have my $10 monthly gym membership. That’s crucial and very much worth the cost.
This just in: I was about to publish this, and the power went out. I can’t remember if I had any unsaved content. Oh well. At least it’s not our house, but rather an issue within the neighborhood. There’s rarely a dull moment around here! One minute I was blogging, the next I was cast into pitch-black darkness. Life is wild!