I could write an epic tome about what I hate about being unemployed. I certainly have the time. I don’t have the inclination, however. Be thankful. It would be longer than Clarissa, or, the History of a Young Lady (arguably the longest English-language novel in the history of human knowledge), and shockingly frank.


Last night, I went to the cinema. I ended up going to see Before I Go To Sleep, the new Nicole Kidman/Colin Firth movie about an amnesiac who forgets the past 20-odd years of her life every night, and wakes up thinking she’s 20 again, after suffering severe head wounds. And she’s the only one who knows who did it to her… but she can’t remember who did it to her. It was pretty good. There was a heck of a twist to it that I didn’t see coming. And I still hate Nicole Kidman’s “English” accent, ever since “The Others” (one of my top 5 scary movies – also with a twist that I didn’t see coming!).

FATGIRLslim | In Which Tracy Is Wasting Away

I needed approximately four arms to do this correctly. I was trying to replace the ridiculous girl in the standee with the ridiculous girl in the flowery coat in the photo. Oh. Wait. That’s me. (P.S. I can’t wait until “Horns” comes out!)

Anyway, so: I went to the cinema, and after that, I nipped into ASDA to pick up the stuff that I needed: toothpaste, deodorant, Fage 0% etc.

A walk around the supermarket’s nothing, right?

So why, when I woke up this morning, did I feel like I’d walked a marathon? Or a 10k, at least.

I know exactly why, of course.

I’ve gone from being slightly active, with my wee walks around the block every other day, or at least walking over to the Co-op to get bread and milk, to doing not much more walking than up and down the stairs, or, if it’s good weather, up into the garden to hang the laundry out.

It’s not me that’s wasting away. It’s my muscles that are wasting away. All right, I no longer have to climb three flights of stairs every time I come home, so I’m not almost passing out when I get home, but I’m also rarely going out.

I’ve also been neglecting Zombies, Run!, since last December or so. I know that this (the muscle ache) isn’t about weight loss/gain, although it can obviously help a lot when I lose weight, but seriously. I walked around a supermarket. Slowly. It’s not like I raced around. I took my time about it, because I was looking at the hats and stuff for inspiration on this season’s trends. (Hey, I need to know what’s hot!)

I know that it hurts when I’ve been for a walk, but not like that. Not the way it felt this morning when I woke up. :( That was horrible in a way I can’t even explain. And my hips, when I started doing my physio exercises? All of the pain. Every single bit of it. It went to my hips.

So there’s another thing on my list of to dos: I need to get out and start walking again. The woods are just down the road. Mum and I are talking about going back swimming, which would be excellent for us both. I’m expecting to absolutely die from the agony of the first swim, but I’m also looking forward to getting more use from my polka-dot suit, and my twice-or-thrice used bikini.

What I’m not looking forward to is more mornings where I go, “Oh crap, my muscles are on fire because I went shopping and I’m usually just sitting around the house playing video games or crocheting or making cards and stuff.”

That’s not where I wanna do. That’s not where I wanna end up. I’m better than that. I’m worth more than that.

+???lbs since Jan 15 2014 Weigh In

Okay, here’s the deal:

When I moved house, the Ozeri scales must have gotten damaged, because they’re just… well. They’re not working properly any more. They refuse to weigh me at the same weight more than once. It might go back to the same weight after attempting it four or five times, but those three or four times in between, my weight fluctuates anywhere between 5-50lbs.

And that’s on a tiled floor.

My trusty old Weight Watchers scales?

They weigh me at the same weight week after week after week. On a carpeted-and-underlain-floor. On a thinly-carpeted-floor. On a bathroom-tiled floor. And on a linoleum-ed floor.

Somehow, I don’t think I’ve stayed at 384.1lbs for the past month and a half.

As much as I’d love it, I really don’t think that I’m 167lbs, either.

So what does this mean? It means that I’m not gonna be able to weigh in, through no choice of my own, until I get a new set of bathroom scales.

Sorry, guys and gals. I’ll try to update when I think of something interesting to say, haha. XD That might mean we go quite quiet again, however.

I hope not.

+13.2lbs since Jan 15 2014 Weigh In

Apologies for the late weigh-in. It was supposed to go up last night, but… didn’t? I’m not sure how that managed.

Anyway, please enjoy my babbling instead of my rambling:


+8.3lbs since Jan 15 2014 Weigh In

Apologies for the lateness of the post. I know that it’s still Monday on both sides of the Atlantic (not over on the Far East, though, and in the middle of the continent, etc. Sorry, guys! Y’all are too far in the future for me to keep up!) at least for another 22 minutes here, so I’ve got some time.

I was going to post earlier, but then my weird personal brand of OCD caught up with me, and I had to start sorting out my bling™.

See, I bought some plastic crystals for on prototypes of seasonal cards, and for on the cheaper ones, while the more expensive ones will have actual Swarovski crystals on them. Unfortunately, what I did was I bought two packs of 1,000, mixed colours.

FATGIRLslim | In Which Tracy Has Minor OCD Problems...
Bottom right: Tomorrow, I have to sort the large size. Because I’m a sucker for punishment and searing back pain.

So that’s what’s been keeping me.

At least it’s also been keeping me from eating! It’s good when you find something that keeps you from eating everything, and wanting to eat everything, in the household.

Yay for remembering that I love making stuff. How the hell I managed to gain so much weight in college is a complete and utter mystery. I spent most of my time completely distracted from food by my class projects, slaving away by working by hand, or on my computer. How did I ever manage to eat and drink myself to 400+lbs?!

God knows.

But I’m glad that the above weigh in shows that I know where I was going wrong, in that I was, indeed, apparently just eating all the wrong stuff (read: everything in the house), and stopped that for the last week, while still allowing myself one or two wee things – I got Mum and Dad to pick me up a bar of tablet from Aldi when they got the shopping, because Aldi stock the best tablet ever, omg, and a pudding that Mum bought to go with dinner at the weekend.

Hopefully that’ll be able to continue, and I’ll get back on the right track again.

Only time will tell, I suppose!

I was contacted not too long ago, to be featured on a Sports Direct post about what we most hate about keeping fit.

I love everyone else’s reasons! Laundry’s a huge vexation of mine, too, and it seems that other people also have that problem, hah!

But my problem doesn’t stem from laundry. My problem stems from being disabled.

I’ve only recently taken to calling myself disabled, although it’s something that I should’ve done a long, long time ago. “Just” being in chronic pain (for more than ten years!) should be cause enough for anyone to call themselves disabled. But being a little backwards in the whole disablism thing, I always sort of thought that, unless you used a wheelchair or were able to get a blue badge for your car or, y’know, were disabled, then you weren’t disabled.

That was until I actually became disabled and had to apply for Employment and Support Allowance, one of the Social Welfare benefits in the UK. That’ll learn ya what society (but not Government) deems disability to be.

Mental health problems. Invisible disabilities.

I’ve been disabled for ten years and extremely unaware of it!

So how does this relate to the above mentioned Sports Direct post? Well, the thing I hate most about keeping fit is just this: I’m disabled. Keeping fit depends on one thing, and one thing alone.

What am I capable of doing today?

In Which Tracy Talks About Keeping Fit

FATGIRLslim | Walk ALL The Distances
Last year’s approach to keeping fit.

There have been times when I’ve had to cancel my gym membership due to the fact that my physical condition has just drastically decreased, for no reason whatsoever. One day I’ve been fine, and the next day it’s been a case of, “Oh. Oh, crap, I don’t think I can walk right now without being in completely, number 10 agonising pain even while fully medicated.”

There have been the times, of course, when I’ve felt wonderful and I’ve managed to sustain months – I think I even managed two years? – of exercise without incident, and then suddenly, again, my body’s turned around and told me that I’m doing too much and to slow down.

The most important thing to do, if you’re keeping fit when you’re disabled, is to listen to your body. If you’re exercising when it’s hurting, then you’re going to keep on hurting, and might end up even worse. I know that for a fact. I’ve been there and done that. That’s what not losing weight also does to you, or regaining a crapload of weight does to you. It hurts your body.

If your body is saying, “No, please, let me rest,” then don’t keep hurting it. It needs the rest. It knows best! It’s evolved for this. If you were a hunter and you were out on a hunt and your back/leg/knee/muscle suddenly gave out, you’d be so much chow for the big beasty you’d been chasing, instead of the other way around.

I know that probably a lot of people think that continuing to exercise is the best thing for you, but I’ve had far too many experts (doctors, specialists, nurses) tell me otherwise. I have it drilled into my head. It’s on the back of my eyelids.

If you’re sore, and you want to work out, there’s still stuff you can do at home, if you absolutely have to. Depending on what your disability is, find a way to work with it. Take a walk during the advert break of the TV shows you’ve been forced to watch while you recover. Do some arm curls with a couple of 1 litre bottles of water. (They weigh approx 32oz/1lb each!) Do step-ups in your hallway, if you can’t get outside. If you’re able.

Make use of your surroundings. Make use of your body, as much as is safe for you to do so. Just don’t overdo it!

The point is:

I know it sucks.

I want to be back to four Spin classes a week, plus my two Zumba classes, my Aqua fit, working out after Zumba and Spin, and walking to and from the gym, but it’s not feasible right now, because my disability is too bad.

I’m working to fix it so that I can get back to that level (hah!) of “fitness”, with the help of a physiotherapist.

But right now, I just have to kind of deal with the fact that I can’t work out, or keep fit, as much as I’d like to.

FATGIRLslim | Weigh-In Time! Weight Watchers Scales
+13lbs since Jan 15 2014

Sorry, guys. First week back on weekly weigh ins, and I couldn’t provide anything better than staying alive the same.

I’m more hopeful about next week, however. I’ve got my new Amazing Overnight Oats to get me started right in the morning, although I’m going to kick myself if I decide to do Paleo or keto any time soon, haha!

(Which I may.)

I got an appointment for physiotherapy today.

And I don’t mean that in a sense of, “I got an appointment today for a few week’s time.”

I mean it in a sense of, “I got a phone call today at five minutes past one, for an appointment with a physiotherapist at two.”

Which is weird, because usually, when it comes to me, and appointments, and the NHS, I either get completely forgotten about, or it just takes months. That’s only two weeks! TWO WEEKS, YOU GUYS.

And my physio doctor (are they actually doctors? Nurses? I don’t rightly know. He’s just gonna be my physio doctor – although Dad’s just said, “No, they’re physios. Don’t call them doctors, don’t call them nurses. They’re PHYSIOS. If anything, they’re SPECIALISTS.”) is an absolute nutcase. He’s brilliant. He’s a big chrome-domed black man (and dear GOD if that’s not PC or whatever, please let me know because what other term can I use? Please also let me know. He’s not an African-American, because he’s not African. He’s from London.) called Andrew. And he’s slightly insane.

That suits me perfectly. It means I don’t need to worry about coming off as a total weirdo, because when I made a reference to The Rocky Horror Picture Show, he knew what I meant – and then went ahead and told me how he’d actually met Richard O’Brien at a RHPS drive-in in London some years ago. Colour me extremely jealous right now, please.

What it boiled down to today was while I exhibit two or three symptoms of aforementioned cauda equina syndrome (depending on whether you count the chronic and sometimes debilitating pain as a symptom of cauda equina symptom), he thinks it looks more likely that what I’m suffering from is a degenerative postural spinal something or other.

Basically, my core muscles are bollocksed, my back muscles are sick of taking the strain, and it’s entirely possible that my spine is or isn’t crumbling, because nobody’s ever actually referred me for a goddamn scan.

(The last time I was sent for an x-ray to see why I was in constant, agonising pain, I was turned away because the lady who was doing the x-rays that day said that I was “a lady of a certain age”, and they didn’t give back x-rays to “ladies of a certain age”, which almost certainly means childbearing age, which means fuck y’all if you’re between 14 and 50 and you have something wrong with your spine, apparently.)

I had some physio tests done and for the moment, I’ve got some exercises to do at home and an appointment to come back in next week, with hopes that my spine will be properly re-aligned by this time next month.

Let’s just say that I’m crossing my fingers and toes, but chickens, baskets, etc. I’ve been this size for a good long time, now, and I know it’ll take a long time to undo two decades of damage.

I don’t know about you, but usually, when I say I’m making some cereal, that means I’m getting a bowl out of the cupboard, emptying some of whatever cereal I’ve got lying around into said bowl, adding milk and a spoon, and eating it without much interest or thought whatsoever while I’m doing something else.

Mum’s been buying this lovely fruit muesli stuff from Aldi, of late, that’s got oats and fruit in it, and no extra added sugar, and it’s delicious, but I’m not too keen on whatever oats they’ve used – too husk-y for my liking.

So this week, I almost literally made cereal.

As in, I bought a whole heap of separate ingredients, and mixed them all together into a bunch of wonderfulness.

FATGIRLslim | In Which Tracy Makes Breakfast Cereal

This included:

  • 2kg of oats
  • 500g of pinhead oat meal
  • 250g of “Omega Sprinkle” – a mix of hulled pumpkin, sunflower and sesame seeds, with linseed and golden linseed
  • 500g of banana chips fried in coconut oil
  • (I think) 120g of flaked almonds
  • 500g of “Fruit Surprise” – which included dates and pineapple and papaya and raisins, although some have been “sugar infused”
  • 500g of currants

It was SO MUCH STUFF that even Mum’s giant mixing bowl wasn’t enough to contain it all, so I actually had to resort to using her cake holder lid, inverted. Hey, it worked!

FATGIRLslim | In Which Tracy Makes Breakfast Cereal

Then it was a case of mixing it all in – the best bit, because I got to stick my hands in and scoop big mounds of it up and over itself. I felt like I was on a weird cookery show at that point. Except that I’m pretty sure Masterchef would never stoop so low as to have their contestants making stuff in upturned cake holder lids.

But seriously. Once I’d gotten it all mixed in, it actually really looked like breakfast cereal. Like the breakfast cereal Mum had been eating? Kind of. The Aldi stuff has specific flavours (duh) like “Berries and Cherries” and “Tropical”. Mine’s just more of an, “These are the dried fruits I like, and also what was included in the Holland & Barrett penny sale” kind of a thing.

I really wanted to include the dried chopped pineapple because ZOMG DRIED CHOPPED/CHIPPED PINEAPPLE, but it was £5 a bag. So no pineapple. Same goes for papaya. The only papaya that’s included was what’s in the fruit surprise bag.

Damn. I do love me some papaya.

But it worked out quite nicely. I bought some breakfast cereal keeper tubs in ASDA, because where the hell am I going to keep 5/6kg of homemade cereal otherwise? Even that wasn’t apparently enough. There was a little bit leftover that I had to put into one of Mum’s pasta/rice jars.

FATGIRLslim | In Which Tracy Makes Breakfast Cereal

I’ve been really enjoying it. I’ve been filling up half a mug at night, then covering it with milk. Come morning, all I need to do is add a wee bit more milk just to hydrate it further. :) Because there’s more fruit than you’d get in a supermarket cereal (perhaps for a good reason, haha!) you don’t need any extra sugar.

Total cost was also fine, coming it at around £20. I can go through breakfast cereal like nobody’s business, too, eating 100g a morning, but this stuff is filling as hell.

Hopefully it’ll help me, with that whole breaking-fast thing, and give me a good start to the day.

FATGIRLslim | Weigh-In Time! Weight Watchers Scales
+13lbs since Jan 15 2014

Not that I expect anyone to actually notice these kinds of things, because it’s the kind of thing I do for me, and me alone, but if you check out the weigh-in above: the actual picture of the scale changes from time-to-time. It actually reflects which scale I’m using at the time. (I haven’t done this right from the start of the blog, but it’s been happening since at LEAST 2011, I think.)

It’s changed from the start of the month, because of two things:

  • I’m going back to weekly weigh-ins.

Given the fact that I’m not doing at all well with this whole monthly weigh-in thing, I’ve decided to go back to weekly weigh-ins, so that I can keep a closer eye on my weight.  It means I won’t go a month without damage I’ve done.  I’m hoping it’ll also mean I keep myself more accountable, and won’t just, y’know.  Continue on like I have been this past wee while.

  • I can’t use the Ozeri on a carpeted floor. :(


I mentioned it in the review I did of the Ozeri bathroom scales: they don’t do so well on carpeted floors, and the carpet in my bedroom isn’t that thick, but it does come with underlay, which means that the Ozeri weighs me in at… ooh. About 192lbs. Which I’d take on any other day of the month, but let’s get real, haha!

I sort of realised, after a week and a half, that my reaction to an almost 9lb weight gain shouldn’t be, “that’s not too bad”, but, “OH CRAP.”

Maybe if I’m more horrified by my weight gains over 2lb, instead of nonchalant about them, I’ll be more inclined to actually stop eating crap every other day.

I know that we don’t eat that much rubbish, but it must be more than we think it is.

It must also be time to start tracking my food again, since I don’t “think” I’m eating as much as I am, eh?

C’mon, Trace. You know how to do this!

In Which Tracy Talks About Head Cysts, Infections, BEING IN A FUCKTON OF PAIN And Medication

Three years or so ago, I noticed this annoying little lump on the back of my head. I forgot about it for about six months when my brush touched something that struck a lightning-bolt of pain down my neck, and I reached up and touched a little lump of squishy excruciating pain.

I didn’t know what it was, but I took a guess at a pimple. A plook. A zit.

I was gentle around that area for about a week, and eventually forgot about it again.

Whenever it was that I shaved my head this time, it came back to my notice, because I accidentally cut it with what I assume was a wee sharp plastic bit of the clippers. I went to Dr. David, and I told him that it had been there for “about three years or something”. He said it wasn’t a spot; it was a pilar (scalp) cyst, probably caused by the years of hair-dyeing. It didn’t have a head and it wasn’t inflamed or anything, despite the tiny cut. (Luckily, I was in seeing him for something else, and that wasn’t all I was seeing him about!)

The other week – a week or two ago? – I was getting really annoyed with it. I’d had it for three goddamned years already, and I’d been through how many courses of antibiotics? Surely it should have gone away? Now, being A) an artist and B) an idiot, I have scalpels to hand in my bedroom, and fresh blades. (Non-sterile but surgical. Clean. FRESH, JUST-OUT-OF-THE-PACK.)

I did what any idiot suffering from a manic attack would do! I found the wee bump, pressed it in so I could feel where the reservoir of crap was, and slid my scalpel in. Admittedly, it took me a few attempts to get the point of my scalpel into it properly, but then again, trained nurses sometimes take a couple of attempts to get a needle into a vein, so. I’m not gonna complain.

I HEARD IT when it happened.

I also felt it, because it kind of immediately started flowing down the back of my head. It was disgusting.

I ended up having to mop it up with tissues and then had to wait until it had scabbed over so that I could go shower.

A few days after, I popped it, and some white gunk came out.

Then I couldn’t stop picking at the scab because it was itchy as hell.

I couldn’t stop.

So I ended up with an infected wound on my head… that then expanded into an abscess beside it, too, because apparently the agony of the infected hair follicle wasn’t bad enough.

We’d decided, yesterday, to take me to the A&E if my head was no better today. So yesterday afternoon, what does my body decide to do to add to this nightmare?

It decides that yesterday is the perfect time to have one of my Back Attacks.

On a scale of 1-11 on Hyperbole And A Half’s New Pain Scale, I was a straight 9, not including my head.

I’m talking constant pain in my left hip. The complete inability to straighten my leg without my hip screaming in agony. A shooting wave of pain that comes and goes and is a FUCKING 11 and sometimes includes MUSCLE SPASMS because THE PAIN ON ITS OWN IS NOT BAD ENOUGH.

For the first time in what I think is over a year, I actually had to take my Methocarbamol, the muscle relaxant/anti-spasmodic. Excellent for helping relax the muscles.

The pain?

Yeah, let’s talk about the pain, and how the painkillers I’m on aren’t doing anything. Or, let’s talk about how I’m on so many painkillers that the doctors won’t give me any more AND I’M STILL IN PAIN.

Do you want to know how much medication I’m on? Do you?

FATGIRLslim | In Which Cauda Equina Syndrome Is Mentioned

Nine tablets in the morning, when you include the multi-vitamin I take. 4 at lunchtime. 8 at bedtime.

And that’s not including the Methocarbamol or the Almotriptan, which are only taken when I need them. It’s also not including any ad-hoc Ibuprofen which I probably shouldn’t taken but sometimes I have a headache that I just can’t deal with and Ibuprofen is the easiest answer, or that time that I was on an anti-fungal pill for a year and a half. Or any times I’ve been on prednisone or antibiotics.


In Which Cauda Equina Syndrome Is Mentioned

So yeah, we ended up in the A&E department today, Dad and I, sitting side-by-side on The World’s Most Uncomfortable Plastic Chairs EVER™. You know the ones. The ones where they dig into your ass fat if you have the audacity to be larger than a size 12.

Just exactly what I didn’t need when I have pain running down the nerves in my hip. Guess where the outwardly-curved sides of the chair pushed into. I dare you.

It took them about an hour and a half to call us, by which time I swear they’d called everyone who’d come in before and after us. Dad and I were sitting reading stuff on our tablets (I was reading a book for a review; he was reading Game of Thrones), and there was a woman who was texting someone on her phone. With the sound turned up. You’re not even supposed to have your phone turned on, in the hospital, let alone turned on, turned up, and texting people with the keysounds on.

Since I’d sat through an hour and a half of listening to other peoples’ phones going off while I swear my family are the only people decent enough to turn ours off completely, or at least turn them to SILENT (not vibrate), I turned around and said to the room, “Whoever’s playing the game or whatever it is, could you please turn the sound off?”

It’s not like I was rude or anything. I’m sitting in the fucking A&E. I sounded exhausted, because I fucking WAS.

The lady proceeded to tell me how she wouldn’t turn the phone off/down/whatever. That she wasn’t actually playing a game. And that she was going to actually do whatever she could to annoy me more, now that she knew how easily annoyed I was.

I could have punched her.

Luckily, Dad had to go out at that point, since he was sitting beside me hissing, “TRACY SHUT UP. SHUT UP. JUST SHUT UP,” through his teeth at me, and I think he had to either phone someone or take a call or do something (I honestly don’t know, he just said he was going outside for a minute WHICH IS SUSPICIOUS BY THE WAY, DAD. IF YOU WERE SMOKING I WILL HANG YOU UP BY THE BALLS AND LET THE CATS EAT YOU.) and then the nurse called me through.

The Doctor I spoke to was suspiciously handsome. And he had a good, firm handshake. I let him see my head, first, and explained what had happened. Outcome? Antibiotics and, “I don’t know what kind of artist you are, but that was a mess of a masterpiece! But please don’t do it again. Don’t touch it, don’t squeeze it, don’t rub it. And the big red lump is an abscess.”

To be honest, I expected to have a part of my head shaved, anaesthetised and cut open, drained and stitched back up again. Considering that I’m still in pain with it right now… I think I’d have preferred that.

Then we started talking about the other thing. The pain thing.

I explained my symptoms. He asked me questions about my health, with regards urinary and poop functioning, and whether or not I’ve gone numb between the legs or if I’ve had a change in sexual function of late.

Apparently, the back pain and the fact that I have difficulty with the whole having-to-go-right-away-or-I’ll-wet-myself when I need to pee aspect of things (hello, TMI, my old friend, how are you?) along with the fact that I’m getting pins and needles down my leg are pointing to Cauda Equina Syndrome.

I can’t, and don’t have the mental capacity right now, to explain it properly, beyond, “it means damage to a bunch of spinal nerves called the Cauda Equina ["horse's tail"]“.

What does that mean?

It means, if it’s true, that I’m probably pretty much destined for major and life-threatening back surgery in the future.

When the Doctor said that, I almost had a breakdown, for two reasons.


Oh Jesus Christ Almighty, BACK SURGERY. How the FUCK do I recover from BACK SURGERY?! I’m fat and huge and I live upstairs and there are 26 stairs to get to my bedroom and OH JESUS CHRIST.

But also:


Today, however, the most he could do was apologise, because he couldn’t even give me painkillers, because of the amount of medication that I’m already on. He did offer to admit me to hospital for the afternoon to hook me up to a Morphine drip, but admitted that, considering I’m already on Morphine, it probably wouldn’t make much of a difference.

In Which There’s A Bit Of A Light At The End Of The Tunnel

He asked me if I went to the gym (not right now; I had to give it up due to money issues, but I’m planning to rejoin soon); how I’m trying to lose weight (cutting way down on portion sizes, with my Mum to help, but I have an eating disorder that means portion sizes don’t particularly mean anything when you eat 8 meals a day); and if I’m attending Physiotherapy.

No, I said. I did call for a referral to physio, about two years ago, but when they listened to my symptoms, they said “it wasn’t bad enough to actually get an appointment for physio. What’s your email address? We’ll send you a link to a website where you can get some exercises you can do at home that will help you.”

(Not a word of a lie. That’s pretty much what they said. Not an exact quote, but that’s what they said.)

The Doctor picked up that slip of paper with my medications written on it, and thrust it into the air.


I was so busy crying that I could hardly reply, “Right? I know.”

So he’s getting me a referral for physio.

Which, as we discussed, isn’t going to do a huge deal to help me. It might help a little, but it obviously won’t solve all of my problems.

He also told me that I’m not just allowed to sit around and do nothing about all of this. I have to fight for the treatment I need. He said I should have an MRI and a CAT scan, as a minimum, but the hospital won’t hand the permission out for these unless they know for sure that you already have CES, because they don’t want to have wasted the money otherwise.

(Sidenote: this is one reason why Scottish Independence is so important. Funding to the NHS is being cut so harshly that things like this are happening. I was turned down for bariatric surgery because I didn’t have diabetes or high blood pressure, despite the fact that I weigh 28 stones. With Independence, the Scottish NHS could allocate its full funds as it sees fit, not just how it can afford. #voteyes #indyref #yesscotland etc *GRUMP*)

And shock, horror.

What it all boils down to is the 380lb elephant in the room.

Losing weight won’t guarantee me a pain-free life. The pain might not, and probably won’t, magically disappear if I lose all the weight tomorrow. Especially not if it’s a spinal thing, or a neurological thing. If it’s a skeletal thing, the bones need to mend.

Basically, what it all boils down to, is that I’ve eaten myself to the point that my body is collapsing. I’ve tried to convince myself for years that I’m not disabled.

I think this is my body’s way of trying to convince me otherwise, so that maybe I’ll finally start taking care of it.

+8lbs since Jan 15 2014

Do you know what I’m not doing right now, despite the above weigh-in?

I’m not panicking. I’m not freaking out.

Yes, I gained just over half a stone.

I gained over half a stone in two months, in which I didn’t weigh myself regularly, check out calories, or, in much of the case of June, eat properly.

I’ve had worse weigh-ins over the span of a three-week holiday (or close to it).

Admittedly, it means that I’m landing pretty damn close to that 380lbs mark that I really don’t want to be close to – it’s one of the benchmarks of, “OH SHIT I’M REALLY LOSING IT,” that I’ve made to gauge how badly my weight gain is (the other being 400lbs, which is, “OH FUCKING HELL I’M DYING AND I’M DEAD WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED THAT I’M BACK HERE WHAT DID I DO DID I EAT AN ELEPHANT AND THEN IMMEDIATELY STEP ON THE SCALES?!”) while I’m aiming for the 350lbs mark. When I get to 350lbs, I aim for 300lbs and try not to go above 350lbs, or it starts all over again, etc.

But right now, I’m not particularly worried, because, as I said, I’ve had worse weigh-ins after a holiday. Once everything’s completely settled down – I still have a crapload of stuff to actually get sorted out re: house, stuff, money, STUFF STUFF STUFF – I’ll hopefully not only be able to get back to the gym for Actual Exercise, as well as going for my wee walks down to the woods when it’s good weather, but I should be able to look into going Keto for a while before transferring to a modified Paleo diet, because I really can’t mentally do full Paleo. I’m not sure how I’ll modify it. I’ll need to do some research and see how other people have modified it.

For instance, I know that Paleo Parents have posted photos on their Instagram feed showing “non-Paleo” foods on their dinner table! *GASP*

The idea had honestly never occurred to me when I first heard of Paleo, to be honest. I thought it was the Paleoway or the highway.

So that’s what I’ll be aiming for, once I’m settled enough to think about it. Hopefully before the end of August. :) I’d love to see a weight loss for next month, but I won’t freak out if I don’t.