A Wholly Inappropriate Celebration

Annnnd here we are, finally, on our one-year Disappearaversary.
Woo...
Freakin'...
Hoo...

Blood was a dodgily high 6.5 this morning, thanks to late night fruit salad and crackers last night (I'm guessing), and overall a lack of exercise in the last three days.
Today started with cereal, middled with thick buttered toast, and finished, any-actually-existing-gods-help-me, with a full Indian takeaway.

Can't help but feel this is probably not the spirit in which to successfully mark the start of a slow but generally successful weightloss campaign.

"Think of it as a birthday party," suggested d. And there's a certain pseudo-scientific merit in what she says. Woohoo, a year of Disappearing, let's celebrate by not Disappearing in any way shape or form. It's also a birthday party inasmuch as Ma turns another year older tomorrow, so the meal was pretty much a celebration of her ongoing grooviness.

In other news today, got myself a logo designed for a little side business I'm putting together - about which, more...probably much, much more...in due course. Oh and then of course there was the hospital.

I'm thinking of applying for a resident's parking permit at our local hospital (and let's not forget, I've only been living at the folks' place for, in real terms, one night). Today, it was Dad's turn to get rushed up there, when Ma, unhappy at his pain levels and generally porridge-with-a-snot-swirl-mixed-in colour, called his consultant. The consultant called her back in a little while to say "Get him up here..."
We got him up there.
Classic Anaemia, apparently. I thought it was kinda cool, like getting the 1957 Corvette of Anaemias or somesuch thing. Tomorrow morning, we're going up to get at least a couple of pints of blood pumped into him, though hopefully more like three. And then there's more on Monday or Tuesday of next week (along with Ma's next adventure in the land of the optically challenged). Then Wednesday, he's having another infusion of immunoglobulin - y'know, just in case he was getting bored - and then the plan is - chemo, and be quick about it, my man...Still 6ft 4 and about 140 pounds, my dad...If I wasn't just a little afraid of gallows humour coming back to bite me in the ass, I'd reflect that when it comes to being the Disappearing Man, he's soooo kicking my ass. In fact, fair play to him, he remarked almost as much to me on Tuesday, when I mentioned I'd seen my first 14 stone result. "Aye...another four stone and you'll be catching up," he said, grinning, and breathing shallow.

Seems weird that a year ago today I kicked myself in the ass, which was 77 pounds bigger than it is today, and today, I've kicked precisely nothing in the ass, but indulged in something amounting to an orgiastic noshfest.
Tomorrow, there will be biking come twilight, dammit. And Saturday, we make our out-of-practice bodies back to the gym, and the pool, and the bitching and the moaning...and in all likelihood, come Tuesday, I'll have put on again, and be back across he 15 stone border. But y'know what? I figure there are two ways of looking at this - I can predict, and worry, and toss and turn and basically go nuts. Or I can trust to my metabolism a little bit, do whatever the Hell I can do, in between the slings and arrows of a Real Chunk of Life, deal with whatever comes on Tuesday and move the fuck on.

That, it seems to me, is the spirit of a far more mature Disappearing Man than I've been at various points on this journey so far. 14 stone is going to happen. 13 stone is going to happen. So is 12. And so, eventually, is 11. If Real Life is kicking us in the ass quite a bit this week, then so be it, then each of those milestones will be a week or two late. Big freakin' deal. I'll get 'em. I will get them. Right now, I have to get time with the folks, so excuse me groovers, while I bugger off to enjoy 'em.

Ciao!