Fat Chance

I was a scrawny kid. You know, one of those that could eat their weight in chocolate and cheeseburgers and not gain any poundage.

Not anymore. My super metabolism decided to hang up its cape, I guess. They tell me it’s all part of this middle-aged thing…eat just like you always did, and gain weight anyway. That’s where I find myself these days.

Even more disturbing is what has happened to my cholesterol! Would you believe my triglycerides have almost tripled in two years? I’m in a state of shock. It’s time for an overhaul.

Diet and exercise. That’s what the doctor ordered, as she should. Unfortunately, those two words hold about as much thrill to me as the words “root canal” or “pap smear.” In my sugar-craving mind, diet and exercise = self-imposed torture. I would love to completely ignore the good doc’s prescription, but will I?

Fat chance. I have two little boys and a hubby who are counting on me being around for awhile, so I need to take care of my health. I respect my doctor. She’s looking out for me.

I’m looking for some good recipes that are low fat, low cholesterol. Anybody have anything that tastes better than cardboard? I’m thinking I need to learn how to use whole foods and cut back on prepackaged (read: easy) foods. The dietary stuff is the hardest part for me.

As for exercise, I have dusted off my “Dancing with the Stars Cardio Dance” DVD. I have been spending my weekday mornings doing the cha-cha, samba, and jive. Not well mind you, but I am working up a sweat.

So in a nutshell, I’m in over my head. I need to completely unlearn everything I’ve been doing for the last 30 some years. Want to jump in and unlearn with me? How about joining me for a cha-cha workout? I assure you, you can’t butcher that dance any worse than I already have. Think I’ll be dancing in public anytime soon?

Fat chance.

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Go Suck Hose Water!

Does anyone else find it absurd that the only people who can get health insurance are the ones who don’t really need it? That’s right—those of us with pre-existing conditions, or chronic diseases, or hideous multiplying warts, or a need to sit on a therapist’s couch, or any other of a host of medical scenarios—we are the folks that insurance companies don’t want to touch with a ten foot pole! (And no, those conditions do NOT all apply to me. If I had warts, I probably wouldn’t cop to having them—at least not in print.)

Let me see if I can put my recent experiences in a nutshell.

-         Workplace closes. Lose job. Move back two spaces.

-         Pay into COBRA for umpteen months with government subsidy signed by the president. (Affordable, thankfully!)

-         Pay into COBRA after government subsidy expires. (Not affordable, but I can squeeze by for a few months.)

-         COBRA expires. Offered HIPAA insurance. (Nowhere near affordable.)

-         Looked for options beyond HIPAA and was offered major risk pool insurance. (Costs more than the HIPAA!)

-         Spent half an hour banging my head against the wall.

Meanwhile, the folks at the insurance company, which shall remain nameless, are practicing their evil villain laughs… MWAAAAAHAAAHAAAAHAAA!

Long story short, (too late), now I wait to see if the government will help me out. As a conservative, this is kind of a mixed bag for me. I believe the government needs to spend less, yet the only possible way I will be able to be insured is if they give me a hand. Ah, sweet irony.

So, to sum up, I am willing to pay reasonable premiums, but no one will insure me unless I pay them in body parts. The health insurance industry has basically told me to go suck hose water.

Lousy aftertaste, hose water.

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