Now, I’m not sure how many of you know that I’m actually on a list of medications as long as my arm.
(It’s not actually as long as my arm; it just feels as though it is. I’m on four different painkillers for my back alone, two different pills for my brain, two for my migraines, Metformin for my PCOS, and a tablet to stop me from getting acid reflux from everything else.)
Thing is, because I’m on an antidepressant and an anti-psychotic, I have to, occasionally, go to speak to a psychiatrist, to make sure I’m coping okay, and that I don’t want to slit my wrists or something.
When I went in today, I ended up talking to my psychiatrist about how diet could affect sleep and muscle pain and general well-being. It’s not something I ever expected a psychiatrist to come out and say, but he did.
He flat-out told me that maybe the best thing for my general health, as well as my mental health and my sleep patterns, would be to switch to a low-carb diet.
I was doing really, really well on the Paleo Diet before Christmas, with The Zero Excuses Weight Loss Challenge, but then Christmas came along, and it’s been hard to get back into that.
(It’s going to be even harder to get into it if I don’t get some money soon, let me tell you.)
But he suggested Atkins; starting out with, initially, 30g of carbs or less per day and then maybe 60g or less, and then 72-80g of carbs or less per day, depending on how I feel I’m doing.
He said, in studies, that when the body goes into ketosis, that it actually puts you into a sort of… a relaxed state? And it does something that helps with muscular pain.
I’ve got a whole page of notes he made while we were talking, and it was fascinating while he was talking, mostly because I knew a lot of what he was talking about, considering how much I’ve read about diets and stuff in my lifetime.
Obviously I know that, having PCOS, a low-carb diet is a really good idea for me, but it’s just doing it. It’s getting me to stop eating bread and pasta and rice and stuff again. Stopping eating the stuff that Mum’s cooking, or stopping eating the carbs that she’s cooking and just eating the meaty parts of it.
But it’s difficult.
I’ve ordered myself a copy of The Dr Atkins New Diet Revolution and The Illustrated Atkins New Diet Cookbook, and I’m not ashamed to say I bought them cheap from sellers – it cost me (or, rather, it cost my Dad, and I’ll pay him back later) just over £5 for both books – and I’ll see how I do with those.
I’ve still got my South Beach diet books (although one of them is packed away in a box right now!). They’ve got the carb contents in their recipes at the bottom, so I can use those, too.
It’s just getting my head screwed on that way.
Plenty of protein. Plenty of salad. Plenty of eggs.
Hopefully less muscle pain.
I’m still going to talk to Doctor David on Friday about Fibromyalgia, because… well. The shrink agrees that the symptoms are there.
(I wish I could remember my psychiatrist’s name! I don’t see him every time. I feel terrible.)
At the start of the year, I made a huge decision: I asked my mother to buy me a walking stick. Making longer journeys by foot has been getting progressively more painful, which is, I realise, probably pretty difficult to believe when I talk about how much I exercise in the gym.
Most of my workout is done sitting down, for the precise reason that I’m in agony if I’m on my feet for too long.
I’ve mostly been using it to walk down to the Jock Stein Centre and back home, because walking down that hill is strangely difficult. I think it’s because I’m leaning backwards a little to cope with the hill.
Today was the first day that I used my walking stick in the town centre.
I’d consider it a mild success. I didn’t get many strange looks, and only two people tripped over it or bashed into it or me while I was LEANING ON MY STICK at the bus stop.
But I got a dirty look from an OLD GUY while I was walking from the bus stop to the clinic, like, “WHY ARE YOU WALKING WITH A STICK?! I’M DECADES OLDER THAN YOU AND I’M WALKING WITHOUT ONE.” kind of a look.
I just kept on leaning on my damn stick and walked past him.
Nobody got up out of their seats on the bus back home to offer me a seat, even although there were perfectly able-bodied people sitting in the “Please get up and offer these seats to the elderly/disabled,” seats, and I had to climb up the few stairs to the back of the bus. Not that that’s that much of a problem. It’s just awkward, trying to navigate out of a seat with a bag and a stick.
At least my walking stick has roses on it, and is pretty?