I had this wonderful entry written and ran into the bathroom to grab some strips for my meter and my husband sat down and promptly *accidentally* deleted my entry.

Butthead.

The orthopedist said my knee has a strained ligament, bone rubbing a little bit on bone, and arthritis. He removed fluid from my knee, injected steroids to reduce the swelling, and said that he would see me in two weeks. With the steroids, I am on insulin AGAIN. He informed me that I would have to take insulin AFTER he injected me. In two weeks, if my knee is still clicking and swollen, he will do an arthroscopy to clean it up and see what's up.

He said that some day, I'll have to have a knee replacement. He said I would also be a candidate for a cartilage transplant because I had the cartilage removed from one half of my knee when I was 15 -- back in the days before arthroscopic surgery was the norm, rather than a special trip out-of-state to a fancy hospital.

He thought that the gastric bypass surgery is an good option, in light of my other health issues. I asked him to put that in his notes and be sure that he faxed that to my regular doctor with whom I will be discussing the gastric bypass on Tuesday.

My mother informed me that she and my father do not approve of me getting gastic bypass surgery and said that because it didn't work for Oprah, that it probably would not work for me. Hey, way to be positive, Mom! I told her that I have several friends who've had it done for whom it worked out fine. She made a nasty snarly comment about how I must know "everything" and went on to say that because I'd eaten chips when I was at her house at Christmastime that I eat badly all the time, basically inferring that I eat like that all the time. I informed her that indeed, I do not eat like that all the time and that, in fact, I eat few chips and that it *was* Christmastime and that I had lost 15lbs while I was on vacation. Her reply was "good." Not, "Oh, I'm sorry." or "Really?" or even "Congratulations!"

I would not be able to have low cholesterol, low blood pressure, and nearly normal sugars if I ate badly. It just doesn't happen. I explained that to her. I said that we eat little red meat and mostly eat chicken, turkey, and vegetarian dishes. I said I eat non-fat versions of most things and an enormous amount of vegetables and whole grains. My idea of something fancy is a red meat roast.

After the phone call, I asked Mike to come in the room, and I bawled. I'm so sick of this shit with my mother. I was a raging bulimic in high school. We now know why, yeah?

I am deeply frustrated with my body and how little I seem to be able to do about it. At any rate, I won't be discussing this with her any more. I won't be contacting her much at all because I don't think it's worth it and basically, if we do talk about anything pertinent, she tells me how fucked up she thinks I am anyhow. I really am sick to death of it and it won't happen on my dime any longer. I feel like there's a "yo mamma" joke in there somewhere.

I'm looking forward to going through my options with my doctor. I'm hoping that there's something I haven't considered that would mean I can avoid the gastric bypass. Mike said something about,"Isn't there a patch?"

I said,"There is?"

So maybe there's a patch or something that can help me win this battle of the bulge and WIN.

For now, I'm relegated to winning it one meal at a time. Tomorrow, I'm making a stirfry. I've got asparagus, snow peas, broccoli, and lots of adzuki beans and wild rice. I'm hoping to be up to getting some tofu and I'll be off to the races. That should make food for two meals, which, of course, I won't be eating because I'll be snorfing down chips, french fries, and greasy double cheeseburgers! Yeesh!

Oh, speaking of which...

I had a heart-to-heart with Mike. I begged him to please stop eating that kind of crap. He is the king of buying the greasiest nastiest cheeseburger when we go out. Yesterday, for example, he went to Carl's Jr. and got some kind of monster burger. When we went out last night, he got another monster burger. I do not say anything about what he eats and work hard not to harrass him, but I basically begged him not to make himself fat and dead. He agreed with me.

We're also going to figure out how to exercise together. I would just rather he worked out at the gym they have at his job -- it's a good gym and free to employees. He'd be hotter than heck, if he worked out -- even a little!

I have to check with the doctor's office, but I think I'm off swimming until I see the ortho again. But if I get the go-ahead, I'll be swimming next week, because that's all I can do right now.