Time Out

And accidental ketosis

Photo by Mostafa Ashraf Mostafa on Unsplash

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In this age of transparency, I try not to over share. You signed up for historical fiction and “other adventures”. This is in the “other” category. I won’t be offended if you scroll past. There’s nothing earth-shattering here. No big revelations. Just explaining why I’ve been a little scarce and may be for a bit longer while I sort some things out.

I’ve been having a lot of pain in my hands, not arthritis, but some form of inflammation or tendonitis. When I had Covid in 2022, it flared so badly I wanted to cut both arms off below my elbows. Recently, my doctor suggested I eliminate all grains. He’d had surprising results with an inflamed knuckle. Yikes, that would mean none of my daily popcorn habit and no rice with my beloved Indian food. I already ate relatively low carb and, but for that white rice, almost no simple carbs. Did I have to resort to extremes?

Several things converged to push me to a very low carb trial. On the second day, I noticed my hands barely hurt. Probably just a coincidence. That was three weeks ago. Even the De Quervain’s tendinosis in my thumbs is nearly gone.

That’s the good news. The bad news is: I accidentally fell into ketosis. I wasn’t intending to do keto. I’m looking for a low carb future that’s sustainable. I like a good steak, but I don’t crave meat, and I’m seriously not into endless piles of ... all that. Well, in navigating grain-free low carb, I did fine for about 2 weeks, then my energy crashed, my digestion stopped, my appetite disappeared—all when my other goals are to build aerobic stamina and muscle, and my day job responsibilities are reaching crushing pressure.

I think I’ve turned the corner, popped up above the horrid ketosis. I hope I get my taste buds back. More importantly, I hope to get my Energizer Bunny self back without the inflammation. Oof.

This brings me to a bigger issue:

My work-from-home day job has my derriere stuck in a chair for way too many hours per day, sometimes unable to take more than a quick break for hours on end. I have a little treadmill that I jump on for a few minutes when I can.

Now we’re told we must report to the office in November.

Among other negatives, that would add more time sitting. I have to sit to write, sit to work, now they want me to sit to commute?

I didn’t sign up for that. I was hired as a remote worker.

We’re told sitting is the new smoking. I thought that was just a theory and my daily dog walks were offsetting it. I’ve recently learned, nope, it’s literally killing me. Me. Personally. Endlessly healthy, excellent genes, never-smoking, rarely-drinking, rarely-indulging, healthy weight, moderately exercising ME.

It turns out I would be better off working in a big box store, on my feet all day, than in my desk job with great health benefits.

So, something is going to change. Soon.

In the meantime, I need to get through the next few super stressful weeks of the J.O.B. (So, we can add years of soaring cortisol to the mix?). This will also require weekend preparation—keeping my rear in the chair even longer.

It is rare for me to struggle to work on my novel. I oversaw Dad’s fifteen year journey of dementia (triggered by brain injury), and Mom’s sudden pancreatic cancer. I’ve worked long hours, many out of town, and rarely stopped research or writing for more than a few weeks. I have an aggressive timeline I desperately want to meet. But I must survive the next couple of months.

And so, if you’ll bear with me, I’ll pop in and out of your email feed as and when I can.

I told James I feel like we’ve been swimming at the bottom of a pool for fifteen years. It’s been an important season. It’s had its own beauty, full of blessings, but it’s been restrictive, and has come with its own costs. I feel like I’m swimming toward the top. I can see the waving shapes, the bright sun. If I can just reach the air.