Everyone knows that I’m a huge fan of wine o’clock, bubbly o’clock, and the rare beer thirty. But what you probably don’t know is that my fangirlness only extends so far. I like my Sbux tea, and I’ll wade through one of my husband’s massive morning mochas when he’s feeling generously creative. But H2O’clock? Electrolytes o’clock? Gatorade-Cytomax-Heed o’clock? Meh.
Herein lies the problem. If you don’t hydrate, your body will kick your ass and shut down. Some of you know I’m suffering hugely from this chemical peeling of my arms to remove actinic keratoses (crusty pre-cancerous bumps that every 70s teenager will see if she boiled in baby oil or marinated in coconut lotion). It’s been very uncomfortable and disturbing to look at. Last Friday my second arm started to swell and I started getting queasy. I made it through the work day, but once the vacationing John and the girls picked me up, I was crumbly. They had to make their own dinners while I flopped into the chair of uselessness. I made myself get up and ready for bed quite early. The plan was to go on our weekly bicycle ride together at the butt-crack of dawn.
Rough night, and the bicycle ride didn’t happen. Sweet to have been missed by two of our favorite Twitter friends, @Rodney_o and @ajfortin, who got to ride together. I tweeted that I’d try to join them the next day, but it wouldn’t happen. Monday I went to see the doctor and she drew up a battery of tests. By this point, I hadn’t eaten but a Popsicle and some broth and was extremely miserable. I know. You’re astonished. I am known for my amazing appetite (and resultant abundant curvage), yet, I couldn’t get myself to eat.
Now I know. Yesterday I decided to eat something. Weakly I put together an awesome curry chicken salad on Pugliese bread and melted Swiss cheese on top. Later at dinner I remembered how amazing my leftover Bolognese was over some whole-grain rotini. And I felt better! I had seltzer and some Cytomax, and my belly wasn’t involuntarily dancing anymore!
Today the doctor told me that if I can’t manage to stay hydrated then she’ll admit me and hook me up to an IV. I cringed. Or she said I could sip my way to health and head back to work tomorrow. Yay!
I’m always telling my friends to hydrate, but no one ever tells me. Wine o’clock doesn’t count. If you see me without a beverage, feel free to ask me if I’ve had a drink lately. And if I’m on my bike without a bottle, give me hell. It’s the only way I’ll know that you really love me.