I'm starting to think maybe I'm a little bit gung-ho with certain things... if something is supposed to be good for you, I want in! Whether that be something to ingest, something to physically do, somewhere to go, something to practise- if it has health benefits, I'm fully on that bandwagon! I go above and beyond the normal recommendations. 5 a day fruit and veg? I'm having 10. Drink 2 litres of water a day? I'm doing 3! Do 15 reps of that exercise. I'll do 16. My mantra that I apply to everything (thanks to the guru that is Ed Mylett) is ‘Just one more.’
This can be applied to everything. One more rep, one more page, one more try, one more step, one more hug... maybe don't apply this to biscuits or doughnuts though. The only problem with me is knowing when to stop. I haven’t quite grasped that one yet.
A fine example of this was something else that showed up in my comprehensive blood test… My vitamin D levels. They were dangerously high! Why? How? I hear you ask. Seen as I’m living under the constant grey skies of Manchester and haven't seen the sun since May 2023, at the Monaco Grand Prix.
Because clever clogs over here has been quadruple dosing her vitamin D supplements because it's “good for your bones”! And “I’ll just wee out what I don't need!” That turns out not to be the case. Unlike other vitamins, D gets stored in your body and too high levels of it can be dangerous and cause a whole manner of problems such as: muscle weakness, dehydration, nausea, vomiting, confusion- (I was just born with that one!) high blood pressure, and worst of all- kidney stones! Passing them is meant to be worse than childbirth, as is the pain of breaking your femur, which I now know is NOT FUN! I'm done with my whole life quota of pain thanks! I just want to pain-free life from here on in! Physically and emotionally if at all possible. I was on four different types of vitamin D. All of which are great on their own. But not all at once! So, pick one and stick to it my friends. I'll admit I am a total supplements junkie, and the rest of WSR Team BMW can vouch for this; when I whip out my enormous pillbox in the motorhome during team breakfast on a race day. Turmeric, magnesium, multivitamins, krill oil and probiotic capsules flying everywhere. I rattle along like a human maraca. If I discover anything else that I'm overdosing to be a classic case of ‘too much of a good thing’, I'll let you know in this blog. Likewise, if you're the CEO of a supplements company and want to send me all my supps for free, in return for social media or blog posts, that would make me and my femur VERY happy!!!
How am I getting on with HRT I hear you ask... well, so far so good! Apart from the extreme fatigue I've been fighting due to the rise of progesterone in my body. The calming hormone. The soothing inner hug. The provider of deep sleep, so deep that I almost don't remember my bizarre vivid dreams. The oestrogen patches on my bum/ upper outer thigh we're also doing their thing, and I had a couple of days where I felt really good. Like really good! As in had a couple of days where I didn't cry! Feeling positive, happy, almost giddy. Believing in myself more, having brighter ideas... is this what normal feels like?! Give me more of this! I'm very aware I am still grieving my mum and tears will continue to come out of nowhere for many years and probably forever, but dare I say, these hormones are providing me with a few more Good Days. Either way- I wanted more! More of the happy, less of the tears. More of the laughs, less of the fears. So, what did I do? I decided to increase my oestrogen patch WAY ahead of schedule. Whoops! It clearly said on my doctor's letter instructions “Gradually increasing to three quarters of a patch, then a full patch every four to six weeks.” But I didn't read it properly. I was too giddy after being on my fancy bioidentical hormones for a week and a half. So, I ditched my half patch and went up to 3/4. I'm happy to report I didn't die, just struggled to stay awake for any more than six hours and embraced my inner sloth.
To be on the safe side, I immediately rang my fabulous hormone doctor to let them know what I’d done in my haste, and they said if I felt OK; continue. If not- go back down to the half a patch. But I decided to persevere. The more oestrogen I can get to my bones the better! And as quickly as possible!
Examples of having too much of a good thing are all around us. I witnessed someone else doing exactly this at the gym later that week. While I was on the treadmill, looking down at the people in the pool in a non-perverted way, I saw a man emerge from the sauna having spent too long in there. He fainted and cracked his head on the step, then had to be patched up by a heroic first aider. He definitely had too much of a good thing! Sweating out all those toxins and enjoying the detox a little too much. You'll be pleased to know he was OK and eventually got up and sauntered off, after being told to drink more water. I'm also learning my limits at the gym. With Physio Guru Jeff’s guidance, we're adding more load to my femur! Increasing the weight on the leg press machine and holding heavier dumbbells in my lunges. I'm currently up to a 7kg one which I clutch with both hands at stomach level, as though it's the Emmy which I will ultimately win for my writing. (Just putting that out there!)
I still apply my Just One More rule, but making sure I don't get too giddy with the weights or reps. Physiotherapy still is and always will be an exciting weekly event. Partly because I dress like I’m going on holiday- wearing shorts and a little t-shirt which otherwise wouldn't see the light of day. With my follow-up appointment at the hospital fracture clinic approaching, I’m pinning all my hopes on that bone showing major progress! I just wish the specialist consultants would be a little bit more happy or encouraging. Back in February, I even tried to donate Leggy the leg brace back to them, but I was told NO. They’re ‘single use’ and aren’t to be reused or donated due to hygiene purposes.
What a shame! It seems like such a waste. I hoped by gifting it back to the fracture clinic it was the equivalent of bringing in homemade cupcakes to your teacher at school. It would brighten their day and they'd be happier and grateful, like after any amount of baked goods. But no. He looked at it like the bashed up butterfly cakes the grubby kid who never washes his hands brought in. To be fair, it did get covered in pus and blood when my scar erupted, so I can sort of understand their policy. It was a monumental moment throwing Leggy in the bin. He served me well, but I hope I never have to use another leg brace for as long as I live. I've kept my adorned Porsche stickered crutches, as they come in really handy for pushing the button on my smoke alarm when I've set it off yet again trying to fry my kale. Annoyingly, after posting “The Sacrificing of Leggy to the grey bin” on Instagram stories, I received several offers from weirdo’s wanting to buy him for a decent price. Damn it! If only it wasn't too late? Maybe then I could afford a better frying pan…
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