Health and Welfare

I went to the doctor a few weeks ago and prepared myself for the lecture about losing weight and getting more exercise. He’s like a broken record. No matter what I go to him for, it always gets back to losing at least 20 pounds and exercising regularly. I don’t know what he’s complaining about, I have lost 20 lbs... many times over. And I have actually been trying different exercise regimens all the time to try to find something that I like enough that I’ll stick with it. The problem is that his take on exercising regularly and mine seem to differ. He’s talking Monday, Wednesday, Friday. I have been actively searching for “cardio” programs more on the January, February, March kinda schedule.

So I was sitting in the examination room dreading his entrance, when in comes the nurse. Tell me, what is up with sending in a nurse beforehand who takes your blood pressure and asks you every freakin’ time what medications you are taking? You would think they'd know. "I take the ones the damn doctor prescribes", I was thinking to myself. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work? But I didn’t want to make waves so I took out the little card I made with all my prescriptions and dosages and read them out loud so the nurse could make notes... AGAIN.

“Is your primary care physician allowed to call you a smart ass?”

Alone once more, there was a knock on the door. It was him. He always enters the same way. Reading my chart, shaking his head and mumbling. “ Miss Fifi... you’ve lost a pound and a half since your last visit”, he grumbled. Without hesitation, I exuberantly applauded myself for a job well done while he give me a very unkind look. Is your primary care physician allowed to call you a smart ass? Just wondering. He obviously wasn’t impressed with my weight loss, so I promised to work on it. And I always do work on it, but I also work on putting it back on with just as much conviction. He then asks me what I do for exercise. I knew this question was coming and I was prepared. “I started water aerobics”, I replied, hoping that would appease him. I avoided eye contact to try to keep the conversation from going any further. The truth is I actually stopped water aerobics the same day I started. I liked it except for the fact that I don’t like wearing a swimsuit and I hate getting wet. I did love it that I was the youngest person in the class, however.

“Water Arobics!” That’s not the kind of exercise you need!” he bellowed. “Listen to me!” he continued to bark. “If it were up to me, I would have chosen yoga for you!”. Was I dreaming? He would have frozen yogurt for me? When? Where? What flavors? Is this while I am exercising or after? It didn’t take me long to realize that he was recommending yoga. He felt that Hatha Yoga was something I would benefit from greatly, both in body and soul. I couldn’t disagree. I had dabbled in brief yoga sessions before on cruise ships and really did like it. Of course, heading to the buffet afterwards may have had something to do with it. I speak Yoga-ese enough to know that Hatha is the calming, stretching, get-in-touch-with-your-body-and-spirit kind of yoga. I almost got rooked into joining my youngest daughter for a yoga session a few years ago. I didn’t know about different kinds of yoga until she left a voice message reminding me about our date for “Pilgrim” Yoga. I called her back and inquired as to what Pilgrim Yoga was all about. It turns out that I misunderstood what she said and it is called Bikram Yoga. It involves doing yoga moves in a room that is heated to 105 degrees. I gently declined the invitation although my daughter insisted that I would find it to be a joyous and "freeing" experience. Bless her heart! All I could think about was what could be worse than exercise? Exercising in the DESERT, was my immediate thought. Whew! Talk about dodging a bullet.

My doctor and I discussed the virtues of yoga and I promised to give it a try. It couldn’t hurt me and it might even help my soul and my stress level. My appointment seemed to be going well and he was actually slightly delightful. I thought he was leaving, but instead he sat down, opened my folder and looked at the notes that the nurse had just taken. “So, are you still taking Sillystatin, Yadamycin and Gooberglycol?” he said with a straight face, making certain to include the dosages. It took everything in me to answer him calmly without affirming his “smart ass” diagnosis of me. I wanted to say “Nah, I don’t take them anymore. I just fill the prescriptions and what I can’t sell on the Black Market, I am able to get rid of in alley ways.” But I didn’t. I just smiled and promised to eat less cookies and look for a suitable yoga class.

I start tonight. I have a brand new yoga mat and I am waiting to see what everyone else is wearing so that if I continue, I have the cutest yoga clothes in the class. To be continued...

BIG NEWS!

I recently lost some weight and everyone noticed, but not in the way I expected. It’s very different when you are 20-something and drop noticeable poundage. People assume it is vanity, or a big occasion or a reckless life style or a new man. When we get into our mid-30s through our 40s, we ladies fight the battles of a slower metabolism, hormonal changes, raising families and demanding careers that can pack on pounds. If you lose weight at this age, it can be credited to midlife crisis, finding yourself and making room for “me” time or being back in the dating game after a divorce.

Now if you are over 50, like yours truly, it’s a whole different ball game. I dropped some weight on purpose and the responses were so odd. A man friend who I have known for over 30 years, noticed immediately and gave me a congratulatory hug for my new look. But he ruined it all by adding that it will be easier for me to attract a man now that I am thinner. I was speechless. First of all, I was always proportionate and curvy. I am still built the same way only a bit smaller. Secondly, I have never had a minute’s problem attracting men no matter what my size or age. And to be brutally honest, attracting a man in my age group doesn't have as much to do with figure shape and beauty as it does with the ability to have stimulating conversations and enjoy common interests. And if a girl can cook and has ESPN, you are a virtual goddess.

I next encountered an acquaintance that threw her arms around me and whispered softly words that I never expected to hear. “Are you well, darling? I hope it’s nothing serious”. Good grief! She thought I was sick. She evidently has no idea how sick I would have to be to not be interested in eating. I am trying to think about that last statement and come up with an answer. Let’s see… how ill would I have to be to not want to eat? Unconscious is all I can come up with.

Only last week I ran into one of my neighbors who I had not seen for a while. She was quite surprised to see a smaller me. “Look at you! So how’s your business doing, honey?” she inquired with a concerned look on her face. Not “You look great”, or “You look younger” or healthier or anything close. She thought maybe I lost weight because I was so stressed out because the business was failing or I didn’t have money for groceries or some other ridiculous thought. “Everything is great. The business is doing wonderfully well, but thanks for asking”, I replied.

For the record, I lost weight for two reasons. My doctor nags me all the time about 15 or 20 lbs. I never hear the end of it. If I go see him because my knee hurts, it’s because I am too fat. If I am having trouble sleeping at night, it’s because I am too fat. If I have bronchitis, he tells me I’m too fat as he is writing out the prescription for Amoxicillin. It’s always the same no matter what I am there for. The second reason is that I decided it would be better for me all around if I lost a few pounds and actually fit into the clothes I own.

I have always been a curvy girl and I have always been happy with me. Maybe I was before my time, but I never felt compelled to diet into a size 6. The last time I was a size 6, I was 6. Been there, done that. Now I live in my size 14 world with great conviction.

I was something of a pioneer in my industry when it came to the plus sized body. I designed lingerie for the fuller figure decades ago. As you know, we have a fantastic array of plus size merchandise on LoveFifi.com. As a matter of fact, we are currently re-photographing our entire plus department on plus sized models. Yeah!

This girl has always been comfortable with being in the double digit size range my entire adult life. I have never been, or wanted to be, skinny and I have done a fine job of that never happening. There are times when I want to weigh less, but I preserve my curves and remain proud. When you’re beauti-FULL, as I call it, you have to have a thick skin to go along with your thicker figure. I don’t even mind some of the jokes. What is it called when fat people go skinny dipping? Chunky dunking… pretty cute, huh?

I am so excited about the new attitude and bold confidence of the plus sized girls in today’s world. They wear their fuller figures like badge of honor. They dress the way they want. They flaunt it and they know how to enter a room with panache like nobody’s business. They love their curves! One of my idols, Miss Mae West, was known for her hourglass body. Here’s what Miss Mae said on the subject. “Cultivate your curves-they may be dangerous, but they won’t be avoided”.

If you are not aware, there is a proud army of plus-sized women fighting hard to be recognized and counted with all the other beautiful women in the universe. There is a “curvy girl” revolution going on and I want to sign up for active duty. I say a big “BRAVO!” to those ladies who are true to themselves and fearless about their bodies. Whether you call it being self-assured, uninhibited or having swagger, it’s all awesome. I have to indulge once again in the words of my beloved Mae who wrote the book on how to “work it”.

“It isn’t what I do, but how I do it. It isn’t what I say, but how I say it, and how I look when I do and say it!”
~Mae West

To My Darling Readers

There won’t be an article this week. I wish I had a brilliant excuse like I have been called to the White House to help solve pressing national problems or that I am on the list to be a kidney donor and I got the call that I was a match. I am sad to say that there is nothing so impressive or noble associated with the reason I couldn’t get it together and write something for my precious and loyal readers.

Although I am pretty good at multi-tasking, this week just kicked my butt and I ran out of time. I don’t believe in excuses, but mine are pretty fantastic, so please indulge me.

First, I had 2 charming house guests from Belgium stay with me this week. These two adorable young men were on a three week whirlwind trip through California, Arizona and Utah. Seven years ago, one of them worked here at LoveFifi on an apprenticeship through his college in Europe. When he left to go home, I told him that if he ever came to California again, he was more than welcome to stay with me. I was thrilled to be house mother to these charming lads. I put everything else aside to make sure they had a great time in my city.

Then life got more complicated because my sister was scheduled to have her first colonoscopy this past Tuesday. I think you know by now she is not only my sister, but my trusted assistant. I was at work all alone on Monday and it was Hell for me trying to do both of our jobs. Actually, it could have been worse because I had quite a time convincing her that prepping for her procedure the day before at the office is not really do-able. I was already running behind for the week, but on Tuesday I was Sister’s official driver to and from the hospital. Nothing shoots a good Tuesday like a colonoscopy, even if it’s not your own.

On Wednesday I needed to act like the CEO person that it says I am on our letterhead and my business cards. We were having a "big all-company” meeting on Friday and I had a ton of analyzing to do to get ready so I could look smart in front of the partners and staff. By Thursday I was so over-my-head frantic with tasks, that I had to make some changes to my schedule and do some heavyweight prioritizing.

I also must mention that I have company coming again over the weekend and my housekeeper of over 20 years retired 3 weeks ago. Yes, I had to clean my own house. I tried to ignore it, but the dust bunnies were getting to be a menacing size and I was starting to have nightmares. My housekeeper was wonderful to me and worked a lot of years. She deserves to enjoy her life. I tried to keep that thought when I was plotting her death while mopping at 11:30 last night.

So it is almost the week’s end and time to be witty. I love writing my articles, but this week I am stressed out and tearing my hair out. If you can believe it, one of my best friends called me out and said I was a bitch. I was quite taken aback and informed her without hesitation that I am not a bitch... I am THE bitch, and don’t forget it.

I feel bad that there is no article to entertain you over coffee this week. I do apologize, my darlings. Life is not without sacrifices and I believe that my decision to forgo writing an article was the right thing to do for my mental health. I also found the courage to cancel my massage and Aqua Lift Facial, which actually would have taken the same amount of time as accompanying my sister to her colon photo shoot, but I am not complaining. Being unselfish comes naturally to me. Who needs to be rubbed with hot stones and have her tired face uplifted and refreshed? Not me.

Until Next Week,

True Love

I want to thank you all for saving me so much angst and a whole lot of money all these years. You allow me to write about whatever is on my mind and often times you help me get through some really tough stuff. Many of you take the time to write to me and give me your two cents. Your two cents are worth a million dollars to me.

Why did I choose today to thank you so profusely? I felt that I needed to let you know how much you, my loyal readers, give to me... and I really need you right now. I had the choice of faking some light-hearted piece of fluff that would have been painful to write or I could tell you why I am hurting, which would also be painful, but honest and genuine.

I think you all know by now that at LoveFifi.com, we bring our dogs to work. There are sometimes more dogs than people. There are dog beds in the warehouse where we pack your orders and in every office where we create the magic. The dogs wander around and nap wherever they please. We take company dog walks in the park next door and the 2 employees who don’t have dogs of their own often take “dog breaks” and spend some time playing and cuddling any one of the doggies. The environment here is amazing for all concerned.

Today I had to go and pick up the ashes of my beloved Babydoll. I had been dreading it for weeks and just could not bring myself to go and collect her remains. I did it today because I knew everyone was in the office and they would support me during the unveiling. I have been a mess for weeks. I miss her so much.

The last weeks have be very sad for me. Babydoll was a character. She was a true diva in every way. She had more clothes than I did. Although those who didn’t know her well thought of her as a prissy dog, she was actually a pretty tough soldier. Five years ago, she was attacked by huge muscular dog who was not on a leash. He tore her nearly in half and if it were not for the efforts of my brilliant veterinarian, she would have died. To this day, Dr. K says that she was the most injured dog he had ever saved. She was in the hospital for over a month and had several operations. She survived, but was really never the same.

The fact that she was persnickety was probably due to me. When I would take her on walks, she would put one paw on the grass and if it were wet, she would draw her paw back and look at me as to say “I don’t DO wet grass, thank you very much”. I always cooked her food. She enjoyed a diet of chicken and brown rice or lamb and cous cous. I warmed it up in the microwave and if I ever tried to save a little time by giving it to her room temperature, I would get this puzzled look and she would walk right into the kitchen and sit in front of the counter where the microwave was.

She always had a “poof” of long hair tied with a ribbon on the top of her head. She was a fashion icon in the dog world. She honestly loved wearing clothes and it worked well because she had a huge scar that went completely around her body. My friends and family delighted in buying her girly girl stuff that included lots of bling. Her collar was solid rhinestones.

A few years ago I adopted a little boy dog that I call Beau, who had been severely abused. He was and is very shy and the polar opposite of an alpha dog. That was Babydoll. She ruled the world. If I gave them each a bone, she would plot and conspire as to how she would steal Beau’s bone when he wasn’t looking. She wanted both bones and Beau always stepped aside for the Queen.

In November, Babydoll’s breathing became very labored. She had a collapsed trachea after the attack which became more and more of a problem as the years passed. She was on shots and meds for years to help her breathe. Her abdomen had ballooned to an enormous size and the vet said it was because she was taking in air trying to breathe. He kept her for 5 days and then called me in. He felt that it was time to start thinking about putting her down. I couldn’t bear the thought of not bringing her home for at least a little while. It really wasn’t for me, but for her. She had spent 5 days in a cement cell without her family and I knew I could medicate her and care for her and keep her comfortable. Because my vet has known me for over 25 years and because he is very attached to Babydoll, he agreed.

As soon as she got her home she was really happy. She slept a lot, ate well and continued to torture her brother, despite the fact that she had trouble keeping her balance and was weak. We got through Christmas and she continued to come to work with me. I watched her constantly to make sure she wasn’t gasping for breath or uncomfortable.

Towards the end of January, over a weekend, she didn’t want me out of her site. She just wanted to feel my touch and sleep next to me. I cut off her poof so I could pet her head gently as often as possible. I carried her around in a papoose–type dog carrier so she could be close to me. On January 25th, she stopped eating and drinking and I knew it was time. I called my vet at home and he met me at his office late at night. I held her while she went to heaven. I had arranged for her cremation and urn weeks before, so all that was left was to kiss Babydoll for the last time and hug my precious vet.

It took me a whole month to go and collect her urn, but I did it today. I brought it back to the office and my dear ones at work opened the box. I had her ashes put inside a rock that goes in the garden. It was the perfect place for her because she loved to bask in the sun on my patio like the movie star she was.

For those of you who are not animal lovers, you probably stopped reading this article paragraphs ago. For those of you who understand, I know you are feeling me right now. I am trying really hard to concentrate only on the joy and smiles she brought into my life. The sadness of her absence is heart-wrenching at times, but the change in Beau keeps me focused. He stopped eating for a few days when she didn’t come home, but after a while he realized that he was getting all my attention. He’s liking it big time.

If you have read this far, I thank you for sticking with me through this whole thing. I was not feeling funny today. For all of you out there who are pet owners, please give Rocky, or Sophie, or Bruiser an extra dose of love today in Babydoll’s memory. And thank you again for helping me get through a sad time by allowing me to write about it. I am grateful for every time she wagged her tail when I asked her, “Who is the cutest dog in the world?”. I never really minded it when I stepped on one of her squeaky toys in the dark and scared myself. I am thankful for all the help she gave me licking my ankles dry when I got out of the shower. It surely saved me lots of time in the morning. I cherish all the times she made me laugh at her antics and all the times she fell asleep in my arms.

When life is hard, I often find strength in the words of the great philosophers. Today is no exception.

“Don’t cry because it’s over... Smile because it happened.” - Ted Geisel (Dr. Seuss)

Playing Footsie

I just had surgery and I need some sympathy. Oh, I am feeling fine, all went well in the operating room, but I barely survived the whole thing. Why am I so unhappy? Well, sit down, honey, and let me tell you.

It all started one day when I had this terrible pain in my foot, just where my big toe connects to my foot. It was pretty bad, so my doctor referred me to a specialist—a podiatric surgeon.

I called to make an appointment with this new foot doctor guy. In fact all the doctors in this medical group were foot doctors. There was even a great big picture of a foot on the card right next to the phone number. I felt confident that my foot would soon be in good hands, if that makes sense.

When I called and said I needed to make an appointment, the receptionist asked me why I needed to see the doctor. “Well”, I replied a bit skeptically, “because I am having trouble with my foot.” She then asked, without hesitation, “What is wrong with it?” If I knew that, I wouldn't have to call, I thought to myself. “It hurts right where the big toe is connected to the foot” I answered obediently and without any sarcasm. I guess I passed the test because she finally let me have an appointment. That’s when the real fun began.

I showed up at the receptionist desk. My foot was really killing me that day. She instructed me to go sit down. The waiting room was packed. There were at least 20 chairs, but the only vacant seat was at the rear of the waiting room. I hobbled over and took a seat. Not 60 seconds went by before the receptionist started bellowing my name while waving a clip board in the air. I got up and traipsed across the room to the front desk. “I need your insurance card,” she said. As I made my way back to my chair to retrieve my insurance card, I wondered if I was being unreasonable to think that it might have been nice if she had asked me about my card when I checked in or at least before I found my chair in the Siberia section of the waiting room. I returned only to be asked to fill out a "few papers".

I again returned to my seat and began to fill out a stack of sheets attached to a clip board. By the way, to call this a “few papers” would be like referring to the Bible as a pamphlet.

“My appointment was at 10. It was now 11 and I still hadn’t been called. I waited… and waited.”

“Why are you here today to see the doctor?” was the first question. “For a shampoo and blow dry, of course!”, I was dying to say. But I was good, and wrote “FOOT PAIN”. The questionnaire went on to ask me about everything ranging from diarrhea to insanity in my family. I went ahead and answered, but I wasn’t quite sure what my bowels and my crazy uncle Louie had to do with my foot.

I finally finished, but I was pooped and my foot was throbbing. I caught the eye of the receptionist and hoped that I could get her 30-year-old butt out of her seat to retrieve my clipboard. Of course not. She probably did 45 minutes of cardio-aerobics after work the night before, but would not think of walking across the waiting room so I wouldn’t have to get up again.

Now here is when I started to get cranky. My appointment was at 10. It was now 11 and I still hadn’t been called. I waited… and waited. Finally, the door from the inner sanctum opened up and I heard my name announced! Listen, I don’t mind waiting, and I know doctors overbook because people don’t show up. But, here is a hint for the medical community: If a patient is in a waiting room long enough to knit a sweater, it’s too long.

So, I am taken into a room where the walls are covered with charts of the human foot. There is a case of orthopedic shoes and Dr. Scholl’s products are on the shelves. Now we’re cooking! I am in FOOTLAND! Help is not far away.

The nurse comes in and wants to weigh me. WHY? Now I was not happy, but I didn’t want to wait another 2 hours to see the doctor, so I got on the scale and behaved myself. I didn’t even look when she kept tapping the little bar to get it to balance. Weighing only counts when you are naked.

She then had me sit on the examination table and began to ask questions. “So why are you here to see the doctor?”, she said without flinching. Well, let’s see, I am at a podiatrists office, I am sitting in a room decorated completely with medical drawings of feet… "I am here for my PAP smear" I replied. I was laughing, but she wasn’t. “My right foot has been giving me trouble”, I said. “Right where my big toe is joined to my foot.” She continued to write, never looking up. She got up and left and assured me the doctor would be right with me.

I waited some more. It’s not that the Arizona Highways they had there in the exam room is not a riveting magazine, but I was in pain and really wanted to get on with it.

Finally, my doctor came in. I was not the least bit concerned when I realized I have 2 kids older than him, but I was a little baffled when he asked me the reason for my visit. Did he not even read what the nurse wrote? Did she use invisible ink? I tried to remain calm. I needed his help and didn’t want to upset him.

“My foot hurts when I walk”. I pointed to the spot. The nurse came back in and wrote as the doctor pulled and poked at my poor little foot and dictated to her in medical talk. When he was finished, I asked him what was wrong. He told me that I had a condition that causes pain in my big toe right where it connects to my foot. “Really?”, I said.

Anyway, he was very nice and super smart. He broke the news that I had to have surgery and that I would have a big scar across my foot and toe. I was not too sad because I had abandoned the idea of being a foot model years ago. He also added that Shaquille O’Neill had the same operation to improve his game. Wow! Imagine that!

It all came out great; I am walking better every day. The whole thing was made infinitely better because after all was said and done; my doctor was fantastic and handsome, too. Now I am just waiting to be completely healed so I can see if I am now great at basketball. I’ll let you know.