REDUCTION ROAD ODYSSEY - My Weight Loss Journey

I went up to Panama’s house this weekend.  That’s my father, by the way.  I call him Panama because that’s where he grew up. Really!  He grew up in the pre-WWII days in the Panama Canal Zone, where my grandfather was a merchant at the local base commissary.  When my father served in WWII, his nickname in his unit was “Panama”, so that will be his official “Reduction Road Odyssey” nickname.

Anyway, Panama apparently believes that it’s illegal for him to go to the local recycling center by himself, because he never does.  So, on Saturday, after getting back from the grocery store, I had to load up six large paper shopping bags with newspapers and two large garbage bags with cardboard boxes.  Then, I had to get Panama to drive out to the recycling center.  I can’t do that part myself, because (A) the license plates on my car are from a different state, and they only allow local license plates at the local recycling center, and (B) I can’t fit my fat stomach behind the wheel of Panama’s Malibu (I drive a Buick Le Sabre.).

By the time we got back from the recycling center, I was wiped out from just that little bit of activity, and I basically didn’t do anything for the rest of the day.  I did get through some of his mail (sometimes there’s a problem with bills), but that’s about it.

The basic problem here is, Panama is unable to handle the household by himself, because for 56 years of marriage, my mother handled almost all the household activities, except for lawn-mowing and the occasional chauffeuring duties when my brothers and I were kids.  She was the chief cook, bottle-washer, maid, nurse, household financial manager and all-around decision-maker, or, as President Bush would say, “She was the decider.”  So, after 56 years of marriage, Panama has no idea how to make a household decision.  My mother died two-and-a-half years ago, and he still can’t put together a simple meal, unless it’s hamburgers and mashed potatoes.  My oldest brother, Guy-guy (our nephew’s name for him), lives with Panama, but he’s special needs and doesn’t know how to cook or drive a car.  So, the meals they eat are either make-ahead casserole dishes that my other brother, Atherton, or I prepare and store in their freezer, or, frozen dinners from the grocery store.  I know I shouldn’t get so frustrated, but I still do.  The man’s going to be 85 years old in less than two weeks, and he’s obviously not going to change now and magically figure everything out.

I don’t want to make this post too long by going through the whole weekend, but it was one frustration-inducing incident after the other.  I hope that I can somehow get over being exacerbated by the situation, because, as I said, it’s not going to change.

Today, I took Panama and Guy-guy to visit and old friend of the family who is all alone in his house since his sister, who was like an aunt to my brothers and I, passed away in November.  I don’t think he has many people to talk to anymore, because he and Panama traded WWII stories for close to two hours while Guy-guy took a nap.

Since we stayed visiting so long, and since my hip and leg are still hurting, I decided not to make the casserole that I had planned, and told Panama to take one of the dishes I had made previously out of the freezer for their supper.  He then proceeded to get all upset because he didn’t know that he was going to have to take something out of the freezer for supper.  As if that’s a lot of work!  That was the final frustration of my frustrating weekend.  When I got home, I proceeded to cheat like hell on the eating plan, so now I’m frustrated, depressed, and pissed off all at the same time!!

Tuesday, I go for a Catscan of the L/S spine to try and determine the root cause of my pain.  Or to see if there is a cause other than my weight.  Then, on Friday, I have to go for a precautionary colonoscopy.  I’m not looking forward to the prep for that.  I can’t wait until it’s over!  So, it should be a fun medical week.  I’m staying home this upcoming weekend.  Panama will have to fend for himself.