It's Not Easy Being Green

Within the first week in St. Louis I had already google searched the recycling drop off in my area, bought recycling containers for my apartment (aka storage bins), scouted out local farmers markets, regularly used canvas shopping bags and developed the habit of turning down my utilities when leaving my place. 

When my roommate moved out, she took what I thought was “our” furniture with her, so I relied on a half-filled stability ball and a yoga mat as family-room furnishings paired with an IKEA coffee table also known as…”Lark.” As summer approached, I bought a bike for transportation & resisted to turn on the A/C. I sweated a lot. I bought potted-plant containers to make the perfect vegetable garden on my balcony.

I like the idea of living “green”…I also used “living green” to cover up my financial tight spots. 

I’m going to let you in on a little secret. If this gets out I’ll be so embarrassed: I had no money. I had a bed that caused severe back pain (probably because I took it from my sister who had taken it from my, like, 30 year old neighbor). I needed a new bed. I actually went to the doctor because I thought I had kidney stones/infection because my back hurt so badly from my bed. I bought a bed off craigslist. (It gets worse). I bought a bed and boxspring off craigslist from a girl in a commune who wanted to sleep on the floor. (Even worse) when I arrived, unaware that I was headed to a commune, the place reeked of curry and the girl was wearing tie-dye, no bra with questionable dreadlocks.

The bed had probably been slept on by several commune floaters.

I bought Lysol. I soaked them in Lysol. I covered them into hypoallergenic slips. And finally was back pain free. With a little money to spare.

There was a heat warning that summer-my plants and I both suffered. I decided that my extra “bed” money would go to utilizing A/C and to the farmers market-because clearly I was unable to maintain my balcony garden in the heat wave. 

I was extremely “green” that summer but I guess I lacked the “green thumb.” Even if I never managed to grow fabulous tomatoes and red peppers, it was fun to have a spot of green on my balcony. 

Yesterday I went to the Maplewood Farmers Market at Schlafly Bottleworks. I found a flier for “Truck Farm.” The flier showed a truck with a garden in the flat bed. It looks aaaaamazing!

Truck Farm describes themselves as a “wicked delicate film + food project inspiring young people to participate in rethinking the way we eat, and encouraging schools to plant their own gardens.” It encourages participants to plant seeds in the most creative places they can think of. 

As a parting gift to St. Louis, I think I’ll rip open the hypoallergenic slip cover (with gloves), throw in some soil, plant some seeds, and give back to the commune. That would really be the bed that kept on giving: free floater sleeps, back-pain free nights, and possibly food for a commune. Aka life-to a family of dreadlocks. 

(Stop judging: The mattress was like <5 years old & Lysol kills 99.9%-not a truly "green" cleaning product but it could really kill a lot of green...mold,fungus,curry) 

A Course of Balance

 I got home from Trader Joes, started unpacking my groceries, and replaced my brown bananas with fresh ones. But what to do with the sad bananas? Bake cookies of course! 

• Even after I spent the morning cleaning my kitchen and taking out my garbage/recycling? Of course!

• Even after my 1.5 hour long work out, while still wearing my heart rate monitor and sweaty clothes? Of course!

Seems counterproductive but totally necessary. And one cannot let bananas go to the landfill. 

1 big bowl, 2 ripe bananas, 1.3 cups old-fashion rolled oats, 4 tablespoons olive oil, 1/3 cup semi sweet chocolate chips, and a little under 1 tablespoon vanilla extract later I had an amazingly simple batter of ingredients I had on hand. After mashing it all up and letting the batter sit for about 15 minutes, I threw those 2 tablespoon drops into the 350 degrees oven for some lovin.

• What do you do with the left over batter you ask? Well eat it of course?! Yes, while still wearing your workout clothes…would you have it any other way? I mean, there’s no raw egg in this mish-mashed banana recipe so you can have at it. 

• And how can I make the clean up easy? By lining the baking sheets with foil of course! Clean up is a breeze and with the new city recycling drop off in my backyard, neither the foil nor bananas will end up in the landfill.

Counterproductive? ...Maybe. 

But balance is key in my world. Balance and some really good, simple cookies...of course.

Serenading Cake

My big request from Mr. Claus this year was a nice knife set. It kind of felt like Santa and I were registered at Macy’s…although I don’t know how I feel about wearing red and living in the cold for the rest of my life. But then again, I am moving back to Chicago soon..?

Santa was kind. He brought a good amount of Wusthof knives. I bought a magnetic knife holder, mounted it in my kitchen, and displayed my beautiful gift for all my diners-Or potential robbing criminals. 

I’ve used them all: the paring, the utility, the kitchen, the cook’s but never the serrated. As much as I wanted to get into bread making I never did. Most likely for self (body) preservation.

Last weekend was the first weekend I braved Soulard Farmers Market since the fall. I stopped off at Black Bear Bakery's booth (say that 5 times fast) to buy myself some $5 artisan honey whole wheat. The second I got home what did I decide to monger? Not the copious amounts of vegetables…No of course not! The bread! duh. 

I untwist-tied that puppy and realized that it truly was the greatest thing since un-sliced bread! It finally came time to use that jagged edged knife that magnetically hung mocking me day in and day out. It was astonishing how perfectly it cut. Was it the artisan bread or the German knife? I couldn’t help but sing the lyrics to Cake’s Italian Leather Sofa while pondering:

She’s got a serrated edge

That she moves back and forth

It’s such a simple machine

She doesn’t have to use force

Then I popped two precisely width-cut-to-my-desire pieces of bread in the toaster . Spread some no-nonsense real butter on them . Threw them back into the toaster to get that soggy/crispy diner type toast . And headed out to my balcony to enjoy some breakfast and sunshine. 

When she gets what she wants

She puts the rest on a tray

In a zip-loc bag

In the freezer

 

 Now it's that knead button on my cuisinart that will plague me.

A Really-Not so Funny-Story

After a day of taking care of a 500 pound patient with diabetic ketoacidosis, my roommate the RN, was near comatose herself. This 30 year old, with a 7 week old baby, had blood sugars in the 700s and his family was feeling responsible that they had "genetically passed on diabetes." 

Jaw Drop. 

Really people? Are you trying to be funny? I don't think they get the big picture here...but I thought I'd lighten up my cynical posts with some of my own punch lines. And by "my own" I really mean an internet search of food jokes. So here goes:

Why did the tortilla chips start dancing? 
They put on the salsa! 

You've got to be smiling after that one. I know you weren't expecting that at all. Ok here's another...

"Waiter, this food tastes kind of funny" 
"Then why aren't you laughing?"

(You better be laughing at that one)
The site I found some of these jokes on was called Jokes for Kids. I just don't know if any kids would find this one funny...

Why don't they serve chocolate in prison?
Because it makes you break out!

Oh boy. Ok, I'm done. 
I just wish there was something more funny to 500 pounds diabetic ketoacidosis. But there's not. It's seriously fatal. And apparently it's not funny or socially appropriate to talk about weight. My roommate set the family straight by saying his weight was unhealthy and the result of this problem-not genetics. So when does the "heaviness" of the problem weigh down on our nation? Maybe we should start enjoying more escargot.
Why do the French like snails?
Because they don't like fast food!!

I Feel So Taxed

I wish to help those who help themselves. 

Sounds simple. But more people than you can imagine do not take a personal responsibility for their health. Maybe they weren't raised to. Maybe they weren't educated to. But enabling is not the answer. Not for them or the nation. 

My recent clinical position is at a hospital that cares primarily for medicaid and medicare patients. I wish to provide care to humans regardless of their finances. However, when heroin overdose patients come into the hospital because they had a myocardial infraction, refuse education, leave against medical advice, and return 2 days later for more government supported healthcare it "taxes" me. 

I know not everyone was blessed to have the wonderful and fortunate upbringing I did. But allowing people benefits when they are non-compliant with the free healthcare they receive isn't wonderful or fortunate for me. 

Really not fortunate-I got my first (overtime) paycheck today from this hospital (woot woot) and an hour later got my Department of Education Federal Loan interest bill. They were almost equivilant. Turns out the taxes I owe this year are also equivalent. That leaves me at...ohhh, I'd say, a negative one paycheck. 
And with a negative, defeated attitude. 

Although the nation "understands" there is a national obesity epidemic, dietitians are sill not reimbursed for most all of their services, making our salaries meager compared to all other allied health professions. So here, the government doesn't value my my profession (education) and in turn, taxes me while treating patients that don't seem to care about their health. I'm happy the government cares. Or should I say.."I" do? 


It's not to say I wish that things couldn't be better for everyone. It's not to say that I try any less to help-Except when I deem cardiac diet education unnecessary for young patients who have healthy BMIs with positive tox reports (cocaine). Especially when their past medical history includes stab wound, aggression, and getting kicked out of a nursing home at age 48 for deviant behaviors with a visiting girlfriend. (Seriously a patient of mine today).

But apparently my unnecessary education required a necessary chart note for government auditing purposes. And a little of my tax dollars.
But my schooling did educate me on how to improve and maintain my personal health. And that's worth millions! The job may not be worth millions, at least right now, but I suppose the stories are worth a decent amount. And the job is educating me on the government healthcare system-or at least my thoughts on it.

Is an Irish Pint a Pound the World Around?

I got hooked on a House marathon the other day. It’s evil. They’re so good. Especially because they play on Friday nights when all I want to do is forget about work, curl up, and watch a TV show about my work environment? Seriously, what’s wrong with me?

One, of the like 7point25, episodes I watched was about an athlete who was discharged and re-admitted the next day. House (and crew) couldn’t figure out anything different with his labs or status…Except! That he had lost one pound. House jumped on the fact that he had lost one pound and held it over his peons’ heads like the obvious answer. ONE pound?!

After 1point25 weeks at my current clinical dietitian position, it baffles me that House would assume accurate weights were recorded on discharge and admission AND that it was such a pertinent change.

• First off, there is the clothing differences, bedding/tubing weight differences (if weighed on an ICU bed), precision in the scales & measurers, consistency in the time of day the weights were taken.

• Second off, hydration status is huge. Any healthy, weight stable individual does not weigh the same from start to end of a day. We eat, we drink, and we create “output”…

I mean, we even shrink height-wise throughout a day-a thought truly startling to this 5 foot being (ok, ok, 4’11.75’’).

I think about heart failure patients on fluid restrictions and Lasix (a drug that pulls water off your body). I think about ventilator dependent patients with tube feeds, free water flushes, and IV fluids. I think about patients with C-diff (a terrible case of the “runs”). I think about end stage kidney disease patients who have fluid drawn off them from dialysis or paracentesis.

And then I’m happy when people remain Close to weight stable.

Once my thinking thoughts spiraled, they came to that saying “a pint’s a pound the world around.” Meaning the weight of one pint of water is equivalent to one pound. Not pound of weight gain-that would be equivalent to 3,500 calories and a pint of water is zero calories- but a pound of [body] weight.

 

Of course, tomorrow-being St. Patrick’s Day and my second favorite holiday behind Thanksgiving, I’m thinking about pints. 8 ounces makes 1 cup, 2 cups makes 1 pint, 1 pint makes 1 pound, and 1 Irish pint makes a happy Margaret Catherine Murphy. No but really, 1 pint probably makes about 200 additional calories to help me celebrate one of the best holidays.

And after celebrating, I will have gained several pounds of body weight and maybe a little towards weight gain-and in the morning, I will have diuresised to a dehydrated body weight while unfortunately keeping the weight gain.

Tis the luck of the Irish for you. 

National Registered Dietitian Day!

If you:
1. are about to have a baby, 2. are and RD, 3. need a fill-in RD 4. AND! Want to deliver or go on bed rest earlier than expected...then I'm your girl!

For the second time, I have had one day of training for my temporary fill in. And today being national RD day is either celebrating me or making a mockery of me. Not sure which one yet but here's to figuring everything out! And to a happy RD day :)