Heartburn. I never had it before Tuesday night. I’ve had it once a day ever since.
At first I didn’t even know what to think. I’ve always thought that heartburn was a chest thing, but for me, it starts at the base of the throat and burns like holy hell. But it’s worse than burning… it’s like an all-encompassing pain that brings tears to my eyes. It makes my whole head reverberate. My husband said, “Go take some Tums!” I found the bottle in the bathroom, only to find one lonely singular Tum in the bottom of the bottle, as if it were a terrible prisoner and banished to an isolation cell. I promptly gave it the death penalty and sent it to a death of consumption. By me. “Thanks for the TUM.” I called from the bathroom, in my best bitchy pregnant voice.
Since then I’ve had a bout a day for 3 days in a row. I’m not convinced it’s even food related. I’ve eaten many of the same things, sometimes with a reaction, sometimes not. I almost feel like it’s a stress thing. IS that even a thing? I don’t know enough about it. I’ve read of some remedies that may or may not work. Eat small meals, avoid these foods, don’t drink alcohol (come on! haha) Finally, something spoke to me: drink chocolate milk. There’s something I can get behind! So I got a bottle and it really did help. I also picked up a whole new bottled prison of Tums for emergencies. I don’t like to do too much of one thing, so I hope I will only need the Tums sparingly.
And while I’m in a complaining mode, I may as well get it all out. Let’s talk about ankle swelling.
Standing on your feet all day is no easy feat (grrroan). At about 5 hours in, I check my ankles and, sure enough, I’ve turned into Hillary Clinton from the knees down. I almost prefer this to my younger years when Hillary was in her early 40’s and I was in my early 20’s, and we bore a striking resemblance to each other. It was pretty annoying, really. People would stop me, like they were the first to figure it out. I could call it a mile away. A person would get “the look” and I’d stop them in their tracks.
“I KNOW.” I’d say.
“You know what? I didn’t say anything.”
“Just don’t say it.”
“I was just going to s—”
“No, seriously- I know and I’m not happy about it.”
“But you don’t even know what I’m going to say!”
I then, with smug shame, would say those two words I didn’t want to hear, just to make them feel dumb, and make myself seem like I’d just hiked down Witch Mountain.
Most people were astounded that I read their minds, but really, when something like that happens to you 3 times a day, you start to catch on. Hillary and I had similar hair, eyes and smile. The only thing I could do to set myself apart from her was cut my hair, and can you guess? Hillary cut her hair too. I’d let it grow, she’d let it grow, I’d cut it really short- so would she. I couldn’t escape it. Luckily, before she started to look older, I was able to cash in on a $250 look alike contest at a gas station. So I guess it wasn’t for all for nothing. Though I suppose I would have probably paid $250 to not have the comparison in the first place!
Luckily having Clinton cankles (which I will refer to forevermore as “Clankles”) isn’t something people can readily see, since I always wear pants at work. I can’t imagine what I would do to the person who says, “Hey, you remind me of Hillary Clinton…. from the knees down.” I WILL stomp you. Who better than me with my giant Clankles?? You do not want to feel the wrath. Trust me.