Our new normal

I leave notes to myself. I have an untidy stack or random bits of paper that live with my pen next to my keyboard.

This blog has always been about my health, but after all the adventures of the last year, I am completely uninterested in talking about my health in the way I have. One of my many notes is about ideas for changing the focus and things I’d rather be talking about.

Life in lockdown is not on my notes. I read something in passing on social media yesterday encouraging people to keep a journal about our experiences as we go through this crises. As I think so many have, I thought “why not, I don’t have anything better to do.”

That isn’t entirely true. Unlike so very many people, our lives haven’t been much disrupted by quarantine. We are both introverts. We both already have home offices. Our employment is stable. Beloved no longer goes out for lunches, and I’m not making my daily trip to the gym. On the surface, there’s really nothing to see. <cue maniacal laughter>

We were early adopters of social distancing. As things started to look bad in Italy and the news was just starting to be slightly alarmist, we decided Beloved would work from home for a while to avoid riding the metro to work every day. No sense getting that much exposure. The timing was good since Wednesday he was taking me to have a root canal. Always fun. I think that day will always be the turning point in my mind. The last day of old normal.

It all shifted really fast the next week. Monday was the day they closed the rec center for two weeks. I called my dentist and made an appointment for my post root canal permanent filling. By Wednesday, they had called me back. They had gone to emergency visits only. We hoped things were only temporary and we’d still be able to take our scheduled vacation at the end of the month.

I live in Virginia, but we live in what is locally referred to as the DMV, which is the place where DC, Virginia, and Maryland all converge. This means our local news station covers all 3. On March 3 when Maryland governor Hogan declared a state of emergency after a few cases of covid-19 in one church, there was definitely a feeling that it might have been a little excessive. On March 12 when he announced the closure of all Maryland schools for two weeks, it was a complete shock, and more importantly, that is when all the local dominoes started to fall. DC and Northern VA schools quickly started to follow. And then the panic started.

I usually do my grocery shopping on Thursdays. On Thursday the 12th it was shopping as usual and I picked up a few extra things. I remember it seemed unusually busy. I distinctly remember mentioning to a friend that people were insane and we did not need to shop for the Zombie Apocalypse. When I came back for a quick mid-week shop on Tuesday, I was shocked and horrified. I have never, ever seen grocery stores with so many empty shelves. I have never, ever seen the entire toilet paper section down to just a few rolls here and there. I know this is a not entirely foreign idea to those who live in areas prone to hurricanes. I managed to miss any big ones when I lived in Texas. I have never personally experienced it before.

Those empty shelves disturbed me at a very visceral level I didn’t expect, and I didn’t really understand. The panic was unexpected (to me) and unnecessary. The empty shelves caused the panic to escalate. In some ways, that first post panic trip to the store is what changed the face of the world forever for me. It was very much outside my admittedly privileged life. I’ve lived in a world where I didn’t have money for the groceries I wanted, where I mooched a few meals off friends so I could stretch my budget through a lean time. But I have never had to live in a world where there weren’t groceries to buy.

Honestly, I can’t really give any details about the next 2 weeks. Every day was a flood of bad news. Every day caused more discussion about politics than our house normally sees in a week, even in an election year. I was angry enough about government response to write an article about it. Every day we watched the numbers from Italy become more and more dire. Every day I ate comfort carbs and completely derailed my normal Weight Watchers lifestyle. Every day I felt paralyzed and a small corner of my brain kept asking me what the heck was going on.

A friend of mine posted this most excellent article that helped me make sense of what I was feeling. I had never heard of ‘anticipatory grief’ before, but that was exactly where I was.

Anticipatory grief is that feeling we get about what the future holds when we’re uncertain. Usually it centers on death… Anticipatory grief is also more broadly imagined futures. There is a storm coming. There’s something bad out there. With a virus, this kind of grief is so confusing for people. Our primitive mind knows something bad is happening, but you can’t see it. This breaks our sense of safety. We’re feeling that loss of safety.

That’s it. That’s where I was.

I’m pleased to say that Monday I finally started to get a grip. I figured out an alternate plan of exercise that I can do while I’m still building strength after years of disability. I’ve yanked myself back on to the proper eating habits.

And I’ve started writing a lot more, because that is how writers make sense of things. I don’t expect it will be smooth sailing. Most of my family is in the state of New York where things are currently completely out of control. I live in another major urban center. The real shock wave hasn’t even hit yet and the numbers are climbing every day. All we can do is ride the wave and do the best we can.

After the summer

It’s been a really long time since I posted.

I am so very, very tired of my health journey at this point.

I mentioned here that I finally found a surgeon who would do my knee replacements. And that is what I did with my summer vacation. And it’s mostly what I’ve been doing since then. It has been extremely successful, and also a long, tedious, uncomfortable process. So what I really want to talk about isn’t what I did, but what I’m doing.

I went to Target. And I walked. I’ve been on several short trips to pick up one or two things each time, but walking instead of using an ECV. This last trip I stood and contemplated several options of tote when they didn’t have what I really wanted. Just…standing.

I went to Disney World. That was a little too soon in my healing journey and I wound up with enormous blisters on my feet. I also had an amazing time. I had a scooter in each of the parks, but just getting too and from the parks had me doing more walking than I’d done in at least 5 years. It was fun and exciting. And I could.

 

I go to the gym. Before surgery I could just about do 10 minutes on the seated elliptical at zero resistance. Now I can do 25 minutes easily, 30 on good days, and I’m up to resistance of 9. When I get up to 15 or so, I plan to switch to the standing elliptical.

I don’t always park in the handicapped spaces. When I do, it has more to do with the distance between cars. My knees bend better than they have in a long time, but I still don’t fold up easily. More will come with time and practice.

I am making plans for some solo travel this year. It’s been a long time since I felt I could do that. It still feels a little scary but I have several more months of healing and gaining strength before I actually travel and I know it will be fine when it happens.

Things are feeling very positive. Getting new knees has been one of my best-ever decisions and I haven’t even finished breaking them in yet.

 

 

Not your mother’s WW

Back at the beginning of October, Mike and I started Weight Watchers after his cardiologist complained about his weight again, even though all his tests were excellent. I had an epic meltdown dealing with my own issues, and then we settled down.

We both started losing right away. Mike lost nice and steadily, because men are horrible that way, and as a premenopausal woman, I lost in fits and starts, but my progress was acceptable, and I wasn’t really invested in it anyway. I was there for Mike, I was tracking for Mike, and my body, which had declined to pay attention to many diets in the past, would do whatever it was going to do.

We made it past things that were traps for a lot of people in our group. We avoid Halloween candy by ignoring the holiday. We were getting very few trick-or-treaters anyway. We don’t have family nearby, so I bought one portions worth of a few treats for Thanksgiving, and that was that. No issues with leftovers. I had a lovely little birthday party and ate what I felt like for one day, having skipped treats on Thanksgiving, and I felt fine about it.

Then I wound up in the hospital. Twice.

I must say, hospitals are fabulous for weight loss. There was the 4 days I wasn’t allowed to eat while they waited for my gut to wake up after surgery. There were the 2 weeks of recovery when I had the appetite of a toddler. 6 bites every 2 hours. Then there was the week I got progressively sicker and lost my appetite again, the week I was horribly ill on ivs and anti-emetics and barely managed protein bars or shakes once or twice a day. And even after that, I was still healing and recuperating, which are energy intensive.

From my last official weigh in the week after Thanksgiving to the weight taken in my primary care doctors office the week after I got out, I lost 30 lbs. On the one hand, I feel a little weird about ‘claiming’ that, because I didn’t do anything intentional, it just happened. On the other hand, it looks awesome on my graph.

The thing is, in the 2 months since I’ve been home, I’ve dropped another 20 lbs. That I’ll definitely claim, but it’s still been pretty effortless. WW did that for me. This is not your mother’s WW in the days of starvation and shaming. This latest iteration, based on ever changing and improving science, is pretty easy. Here are what I consider the high points.

Points.

It’s a joke. Points are the current cornerstone of the WW system, and they are the reason it works so well for us.

Based on the WW esoteric formula, which probably includes weight, age, and gender, I get a number of points. My meals are made up of a combination of points and zero point foods. Most everything your cardiologist thinks you should eat is zero points. Lean chicken or turkey, salmon, all fresh veggies and fruits. Points are for other stuff like buttered toast, olive oil, or even cookies. It’s all on you, but there is no reason to be stuck with things you don’t like, and no need to ever be hungry. And, as you lose, you also lose points, which is a little sad to see, but it means you don’t have to constantly worry if you are eating too much, or to sit down and do your own math.

Points encourage you to eat real, whole foods. If you have a cup of chopped pineapple and a banana, it’s zero points. If you blend them up into a smoothy, you’re losing some of the benefits of the fiber, and it’s no longer zero. It also digests a lot faster. I have no trouble at all working the points around my various food issues, although I resent a bit that gluten free foods are higher in points then non gluten free.

The food point database makes things very easy. I’ve tried food tracking in the past and it made me completely crazy. Figuring out grams of this and sorting through a huge database of unrelated things all the time. The search function works really well, it’s easy to adjust your portion of whatever according to how much you ate. It remembers what you had the past few days, so your favorites are easy to find.

I have to say, I’m surprised, but ecstatic at my progress. I’m really glad this came up after I spent the summer rebuilding my gut biome and I was really ready for it. It is much, much easier for me than all the years I low carbed when I never felt satisfied. I would highly recommend it.

 

Summer upgrades

This summer, I’m getting upgrades!

NEW KNEES!!!!

I found a surgeon who is willing to take me as a patient, and this summer I’ll be having both knees replaced. The worse knee in July, and the second in September.

Obviously, I’m very excited about it.

Back in 2015 or so when I saw my first orthopedist about why the heck my leg hurt so much, he sadly looked at my xrays and carefully explained that, although there was a lot of damage, I was too young, and too fat, and my knees couldn’t be replaced, so I should go talk to these people about pain management.

I wasn’t in a great place at that point, either physically or emotionally. I didn’t go talk to other surgeons. I didn’t do any research. I just accepted that as a fact, too fat for knee replacement. Somehow I believed it was a limitation of the replacement parts or something. Eventually in 2016 I went to see a pain specialist, and I’ve been working with her ever since to manage some basic functionality. And I’ve just lived with ever decreasing mobility and constant pain.

Fast forward to last winter. My hospital adventures started in an emergency room, and although most of that is hazy because they were very prompt at providing the good drugs, one moment stands out very clearly. I was listing the various medications I’m on for my records, and I think I said “and I’m on x dose of y pain med because of my knees. I have severe osteoarthritis in both knees, but they won’t replace them because I’m too fat.” And the nurse’s reply rang in my head like a bell and I still remember it perfectly, in part because I didn’t expect profanity. She said “That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard. You need to get another opinion.”

Since she’s a nurse in a hospital, I assumed she definitely knew something I didn’t, and I filed that away.

Fast forward to my eventual release from the hospital. The second time. My insurance provided homecare specialists, including 2 therapists, one for arms, and one for legs. I made sure to ask each of them who they thought was the best person locally for knee replacements. They each independently recommended Dr F.

Once I was feeling better, one of the first things I did was call for an appointment.

“I’d like to make a new patient appointment to see Dr F at the Alexandria office.”

“Alexandria, that’s tough, let me see…oh, here’s one next Tuesday.”

“Perfect.”

So I only had to wait a week to get in to see him. By the time the day of the appointment arrived, I was so nervous. I wanted this so much!

Dr. F was a jerk about my weight. But it wasn’t completely superfluous. The statistics are clear, fat patients have more problems and more infections post surgical than normal weight patients. I was not happy that he gave me a long lecture about bariatric surgery and told me to go talk to these people, here’s a pamphlet, as if there was some chance I hadn’t already looked into that option. In truth, by the end of my appointment, I wasn’t perfectly sure he’d accepted me as a candidate until he said “I’ll send the nurse in to schedule.”

It’s on!

Now I am very, very focused on doing everything I can to improve expected outcomes. I’m back in the pool 2 days a week, working as hard as possible. I also found out that they now make seated elliptical machines and I’m using that to improve flexibility in my knees as they are now. When I saw my pain specialist I discussed the need for extra meds so I can manage the pain of more exercise when my latest cortisone shot wears off in about 6 weeks. I’ve always been as sparing as possible with the good drugs, but now that there is an end in sight, I’m willing to take what I need to build strength.

Turns out my pain specialist also respects this surgeon, he’s the one she refers knee patients to. Although she agrees he has the social demeanor of, well, the average surgeon.

I can’t even properly explain how excited I am that I’m going to get my life back.

After the hospital

Warning, pictures of an iv line below and discussion of syringes and stuff, in case you are squicked by that sort of thing. My favorite cat picture has been added to keep the iv picture off the teaser.

I was finally out of the hospital, but I was not suddenly all better. I still had a drain in my belly, a PICC line in my arm, a blood clot in my leg, and no strength at all.

The most surprising thing about my hospital stay was how long it was. Really, the minute they don’t think you need constant attention, they send you home. The home care industry is huge and they have a lot of interesting things that make it work.

One of the most fascinating innovations is home iv antibiotics (and I assume other meds). This is a good explanation of how it works.

The PICC line is a semi-permanent iv line. Instead of a needle at the site where it enters your skin, they have inserted a very long tiny tube up the vein. They then set the end in a stabilizer that is adhered to the skin. Mine looked very much like this:

That whole assembly and dressing has to be changed weekly. You have to be very aggressive about infection prevention. The exterior ends have a twist connector that seems to be standardized in hospitals. All the syringes and extenders and tubes all appeared to have the same connectors.

They make extender tubes that connect to the short connections on your arm so that you can reach the ends one handed and do your own iv. The home care nurse attached the extender tube for me and then on days when no one came, I was able to easily do it myself. It takes the balloon about 30 minutes to empty. That link doesn’t explain the whole process. First, every time you touch anything, you clean the connections with alcohol wipes, even if you just removed the sterile cap. You flush the line with a syringe of saline to make sure the line is clear. Then you connect the antibiotics and wait. When it’s done, there is another saline flush, to get the last of the meds out of the tube. And then you flush the tube with heparin, which is an iv anticoagulant to keep the line clear of any clots. It was a slick system and the home care people assigned by my insurance sent me all the pieces and part. In fact, I have a ton of left over stuff to donate. You can’t give it back, but a lot of veterinary clinics will accept donations.

The biggest annoyance with the PICC line was showering. It can not get wet. It should not get sticky. It hurts when tugged on. I was provided with a little net sock-thing to go over the dangling parts to hold them still that I’m sure works great on people with arms smaller than mine. Mostly on me it just squinched itself into my elbow. But for a brief time it would stay put, just long enough to protect the plastic bits from the wrapping. Then Mike would break out the PressNSeal wrap, and wrap my arm twice around. The standard width of the wrap worked well enough for the length of my arm. Pat that down so it’s all stuck to my arm, and then tape the top and bottom edges. Then do that every time you want a shower. And be sure he’s on hand to help you take it back off because it can be hard to see the edges. It was annoying, but doable. We went through slightly more than an entire large box of wrap.

One tiny up side of the PICC is that because of the risk of infection, I wasn’t allowed to clean cat boxes. Between the initial surgery and the infection recovery, I got about 2 months off from cleaning cat boxes, which normally is done Every Single Day. I haven’t gone that long without cleaning cat boxes since 1993 when I had my own place and got my first post-college cat. Fortunately a dear friend was doing cat sitting as a job at the time and she added us to her schedule. She did a great job, the cats already knew her, and I got a side benefit visit every day, which was really lovely. 

Then there was still the drain in my belly. That was more annoying to me than the line in my arm. The drainage bag had to be lower than the insertion point most of the time, which left me with a lot of tubing always trying to tangle between my legs, or get caught on my skirt. I couldn’t sleep on my side. It had to be very carefully dressed to keep the insertion point dry.  It had to be drained and flushed every evening. That was really a good idea, as I believe the the whole infection started when one of my original surgical drains clogged long before it should have, and that drain type didn’t have a way to clear it. This one had a connector mid way that could be opened, twist-locked to a syringe of saline, and flushed every day. Because of the tubes, I wouldn’t drive with it, even though technically I was allowed. I had that for 2 weeks.

At the 2 week mark I had an appointment with “Interventional Radiology” which I’d never heard of before my hospital stay. They are the people who drain abscesses and put in drains. I’m not entirely sure what else they do. Mike and I hoped that appointment would be short so he could get home to a work meeting.

Ha. Yeah, right.

Instead, I had a surprise cat scan, just to check things out. This was highly annoying because Surprise. It would have been nice if we could have planned things better. Although, no longer the trusting sorts, Mike did bring his tablet ‘just in case’. Also, I hate that nasty, nasty contrast you have to drink. They tell you it just tastes like water, but they are wrong. If I had known it was coming, I’d have brought something to mix it with so it would go down easier. A trick I learned in the emergency room, so I know it doesn’t interfere with anything.

Some hours later I no longer had the drain. The removal of which was easy. I still had the PICC because the doctor in charge saw something that might be something, and best to be safe. Sigh. But ok, another week of iv antibiotics. I did that, and then I had 2 more weeks of oral antibiotics before I was done. I can’t really do yogurt, so I drank komboucha and took my probiotics every day.

As soon as the drain came out and I felt like I could drive again, I went to a local hair place and got my hair washed. I’d looked into that after my initial surgery. I had no idea you could just show up and pay someone to wash your hair, no cut or trim necessary. And it’s CHEAP. Even at DC prices, I only pay $10, and that’s because I tip 100% on the $5 charge. Completely worth it.

I had visiting occupational (arms) and physical (legs) therapists come right after my release from the hospital. I wish they had started coming a little later. Really, I was too exhausted all the time to do the exercises they gave me to do. I’d gone from 3 weeks of careful surgical recuperation, to 2 weeks of strict bed rest, to suddenly being home. Even walking from my chair to the bathroom was twice as far as it had been in the hospital. Just doing my best to care for myself, getting meals and drinks, going to the bathroom, taking a shower. All those things were exhausting. I didn’t really have anything left for ‘exercises’.

I almost forgot to mention the blood clot. It didn’t hurt, so it was more of an annoyance than anything because that’s what kept me in the hospital for so long. As soon as I was out, they turned the management of my blood thinners to my primary care doctor. Fortunately, blood clot issues don’t really run in my family, so I only need to be on them for 3 months. I go for a blood draw every week or two, and will in fact be going again on Monday. It doesn’t affect me too much except the restriction on getting a massage, which I would dearly love to do.

The week after the drain came out, the PICC was removed. That was a huge relief. At two weeks after the drain removal I was allowed to go back to the pool, my preferred exercise, and I finally felt like I was on my way back to health. Not a short road though. Before surgery I’d been hitting the pool  4 days a week from 6-6:30 am to walk very briskly. It had to be brisk, at that hour the water is really, really cold. When I got back in nearly 3 months later, 15 minutes of gentle walking was wearing me out. I started back at 2 days a week, 15 minutes. Last week was 45 minutes. This week I’m adding another day.

Whew. Way too long a story, I think, but that’s the highlights.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Am I really doing this?

If you read this post, or really any of my posts, you’ll know I have a lifetime of Issues about dieting, weight loss, and body image. Emotionally, I would rather stay fat than ever face another diet again, ever. Too much trauma. Too many horrible experiences. Too many unintentional physical consequences like seriously messing up my adrenals.

And then my beloved says “I want us to do this together, I need your support.”

And there you are, signing up for Weight Watchers.

We signed up for the six months that would be necessary if either of us wanted to be considered for weight loss surgery. No decisions have been made about that. I don’t think he’ll need it.

We signed up over the weekend so we could check out the specifics. How many points? (plenty) How comprehensive is the database? (Very, even a lot of my specialty foods are in there.) We had already planned to eat two places we enjoy that we won’t be frequenting for a while.

Beloved, who adores data, immediately became obsessive about checking points, entering points, figuring out possible meal combinations, and has in general come in under his points every day. Even the day we had pizza. This surprises me not at all.

I have had several panic attacks. I have had crying fits. I had a dream of my body asking me to please, please, not take her food away again. I’ve been a complete mess.

Let me be clear, my behavior in no way reflects the reality of the WW system. I have ample points. They focus on whole foods and there is absolutely no reason to ever be hungry. There is real flexibility and there is no reason not to indulge in favorite foods on a reasonable basis. Beloved researched very carefully before we got started to make sure it would work with my various food allergies, and without any kinds of frankenfood, which we both avoid. It’s not them. It’s me.

It’s been a week now. In between my fits, I’ve kept track of most of my points, made some very simple changes to a few things, and haven’t been hungry. Or deprived. If my brain and my poor tortured Inner Dieter can catch up to the reality, I can probably make this work and properly support the love of my life.

Whether or not it will make any difference in my weight is a whole other kettle of traumatized fish.

Which way is care?

I wrote this some months ago and held it back because it felt too raw, but now it is January and the season of dieting, so it’s time to post it.

On a private forum with women I care dearly for, there have recently been a number of posts about how they are once again getting back on the strict diet wagon in the endless pursuit of a size they like better.

My next thought was that I, too, should get back on the diet bandwagon because there is no question that my life would be easier if I were lighter.

And right after that thought, my stomach clenched. And I was overcome with a very visceral feeling of fear. And it was all I could do not to cry.

This is crazy.

I have spent over half my life depriving myself of food. Punishing myself for being fat. Eating what I ‘should’ even when I really, sincerely, would rather never eat again than have another bite of kale.

Just the passing thought of another strict diet was panic inducing. I can’t. I feel frantic, and sick about the idea. My body is enacting a flight response. It is clear to me that my body and mind find the idea traumatizing.

Even worse than that are the voices ringing through my mind as I type this. The kind ones say I shouldn’t give up on myself. The firm ones tell me no pain no gain and if I just try <insert preferred method> that it will be easy and I’m sure to see results.

The last results I got were burnt out adrenals and a thyroid crisis.

There are even uglier voices in my head too. Quitter. Loser. Fat lazy slob.

At what point does something you do for yourself become something you do to yourself?

Why is cutting bad, but starving yourself good? Why are recreational drugs bad, but damaging your brain chemistry via food is encouraged?

I think about the best eating plan to follow and I feel despair. Another long procession of food that I don’t want. Forcing myself to eat, and yet still so hungry.

Does saying no make me weak? or Strong? Is it self love, or self hate?

If it were a job I hated that much, people who love me would tell me to do everything possible to find another job.

If it were a relationship with a person that caused me such fear and anguish, people who love me would tell me that it’s a bad relationship and that I should remove myself.

Somehow because it is food and fat, the rules are different.

But after a lifetime of self torture, I’m ready to try living a new way, where I might treat myself with love and respect and ignore the voices that tell me I must fit into a mold that is too small for me.

So no more kale for me.

Unico 20.87- Unplugged

 

Riviera Maya let us unplug. That’s not to say that Unico didn’t have complete wireless access everywhere on the property. It did. They also assured me that they offered free long distance calls to the States and Canada. But we had agreed that we would treat it as a cruise, where internet or phone access is ridiculously priced so we opt out. I checked my email twice a day to see if there was anything from my cat sitters and that was it. We unplugged. No phone, no news, no social media.

I don’t realize how much all the frantic activity wears on me until I opt out of it. I ‘knew’ that I’ve found this year to be particularly stressful, but I didn’t really ‘know’ until I got away. And now that I’m back, I’m very reluctant to completely reconnect.

I really enjoyed reading for long hours. I enjoyed having good conversations with my Beloved, and several with the random other people I met in the pool, or at the spa. I loved feeling that I had plenty of time to just sit back and watch the clouds and listen to the wind.

Where do we balance our need to be informed citizens and the desire to participate with our friends and loved ones, even if only online, with the need for quiet introspection and space to just think? Daily meditation practice, even when I’m good about it, isn’t quite enough.

One thing that surprised me was how distressed I felt watching other people at the quiet pool be on their phones. Not talking, that would have been rude, but intent on their screens. I thought it was sad. To go to such a beautiful place and stay connected to the electronic tether. To miss out on the moment while glued to the every day world by screen. That may not be at all fair. Maybe they were e-readers and no different from my own vacation choices. Not that it was any of my business anyway, but it bothered me quite a bit. Such an amazing moment was offered, and it seemed like they were missing it.

The other thing I didn’t notice until we returned was how beautifully quiet it was. I live outside DC and even though my neighborhood is thoroughly suburban and could be anywhere, you can always just barely hear the sound of the traffic, of airplanes. Of neighbors tending their lawns. It’s always something. The only mechanical sound I really heard there was the constant hum of the air conditioners, and honestly, I’d have really missed those if they weren’t there.

I wonder if there is a way to find that quiet and peace at home, or if it really requires stepping out into another world? The holiday season is almost upon us, so I guess I’ll have time to experiment.

Unico 20.87- The Quiet Pool

The quiet pool was really the focus of our vacation I think. After a leisurely waking and a nice walk to the breakfast buffet, we retired to the quiet pool. It was a bit cooler than the two main pools and it was tucked off to the side. The music was lower, easily talked over. There was no beer pong. All the beer pong was over in the main pool.

This really sums up our vacation. The clear cool water of the pool. Blue sky with decorative puffy white clouds. Palm trees swaying in the breeze. The swim up bar opened at about 11, or maybe 10:30. But we didn’t have to actually swim to the bar because the amazing Bianca would come by every little bit to refresh the ice buckets keeping our water bottles cold and see if we needed another pina colada, or maybe another daiquiri, or a chi-chi, which is what Bianca told me a pina colada with grenadine is called, although Google differs.

When we got warm, just hop up and take another dip in the pool. Gustavo, a young man not long out of school and saving for University, was tasked with making sure our umbrella constantly moved to keep us out of the sun. We didn’t take advantage of the lunch delivery, but it was available.

Partway through the morning our Host, Leonardo, would come by to see if we needed anything. Dinner reservations? Spa reservations? Could I please have an electric fan in our room? Certainly! No problem. Everything we could possibly need, including change for a $20 on the last day to tip our favorite servers, he made possible.

They were running some great specials, so after a leisurely morning reading and swimming at the pool, and a late lunch, I took myself off to the spa. Daily massage has become a goal. Some were good, some were amazing. Volcanic hot stone massage is a favorite, but I tried some of everything.

One day Beloved took off on an excursion to see the ruins at Tulum. He came back full of excellent educational details. He said the quality of the excursion and the education was much, much higher than the cruise excursions we’re used to. I didn’t think I’d be up to the walking, so I was in the spa and then had a lovely reading day.

After the pool and the spa was always a leisurely dinner. Beloved made extensive use of the jacuzzi tub on the deck every evening.

But when I plug into the memory to relax and bask in the joy, it’s laying on a sunbed at the quiet pool in the breeze that is the strongest memory. That’s what I look forward to in our next vacation.

 

 

Unico 20.87- the Food.

Food, glorious food!

One of the questions we always have to ask is, can they handle a guest with food allergies. Yes, they did, and they did a fantastic job.

Breakfast and lunch every day was at the 20 87 restaurant, which is an enormous buffet. In the US I am particularly leery of buffets because you can’t be certain what is actually in the food, and cross contamination is a big problem. I ate at their buffet twice a day for 5 days and never had a single issue. You should be impressed.

While they did have all the traditional things an American tourist will expect, made to order omelettes, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, waffles, and pancakes, that was the very least of the breakfast offerings. There was an array of things to make breakfast tacos, which I never fully investigated. There were so many things, I often wished they were still offering breakfast at lunch so I could try things I missed. Every day I had beautiful creamy scrambled eggs and bacon and gluten free bread. Other offerings that rotated were various preparations of potatoes. Poached eggs with salsa, with salsa verde, and some creamy cheesy sauce that I sadly skipped. Several times shredded beef or chicken that was beautifully seasoned. An entire section…six or seven trays…of sliced meats specifically a salami type item that I ate for breakfast and lunch every day. Trays of cheeses that made me sad I can’t eat cheese any more. Tray after tray of cut fruit, the expected watermelon and pineapple, cantaloupe, mango, something I didn’t recognize, and sliced peaches and plums, which was a very nice treat for me.

And a huge selection of every possible pastry that my Beloved enjoyed ruthlessly. On the weekend they offered a selection of gluten free muffins that were lovely.

The juice flowed endlessly, and if you’re a fan of watermelon, I’d just like to recommend fresh squeezed watermelon juice to start your day. Or strawberry juice, if that’s your thing. Definitely my thing, along with orange juice, which was always fresh squeezed and far superior to what I can usually purchase here in the DC area.

Lunch was the same layout. More fruit, cheese, and sliced meats. Made to order lunch steaks, hamburgers, or fish. Tacos. Curries. Random veggies. Interesting potatoes. So much variety every day. Beloved was particularly enamored of the no less than 5 varieties of ceviche that were presented every day. And of course, desserts, if you possibly had any room. The gluten free chocolate chip cookies were very nice.

For less formal lunch or afternoon snacks there were several choices. There were some areas around the pools that were just walk up bars. One specialized in fried fish, one had a big brick pizza oven, one seemed to specialize in sandwiches. I never had room to try them.

For dinner, things were just a bit more formal. The space that was a buffet two meals a day became a steak house. I had to most amazing flank steak possible. It didn’t taste like anything but flank steak, but it was the richest, most tender flank steak you can imagine and I have no idea how they managed it. Beloved had something they called a strip roast, which seems to be what a rib roast would be if you cut it the other direction along the ribs. It was also very good, but we agreed mine was the best tasting.

There was a Italian restaurant that I admit we didn’t try. They do offer a gluten free pasta, but neither of us were particularly intrigued by the menu.

Mura House is their Japanese restaurant. We ate there twice because Beloved adores sushi. Everything he ate was beautiful and he raved about the freshness. They offered gluten free soy sauce, so all the sushi was available to me, except that I don’t care for it. Instead I had custom prepared teppanyaki, which wonderful. They also offered a specialty beverage called a Momo which went down so smooth on a hot day that it’s only by careful pre-planning that I didn’t over do. They are saki, peach liqueur, peach juice, and something else I think. Really spectacular. In this picture Beloved has received his tempura, but we’re still waiting on our drinks. With multiple open grills, I found it a bit warm, hence the fan.

Cueve Siete is their Mexican signature restaurant. It is not what you think of as Mexican, but it was amazing anyway. One night there was table-side fresh to order guacamole. My favorite dish was a beef and sheep’s tongue appetizer that was just amazing, tender and flavorful. Both nights we were there I had the duck as my main course. It was rich and tender and not under cooked the way it often is here where it’s practically raw in the middle. It is not done to lick the plate, but it was difficult to maintain my composure. Sex on the Beach was the drink of choice those nights.

And on the off chance you might possibly still be looking for more food, Cafe Inez was on the walk from the restaurants back to our room and they offered a dangerous selection of desserts, baked goods, and they had a little three-tier case with three lovely gluten free choices, a fantastic apple tart with an almond base, a super rich frosted chocolate brownie-thing, and a lovely crumbly round pastry with a rich sweet taste and a light chocolaty layer in the middle. I’ve never seen one before, but it was delicious.

They took being accessible to those of us with food allergies very seriously. After check-in I was presented with a laminated card with all the food allergies I’d submitted printed on it. I showed this at every restaurant and it was noted down. I think that as they go along they’ll come up with a better method for keeping the information on file, but for now, in their first year of operation, they are obsessively keeping statistics.

It made our experience that much more stress free.

And because it matters to me, so maybe to you, in a conversation with part of the customer care team we ran into on the way back to our room one afternoon, I learned that almost all the food is local, either organically or hydroponically grown. They have a very aggressive recycling policy and have a whole team devoted to minimizing their impact.

Here at home I eat organic as much as possible, and I try to make the freshest choices, but the difference in the  food is astounding. Everything just tasted better there, and I don’t think it was solely because I didn’t have to cook it myself. I think real, fresh, untainted food is a gift it’s hard to get here. I’m not sure we as a culture even know where we’re missing any more.

If you missed the first part, it’s here.