Soapbox Confessional: Yogurt!

If you met me today, you might think I was the dictator of say, "Governmental Food Affairs." Constantly checking and comparing labels. Researching (aka Googling) fresh produce information to compare nutritional components. Thinking about what I am eating: Should I eat an apple or an orange today? Hmm...I'm going with the orange because I need a little Vitamin C boost, my throat feels kinda scratchy this morning.

I am especially particular when it comes to yogurt. Some might even consider me a yogurt fascist.

What is yogurt? Basically, bacterial fermentation of milk. Sounds yummy, right?

In The United Sates we traditionally think of yogurt made from cow's milk. But yogurt can be made from a variety of sources, like: other dairy products or soy. I have recently grown to love Greek yogurt because of it's large supply of protein per serving. "Real" Greek yogurt is made from sheep's milk. However, most large-scale manufactures in the U.S. make Greek/European/Icelandic "style" yogurts. These are actually just strained yogurt made from cow's milk, but it usually still has much higher protein per serving than traditionally yogurt.

Because I am eating yogurt for health benefits as well as taste: The first thing I do is check the ingredients listed. Corn syrup? No, thank you! Not in my yogurt.

I look for an ingredient list which states something simple like: "Cultured Pasteurized Milk, Nonfat Milk, Live, Active and Probiotic Cultures."

Next I check which types of cultures it contains. How many? Does the label display the National Yogurt Association's seal which identifies most yogurt containing live and active cultures?


Most of us are familiar with Acidophilus, and most yogurts contain at least that. However, some yogurts have more cultures than others. For example: L. Bulgaricus, S. Thermophilus, L. Acidophilus, B. Bifidus, and L. Casei, just to name a few. I generally go for yogurt with the highest number of cultures listed. After all, each culture is different and benefits your body (digestive system, immune system etc.) in a unique way.

I also prefer yogurt that was made without the use of rBST (recombinant bovine somatotropin) or any other artificial growth hormones. With my medical history, who needs additional hormones to deal with! Also, I do not like to think of the poor cow's udders after they are forced to produce far too much milk. What if I was forced to produce more milk than my body was made for? No thank you!

Does my fascist yogurt habit turn into extra cost? Sure, sometimes. Maybe a dollar here. An extra dollar there. But you would be surprised how easy it is to find great yogurt at very reasonable prices. In California where I am originally from, I have access to very good yogurt at Costco. However, Costco does not carry a great selection of Yogurt on the East Coast. On the East Coast I have had very good luck at Trader Joes (inexpensive and healthy.)

As far as brand preference, I do have a few solid brands that I prefer. But I think it is best if you go to your local grocery store or farmers market and explore what your community has to offer. Often times the local yogurt brands available are far better than any national name. Best advice: avoid the advertising gimmicks. Some of these yogurt companies pour mega$$$bucks to convince you that their individual label will cure digestive and other issues. Which reminds me of the following Target Women sketch by Sarah Haskins:





Any good brand of yogurt (with live and active cultures) should help those "digestive issues."

Yogurt availability does vary by region. Two years ago I was working in Southeast Texas and was downright depressed at the yogurt selection available. The items in the supermarket barely resembled what I, (and the FDA) consider, "yogurt." My "selection" in Texas was basically two brands of curdled milk. The first ingredient listed in both selections was high fructose corn syrup, of course. And neither one contained any live cultures.

I usually go for non-fat plain yogurt. Mix in a few walnuts and/or berries (fresh or frozen) and call it lunch. In my opinion, pre-sweetened and flavored yogurts in the United States are far too sweet and contain far more sugar than necessary. And who needs extra sugar?! If plain yogurt is not sweet enough for you, mix in a little honey or Agave Nectar (a low glycemic index food - good for women with PCOS!) that way you control your sugar intake.



I would be interested in what readers from different country's have to say about yogurt available to them. Australia? Peru? Germany? Spain? I know you're out there!

Or, are you brave enough to make your own yogurt? Do tell!

Breaking Down a Few Walls (Part II)

My apologies again for the time that has elapsed between then and now. Philosophically, "Tomorrow" could have multiple definitions...

Without Further Ado:

When I was 19-years-old I spontaneously began lactating. Yes, lactating. I remember being in the bathroom toweling off after a shower, when my hand briefly grazed over my nipple. It was still wet? I dried it off again. As my eyes glanced back towards my chest, I watched in utter horror as yellow liquid began slowly discharging before my eyes.

Now, unless there was divine intervention at work here, I positively KNEW I was not pregnant.

So, I did what any 19-year-old girl would do who lacked a health relationship with either parent: I Googled it!

Unfortunately, the explanations I could find on the internet which could explain what was happening to me were down right terrifying. Brain cancer. Malignant brain tumor. Severe breast infection. Etc. So, I called my Gynecologist's office and made an appointment.

(Editorial note: Looking back, this error in telephone calls was probably my number one mistake. I should have gone to my family practice doctor, who would have admitted his ignorance immediately and referred me to an Endocrinologist asap...but alas, I was 19 and thought my GYN would be the best choice.)

GYN #1

From here on out, this GYN shall be dubbed, "Doctor-who-attempts-to-treat-conditions-that-she-really-doesn't-know-anything-about-and-should-have-referred-me-to-see-a-specialist!" Or, "Dwattctsrdkaaashrmtsas!" for short. Let's just call her, "Dr. D".

Dr. D ran various labs and concluded that the liquid seeping from my breast was, in fact, breast milk and not infection. She also confirmed her suspicions that my Prolactin level was elevated. At the time, it was 81 (normal is under 20). So, Dr. D gave me free samples to get me started and a prescription for Parlodel (bromocriptine mesylate). Her diagnosis for me: "Hyperprolactinemia."

(Editorial Note: In time, I have learned that many women (and men) are diagnosed with this condition when a doctor cannot explain lactation, or elevated prolactin levels. In my opinion/experience, it is a stupid. useless. unhelpful. diagnosis...and it basically means, "We missed something. " Or, "We have no idea what is going on.")

My reaction to Parlodel was terrible. I could not get out of bed. I was so dizzy and confused that it was not abnormal for me to fall down immediately after I stood up from bed. I needed to sleep all day, every day, for 23.5 hours a day.

That particular semester in college, I completely failed every. single. class. I didn't even care, or think, to drop them. After all, I was tucked in my bed fast ASLEEP!

I eventually saw my family practice doctor who refereed me to an Endocrinologist. By the time I finally got into see him the lactation had stopped. However, I still did not know what was happening to me, or how I could live the rest of my life in bed.



Endocrinologist #1

Let's call this first Endocrinologist, "Male-Doctor-who-fails-to-treat-actual-medical-problems-in-women-because-he-would-rather-blame-it-on-THEM", or "Dr. M" for short.

I remember sitting in his office as he questioned me on various aspects in my life: "How many hours a night do you sleep? Oh 23 hours a day, huh? How would you say your interest in activities has been recently? Oh, you aren't interested in doing anything, because you feel tired and confused? And school, how is that going? Oh, you failed last semester? Hmmmm...."

He ran zero medical tests, and only glanced at my medical records from previous doctors once.

Then, Dr. M determined that in his professional opinion, I was depressed. He took me off Parlodel and replaced it with Zoloft. That's right folks, Zoloft. Does Zoloft have anything to do with lactation? No! Did he have any idea what was causing it? NO! Dr. M's best guess was that my lactation might be caused by my "depression."

In my desperation to free myself from the cage Parlodel had imprisoned me in, I took Dr. M's advice and started taking Zoloft. After all, he too had free samples from the pharmaceutical company and it did not cost me a dime, initially. I took Zoloft for four months. But NEVER returned to Dr. M.

Now, I am sure that anti-depressants can save lives. And prescribed by a competent medical professional, I assume they can enhance lives for some people as well. But for someone like me, whose "depression" was caused by a medication they were taking, life on Zoloft was like crawling on lackluster hamster wheel. Life was merely a fog void of emotion or enjoyment. Not to mention, unnecessary sexual side effects. (Anonymous blog: YES!)

After four months, and no longer under the care of any doctors, I quit taking Zoloft. Cold turkey. At the time, I did not know that quitting an anti-depressant without careful professional monitoring could cause serious problems. Possibly resulting in self-injury or even death. I had no clue when I felt myself acting irrational and hating life that my brain was suffocating because it was no longer getting a steady supply of whatever chemical Zoloft was providing.

I sought help from my primary care physician at some point (timing is hazy for me now.) He refereed me to another Endocrinologist in town, Dr. H.

Endocrinologist #2

Thankfully, Dr. H was a step up from Dr. M. He was perplexed as to why Dr. D had placed me on Parlodel in the first place. After all, many of his patients suffer from serious side effects on that medication. In his opinion there was a better, newer, option available for me: Dostinex (Cabergoline). He even hypothesized out loud that perhaps Dr. D had received kickbacks from the pharmaceutical company for every patient she prescribed Parlodel for...Ugh. Just what I wanted to be: a victim of a pharmaceutical incentive program which would help my doctor buy a new yacht.

Dr. H ordered an MRI, and other blood tests for me. However nothing abnormal was seen on the MRI, and except for my slightly elevated Prolactin level, all blood tests came back normal as well. Dr. H's hypothesis as to what was causing my lactation was unusual: He told me that it was possible head trauma I received in a car accident a few months before the initial onset could have been the cause.

"Will I be able to have Children?" I remembering asking him as I tried to hide my hands from shaking.

"You won't know until you try!" He chuckled in a detached, impersonal, almost mocking tone.

I slinked out of the exam room.

What Diagnosis?

Very long story short. As a result of the car accident, I had previously hired an attorney after the at-fault-party's insurance company refused to pay the damages on the car I was driving. (Despite the police report indicating clearly, that she was the cause.) As a part of the legal process I had to declare any recent medical conditions to my attorney. Once he learned of Dr. D's hypothesis, he quickly subpoenaed my medical records.

We quickly discovered that while Dr. D had previous noted in my records he thought the car accident was to blame, only one day after he received the subpoena for my records he made a note in my file indicating a diagnosis change "based on further evidence." What evidence? I will never know. I had not had any more tests. There was no additional evidence mentioned in my file. To this day, I firmly believe that he changed my diagnosis because he did not want to testify in court.

I never went back to see Dr. H again. And while I am sure that I could have done damage to his medical stature in the community with the documentation I had copies of, I was mostly embarrassed and just wanted the situation to go away. I felt Dr. H was responsible for making me "out myself" as a spontaneously-and-inexplicably-lactating-woman to a bunch of greedy, heartless, attorneys.

I was young. I was ashamed.

Eventually, life went back to normal. I recovered from my body's reliance to Zoloft and Parlodel. And except for very rare vertigo, I experienced virtually zero side effects from Dostinex. I still take Dostinex, once a week, to this very day.

Now What?!

Flash forward two years: I begin to notice I am retaining fluid in my abdomen. I constantly feel nauseated. My stomach is large and distended, and my sister jokingly remarks that I look about 6 months pregnant. She was right, I did...

Part III of IV, V will follow tomorrow.

Seriously this time. It is already written.

I just could not burden you with that much text/reading at one time.
It is a lot of information to absorb in one sitting.

GRE? Check!

I will spare you the panicky-anxiety-ridden-details. (My boyfriend was witness to the pre and post test hysteria, and I think he would agree that it would just be better to leave you with the impression that I am a relatively competent and successful human being.) I heard that snickering!

What is important here, is that I was successful in checking off the all important box which required I submit myself to the standardized crap process of sitting for the Graduate Record Exam.



(Let the justification commence...) Just like the SAT, the GRE was designed to predict how well a person will do in Graduate School...What bothers me, is why graduate programs still require the GRE after it is has been determined that an individual student's aptitude are not measured by their standardized crap tests. The SAT failed to measure my performance in my undergraduate education, and my previous scores on the GRE failed to predict how I would perform in my current graduate courses. So why would they think that the GRE would be a good way to predict my performance in a Doctoral Program?

Fortunately, I am confident that I (at least) met the raw score threshold that the program requires for admissions consideration. I never was banking on my GRE scores to propel me to the top of the candidate list, or even to make me a strong candidate. I believe that my work and education experience, combined with my superior essay writing skills, and my superb letters of reference, will be the proclamation to the admissions committee which screams:

"Let Me In! You know I would do great at this program.

Pretty please?"

Salty Tears

As I was standing in front of my bathroom mirror tonight, tears spewing out of my bloodshot eyes, I realized how much my blogging has actually been a positive influence on my psyche. Afterall, I am certain my recent absence from the blogosphere was the cause of this upheaval of emotions I was now experiencing in the form of warm liquid erupting from my eyes and pooling entirely in my mouth.

I had forgotten how salty tears can taste. Ble-uck!


Just now I Googled, "tears" out of an acute curiosity as to their physical composition. Did you know that tears formed out of emotional stress contain more protein based hormones (like prolactin and Adrenocorticotropic, aka ACTH) than "regular" tears that form merely to lubricate your eyes and keep them clean from dust and other irritants? These hormones that are found in "sad" tears might look familiar to some of you, because they are usually in the first round of blood tests doctors conduct to determine potential causes of infertility. Who knew that these same hormones actually make their way into the very tears we cry over our lack, or loss, of children.

But I digress...

For me, tonight's excess prolactin and ACTH episode was most likely induced by some serious introspection. I was attempting to figure out WHY THE HELL I keep procrastinating on studying for the G**damn GRE. Of which, I am scheduled to take in less than a month. I need to re-take it because I have decided that I desperately want to get into a particular Ph.D. program and I really need to boost my scores if there is any chance of being accepted.

But! For some stupid reason I cannot bring myself to study. Also, I cannot bring myself to get ahead on school assignments. All assignments, currently, are being finished 30 seconds before I need to hit, "attach/send" to my professor. In addition, grocery shopping also seems to be a skill I am currently lacking. When I boil it all down, what I really cannot bring myself to do is ANYTHING productive! I go to class and I do the absolute-bare-minimum required. I feel like I am slowly melting (and not in a good way)...like I am folding over into myself and decaying because I am unable to remove myself from this self-preservation mode I stumbled into.

The above mentioned tear-induced introspection occurred as I was brushing my teeth. The following thoughts crept into my head, "How would I feel if I knew I was going to die tomorrow? What would I be happy/proud I've accomplished already? What would I feel deep sorrow and regret over?"

My first thought was over just how much I would miss my boyfriend. (That's when I originally felt the first explosion of moisture cascading down my cheeks.) My mind wandered through images of videotaping a special goodbye to him. What I would say...Just how grateful I am to have known him. To have been able to experience the love, honesty and tenderness that he shares with me on a daily basis. I would tell him just how selfish I really am, because I would be glad that it was me passing first. That way, I would not have had to live a day of my life without him since I knew that he existed on this earth. I would tell him just how special he truly, truly, is to me and to the world that has yet to meet him. I would tell him that he is sure to do great things. That he is sure to help many, many people.

I briefly thought about my parents and my younger sister. But I knew that they would be alright...And a few brief thoughts on things I am proud to have accomplished rushed in front of my eyes.

However, it was really the deep sorrow and regret that I just could not brush off. It crept over me in waves, like a bad horror flick on a small budget: An enormous black cloud enveloped me when I thought about just how sad I would be that I did not get to become a mother. That I never had the chance to give back love to an innocent soul. Never had the chance to teach him to be kind to animals. Never had a chance to teach her how to fight fair. I felt such a deep sense of loss, like my children suddenly would not be able to come into existence because I had failed them. I had failed my unborn. non-existent. children.

I thought about my dear boyfriend and the running list in his mind, "Rules for my unborn son." I would be so sad that his son, would not get to be my own son too. I would want to tell my boyfriend in my video how much I hope he finds a nice lady who would be such a good mother to his sure-to-be beautiful children. A pretty, sweet, intelligent and calm woman who (hopefully) had less hangups that I do, less anxiety about being liked by his parents, more wealth from the family she was raised, and she would surely LOVE to fly on airplanes and travel the globe.

I think the reason I keep procrastinating and avoiding any study time on the GRE is because it is not really what I want to do. How can you charge full speed ahead on something that is only, "Plan B?" It's pretty difficult when you keep glancing from side to side (and sometimes, 180° degrees directly behind you,) because all you freaking want is to charge full speed ahead, guns blazing, at Plan A!

Elusive. Undetermined. Previously dismantled. Plan A.