On My Being On Nexium

Today is the 4th of July. As you head into the festivities, think of me, mark my words, and go easy on the wieners. Last night, I ate four, possibly even five, extra-long hotdogs. My stomach has been in revolt all morning. It's after noon o'clock and my innards are only now beginning to settle down, but I'm not sure for how long, as there is quite a bit of rumbling still. Eating so many hotdogs was a mistake. I grant that. It was my last junk food hurrah before officially starting on a diet—knock on wood.

The doctor recently put me on daily Nexium to manage my Laryngopharyngeal Reflux. I've had it for years and still can't pronounce it. Leaving LPR untreated can lead to cancer over time. Lifestyle changes have proven both restrictive and ineffective, so drugs it is. Drugs are nice. I can eat whenever I want without worrying about spending the night coughing up a soup of phlegm and scorching bile. It's been a pleasant few months.

The only problem I've had with the medication so far is that the pounds are creeping onto my scale despite not eating any differently. And almost every last ounce goes directly to my belly, which in turn is starting to push my blood sugar up a little high. The whole situation is a vicious cycle that leads to new pants and possibly a Wilford Brimley commercial if you don't keep on top of it. So, I'm starting a diet to manage that situation, which is frustrating because I already eat reasonably healthily (aside from the occasional pack of franks, that is, but at least they're not carbs). I will miss winding down with a giant beer after work. Such sacrifices must be made. I'm not buying bigger pants. I will not.

Happy Fireworks Night!