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I am, once again, sick. Actually, it’s pretty much the same sickness that’s been hanging around in my body since earlier this month, only now it’s complicated by additional tangent illnesses because I didn’t get to the doctor in time. Yes, that’s partially my fault: the first half of the month I was insanely busy with work, while the second half involved entertaining a string of house guests. Oh, and since my doctor was on vacation for a good chunk of that time, I’d hoped to avoid an office visit with her substitute altogether. No such luck.

Yesterday I finally broke down and went for a visit knowing full well what my diagnosis would be, as well as which prescriptions I’d need. One hour later I left with prescriptions for the exact meds I knew I’d be given. Naturally, I was charged $95 for the privilege of having my self-diagnosis confirmed.

To make matters worse, the doctor acknowledged that he was only giving me a one-week prescription and that I’d probably have to come back for yet another appointment to get it renewed since he was pretty certain it would take longer than 7 days of meds to knock this out of my system.

Not surprisingly, I’m a bit miffed. After all, if he knows it’s likely to take longer, why not just authorize a refill? Why make me find time in my schedule to come back to his office, where I’ll be charged for yet another visit and where, because doctor’s offices tend to be filled with sick people, I’m likely to pick up yet another bug that will have me back there yet again? Answer: built-in job security. For him. Got it.

What he doesn’t get, however, is that such practices only serve to make me an even bigger fan of using an online pharmacy. Not one of those fly-by-night places that spams me, mind you, but one with factory-fresh medications. As it is, my insurance company actually gives discounts for online pharmacy orders at certain locations and the savings on my co-pay are pretty significant. Plus there’s the convenience factor: my prescription arrives on my doorstep, usually the very next day, which means I don’t have to stand in line at the store waiting around while I feel absolutely awful. But, as I said, that discount only works at their recommended sites, which still don’t always offer the best savings.

While I’d never recommend that someone self-prescribe a medication they’ve never taken before, I don’t understand why a person shouldn’t be able to buy Xanax online from less-expensive yet reputable overseas sources, for instance — or medications to treat acne, impotence or to help with weight loss — if they’ve got a valid prescription.

Early in my teens my mother lectured me on the importance of moisturizing regularly. Growing up in California in an age when sunscreen was for wimps the women we knew who failed to moisturize faithfully were just as blond, tan and thin as everyone else but their faces resembled leather home theater seating: obviously cared for and yet well-worn, replete with the fine lines and cracks one associates with tanned hide.

Like many pieces of advice administered by my mother — pearls like not crossing my eyes lest they stick that way and always wearing clean underwear and fresh lipstick when leaving the house — I blew off the moisturizer mantra. Now it turns out that I might have been right, because researchers at Rutger University have found a firm link between common moisturizers and non-melanoma skin cancer.

Researchers were led by Dr. Allan Conney from Rutgers University, as they ran a test on mice to see what type of effect these moisturizers had on their bodies.

They tested four common types, Dermavan, Eucerin, Vanicream, and Dermabase.

What they found was that all four were linked to the development of skin cancer tumors on the mice tested in the study.

They were not looking directly to see if moisturizers caused skin cancer, but instead sort of stumbled into the discovery.

Obviously, further research is needed to determine what compound, precisely, is the problem. In the meantime, however, I’m going to console myself that, along with cleavage, being wrinkle-free is an unexpected benefit of being overweight.

Always looking on the bright side, I am.

New research studying whether there’s a genetic basis for obesity has turned up a surprising find: for some, feeling constantly hungry might be in their genes. The researchers discovered that a gene, FTO, affects patients’ appetites. When a person has one copy of the gene they tend to weigh more than someone without it, while those with two copies way significantly more.

Lead researcher Professor Jane Wardle said: “It is not simply the case that people who carry the risky variant of this gene automatically become overweight, but they are more susceptible to overeating.

“This makes them significantly more vulnerable to the modern environment which confronts all of us with large portion sizes and limitless opportunities to eat.”

Of course, assuming there’s a genetic basis for an appetite that’s always on “high”, wouldn’t there be more people who’ve been fat all their lives, dating back to the days when they rolled around on baby bedding? Or is that what our “childhood obesity epidemic” is about?

Although it has nothing to do with the genetic research itself, I found another bit to be particularly interesting: the “limitless opportunities to eat.” That’s something I’ve become increasingly conscious of since my diagnosis: ours is a society that’s practically built around food. Want to celebrate? Have a cookie. Feel bad? Have cookie dough ice cream. Need to keep the kids entertained on a rainy day? Make cookies together. Want to sell your house? The aroma of freshly baked cookies sure helps.

Of course, it’s not all about the cookies.

These days I can’t go to a grocery store without someone offering me free samples of foods I can’t have: baguette slices laden with dips, crackers smeared with spreads, even tiny little cocktail sausages skewered on brightly colored toothpicks. It all contains gluten so I’m just not interested. When friends want to get together, they usually want to go to a restaurant. It’s easy enough to get out of that — most have understood when I explain that I can’t risk gluten contamination. But, as I’ve learned, the risk of getting glutenated at other peoples’ homes is high, too.

Want to know just how much food has taken over your life? Try going gluten-free a couple of weeks. It’s been a real eye-opener for me. Snacks aren’t something I grab without thinking about anymore; now I have to pause and read the ingredient list to know if something is safe, or else just opt for fruit or veggies, which is so much easier. Meals take planning now instead of simply whipping up convenience foods, and that means actually thinking about what’s going into them (and, hence, in to me). That candy bar I used to grab at the grocery store to eat on the drive home? It’s a thing of the past now that I’ve always got a small bag of raw almonds in my purse.

So, has it helped? You tell me:

Minutes exercised today: 85 – Pounds lost so far: 7 – Pounds to lose: 33

Ever since Sunday, when we through a somewhat “impromptu” neighborhood BBQ party, I’ve been mostly flat on my back. This, of course, is due in part to the combination of incredibly bad allergies and overexerting myself, something that a person with fibromyalgia should know better than to do.

But never in my life have I experienced the kind of incapacitation I endured yesterday. We’re talking pain, serious pain: the kind that left me literally in tears most of the day as every joint in my body, from my ankles to my neck, felt like someone had taken a baseball bat and whacked me. Repeatedly.

At one point just getting to the bathroom left me in such agony I seriously contemplated asking my husband to bring home a pack of adult diapers because, let’s face it, I wasn’t about to risk his back by asking him to carry me to the toilet.

By evening I felt quite a bit better thanks to the miracle of modern pharmaceuticals, which is to say that I’d stopped begging for death and had merely resigned myself to another night of excruciating discomfort. And what was my husband’s response upon seeing me finally stand upright as I hobbled my way to the bathroom? He suggested we go outside to join our neighbors for cocktails on the front lawn while our children all played in the cul de sac.

Uh-uh. No way. That kind of “summer time fun” is precisely what landed me on the sofa all day yesterday and I wasn’t about to put myself through a repeat performance. So out he went to mingle with the neighbors while I remained indoors where both the A/C filter and a generous dose of Benadryl kept me, if not wholly comfortable, at least mostly symptom-free.

Later, after the sun went down and all the kiddies (and their parents) had gone back into their respective homes, my husband casually said it was a shame I “didn’t feel like” joining everyone else to socialize. Like it was a choice I’d made freely. Like I’d somehow spurned their company. Like it was utterly selfish of me to not want to spend yet another day gasping for breath and ignoring the feeling that someone was slowly pushing an ice pick through every joint in my body at the same time.

Yeah, I’m selfish, all right: the only thing I accomplished yesterday was rolling from one side to the other while managing not to bite through my own tongue as I tried not to scream from the pain. Silly me. Next time I think I might have to find my own ice pick and give my husband an object lesson just so he knows what it feels like when he volunteers me to throw a party at which his only responsibility is remembering to put his beer down before turning the meat on the grill.

For the overwhelming majority of my life I despised hot, spicy foods. Oh, I love layered flavors: a dash of cinnamon in a bowlful of chili, a few drops of pure vanilla in my French toast, even chocolate flavored with a hint of cayenne. (Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.) But truly hot foods? No thanks.

Part of the problem, I think, is that when it comes to cooking most people mistake heat with burn: they pour Tabasco into a sauce and call it “Cajun-style” or toss chopped jalapeños into a dish — seeds and all — and call it “Southwestern”. No thanks. I value my tongue and my palate sufficiently to protect them from such tortures.

A few years ago I started getting serious about home cooking. (Subscribers to my Home Helper Newsletter, which provides weekly dinner menus, new recipes and grocery lists along with lots of other goodness, know that I clearly love to try new and interesting foods.) One of the first things I learned was how to make my own spice blends for soups, dry rubs and other dishes. After mixing them together, I began storing them in magnetic spice jars stuck to the side of my fridge where they’re out of direct sunlight and away from heat. (Here are my favorites, by the way.)

Turns out maybe I shouldn’t just use those blends while cooking, because research has shown that the addition of certain spices or flavors can lead to weight loss by increasing an eater’s satisfaction.

The study of “tastants” — substances that can stimulate the sense of taste — included 2,436 overweight or obese people who were asked to sprinkle a variety of savory or sweet crystals on their food before eating their meals. They used the salt-free savory crystals on salty foods and used the sugar-free sweet crystals on sweet or neutral-tasting foods. The participants didn’t know what the flavors of the crystals were, other than salty or sweet. The hidden flavors of the savory tastants were cheddar cheese, onion, horseradish, ranch dressing, taco, and parmesan. The flavors of the sweet tastants were cocoa, spearmint, banana, strawberry, raspberry and malt.

A control group of 100 people didn’t use tastants. Both groups continued their normal diet and exercise habits during the study.

At the start of the study, the treatment group had an average weight of 208 pounds and an average body mass index (BMI) of 34, which is considered obese. After six months of using the tastants, the 1,436 people in the treatment group who completed the study lost an average of 30.5 pounds, and their BMI decreased by an average of five points.

In the control group, the average weight loss was two pounds, and the average BMI decrease was 0.3.

Thirty pounds lost by simply adding a few flavors isn’t something to sneeze at (unless you’re allergic to onion or strawberry, I suppose). In my own experience I’ve noticed myself eating less when a food delivers a big taste in the first few bites, but I’d never really thought about the connection.

Could it be that many of us eat more than we should simply because we’re searching for something more flavorful than, say, the benign squishiness of a Big Mac or the bland waxiness of most chocolate bars?

It’s that time of year again: the dreaded allergy season that makes me a prisoner in my own home where the windows and doors are shuttered tight and everyone is reminded — loudly — to take their freaking shoes off rather than track pollen and other allergens into my house.

Not that such measures completely remedy the problem. My eyes are still red and weepy. My nose and ears itch insanely. I sneeze so often and so hard that it’s a wonder I don’t have 6-pack abs.

Personally, I’m convinced that I’m not fat at all, I’m swollen: these flappy thighs and ample abdomen are allergic reactions. Yeah, that’s it. Just so happens I have year-round allergies which cause me to look fat, well, year-round.

Of course, this is the only time of year when I actually get miserable enough to start popping allergy medications like they were Tic-Tacs. Well, maybe not quite that often since medical science has yet to invent an allergy pill that doesn’t leave me groggy, lethargic and with a worse case of cotton-mouth than any hippie ever had.

One thing I do like about allergy pills, though: once you’ve built up a tolerance to them so the suckers don’t knock you out, they do almost as good a job as weight loss pills at appetite suppression. And, sure, they also make it impossible to sit still for more than two minutes at a time and my hands get a bit jittery and I walk around clenching my jaw all day and snapping at people who ask why I’m so edgy because, darn it, I’m not edgy I’m on allergy pills and can’t they tell I’m feeling so much less miserable even if I can’t sleep at night, dammit?!

But, hey, I’m not sneezing so what’s the problem, right?

Now here’s an idea whose time has come: a walk-up kiosk which administers eye exams. No more appointments and no optometrists with bad breath leaning in your face asking “this one or this one”.

Instead, you merely step up to digital signage which administers tests using various visual stimuli for both near- and far-sightedness, then the thing issues a printout with your eye health and prescription recommendation (along with advice to visit local eye professionals for a more thorough exam, of course).

In a first of its kind law, the French lower house of parliament passed a bill that would make it illegal for anyone to “incite extreme thinness”, which would include the dissemination of magazine articles featuring anorexic-looking models.

This move, in what’s considered the fashion capital of the world, comes months after Spain banned ultra-thin models from appearing in runway shows. It’s part of a worldwide response to the 2006 death of a Brazilian model from anorexia. Italy has already banned models under the age of 16 from the catwalk and requires all those appearing on the runaway to present certificates verifying they do not suffer from anorexia.

Many see this as a positive step toward improving women’s health by ending the practice of promoting anorectic and ill women as “models” for the rest of us to be compared to.

The fashion industry, not surprisingly, is less enthusiastic about the idea.

“It may mean that we won’t be able to publish anything,” said Isabelle Maury, editor of France’s Elle magazine. “I wonder how this bill will be implemented and interpreted. If they decide to strictly implement it, it could mean that every fashion show and magazine will be banned or charged.”

Even supporters note that the ban wouldn’t necessarily improve nutrition for women, whether they’re in the fashion industry or not. They say that anorexia is tied to genetics many times, something that banning images of stick-thin models won’t change.

What say you, is this a step in the right direction toward reducing self-loathing and eating disorders, or is it just one more anemic governmental response that’s as lightweight as, well, a catwalk model?

Dr. Sarah Heller reported on this morning’s Today Show that B-vitamins and magnesium are play a role in weight-loss, and that too little of either or both can dramatically slow metabolism. And, of course, she insisted that everyone interested in losing weight absolutely must eat breakfast.

Problem is, I’m not a breakfast person. Or, more accurately, I’m not a cereal person. I also don’t like cooking first-thing in the morning, but if someone else does the cooking I’m happy to scarf down Eggs Benedict or an old-fashioned British fry-up. Those, unfortunately, don’t help the battle of the bulge at all and, besides, hiring someone to whip them up for me is a bit cost-prohibitive.

So mostly I skip breakfast and try to drown out the nagging little voice (which sounds much like my mother’s) that tells me it’s “the most important meal of the day”. See, I already know that voice is lying: the most important is the one I’m eating next.

But I do get the point: breakfast is a good way to get the metabolism going, and making it high in whole grains may reduce belly fat, my biggest body bugaboo.

Still, is it asking too much for a study finding that martinis are good at reducing an ass that’s soon going to need led tail lights?

You’ve probably already heard about the Gorton’s fish fillet recall prompted by a Pennsylvanian woman’s discovery of pills in her crunchy-battered fish fillets. What you may not know, however, is that I have 19 boxes of these things in my freezer… the same 19 boxes I bought last July.

See, back then my husband was out of town for a month and I got it into my head that I’d eat nothing but fish and steamed veggies while he was gone. As luck would have it, our grocery store had a 2-for-1 sale on Gorton’s fish the first day he was gone so I bought 20 boxes and figured I was set for lunch and dinner for the next 30 days.

As luck would also have it, I discovered midway through the very first box that I don’t like Gorton’s crunchy battered fish fillets. In fact, I’ve since discovered, I don’t like eating fish more than once a week unless it’s sushi. (I could eat that stuff daily and still never grow tired of it.) So I moved the remaining 19 boxes to my downstairs freezer and promptly forgot all about them.

When I read the report about the recall the first thing that went through my mind was that I had finally found a way to get my money back on the darned things. Unfortunately, I’m not in the five states affected by the recall, which means I’m out of luck. Also unfortunate — as I’ve since discovered — my fillets don’t have any pills shoved into them.

Man, I never catch a break!

UPDATE 03.16.2008 – Turns out those pills in the Gorton’s fish were herbal supplements, although no one knows how they got there.