My Wake-Up Call
Okay, so yesterday, I’m standing on the scale. Again. And the numbers keep dropping. Just like last week, and the week before that. That familiar cold fear starts crawling up my back. Wasting. That scary word they always talk about with HIV. Can you even stop it? That little voice in my head was screaming no, just give up. But I thought, screw that, I gotta do something. I grabbed my notebook – the messy one I use for everything – and decided to fight this head-on. Starting today.
First Step: Understanding the Enemy
Right, no doctor here, just me trying stuff. I knew wasting means losing muscle and weight when your body’s fighting hard. It sneaks up, making you look and feel weak. For me, the signs were clear:
- Clothes getting baggier, hanging off me.
- Zero energy. Walking to the mailbox felt like running a marathon.
- Food? Meh. Looking at a sandwich felt like too much effort. No hunger cues at all.
That last one? Total killer. If you ain’t eating enough, especially the right stuff, you ain’t fighting back. So I needed a plan, like, yesterday.
My Battle Plan – Simple, Stubborn Actions
Forget fancy jargon. I needed stuff I could actually do, every single day. Here’s what I threw at the wall to see what stuck:
1. Force Feeding 101:
Sounds brutal, right? But honestly, that’s what it felt like at first. I didn’t want to eat. So I became a slave to the clock.
- Set alarms on my phone. Every 3 hours? Ding! Time to shove something, anything, in my face. No exceptions.
- Biggest change? Protein shakes became my lifeline. Quick, easy, packed with calories. I’d chug one between alarms if a meal felt impossible.
- Small victories counted: Two extra bites of chicken? Win. A handful of nuts instead of staring into space? Huge win.
2. Turning My Kitchen into a Support Group:
Cooking drained me. Standing? Chopping? Forget it. So I got practical:
- Pre-chopped veggies from the store? Bought ’em. Extra cost? Worth every penny to save my energy.
- Instant rice, canned beans, frozen meals that just needed microwaving. Zero shame. If it meant I ate, it went in the cart.
- Big cook days: Sunday afternoons, feeling less terrible? Cook a giant pot of something hearty. Then portioned it out. Lunch for the next four days? Done.
3. Listening (Really Listening) to My Body… Eventually:
This took practice. Was that nausea actual sickness? Or just the HIV messing with my head? My notebook became my detective log:
- Wrote down every tiny thing I shoved in my mouth. What, when, how much.
- Jotted down how I felt after: Tired? Stomach grumbling? Actually okay?
- Started seeing patterns: Yogurt bad in the morning? Okay, swap it. Oatmeal sitting better? Do that more.
The Win (So Far) & The Grind
This morning? I stepped on the scale again. Held my breath. The number? It hadn’t dropped. It hadn’t jumped, sure. But it hadn’t dropped.
That felt like winning the damn lottery. Stopping the slide? That’s huge. Is it muscle? Is it just less water? Honestly, right now, I don’t care. It’s not going down.
But it’s a grind. Some days the alarms feel like torture devices. Some days cooking that big pot on Sunday feels impossible. The “no hunger” thing? Still sucks. The notebook feels like homework sometimes.
I don’t know if this prevents wasting forever. This virus keeps you guessing. But these simple, stubborn actions are giving me something back: control. Tiny bits of control you grab with both hands, every time the alarm dings or you manage that extra bite. This isn’t magic. It’s just me, my alarms, my notebook, and refusing to fade away quietly.
