Born on the Feast
On August 6th, the Church celebrates the Feast of the Transfiguration of the Lord — the moment on Mount Tabor when Christ’s glory broke through His humanity and left the apostles breathless. What a joy, what a mystery, to have been born on that day.
And at 74, the transformation is still underway. Not finished. Not even close. Just continuing — the way grace always does, quietly and without fanfare, until one day you look in the mirror and realize something has shifted.
Weight Struggle
For as long as I can remember, I struggled with weight. I tried so many diets, joined groups — you name it, I did most of them. The problem was never a lack of trying. It was always the approach — and the wanting of immediate results. Learning that hard lesson took decades. But it finally paid off, and it all started with the lockdown.
Before we get into the story of the pandemic, I want to say plainly: I was convinced, early on, that COVID was going to touch all of us in some way. It did.
Lockdown
Mike and I were in our late sixties when the pandemic hit. By the government’s own math, we were already statistics waiting to happen. We weren’t allowed to visit our families — and that, more than anything, was the clincher for me.
I sat glued to the television looking for some scrap of solace in the middle of this epidemic. We were, in every real sense, living a kind of quiet hell inside our own home. The monotony was grinding. The sameness of each day was slowly breaking my spirit.
As a reminder — and it was a true reminder — I had been attending daily Mass. And then our governor closed the churches.
Without the Eucharist, both my body and my soul were in danger of losing hope entirely.
Model Seniors
We were model seniors. We stayed away from our grandchildren, away from family, away from everything. The fear that Dr. Fauci placed in our hearts was real — and all we wanted was to comply.
Seniors were given grave warnings about the vaccine. Mike didn’t hesitate. I, on the other hand, refused. My reason was not defiance. It was lived experience: I had already developed an autoimmune disorder from a flu shot, and I was not willing to repeat that.
The Flu Shot
In April of 2019, I was scheduled to travel to the Holy Land on a missionary trip. Mike wanted to make sure I was prepared, so — without giving it a second thought — the day before the trip I stopped into our local CVS and got a flu shot. I thought nothing more of it.
Symptoms
A few days into the trip, I felt a strange discomfort in my mouth. A perfectly ordinary tomato was causing a burning sensation I couldn’t explain. On closer inspection, my mouth was inflamed — covered in redness and a white substance. Being in a foreign country with a packed schedule, there was no practical way to see a doctor. The symptoms were uncomfortable, but there was little to be done.
Lichen Planus
The moment I returned home, a doctor’s visit delivered the news: it was lichen planus — an autoimmune inflammatory disease that can be triggered by infections, certain drugs, and vaccines. It did not stay confined to my mouth. For two years, lesions spread across my body. Two years of my life marked by that diagnosis, traced back to a routine stop at a pharmacy the day before a trip to the Holy Land.
For that reason, another flu shot has never been an option. And the COVID vaccine was out of the question. Mike would sometimes beg me to comply. But I knew what had happened once, and I was not willing to gamble again.
Weight Loss
Back to where this all began.
Three Ballerinas
There have been many foolish weight-loss choices in my life, but the one about the tea is unforgettable.
About ten years ago, I boarded a Southwest Airlines flight headed to New Orleans to visit my sister Jo. Mike wasn’t traveling with me that trip, so I settled into the window seat. A southern gentleman took the aisle. When the announcement came that the flight was full, a beautiful Filipino woman slipped into the middle seat beside me.
She was roughly my age — yet she looked absolutely fabulous. Was it genetics? A disciplined lifestyle? Or was she onto something I wasn’t? My curiosity was already building.
The southern gentleman introduced himself to us both, but my attention was fixed on this woman. He offered to order us cocktails. Normally, I’d have passed without a second thought — but I wanted an opening. A shared drink felt like the right setting to ask a stranger for her secret. We raised our glasses and toasted to a safe flight.
Then I went for it.
“How do you stay so slim?” I blurted out.
She let out the most adorable little giggle. “I drink tea — regularly,” she said.
“Tea? Tea?” I repeated.
“Yes.”
Well. Pandora’s box was wide open now. I dove into my enormous handbag, fished out a pen, and prepared to write down the name of this miracle tea.
“What’s it called?”
“Oh, you can only find it at an Asian market,” she said — which was not the answer I was looking for.
Just give me the NAME already, I thought, barely containing myself.
“It’s called Three Ballerinas,” she finally answered.
I exhaled slowly. I could not wait to land.
As the plane touched down, I made the Sign of the Cross and thanked God for traveling mercies — and, quietly, for Filipino seatmates. I said my goodbyes to my new companions and nearly sprinted to find my sister. I was on a mission.
Jo wrapped me in her signature bear hug, and before we even reached the car, I was already talking a mile a minute about Three Ballerinas tea. My sweet sister didn’t miss a beat. “I know exactly where an Asian market is,” she said. “Let’s go right now.”
Could this trip have started any better?
Sure enough, right there among shelves of strangely named teas sat the boxes — stacked neatly, almost waiting for me.
“How many are you buying?” Jo asked.
“Four boxes,” I said. “Just in case I can’t find it at home.” (Online shopping wasn’t yet a thing.)
We were practically giddy. The moment we arrived at Jo’s house, we brewed our first pot. My nephew Nick, who was staying with her at the time, wanted in on the experiment too.
The trip was a short three-day weekend, and Jo had something planned for every day — but all I could think about was losing weight, and fast. We had the tea with dinner. We had it again with breakfast.
The Tea From Hell
Thank God Jo’s home was equipped with three bathrooms.
We had to stay put for the entire day. The tea was wreaking absolute havoc on our bowels — all three of us doubled over with stomach cramps, afraid to stray more than ten feet from a bathroom. And yet, in a moment of either bravery or sheer stubbornness, we had the tea again with our takeout lunch.
The side effects were swift and merciless. There would be no sightseeing. No adventures. No leaving the house. Just the three of us, humbled and cramping, completely at the mercy of Three Ballerinas.
The Filipino woman was an experienced tea drinker. She had earned that slim figure one measured cup at a time. We, on the other hand, had treated her quiet daily habit like a fire hose — blasting our bodies in pursuit of instant results. The tea wasn’t the problem. We were.
From that day forward, hot tea has been off the table entirely. The very thought of it is enough.
The Weight Lost
Since COVID, thirty pounds have come off — not through miracle teas, crash diets, or anything ordered in a moment of desperation at 30,000 feet. Through consistency. Through showing up, day after day: an extra half hour of walking, Pilates several times a week — which somehow became the turning point.
At a recent doctor’s visit, the news came that another ten pounds would be beneficial. If it happens organically, fine. But the routine stays the same — no shortcuts, no pressure, no forcing what the body needs to do in its own time.
There is also a doctor in the picture who seems to believe that every problem has a pharmaceutical solution. That particular prescription will not be filled.
My Prayer
Dear Heavenly Father,
Bless all of us Baby Boomers with good health — so that we may continue to pray, to serve, and to love those around us.
Amen.
