Bariatric surgery stream of consciousness

I didn't really know what to write about, but I keep having people tell me it's been too long since I've updated.  So I'm going with a stream of consciousness thing.  Let's try the "Good news, Bad news" thing.

Bad News (let's get it out of the way)

• I've been off-program.  REALLY off-program.  I haven't been working out, and I've been grazing in the evenings instead of eating my meal and then stopping (this, by the way, is the surest way to failure after surgery).  I couldn't figure out what had changed until clumps of hair started falling out again.  Ta-DA!  My thyroid is extremely low (for me), which translates to weight gain and extreme tiredness (which then translates to skipping the gym and eating continually to keep your energy level up).  Now that we know what's going on and have adjusted my thyroid dose, I've started working out again, feeling better, and slowed down the grazing.  But I still have work to do on the eating thing.
• My weight is not changing.  The doctor took out about 12lbs of fat, and I weigh the same now as before surgery.  Some of it is still swelling, I'm sure, but I also think my thyroid hiccup and the resulting changes is a big part of that.
• My cravings have come back.  The doctor told me this would happen eventually.  I hate it when other people are more right than me.  I do know that if I can kick the carbs completely for about a week that the cravings will subside (although not disappear completely).  But it truly is a miserable thing to do.  Think about all the movies you've seen about people going cold-turkey off drugs.  That's what it feels like to quit carbs--it ain't fun.  But you do feel better afterwards, and you find that you don't have the same cravings, or that they are more manageable.

Good news:

• Pilates (with a one-on-one trainer) has been an absolute god-send for me.  Not the mat-based pilates that you see at the gym or on workout videos.  That crap is HARD.  But the real thing, on the real machines (that look like torture devices), with a real instructor guiding you along so you don't hurt yourself.  See, when you do it on your own, with just a mat, you have to use your body weight for resistance.  On the machines, they take away some of that resistance so you can still do the same moves, but more easily (and less likely to hurt yourself).  I find I look taller and leaner, and I love the concentration it requires.  It's helped me rehab my knee and get my muscle tone back in my legs.  It's helped my feet and ankles, which has re-trained the way I walk.  If you can afford it, I highly recommend it.
• I am still enormously lucky.  I have a supportive family who loves me, and who is willing to help me along every step of this process.  A big part of that is the financial assistance, which I don't know if I'd have been able to get the quality surgery that I had.  My insurance company, that starts with a K and means a German General, had approved me for surgery with a waiting list of 1 year.  They also were not designated a Center for Bariatric Excellence at the time (although they are now), and that was a big deal to me.  So I was able to go the self-pay route with the best doctor in the area because of the help from my family.  They also helped cover my other bills when I was off-work (with no salary) during recovery, and who is helping me with the surgical "business."  And, to boot, they are loving and supportive, and just generally good people with good humor.  Yes.  I am seriously the luckiest person I know, and I don't take it for granted.

Think of your own "good news bad news" list.  It helps me to get perspective, and might do the same for you.  

The blonde is back, baby!

Brunette (August 2010)

Blonde (today)

I was born blonde.  Correction:  I was born bald, and became a blonde as soon as the little baby hairs started sprouting from my baby head.  When I went to college, my blonde turned dark and I started coloring it.  I didn't even know what my real hair color WAS.

Then, about 3 years ago, I decided I should grow out all my highlights and donate my hair when it became long enough.  By the time I had my gastric bypass last January, I had cut off all the highlights and only needed about 4 more inches of length to meet the minimum donation.  Then, I got hit with post-surgical hair loss.  So much fell out that my ponytail wasn't even big enough to fill any of my barrettes--down to about 1/3 of it's former density.  

Basically, donating the 3 strands of hair I had left was not going to happen.

So I decided that if I couldn't donate it, I might as well get it colored back to it's former glory.  That's right, people.  We are talking blonde (well, highlights anyway).

So this evening I took the plunge, the results you see in the photo above.  And when she turned me around in the chair and I saw myself, I felt like me.  I felt, dare I say it, pretty.  Finally.  Not in the way that "I can't possibly leave the house without makeup!" way.  But in the way that every person has the right to feel--regardless of whether or not they meet some arbitrary standard of attractiveness--simply because they are comfortable with who they are.   I felt pretty in the way that you feel when someone who loves you looks into your eyes.  Only this time, I was looking at myself that way. 

For years I have been denying myself that gift.  I've been unable to see the good things about myself, and I've been especially ashamed of how I looked--to the point that I just went into denial.  I stopped getting my hair colored or cut, I bit my nails to the quick instead of growing them out and polishing them, I avoided doing more than mascara, etc.  On the outside I told people that I wanted to do something nice by donating my hair, I was trying to live a lower maintenance lifestyle, I was going organic and wouldn't wear too much makeup.  It sounds good, but it's not the truth.

The truth is that I couldn't abide looking at myself in the mirror.  All I could see was the fat that covered me.  I couldn't see past it--not that I'm a hard worker, or that I'm a good person, or that I have value.  I started to let all the many parts of me (both the good and the bad) go by the wayside.  Fat became who I was, how I defined myself.  The problem with avoiding the reality of who and what you are means that you get stuck there, with no option for growth or change.  Blinded by the fat, I guess.

Now losing the weight is reminding me that I am more than my appearance.  More than my fat would let me be.  And, frankly, one thing about myself that I'm re-discovering is how much joy I get from being girly, wearing makeup, playing dress up.  Not because I have to to meet anyone's approval, but because it's fun.  What better way to start the new year and celebrate the changes I'm making than with highlights?  And to remind myself that it's OK to look into my own eyes in the mirror and see some love.   

Now it's your turn--go do something that makes you feel pretty.

Post #100!

That's right, peeps.  It's my 100th post.  Weird, right?  Anyone who knows me knows that I am not a "stick-to-it" kind of girl.  I'm more of an idea gal, and it's best if someone else does all the details and followup.

But it's been a year and a half, and I have 100 posts to show for it.  When I started, it was May of 2009.  I was still trying to do Weight Watchers and hadn't even gone to the seminar on bariatric surgery.  I knew change was imminent, but I didn't know how or why.  I was miserable, and couldn't walk from my house to my car without having to stop and rest at the bottom of my stairs.  I had full-blown sleep apnea, and weighed 353 pounds (give or take a few).  I wore a size 30/32 shirt--on my thinnest days (I don't even know my pants size because I just kept wearing my 26/28 until they stretched to fit).

In November 2009, I went to the bariatric seminar given by my surgeon to educate people on surgical options and to help them decide if it's right for them.  It's been a year since I decided to have the surgery, and so far I'm so glad I did (recap alert!):
1.  I survived 2 major surgeries, 2 strictures, 3 ER visits, 9 days and 8 crazy nights in the hospital, all with my good humor intact (mostly).
2.  I can walk to and from my car without even thinking.  Hell, I went hiking on a mountain, cardio-kickboxed, pilates-ed, elliptical-ized and can even go up and down stairs.
3.  I am 5 pounds shy of having lost the equivalent weight of my entire mother.  Soaking wet and wearing shoes.
4.  I had to give away my "skinny" clothes because they were too big, and I shopped and actually bought clothes in a store that sells regular sizes.
5.  My surgeon didn't recognize me until I told him that I was "the one with the NG tube who you told was going back into surgery if I had gone one more day with a swollen-shut pouch." (he remembered that!)
6.  I have spent more on my medical condition this year to date than I made in a year at my first HR job.  And if you include all the expenses of weird, high-protein food, vitamins, new clothes, pilates classes, gym memberships, and special "hair-loss" shampoos, I've spent more this year to date than I made when as a regional HR manager.

It's a hell of a lot to pack into 100 measly little posts.  But here is what I'm hoping in the next 100:
1.  Buy all my clothes at a store that is not exclusive to plus sizes.
2.  Lose 34 more pounds, which will make me "overweight" instead of obese.  If I really want to shoot for the moon, I'll lose 64 pounds, which would put me at "normal."  That is absolutely unimaginable to me.
3.  Try more fun exercise stuff--Zumba, Hot or Core Power Yoga, ride a bike--outside, Boot camp (well, maybe not that one, that doesn't sound like fun).
4.  Look into and possibly start the process of surgical skin removal and a tummy tuck.
5.  Sit in an airline seat WITH the tray table in it's non-upright position (and not resting on my belly, either).
6.  Ride a roller coaster.  Or not.  But just to at least have the option.
7.  Date.  Someone.  Anyone.  Preferably a dude (nothing against the ladies!).
8.  Be able to travel.
9.  Ride a horse.  Or a cowboy (see #7).  Whatever.
10.  Wear an inappropriately sexy Halloween costume.  Maybe just in the dressing room, but still!
 Probably a whole lot more stuff that I can't even think of right now.  But the possibilities are out there!

Just to close this one out, I thought I'd leave you with a little glimpse of what I see now when I look down.  It still surprises me (especially that I fit into these cute new tights!), and I'm wondering when I'll stop being amazed that this is me...

Suburban-fabulous

Yes, things are better today.  I don't have a chance in hell of ever being ghetto-fabulous (I don't even know if that's still a desireable sort of thing), so I am feeling suburban fabulous today.  Even with my rapidly thinning hair.  SERIOUSLY.  It's like long, brown (although I'm a blonde at heart) strands of cotton-candy compared to my lustrous thick locks of yore (pre-surgery). 

I mentioned this to a nurse and my employee who overheard me asked if she was going to lose her hair now that she was on a diet.  I explained that it is a natural body reaction to losing so much so quickly, and then she tells me, "Me too!  I can lose 3 pounds overnight!"  (At this point, I was extremely tempted to ask her if that was because she pooped, just to see the reaction.  Luckily, my HR training kicked-in just in time to shut down that little comment).  I did tell her that 3 pounds overnight, while impressive (even if it was just *POOP*) is not comparable to losing 90 lbs in 90 days.  Then she told me that she had lost 100 lbs before, and if she does that again and loses her hair she will just DIE.  Again the HR training jumped in to keep me from saying, "Really?  You are gonna die from hair loss?"  But I am putting a note in her file.  "Argumentative to the point of begging to be slapped."

Uh oh.  The Anger Genie from yesterday just escaped from the bottle.  And I was doing so well, too.  C'est la vie.  (That's what all the fabulous people are saying).