Today is my "surgiversary." Two years ago, at this very time, I was still under anesthesia. I was sick, I was tired, I had given my life up to the point I never went out, and I lived to eat.
Flash forward to today. I'm about 160 lbs. lighter (I gained about 7 pounds over the holiday, and have lost 2 of those back, so it's a give or take number). I can go down stairs (and up without even breathing hard). I can get to my car without so much pain in my back that I collapse on the seat with relief. I don't live to eat, although I do still have my moments where food becomes way more important than it should (I chalk it up to an obsessive personality--unfortunately they didn't operate on that).
I have to remember how far I have come, because it's very easy to get caught in the trap of feeling like a failure because I haven't lost "enough." Enough to get out of the obese category, according to those *&^% BMI charts. Enough to relieve the pressure on my abdomen (I still have all the lovely visceral fat right on my midsection) to be able to have the skin surgery and tummy tuck. Enough to feel almost normal.
I've been caught in that trap of "not enough" for a few months now, and (not surprisingly) I've gained a few pounds. It's so easy to revert to old comforts when you aren't feeling good about yourself. Although my stomach is a lot smaller, the surgery does shoot your metabolism all to hell and so there is a point where you will hit a plateau, and I've been there for at least 6 months. I've let it discourage me to the point where I got derailed from what I really want (to lose enough to have the surgery to take care of "the business"). I let myself sneak in too much carbs and sugar over the holidays, eat more food (and less frequently), and I got off track. Whenever that happens, it's easy to spiral into the: I'mnotgoodenoughandI'mnevergoingtolosetherestoftheweightandthereforeI'mafailureateverythingIdoandImightaswelleatcookies.
I can't possibly be the only one who goes there. It's like having a headache and instead of taking Tylenol, you imagine that you MUST have a brain tumor, throw your hands up in the air, and mope around complaining about the pain.
So there are two things I want to reflect on today.
One, is that I'm not a failure. I've accomplished so much more than I even dared hope for on the morning I went in for surgery and came out with a new chance for life. Gaining 7 pounds is not moving towards my goal, but it's also not the end of the world. It really is an opportunity to see what drives my eating, and to learn from it so it doesn't repeat itself over and over until I gain all of it back. This is hard to remember, and it's why I had to put it in black and white.
Two, is that it is a chance to remember what it is I want, and to accept the actions I need to take to get there. It's easy when you're a little down to forget that there are a lot of things you DO have control of. I have control of what I eat. I can control my portion size. I can decide to go to the gym instead of heading out to a restaurant where it's harder to stick to the plan. It is my decision, and I don't need to let my weight or size derail me into thinking this battle is already lost. After all, every veteran of this surgery I know of says the real work starts when you hit your one-year mark, and the war truly resumes when you hit the two-year mark.
So here it is. I've done great. I can continue to do great. I am not controlled by my situation, but I use it to my advantage. I can get "back to basics" and know that even if I don't lose any more weight that I'm doing the most respectful thing for myself. Happy surgiversary to me...
Showing posts with label I rule. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I rule. Show all posts
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Saturday, September 17, 2011
I impulse-bought a chicken...
...Let me explain.
I was at the Wal-mart with Goldilocks the other day, waiting in the purgatory of the longest checkout lines in town, when I saw a beacon of light--the checkstand rotisserie chicken carosel. I am not making this up. You know how at the grocery store at 4:00 they put all of the fresh bread, smelling of deliciousness and your future shame of eating half of it before getting home? At this Wal-mart they do the same thing, ONLY WITH CHICKEN. Genius. I nearly bought two out of crazed delight before I remembered it would take me a week to eat just one chicken and the second would go bad before I could enjoy it.
And it got me thinking how things have changed since my gastric bypass 20.5 months ago (I'm counting the time like mothers do their children. As an aside, when do they stop counting in months? I actually heard a friend of mine say her boy was 36 months.) Sorry for the tangent. Anyhoo, it's one of those clearly illuminating moments of how things have changed. I think Oprah calls them Aha! moments, but I'm afraid to use that term in case I have her goons sent after me. That's right. The Oprah goons. I'm pretty sure they're real.
2 years ago, I would have impulse-bought a king size Snickers, maybe some gum, or the aforementioned French Bread Loaf of Shame. Chicken? That isn't fried? Forget it.
So much has changed that it's hard to realize when exactly that happened. Don't get me wrong--old habits WILL creep back in: night eating, carbs, overeating, taking a piece of candy from a co-worker's jar. I promise you, if you are still within your 1st year of surgery and thinking that it won't happen to you, that these things will happen. I had people tell me, and I didn't believe them either. But your own food demons will pop back up in an ugly way. The key is to focus on the changes you've made and to stay positive that you have made enough of a change in your first year of surgery that you have the tools to beat them back into submission.
So today, I'm focusing on my new impulse purchase. The Snickers didn't snicker at me or anything. I instinctively and without much thought went for something that really feeds my body, and not something that feeds those food demons. I beat them back...for today...
I was at the Wal-mart with Goldilocks the other day, waiting in the purgatory of the longest checkout lines in town, when I saw a beacon of light--the checkstand rotisserie chicken carosel. I am not making this up. You know how at the grocery store at 4:00 they put all of the fresh bread, smelling of deliciousness and your future shame of eating half of it before getting home? At this Wal-mart they do the same thing, ONLY WITH CHICKEN. Genius. I nearly bought two out of crazed delight before I remembered it would take me a week to eat just one chicken and the second would go bad before I could enjoy it.
And it got me thinking how things have changed since my gastric bypass 20.5 months ago (I'm counting the time like mothers do their children. As an aside, when do they stop counting in months? I actually heard a friend of mine say her boy was 36 months.) Sorry for the tangent. Anyhoo, it's one of those clearly illuminating moments of how things have changed. I think Oprah calls them Aha! moments, but I'm afraid to use that term in case I have her goons sent after me. That's right. The Oprah goons. I'm pretty sure they're real.
2 years ago, I would have impulse-bought a king size Snickers, maybe some gum, or the aforementioned French Bread Loaf of Shame. Chicken? That isn't fried? Forget it.
So much has changed that it's hard to realize when exactly that happened. Don't get me wrong--old habits WILL creep back in: night eating, carbs, overeating, taking a piece of candy from a co-worker's jar. I promise you, if you are still within your 1st year of surgery and thinking that it won't happen to you, that these things will happen. I had people tell me, and I didn't believe them either. But your own food demons will pop back up in an ugly way. The key is to focus on the changes you've made and to stay positive that you have made enough of a change in your first year of surgery that you have the tools to beat them back into submission.
So today, I'm focusing on my new impulse purchase. The Snickers didn't snicker at me or anything. I instinctively and without much thought went for something that really feeds my body, and not something that feeds those food demons. I beat them back...for today...
Sunday, January 30, 2011
The Babe is in One-derland (officially)
OK everyone, keep your socks on. Friday morning I weighed myself on the evil scale, ie. the one that reads several pounds heavy, and it was officially under 200 lbs. The last time I was under 200 lbs. was 1995. Course, the next day I weighed myself again (mostly because I enjoy torturing myself in the morning) and it was back to 200.2. But screw that. I'm saying under 200 officially.
I did expect for confetti and balloons to start dropping from my ceiling, like they do on gameshows when someone wins the big prize. Guess what? It didn't happen. In fact, my whole day went on just like there was not a momentously small number on my scale.
This leads me to two conclusions I thought I would share. One: somebody, somewhere, owes me some confetti. Two: IT REALLY IS JUST A NUMBER. What the nut? It didn't make a choir of angels sing. No one said, "Wow, you look like you are under 200 lbs! How does it feel?" My clothes didn't suddenly fall off my body. I didn't find a queue of hot men outside my front door waiting and wondering "Where the skinny Babe at?" The Wii still yells, "That's Obese" at me in an insane helium mocking tone.
And, frankly, I am still obese. Strangers just meeting me think that I'm chubby. I can't go to a fitness store and find workout clothes in my size (Damn you, Title 9! You just HAD to stop at a size 16 and couldn't go one more size?). My doctor wants me to get "into the 150's", and that is 40lbs away.
But I still had a mini-in-my-head celebration. A moment of satisfaction. A self-congratulatory pat on the back (where I now have shoulderblades). All the while reminding myself that I am not doing this for the numbers, but doing it for ME.
I did expect for confetti and balloons to start dropping from my ceiling, like they do on gameshows when someone wins the big prize. Guess what? It didn't happen. In fact, my whole day went on just like there was not a momentously small number on my scale.
This leads me to two conclusions I thought I would share. One: somebody, somewhere, owes me some confetti. Two: IT REALLY IS JUST A NUMBER. What the nut? It didn't make a choir of angels sing. No one said, "Wow, you look like you are under 200 lbs! How does it feel?" My clothes didn't suddenly fall off my body. I didn't find a queue of hot men outside my front door waiting and wondering "Where the skinny Babe at?" The Wii still yells, "That's Obese" at me in an insane helium mocking tone.
And, frankly, I am still obese. Strangers just meeting me think that I'm chubby. I can't go to a fitness store and find workout clothes in my size (Damn you, Title 9! You just HAD to stop at a size 16 and couldn't go one more size?). My doctor wants me to get "into the 150's", and that is 40lbs away.
But I still had a mini-in-my-head celebration. A moment of satisfaction. A self-congratulatory pat on the back (where I now have shoulderblades). All the while reminding myself that I am not doing this for the numbers, but doing it for ME.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Apparently...
Apparently, I'm stylish! I just got some bloggy love from new follower Lauren, from Dude, I think we might be fat. Which, by the way, is an awesome freaking name...
You know that these always come with rules, and here are the rules for this one:
Here goes....
1. Done, and done
2. Let's do bullets to keep these straight
You know that these always come with rules, and here are the rules for this one:
- Post and link back to the person who gave you this award.
- Share 7 things about yourself.
- Pass the award on to 15 recently discovered great bloggers (or as many as you can).
- Contact these bloggers and tell them they've won!
Here goes....
1. Done, and done
2. Let's do bullets to keep these straight
- I'm exceptionally good at the "pigeon" yoga pose (way better than the teacher), but my hamstrings are so tight I still can't touch my toes.
- Apparently, I have a "young soul." This is from the same person at the Metaphysical Fair who told me that my necklace was full of dolphin energy (and who did not think it was funny when I asked her if there was an exhausted dolphin swimmin' around somewhere because of me).
- I went to college on a writing scholarship, an academic scholarship, and a music scholarship. Note that there is nothing there about an athletic scholarship.
- Speaking of my great athleticism, I coined the term "Freestyle Stair-Diving" and told people that was how I broke my ankle. It sounds way cooler than "I was carrying a bag of presents, a large box, an apple pie, my purse, and wearing 2.5 inch heels while running down the narrowest stairs known to man." And no, I didn't even drop the pie.
- My first kiss was when I was 16, and the boy in question has since come out of the closet (shout out to Mr. B!). I like to think that I ruined him for all other men, but in hindsight his fondness for show tunes should have tipped me off.
- My (not so) secret ambition is to be a esthetician and makeup artist, and give away my services to women who are trying to get back into the workforce. Like "Dress for Success," but for your face.
- I am a Libra, and making a decision on what to put down for my #7 has taken me 30 minutes of wandering around my house and thinking.
- Smaller Fun Pants, and all versions thereof- because she is awesome, funny, and a personal friend
- Head Nurse- funny as can be, big hearted, and gets the medical industry
- Hooked on Beauty- need I say more?
- Kaylen's Kitchen- great lower-carb recipes
- Bariatric Foodie- inspirational and yummy bariatric recipies
- Maria's Nutritional Consulting- I have 2 of her books and love her food
- Weight Loss Surgery Vitagarden- THE resource for information on vitamins and supplements for the bariatric community
- Shrinking Blubeary- a "regular dieter" (not surgically altered), but has beautiful insights for all of us who struggle with weight
- Telling Dad- just makes me laugh, and he's a good person who gives back to women in need of a new start with his charity
- Melting Mama- best post-surgery recommendations on the internet
- Musings from the Big Pink- another dad who just cracks me up
- Endurance isn't Always Physical- someone who actually likes to exercise
- Healthy Schmelthy- you just have to go read it, she's awesome!
- The Bypassed Life- I just found this one, and find it really informative and interesting
- My Day- because her tenacity and determination inspire me
- theworldaccordingtoeggface- great bariatric recipes and info
- Your Lighter Side- funny and low-carb!
Saturday, January 22, 2011
1 year after gastric bypass...what I've learned (so far)
One year ago, yesterday, I had a gastric bypass. I started out at 353 lbs, and a size 30/32. I couldn't walk with out major lower back pain--to the point that getting from my car to my house might as well have been a marathon. I didn't travel because I couldn't fit into the airline seats (if I didn't collapse from pain just trying to GET to the plane). I could (and did) eat a whole pizza in an evening. I knew that I did not have a diet left in me, and I knew that I was dying a whole lot quicker than a 36-year old should be.
What a difference a year makes.
I'm down 155 lbs., to about 198 (194 according to my Wii, and 202 according to my scale, so I'm splitting the difference). I wear a size 18. I don't have lower back pain, and I don't even think about how far I have to walk (except when it's really cold, raining, or snowing) to get to my front door. I fit in an airline seat and I can even lower the tray table. I don't eat pizza (tomato sauce tastes funny to me now). I work out now, and my life expectancy is much closer to normal.
It's like getting a second chance.
Now, I don't recommend this path for everyone. While I've reaped a lot of benefits so far, I am concerned about what this will look like in another 5 or 10 years. I've seen a lot of post-ops regain a lot of the weight they lost (factoring in the 10% regain that is normal). I've heard of a lot of people who have permanent problems, from severe nutritional deficiencies to major issues getting sick on everyday food. I know visits to the doctor or ER will always create problems for me, and that I have to watch those treating me like a hawk so that they don't accidentally give me ibuprofen or sugar popsicles.
But I'm one of the lucky ones, so far.
Last night, I went out with a group of friends to celebrate. We went to dinner, then for fro-yo, and then back to my house for a Wii dance-party. I can't remember the last time I had so much fun, or felt so much joy for just being. I'd forgotten how much I love being around people, doing things, and just participating in my own life. See how happy I look (I'm in the middle)!
I updated my photo in the left side, as well. It's a picture of me standing in the same spot as 1 year before. Now you can actually see the door frame behind me! As I was editing the blog page to add the photo, I noticed in my self description that if I were to be in a sitcom, I would be "The Wacky Neighbor." Still true (I am a bit wacky and tend to make an entrance by falling into the room), but now I'm starting to feel a little like the Leading Lady. Maybe by this time next year, I'll manage to transition to being the Star of my own show.
Stay tuned to this channel to see it evolve...
What a difference a year makes.
I'm down 155 lbs., to about 198 (194 according to my Wii, and 202 according to my scale, so I'm splitting the difference). I wear a size 18. I don't have lower back pain, and I don't even think about how far I have to walk (except when it's really cold, raining, or snowing) to get to my front door. I fit in an airline seat and I can even lower the tray table. I don't eat pizza (tomato sauce tastes funny to me now). I work out now, and my life expectancy is much closer to normal.
It's like getting a second chance.
Now, I don't recommend this path for everyone. While I've reaped a lot of benefits so far, I am concerned about what this will look like in another 5 or 10 years. I've seen a lot of post-ops regain a lot of the weight they lost (factoring in the 10% regain that is normal). I've heard of a lot of people who have permanent problems, from severe nutritional deficiencies to major issues getting sick on everyday food. I know visits to the doctor or ER will always create problems for me, and that I have to watch those treating me like a hawk so that they don't accidentally give me ibuprofen or sugar popsicles.
But I'm one of the lucky ones, so far.
Last night, I went out with a group of friends to celebrate. We went to dinner, then for fro-yo, and then back to my house for a Wii dance-party. I can't remember the last time I had so much fun, or felt so much joy for just being. I'd forgotten how much I love being around people, doing things, and just participating in my own life. See how happy I look (I'm in the middle)!
I updated my photo in the left side, as well. It's a picture of me standing in the same spot as 1 year before. Now you can actually see the door frame behind me! As I was editing the blog page to add the photo, I noticed in my self description that if I were to be in a sitcom, I would be "The Wacky Neighbor." Still true (I am a bit wacky and tend to make an entrance by falling into the room), but now I'm starting to feel a little like the Leading Lady. Maybe by this time next year, I'll manage to transition to being the Star of my own show.
Stay tuned to this channel to see it evolve...
Sunday, January 2, 2011
So far, so good (or...Hey, I made it a whole day!)
I'm getting back on track. I've found my mojo. The force is with me. I've got air in my tires and wind at my back. However you want to put the cliche, I'm feeling much more motivated now to do what I need to in order to break through my weight loss stall.
My biggest hurdles are always planning and being accountable. So this morning I woke up and started my day out right with some Eggface-approved chocolate mini-muffins (YUM!). If you haven't visited her blog, do yourself a favor and click on the button in the right margin of my blog. She has great tips and recipes for those of us needing the help (ie. everyone I've ever met who's had weight loss surgery). She's even doing a vitamin giveaway on her site right now (although I shouldn't tell you so that I have better odds of winning). By the way, with a little adaptation, her recipes even work at high altitude! I made her chocolate mini muffins 3-ways: a dot of creamy peanut butter in the middle for some, a sprinkling of Black Onyx cocoa powder (the kind that makes Oreos so darkly delicious) and instant coffee crystals for others, and a CocoaRoast almond for the last set. I think the peanut butter and mocha ones were the best.
Then I made a BBQ chicken "pizza" for lunch, which consisted of a low-carb tortilla (I use the Fat Flush Plan tortillas, despite the appalling name) topped with a little mix of pizza sauce and BBQ sauce, pieces of roasted chicken, and a sprinkle of pizza cheese. YUM!
For dinner, I made chili. Taking inspiration from Eggface, I just made it up as I went. I put a pot roast in the crockpot with some blended-up salsa, chicken broth, and a bunch of chili spices I bought at a fair. I added a can of black beans about halfway through, shredded the meat and added it back in, sprinkles in a teaspoon of coffee crystals, and let it stay on warm until I was ready to eat. Yes, that sound you hear is me patting myself on the back for being so clever.
I still have 1-2 meals left for the day...I average about 5 meals per day, but sometimes on the weekend time gets away from me and I don't get them all in. But the chili was so good that I may have some more of that.
Basically the quality of what I'm eating is much better, but that is just half the battle. What I'm really worried about is the quantity of food. I've never been great about measuring and it appears to be catching up to me. I could have eaten 1/2 cup of chili, but forced myself to stop at 1/3 cup. I know that if you haven't had surgery that sounds ridiculously small, but from someone who was only able to eat 1 tablespoon at a time only 10 short months ago, it's a lot. And at the point I am, I should still only be able to eat 1/4 cup to 1/3 cup. I'm hoping that with a week or two of restricting myself to 1/4 cup that my stomach may re-shrink. Or I'll get so hungry that I gnaw off someone's arm during a budget meeting. One or the other, really.
Now that my cold seems to be on the downhill side, it means getting back to the gym tomorrow night. I'm dreading the inevitable "January Crowd" of people who start out the year working out and drop out by March. To make it even worse, the 24 Hour Fitness that is on my way home is closed for renovations, so all the other centers are that much more crowded. It'll be like shopping at Loeman's the day after Christmas. Or Wal-Mart the day after Thanksgiving. I'm anticipating shoving, pushing, and a small amount of bloodshed. That way anything that actually does happen is a bit of a denoument.
I hope your year is starting out well too. Here's to staying on track...
My biggest hurdles are always planning and being accountable. So this morning I woke up and started my day out right with some Eggface-approved chocolate mini-muffins (YUM!). If you haven't visited her blog, do yourself a favor and click on the button in the right margin of my blog. She has great tips and recipes for those of us needing the help (ie. everyone I've ever met who's had weight loss surgery). She's even doing a vitamin giveaway on her site right now (although I shouldn't tell you so that I have better odds of winning). By the way, with a little adaptation, her recipes even work at high altitude! I made her chocolate mini muffins 3-ways: a dot of creamy peanut butter in the middle for some, a sprinkling of Black Onyx cocoa powder (the kind that makes Oreos so darkly delicious) and instant coffee crystals for others, and a CocoaRoast almond for the last set. I think the peanut butter and mocha ones were the best.
Then I made a BBQ chicken "pizza" for lunch, which consisted of a low-carb tortilla (I use the Fat Flush Plan tortillas, despite the appalling name) topped with a little mix of pizza sauce and BBQ sauce, pieces of roasted chicken, and a sprinkle of pizza cheese. YUM!
For dinner, I made chili. Taking inspiration from Eggface, I just made it up as I went. I put a pot roast in the crockpot with some blended-up salsa, chicken broth, and a bunch of chili spices I bought at a fair. I added a can of black beans about halfway through, shredded the meat and added it back in, sprinkles in a teaspoon of coffee crystals, and let it stay on warm until I was ready to eat. Yes, that sound you hear is me patting myself on the back for being so clever.
I still have 1-2 meals left for the day...I average about 5 meals per day, but sometimes on the weekend time gets away from me and I don't get them all in. But the chili was so good that I may have some more of that.
Basically the quality of what I'm eating is much better, but that is just half the battle. What I'm really worried about is the quantity of food. I've never been great about measuring and it appears to be catching up to me. I could have eaten 1/2 cup of chili, but forced myself to stop at 1/3 cup. I know that if you haven't had surgery that sounds ridiculously small, but from someone who was only able to eat 1 tablespoon at a time only 10 short months ago, it's a lot. And at the point I am, I should still only be able to eat 1/4 cup to 1/3 cup. I'm hoping that with a week or two of restricting myself to 1/4 cup that my stomach may re-shrink. Or I'll get so hungry that I gnaw off someone's arm during a budget meeting. One or the other, really.
Now that my cold seems to be on the downhill side, it means getting back to the gym tomorrow night. I'm dreading the inevitable "January Crowd" of people who start out the year working out and drop out by March. To make it even worse, the 24 Hour Fitness that is on my way home is closed for renovations, so all the other centers are that much more crowded. It'll be like shopping at Loeman's the day after Christmas. Or Wal-Mart the day after Thanksgiving. I'm anticipating shoving, pushing, and a small amount of bloodshed. That way anything that actually does happen is a bit of a denoument.
I hope your year is starting out well too. Here's to staying on track...
Sunday, November 21, 2010
The adorability continuum
When you're 200 lbs overweight, you just become resigned to the fact that no amount of lipstick, or cute shoes, or clothes will make you adorable. In fact, I didn't realize how big I had gotten (until I saw the pictures) because I had just stopped looking at myself in the mirror completely. I'm not really sure when that happened--maybe somewhere around 290 when I decided to stop going on airplanes--so it was very strange to me when I started to see myself again.
Now I find myself marveling at my face, which has become "3-D" again. I like feeling that I have bones I didn't know I had (collarbones! hip bones! ribs!). I take more time putting on my clothes and matching my jewelry to them. In fact, my morning routine is ridiculously long now (complicated by the fact that I'm a slow riser anyway, and that it takes me a while to drink and eat enough to restart my engine) because I put on makeup every day--not just a swipe of sheer lipstick I can do without a mirror and a little mascara. I use EYELINER, which I had forgotten how much I love love love, despite requiring more time and patience than I actually have.
But here's the thing that I have come to call "The Adorability Continuum." When you lose a lot (but not all) of your excess weight, your self-image swings wildly back and forth. At one end is the side where you compare your new self to your old self (we shall call it the A side--A for Adorable), and on the other side is where you compare your current self to your ideal self (we shall call it the side that-shall-not-be-named, or the SNBN side). Depending on which side of the continuum I wake up on, my day can be very different. Let me break it down for you with examples.
When I swing to the A side, I am so freakin' cute I can hardly stand myself. I got talked into going to Old Navy by Goldilocks (even though I told her that nothing there would fit me), and I found a coat that actually fit! My first purchase at a non-Omar-the-Tent-Maker store! It's got a retro 60's vibe, fits very close to the body (in fact, I can't wear it over anything bulky still) and makes me look thin, energetic, fashionable, and (dare I say it) younger. This weekend, I got an adorable little winter cap to match, and let me tell you that I am super-cute in my new winter wear (I can't wait to go to some tree lighting ceremony outside to wear it). Even if it WAS the largest size that Old Navy had, I fit into clothes from a non-fat-lady store, and I look great.
Then there is the SNBN side. The side that only sees that I still have a double-chin and a really big stomach. The side that wonders if I'll ever get out of "plus sized" clothes, and points out that I'm still really a woman's 1X, and not a regular-size XL (yes, they are different). The side that knows that men still don't see me, and that to society I'm still just fat. The side that looks up the BMI chart to see if I'm still "obese" (I am, by the way). The side that knows that shopping for pants is still a horrible ordeal because not only am I still too big (all of my weight sits at my belly area), and now I have the additional loveliness of extra skin droopage, with a perpetual camel toe as a result.
So the pendulum swings back and forth, and I wonder sometimes if I can just slow it down. Objectively I know that I have achieved a lot so far with this, but objectively I also know that I still have so far to go. Today, I find that struggle exhausting, and I wonder if I will ever be able to settle in to my body, without being overly critical or totally self-centered, and just call it home.
Now I find myself marveling at my face, which has become "3-D" again. I like feeling that I have bones I didn't know I had (collarbones! hip bones! ribs!). I take more time putting on my clothes and matching my jewelry to them. In fact, my morning routine is ridiculously long now (complicated by the fact that I'm a slow riser anyway, and that it takes me a while to drink and eat enough to restart my engine) because I put on makeup every day--not just a swipe of sheer lipstick I can do without a mirror and a little mascara. I use EYELINER, which I had forgotten how much I love love love, despite requiring more time and patience than I actually have.
But here's the thing that I have come to call "The Adorability Continuum." When you lose a lot (but not all) of your excess weight, your self-image swings wildly back and forth. At one end is the side where you compare your new self to your old self (we shall call it the A side--A for Adorable), and on the other side is where you compare your current self to your ideal self (we shall call it the side that-shall-not-be-named, or the SNBN side). Depending on which side of the continuum I wake up on, my day can be very different. Let me break it down for you with examples.
When I swing to the A side, I am so freakin' cute I can hardly stand myself. I got talked into going to Old Navy by Goldilocks (even though I told her that nothing there would fit me), and I found a coat that actually fit! My first purchase at a non-Omar-the-Tent-Maker store! It's got a retro 60's vibe, fits very close to the body (in fact, I can't wear it over anything bulky still) and makes me look thin, energetic, fashionable, and (dare I say it) younger. This weekend, I got an adorable little winter cap to match, and let me tell you that I am super-cute in my new winter wear (I can't wait to go to some tree lighting ceremony outside to wear it). Even if it WAS the largest size that Old Navy had, I fit into clothes from a non-fat-lady store, and I look great.
Then there is the SNBN side. The side that only sees that I still have a double-chin and a really big stomach. The side that wonders if I'll ever get out of "plus sized" clothes, and points out that I'm still really a woman's 1X, and not a regular-size XL (yes, they are different). The side that knows that men still don't see me, and that to society I'm still just fat. The side that looks up the BMI chart to see if I'm still "obese" (I am, by the way). The side that knows that shopping for pants is still a horrible ordeal because not only am I still too big (all of my weight sits at my belly area), and now I have the additional loveliness of extra skin droopage, with a perpetual camel toe as a result.
So the pendulum swings back and forth, and I wonder sometimes if I can just slow it down. Objectively I know that I have achieved a lot so far with this, but objectively I also know that I still have so far to go. Today, I find that struggle exhausting, and I wonder if I will ever be able to settle in to my body, without being overly critical or totally self-centered, and just call it home.
Monday, November 1, 2010
I can do anything good! Yea yea yea yea!
So, I found this show called Tosh.0 on Comedy Central, and it's given me some really funny links that I've been enjoying. I'm dedicating this week to "Cool stuff that is on the internet."
Today's example is a positive affirmation if I've ever seen one. Although I sometimes now look in the mirror and think, "Wow, I'm doing great! I look so thin and healthy today!" it happens just as often that I look in the mirror and think, "My god, but my stomach is the size of Cincinnati!" So I'm taking a page from little Jessica's book here and trying to eliminate those kinds of negative thoughts. It's really hard when nothing you own fits, when you take your measurements and find out that your bust is only one inch larger than your waist (with your hips taking the lead at 1 additional inch), when your hair is falling out by the fistful and when all you can see is excess skin. But if some little girl can figure it out, I suppose I can too. Enjoy (and practice!)
Today's example is a positive affirmation if I've ever seen one. Although I sometimes now look in the mirror and think, "Wow, I'm doing great! I look so thin and healthy today!" it happens just as often that I look in the mirror and think, "My god, but my stomach is the size of Cincinnati!" So I'm taking a page from little Jessica's book here and trying to eliminate those kinds of negative thoughts. It's really hard when nothing you own fits, when you take your measurements and find out that your bust is only one inch larger than your waist (with your hips taking the lead at 1 additional inch), when your hair is falling out by the fistful and when all you can see is excess skin. But if some little girl can figure it out, I suppose I can too. Enjoy (and practice!)
Sunday, October 3, 2010
New! Post-Gastric Bypass Pics, and a great link
I finally found the cord for my camera so I can download my most recent pictures, and you are about to benefit.
Before I get into the story, though, I want to post a link that really resonated with me. It is from a blogger "Shrinking Blubeary," and if you have ever been overweight, if you are overweight now, or if you're in the process of losing weight, you must go read it. It's about "The Old You," you know, the one you beat up and hate because she/he is (or was) so fat. When you finish reading, give your own "Old You" some love...she/he got you to where you are today.
Now, back to our regularly scheduled silliness.
So I mentioned before that I went hiking. In the wilderness. Up hills with rocks and gravel on them (and in my shoes). With bugs. Oh, and there were signs warning us against falling rocks, loose footing, mountain lions, pumas, and other assorted nasties. OK, I did make up the one about pumas, but the others are all too real.
Anyway, one of my best friends and favorite people JulieBeth* was in town from Chicago, and she was very sick with Colorado Fever, which includes the strong and sudden desire to do nature-y type things out in the sunshine. Usually I would beg out in favor of a mall (see previous post), but I decided that I was game. Check me out...
This is very much a posed shot with me doing a great simulation of "Adventurous Babe." We weren't actually in the rocks, but it was a hill/small mountain, and we did do the entire trail. And I know the hat is goofy, but the sun here is way too strong for me (I had skin cancer before I even turned 30 so I'm extra-cautious) so fashion be damned.
When we got to the top of the trail, the view was beautiful (despite the recent wildfires) and made the hot sun and the fear of carnivorous beasties it worth it. JB and I high fived and rested on a bench to admire the view. When we got back to the end of the trail, all I could think of was, "I freakin' did it," which is a segment on Bariatric TV of post-ops that achieved something they could never do before. Maybe I'll even submit it for their show.
And yes, I do look at that picture and think, "I've lost an entire person, and yet I still have an enormous belly and a double-chin," I also think, "Wow, what a difference. I would never have even tried this before! I wonder what else I'll be able to do when more weight starts to come off?"
We must revel in those moments of success, of feeling powerful and alive, and then tap back into them on those days when everything is hard and your pant size is getting you down. Remembering your milestones and planning for new ones is a great way to tell your self-doubt and critical voice to "take a hike."**
*Thank you to JulieBeth for asking me to go with her, for believing in me, for not getting impatient with my slowness, and for the high five. If only Chicago was closer to Denver...
**I really do apologize for the painful pun. Alas, I cannot promise that it won't happen again.
Before I get into the story, though, I want to post a link that really resonated with me. It is from a blogger "Shrinking Blubeary," and if you have ever been overweight, if you are overweight now, or if you're in the process of losing weight, you must go read it. It's about "The Old You," you know, the one you beat up and hate because she/he is (or was) so fat. When you finish reading, give your own "Old You" some love...she/he got you to where you are today.
Now, back to our regularly scheduled silliness.
So I mentioned before that I went hiking. In the wilderness. Up hills with rocks and gravel on them (and in my shoes). With bugs. Oh, and there were signs warning us against falling rocks, loose footing, mountain lions, pumas, and other assorted nasties. OK, I did make up the one about pumas, but the others are all too real.
Anyway, one of my best friends and favorite people JulieBeth* was in town from Chicago, and she was very sick with Colorado Fever, which includes the strong and sudden desire to do nature-y type things out in the sunshine. Usually I would beg out in favor of a mall (see previous post), but I decided that I was game. Check me out...
This is very much a posed shot with me doing a great simulation of "Adventurous Babe." We weren't actually in the rocks, but it was a hill/small mountain, and we did do the entire trail. And I know the hat is goofy, but the sun here is way too strong for me (I had skin cancer before I even turned 30 so I'm extra-cautious) so fashion be damned.
When we got to the top of the trail, the view was beautiful (despite the recent wildfires) and made the hot sun and the fear of carnivorous beasties it worth it. JB and I high fived and rested on a bench to admire the view. When we got back to the end of the trail, all I could think of was, "I freakin' did it," which is a segment on Bariatric TV of post-ops that achieved something they could never do before. Maybe I'll even submit it for their show.
And yes, I do look at that picture and think, "I've lost an entire person, and yet I still have an enormous belly and a double-chin," I also think, "Wow, what a difference. I would never have even tried this before! I wonder what else I'll be able to do when more weight starts to come off?"
We must revel in those moments of success, of feeling powerful and alive, and then tap back into them on those days when everything is hard and your pant size is getting you down. Remembering your milestones and planning for new ones is a great way to tell your self-doubt and critical voice to "take a hike."**
*Thank you to JulieBeth for asking me to go with her, for believing in me, for not getting impatient with my slowness, and for the high five. If only Chicago was closer to Denver...
**I really do apologize for the painful pun. Alas, I cannot promise that it won't happen again.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
If the Apple store reports a crazy lady, it's probably me
I've been noticing lately that I have a hard time looking people in the eye when I'm in public. Now I'm no shrinking violet, and I definitely know how to use good eye contact to my advantage. But when I pass someone walking in the store, I tend to look away or avert my eyes. Weird, right?
When you're overweight you get used to being invisible, and you don't challenge the invisibility cloak of fat by looking strangers in the eye. You may see disgust or judgement of you in their eyes, so you just don't look at them. It's a non-verbal way of trying to "shrink" into yourself so that no one notices you. After all, you don't deserve their notice, and you definitely don't want to seek it.
This evening I went for a walk at the mall that's on my way home from work and I actually looked at people. Lots of people smiled, some didn't react at all, and some looked away quickly (the way I usually do, lowering my eyes). What I found was that it is super difficult for me, and really requires me to stretch myself.
So, as I'm out practicing my skills, I decided to go into the Apple store to ask how difficult it would be to switch from a Palm OS to an iPhone, since I'm an Apple-lover (but don't really know what I'm doing). That, and it is the Apple store where the dude who bought a new iPad was walking out when someone tried to rip it from his hand and took the man's finger along with it. So it was educational, and trash entertainment at the same time.
Of course the store was filled with lots of cute boys. Well I think they're cute, but I love me some geeky boys. So I went up to the cute greeter-boy (which is a younger and geekier version of the greeters at Wall-Mart) to ask him the questions. This is when I don't really have a problem with eye contact--when I have a reason to talk to someone instead of just passing them by--so I gave my good eye contact and my "you're speaking above my head about technology" head-nodding. And he was cute, with a capital "q."
After he finished speaking with the mumbo-jumbo, he started apologizing for being distracted while talking to me, because he had to make sure no one else came through the doors that needed to be greeted. I told him, "no problem." And then we had the 1.5 minutes of "oh good, thanks" and "sure" and "have a good night" and "you too" and "have a good weekend" etc., etc. And I smiled at him, with my excellent eye contact.
And then it went horribly wrong. That's right, I winked.
Apparently, I'm one of those people. I might as well have whipped out my finger guns, waved them in the air, and then blew on my fingertip barrels. Oh dear. I must have then turned very red and then I quickly left. He was still exchanging token pleasantries to my retreating back--"enjoy the rest of your weekend!" as I hauled my embarrassed butt out of the store.
Oh dear. I had a nice chuckle at my own expense all the way back to my car. Making eye contact all the way.
When you're overweight you get used to being invisible, and you don't challenge the invisibility cloak of fat by looking strangers in the eye. You may see disgust or judgement of you in their eyes, so you just don't look at them. It's a non-verbal way of trying to "shrink" into yourself so that no one notices you. After all, you don't deserve their notice, and you definitely don't want to seek it.
This evening I went for a walk at the mall that's on my way home from work and I actually looked at people. Lots of people smiled, some didn't react at all, and some looked away quickly (the way I usually do, lowering my eyes). What I found was that it is super difficult for me, and really requires me to stretch myself.
So, as I'm out practicing my skills, I decided to go into the Apple store to ask how difficult it would be to switch from a Palm OS to an iPhone, since I'm an Apple-lover (but don't really know what I'm doing). That, and it is the Apple store where the dude who bought a new iPad was walking out when someone tried to rip it from his hand and took the man's finger along with it. So it was educational, and trash entertainment at the same time.
Of course the store was filled with lots of cute boys. Well I think they're cute, but I love me some geeky boys. So I went up to the cute greeter-boy (which is a younger and geekier version of the greeters at Wall-Mart) to ask him the questions. This is when I don't really have a problem with eye contact--when I have a reason to talk to someone instead of just passing them by--so I gave my good eye contact and my "you're speaking above my head about technology" head-nodding. And he was cute, with a capital "q."
After he finished speaking with the mumbo-jumbo, he started apologizing for being distracted while talking to me, because he had to make sure no one else came through the doors that needed to be greeted. I told him, "no problem." And then we had the 1.5 minutes of "oh good, thanks" and "sure" and "have a good night" and "you too" and "have a good weekend" etc., etc. And I smiled at him, with my excellent eye contact.
And then it went horribly wrong. That's right, I winked.
Apparently, I'm one of those people. I might as well have whipped out my finger guns, waved them in the air, and then blew on my fingertip barrels. Oh dear. I must have then turned very red and then I quickly left. He was still exchanging token pleasantries to my retreating back--"enjoy the rest of your weekend!" as I hauled my embarrassed butt out of the store.
Oh dear. I had a nice chuckle at my own expense all the way back to my car. Making eye contact all the way.
Monday, September 27, 2010
My fantabulous weekend, part one
For all intensive purposes, my weekend started when I left work on Thursday. I had Friday off, I had best buds coming into town, and I was ready to roll!
So after work I went to a makeup swap in the area that was publicized on one of my favorite makeup blogs, Hooked on Beauty. Even better, I had just cleaned out every nook and cranny of excessive moisturizers (you would think I'm the most moist person on the planet!), makeup that was the wrong color, haircare I got bored of or didn't work with a new hair length, etc. It goes like this: pay for a ticket ($10 for those bringing swap items), take in all your lightly used stuff you no longer want, and get new stuff you want to try. (Don't worry, everything gets cleaned and sanitized and it's not gross). The best part is that everything you don't want cluttering your bathroom goes to a loving home, and anything that isn't picked up is donated or recycled. See, I get to be greedy with new stuff AND I'm saving the planet in the process. God only knows that I would have taken up all the room in the local landfill just in bottles of soap, lotion, and shampoo!
You have no idea. It was like the mother ship calling me home. I got to meet Carissa, who is a well-known local makeup artist and a true sweetie. I had 2 sips of free champagne, and got to try Pop Chips (not baked or fried, but popped potato chips in a Bariatric-sized bag--yum!). I chatted with several lovely, amazing, and very fashionable ladies. AND I got the world best brow wax, trim, and tips ever from a professional brow artist--for free!
Then, there was the swapping. It was like Sephora in there, but everything was free. We all felt a little guilty for taking anything--I kept hearing comments of how it felt like stealing! But it was so much fun to see someone with darker skin tone get that bronzer that was too dark for me, and the shaping hair paste from when I had shorter hair, and the body lotion that just was too rich.
I know, getting this excited about a makeup swap is a little silly. It just reminds me of how much life, fun stuff, and new people I had been missing out on. I would never have gone when my weight was at it's highest. I would have felt intimidated by all the beautiful people, and would have just turned around and left. As it was, I only left when I absolutely had to in order to pick up my incoming friend at the airport. And what a great metaphor for cleaning out my life and losing weight.
And even though I had to leave early to pick up my friend, they allowed me to enter the drawing. And, I know you all are surprised, Carissa sent me a message that I won something. I don't know what yet, but it's clear that the lucky streak continues. As such, the price for rubbing my belly for luck has gone up dramatically. I may even get it insured by Lloyd's of London, just in case.
So after work I went to a makeup swap in the area that was publicized on one of my favorite makeup blogs, Hooked on Beauty. Even better, I had just cleaned out every nook and cranny of excessive moisturizers (you would think I'm the most moist person on the planet!), makeup that was the wrong color, haircare I got bored of or didn't work with a new hair length, etc. It goes like this: pay for a ticket ($10 for those bringing swap items), take in all your lightly used stuff you no longer want, and get new stuff you want to try. (Don't worry, everything gets cleaned and sanitized and it's not gross). The best part is that everything you don't want cluttering your bathroom goes to a loving home, and anything that isn't picked up is donated or recycled. See, I get to be greedy with new stuff AND I'm saving the planet in the process. God only knows that I would have taken up all the room in the local landfill just in bottles of soap, lotion, and shampoo!
You have no idea. It was like the mother ship calling me home. I got to meet Carissa, who is a well-known local makeup artist and a true sweetie. I had 2 sips of free champagne, and got to try Pop Chips (not baked or fried, but popped potato chips in a Bariatric-sized bag--yum!). I chatted with several lovely, amazing, and very fashionable ladies. AND I got the world best brow wax, trim, and tips ever from a professional brow artist--for free!
Then, there was the swapping. It was like Sephora in there, but everything was free. We all felt a little guilty for taking anything--I kept hearing comments of how it felt like stealing! But it was so much fun to see someone with darker skin tone get that bronzer that was too dark for me, and the shaping hair paste from when I had shorter hair, and the body lotion that just was too rich.
I know, getting this excited about a makeup swap is a little silly. It just reminds me of how much life, fun stuff, and new people I had been missing out on. I would never have gone when my weight was at it's highest. I would have felt intimidated by all the beautiful people, and would have just turned around and left. As it was, I only left when I absolutely had to in order to pick up my incoming friend at the airport. And what a great metaphor for cleaning out my life and losing weight.
And even though I had to leave early to pick up my friend, they allowed me to enter the drawing. And, I know you all are surprised, Carissa sent me a message that I won something. I don't know what yet, but it's clear that the lucky streak continues. As such, the price for rubbing my belly for luck has gone up dramatically. I may even get it insured by Lloyd's of London, just in case.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Sunshine, rainbows, and a leopard-print bra
Sure, of course they are related!
Weight loss is really hard. I've stalled out, and I get frustrated. I'm realizing how difficult it is for me to be by myself, and how lonely I feel without my friends pizza and garlic bread. Somedays it is almost unbearable.
Even though I had an employee in a terrible Worker's Comp accident and another employee that I had to use my broken-record means of discipline (where I say the same thing over and over until they either get it or they are so sick of me they storm out of the room/hang up--isn't HR fun!?), I ended up with a super-fabulous day.
1. I got a surprise package from my parents--a new low-carb cookbook (by Dana Carpenter, who is supposed to be the low-carb recipe guru...I'll let you know), and an instant-read thermometer (so that I can stop overcooking my chicken to the point of inedible leathery strings of protein). Why did I get a gift? Don't know. The message in the box simply said that the Parents are proud of me. Aw, shucks.
2. I got a really cool card from my friend, the Jabulish (she both Jewish and fabulous, so I think the name fits). It was just a no reason, thanks for being my friend card. I needed to hear that, and I love getting things with actual postage.
3. I went to a Layne Bryant event to get workout wear that fits, and they were having an in-store drawing. I heard them announce it from the dressing room, and I went flying out--clothing slightly asunder--to put my name in the hat just before she drew the winning ticket. And, of course, it was my name. Let me tell you there were some large and lovely ladies who were shooting me daggers with their eyes (although I can't blame them on this one). So, I got a free bra, which I desperately need (and which all the Layne Bryant shoppers could figure out when I ran out of the dressing room still buttoning a shirt). And I got to pick my own. In leopard print. Because there is just something fabulous about winning a practical item that is also just a little bit of fun.
So between having amazing parents, wonderful friends, and a new leopard-print bra, I figure that I am one lucky b*tch. For a small fee, I'll let you rub my belly like a Buddha for luck.
Weight loss is really hard. I've stalled out, and I get frustrated. I'm realizing how difficult it is for me to be by myself, and how lonely I feel without my friends pizza and garlic bread. Somedays it is almost unbearable.
Even though I had an employee in a terrible Worker's Comp accident and another employee that I had to use my broken-record means of discipline (where I say the same thing over and over until they either get it or they are so sick of me they storm out of the room/hang up--isn't HR fun!?), I ended up with a super-fabulous day.
1. I got a surprise package from my parents--a new low-carb cookbook (by Dana Carpenter, who is supposed to be the low-carb recipe guru...I'll let you know), and an instant-read thermometer (so that I can stop overcooking my chicken to the point of inedible leathery strings of protein). Why did I get a gift? Don't know. The message in the box simply said that the Parents are proud of me. Aw, shucks.
2. I got a really cool card from my friend, the Jabulish (she both Jewish and fabulous, so I think the name fits). It was just a no reason, thanks for being my friend card. I needed to hear that, and I love getting things with actual postage.
3. I went to a Layne Bryant event to get workout wear that fits, and they were having an in-store drawing. I heard them announce it from the dressing room, and I went flying out--clothing slightly asunder--to put my name in the hat just before she drew the winning ticket. And, of course, it was my name. Let me tell you there were some large and lovely ladies who were shooting me daggers with their eyes (although I can't blame them on this one). So, I got a free bra, which I desperately need (and which all the Layne Bryant shoppers could figure out when I ran out of the dressing room still buttoning a shirt). And I got to pick my own. In leopard print. Because there is just something fabulous about winning a practical item that is also just a little bit of fun.
So between having amazing parents, wonderful friends, and a new leopard-print bra, I figure that I am one lucky b*tch. For a small fee, I'll let you rub my belly like a Buddha for luck.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Gastric Bypass Babe...
I'm still mad at myself, but I did get out and go for a wonderful swim at the gym (and I'm hoping that I'll be let in at the next set of bellydance classes, because I think it would be good for me to try it). Afterwards I skipped out on my boring chores (laying on a 2nd coat of spring green paint in my guest bathroom, grocery shopping, a Target run for sundries) and decided I would use the Layne Bryant coupon I got in the mail and get some new undies (mine are sad and baggy in the butt, so it's well-past time).
Wow. I bought some nice new undies (5 for $26), and a few new bras (buy one, get one 50% off). That was all I was going to get, I swear. But then I saw it, taunting me from the "new arrival" rack. Floating delicately. A gorgeous dress. That I had no reason to try on or buy. So, of course, I did. I got a size 24 since that was the size of the pair of jeans that fit last.
And the dress looked horrible. I couldn't figure out why it looked so bad...it had a lot of promise on the rack. Great great tweed-looking fabric, with just enough texture to make it OK for fall and just enough shine to make it appropriate for now. Sort of a shirt dress, with a little tie belt, and a fuller (but not too full) skirt that hits me right at the skinny part of my legs (always a good thing). Basically, the perfect dress for my body type. Somehow, it was all wrong when I actually put it on.
Cue salesperson. "That looks a little big on you, would you like to try another size?"
Big? On me? "Uh, sure. But this one is a 24, which is the size of the jeans I got here last month."
Salesperson, "Uh huh. It's too big. Let me get you a 20." Which is code for, "I'm going to guess your size and get whatever I think you should have that will give me a good commission." Little did she know I was packing a righteous coupon.
So she did, and I tried it on, and it actually fit. The last time I fit into a size 20 was in college, when I was about 35 lbs lighter than I am now! I look smashing, if I do say so myself. I would have kissed the salesperson if I wasn't worried that she might call in security. I'm so used to clothes that don't fit right that it didn't even occur to me to try another size.
So, in case you lost count, today's score is:
Fear, Ego, and Self-Pity: 1 for the self-defeating thoughts that kept me from my belly-dancing class, 1 penalty for going off-sides of a new experience, for a total of 1 point and a foul.
Bariatric Babe: 1 for going to the gym even after I was fouled on by my own negativity, and 1 for fitting into a new size, for a total of 2 points.
And the Babe wins today's game by a dress size!
All things considered, not such a bad day after all.
Wow. I bought some nice new undies (5 for $26), and a few new bras (buy one, get one 50% off). That was all I was going to get, I swear. But then I saw it, taunting me from the "new arrival" rack. Floating delicately. A gorgeous dress. That I had no reason to try on or buy. So, of course, I did. I got a size 24 since that was the size of the pair of jeans that fit last.
And the dress looked horrible. I couldn't figure out why it looked so bad...it had a lot of promise on the rack. Great great tweed-looking fabric, with just enough texture to make it OK for fall and just enough shine to make it appropriate for now. Sort of a shirt dress, with a little tie belt, and a fuller (but not too full) skirt that hits me right at the skinny part of my legs (always a good thing). Basically, the perfect dress for my body type. Somehow, it was all wrong when I actually put it on.
Cue salesperson. "That looks a little big on you, would you like to try another size?"
Big? On me? "Uh, sure. But this one is a 24, which is the size of the jeans I got here last month."
Salesperson, "Uh huh. It's too big. Let me get you a 20." Which is code for, "I'm going to guess your size and get whatever I think you should have that will give me a good commission." Little did she know I was packing a righteous coupon.
So she did, and I tried it on, and it actually fit. The last time I fit into a size 20 was in college, when I was about 35 lbs lighter than I am now! I look smashing, if I do say so myself. I would have kissed the salesperson if I wasn't worried that she might call in security. I'm so used to clothes that don't fit right that it didn't even occur to me to try another size.
So, in case you lost count, today's score is:
Fear, Ego, and Self-Pity: 1 for the self-defeating thoughts that kept me from my belly-dancing class, 1 penalty for going off-sides of a new experience, for a total of 1 point and a foul.
Bariatric Babe: 1 for going to the gym even after I was fouled on by my own negativity, and 1 for fitting into a new size, for a total of 2 points.
And the Babe wins today's game by a dress size!
All things considered, not such a bad day after all.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Notice anything different?
I had my 6-month surgiversary celebration this week (even though it was actually last week that I hit 6 months). So that meant some new jeans, a blood panel, a visit to the doctor, a new photo, and a new look for the blog (it's a library, see? cause we're 'rewriting' our lives, see? get it? scribblinginthemargin? I knew you did!).
So last week I went to Kaiser to get my 6-month bloodwork done in time to take the results to my bariatric surgeon this week. It takes at least 3 times to explain, yes--this is for another surgeon. No, he isn't with Kaiser. Yes, I still need the bloodwork done. Yes, I do enjoy hassling you. Etc., etc. When I finally had the bloodwork ordered in the system, I headed down to the lab to get my blood drawn. I remembered to take a list from my bariatric surgeon of the names of all the tests he wants taken, which he nicely typed up and put on his letterhead. So I show up to the phlebotomist with this paperwork, hand it to her, and she says, "Bariatric surgery. Oh that's great! Good for you! When is your surgery date?"
*crickets*
"Uh, January 21. Last January 21."
Now, to her credit, she didn't even miss a beat or realize the enormity of her faux pas. "Wow, that's fantastic! How much have you lost?" God bless her little phlebotomist heart, because her genuine enthusiasm kind of took my mind off the fact that I apparently still look like I need surgical intervention. On top of it, she was REALLY good at drawing blood--super-fast, no prodding, no second pokes (or thirds), and NO bruising. I told her she was so fast she should have holsters for her needles and that I was going to call her "Quick Draw."
So my blood work came back fine, although a little anemic. My triglycerides are down into the 200's (hey, they've been up in the 500's before) and although my cholesterol is higher than before, it's still within the normal range. I'm down 120 lbs since my pre-surgical appointment, and 125 lbs total. I just tried on a size 22 pair of jeans and they fit (although I opted for the "skinny" cut and had to go up to a 24 so that they would fit in the waist). My t-shirt size is almost to the 18/20 range. My feet are smaller. I can stand in line and the only impatience comes from the idiot in front of me who is still using checks, and not from the fact that my back hurts so badly that I might fall down on the floor and not be able to get up. I can cross my legs, and fasten my bra strap by reaching behind me.
So yeah, so far so good. Part of me is waiting for the other shoe to drop and start gaining weight back. But I've gotten better at telling that negative nelly to just shut the hell up 'cause I don't want to hear it.
Thank you to those that have been following my journey so far. Thank you for your support, and for listening to my rambling. I'm sure there will be a lot more of it to follow, and I thank you for continuing to read.
So last week I went to Kaiser to get my 6-month bloodwork done in time to take the results to my bariatric surgeon this week. It takes at least 3 times to explain, yes--this is for another surgeon. No, he isn't with Kaiser. Yes, I still need the bloodwork done. Yes, I do enjoy hassling you. Etc., etc. When I finally had the bloodwork ordered in the system, I headed down to the lab to get my blood drawn. I remembered to take a list from my bariatric surgeon of the names of all the tests he wants taken, which he nicely typed up and put on his letterhead. So I show up to the phlebotomist with this paperwork, hand it to her, and she says, "Bariatric surgery. Oh that's great! Good for you! When is your surgery date?"
*crickets*
"Uh, January 21. Last January 21."
Now, to her credit, she didn't even miss a beat or realize the enormity of her faux pas. "Wow, that's fantastic! How much have you lost?" God bless her little phlebotomist heart, because her genuine enthusiasm kind of took my mind off the fact that I apparently still look like I need surgical intervention. On top of it, she was REALLY good at drawing blood--super-fast, no prodding, no second pokes (or thirds), and NO bruising. I told her she was so fast she should have holsters for her needles and that I was going to call her "Quick Draw."
So my blood work came back fine, although a little anemic. My triglycerides are down into the 200's (hey, they've been up in the 500's before) and although my cholesterol is higher than before, it's still within the normal range. I'm down 120 lbs since my pre-surgical appointment, and 125 lbs total. I just tried on a size 22 pair of jeans and they fit (although I opted for the "skinny" cut and had to go up to a 24 so that they would fit in the waist). My t-shirt size is almost to the 18/20 range. My feet are smaller. I can stand in line and the only impatience comes from the idiot in front of me who is still using checks, and not from the fact that my back hurts so badly that I might fall down on the floor and not be able to get up. I can cross my legs, and fasten my bra strap by reaching behind me.
So yeah, so far so good. Part of me is waiting for the other shoe to drop and start gaining weight back. But I've gotten better at telling that negative nelly to just shut the hell up 'cause I don't want to hear it.
Thank you to those that have been following my journey so far. Thank you for your support, and for listening to my rambling. I'm sure there will be a lot more of it to follow, and I thank you for continuing to read.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
And the diagnosis is...
Belly Butt is trying to burst free! (I just like the alliteration).
I was very excited that I was getting 2 surgeries for the price of one: gastric bypass and an umbilical hernia repair (I didn't even know I had a hernia until the surgeon said that he would fix it "while he was in there"). Well, the repair didn't take, and so my pain issues have all been traced back to the hernia, uh, re-heriating (?).
So, like the story of my life, it's good news/bad news. Good news: Pouchie is fine and there is no infection. Bad news: the Belly Butt will need another surgery to fix it. Could be worse, right? It's a simple out-patient surgery and I should be home by evening, with just a couple days off work, thank goodness.
But I did have a fun trip to the ER last night to get the CAT scan (which, strangely enough, my own cat was not able to perform for me). The admission nurse ended up being a friend of mine, so it was nice to see a familiar face. He also gave me good advice..."build up your muscles to be successful with your surgery." However, it looks like weight lifting will be on hold for a little while. So my admission went well, the scan went well, and then there was the waiting. And the multiple teams of Doogie Housers that stopped by on occasion to prod at my belly and nod their heads at one another. Seriously, I think I have underwear that is older than these people (TMI?).
Finally the grown-up surgeon came and told me it was an umbilical hernia, but that I wasn't in danger and that I could go home as long as I followed up the next day to schedule surgery. Hot damn! She said that they would do my discharge paperwork and bring it in in a few minutes. So I patiently waited. Um, sort of.
(Now is a good time to explain that I am a polite, rule-following kind of girl. If they tell me to wait behind the line, I will wait behind the line. I might be right up on it, or let a toe cross, but I will stay behind the line. That is, except when I haven't eaten in 24 hours. Then I am a raving bitch, apparently.)
An hour later, I realize that I'm very thirsty, hungry, and still in a little pain. In short, the recipe for disaster. I finally went up, opened the door to my room and told the first person who passed wearing scrubs, "Either you take this damn IV out, or I will. My surgeon released me, I haven't eaten in 24 hours, and I'm going home--with or without paperwork." (I kinda kick ass, right?) Her eyes went really wide and she told me that the surgeon hadn't released me in their computer and that she didn't know. I might have responded with something like, "Well, now you do," and she scampered off to get the required stuff. I went back in my little room for another 20 minutes and then figured, screw it, what are they going to do? Call the principal? Tell me I'm a bad patient? Report me to my mother (OK, that one I'm a little worried about, but the others sounded ridiculous.).
So I pulled out my own IV, dropped it in one of those ugly little kidney-shaped dishes, got dressed, grabbed my shit, and opened the door. I found the first doctor and told him I was leaving now. Lo and behold, the paperwork materialized in front of my eyes and I signed my name and took off for home. 8 hours after getting there.
Now I know they were just doing their job, and that a little hernia is on the bottom of the priority list, but I was pretty proud of myself for standing up and taking care of business. I don't know that I would have done that before losing weight, but I'm finding that I am the only one who has a truly vested interested in my wellness. Nurses and doctors do their jobs, and god bless them for it, but if it all goes wrong they go home at the end of the day knowing that they do the best they can. I'm the one who goes home with a new hernia, peripheral neuropathy, or perhaps doesn't go home at all.
And God help them if they have to call my mother on me.
I was very excited that I was getting 2 surgeries for the price of one: gastric bypass and an umbilical hernia repair (I didn't even know I had a hernia until the surgeon said that he would fix it "while he was in there"). Well, the repair didn't take, and so my pain issues have all been traced back to the hernia, uh, re-heriating (?).
So, like the story of my life, it's good news/bad news. Good news: Pouchie is fine and there is no infection. Bad news: the Belly Butt will need another surgery to fix it. Could be worse, right? It's a simple out-patient surgery and I should be home by evening, with just a couple days off work, thank goodness.
But I did have a fun trip to the ER last night to get the CAT scan (which, strangely enough, my own cat was not able to perform for me). The admission nurse ended up being a friend of mine, so it was nice to see a familiar face. He also gave me good advice..."build up your muscles to be successful with your surgery." However, it looks like weight lifting will be on hold for a little while. So my admission went well, the scan went well, and then there was the waiting. And the multiple teams of Doogie Housers that stopped by on occasion to prod at my belly and nod their heads at one another. Seriously, I think I have underwear that is older than these people (TMI?).
Finally the grown-up surgeon came and told me it was an umbilical hernia, but that I wasn't in danger and that I could go home as long as I followed up the next day to schedule surgery. Hot damn! She said that they would do my discharge paperwork and bring it in in a few minutes. So I patiently waited. Um, sort of.
(Now is a good time to explain that I am a polite, rule-following kind of girl. If they tell me to wait behind the line, I will wait behind the line. I might be right up on it, or let a toe cross, but I will stay behind the line. That is, except when I haven't eaten in 24 hours. Then I am a raving bitch, apparently.)
An hour later, I realize that I'm very thirsty, hungry, and still in a little pain. In short, the recipe for disaster. I finally went up, opened the door to my room and told the first person who passed wearing scrubs, "Either you take this damn IV out, or I will. My surgeon released me, I haven't eaten in 24 hours, and I'm going home--with or without paperwork." (I kinda kick ass, right?) Her eyes went really wide and she told me that the surgeon hadn't released me in their computer and that she didn't know. I might have responded with something like, "Well, now you do," and she scampered off to get the required stuff. I went back in my little room for another 20 minutes and then figured, screw it, what are they going to do? Call the principal? Tell me I'm a bad patient? Report me to my mother (OK, that one I'm a little worried about, but the others sounded ridiculous.).
So I pulled out my own IV, dropped it in one of those ugly little kidney-shaped dishes, got dressed, grabbed my shit, and opened the door. I found the first doctor and told him I was leaving now. Lo and behold, the paperwork materialized in front of my eyes and I signed my name and took off for home. 8 hours after getting there.
Now I know they were just doing their job, and that a little hernia is on the bottom of the priority list, but I was pretty proud of myself for standing up and taking care of business. I don't know that I would have done that before losing weight, but I'm finding that I am the only one who has a truly vested interested in my wellness. Nurses and doctors do their jobs, and god bless them for it, but if it all goes wrong they go home at the end of the day knowing that they do the best they can. I'm the one who goes home with a new hernia, peripheral neuropathy, or perhaps doesn't go home at all.
And God help them if they have to call my mother on me.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Wow! I RULE!
Tomorrow is my 4-week surgiversary, so naturally I had my 3-week nutrition class.* Now prepare yourself for me to gloat on how awesome I am:
1. I have lost almost 50 lbs since my pre-op appointment. That's right. "The Biggest Loser" can cover THAT in syrup and shove it down their pie-holes!** The week of ice-chips and the Valentine's Day ER trip for a stricture may have something to do with the fact that I lost more weight than anyone else in the class--including the men. But I'm takin' credit for it!
2. Even though I feel as thought I don't know what I'm doing post-surgery, I knew way more than anyone else in the nutrition class (except, of course, the nutritionist). I knew all the answers to the questions she asked us, and I knew most of the answers to the questions that the other patient's asked. I even was able to give tips on how to make a hot protein shake (like a cappucino or hot chocolate) without having it get gritty (hint: it involves making a slurry). I guess I'm getting better at this than I realized.
3. I parked far away from the office and walked there, without my supplemental oxygen. By myself. Uphill. In snow (well, melted snow, but you get the idea).
4. I had plans to go shopping after the class, but I had already drank all the water I had brought and I hadn't had protein in about 3 hours. So I had to decide: go shopping and pay for it later because I'm dehydrated and hungy? or do what I should and go home and take care of myself. Now, if you knew me before, you would know that I would jump on that shopping trip like Kathy Griffin on a Gay Pride float.*** I would have paid for it later by being really sick, but I've always been more about fun than consequences. This time, however, I made the smart decision and actually went home to take care of myself.
5. I decided my reward for all the proceeding fabulousness was to use my Borders gift card from Christmas and blow all $25 on an array of useless but beautiful magazines (which I love!). I didn't even consider a food reward (which has always been my go-to). So I'm heading out there later this evening.
Folks, in our society, we are very rarely allowed to toot our own horns. I know that women especially are taught not to brag because it is unlady-like. And I generally feel like I should keep my big mouth shut because of these unwritten rules. But I have to say that it feels really good to have things going well at this point. So here I am unashamedly (yet metaphorically) leaning my head out the window and yelling "TOOT TOOT" at the top of my lungs.
Go me!
*Math portions of this post brought to you by the letter C, as in the grade I got in math class in 7th grade.
**Writer of this blog does not espouse any sort of forced or involuntary pie-hole-shoving, whether or not it is covered in syrup.
***...not that there's anything wrong with that. I love me some Kathy Griffin. And Gay Pride. Please don't be offended by my similes.
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