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.

It's been ages, I know...

So, the minute I posted about how I'm amazed that I stuck with this blog so long I hit a little speedbump.  I just have not been able to really go online since Thanksgiving--lack of focus, lack of motivation--basically there has been no lack of lack-age.  And today I had to stay home to work on a cold that I've had coming on for a couple of days, so I'm forcing myself to go online and post a little.  And in my cold medicated-induced state, I think I need to refer to my inner Yoda, who is repetitive, extraordinarily irritating, and speaks backward as a rule.  But I keep hearing, "Online you should go.  Blog you shall.  There is no try, only DO."  Damn that little green dude.

Let's summarize the problem:
I can eat more.  This is not such a good thing.  At the end of one year post-surgery, most people have lost about 75-80% of their excess weight.  According to my doctor, my excess was around 190-200 lbs, so by January 21 I should be down about 160 lbs.  I'm still hovering between a loss of 145-150.  I know my size has changed a little and I'm now fitting into size 18 jeans, and I think my upper half is between a 16 and an 18.  But the weight is a bit stuck, and I'm pretty sure it's my fault.  I really need to step up my exercise (like, a lot) and stick closely to the rules.  I know I'm eating too much, and I'm having a really hard time stopping when I'm supposed to.  So yeah, I'm freaking out.  I feel like I lost my momentum and don't know how to get it back.

About there my little inner Yoda starts yelling, "Back to basics you should go, young Bariatric Babe-walker!  Yell I must to get through to your stubborn self!"  And for a while I've been telling that imaginary inner-muppet to take a long walk into a dark cave (or some other similar trademarked Jedi thingy that basically means, "get stuffed.")

But now it's time to figure out what I want to do from here, and start taking steps to get there.  What better time than the first of the year?  I hear the clock ticking and the ball dropping and I'm ready to see that same downward movement on the scale.  So I have to set a goal, which is like pulling eye teeth to me, and this is as good a place to start as any.

I don't feel ready to set an actual goal.  So instead, I'll just make myself a new commitment to getting back in touch with the weight loss community by blogging, by reading blogs written by others who are in the process of losing weight, and by revisiting all the bariatric sites with their tips and such.  At least 2-3 times each week.

So I'm saving the recap of my holiday experiences as a first-time bariatric patient for my next post, to come in a day or two.  In the meantime, feel free to tell me in the comments what goals you're setting for yourself this year...

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...

Calling all cooks....and post-ops too...

First of all, welcome to those of you who are new and joined me--thanks very much!

Now for the main event:  I need suggestions on how to handle Thanksgiving.  It is my first big "foodie" holiday since surgery, and I'm worried.  Here is how Thanksgiving normally transpires at my house:

1.  My parents come for an extended stay, which puts three adults in a condo for one.  Not only are there more people in a smaller space, but the people in question all have somewhat big personalities (I actually think I may top the list on this).  So while I love it when they come visit, it can also be overwhelming.
2.  We wake up and turn on the Thanksgiving parade and my mom and I cook.  My mom's job is to hold the turkey while I fill it with stuffing, and to amuse me by making the turkey dance while she's doing it.
3.  We eat the food.  What is it?  For me it's always a little bit of turkey on the side of a large plate of carbs--stuffing, mashed potatoes, and rolls.  We try to have salad and veggies to make it a slightly rounder meal, but I usually push those to the side.
4.  My mother cleans up.  Our deal is that I cook (with the exception of preparing the naked turkey for the oven), and she cleans up.  That, and she's somewhat compulsive about cleaning so even if we didn't have the agreement I would just leave it until it drove her so crazy that she cleaned it up anyway.  So the trade-off is actually a much better deal.  During clean up, there is usually a great deal of "stuffing-stealing" on my part, which consists of me deciding that there is no way for all the stuffing to fit into the tupperware and I should therefore eat it while standing in the kitchen.  And maybe another roll.  With butter.
5.  Then there is much laying around in a tryptophan-induced semi-comatose state while my father attempts to watch football with his eyes closed and my mother and I attempt to change the channel to something girly without waking him.
6.  We eventually make it over to a friend's house for a dessert buffet and to practice having more appropriate social skills than sneaking stuffing and slumping on the couch.
7.  We go home, we have a late-night snack (ie. a second Thanksgiving dinner), and we go to bed.

These are things that I cannot do this year.  I can't make it all about the food.  I can't eat the same type of food, nor can I eat it in the same quantity.  And I'm realizing that I'm going to have to re-design Thanksgiving.  Here's where I need your help.

How do I celebrate the holiday without making food the centerpiece?  How do I get some physical activity space for that day?  What food can I have that feels festive and holiday-like for all of us, but doesn't make me hate myself the next day?  How can I change our holiday without making my parents feel punished?

I don't know.  I've thought about going out to dinner (not a great option for us), ordering a "Turkey Dinner for 2" from Whole Foods, having yummy and festive nibbly things (since I have to eat small amounts several times a day) and avoid the one major holiday meal altogether, or invite ourselves to a friend's house.  I'm just not sure.

What are you guys all doing for Thanksgiving?  What do you do to stay on plan for the day (or do you just give yourself a free pass for the day)?  How do you make it feel like a holiday when you have to change everything?

Any and all suggestions are welcome--please leave them in the comments.

Pretty

To continue with my Internet theme, I'm embedding a "poetry slam" I found through fellow gastric bypasser Melting Mama.   Please go check out her website if you are thinking about/have had weight loss surgery--she is feisty, inspirational, and tells it like it is.


All my life I wanted to be pretty.  Not smart, not creative, not athletic.  Pretty.  And I watched this video of poet Katie Makkai and I saw myself.  I'm still reeling.





Pretty powerful.

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!)

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. 

Bariatric Surgery yummy stuff!

I have had an amazing weekend, and will be sharing pictures and stories soon.  In the meantime, I just had to share some of the yummiest stuff I've been eating.

If you've had surgery, or are cutting down on sugar, let your fingers run, not walk, over to Shelly's website.  I just made the pumpkin spice muffins, which is her sugar-free take on the ones at Starbucks.  OMG--cakey and lovely, with glazed pumpkin seeds (yup, I made those too) and a cream cheese-type filling.  Please visit here for that specific recipe, but check out her whole site.

I've also been loving the Paul Newman's organic Soy Crisps in White Cheddar flavor--sometimes a bit too much.  They are very hard to find in my area, and I've been harassing our local Spouts market manager to keep me supplied with the crack chips.  8 grams of protein, and tastes better than a lot of the "bariatric products."

Soon, I will be trying roasted chickpeas, which I heard about on a recipe site.  I'll let you know how it goes.  I've also been eating Honeycrisp apples with some really good aged cheddar.  Try them if you get them in your area--sweet and crunchy, which can't be beat.

Obviously, I've been missing a lot of crunchy things lately, so a member of my support group suggested trying some "legal" substitutions.  So far, I've found some wonderful things, and it's been helping.  Let me know what suggestions you have...and if you tell me salted cucumbers or cucumbers marinated in vinegar (blech!) I may have to ban you from further commenting.  :-)

Next post, I'll tell you about the fabulous makeup swap hosted by local makeup artist Carissa that I went to last Thursday, and then info on my fabulous weekend of outdoor activities with my wonderful friends JulieBeth and Little Lefty.  No, you did not read that wrong, OUTDOOR ACTIVITIES!  In fact, I will post some pictures as evidence that I do occasionally go outside, despite my strong aversion to direct sunlight, uneven ground, and dangerous woodland creatures.

I bet you can hardly wait...me too, but it's too late to try and figure out how the h*ll to download stuff from my camera (I finally found the charger so I could take pictures) without having the cord to connect it to the computer (I've lost that now too).  So even though I actually went outside, I guess some things don't change.

Head and body--reaching a detente?

One of the things I hear over and over is that weight loss surgery is on your body--not your head, and if you don't take care of the issues that made you overweight in the first place you will not be successful in the long term.  So I'm really trying to examine what it is that drove me to overeat.

The answer very frequently comes down to avoiding negative feelings. 

I was diagnosed as Bipolar type 2 in 2001 (yes, it's different than regular Bipolar or Manic Depression as it is mostly on the depressive side, with an occasional side of hyper and, for me, anxiety).  I consider myself lucky, as it is pretty mild--to the point that only my very closest friends knew that I had issues.  I was REALLY good at hiding it at work and to casual friends.  I developed a whole set of coping skills that consisted of me hiding whatever emotional state I was in.

Turns out, that's not a great idea.  1.  It means you are a lot harder to diagnose, and less likely to get the problem addressed.  2.  It means that your state of life requires hiding who you really are, and how you really feel, which becomes a huge hit to your self-esteem.  3.  It means that you have to find a way to cope with the dichotomy.  For me, it was food.  I regulated my emotions with lots of carbs (found out later that carbs boost serotonin as well as your fat cells), with sugar, and with fat.  All of those things, in mass quantities (which I also hid from the world, for a long time anyway), are really effective in blocking out your feelings.  Temporarily.  But they tend to rear their ugly heads eventually--in the form of 350 pounds.

I knew that after surgery I would have a lot of emotional work to do, and that I would have a hard time letting go of the food.  There have been times that I had a whole meal of just bread.  There have been times that I overate to the point that I thought I would die from the pain.  To me, these are the limits that I knew I would have to test, and that I need to learn from--quickly. 

And for the most part, I have.  I get a "cheat meal" each week, and then I go back to high protein, low carb and lower fat foods the rest of the time.   That means that when I get into emotional trouble now, I don't have my default coping mechanism of stuffing my feelings down by stuffing down food.  Angry, sad, lonely happens to everyone, but it feels to me like I get them stronger.  Not only because I have a tendency to intense feelings, but because when you don't express them they build up and get out of control.

The funny thing is that I've figured out that the best way to express and work out these negative feelings is body-based.  I always thought that the depression, bad feelings, and loneliness were thoughts and feelings in my head and the only way to get them out was to use my head (agonizing about everything) or my belly (filling it up until I was numbed by the serotonin).  I try to do pilates, meditation, and body movement to get rid of and deal with stress better.  I make myself "play dates" to keep from being too lonely.  I take deep breaths whenever I can.  I take a bubble bath, or clean out my closet of clothes that don't fit. 

All of them lean to the physical realm.  And I'm finding that  a lot of these things can help regulate those uncomfortable feelings.  I'll admit that it's not as easy and fast as pizza, and that there are times I forget, and that it's really hard.  I'm hoping to eventually come to a truce between my head, my heart and my body.  Right now, they are all in talks (see how political I am?).  There are occasional outbursts, but it doesn't seem to be a full-out war anymore--it's more of a Switzerland-type state of neutrality.

Honestly I don't think that I will ever win the war, but if a detente is enough to bring the Cold War up to a comfortable room-temperature, I'll take it.



So it seems like there

Lose to Win

If you've never heard of this movement, Google it and check it out.  It's called "The Ripples Project", and I get their weekly e-mails.  The whole point of it is to "explore the extraordinary power of tiny actions."

Ain't that the truth when it comes to weight loss!

You may (not) be surprised that I am a bit of a drama queen.  (SHOCK!  HORROR!).  I've never been good with planning, or consistency, routines, or baby steps.  Baby steps are for suckers; I wanna leap from one place to another, dammit.

Weight loss doesn't work that way.  Sure, the drama of losing 30+ pounds between the time I had my surgery and the time I went home 8 days later really fed my drama appetite, but it's been a month and my weight hasn't changed--except for up and down 2.5 lbs.  So I'm having to rely on the little things, instead of the big losses.  Like not eating until I get sick.  Like choosing a protein over a carb.  Like being able to do 15 minutes on the elliptical when I could only do 10 minutes last week.  And what I'm really hoping for is that all of these little things will eventually add up.  That I'll feel the "extraordinary power of my tiny actions."

I thought of this today because in their weekly e-mail they always include some cool quotes, usually submitted by other readers.  This week, it really struck home:

"When I let go of what I am,
I become what I might be."
--Lao Tzu

(Disclaimer:  It does seem like I'm all cool and zen-ish with this quote, doesn't it?  Zen doesn't exactly describe me.  Case in point, one of my all-time favorite quotes is this one:  "Whenever I'm driving through the desert, and I see a roadrunner, I run it over and say, 'That's for the coyote!' I don't really like the coyote, but it's a good excuse to run over things."—Craig Stacey.  Yeah.  Zen, I ain't.)

So anyhoo, right now I'm taking baby steps (grumble, grumble) and trying to let go of the fat person I've been to be the healthy person I might be.  That's this week's homework assignment.


Does anyone have a quote that they live by, are trying to live by, or that they just really like?

Attitude of gratitude

This morning, I had my last pre-paid Pilates class, and I really do like it.  I'm trying to figure out a way to pay for more sessions, as I think it really helps get me in touch with my body as it's changing post-bariatric surgery. 

On the way home, I was overwhelmed by a sense of how grateful I am for so much in my life.  It's easy to get caught up in the number on the scale (which hasn't changed more than a pound or two in the last month and a half!), or a still-bulging belly, or how hard it is to eat differently.  I feel compelled to wear my "before" picture on my shirt so that people can see, saying, "Yeah, I'm still fat, but look how far I've come!"  I even find myself comparing how much I've lost to other people who have gone through gastric bypass--have I lost more than them, or more quickly, or am I on track?  I wonder if I could have started exercising earlier how much more I would have lost by now.  I worry that because I ate some croutons yesterday that I'm blowing my chance to lose more weight and get to my goal.

I've been doing a lot of beating myself up lately for all of this, and this morning I just took a breath and realized I need to concentrate more on the positives (I think the Pilates reminded me of this).  For me that starts with being grateful.  So it was time to check in with my center of gratitude and fill it up.

I am so grateful:
*That my parents support me, both in paying for the surgery and for the moral and physical support following it.  Yeah for Mom and Dad!  You guys rock!
*For my job.  I have wonderful people I work with, and they are very understanding.  How many bosses have you had that tell you to take time off?  And I also know that with this economy, I'm lucky to be employed.
*For Sophie the cat, aka. The Beast.  She keeps me company and reminds me to be less self-centered.
*For my friend Goldilocks, who reminds me to go to the gym, who keeps me company there, and who even slows herself to be patient with me and my physical limitations.
*For my body.  As much as I resent it, and tell it how ugly it is, it still gets me around.  It's easy to forget how wonderful your body is when you focus on how it looks and not how it feels.  And I need to continually remind myself how I couldn't walk without pain, or go to restaurants with booths, or go swimming.

I'm sure there's more, but I'm meeting with a friend to eat some low-cal Japanese food for lunch and then walk the mall, so I gots to go. 

What are you grateful for?

It's been a hard days' week...

...and I've been working like a dog.  This week, I've just gotten tugged in every possible direction.  I've been bullied by management, threatened (with lawsuits) by employees, and led around the office by our CEO like--well, like a dog.  I knew it would be a rough week because I'm in a symposium on Thursday and Friday, so there ends up being extra stress to get everything done by Wednesday.

It got to the point yesterday that people were asking me "What's wrong?"  Which only happens when I'm extremely ill and don't have the strength to keep up the "HR Professional Mask," or when I forget to put on mascara (seriously, I look like I'm suffering from H1N1 when I don't have eyelashes).  My boss even came into my office and told me to take a day off...soon.  So yeah, the cracks in my armor must have been pretty visible.

And you know what I realized?  I haven't done anything active since Sunday.  No walks around the block, no stretching exercises, no yoga or pilates, no swimming, no weights, no nothing.  You could have knocked me over with a feather, I was so shocked when I realized this.  The woman who refused to sweat (unless you count sweating while trying to open a stuck  jar of pasta sauce), NEEDS to work out in order to feel right.  Who knew?

Well, I guess I sorta knew.  I mean I knew about all the studies on how exercise boosts your mood and that the effects can last over a day.  I know that I'm mildly ADD and need variety.  I know that anxiety can be burned off, along with some calories, by a brisk 10-minute walk.  And yet, before I lost the weight I couldn't take advantage of this.

You see, there is an idea out there that fat people are lazy, and if they just got off the couch they could turn into Ironman.  I don't believe being lazy makes you fat--I've met far too many skinny people who won't lift a finger if they don't have to.  I DO believe that being fat can make you lazy.  I am a hard worker, I'm dedicated and stubborn as all heck, yet I got truly lazy because moving around just didn't feel good.  I was in near-constant pain when I walked--to the point of wanting to just give up and lie down.  I hated feeling my thighs rub together, and my jiggly spots jiggle.  So I avoided it like the plague, and I'm sure people around me assumed that I was lazy.

Now I'm finding that I can actually move, and that it's fun.  And that when I don't make time to work out, I really miss it both physically and emotionally.  Don't get me wrong--running around the block isn't going to make my CEO less of a bully, or keep the employee I secretly refer to as "The Emotional Titanic" from cornering me in my office to tell me of her most recent crisises (or crises?).  It just helps me burn off the stress, anxiety, and tension that result of these things so that I can start the next day fresh.  Then, I can see my CEO as a powerful, decisive woman (which she is), and I can see the Titanic employee as a very troubled lady who just needed a sympathetic ear (which she also is).

So after my symposium ended this afternoon, I made a stop at the gym.  I saw a friend there, and watched a bit of the Turbo Kick Boxing she's been telling me about (I'm a little scared to try it just yet).  Then I did a warm-up on a recumbent bike (7 minutes) and 12 minutes on the elliptical (a new record for me!) doing intervals.  Then I did weights for my shoulders, my back, my pecs, my biceps, and my triceps.  I know it probably sounds wimpy to those of you who work out a lot, but remember that I've had 2 major surgeries in the last 7 months and I'm still 225 lbs, which is just barely out of the morbidly obese column for my BMI.  (Woo hoo!  I've lost about 130 lbs and now I'm just the regular kind of obese!).  So I've got a long way to go before Ironman.  But this evening I feel better--less stressed, and less driving to eat unconsciously.  So this is definitely a new, positive discovery for me.

Basically, the moral of the story is that if you work like a dog, you should run and play like one too.  Or you just might end up "barking" mad.  (sorry about the pun...feel free to punish me in the comment section).

An off day, and a shout-out to the Melting Mama!

Today hasn't been the best day.  I dropped my enormous cup of SportTea before even making it to my car, and I have a hard time drinking plain water or even Crystal Light sometimes.  I didn't get in all my protein today, and I went out with a friend and ate queso--that was my dinner.  Not the best choice.  I'm sure I'll pay for it sometime around 3am.

My fear when I have a day like this is that I'll stop doing all the stuff that keeps me healthy and dropping weight, and then I'll gain it all back and/or get really sick.  So days like this mess with my mind as much as they do my body.  Tomorrow is a new day.  I'll pre-pack a great bunch of protein and try to eat more regularly and drink as much as possible.

These fears are not new to me.  I've worried about weight gain since before I even had the surgery.  I did the math and figured if I could lose 70% of my excess weight and then gain back a mere 10% (which I'm told is nearly inevitable, I'm still over 100lbs lighter that I was when I started.  But like any right-brained person, I can see the math, and know it adds up, and yet still not FEEL like it's true.

These thoughts really came to a head when I checked out my blog roll.  You must go read Melting Mama, who I admire the heck out of.  She just had the Facebook version of being a drive-by victim (with words instead of bullets--just as powerful, but less likely to show on an airport x-ray).  People accusing her of not "doing it right" because she has gained some of her weight back.  (By the way, she is still down a LOT of weight, and she has new medical issues that make things much harder, and she is honest about how weight loss surgery has both benefitted and detracted from her life.  I see her as a success story--a success at life, which is much more than getting to and staying a size 6).  Seeing someone as funny and brave and wonderful get brow-beaten by people who are still judging others by size and not by life experience made me really mad.  And then sad.  And then mad again.

So rather than rehash the whole thing and let more negativity out into the world, I'd just like to say to my sister, Melting Mama, that the Babe has your back.
Peace and love, my sister.

I'm back, b*tches!

I hope that title doesn't offend anyone.  It just gives me the triumphant attitude-filled title I was looking for.  Probably the fact that I'm apologizing for it just neutralized any of that fabulous attitude I had worked up, but hey, that's the magic that is me.

Here's the update.  On the day of my 3-month surgiversary for gastric bypass, I went back in for another abdominal surgery--an umbilical hernia repair.  Back when my bariatric surgeon told me he found a hernia and stitched it up "while he was in there," I was thrilled that I was getting away with two surgeries for the price of one.  But folks, there ain't no such thing as a free lunch.  Umbilical hernias have a nasty habit of needing extra reinforcement, being one of the body's natural weak spots, and stitches (especially impromptu stitches) don't usually hold up.  So I had another 2-hour surgery, 6 new scalpel marks on my belly, 8 days off from work, a mesh panel implant in my belly, an overnight hospital stay, and a partridge in a pear tree.

Despite all this, I am extremely lucky.  I got in for the surgery just in time, since my bowel had started to work its way out of my abdominal cavity (which can be really serious if it isn't caught).  I was able to schedule the surgery in advance so that I could make plans to be off work.  I have a job working for amazing people who are understanding, and I have FMLA protection to boot.  My parents were already planning to visit me the same week I went in for the surgery, so I had support and assistance from my family.  And, luckiest of all, I already knew how to be my own health care advocate. 

I've said it before--when it comes to your health YOU must be the one to stand up for yourself.  You cannot depend on the government, your insurance company, your doctors or nurses, or your family to do it for you.  I was reminded of this time after time while in the hospital this go-round.  Some highlights:
*I remembered to tell the anesthesiologist that I woke up from my last surgery unable to feel or use my feet (and that I still have some residual neuropathy in my toes).  She was then able to figure out a way to pad my lower back during surgery so that there was no unnecessary nerves getting pinched.
*I had to fight with them on the pain meds they gave me.  And I mean fight.  I had so much bruising and pain because of all the issues and they wanted to give me Advil when I went home.  I insisted on getting the same meds that the bariatric doc gave me post-surgery, and thank goodness for it.
*They had no idea how to feed me.  I told the nurse "act like I'm diabetic" first, and then realized she was putting in my chart that I had diabetes.  I told her to change it and put down that I was on a "no sugar added diet".  Even so, twice I had to question people who came into my room to get my blood sugar.  They had seen "no sugar" on my chart and assumed I was diabetic.  Luckily I caught them before I was force fed juice or given any insulin.
*I had to practically beg to get a bag of saline pushed into my IV to help give me a hydration boost before I left.  I explained that I dehydrate very easily now, and that I can't always drink enough to keep from getting constipated.  And trust me, constipation when you've just had your 2nd abdominal surgery for the year is a fate up there with "please just kill me now."
*No one came by to get me out of bed to walk around.  As I learned from my last surgery, you need to get up and move to help prevent blood clots and to get your circulation going.  Good circulation = faster healing, yet I had to keep reminding them that I wanted to move around on a regular basis.

So yeah, you can't just lay back and expect them to know everything you need to get and stay well.  You have to speak up.  It's best to do it politely so that you are just a person who wants to heal and not "the pain-in-the-ass in room 810"  (although I've probably also been that person once or twice).  But learning to advocate for myself is a huge step.  Not only will it help me get the care I need, but it reminds me that I am WORTH getting that kind of care.  Those of us with serious weight issues need to constantly reaffirm that we deserve good healthcare, and that we have the right to speak up in order to get it.

I also just want to say to all of you, thank you, everyone, for hanging in there with me.  Every time someone joins my list, reads my blog, or posts a comment I am reminded that life is worth not just living, but also worth sharing.  And I like to think that if my random ramblings make you laugh, or make you think differently about something, or inspire you, or reinforce your confidence in being your own advocate, that my struggles are worth it.

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.

The skin I'm in

Whenever I tell someone new that I had a roux-en-y gastric bypass, there are generally a few questions.
1. How much have you lost? (A natural question)
2. Did your insurance cover it? (I get this one at work a lot, either because they want to know if it's covered for themselves or because they want to know if their premiums are high because I'm spending the money on me).
3. What happens with, you know, your skin? By the title of this post you should have guessed that I want to talk about this one.

People are fascinated by weight-related skin issues. Like, "where does it go?" Or, "will you get surgery to remove it?" Etc.

Here's my take on it. I'm HOPING that I actually lose enough weight to worry about this. My weight loss has already slowed down to a couple of pounds a week, which sounds like whining unless you remember that I lost the first 60 pounds in 6 weeks. So getting small enough that my skin can't catch up would be awesome and incredible. Especially because I have good skin genes in some ways--thick, heals quickly, few signs of aging. Of course that also comes with the major cystic acne and the tendency towards skin cancer, but hey--I look like I'm still in my 20's.

So, being the proactive and beauty product-obsessed gal that I am, I read up on what I can do to potentially minimize a need for surgery. The best suggestions I got was to use a scar reducer (like Mederma) on my incision sites, and to baste myself with body oil designed for pregnancy. Being the product-whore that I am, I ran out and bought a pregnancy oil created by Weleda, and one from Belli.

Some background info: I had really let myself go when I topped out at 350+ lbs. I had shapeless hair, I stopped getting highlights, I stopped shaving my legs, and I didn't exfoliate and moisturize the way I should. In short, I had given up. Well, and the fact that applying lotion all over a quadruple-X-sized body is a real workout. Literally.

Now, I'm slowly getting back into the habit of taking care of myself physically. First, following the Rules of Pouchie. Second, taking all my required vitamins daily. And now, marinating myself in baby-to-be oil. It's just one more step in subconsciously reminding myself that I am worth a little more time and energy.

Since I just started doing this, I have nothing real to report yet (other than my skin feels and smells great). As time marches on, we'll see how it goes. But even if it doesn't help with the loose skin, I think the simple act of conscious self-care will help me with everything else.

Next step in taking care of myself, exercise. More on that later...