tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-333639252024-02-08T02:44:45.924-08:00Inside Out and Upside DownI've spent my life as a happy, healthy, obese woman. But I've looked into my future and realized that I won't stay healthy if I stay obese. So it's time to go drastic: gastric bypass surgery.Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-44322279894200754902009-11-05T16:29:00.001-08:002009-11-05T16:30:08.664-08:00Moving Day!I'm alive, I'm well, and I've moved <a href="http://woomptastic.com/">over to here</a>. So change your bookmarks and come on over!Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-63388121654299150312009-01-11T21:41:00.000-08:002009-01-11T21:42:31.772-08:00More of the same, reallySo that was Christmas, and New Year's, and another year is gone. I'm officially 18 months out from my surgery, and I've been the same weight since I was one year out. On the one hand, this is a good thing. My body has found a weight that it is happy at, and I don't have to try very hard to stay there. I can stop obsessing over what I put in my mouth and just be focused on life instead. On the other hand, I've stopped losing weight when I am still 40-60 pounds higher than I was hoping to be at the end of all of this.<br /><br />I don't really know how to deal with this. 120 pounds! I've lost an entire person, and yet sometimes it's not enough. See, I'm still fat. Obese, if you talk to the BMI people. And I was all kinds of prepared for shifting from Fat to Skinny, but I wasn't prepared to shift from Really, Really Fat to Kind Of Fat. Don't get me wrong, I love the change. I'm healthier and more active and more comfortable in my skin. I don't worry about chairs breaking or armrests bruising my hips or what I'm going to do the next time I need a cute dress for a function. The day before Thanksgiving, I led my family on a 4 mile hike in the cold drizzle of Mt. Tamalpais and it is one of my favorite memories of 2008 just because I felt so fantastic during it.<br /><br />But sometimes I feel like I need to carry around a picture of myself from 2006 to prove that I've really accomplished a lot, that I've come a really long way and that this? This is my Skinny. And then I feel pissed off because why the hell should I feel like I need to justify my current size to ANYONE? The ironic thing is that at the same time that I want to run around justifying my flabby ass, I am insanely tired of being told what a good job I've done, how amazing I look, how great I must feel. I started a new job in July and starting there let me breathe out at last, because they only know this me. They don't know the pre-surgery me, so they're not constantly watching what I eat or telling me what a good example I am or telling me how fantastic I look. To them, I'm just a mid-30's office manager who happens to be on the pudgy side. At a size 16/18, I'm average, and that's how they look at me. And I kind of love it.<br /><br />I am trying to reconcile all of this, trying to accept that this is my reality and that those amazing before and after "size 28 to a size 2!" pictures don't happen to everyone who has this surgery. I am trying to believe that this is enough, that it's okay that the vast majority of the time I am perfectly content to be who I am right in this moment. I eat whatever I want (and it's usually good for me), I work out (not as often as I'd like but more often than most of my friends), I get drunk on occasion (because I still love wine), I take my vitamins (more often than not), and I weigh myself every day to make sure I'm staying in my 198-202 range (which I randomly decided is my Acceptable Weight Range). 90% of the time I'm truly content with my life as it is right now and I really like where I am physically. I'm not focused on losing weight anymore, but I am focused on getting healthier.<br /><br />It's that other 10% of the time that I'm working on. That's the time when I see other patients who have lost more weight, faster, and I wonder what I'm doing wrong. That's when I look in the mirror and think that I have failed at this and I start thinking about going back to Weight Watchers to try and lose these last 40 pounds. Luckily, I have this fantastic support system, and they have been able to talk me off of that ledge more than once. But I need to work on this whole self-acceptance thing a little more on my own, so I need to make more of an effort to keep dumping this crap out of my brain and onto the web, because that is where brain dump belongs.<br /><br />2009. The year I fix myself. (I hope)Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-51323272124277324452008-10-16T15:14:00.001-07:002008-10-16T15:30:22.245-07:00Yarf expressWhen I was about 6 weeks out from surgery, I started throwing up. Sometimes my vitamins would set it off, sometimes one bite too much of dinner would, sometimes I'd have the dreaded "stuck food" issue. Once, I had an insanely bad reaction to some carnitas, a reaction that meant my husband had to pull over 4 times during out 15 minute drive home from the Zoo so I could throw up.<br /><br />It was my body's way of getting used to doing its thing again, my stomach's way of figuring out how exactly it was supposed to work now that it had been made teeny. And it lasted a few weeks and then the adjustments were made and voila, the vomiting stopped. Until this week.<br /><br />Saturday: We went out for dessert...a small cupcake and a chocolate covered strawberry with a side of tea for me. I at 3/4 of the cupcake and suddenly felt horrible. i didn't tell my husband, but I ended up throwing up in the bathroom before we walked home.<br /><br />Sunday: We had a somewhat late lunch, and I was still really, really full feeling when we headed out to dinner with friends. I took a few bites of my salad and ate a breadstick and suddenly knew I was going to throw up. I finally figure out that I had probably gotten something stuck earlier when I threw up 3 more times over the course of the night, unable to keep anything down.<br /><br />Monday: Had 3/4 of a frozen South Beach pizza with a salad on the side for lunch, a normal meal for me. Suddenly felt insanely full and promptly went and threw up. Miserable for the rest of the afternoon.<br /><br />Today: Had a salad no different than any other salad I've had ...tuna, light cheese, baby romaine. Carrots and hummus and Wheat Thins on the side. And now I feel like something's stuck again because I can't even look at a glass of water without feeling nauseous. I've already thrown up once and I think I feel another round coming on.<br /><br />I have no idea what's going on here. Maybe I'm not able to eat lettuce anymore? Maybe my stomach is still trigger happy from last weekend? Maybe it's revolting aginst the crappy foods I've indulged in? I just don't know.<br /><br />What I do know is that I am tired of throwing up. It hurts and dehydrates me and I am miserable for hours afterwards. I'd like to stop now, please.Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-78754518900007904452008-10-09T15:13:00.000-07:002008-10-09T15:14:27.643-07:00Off the gridI didn't end this blog, really I didn't. It certainly seems that way though, with my disappearance after the anniversary post. In reality though, life intervened. We got <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/31604363@N00/2851538554/">a kitten</a>, I got a new (crazy, hectic, stressful, awesome) job, my best friend <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/31604363@N00/sets/72157606717889121/">got married</a>, my other friend <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/31604363@N00/2805177526/">had a baby</a> and I went back to school. In other words, life happened. <br /><br />The only thing that did not happen was more weight loss. And exercise. Coincidence? Probably not.<br /><br />Also probably not a coincidence: my current class is on Monday nights, which means I have not been going to support group, which means I am eating rather haphazardly. And haphazard eating + no exercise = Plateau City.<br /><br />On the good side, I've maintained my weight loss (with minor fluctuation between the same 2 pounds) with little to no effort. I honestly believe that this might be my body's new "set point", the place where it's happy and comfortable. I'm certainly happy and comfortable here; I'm small enough to buy clothes off the rack of department stores without trying them on (size XL or 16/18), small enough to not draw attention to the size of my ass, small enough to be able to find a cute party dress off the rack without even trying. But I'm still pudgy enough to still have my fat girl cred, to have the ass and hips and boobs that my husband likes so much. You'd be surprised at how comfortable straddling the line between thin and fat can be.<br /><br />And a funny thing happens when you get comfortable. When you get comfortable, you find yourself sliding into old habits, like Frosted Flakes at 10pm. Sure, it's a teeny bowl of Frosted Flakes but....it's Frosted Flakes! In the middle of the night! (Something tells me that Dr. Mueller would frown VERY BADLY at me for that one.)<br /><br />People ask me what I can eat now. And here's the plain, unvarnished, gorgeous truth of it: I can eat anything I want. (With the odd exception of carnitas, ribs cooked a certain way, and ground beef.)<br /><br />The plain, unvarnished, not as gorgeous truth: I eat anything I want. I just don't eat as much as I used to, because I am physically unable to. Sure, too much sugar leaves me feeling bloated and gross, but I can still have dessert if I know when to stop. (And no, I don't always know when to stop.)<br /><br />So here's where I am. The bloom is off the rose, so to speak. My body has figured shit out and while my metabolism is better now, my rerouted intestines are not the advantage they once were. But I've got another 40 pounds I want to lose, so I have to do exactly what every other person out there has to do: eat right and exercise more and see what my body does with that. I am no different than any of my non-surgeried friends anymore, aside from the smaller capacity. I eat what they eat, I work out how they work out (okay really, I work out more than most of them these days) (which is a stunning statement, right there), and weight loss is no longer a random, miraculous occurrence.<br /><br />And that sucks, because that means that damn it all to hell, I have to work at this. I have to buck up and put on my big girl panties (and ten million other platitudes) and get my ass in gear. And getting my ass in gear means blogging again, it means going beack to support group, it means joining things like the <a href="http://elasticwaist.com/2008/10/lazy-waisters-triathlon-the-re.php">Breast Cancer Awareness 30 Minutes Challenge</a> over at <a href="http://elasticwaist.com/">Elastic Waist</a> and getting up and going to the gyme before I go to work more often than not.<br /><br />But it also means not beating myself up, not shaking my fist at my reflection and saying I'm a loser for eating those Twizzlers (because a life with Twizzlers is a ad life indeed). It means exercising because I want to beat a previous record and it means sitting down to enjoy a four course fondue dinner at a <a href="http://www.opentable.com/rest_profile.aspx?rid=6399">fabulous restaurant</a> with a fabulous friend because it looked too good to pass up (and oh my god, it was amazing). And it means not freaking out if I never lose another pound, because this may be it. All I can do is treat myself and my body better than I have been.<br /><br />And most of all, it means coming back here and examining my belly button lint again. Lucky you!Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-68913091459382373782008-07-09T16:01:00.000-07:002008-07-09T16:04:31.751-07:00Remembering where I came fromSo.<br /><br />I think I am supposed to have something profound and deep and wise to say today. I think I am supposed to talk about some giant epiphany that I have had since <a href="http://rearrangements.blogspot.com/2007/07/adventure-en-toto.html">that wacky summer day</a> last year when I was wheeled into a cold operating room to have my guts rearranged. Or maybe I am supposed to talk about the monumental changes that have happened, the kinds of changes that rock you to your core and make everything Better! and Different! and Awesome!<br /><br />But you know, other than that whole <a href="http://rearrangements.blogspot.com/2008/02/this-is-my-confession.html">"Oh wow, I have an eating disorder or two"</a>moment, this year hasn't been full of drastic, dramatic changes. It's been a year of slow and subtle and gradual changes. It's been a year of shifting my perspective, of changing my habits and my priorities.<br /><br />If I had to describe it to someone, I would simply say "I was there, and now I am here. And next year I'll be somewhere different."<br /><br />I weighed 317 pounds when I started the process of getting approved for surgery.<br /><br />I weighed 299 pounds last year on the day I had my surgery.<br /><br />I weighed 198.3 this morning, and there are 58 inches less of me taking up space on this planet.<br /><br />I was there, and now I am here.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/31604363@N00/2651397885/" title="One Year, Front View by Minarae, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3039/2651397885_221a75004d.jpg" width="500" height="222" alt="One Year, Front View" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/31604363@N00/2652223816/" title="One Year, Side View by Minarae, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3143/2652223816_533f6513b3.jpg" width="500" height="222" alt="One Year, Side View" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/31604363@N00/2652223772/" title="One Year, Back View by Minarae, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3279/2652223772_0a0293fd8a.jpg" width="500" height="224" alt="One Year, Back View" /></a>Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-6091452042292204932008-07-07T17:19:00.001-07:002008-07-08T09:16:35.934-07:00All of a sudden, there I am<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"> <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/31604363@N00/2566212897/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3164/2566212897_d9a441760d_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a> <br /> <span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"> <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/31604363@N00/2566212897/">Inside of the wrist</a> <br /> Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/31604363@N00/">Minarae</a> </span></div>I keep thinking I'm in a weird plateau and have stopped losing weight because I spend days and days bouncing around in a 2-3 pound range that centers on what I weighed the previous month. And then at the end of the month, all of a sudden I drop 2 or 3 pounds and blammo, successful month! <br /><br />This has been the routine for the past 4 months or so, and to be honest, it's getting tiring. That scale keeps playing with my emotions, taunting me into thinking I'm done now, thanks! This past month has been the most frustrating because I've been hovering in the 200-202 range for weeks and weeks. Somedays I'm up to 202, somedays I'm down to 200. Never less than 200 though! That's not allowed, apparently.<br /><br />I enjoyed my 4th of July weekend immensely anyways. There was lazy coffee on Friday with my husband, followed by a movie with my mother-in-law and a barbecue with the whole damn family over at my moms, topped off by awesome fireworks. We ate out for almost every single meal we ate this weekend, I had wine with dinner, we went out to <a href="http://www.heavensentdesserts.net/">our favorite bakery</a> for dessert....twice! (I am addicted to their Spiced Chai tea...a pot of that and a tea cookie or two and I'm a happy girl!) I took a lot of naps on the couch with kitties sprawled over me, and the only exercise I got was an afternoon spent playing in the hotel pool where my mother-in-law was staying.<br /><br />In other words, it was an awesomely perfect weekend, complete with temperatures in the low 70's and lots of time in the sun.<br /><br />Of course, I figured the constant eating out and wine indulgences and dessert indulgences would mean disaster for me. And considering that my one year anniversary is on Wednesday, I wanted to see what kind of damage I had to undo.<br /><br />Needless to say, I nearly hyperventilated when I looked down and saw not 202, not 200 but <b>198.7</b> on the scale. (I also made some rather loud noises that may have left my neighbors to wonder exaclty what I was doing, all alone in my apartment.) I was shocked, to say the least.<br /><br />But when I told my husband about how amazed I was, that I had lost all this weight despite all the eating out and wine and coffee and slackiness, he pointed out that I really never ate that much at any of our meals, that I got full really fast. And you know, he's right. I do get full very fast. I can eat whatever the hell I want (to a point) but I just can't eat much of it. Call it pouch awareness, call it working the tool, call it whatever the hell you want. All I know is that a year later, it's still working for me. It's still keeping me from pounding down 3000 calories in one meal, it's still keeping me from binging, and I still feel fucking awesome.<br /><br />And to celebrate all that, I got a tattoo. It was an expensive, painful, time intensive tattoo, but it turned out so beautiful. People compliment me on it every day, even though they have no idea what it represents to me. I told Kevin last year that I wanted to get a tattoo either when I'd lost 100 pounds or when I hit one year out. (I was really hoping it would be the 100 pound mark that came first.) From my highest, I'm down 119 pounds. Since the day of my surgery, I've lost 101. I've lost 75% of my excess weight and I'm still losing, slowly but surely. The last 38 pounds I want to lose are totally doable.<br /><br />I think that I can definitely be added to Dr. Mueller's list of success stories when I see him on Thursday for my one year check up. If only he had a Wall of Fame! Maybe I'll just make one of my own in my living room.<br clear="all" />Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-63746476647958854402008-06-25T16:38:00.001-07:002008-06-25T16:38:49.100-07:00Someday maybe I'll just be happy<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"> <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/31604363@N00/2543618437/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3096/2543618437_06f15c701f_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a> <br /> <span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"> <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/31604363@N00/2543618437/">Am serious hiker!!</a> <br /> Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/31604363@N00/">Minarae</a> </span></div>Earlier this month, I joined some friends in Las Vegas to celebrate the birthday of the fabulous<a href="http://www.elasticwaist.com">Weetabix</a>. And because Weetabix is a damn rock rockstar, it was indeed a Wild and Crazy Rockstar Weekend. it was Vegas the way Vegas should be: nightclubs and cocktails and cabanas and pool parties and floppy hats and just enough gambling to say you did some. It's been a couple of years since I've been to Las Vegas, and to be honest, the last time I was there, I didn't feel like I fit there at all. My clothes were all wrong and I was too flubbity to go swimming. I was hot and uncomfortable when we were walking around and I was nowhere near pretty enough to be seen in the nightclubs. This time was different, and while it was mostly the fantastic company that made it different, a big part of it was me.<br /><br />This time, I showed up in Vegas with an array of dresses and sandals that made me confident enough to not just go in the nightclub but to fall down on the dance floor and then get up and keep dancing. I had not one but two swimsuits, and both of them looked decent on me (flubbity white thighs notwithstanding); in fact, I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror, with my big floppy hat and gigantic sunglasses, the low cut bathing suit on and a towel wrapped around my waist and thought "Damn, I look good right now." And then I went swimming. In public! In Las Vegas!! I spent no time tugging and pulling at my clothes or having anxiety over not fitting in just so. The heat didn't make me want to cry; instead, I was thrilled because for the first time in six months I was warm. (The dryness of the air can bite my butt though, ugh). In other words, it was a whole new experience for me, doing Las Vegas as a size 16.<br /><br />And it was good, all of it was good. No, it was great. It was fucking fantastic and exactly what I needed, being with that particular group of people at that particular moment in my life, because I'd had a really shitty week and they are the ones I feel safe being completely fucking nuts around.<br /><br />But on the way home, sitting in the car as we sped along the highway, I started thinking about me and <a href="http://elasticwaist.com/body-of-work/">Anne</a> (who was also there that weekend). And I started thinking about how she has lost so much more weight than me, that she is positively tiny and fine-boned and petite and I am...still pudgy, and flubbity, and Not Skinny. Here we are, two people in the same group of friend who have both had weight loss surgery, and we have had such different results. And even though I reminded myself that she had a different surgery, she had surgery 8 months before me, <i>and most of all, we are two different people, damn it</i>, I still ended up thinking to myself that she won. She's the skinny one, she's the one who's lost over 150 pounds, she's the "normal sized" girl. And I must obviously be doing something wrong since I've only lost like 8 pounds in the past two months and I still haven't broken the 200 barrier (201.1 this morning, damn it all to hell) and I'm not even a full year out and ohmygodI'mafailure. And I thought that oh, my friends must have looked at the two of us and wondered what the hell I'm doing wrong to still be this big a year after my surgery because look at Anne! Anne lost way more weight in her first year than I did! Anne wins! Everyone who's had the surgery and lost more weight than I have wins!<br /><br />And oh, I know it's all stupid and broken and lame of me to think this way because these are my friends, and they love me and dear lord in heaven, they are the only ones who don't immediately squeal "Oh you look so good!" every time I see them because to them, I have always looked good and they don't need to validate my looks now that I'm thinner. And yet I feel like I'm a disappointment to them, like I'm a disappointment to everyone I know who expected me to be a size 6 by now. Everytime I eat a piece of chocolate or collapse on the couch instead of going to the gym I feel like I am letting down Everyone. Them. Society.<br /><br />As of today, I've lost 117 pounds from the highest weight ever recorded at my doctor's office (back in January 2007, that was). 117 pounds. That's a 12 year old for crap's sake! And yet I still feel like a failure because I am not losing as fast as other people, because I'm not losing as much as other people, because I'm still not as think as I "should be" after the surgery. I still want to lose another 40 pounds, because apparently, 117 pounds is not enough.<br /><br />The problem is, right now I don't know what is enough. When will I be truly satisfied? When will I be able to revel in how good I feel and never have it slip into the "Yeah but..." territory that I slipped into after my awesome weekend in Las Vegas? When will I finally be able to look in the mirror and say "This is enough <i>for me</i> and no one else matters" and believe it?<br /><br />I'm beginning to think that maybe I need therapy. (Duh, right?)<br clear="all" />Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-16512363061888183812008-05-02T22:15:00.000-07:002008-05-02T22:16:41.760-07:00Hot damnI think I may have finally stepped into an honest to god stall this month. I've stepped on the scale a few times here and there and it has stubbornly stayed within half a pound up or down from where it was when I did my "official" weigh-in last month. So unless my body suddenly ramps up and burns off a few pounds in the next week, I may be declaring April the Month of The Stall.<br /><br />I am amazingly calm about this fact. Maybe it's because I'm hovering around 200 pounds, and I've heard so many accounts about people's weight refusing to budge when they hit that range. Or maybe it's because I have been slacking a bit in the exercise department, only working out twice a week instead of 3 or 4 times a week. Or hey, maybe it's because I've eaten a few too many carbs lately, a little too much sugar. It could even be that I've only managed to weigh myself when I was PMSIng or the morning after a salty meal. Who knows.<br /><br />But I'm still shrinking; I've shifted firmly down from 18/20 range into 16/18 (all my 18 bottoms are getting too big and all my dresses are 16s or XL). My boobs are perking up, smaller but not as droopy; Kevin is relieved that my prediction of ending up around a D cup seem to be coming true. My little baby turkey neck thing is finally starting to tighten up thanks to some very expensive face cream (okay, it was midrange expensive but still!) and there is a new muscle visible in my calf. So I know that my body is still doing it's thing, rearranging itself and becoming something new and maybe it needed so much energy to make the physical changes visible that it didn't have any left to get rid of a few pounds.<br /><br />I'm a little shocked that I did not freak out this morning when I saw what the scale had to say; that's usually what I do, followed by a quick slide into a deep, deep funk that takes massive amounts of self-talk to get out of. It's a process that greatly distresses my husband, so for his sake I am thrilled beyond belief that today my reaction was completely different. Instead of my usual funk slide, I walked out the door in one of my (impossibly small) adorable new summer outfits, with a flower clipped into my (completely fucking awesome) new haircut and man, there was no way for me to be in a bad mood because I look beyond cute today.<br /><br />I'm having a lot more of those days lately, days when I take one last look in the mirror on my way out the door and think "Damn girl, you look GOOD!" Maybe it's because of the anti-depressants or the fantastic new clothes I've bought lately, but I like to think that I'm finally coming around to really and truly loving myself exactly how I am right this second. It's weird, because I thought I really liked and accepted my body before I had the surgery and lost all this weight but I'm realizing now that I simply tolerated it. Looking cute for me depended an awful lot on how well the clothes hid my flaws, how well they covered me up and made me acceptable to be seen in society. It wasn't about actually thinking I looked good. But now it is. Now I put on a dress and realize that it hugs my curves just right. I know I am walking around with more confidence, more comfortable in my own skin. And I am loving feeling this happy and this at home in my body, even right now when my body is my own personal science experiment.<br /><br />There are, of course, things about my body that I am not entirely thrilled with. But I'm trying to get over that, bit by bit. So this summer is the Summer of Embracing The Arms. My upper arms would make any retired grandma in Florida proud because they would make me fit right in down there. Flappity is really the best way to describe them, but I'm getting over it. And I'm doing it by wearing strapless bras and tank tops and sleeveless dresses and just not caring what people might think. And guess what? I've watched people and no one is recoiling in horror. No one is shielding their eyes or running away or looking disgusted. Really, no one is noticing my arms at all. Amazing but true!<br /><br />So all in all, I'm in a good place right now, despite the whole "dude, you're in a stall" thing I have going on. At least I am today. Check back with me tomorrow.Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-54298935710011790012008-04-26T13:20:00.000-07:002008-04-26T13:40:14.239-07:00Maybe they aren't such little thingsToday is a gorgeous, sunny, warm and breezy day. I'm sitting outside surrounded by accounting books and papers that I am ignoring for just a few more minutes because I'd much rather be doing anything other than my homework. I just finished a perfect iced latte and the sun is warm on my completely exposed shoulders. <br /><br />You know, I have to admit something completely shallow and superficial right now. As much as my motivation for having this surgery was my health, I am really digging the being smaller thing. I am loving being able to go into Target and pull an adorable dress off the rack and buy it without trying it on, and even more than that, I love that it's an XL from the misses section and it fits perfectly when I get home. I adore the fact that I can finally pull off the adorable pixie cut that my hairdresser gave me because my face is thin enough for it to make me look fey and whimsical. I looked in the mirror the other day and realized that right now, at this particular point in time, I look exactly the way I have thought I should look for years. I'm wearing strapless bras and camisole tops and adorable sleeveless dresses as the weather warms up, and I'm getting compliments galore about them. My wrists have shrunk enough that I can finally wear bangle bracelets again and my watch needed two links taken out to fit right.<br /><br />In other words, I am reveling in being thinner, in being just like the vast majority of American women.<br /><br />It is still a foreign thing for me, this fitting into the realm of normal. I no longer get a second glance when I wander into a clothing store, because I can wear the clothes there. I don't have to wonder if I am going to fit into chairs at restaurants, I'm not the biggest girl in the gym when I work out, my legs are crossed whenever I am sitting down because that's what's comfortable, and I feel fucking fantastic. I am registered to do a 4 mile run with some friends in a couple weeks (we have all agreed that it will probably be mostly walking but we will do our best!), I can do yoga without suffocating myself with my boobs and I worked out enough to give my hip an overuse injury. <br /><br />I admit it, I fucking LOVE being thinner. I loved being me at a bigger size too, but I'd be a liar if I said I didn't love the fact that for the first time our 25 years of friendship, my best friend and I can share clothes. I love being able to buy 4 dresses for the price I used to pay for one dress a year ago. I love not having to find shoes in a wide width, I love being able to wear tank tops on hot days without anyone giving me a second glance, I love getting on the scale and seeing it still going down. I love all of that outside appearance stuff just as much as I love the absence of heartburn and the lower cholesterol and disappearing joint pain.<br /><br />Sometimes I even love it a little more because damn, it's good to look as hot as I feel.Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-29995853971152307942008-04-16T16:56:00.001-07:002008-04-17T21:53:20.162-07:00The lighter side of things<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"> <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/31604363@N00/2402825652/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3115/2402825652_c50c2d6f4b_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a> <br /> <span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"> <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/31604363@N00/2402825652/">Project 365, Day 95: Abandoned storefront</a> <br /> Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/31604363@N00/">Minarae</a> </span></div>When they say your hair is going to fall out they mean ALL your hair. Somehow I did not realize this until one day when I was playing with my arm hair. I've always had longish arm hair, and a lot of it, but it was blonde so you couldn't see it. And I have this habbit of pulling on it when I'm bored. But one day I realized that I could barely grab it because it was so short. And also so sparse. Arm hair all gone!! (It's on its way back now, darn.)<br /><br /><center>* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</center><br />The gas is neverending. Seriously, there are times when I feel like one of those balloons on the diaper commercial, except my pinhole is releasing gas instead of water. Luckily, mine is usually of the silent and non-deadly variety. Seriously, it's like my butt is just sighing for no reason. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm bordering on incontinence or anything, I'm just not airtight I guess. It's annoying and also weird. (And occasionally, the gas is evil and rivals my husband's. But his is still undefeated in our house.)<br /><br /><center>* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</center><br />I went running the other day, and when I had packed my workout clothes that morning I had grabbed a pair of capris that I bought in October for the 3-Day. I hadn't worn them for a while, but the last time I'd worn them they were still pretty clingy so I thought they'd be okay. They were kind of loose when I put them on but I decided to go try and run anyway.<br /><br />Just an FYI: It's really hard to run when your pants are falling off. (And yes, I have purchased new workout pants so I will not moon the innocents anymore.)<br /><br /><center>* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</center><br />In a related note, you will know it's time to get new underwear when all of yours starts creeping up your but all the time. Or when it starts sagging a little in the back. Those two things seem to happen at the same time though, so just keep it in mind.<br /><br /><center>* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</center><br />The other night I had a cupcake at a scrapbooking thing (gasp!), and I pretty much instantly became what we have dubbed "sugar drunk"...light headed, goofy, a little heart racing. And then I had a hot flash. My friends were greatly amused by it, and now they all know why I had the surgery because hoo, boy, getting sugar drunk is the reason behind why I DON'T eat 2 or 3 cupcakes at a time anymore. They should just be glad I didn't have a carb crash and pass out on them.<br /><br /><center>* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</center><br />"You walk a lot faster now," said my husband as we hoofed it around Santa Barbara last weekend. "I don't have to slow down at all."<br /><br />Damn straight. <br /><br /><center>* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</center><br />I am trying to fatten up my husband so I can finally weigh less than him. Bastard keeps losing weight too since he's naturally eating healthier since we keep a lot less junk around the house and he eats a lot less drive through food. Oh, and he's almost cut out soda. Last time we checked, I was at 208 and he was at 202.<br /><br />On the good side, my neck is positively wee compared to his, as are my wrists and fingers.<br /><br />But my birthday wish for this year is still to weigh less than him. Fingers crossed! Only 2 1/2 weeks to make it happen!<br clear="all" />Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-89614260275326286232008-04-01T22:47:00.000-07:002008-04-01T23:21:23.870-07:00Trying to silence the noiseRadio silence strikes again. Sometimes I get tired of diving in and mucking about in my emotional dreck, of which there is plenty. And every time I deal with something and walk away from it, I end up finding something new to deal with. So instead of blasting it all over the world wide web I let it ferment for awhile so as to let you all enjoy it like the finely aged liquor it is.<br /><br />(Oh my god, I am SO LAME. But also amusing myself, because I am easily amused.)<br /><br />Anyway, I'm at this weird point where I don't know how to classify myself. I'm not the fat girl that I used to be, but I'm not the skinny girl the world thinks I should be. I'm skinnier than some of my friends, but fatter than others. I can buy dresses off the rack at Target without even trying them on, and I don't need to buy any of my clothes at Lane Bryant anymore.<br /><br />But...I'm still pissed off at the way the world treats fat people. I still get irate about lame fat jokes on sitcoms, and I'm still mentally a fat girl. I look at myself in pictures or in the mirror and I see a relatively average sized woman, but when I look directly at my thighs or my stomach I see giant expanses of flesh even as I am constantly surprised by how tiny my wrists and neck are.<br /><br />So basically, I don't know where I fit. I have no realistic idea of what size I am anymore and it's throwing me off my game. <br /><br />I'm going to be a matron of honor again this summer, this time for my best friend's wedding. She and I and three of the other bridesmaids went dress shopping a few weeks back, and I was trying on dresses in a size 16. I have not been a size 16 since I was in high school, so it was new territory for me. But the kicker was that when it came time to order the dress, I ordered it in a size 14 since the wedding is not until August. And I had to be convinced by my husband to order the 14 because I was walking around saying that maybe I should just get the 16 since it fits right now and I only lost four pounds last month. He successfully talked me into the dress, an a good thing too. (And for the record, it's <a href="http://www.davidsbridal.com/bridesmaids_bycolor_detail.jsp?stid=2807&sid=19216&cfid=34">this dress</a> and it is surprisingly hot on me.)<br /><br />The whole thing makes me exhausted because confusion is hard on my brain. I think maybe I need to just let myself be who I am, where I am without analyzing every fucking thought and emotion that crosses my head. Or at least I need to let myself do that more often, because the moments when I forget to think about everything all the time are the very best times.<br /><br />In other news, we bought a new car for me last week (yay!!) and we are going to Santa Barbara to celebrate our anniversary this weekend (double yay!!) and life is really pretty damn good.Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-86739407565974924022008-03-12T17:55:00.000-07:002008-03-12T17:59:04.410-07:00An open letter to the worldYou know what really pisses me off lately? What really pisses me off is the fact that I can't read comments at any fat acceptance/size acceptance websites ever without ending up walking around my house ranting about how fucking annoyed I am by people talking about how HORRIBLE and DANGEROUS weight loss surgery is, along with comments about how "it doesn't work" and "people are just doing it to get skinny" and "the surgery doesn't help health problems" and "having the surgery means you hate yourself because it's just a form of plastic surgery." Know what's even more awesome? Reading these comments (and long, ranty entries on numerous message boards and blogs) and realizing that the people saying these things are essentially saying that weight loss surgery patients are a bunch of idiots who were duped into having a deadly surgery just so their doctors and hospitals could make a few bucks.<br /><br />And here's what I have to say about that: <b><i>Fuck that noise.</b></i><br /><br />First of all, did no one in the fat acceptance/size acceptance movement bother to read <a href="http://content.nejm.org/cgi/content/full/357/8/753">this study</a> in the New England Journal of Medicine? I would like to point out the conclusion in particular:<br /><blockquote><i>Long-term total mortality after gastric bypass surgery was significantly reduced, particularly deaths from diabetes, heart disease, and cancer.</i> </blockquote><br /><br />(In the interest of fairness, it also stated the following: "However, the rate of death from causes other than disease was higher in the surgery group than in the control group." To me, this is a "Duh" statement because people who have lost a ton of weight have a tendency to go out and start doing more activities that can lead to deadly accidents, and depression seems to be more than a little rampant amongst WLS patients. But that is a whole other can of worms to discuss at a later date.)<br /><br />In other words, weight loss surgery <i>works</i>. <br /><br />As far as the DANGER, DANGER, DANGER warnings go...well, duh. Surgery is dangerous! Surgery on your insides is especially dangerous! That's why anyone who's going to have any kind of surgery needs to research the hell out of any possible complications, needs to research the hell out of their doctor and their hospital and the aftercare that is expected. Any bariatric surgeon who's worth his or her gigantic salary will tell you up front that hey, you can die from this. Or you can get ulcers or hernias or strictures or deep vein thrombosis. Or you can be one of the lucky few who ends up with fucked up hypoglycemia issues or pernicious anemia or osteoporosis or beriberi. The key is to pick a surgeon who knows how to prevent (not just treat) these kinds of problems. Which leads me to my surgeon...I picked him because A) he had a 0% mortality rate and an insanely low complication rate (I think it was like 3%?) B) he had 17 years of laproscopic surgery experience, including his stint as Chief of Surgery at the hospital I had my surgery at and C) he has an excellent follow-up/aftercare program (which is why I take a shit ton of vtamins, more than a lot of other WLS patients that I've met, but I take them because he's done his research and he has figured out what I need to do to prevent myself from having problems).<br /><br />I say on a regular basis that I have been very blessed to be without problems, to be healthy and complication free, but the reality is that most of us are doing really well. I sit in my support group every month and look around and see people of all ages sitting around and talking about how good they feel, how many miles they walked, how many pills they are no longer taking and I wonder how anyone could begrudge them thier surgery. How could anyone look at these people and think that the surgery has been anything other than something good for them?<br /><br />Look, I know that this surgery is not for everyone. The idea of telling someone they should look into it makes me gag, because I completely believe that it's no one's right to tell another person what they should do with their body. Really, I'm not trying to say that all the fat people in the world need to get the surgery so that there will be no more fat people ever. And I think that's where a lot of the anger and antipathy and outright misinformed ranting comes from: an innate fear that gastric bypass surgery is going to become so common that fat people will be pressured to have it RIGHT NOW, that it will become the boob job of the 21st century. In reality, it is a drastic last chance for people who want to keep being able to walk, who don't want to take 10 pills a day to force their bodies to operate correctly, who would like to breathe without wheezing. Telling them that they are wrong for taking that step, that they are mutilating themselves and are sure to fail and calling them betrayers of fat people is not helpful. It's just another form of marginalization that is no different that the marginalization of fat people that you are trying to overcome.<br /><br />I will tell you a true thing about me: size acceptance helped me decide to have gastric bypass surgery. Counterintuitive, isn't it? But here's the thing...I never used to pay attention to my body or think about what it needed until I started reading and thinking and discussing size acceptance with people. Once I did, once I finally focused on myself and the signals that my body was sending (had BEEN sending me, for a couple of years), I realized that it was telling me it needed some major help. My knees were screaming about needing to be replaced in 10 years, my blood was shouting about how thick I was letting it get, my heart was racing to keep up with me and every I time walked up the stairs at work, my lungs reminded me that their capacity was not enough to handle a body as large as mine. And because I was finally able to love my body for what it was, I was able to love it enough to help it get back into shape, through any means necessary.<br /><br />There are still days when I feel like a hypocrite, when I worry that my (gorgeous, witty, intelligent) fat friends will think I can no longer empathize with them over body issues because I took such a drastic step to change my own body. But that's mostly just my personal brand of brokenness talking, and I get over it and get back to having awesome discussions with them about the idiocy of the media. What would be really awesome though is if some of the people who are so adamantly against WLS, the people who sneer at us and tell us we've destroyed our bodies and are no longer healthy would just sit and talk to a few of us. Maybe then they'll realize that it's really not as evil as they think it is. And neither are we.Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-43218067513764301752008-03-04T22:08:00.000-08:002008-03-04T22:43:18.477-08:00The state of the wardrobeMy closet is in need of another clean out this month. The majority of my work shirts are entirely too big, and considering that a button down white tailored shirt is a staple of my work wardrobe, that's something that needs to be remedied. (My best friend thinks I need to stop wearing white button down shirts so damn much but whatever, it works.) (Of course, she just gave me an adorable black shirt dress that I cannot wait to wear this summer so I guess maybe she knows what she's talking about.)<br /><br />I just passed off two batches of bras to a friend of mine; none of them were more than 6 months old and none of them fit me for more than 3 months at a time, and her boobs are growing at an amazing pace since she's currently gestating my newest adopted niece or nephew so she was in desperate need of bigger bras. Our boobs are inversely proportionate right now; mine shrink at the same rate that hers are growing. Although really, mine haven't shrunk as much as they could have, much to my husband's relief. The latest round of bras are 36DDs, which I currently keep very full but I figure by next month, the fullness will give way to a perfect fit. They are impossibly tiny and only have TWO HOOKS. I haven't worn a bra with two hooks since I was 16. (When I announced this little fact at support group last night, the other women all laughed and cheered; only other fat women understand the significance of bras with 2 hooks after years of bras with 4 hooks.)<br /><br />I'm firmly into a size 18 on the bottom; some 18s are a little smidge too big, but the Levi's I bought the other night without trying them on fit perfectly. And they are low-rise! Never in a million years have I ever considered jeans that were low rise, but amazingly enough, as it's shrunk, my ass has totally dropped down enough that now the low rise jeans fit pretty much perfectly. The annoying thing is that I am pretty much a 14/16 on top so yeah, kinda pear shaped these days. Okay, REALLY pear shaped. I'm hoping that the running that I finally picked back up this week will work these thighs of mine out.<br /><br />Anyway, I've reached a point where I can grab a pair of XL workout pants off the rack and not try them on and know that they're going to fit, which is super fantastic. I haven't stepped into a Lane Bryant since December (when I needed to buy some Spanx and bras), and I don't think I will need to ever again since I was able to find bras and undies at a department store this week. It's both crazy and weird that already, even though I have another 50 or 60 pounds to lose, I'm normal in a way I haven't been for years. I can walk into a mall with my skinny friends and buy lingerie from the same store as them, I can go to Target and buy the adorable spring dresses that my friends are wearing, I can run into any department store and grab some workout clothes or jeans without having to try them all on first. <br /><br />I have to admit that this part is pretty damn awesome. Definitely helps balance out all the scary moments.Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-23704390262717286592008-02-19T18:53:00.000-08:002008-02-19T18:56:02.117-08:00Definitely an E-ticket rideFirst of all, thank you all for your comments on the last entry. Seriously, putting all that out there was scary to the nth degree, but the support I've gotten because of it made it worth the fear.<br /><br />Second of all, wow, I sure do know how to dump a major bit of news and then disappear, don't I? I have excuses! Good ones! Which involve school and homework and Disneyland and me being tired from it all. ANYWAY....<br /><br />So now that I've had my Giant Breakthrough, I am faced with an interesting fork in the road. The way I see it, there are two ways for me to deal with my eating disorders. I can either A) redirect my compulsion and binge behavior into some other area of my life (running, shopping, knitting, drinking, working, etc) so as to still have my usual coping mechanism in place or B) I can learn how to not run away from emotions and situations that make me uncomfortable and develop new coping mechanisms. And I've decided that really, B is my only option if I want to be successful at this whole happy, healthy WLS patient thing.<br /><br />But really, becoming a compulsive knitter who binged on yarn when she is having a bad day would be much easier than Option B, you know? Option B involves really hard work, a lot of facing truths and changing behaviors and soul searching. And also honesty. And possibly therapy. And definitely a lot of support group time.<br /><br />(Unfortunately for my husband, it also involves a lot of me talking, talking, talking about this to him. He is very good at the listening thing though, thank god.)<br /><br />One of my resolutions for 2008 was Be More Brave. This past weekend, I was at Disneyland with a very dear friend, and we went to California Adventure. She loves rides that involve nothing but plummeting to the ground; I absolutely hate them because of a giant fear of falling. But she really wanted to ride the <a href="http://disneyland.disney.go.com/disneyland/en_US/parks/attractions/detail?name=TwilightZoneTowerOfTerrorAttractionPage">Tower of Terror</a>, so I decided to be brave and ride it with her. It scared the living daylights out of me, with the up and down and big drops and fast rising. I kept my eyes closed and screamed at the top of my lungs through the whole thing, with one hand grabbing my friend's leg and the other hand white knuckling it on a handle. I wasn't able to tell if we were going up or down after awhile, but the screaming helped.<br /><br />And then we got off and I was fine and it was actually...kind of fun. I might even ride it again the next time we go.<br /><br />The reason I'm telling you this story is because I realized today that the Tower of Terror is pretty much the perfect example of what I've been going through (and what I'll be going through); it's frightening and exhilirating and makes me cling to people and scream through the ups and downs. So I'm totally going to have to keep up with my Be More Brave resolution if I really want to do the whole Option B thing. Or you know...ride crazy ass rides at Disneyland anymore.Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-90529855748622785992008-02-08T18:26:00.000-08:002008-02-08T21:08:33.783-08:00This is my confessionThis morning I sat and started to watch the ever so lovely Morgan from <a href="http://www.fatgrrl.com/">Fatgrrl.com</a> on <i>The Mike & Juliet Show</i>. I was looking forward to seeing what M&J had to say this time around after watching them with <a href="http://www.bfdblog.com">Mo Pie</a> and <a href="http://www.fatgrrl.com/">Rachel</a> last week. But I only made it halfway through the clip before I had to turn it off and walk away and try stop feeling so shell-shocked because it all hit a little too close to home for me. As I sat there listening to them tell their stories, I realized that my own stories sound remarkably similar. And that in turn led me to realize (finally, at last) that I am just like them; I am one of them.<br /><br />I don't think I've ever really acknowledged to myself just how fucked up I was. How fucked up I am, still. I've made offhand comments about my disordered eating, sure. But before today, I haven't acknowledged even to myself that <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Compulsive_overeater">this is me</a>. And when things are out of control in my life, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Binge_eating_disorder">this is me too</a>. I have never confessed that the reason I am fat (because yes, I am still fat; like I've said before, I'm a more "average fat" right now but I'm still fat) (and that's okay, because this is comfy, but that's a whole other entry right there) is not because of my mother or kids picking on me or any other outside thing. It's because from the time I was a little girl, something inside drove me to eat without stopping whether I was hungry or not.<br /><br />Food was never something I saw as sustenance or fuel. It was something I used to comfort myself, to stave off boredom, to beat myself up about all the damn time. I remember eating 4, 5, 6 slices of toast when I would get home from school as a kid, followed by a couple bowls of cereal. I would stop at the ice cream truck every day on the way home from junior high, then have a second snack when I got home. I would rearrange the contents of the freezer to hide the fact that I ate 2 or 3 frozen burritos between the end of the school day and dinner time; it helped that there was a teenage boy in the house too, because the moms assumed he was going through a growth spurt and the disappearing food was because of him. When I got to college, I had people to binge with; we would all eat crap when we were studying. Midnight runs to Del Taco for full meals even though I'd had dinner just a few hours earlier, milkshakes and omelettes after evenings of binge drinking at Hollywood & Vine, burgers and fries while debating politics. It wasn't all socialized binging, of course. My senior year in college, my then-roommate would go home most weekends; I would stay at the apartment by myself and order in vast amounts of Chinese food or make Rice Krisipies treats and eat the entire pan. Food was how I entertained myself through a number of lonely weekends that year.<br /><br />I've often said I am an "emotional eater", but in reality, I am someone who medicates with food. At the height of my worst depression episode (which was really more of a nervous breakdown), I would eat an entire order of Papa John's cheesesticks and a pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream for dinner. When my roommate noticed the plethora of pizza boxes, I started making sure to throw all the trash into the dumpster outside before he got home rather than leaving it for him to find. Eventually he moved out, and then my live-in boyfriend dumped me and I was all alone. Living by myself was both heaven and hell for me. I could make entire batches of cookies or cupcakes and eat them freely, without having to hide them. I remember wolfing down cupcakes in two bites, hovering over the trash can and wishing that I wasn't so averse to throwing up because at least then the food wouldn't end up on my body in yet another roll. I had a friend who would come over for movie nights, a friend who was a crazy ass black belt level athlete and could eat anything without gaining an ounce. We would order those insane P'zones from Pizza Hut, one for each of us, and we would eat the whole thing. And then we'd make alcoholic milkshakes to top off the night. I was miserable every time we did it, but it didn't keep me from doing it again and again and again. I suffered from chronic acid reflux that left me with a weird post-nasal drip and an addiction to Tums, but even knowing that I would wake up in pain in the middle of the night could not stop me from filling my stomach yet again with pepperoni and cheese and ice cream.<br /><br />When my husband moved in with me, things got a little better but the behaviors never went away. I didn't binge in front of him, but the compulsive overeating kept going. I would obsess over Twinkies to the point where I would send him to the store to get them for me; I am ashamed to say that I used him as my food proxy, hiding at home so I didn't have to worry about a clerk seeing the fat girl buy Twinkies or ice cream or giant hunks of cake. His solo bowling night is Wednesday night, and if I didn't have other plans I was quite often at home eating everything in sight. I've never admitted that to him; I've never admitted that to anyone. Sometimes, if I was having an especially stressful day at work, I would start planning my binge before I even headed home. And other times, when the stress was too much, there'd be a binge in the middle of the day. I remember buying a foot long Subway sandwich meal for lunch (complete with chips and a cookie, of course!), and then stopping at the donut shop next door for a dozen donut holes that I ate before I even left the parking lot. I drove back to work in a sugar coated haze of self-hatred, but it didn't stop me from scarfing down the enormous lunch I'd also bought. And the reason I gained 20 pounds when I broke my wrist wasn't just because I couldn't cook; it was because I got myself through the pain and stress and upheaval with Sno-Balls and Taco Bell on a daily basis despite the fact that both of those things made me hate myself a little more every day. The crazy thing was that the only way to shut up the self-hatred and anger was to eat more food, until the coma-like crash that inevitably happened at the end of a binge.<br /><br />I have a million more stories about this, stories and images that have been running through my head ever since I started watching that video clip. This isn't me trying to make anyone feel sorry for me; there's a part of me that worries that I will come off as jumping on someone else's train with this entry. But this is simply the truth of how I lived my life, truth that I haven't confessed even to myself before today, and I need to get it out of my head before I explode. Remembering all of these stories is leaving me more than a little horrified at what I put my body through. It makes me nauseous to think about it all now, to actually finally confront it head on and admit that yeah, that's me. I'm yet another person who has been struggling with an eating disorder for most of her life. Admitting that to myself has opened my eyes to another simple fact: whether I meant to or not, <i>I chose to have gastric bypass surgery to treat my eating disorder.</i> (Wow, that sounds a lot more fucked up on paper than it does in my head.) I wanted to lose weight, but I could not do it without a physical reason for binge eating to stop being feasible for me. Every time I dieted, I would eventually turn back to my old behaviors, the constant eating, the stuffing myself to the point of illness, the ongoing anger and guilt and shame over how much food I was filling myself with. But it wasn't until today that I even recognized the behaviors for what they are; apparently, I needed that physical disconnect in order to even begin to work on the mental side.<br /><br />As I have said to people in the past, I've always known what to eat and if I could have afforded to hire a Marine drill seargant to follow me around and smack food out of my hand I would have done that. But I couldn't afford that, so I had an internal Marine installed. I physically cannot binge to the levels that I used to, at least not right now. I am made physically ill by my trigger foods and I no longer have the stomach capacity for a P'zone or a dozen donuts. And those two things are helping me break a vicious, ugly cycle that I was in for my entire life. The scary thing is, I am at the point where snacking is entirely possible. The compulsive overeating is already starting to rear its head again, and that scares the ever-loving shit out of me despite the fact that I am now able to recognize it and step away from the behavior before it gets out of control. On the good side, I now realize where the shame and guilt and frustration I feel towards myself if I eat too many carbs or dare to have some sugar come from. In my mind, too many carbs is a binge and is punishable. I still have to talk myself out of giving in and eating things that I know for a fact are going to make me sick; those conversations with myself really suck. And they are all coming from the compulsive eating/binge eating side of my life.<br /><br />One thing is for sure though: today's realizations have shifted my focus off the weight loss and back onto straightening my shit out. And I'll tell you what, I am thankful every day that I have my Celexa and my support group leader (who is both a behavioral therapist AND a WLS patient, so she *gets it*) to get me through this, because I think that the journey I started back in July is about to get a lot harder for me.Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-23926206193778794762008-02-03T18:35:00.000-08:002008-02-03T19:20:39.295-08:00Six months down, 600 to goI've been remiss in updating this blog with my six month stats. Heck, as I write this I'm much closer to seven months out than 6 months, and it's been three weeks since I saw my surgeon's office for the official check up. Ah well. That's how my life goes these days.<br /><br />So here's the stats as of January 9th:<br /><br />In six months, I lost 72 pounds (89 from my highest weight). I lost 39 inches (and 12 of those were from my waist). I went from a size 24/26 to a size 16/18 (and am now able to buy XL shirts from the misses department). My cholesterol went from 220ish to 180 (HDL is around 65, as are my triglycerides; LDL is around 100). And my blood pressure is just fine and dandy.<br /><br />In other words, things are working pretty damn well.<br /><br />I've been kind of slack on the whole picture/measurement taking thing lately; I never did measure myself in January so those numbers are actually from late December. I seem to have gotten to a point where it's just not as much of an obsession for me. I'm not losing as fast as I did at the beginning (but really, if I'd kept losing 15 pounds a month, I would have freaked out) but I still haven't had a stall; I'm a slow and steady loser which is just fine with me.<br /><br />When I saw my nutritionist on the 9th to talk about my six month bloodwork, she said everything looks good except my B12, which was in the normal range but below 400. So instead of 2000mg a week, she wants me to do 1000mg a day for the time being and get retested later this month. I'm not surprised though; my B12 was low enough for my PCP to be concerned before I had the surgery, so whatever, I take B12 every day now.<br /><br />Speaking of my PCP, I know I have raved before about how much I love her and how freaking awesome she is but I have to gush a little more. I saw her for my yearly check up this month too (woo, doctor's appointments everywhere!) and she sat and talked to me about everything, asking about food sensitivities, checking on my vitamin regimen and my exercise habits. And then she looked at me and said "So, how are you doing emotionally?"<br /><br />"I'm a little on edge," I replied with a sigh. "I'm pretty emotionally raw, and really irritable and...yeah."<br /><br />Because here's the thing. I am a woman with a history of depression and anxiety that started manifesting when I went through puberty and landed me in a series of therapists' offices throughout my early to mid-20's, along with a 2 year stint on EffexorXR. My mother got hit when she went through menopause. So basically, I am someone with screwed up brain chemicals with a genetic predisposition towards them being screwed up even more by hormones. The one thing I know about depression is that it's not something that gets cured and never comes back; the potential for it is always there for me, so I'm hyperaware of my mental state at all times, always on the lookout for a relapse. And I've been plenty aware that I've been less emotionally stable lately; I've been quick to anger, unfocused and sad and tired and anxious. Needless to say, I'm pretty sure that the fantastic flood of hormones from the rapid weight loss has been exactly the kind of trigger I could have done without.<br /><br />So the good doctor and I talked about it, and while I'm not in the nervous breakdown stage that led to the EffexorXR, we decided a little something might help me out right now. And now I'm taking a teeny tiny pill, smaller even than my old birth control pills were; it's just 10mg of Celexa for the time being but it's working. And oh, it's been nice not having a simmering rage inside at all times. And it's even nicer not cycling from rage to sadness to giddiness to exhaustion within a span of 10 minutes. <br /><br />To sum up:<br />Am crazy, but have crazy pills to control that.<br />Am low on B12 but have pills to control THAT.<br />Am shrinking but have pants to cover that.<br />Am successful WLS patient and am quite content with that.Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-77331732351793253282008-01-14T19:18:00.000-08:002008-01-14T19:20:22.635-08:00No cover-ups hereLast week at my support group, one of the women there was talking about how she's an "undercover gastric bypass patient" because she hasn't told anyone outside of her immediate family. She said people ask her what she's doing to lose the weight, people who want to lose weight too, and she tells them that it's all "eating right & exercising!" I instantly thought to myself "Wait a minute! Not cool!" but since it was a support group, I figured I should save the indignation for my blog.<br /><br />Here's the thing. As both a WLS patient and someone who believes in HAES, I think that keeping one's surgery under wraps and pretending that you are dropping huge amounts of weight in a short amount of time just by exercising and eating healthy foods does a great disservice to every overweight person you say it to. And that's why it pisses me off when famous people hide or deny their own WLS (Star Jones, I'm looking at you). Every denial or chipper "Oh, I'm just eating a lot of protein and working out a lot!" from a WLS patient perpetuates the "Eat less and move more and you'll be skinny, fatass!" message that we're bombarded with every day.<br /><br />I won't deny that I have used the "Oh, I've been eating right and exercising" line. I have used it once, when trying desperately to avoid discussing my weight loss with my <a href="http://www.elasticwaist.com/elastic_waist/2008/01/one-from-the-va.html">father-in-law and his wife</a>. But in general, 99% of the time when people say "Wow, you look great! What are you doing to lose the weight?" I answer them truthfully. I tell them I had gastric bypass surgery, and that it's helping me eat less and eat right, and that I'm totally starting to run. The last thing I want to do is make someone who's struggled with his or her own weight feel like they just aren't trying hard enough or aren't dieting the "right way." I do not want someone to tell themselves "Well, Melinda lost 71 pounds in 6 months so I can too!"<br /><br />This is an issue that's found its way into the <a href="http://www.elasticwaist.com/elastic_waist/2008/01/i-heart-huckabe.html">political</a> <a href="http://kateharding.net/2008/01/05/on-the-relationship-between-genetics-and-body-type/">arena</a> because of Huckabee's semi-mysterious weight loss. Now here's the thing. It's entirely possible that he did some crazy liquid diet and now maintains his weight loss by eating some kind of uber-restrictive diet. But yeah, the evidence I've seen and read about in more than one place makes me think that the probability of him having surgery is pretty high. Regardless of how he did it, I believe with all my heart that he did not do it the "old fashioned way." He had to do something drastic to lose 75 pounds in 6 months, and telling people that they just need to start eating better and exercising more (as he does in his <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Quit-Digging-Your-Grave-Knife/dp/B000FL88Z8/ref=pd_bbs_sr_2/103-0077607-2720674?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1194744463&sr=8-2&tag=word08-20">book</a>) is not fair to anyone.<br /><br />The thing is, I could totally pass for someone who hasn't had WLS. I have some sagging skin but not so much that I look freakish; really, it's not even enough for anyone to notice (yet). My hair thinned out some, but not enough to have bald spots or anything. My color is still great (if a little pale, which it always has been), and <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/31604363@N00/sets/72157603663028583/">what I eat</a> wouldn't give me away in mixed company. But I choose not to pass, because I feel like I need to be honest with everyone else in order to be honest with myself. The truth is, I couldn't do it alone. I couldn't diet the weight off, and it needed to come off to make me healthier, so I got a permanent helping hand installed to help me out. Like it or not, people look to me for answers now, because I am Losing It. The least I can do is be honest with them.Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-52813893941353179392008-01-02T20:59:00.000-08:002008-01-02T21:00:39.948-08:00Cyclical discontentThis Friday brings with it the annual <a href="http://www.people.com/people/package/gallery/0,,20167126_20167435,00.html">HALF THEIR SIZE!!</a> issue of People magazine. They had a couple of the women on the Today show this morning, along with a peppy editor from Peopl.<br /><br />I kind of wanted to smack the peppy editor within about 2 seconds of her opening her mouth. And that was because she, like so very many people out there, went on about how THESE people lost their weight "the hard way." She literally said "they haven't cheated by getting surgery...they did it the hard way." She actually lumped weight loss surgery in with pills as a "quick fix gimmick," and then my head exploded. (I was really wondering how Al Roker was keeping from running over to whack the peppy editor on the head because COME ON. At least Meredith kind of stood up for all us "easy way outers".)<br /><br />Now here's the thing. I used to think of gastric bypass surgery as the easy way out. I used to think that you had the surgery and whammo, you're skinny! You can eat what you want and never worry again! I think I've established pretty well that this is not how things turn out. Surgery is not easy. It is not a gimmick or a quick fix, and my god, I wish that would stop being perpetuated. <br /><br />What I really want to know is why losing weight via diet and exercise alone (aka "the old fashioned way") is seen as more virtuous than losing weight with the help of a surgical procedure. Most of these people turned to some kind of program (Jenny Craig, LA Weight Loss, freakin' Optifast), so it's not like they did it all alone. How is losing a bunch of weight by eating prepackaged food somehow better than losing it via surgical intervention? Really, it's six of one, half a dozen of the other. Good for them, and good for us; we all figured out what was going to work for us and we took charge and changed our weight and our lives.<br /><br />Truthfully, I know that some of my anger at this comes from the fact that there are still days when I wish I had been able to lose the weight without the surgery. Those are the days when I feel like I'm weak for doing this, that I was a giant failure for needing such a major helping hand to get over my own disordered eating. And then I get pissed off again because dammit, I feel weak because people like that stupid People editor keep saying that I cheated and took the easy way out. It's a nasty little cycle, isn't it?<br /><br />I'm happy for those people. I think it's fantastic that they were able to lose the weight that they wanted to lose, and I'm glad that they are healthier and happier. But I don't think it's fantastic that they think they're better than me just because they did it a different way than I did it. It's never easy; it's all the hard way. That? Is the one single truth about weight loss, regardless of how you do it.Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-70813647359250494292007-12-29T11:12:00.000-08:002008-01-02T19:55:11.977-08:00And to all a good nightThis weekend is the first weekend in over a month that we haven't had a million things to do all weekend. Ah, the holiday season. Party after party, errand after errand, all while bundling up against the cold and trying not to eat your way across America. And also not blogging, obviously.<br /><br />"They" say that Americans gain an average of 5 pounds every holiday season; I think I've probably beaten that estimate pretty much every year since I was 18. Cookies are my kryptonite, and spending a month surrounded by them (and boxes of See's candy and cans of Almond Roca and cups and cups and cups of eggnog lattes) meant spending a month filling my face with them. I want to say I didn't eat any of that stuff this year. I wish I could say that I said no to every offer of dessert, that I walked by the treat table at work without ever tasting something, that I was a perfect WLS patient throughout the entire holiday season. But I can't, because I totally indulged this month, and I indulged more than once.<br /><br />I did not, however, eat the pounds and pounds of cookies that I have eaten in the past. I had one or two Hershey Kisses every so often, instead of handfuls every day (because those candy cane ones are awesome). I baked 4 kinds of cookies and made rocky road fudge with my Little Sister, and I shared a couple of cookies with her while we baked. And then all the baked goods got sent out of the house, gifts for people at work. I made a kick-ass apple pie for Christmas dinner...and then skipped a slice in favor of a couple of my favorite cookies ever during the day. I broke my no alcohol rule and had a few glasses of champagne at one of my friend's parties. I drank numerous lattes but this year, they were sugar free cinnamon dolce or sugar free gingerbread lattes instead of those luscious eggnog lattes of Christmases past. <br /><br />In other words, I still enjoyed myself and enjoyed the treats of the season but I did it with an awful lot of moderation. For once I didn't slip into my usual holiday stressfest habit of surviving on fast food and baked goods, and it's amazing how much better I felt through it all. <br /><br />I won't lie and say that all this moderation has been easy. I still have a lot of intense guilt surrounding cookies. And Hershey Kisses. And champagne. Empty calories! Sugar! Fat! BAD FOOD! More than once I had to talk myself down off the ledge about the whole situation. I had to remind myself that I had only eaten ONE cookie, not ONE DOZEN, and that one cookie is okay as long as I'm doing everything else...the water and the protein and the vitamins and the working out. (Okay, the working out did not happen as much as it should have but hey, I was sidelined by some lovely acute bronchitis so there's no guilt there.) It helped that at least once a week, someone would load up our treat table at work with a plate of cheese and summer sausage. It was protein! And a treat! Perfection!<br /><br />The hardest part was being given food gifts. A huge can of Almond Roca. A pound of See's Candy. Homemade fudge. A gift basket from Harry & David. And some of that was from people who knew I had the surgery! So the Almond Roca was regifted to my mom, who likes it as much as I do. The See's Candy was given to my Little Sister's family. The fudge and the gift basket were nibbled a little by my husband and me, then thrown away.<br /><br />As whacked out as my head got, and as off kilter as my schedule and eating habits were, I survived. I survived by making a huge pot of turkey chili that was loaded with beans and protein at the beginning of the month and living off of that. I survived by making <a href="http://recipes.sparkpeople.com/recipe-detail.asp?recipe=175882">my pink salad</a> a couple of times, and eating that for breakfast (or lunch or dinner or whatever). (Pink salad is a family recipe that is actually perfect for weight loss surgery patients...sweet and fruity and creamy but high in protein. Tastes indulgent when it's really not. Try it, you'll like it!) We're staying home for New Year's Eve, because we're socialized out. I'll cook up some Marinated Chicken Skewers from Trader Joe's, and some pink salad for me and cheesy broccoli rice for Kevin and we'll survive on that for 24 hours.<br /><br />And I resolve to not feel guilty about it. Happy New Year indeed.Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-45673140565117198002007-12-05T20:47:00.000-08:002007-12-05T20:48:00.211-08:00No more fantasies, no more excusesHave you read Kate Harding's entry <a href="http://kateharding.net/2007/11/27/the-fantasy-of-being-thin/">The Fantasy of Being Thin</a>? If you haven't, go. Read it now. I'll wait.<br /><br />Done? Okay, settle in because I have Things To Say about it.<br /><br />Now, we all know how I've struggled with being both a body acceptance advocate and a WLS patient; they are two things that seem 100% at odds with each other, aren't they? How can I say that I accept my body when I took the extreme measure of rearranging my intestines in order to change it? How can I tell women "Love yourself and ignore your flaws! Weight is just a stupid number!" when I keep a spreadsheet of my measurements and weight to track my losses? I am either the world's biggest hypocrite or I am very, very confused.<br /><br />But here's the thing. I believe that to be successful with this surgery, to be able to not only lose the weight but develop a healthy relationship with food and exercise and all that other good for you stuff, you need to first accept your body for what it is. You need to look in the mirror and memorize every bit of it. You need to figure out what your limitations are, what your talents are, what your abilities are. And then you need to accept them and move the fuck on with living your life to the fullest.<br /><br />Blunt, aren't I? Stop waiting until you are "thin enough", stop putting things off until you reach "goal". Just go out there and start seeing what you're made of. Run, dance, cook, shop, read, travel, whatever it is you want to do, stop waiting to do it, regardless of whatever size you are right this second. Because here's the cold, hard truth: you may never reach the goal weight set by your doctor. I may not either. But I'm not going to let that stop me from having a damn good time with this life of mine.<br /><br />I was talking to my college roommate the other day, for the first time in over a year. And I told her about me having the surgery and she was, quite frankly, a little surprised. She wasn't the first one; a number of people who have known me for years were surprised since (in their words) I was always happy with myself and my life. It's as though there is this perception out there that you have to be miserable in life and hate yourself to do something so drastic. For me, it was the opposite. I did it out of love for myself and my body. I paid close attention to my body, and it was telling me that I was on the cusp of numerous health problems, and I saw what my body's future was every time I looked at my mother. I wanted something different than that for myself, and I needed help to get there.<br /><br />Before the surgery, I did not let my weight rule my life. I didn't starve myself into a smaller sized wedding gown; I worked with what I had and I was <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/9199912@N07/1469416812/">fucking gorgeous</a> the day I got married. I didn't shy away from meeting new people or dating prolifically, and my bed wasn't empty unless I wanted it to be. I traveled all over the country, I applied for (and got!) new, better jobs when I was bored with my old ones. I walked in 5Ks, I walked in the Breast Cancer 3-Day, I took road trips with friends. I wore high heels and red lipstick, dyed my hair whatever color fit my mood, and danced until the wee hours at bars filled with drunk coeds. And the only times I tried to lose weight were when my doctors said things to me like "high blood pressure's becoming a problem" or "your cholesterol's higher than I'd like to see it."<br /><br />Here's the thing: my life today is <i>not that different than it was before the surgery</i>. Seriously, it's not. I have the same awesome husband and the same (usually awesome) job and the same fantastic friends. I also have the same family and the same volunteer work and the same day to day stressors. I have not magically become smarter or more popular or better in any way. And I'll tell you another thing: that is why this surgery has been so successful and so easy for me so far. I already had a life that I loved, a life that makes me happy and fulfilled and content before I lost a single damn pound.<br /><br />A perfect body does not equal a perfect life, nor does it equal a perfect soul. And I don't expect to have a perfect body as a result of this surgery. I expect to have a healthier body, and already, I'm there. Can it be even better? Yeah, I think so. Every day I can push it a little harder, I can do a little more than I used to. I'm going to start running this month, something I was physically not able to do a year ago. I'm going to start running even though I'm still pudgy and soft and do not look like a runner, but I want to run so I'm going to run.<br /><br />What are you going to do?Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-67815487451795394062007-11-27T22:20:00.000-08:002007-12-04T21:58:41.264-08:00Pride goeth before the fallI got a little cocky last week. It's easy enough to do; I am one of the lucky ones who doesn't have any food sensitivities, who able to eat pretty much anything she wants. Chinese food, chicken, eggs, all dairy products...name something that someone you know wasn't able to eat and I probably can.<br /><br />But I got cocky last week, and I paid for it. See, I don't dump on sugar the way most people do; I don't get the racing heartbeat or the cramping or the headache or the passing out thing. I've had sugar in bites of dessert since I've started eating regular food; the most that ever happened was a little bit of light-headedness. It was enough to remind me to stop after 3 bites, but not enough to make me really sick. Perfect, right? Instant portion control! Really though, fatty food is what makes me more sick...instant nausea if I eat anything too greasy, to the point where I need to lay down for awhile.<br /><br />So one Sunday night we went out to Applebee's before heading to the bowling alley, where I ate a very tasty salad filled with chicken and spinach and apples and blueberries and strawberries and blue cheese. And then the three of us (me, my husband and our bowling teammate) decided to each order one of their "shooter" desserts. Figured it would be perfect for someone like me; small, just a few bites of something sweet. I ate about half of it (a chocolate mousse one that was quite tasty), then shoved it away from me. <br /><br />Ten minutes later, I was in the bathroom. And 10 minutes later I was there again. And when we got to the bowling alley for our league night, I dashed off for the third time. But I wasn't done yet! One more trip, and then I was as empty as I could possibly be. Seriously, it was flashbacks to my first month home...I was actually daydreaming of being constipated by the end of it.<br /><br />It was a Lesson Learned, I'll tell you what. The dessert followed on the heels of a salad filled with fruit. Fruit which is loaded with natural sugars. That plus the refined sugar in the dessert combined to be Too Much. And I'll tell you what, I will not be eating that much sugar again for a very long time, if ever.<br /><br />But it was a lesson I had to learn for myself. Kevin probably could have told me that I might not want to eat it, but he kept his mouth shut and for that, I'm grateful. (He did say he would remind me of that night the next time I have a sweets craving.) This whole journey is a series of lessons that I have to learn for myself, no matter how uncomfortable they might be. I'll tell you what, I don't want to spend another night running back and forth to the bathroom while my body empties itself out in an attempt to get rid of the sugar.<br /><br />I told Kevin later that this year, during the holidays, I want to use my sensitivity to sugars (which cause bathroom issues) and carbs (which make me sleepy enough to almost pass out if I eat too many) and fat (which makes me nauseous). I want to use them to make moderation a habit rather than a chore. Life without an occasional indulgence is not what I'm going for. What I'm going for is life without uncontrolled binges. Two bite-sized brownies is okay. Scarfing down 4 or 5 full sized brownies for breakfast is not. As long as I remember that, I'll be okay.<br /><br />(And I won't be in the bathroom for hours either. Awesome!)Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-83907322213016379162007-11-12T17:58:00.001-08:002007-11-12T17:58:28.171-08:00I'll see you at the top<div style="float: right; margin-left: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;"> <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/31604363@N00/1977032173/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2306/1977032173_110138e3b6_m.jpg" alt="" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" /></a> <br /> <span style="font-size: 0.9em; margin-top: 0px;"> <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/31604363@N00/1977032173/">At the top</a> <br /> Originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/31604363@N00/">Minarae</a> </span></div>Remember when I wrote <a href="http://rearrangements.blogspot.com/2007/05/dream-deferred.html">this entry</a href> back in May? I was totally convinced that there was no way I would be able to do the 3-Day, just 4 months out from surgery.<br /><br />Boy, was I wrong.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.signonsandiego.com/news/metro/20071112-9999-1m12walk.html">The walk</a> started on Friday, which happened to be my 4 month anniversary. I'm 55 pounds down but I was still worried, because you know, I'm not skinny yet. I'm still packing on quite a few extra pounds; maybe I hadn't lost enough yet. But I had started training with a group back in August, led by a highly energetic woman names Roxanne. She kicked our butts into walking faster than I usually do, farther than I usually do, more often than I usually do. The training walks were usually attended by the same people and eventually we became this giant team, 71 members strong. And what I forgot was that I was in pretty good shape even before the surgery, so all this training was probably going to make things easier for me.<br /><br />What was awesome about the gigantic team was that we were all able to find someone that walked at our pace and keep us company through the 3 days of endless walking. My partner was Nancy, and she's the one who took this picture. She took it on the top of the Torrey Pines Reserve service road, a long and windy and steep hill that we had to walk on the first day. The last time I did the walk, I had to stop 3 or 4 times on my way up it.<br /><br />This weekend, I didn't stop even once. I even passed people on the way up! When I got to the top, I told Nancy that I was having A MOMENT, and she said I needed to take a picture of me, at the top, with people behind me. And you know, that was only the first big hill; we had one on Day 2 and on Day 3. And guess what? I walked straight up those too. In fact, I walked every single one of those miles, with no major injuries and no blisters. It was a goddamned miracle.<br /><br />This was huge for me, on a number of levels. First, it was huge because I know that I never would have been able to do this 55 pounds ago. I think I need to send this picture to Dr. Mueller with a note that says "Thanks for making this possible for me." Second, I did this while I was still a fat girl. On Sunday night, I was in better shape than a lot of thinner people on that walk. I was limping less and I was blisterless and I was just plain in better shape. And I think it's so important to point that out, because having this surgery has not changed my mind about health at any size being possible. If I, at 242 pounds, can train successfully for an event like this and get through it with nothing more than the standard pain that comes with an endurance event like this, then anyone can.<br /><br />And they should. Because man, the view from the top is amazing.<br clear="all" />Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-67305069147404056312007-10-18T21:26:00.000-07:002007-10-18T22:57:51.042-07:00My fridge is like a drugstoreTo the outside world, I am obviously a person who enjoys her food. I mean, the ass had to come from somewhere, and mine came from copious amounts of fresh baked pastries, cream laced risottos, garlicky shrimp scampis and stacks and stacks of well buttered toast. Food was something that I used to cure my boredom, to calm my stress, to make me forget the things that were depressing me. If I craved something, I ate it. I didn't really think about things like nutrients when I ate; I just thought about how it tasted and how quickly I could get it into my mouth. Really, food was an accessory for me.<br /><br />But as I told <a href="http://becomingthepinupgirl.blospot.com">Danyele</a> last weekend (over a shared plate of scrambled eggs), I have recently found myself thinking of food in a totally different way. It's not just fuel to me anymore, it's not just something I eat to savor a taste that I'm craving. <br /><br />I have come to think of food as medicine. It's probably because I've started doing my grocery shopping at Trader Joe's, which means I'm eating all kinds of organic and unprocessed foods. There's so little room for me to fill with food now that I cannot help but think about everything I eat in terms of how it's going to affect me. I am not a person who likes to take a lot of supplements; as it is I can barely deal with the vitamin regimen I have to follow so I don't want to add in fiber supplements and probiotics and a bunch of other things just to keep my body functioning well. I much prefer to eat high fiber cereal and Greek style yogurt to give my gut what it needs.<br /><br />The only vitamin/mineral issue I have had so far is an oddly fluctuating potassium level. Do I take my potassium supplement every day? No, because I really only need it on days when I'm doing a lot of outdoor endurance exercise (like say...walking 20 miles a day for 3 days). Instead I make sure to eat some bananas or cantaloupe to make sure I get some potassium from a food source. My HDL levels were also kind of low but instead of taking a fish oil pill, I've added more nuts and avocadoes to my diet so I can increase the amount of monounsaturated fats in my diet (and thus raise my HDL levels). My Kashi GoLean Crunch loads me up on fiber, and my Greek yogurt (high in both protein AND active cultures!) helps keep my insides primed and ready to absorb as much of the other nutrients as they can.<br /><br />The crazy thing is, it seems to be working. My skin looks fucking AMAZING these days, my eczema hasn't acted up in 8 or 9 weeks, I'm sleeping better and I'm as regular as I could possibly wish to be. Finally, for the first time in my life, I am truly listening to and respecting my body. I am feeding it what it needs rather than stuffing it with what I want, and it's making all the difference in the world.Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-87553749466483505982007-10-02T23:17:00.000-07:002007-10-03T21:38:01.937-07:00Tiptoeing towards the middleWhen I got home from my vacation on Saturday, our whirlwind wedding/tourism extravaganza, I made Kevin go get the scale for me. I was sure that I had gained at least a pound or two on my 10 days away from my usual schedule. After all, I'd missed three days of my vitamins. And I'd eaten a few of the lovely little Polish cookies the bride's aunt had provided for the festivities, not to mention a couple of pierogies AND a couple bites of Chocolate Seduction (the bride's mother's specialty). On top of all that, I hadn't stepped into a gym for at least two weeks so I must not have gotten enough exercise (I conveniently forgot the 5 hours I spent walking around Philadelphia) (oh, and the 5 hours I spent walking around the King of Prussia Mall).<br /><br />In other words, I totally HAD to have gained some weight. And I wanted to see what the damage was.<br /><br />Kevin rolled his eyes at me (unlike me, he hadn't forgotten the 5 hours in Philadelphia), but he got the scale down in hopes of calming down The Crazy that rears its head every now and again. And lo and behold...I'd lost 6 pounds. <br /><br />I told this story at support group last night, and R., our support group leader (who is both a WLS patient AND a behavioral psychiatrist) smiled at me like she'd heard it a million times before. She started talking about how all of us in the group had spent so many years stuck in this cycle of trying and failing to lose weight, of starting and stopping diets and beating ourselves up for it that now we have this whole belief system built around good foods and bad foods that tells us that if we eat bad foods, if we aren't perfect, then we will fail. And then she told us that somehow, we have to learn how to find a balance between obsession with perfection and total diet anarchy.<br /><br />And as she spoke I realized that the week I'd spent away from home I had not been "bad". What I'd been is what I've always wanted to be: normal. I ate at restaurants with my friends, I indulged in small amounts, and I still kept my focus on protein and water (and even vitamins on occasion). My rearranged insides didn't make me stand out from the crowd or keep me from enjoying myself. Yeah, I tested my limits a little; I didn't dump but I did prove to myself that I am a three-bite girl now when it comes to anything sugary. (Three small bites of the Chocolate Seduction left me feeling buzzed like I had just had a shot of vodka; I cannot imagine how sick I might have gotten with one more bite.)<br /><br />But I beat myself up despite all that, despite the fact that for once in my life, finally and forever, I was able to stop myself, to limit what I ate even when it was something that would have been a trigger for binging just 6 months ago. It wasn't until I got on that scale and saw that I had lost more weight rather than gained it back that I was able to stop beating myself up. But R. was right; it's all about finding balance. It's all about learning how to let myself just be, learn that it's okay to indulge on occasion without going overboard, that I can be diligent about what I eat without obsessing over every single calorie that goes into my mouth and freaking out when it goes over 800. Because if I don't find that balance, I'm going to spend the rest of my life with food and my weight as the center of my existence. And you know what?<br /><br />That's not what I signed on for. I spent the first 32 years of my life thinking of food in terms of good and bad, thinking about it all the damn time and letting it be the thing I focused on no matter what I was doing. I had this surgery so that I could finally, FINALLY put that burden down, so that food would no longer be something that consumed my life. And last week, on my vacation, I finally got there. I finally got there and then I beat myself up for it.<br /><br />I wish I could say that I'll never feel guilty for eating a bite of cake again, but that would be a lie. All I'm saying is that maybe next time, I'll save the guilt for the second bite instead of the first. And then maybe someday I'll be able to realize that two bites is two bites and is not going to mean the end of the world.<br /><br />One step at a time, that's how to cross this balance beam.Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33363925.post-78450448583610878762007-09-17T20:44:00.000-07:002007-09-17T21:45:43.382-07:00Convenient inconveniencesI just ate a peanut butter & banana "quesadilla" for dinner. Well, 3/4 of a small one anyway. I'm sure there are numerous people out there who would be horrified to hear that, including my nutritionist, but you know what? Fuck it. There were 10 grams of protein in it, and I need more of the fat that peanut butter has since my HDL cholesterol is lower than I'd like. (I am of course not ignoring the fact that oh my, I am so, so full; peanut butter is filling like cotton stuffing for me.)<br /><br />Food's been on my mind a lot today, mostly because it was the farthest thing from my mind for most of the weekend. See, I'm one of those people who has a hard time saying no to charitable causes so when my friend asked me to be the Parking Chair for the San Diego Heart Walk, I said okay. Of course, I said okay BEFORE finding out that being one of the chairs on the planning committee meant that I would be doing manual labor for basically 36 hours straight when the walk finally happened. And that was after months of planning meetings and diagram making and discussions with the city and the parking company and the shuttle company.<br /><br />So I was up at 4:30 in the morning on Friday, and from 7am to 9:30pm I was lifting parade barricades and loading boxes and driving golf carts. And every so often I would remember that hey, I needed to eat. And so I'd eat a few almonds, down a quick protein drink, pull the filling out of a Subway sandwich. I'm positive that I was nowhere close to 50 grams of protein, because I kinda forgot to eat dinner. (I also forgot to use sunblock, which...ouch.)<br /><br />Saturday was even worse. Out the door at 2am, onsite at 2:30 and I hit the ground running. I spent the next 7 hours literally moving nonstop, forgetting to even bend over every now and again, much less remember to eat. I ate a handful of almonds, slugged down some Nectar, scarfed a few spoonfuls of yogurt. I had carefully packed some hardboiled eggs and string cheese and yogurt in a cooler but then I just didn't have the time to stop and eat. I really have no idea how I managed to keep going through all of that with basically nothing in me, but I did.<br /><br />And then I enjoyed some chips and guacamole with my fellow committee members and called it a day. <br /><br />Needless to say, this was not the best food weekend. It was not a good food weekend and yet I am not beating myself up for it anymore than I'm beating myself for what I ate for dinner tonight. And that right there is amazing, isn't it?<br /><br />Even more amazing is the fact that tonight I bought a bunch of organic beef jerky snacks to take with me when I go on vacation this week. Look at me, all planning my protein and shit. Man, vacations were already hard enough, what with my packing lists and need to take at least 8 pairs of shoes with me wherever I go. Now I have to worry about things like vitamins and protein so I don't keel over and die or something.<br /><br />But you know what? It is totally worth it, and not just because the bridesmaid dress (the dress I ordered 2 sizes smaller back in June) totally needs to be taken in. It's worth it because I was able to do manual labor for 36 hours straight and actually have fun doing it rather than be miserable the whole time because everything hurt. It's worth it because I am actually looking forward to spending days and days wandering around Newport and Philadelphia taking pictures and playing tourist because my god, I can walk for days now.<br /><br />Yep. It's totally worth packing my suitcase full of beef jerky and Nectar packets. See you in a couple weeks.Melindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08609825619249316606noreply@blogger.com2