I'm pretty sure everyone has heard of acid flashbacks. Well, I'm here to tell you I have FAT Flashbacks. The best thing I can compare it to is post traumatic stress disorder - almost like I've been through a war and sometimes a certain thing will trigger a memory where I'm right back in the trenches, feeling and experiencing everything I was going through before I lost weight.
I've made no secret of my love for the show "The Biggest Loser". I started watching it when I was losing weight for my surgery. It helped me tremendously to see real people who were nearly my size (there have only been a couple contestants on the show who were as big as I was) exercising and doing things unimaginable to me. It made me think I could do it, too. I still watch faithfully. This season, one contestant on the show is particularly tugging at my heart.
Musician Vinny Hickerson arrived on the ranch weighing in at 426 pounds. Now there's some backstory with Vinny. Erich and I saw him and his band Trailer Choir perform at the 2010 CMA Fest and were so impressed, their new CD became part of the soundtrack in our home and cars. Yes, even Erich - the country music hater who let it be known he would NOT have a good time there but in the end loved it - really got into their sound. We were also blown away by Vinny's stage performance. Here was a 400-pound guy in bibs doing the worm on stage in 95-degree heat. Vinny can MOVE! I remember watching him and being envious of his agility. I certainly couldn't move like that when I weighed that much!
Last week, trainer Bob Harper was pushing Vinny beyond anything he's done so far on the ranch. Vinny was on the treadmill and Bob kept raising the incline. Eventually, he got to 10. A 10 incline is tough when you're just strolling, but Vinny was RUNNING. Vinny's done very well on the show, but as young as he is (27) and at his weight...and being a man....one would expect bigger numbers from him and his male team members each week. Now I'm not sure exactly what their problem is (I do have an idea and plan a blog on that later) but Bob's team has kicked ass each week. So when Bob finally got a hold of Vinny, I was soooo happy.
"It's time for you to pull double digits every week," Bob told Vinny.
"Yes, sir" was the Southern-boy reply.
Meanwhile, a tape is running of an interview with Vinny taken after all this was going on. He says, "I weigh 372 pounds. You're not supposed to be able to do a 10 at 372 pounds."
I kept watching this and was suddenly overcome with emotion. I weighed 372 pounds on July 7, 2009 - the date of my gastric bypass. Watching Vinny running on that treadmill did something to me. It took me back in time and made me empathize with what he was feeling. How hard that must've been for him and how satisfying it must've been to accomplish it. The look of effort on his face made me weep for him, for me, for everyone in that position. I remembered how hard it was for me to run around my cul-de-sac the first time. I did it because I saw another contestant on this show do it - so I knew I had the power as well.
I cried. I paced. Wrung my hands. My breathing increased and I was worried about a panic attack for a moment. My cats looked at me like I was insane. Deep breathing...
"You are not 372 pounds anymore. Never going back. Never going back. It's ok. That's not you anymore." These are the things I whispered to myself and eventually I calmed down.
Fat Flashback. I don't know if others go through this, but I've had a few of these kinds of episodes. I assume it's my brain's way of dealing with change and fear. Even though it's been a year now in this new body, my head hasn't completely caught up with it all yet. Actually, I don't know if it ever will.
Plus, everyone who has ever lost a great deal of weight fears going back. Regain is the nightmare monster chasing us 24/7. I think when I remember being that way, the fear comes to me that the boogeyman is there. Again, my brain has to somehow deal with this shit, right? It is what it is.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
MSNBC calling?
I woke up this morning to an email from what I thought had to be a prankster or a troll. Someone purporting to be health reporter Rita Rubin was asking to talk to me about a story she was writing for msnbc.com about families of gastric bypass patients.
Suuurrreeee, I thought. Tell me another one! I almost didn't write back to her. Well, I'm glad I did because it was no joke and I ended up having a very nice conversation with Ms. Rubin. The premise of her story was that families of gastric bypass patients are found to sometimes lose weight as well. She asked me if that had been my experience.
Erich hasn't lost massive amounts of weight, but his lifestyle changed right along with mine.
Erich has never been extremely overweight. When I married him, he wasn't overweight at all. As I mention in the article, I sort of dragged him down with me into my illness of inactivity and bad eating habits. I feel badly about this a lot. He was active before we met and had hobbies such as camping, swimming, etc. I wrote about our ninth-anniversary camping trip last year and what a wonderful feeling it was to give that back to him, something he loved doing so much but we were unable to share when I was so obese.
Since I've lost weight, we've not only been camping but also canoeing, ziplining, 4-wheeling and horseback riding in the Dominican Republic, and even simple things other people take for granted, like riding roller coasters take on special meaning for us.
The rest of our lives together is just beginning. I can't think of a better partner to take on the journey.
Here's a LINK to Rita's article on msnbc.com.
By the way, the trouble with my IUD that I talked about in my last blog has subsided for now. I spoke to my gynecologist and for now, we're taking a wait-and-see approach. Cross your fingers for me!
Suuurrreeee, I thought. Tell me another one! I almost didn't write back to her. Well, I'm glad I did because it was no joke and I ended up having a very nice conversation with Ms. Rubin. The premise of her story was that families of gastric bypass patients are found to sometimes lose weight as well. She asked me if that had been my experience.
Erich hasn't lost massive amounts of weight, but his lifestyle changed right along with mine.
Erich has never been extremely overweight. When I married him, he wasn't overweight at all. As I mention in the article, I sort of dragged him down with me into my illness of inactivity and bad eating habits. I feel badly about this a lot. He was active before we met and had hobbies such as camping, swimming, etc. I wrote about our ninth-anniversary camping trip last year and what a wonderful feeling it was to give that back to him, something he loved doing so much but we were unable to share when I was so obese.
Since I've lost weight, we've not only been camping but also canoeing, ziplining, 4-wheeling and horseback riding in the Dominican Republic, and even simple things other people take for granted, like riding roller coasters take on special meaning for us.
The rest of our lives together is just beginning. I can't think of a better partner to take on the journey.
Here's a LINK to Rita's article on msnbc.com.
By the way, the trouble with my IUD that I talked about in my last blog has subsided for now. I spoke to my gynecologist and for now, we're taking a wait-and-see approach. Cross your fingers for me!
Monday, October 10, 2011
Ain't nothin' gonna break my stride
This past week has been challenging, health-wise. Again I must issue a disclaimer - female issue ahead!! Just sayin'.
I mentioned my surgery on Sept. 9 for the removal of a uterine cyst and insertion of an IUD, which was supposed to help my psycho-cycle. It's normal to have some breakthrough bleeding/spotting for the first few months after IUD insertion and I have definitely been experiencing that. However, a somewhat disturbing pattern is emerging.
When I exert myself physically, i.e., exercise, the bleeding is heavier. After the 5K last Sunday, the floodgates opened to the point where I ended up in the ER on Tuesday, wondering if there had been a perforation or the device had shifted or WTF was wrong with me.
I called the doc who inserted the IUD on Monday and was given an appointment for the 12th. Now listen to this: I asked his receptionist - who had previously advised me that if I had any questions to call the office - if it was normal to experience heavier bleeding after exercise like this. She said "Well, if you're seeing a pattern of bleeding after exercise then I would say that's normal."
WHAT? No...what? What the hell kind of answer is that? Ridiculous.
At the time, the bleeding was heavy but not too horrible, so I figured I'd give it a day and if it hadn't got better by Tuesday, I would call back and demand to either speak to the doctor or get an appointment that day. Lo and behold, it got worse. Much worse. So I called back on Tuesday and was told the doctor wasn't in and if the bleeding was that bad, I should go to the emergency room. Great.
The situation was such that I couldn't hide it from my co-workers or bosses. I mean, I was in the bathroom most of the day. So late afternoon, I called Erich to tell him what I was doing - I didn't see any point in him taking off work to go with me - and headed to the hospital.
I had visions of being there till the middle of the night, but I guess when I told the ER staff how much blood I was losing, they decided to get me in quickly. So in total I was only there a few hours. Nothing really happened, though. I was examined by a doctor who told me the IUD seemed to be in place. An ultrasound was ordered and I had it, but when I called my doctor - the guy who inserted it, not the ER doctor - for the results, I was told they wouldn't have them till Tuesday.
So the moral of the story is: Suck it up and get over it. I guess. Jesus.
I have an appointment Wednesday morning anyway, so whatever. At this point the bleeding has completely stopped. I have no idea what the hell happened. Several people asked me if it was my period. If it was, it was 10 days early and the heaviest, weirdest (I'll spare you the details) period I've ever had in my life. It scared the crap out of me in part because of how sudden it started, coincidentally right after the 5K and how heavy/weird it was.
I'm now in a situation where I'm a bit hesitant to exercise. If I go to the gym and push myself, will that start up another geyser of the damned? Here's the one thing I know for sure: I must exercise to maintain my weight loss and I won't allow anything to get in the way of that. Ain't nothin' gonna break my stride. So...depending on what the doctor has to say on Wednesday, I may have this thing taken out immediately.
A couple months ago, I wrote a letter to the editor of "O Magazine" and found out today they published it. A friend told me about it on Facebook. I subscribe to the magazine but haven't even had a chance to take it out of the wrapper. I ripped it open right away (LOL) and there I was! Pretty cool. The letter I wrote was in response to an article they did about makeovers for women who had lost 100 pounds or more. Two women who had weight loss surgery were featured. I was moved to express my appreciation for this as it's a rarity to see a WLS patient's success validated in the same way as a non-WLS patient. So go Oprah for that! My letter appears in the current issue (November), if you're interested in reading it.
I mentioned my surgery on Sept. 9 for the removal of a uterine cyst and insertion of an IUD, which was supposed to help my psycho-cycle. It's normal to have some breakthrough bleeding/spotting for the first few months after IUD insertion and I have definitely been experiencing that. However, a somewhat disturbing pattern is emerging.
When I exert myself physically, i.e., exercise, the bleeding is heavier. After the 5K last Sunday, the floodgates opened to the point where I ended up in the ER on Tuesday, wondering if there had been a perforation or the device had shifted or WTF was wrong with me.
I called the doc who inserted the IUD on Monday and was given an appointment for the 12th. Now listen to this: I asked his receptionist - who had previously advised me that if I had any questions to call the office - if it was normal to experience heavier bleeding after exercise like this. She said "Well, if you're seeing a pattern of bleeding after exercise then I would say that's normal."
WHAT? No...what? What the hell kind of answer is that? Ridiculous.
At the time, the bleeding was heavy but not too horrible, so I figured I'd give it a day and if it hadn't got better by Tuesday, I would call back and demand to either speak to the doctor or get an appointment that day. Lo and behold, it got worse. Much worse. So I called back on Tuesday and was told the doctor wasn't in and if the bleeding was that bad, I should go to the emergency room. Great.
The situation was such that I couldn't hide it from my co-workers or bosses. I mean, I was in the bathroom most of the day. So late afternoon, I called Erich to tell him what I was doing - I didn't see any point in him taking off work to go with me - and headed to the hospital.
I had visions of being there till the middle of the night, but I guess when I told the ER staff how much blood I was losing, they decided to get me in quickly. So in total I was only there a few hours. Nothing really happened, though. I was examined by a doctor who told me the IUD seemed to be in place. An ultrasound was ordered and I had it, but when I called my doctor - the guy who inserted it, not the ER doctor - for the results, I was told they wouldn't have them till Tuesday.
So the moral of the story is: Suck it up and get over it. I guess. Jesus.
I have an appointment Wednesday morning anyway, so whatever. At this point the bleeding has completely stopped. I have no idea what the hell happened. Several people asked me if it was my period. If it was, it was 10 days early and the heaviest, weirdest (I'll spare you the details) period I've ever had in my life. It scared the crap out of me in part because of how sudden it started, coincidentally right after the 5K and how heavy/weird it was.
I'm now in a situation where I'm a bit hesitant to exercise. If I go to the gym and push myself, will that start up another geyser of the damned? Here's the one thing I know for sure: I must exercise to maintain my weight loss and I won't allow anything to get in the way of that. Ain't nothin' gonna break my stride. So...depending on what the doctor has to say on Wednesday, I may have this thing taken out immediately.
A couple months ago, I wrote a letter to the editor of "O Magazine" and found out today they published it. A friend told me about it on Facebook. I subscribe to the magazine but haven't even had a chance to take it out of the wrapper. I ripped it open right away (LOL) and there I was! Pretty cool. The letter I wrote was in response to an article they did about makeovers for women who had lost 100 pounds or more. Two women who had weight loss surgery were featured. I was moved to express my appreciation for this as it's a rarity to see a WLS patient's success validated in the same way as a non-WLS patient. So go Oprah for that! My letter appears in the current issue (November), if you're interested in reading it.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
I Run For Life
Last Sunday I participated in the CIBC Run for the Cure, which benefits the Canadian Breast Cancer Foundation. My original intention was to run what I could of the 5K and walk the rest. My knees are totally shot due to a lifetime of obesity. And while losing weight has lightened the load and therefore lessened the day-to-day pain I used to endure, it certainly is still present. I can run but not an entire 5K at this point.
Well, on Saturday morning I turned around in my kitchen and nearly hit the floor like a safe. That small movement somehow twisted my right knee and I clutched my kitchen counter for dear life, saving even further injury. I started to take a tentative step and the knee said "Nuh-uh." It scared the crap out of me and OMG....so frustrating!! This happens the day before the run? I thought, "Are you kidding me? Like....are you kidding me?" I wrapped it up and tried icing it but the ice seemed to make it feel worse so I abandoned that plan quickly.
Crazily enough, the pain was worse when I was stationary; if I moved around on it - with the brace on - it didn't bother me too much. So I knew I would still be able to participate in the event but I would have to walk the entire length. I was pretty bummed about that as I was looking forward to pushing my body and seeing just how far/long I could run.
Since I only decided to participate on the previous Tuesday, imagine my shock when - by event day - I had raised a grand total of $640.00 including online and offline donations. My and Erich's co-workers, YOU my beautiful readers, our friends and family really came through and I am so touched and so proud to know all these wonderful people who chose to support both me and such a fantastic cause. My Aunt Betty would be very pleased. I've received a couple more donations since then as well. Donations can be made until October 31, so if you'd still like to give please click HERE.
It was absolutely FRIGID outside on Sunday! About 42F, 6C with a biting wind. Everyone was bundled up as best they could. I registered and signed the 'Wall of Fame' for participants then Erich and I wandered around looking at everyone's get-ups and trying to stay warm! There was a photo booth where everyone could get a free memento of the day and we listened as survivors shared their inspirational stories. I was so into these women's moving words that I forgot to take pics of them. But I got a few shots pre-startup:
I made a button with Aunt Betty's photo on it to wear. I also stuck on a couple buttons they were giving away to participants at the event. And, although you really can't see it because it's so small, I wore my small gold Centurion Club pin, the one I received from Henry Ford Hospital for losing at least 100 pounds. I pinned it up on the collar of my t-shirt.
If you look closely at the photo below on the left, you can see on my t-shirt where it says "Betty - My Aunty" on the left. I tell you, when I saw that it made me cry. Fate, right? Amazing stuff. The shirt also says "Uncle Bob" - who was Aunt Betty's husband. It also says "Cousin Lisa" - Aunt Betty's oldest daughter. She spells her name "Leesa" but wow, right? Crazy.
I was more than ready to get started, if only to get warmer! Poor Erich stood around and waited for me to finish, so by the time I was done, he was pretty much a Romanian popsicle.
Me at the starting line-up:
When we started, I teared up at bit. Me, participating in a 5K. It would've been unthinkable a couple years ago. And my dear Aunt Betty, one of the most wonderful women I've ever known. Her spirit was with me and I could feel her pride. It was moving for me.
I can honestly say I more than held my own in this walk. I was trotting right along like I always do when I exercise, the tunes on my mp3 player helping me keep up the pace. I was passing people all around me during the first leg, when we were walking on pavement. I brought a camera with me to snap a few pics along the route.
There were two routes to take: One was paved, straight and non-hilly and one was on the nature trail surrounding the campgrounds/park where the event took place. When I came to the fork I hesitated a second before choosing the nature trail. My knee was feeling fine so I decided to go for it. It was definitely more challenging, especially downhill. The knee that was not braced cursed me a few times. Plus it was more difficult to pass people on the narrow trail. And a word of advice: LEAVE THE DAMN DOGS AT HOME, PEOPLE. I am not a dog person in the first place but those dogs constantly getting in my way was really pissing me off.
Pics from the trail:
Between the rows of people blocking the narrow trail and the stupid dogs all over the place, I went a little slower than I would've liked. But I still finished in just under an hour, which everyone tells me is pretty good - average, at least. "You were going at a pretty good clip," my boss told me. He and his wife were there as she is a breast cancer survivor. They ran some of the way, he said. He is in super shape and regularly participates in long-distance biking events. He told me they finished about five to seven minutes ahead of me. And I could see there were lots and lots of people behind me.
I once yearned to be average so I should be happy about that, I guess. But next year, I'll kick average's ass.
Me crossing the finish line and afterwards:
We got the hell outta there ASAP in order to thaw my husband out. All in all it was a wonderful experience that I will definitely repeat next year.
Thanks again to everyone who took the time to give their money or words of encouragement to me. I so appreciate it, you have no idea!
The song that inspired the title of this blog:
It took me a week to get this blog out because this has been Hell Week for me. I'm still not sure why any of what happened this week occurred, but that whole thing is another blog in and of itself. I'll churn that out tomorrow since I'm off work for Thanksgiving. See you then.
Well, on Saturday morning I turned around in my kitchen and nearly hit the floor like a safe. That small movement somehow twisted my right knee and I clutched my kitchen counter for dear life, saving even further injury. I started to take a tentative step and the knee said "Nuh-uh." It scared the crap out of me and OMG....so frustrating!! This happens the day before the run? I thought, "Are you kidding me? Like....are you kidding me?" I wrapped it up and tried icing it but the ice seemed to make it feel worse so I abandoned that plan quickly.
Crazily enough, the pain was worse when I was stationary; if I moved around on it - with the brace on - it didn't bother me too much. So I knew I would still be able to participate in the event but I would have to walk the entire length. I was pretty bummed about that as I was looking forward to pushing my body and seeing just how far/long I could run.
Since I only decided to participate on the previous Tuesday, imagine my shock when - by event day - I had raised a grand total of $640.00 including online and offline donations. My and Erich's co-workers, YOU my beautiful readers, our friends and family really came through and I am so touched and so proud to know all these wonderful people who chose to support both me and such a fantastic cause. My Aunt Betty would be very pleased. I've received a couple more donations since then as well. Donations can be made until October 31, so if you'd still like to give please click HERE.
It was absolutely FRIGID outside on Sunday! About 42F, 6C with a biting wind. Everyone was bundled up as best they could. I registered and signed the 'Wall of Fame' for participants then Erich and I wandered around looking at everyone's get-ups and trying to stay warm! There was a photo booth where everyone could get a free memento of the day and we listened as survivors shared their inspirational stories. I was so into these women's moving words that I forgot to take pics of them. But I got a few shots pre-startup:
I made a button with Aunt Betty's photo on it to wear. I also stuck on a couple buttons they were giving away to participants at the event. And, although you really can't see it because it's so small, I wore my small gold Centurion Club pin, the one I received from Henry Ford Hospital for losing at least 100 pounds. I pinned it up on the collar of my t-shirt.
If you look closely at the photo below on the left, you can see on my t-shirt where it says "Betty - My Aunty" on the left. I tell you, when I saw that it made me cry. Fate, right? Amazing stuff. The shirt also says "Uncle Bob" - who was Aunt Betty's husband. It also says "Cousin Lisa" - Aunt Betty's oldest daughter. She spells her name "Leesa" but wow, right? Crazy.
I was more than ready to get started, if only to get warmer! Poor Erich stood around and waited for me to finish, so by the time I was done, he was pretty much a Romanian popsicle.
Me at the starting line-up:
When we started, I teared up at bit. Me, participating in a 5K. It would've been unthinkable a couple years ago. And my dear Aunt Betty, one of the most wonderful women I've ever known. Her spirit was with me and I could feel her pride. It was moving for me.
I can honestly say I more than held my own in this walk. I was trotting right along like I always do when I exercise, the tunes on my mp3 player helping me keep up the pace. I was passing people all around me during the first leg, when we were walking on pavement. I brought a camera with me to snap a few pics along the route.
There were two routes to take: One was paved, straight and non-hilly and one was on the nature trail surrounding the campgrounds/park where the event took place. When I came to the fork I hesitated a second before choosing the nature trail. My knee was feeling fine so I decided to go for it. It was definitely more challenging, especially downhill. The knee that was not braced cursed me a few times. Plus it was more difficult to pass people on the narrow trail. And a word of advice: LEAVE THE DAMN DOGS AT HOME, PEOPLE. I am not a dog person in the first place but those dogs constantly getting in my way was really pissing me off.
Pics from the trail:
Between the rows of people blocking the narrow trail and the stupid dogs all over the place, I went a little slower than I would've liked. But I still finished in just under an hour, which everyone tells me is pretty good - average, at least. "You were going at a pretty good clip," my boss told me. He and his wife were there as she is a breast cancer survivor. They ran some of the way, he said. He is in super shape and regularly participates in long-distance biking events. He told me they finished about five to seven minutes ahead of me. And I could see there were lots and lots of people behind me.
I once yearned to be average so I should be happy about that, I guess. But next year, I'll kick average's ass.
Me crossing the finish line and afterwards:
We got the hell outta there ASAP in order to thaw my husband out. All in all it was a wonderful experience that I will definitely repeat next year.
Thanks again to everyone who took the time to give their money or words of encouragement to me. I so appreciate it, you have no idea!
The song that inspired the title of this blog:
It took me a week to get this blog out because this has been Hell Week for me. I'm still not sure why any of what happened this week occurred, but that whole thing is another blog in and of itself. I'll churn that out tomorrow since I'm off work for Thanksgiving. See you then.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Run for the Cure
I have decided to participate in this Sunday's CIBC Run for the Cure, which benefits the Canadian Breast Cancer Foundation. There is a choice between a 1K and 5K run or walk; I have entered the 5K event.
I would love to say I'd run it, but my knees just won't let me do that, not for 5K...I can run then walk, run then walk, etc. That's what I do normally when I exercise. If I run too much I definitely feel it the next day...or next week. So I'll be walking. The last time Erich and I were in Ohio, we got knee braces for me (for about 80% less than we'd pay in Ontario) and I'll put them on just in case. But it's all good. I've walked a 5K many, many times in the gym. I'll finish.
For years I've sat on the sidelines, wanting to take part in something like this. My father's sister - Aunt Betty - lost her battle with breast cancer over a decade ago. I spent a lot of time with her growing up and her daughter Leesa is around my age; we were buddies as children.
Aunt Betty:
At almost 450 pounds, I was never fit enough to pay tribute to her in any physical way with a cancer walk, ride or run. But this year, I'm gonna do it. I'll do it in her memory but also for myself; a celebration of my own good health and a reminder to never take it for granted.
Terribly late in the game for fundraising, I initially thought about paying the $40 entry fee and not bothering. But then I thought HEY....I have a lot of friends out there! The goal to waive the entry fee is $150. Surely, I thought, I can get 15 of my friends to give me $10. So I went for it. And raised the $150 pretty much overnight. WOW! Well, I do have very cool friends!! So I upped the ante and raised my goal to $300. Almost there!
C'mon now, you know you wanna help me raise money for this wonderful cause! Everyone knows someone touched by this disease. Click HERE to donate to my fund. The festivities start on Sunday morning at 8:00 a.m. The walk itself starts at 10:15. Erich, bless his heart, will get up at what is for him the middle of the night, to cheer me on. I'll let you all know how it goes!
I would love to say I'd run it, but my knees just won't let me do that, not for 5K...I can run then walk, run then walk, etc. That's what I do normally when I exercise. If I run too much I definitely feel it the next day...or next week. So I'll be walking. The last time Erich and I were in Ohio, we got knee braces for me (for about 80% less than we'd pay in Ontario) and I'll put them on just in case. But it's all good. I've walked a 5K many, many times in the gym. I'll finish.
For years I've sat on the sidelines, wanting to take part in something like this. My father's sister - Aunt Betty - lost her battle with breast cancer over a decade ago. I spent a lot of time with her growing up and her daughter Leesa is around my age; we were buddies as children.
Aunt Betty:
At almost 450 pounds, I was never fit enough to pay tribute to her in any physical way with a cancer walk, ride or run. But this year, I'm gonna do it. I'll do it in her memory but also for myself; a celebration of my own good health and a reminder to never take it for granted.
Terribly late in the game for fundraising, I initially thought about paying the $40 entry fee and not bothering. But then I thought HEY....I have a lot of friends out there! The goal to waive the entry fee is $150. Surely, I thought, I can get 15 of my friends to give me $10. So I went for it. And raised the $150 pretty much overnight. WOW! Well, I do have very cool friends!! So I upped the ante and raised my goal to $300. Almost there!
C'mon now, you know you wanna help me raise money for this wonderful cause! Everyone knows someone touched by this disease. Click HERE to donate to my fund. The festivities start on Sunday morning at 8:00 a.m. The walk itself starts at 10:15. Erich, bless his heart, will get up at what is for him the middle of the night, to cheer me on. I'll let you all know how it goes!
Sunday, September 25, 2011
School must've been hell, right?
I am often asked, in some variation of outright or implied - and often with a sympathetic voice - "School must've been hell for you, right?" The answer to that question might seem obvious. Indeed, the people who ask me always seem to assume my formative years were spent hiding in hallways from bullies. The short answer is no, my school years weren't hell. But the long answer is a bit more complicated than that.
I've been larger than my peers all my life, ever since I came screaming into the world at over 9 pounds. "Big-boned", one might call it. Taller than even the boys till some of them caught up with me in high school and the total opposite of petite, I definitely felt out of place among my female classmates.
However, I was fairly "normal" - for my big-boned self - from kindergarten through second grade. Little boys still didn't want to hold my hand at recess, though. I just wasn't the kind of sweet, shy little girl that attracted boys. My idea of letting a boy know I liked him was to toss him across the room. Yes, I really did that in second grade. I even got paddled for it! I mean, screw the whole note-passing, "do you like me, circle yes or no" crap. Who had time for that?
I really don't know where I got this weird, loud and obnoxious personality. Both my parents are very nice people, I swear!
I started changing in third grade. My school photos show someone who looks totally, completely different from second to third grade. I blame the acquisition of glasses and the cutting of my long, blonde hair. Well, not really. I was blind as a bat and refused to let my mother brush out my curls. Steps had to be taken. Both my grandfathers died that summer; my maternal grandmother was battling leukemia. Now, I was certainly too young to understand all of this but I have a theory that I sensed great amounts of tension in the house. So maybe....just maybe...that's when I started comforting myself with food.
Then the trouble started.
There was a girl who rode my school bus who started giving me grief. Now, she was also no string bean but this didn't seem to deter her from attempting to make my life miserable. My older brother cold-cocked her in the head with his metal lunchbox one day, defending me. There was also another older girl who lived near my maternal grandmother and delighted in riding her bike up and down the road, shouting insults at me. Again, my older brother came to my defense. He shot her in the ass with a bb gun as she rode away one day. Yes, he really did.
Even though there were occasional problems with idiots like these, overall I was doing fine socially. I always had lots of friends - I had a few very close ones but honestly, there were people I called "friend" from every social strata at the school. I was not a "prep" (a.k.a. the rich kids, cheerleaders, jocks). I was not a "hood" (which is what we called those who liked to wear black, listen to metal and party). But I got along with everyone. My little group of friends called ourselves the "in-betweens". While we watched the many Molly Ringwald movies of the time and identified with a lot of the teen angst bullshit in them, the whole "us vs. them" theme didn't affect us very much. I would say the experience was different for those who wore the other two social labels, though.
It helps to understand that I grew up in a very rural area where everyone knows everyone's family several generations back. The same faces stare out from my kindergarten and high school graduation class pictures, just 13 years older. We all always knew each other and they always knew me to look the way I did. It's just the way it was.
But every now and then, someone would come along and seemingly try to make me feel like shit. It was always someone who didn't know me very well. There was a duo of guys in 6th grade who were suddenly in my class and man....that was a tough year. They were relentless. Ever since third grade, I just kept getting taller and bigger. By age 12, as I've mentioned before, I was at least 5'6" and 200 pounds. I looked like no one else at my school, not to mention Mrs. Rice's 6th grade class. It was like these two boys wanted to bring me down to size.
In science class one day, the teacher had something he wanted to show us but wanted us to guess what it was (I have no memory of what it actually was). Our desks were arranged in a circle, so we could all see each other. Kids were shouting out guesses. I said "I know! I know!" and one of those two boys said in response to my enthusiasm, LOUDLY, "Cindy, it's not food." I dropped my head in shame. The outcry from my other classmates was fast and furious. Their immediate response was to scowl at him in disgust and, well, they kinda boooed him! I think he was shocked...he had expected them to laugh with him. One girl - one of the cool kids - said "Don't you say that! You don't know her! That is so mean!" I will never forget that she did that for me. She was and is such a kind person that it was automatic for her. The teacher, to his credit, let the other kids take up for me for a minute then he demanded an apology from the boy, who reluctantly gave it.
It didn't stop him or his buddy though. Like I said, that was a bad year and didn't end until I didn't have to deal with them every day because we were all shipped off to the junior high school. We would be merging with the other local elementary school. I was nervous about how these other kids would react to me, for sure. But it was ok. Junior high was pretty much like elementary school - I made friends and it was fine with the occasional asshole thrown in. High school was the same.
Notice I haven't spoken much about boys. That's because there's not a lot to talk about till my senior year in high school. I met the boy who would become my first husband and finally got to experience normal, teenage, high-school life. We went on dates. We went to dances. We swapped class rings - most girls wound yarn around their boyfriends' rings in order to shrink them enough to wear on their fingers. My boyfriend's class ring fit my size-nine finger perfectly but oh well. He was two years younger than me so I ended up going to a few proms, too. Normal high school stuff.
Boys were my friends. I've always gotten along well with guys. I laugh at the same things they laugh at, I "get" them in a lot of ways. Always have. So I was definitely one of those girls the guys thought of as one of their own (and still am) - not girlfriend material. Did I have a few dates here and there? Yes, but not the normal high-school girl experience until I was almost done with high school.
But school was not day-to-day hell. No hiding in the bathroom waiting for the bullies to leave. My large network of friends was something I could always cling to when the occasional freak came out wanting to hurt me. They didn't stand a chance. I knew the people who liked me vastly outnumbered the people who didn't. Obviously I took some of what the freaks had to say to heart. Words hurt a lot more than clenched fists and weave themselves into the fabric of who you are, no matter what.
I had more problems with strangers on the street than kids I encountered every day. I guess I never realized how lucky I was - or at least, how much worse it could've been - until I lost all this weight and people started asking me about school and how it must've been so rough for me! Honestly - yes, I was the fat girl in school. Always. But it's just who I was. And most of the people I saw every day didn't give me shit about it. To them, I was just "Cindy". I might've been the fat girl but I was also funny, smart and kind. Luckily for me, for most kids I grew up with, that was good enough.
I've been larger than my peers all my life, ever since I came screaming into the world at over 9 pounds. "Big-boned", one might call it. Taller than even the boys till some of them caught up with me in high school and the total opposite of petite, I definitely felt out of place among my female classmates.
However, I was fairly "normal" - for my big-boned self - from kindergarten through second grade. Little boys still didn't want to hold my hand at recess, though. I just wasn't the kind of sweet, shy little girl that attracted boys. My idea of letting a boy know I liked him was to toss him across the room. Yes, I really did that in second grade. I even got paddled for it! I mean, screw the whole note-passing, "do you like me, circle yes or no" crap. Who had time for that?
I really don't know where I got this weird, loud and obnoxious personality. Both my parents are very nice people, I swear!
I started changing in third grade. My school photos show someone who looks totally, completely different from second to third grade. I blame the acquisition of glasses and the cutting of my long, blonde hair. Well, not really. I was blind as a bat and refused to let my mother brush out my curls. Steps had to be taken. Both my grandfathers died that summer; my maternal grandmother was battling leukemia. Now, I was certainly too young to understand all of this but I have a theory that I sensed great amounts of tension in the house. So maybe....just maybe...that's when I started comforting myself with food.
Then the trouble started.
There was a girl who rode my school bus who started giving me grief. Now, she was also no string bean but this didn't seem to deter her from attempting to make my life miserable. My older brother cold-cocked her in the head with his metal lunchbox one day, defending me. There was also another older girl who lived near my maternal grandmother and delighted in riding her bike up and down the road, shouting insults at me. Again, my older brother came to my defense. He shot her in the ass with a bb gun as she rode away one day. Yes, he really did.
Even though there were occasional problems with idiots like these, overall I was doing fine socially. I always had lots of friends - I had a few very close ones but honestly, there were people I called "friend" from every social strata at the school. I was not a "prep" (a.k.a. the rich kids, cheerleaders, jocks). I was not a "hood" (which is what we called those who liked to wear black, listen to metal and party). But I got along with everyone. My little group of friends called ourselves the "in-betweens". While we watched the many Molly Ringwald movies of the time and identified with a lot of the teen angst bullshit in them, the whole "us vs. them" theme didn't affect us very much. I would say the experience was different for those who wore the other two social labels, though.
It helps to understand that I grew up in a very rural area where everyone knows everyone's family several generations back. The same faces stare out from my kindergarten and high school graduation class pictures, just 13 years older. We all always knew each other and they always knew me to look the way I did. It's just the way it was.
But every now and then, someone would come along and seemingly try to make me feel like shit. It was always someone who didn't know me very well. There was a duo of guys in 6th grade who were suddenly in my class and man....that was a tough year. They were relentless. Ever since third grade, I just kept getting taller and bigger. By age 12, as I've mentioned before, I was at least 5'6" and 200 pounds. I looked like no one else at my school, not to mention Mrs. Rice's 6th grade class. It was like these two boys wanted to bring me down to size.
In science class one day, the teacher had something he wanted to show us but wanted us to guess what it was (I have no memory of what it actually was). Our desks were arranged in a circle, so we could all see each other. Kids were shouting out guesses. I said "I know! I know!" and one of those two boys said in response to my enthusiasm, LOUDLY, "Cindy, it's not food." I dropped my head in shame. The outcry from my other classmates was fast and furious. Their immediate response was to scowl at him in disgust and, well, they kinda boooed him! I think he was shocked...he had expected them to laugh with him. One girl - one of the cool kids - said "Don't you say that! You don't know her! That is so mean!" I will never forget that she did that for me. She was and is such a kind person that it was automatic for her. The teacher, to his credit, let the other kids take up for me for a minute then he demanded an apology from the boy, who reluctantly gave it.
It didn't stop him or his buddy though. Like I said, that was a bad year and didn't end until I didn't have to deal with them every day because we were all shipped off to the junior high school. We would be merging with the other local elementary school. I was nervous about how these other kids would react to me, for sure. But it was ok. Junior high was pretty much like elementary school - I made friends and it was fine with the occasional asshole thrown in. High school was the same.
Notice I haven't spoken much about boys. That's because there's not a lot to talk about till my senior year in high school. I met the boy who would become my first husband and finally got to experience normal, teenage, high-school life. We went on dates. We went to dances. We swapped class rings - most girls wound yarn around their boyfriends' rings in order to shrink them enough to wear on their fingers. My boyfriend's class ring fit my size-nine finger perfectly but oh well. He was two years younger than me so I ended up going to a few proms, too. Normal high school stuff.
Boys were my friends. I've always gotten along well with guys. I laugh at the same things they laugh at, I "get" them in a lot of ways. Always have. So I was definitely one of those girls the guys thought of as one of their own (and still am) - not girlfriend material. Did I have a few dates here and there? Yes, but not the normal high-school girl experience until I was almost done with high school.
But school was not day-to-day hell. No hiding in the bathroom waiting for the bullies to leave. My large network of friends was something I could always cling to when the occasional freak came out wanting to hurt me. They didn't stand a chance. I knew the people who liked me vastly outnumbered the people who didn't. Obviously I took some of what the freaks had to say to heart. Words hurt a lot more than clenched fists and weave themselves into the fabric of who you are, no matter what.
I had more problems with strangers on the street than kids I encountered every day. I guess I never realized how lucky I was - or at least, how much worse it could've been - until I lost all this weight and people started asking me about school and how it must've been so rough for me! Honestly - yes, I was the fat girl in school. Always. But it's just who I was. And most of the people I saw every day didn't give me shit about it. To them, I was just "Cindy". I might've been the fat girl but I was also funny, smart and kind. Luckily for me, for most kids I grew up with, that was good enough.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Music saves the soul
Music has been saving me lately, that's for sure!
A couple of weeks ago, I went on a girls' road trip to Sharon, PA with my friend Paris to meet up with yet more friends to see Kris Bell. We all got to know Kris when he played in Bo Bice's band. It has been 4-1/2 years since I've seen Kris so I was pretty psyched. I think he'd seen new pictures of me on Facebook because he wasn't too surprised by my transformation. He just looked at me and said "This is crazy! Crazy!" before giving me a hug. I do have to admit the best part about that hug was that his arms went all the way around me. Yep, I'll say it.
I was also able to get one of his t-shirts at the merch table. I'm telling you, I'm a t-shirt-buying fool. I can't get enough of them! I realized the other day I need more hangers. I probably don't, I just need to stop buying t-shirts!
The Kris concert was pretty amazing. It was so great to be at a real, genuine ROCK show and we all danced our asses off. Not since high school have I busted a move like that. Seriously! Actually, I stopped dancing in high school when some guys from a neighboring school laughed and pointed at me. I would get out there occasionally - and slow dancing was always ok - but those boys probably have no idea what affect their ridicule had on me. And I shouldn't have let it get to me like that, but I'm only human. No one wants to risk humiliation.
But in Sharon, I wasn't worried at all about being humiliated. And it was a BLAST. I needed that weekend. It's very possible I will be driving to Nashville for more of that in the near future. Or at least as far as Cincinnati...right Laura? ;)
I had surgery on the 9th to remove the uterine cyst and insert the IUD. It went well - they kept moving it up and I ended up in the OR about 3 hours ahead of schedule. In the course of answering routine questions, I had to tell the attending nurse about my gastric bypass and she insisted on seeing a "before" pic! She was too funny. My wonderful husband keeps our wedding picture in his wallet, so we showed her that. She couldn't believe it. Also, since all I was wearing was that dreaded hospital gown, the OR staff saw my back tattoo and asked about it. It's always nice to have people oooh and ahhh over your success. It reminds you that you have truly accomplished something noteworthy; don't ever forget your own awesomeness.
I felt really good over the weekend, enough to keep a date with Keith Urban and my good friend Randi, who, although doesn't like country music, I think it's safe to say is now a KU convert. Heh. It's like a Bo show; it only takes one time and you go "WTF WAS THAT??" You want more and more and more. So I didn't sit down for 2+ hours. Danced, sang, clapped. Sooooo much fun. Got my first KU t-shirt, too! Probably not such a good idea for a girl who had surgery three days beforehand, though.
Kris Bell says "music saves the soul" and he's right. Bo says "live music matters". Also right. There are few things in life that can make you feel better than music, especially when it's live, right there in front of you so you can FEEL it.
Maybe I pushed it too far Monday. I haven't felt the greatest since then. Tuesday, Erich and I ended up in the ER because he got a large capsule stuck in his throat. I know how horrible that sounds, but he's ok now - through absolutely no help provided by medical staff at the hospital. Ridiculous, long story but we spent 9 hours sitting there and 3 more hours waiting for an ear, nose and throat specialist. So I got no sleep, which didn't help my own health condition. I got some rest Wednesday but still need more to be "normal".
Tomorrow morning I will attend part two of a three-part workshop called Craving Change. Craving Change is a "How-to Guide for Changing Your Relationship with Food." Lord knows most of us need that, right? I'm taking the workshop because I feel like I need to be more in touch with WHY I want to eat the way I do. Since I can't afford therapy, this seems to be the next best thing. There are already some interesting patterns/triggers coming to light for me and I'll do a more extensive blog on that later.
A couple of weeks ago, I went on a girls' road trip to Sharon, PA with my friend Paris to meet up with yet more friends to see Kris Bell. We all got to know Kris when he played in Bo Bice's band. It has been 4-1/2 years since I've seen Kris so I was pretty psyched. I think he'd seen new pictures of me on Facebook because he wasn't too surprised by my transformation. He just looked at me and said "This is crazy! Crazy!" before giving me a hug. I do have to admit the best part about that hug was that his arms went all the way around me. Yep, I'll say it.
I was also able to get one of his t-shirts at the merch table. I'm telling you, I'm a t-shirt-buying fool. I can't get enough of them! I realized the other day I need more hangers. I probably don't, I just need to stop buying t-shirts!
The Kris concert was pretty amazing. It was so great to be at a real, genuine ROCK show and we all danced our asses off. Not since high school have I busted a move like that. Seriously! Actually, I stopped dancing in high school when some guys from a neighboring school laughed and pointed at me. I would get out there occasionally - and slow dancing was always ok - but those boys probably have no idea what affect their ridicule had on me. And I shouldn't have let it get to me like that, but I'm only human. No one wants to risk humiliation.
But in Sharon, I wasn't worried at all about being humiliated. And it was a BLAST. I needed that weekend. It's very possible I will be driving to Nashville for more of that in the near future. Or at least as far as Cincinnati...right Laura? ;)
I had surgery on the 9th to remove the uterine cyst and insert the IUD. It went well - they kept moving it up and I ended up in the OR about 3 hours ahead of schedule. In the course of answering routine questions, I had to tell the attending nurse about my gastric bypass and she insisted on seeing a "before" pic! She was too funny. My wonderful husband keeps our wedding picture in his wallet, so we showed her that. She couldn't believe it. Also, since all I was wearing was that dreaded hospital gown, the OR staff saw my back tattoo and asked about it. It's always nice to have people oooh and ahhh over your success. It reminds you that you have truly accomplished something noteworthy; don't ever forget your own awesomeness.
I felt really good over the weekend, enough to keep a date with Keith Urban and my good friend Randi, who, although doesn't like country music, I think it's safe to say is now a KU convert. Heh. It's like a Bo show; it only takes one time and you go "WTF WAS THAT??" You want more and more and more. So I didn't sit down for 2+ hours. Danced, sang, clapped. Sooooo much fun. Got my first KU t-shirt, too! Probably not such a good idea for a girl who had surgery three days beforehand, though.
Kris Bell says "music saves the soul" and he's right. Bo says "live music matters". Also right. There are few things in life that can make you feel better than music, especially when it's live, right there in front of you so you can FEEL it.
Maybe I pushed it too far Monday. I haven't felt the greatest since then. Tuesday, Erich and I ended up in the ER because he got a large capsule stuck in his throat. I know how horrible that sounds, but he's ok now - through absolutely no help provided by medical staff at the hospital. Ridiculous, long story but we spent 9 hours sitting there and 3 more hours waiting for an ear, nose and throat specialist. So I got no sleep, which didn't help my own health condition. I got some rest Wednesday but still need more to be "normal".
Tomorrow morning I will attend part two of a three-part workshop called Craving Change. Craving Change is a "How-to Guide for Changing Your Relationship with Food." Lord knows most of us need that, right? I'm taking the workshop because I feel like I need to be more in touch with WHY I want to eat the way I do. Since I can't afford therapy, this seems to be the next best thing. There are already some interesting patterns/triggers coming to light for me and I'll do a more extensive blog on that later.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
The Big Sexy Blog
Last night was the second episode in the new series "Big Sexy" on TLC. Now, when I hear the phrase "Big Sexy", the first thing that comes to my mind is pro wrestler Kevin Nash.
Yeah. *dreamy sigh*
But the television show is pretty damn cool, too. I was skeptical when I first heard about it, I admit. How would this show present overweight women? The clown? The slut? The victim? Well, I was pleasantly surprised that none of those stereotypes are present in the main characters on this "reality" show. They are normal women who just happen to be overweight. But they have to navigate their way in the world carrying around extra pounds - which makes for special circumstances worthy of its own series.
Dating, pleasing your parents, finding the perfect outfit, girls' nights out - these are all covered in the first two episodes. But I want to focus on dating.
My fear for the main focus of the show came to light when the girls visited a BBW (Big Beautiful Woman) party in the series premiere. Cringing in horror at the Thunder Thighs Contest and a troubling array of unattractive/weird chubby chasers, one of the girls, Lesley, said "These are my options?? That can't be right."
Amen. I was glad to see the girls in the Thunder Thighs Contest portrayed as the oddballs of the fat-chick world. Most of us don't want to go there.
So they tried speed dating with the "normal" crowd, wherein a man admitted that the only way he'd sleep with an overweight woman was if he was drunk. Again... "these are my options?? That can't be right."
Heavy girls are in a dating no-woman's land: We don't want to be anyone's fetish yet most "normal" guys need to get trashed in order to bear our presence. Is it any wonder our self-esteem takes a hit?
A lot of heavy women (and men) settle. Which is one reason why there's an 80% failure rate for relationships within two years of bariatric surgery. What was once good enough doesn't feel quite so special anymore.
After my divorce, a very good friend of mine told me she was worried that I, at over 400 pounds, would settle; she told me I didn't have to, that I needed to look for a man worthy of me. I took what she said to heart and luckily stumbled upon a wonderful man who was neither a chubby chaser nor did he require a case of beer to be with me. He loved me for me. So trust me, good, normal guys do exist.
Now that's not to say I didn't date my share of losers in that gray area between husbands. The internet dating scene was just taking off, and I made full use of it. I was always very upfront about my size so therefore, I did attract some of the aforementioned chubby chasers. I went out with a couple of the less weird ones and I have to say it was wonderful to look at a man and see complete lust in his eyes. Every woman wants to feel beautiful and desired - that's a rarity if you're plus-sized. It was an ego boost that led me to Erich....I was very bold with him and surprised myself with both my nerve and his favorable response to it.
Confidence breeds results, ladies.
So in response to Lesley - yes, there are other options. And nope, you don't have to settle. I never did! Both my husbands married me when I was very, very overweight.
Now that I've lost weight, I certainly feel male eyes on me that weren't there before. It's a bit weird, a bit scary and yes, flattering. I'm just glad I don't have to navigate that particular minefield anymore!
I'm going under the knife tomorrow to remove the uterine cyst I talked about in my last blog. The doctor will also insert an IUD - both of these things together will hopefully bring some relief to the psycho cycle. Wish me luck.
Yeah. *dreamy sigh*
But the television show is pretty damn cool, too. I was skeptical when I first heard about it, I admit. How would this show present overweight women? The clown? The slut? The victim? Well, I was pleasantly surprised that none of those stereotypes are present in the main characters on this "reality" show. They are normal women who just happen to be overweight. But they have to navigate their way in the world carrying around extra pounds - which makes for special circumstances worthy of its own series.
Dating, pleasing your parents, finding the perfect outfit, girls' nights out - these are all covered in the first two episodes. But I want to focus on dating.
My fear for the main focus of the show came to light when the girls visited a BBW (Big Beautiful Woman) party in the series premiere. Cringing in horror at the Thunder Thighs Contest and a troubling array of unattractive/weird chubby chasers, one of the girls, Lesley, said "These are my options?? That can't be right."
Amen. I was glad to see the girls in the Thunder Thighs Contest portrayed as the oddballs of the fat-chick world. Most of us don't want to go there.
So they tried speed dating with the "normal" crowd, wherein a man admitted that the only way he'd sleep with an overweight woman was if he was drunk. Again... "these are my options?? That can't be right."
Heavy girls are in a dating no-woman's land: We don't want to be anyone's fetish yet most "normal" guys need to get trashed in order to bear our presence. Is it any wonder our self-esteem takes a hit?
A lot of heavy women (and men) settle. Which is one reason why there's an 80% failure rate for relationships within two years of bariatric surgery. What was once good enough doesn't feel quite so special anymore.
After my divorce, a very good friend of mine told me she was worried that I, at over 400 pounds, would settle; she told me I didn't have to, that I needed to look for a man worthy of me. I took what she said to heart and luckily stumbled upon a wonderful man who was neither a chubby chaser nor did he require a case of beer to be with me. He loved me for me. So trust me, good, normal guys do exist.
Now that's not to say I didn't date my share of losers in that gray area between husbands. The internet dating scene was just taking off, and I made full use of it. I was always very upfront about my size so therefore, I did attract some of the aforementioned chubby chasers. I went out with a couple of the less weird ones and I have to say it was wonderful to look at a man and see complete lust in his eyes. Every woman wants to feel beautiful and desired - that's a rarity if you're plus-sized. It was an ego boost that led me to Erich....I was very bold with him and surprised myself with both my nerve and his favorable response to it.
Confidence breeds results, ladies.
So in response to Lesley - yes, there are other options. And nope, you don't have to settle. I never did! Both my husbands married me when I was very, very overweight.
Now that I've lost weight, I certainly feel male eyes on me that weren't there before. It's a bit weird, a bit scary and yes, flattering. I'm just glad I don't have to navigate that particular minefield anymore!
I'm going under the knife tomorrow to remove the uterine cyst I talked about in my last blog. The doctor will also insert an IUD - both of these things together will hopefully bring some relief to the psycho cycle. Wish me luck.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Weren't you here a few years ago?
Warning: Female blog ahead. Just an FYI to my male readers!
Maybe you remember me talking about a gynecologist who was very rude to me a few years ago. I have persistent issues with my psycho-cycle and my family doctor referred me to him for a regular pap smear. She usually does that in her office, but opted to send me to a specialist because of my size. In Canada, a gynecologist is considered a "specialist" and you must have a referral from your regular doctor.
When I saw him before, he did the test and had me wait in his office. He then came in and lectured me for at least five minutes on why he would not be able to help me and basically, I needed to either lose weight or suck it up. When I tried to explain to him that I was considering gastric bypass - and would possibly lose some weight - he rudely interrupted me before I could get my sentence out. When discussing treatment options (and why they wouldn't work for me), including surgery, he gestured to my stomach and said "What am I supposed to do with that?"
Then he gave me a prescription which did help my severe cramps somewhat. Why he decided to humiliate me first and not just go right to the treatment is beyond me. The whole experience upset me so much that I sat in his parking lot in my car and cried for a while before getting it together enough to head back to work.
So you can imagine how I felt when, after tests revealed I have a uterine cyst, my family doctor again referred me to the same guy. Now, I was tempted to demand another doctor but I stopped myself....no. I wanted to go back and see how he treated me now that I've lost 250 pounds. A little social experiment.
I spoke with friends about this doctor and everyone seemed to love him. They were shocked to learn the way he had treated me. Said it didn't sound like him. All these women were thin, I might add.
I had my appointment recently. This time I went straight into his office. There wasn't any need for an exam as I was simply being referred to him for surgery to remove the cyst.
He was affable, charming. Smiled broadly at me and explained everything in great detail with patience. He does have a sarcastic wit, but that's fine. So do I! In short, it was a different visit. Near the end, he was looking through my file and said:
"You were here a few years ago, yes?"
I nod at him. "Yes."
*shuffling paperwork* "You...you've lost quite a bit of weight, haven't you?"
Picture me trying to stifle a grin. "Yes."
"How much?"
Pause. "250 pounds."
He shook his head and said, "Wow! That's fantastic! Amazing!"
"Thank you." I think I actually crossed my arms in front of me at this point and smiled with satisfaction. LOL!
Then he launched into a bunch of questions about where I had it done, what my life is like now, do I still take any prescription medication, etc., etc. He told me he was very happy for me and "You see things like this on tv, but wow, here it is! Amazing."
Mm-hm.
Did I mention that the surgery I'm scheduled for is not invasive? They will go right in through the vagina, no cutting required. So his whole argument of "what am I supposed to do with that"? goes right out the fucking window. I'm just sayin'.
My family doctor told me I had "mild" endometriosis, but he wasn't prepared to make that diagnosis. Basically, he said, you can't say for sure that someone has endometriosis without removing the uterus to examine it. Diagnostic tests are not advanced enough to be so definitive. Which makes me think if MEN had to put up with psycho-cycles, I bet science would have a cure for the shit by now, let alone have proper testing in place. But I digress. So to treat said psycho-cycle, he will insert an IUD at the time of the surgery. Since I've never had kids my uterus is very small (HEY! at least something is!) and insertion will be painful if it's done in an office visit, which is the norm. So since I'll be knocked out for the cyst removal anyway, he'll do it then.
Now listen. I don't know for sure why none of this stuff was addressed till I lost weight. Perhaps testing was more difficult on a 450-pound woman. I totally get that. But honestly....couldn't something have been done to ease the suffering I have to endure every month?? Obviously, my weight was not the issue since the problem is still there now that I'm thinner. So...what? If you're fat, too damn bad? That's not acceptable. It's especially not acceptable to make obese patients feel like their ailments are entirely their own fault when it's not necessarily true. Doctors are supposed to help ALL patients. A doctor throwing up his or her hands because it's more difficult to diagnose or treat an obese patient is shameful.
Surgery date is September 9. Here's hoping I get some relief.
Maybe you remember me talking about a gynecologist who was very rude to me a few years ago. I have persistent issues with my psycho-cycle and my family doctor referred me to him for a regular pap smear. She usually does that in her office, but opted to send me to a specialist because of my size. In Canada, a gynecologist is considered a "specialist" and you must have a referral from your regular doctor.
When I saw him before, he did the test and had me wait in his office. He then came in and lectured me for at least five minutes on why he would not be able to help me and basically, I needed to either lose weight or suck it up. When I tried to explain to him that I was considering gastric bypass - and would possibly lose some weight - he rudely interrupted me before I could get my sentence out. When discussing treatment options (and why they wouldn't work for me), including surgery, he gestured to my stomach and said "What am I supposed to do with that?"
Then he gave me a prescription which did help my severe cramps somewhat. Why he decided to humiliate me first and not just go right to the treatment is beyond me. The whole experience upset me so much that I sat in his parking lot in my car and cried for a while before getting it together enough to head back to work.
So you can imagine how I felt when, after tests revealed I have a uterine cyst, my family doctor again referred me to the same guy. Now, I was tempted to demand another doctor but I stopped myself....no. I wanted to go back and see how he treated me now that I've lost 250 pounds. A little social experiment.
I spoke with friends about this doctor and everyone seemed to love him. They were shocked to learn the way he had treated me. Said it didn't sound like him. All these women were thin, I might add.
I had my appointment recently. This time I went straight into his office. There wasn't any need for an exam as I was simply being referred to him for surgery to remove the cyst.
He was affable, charming. Smiled broadly at me and explained everything in great detail with patience. He does have a sarcastic wit, but that's fine. So do I! In short, it was a different visit. Near the end, he was looking through my file and said:
"You were here a few years ago, yes?"
I nod at him. "Yes."
*shuffling paperwork* "You...you've lost quite a bit of weight, haven't you?"
Picture me trying to stifle a grin. "Yes."
"How much?"
Pause. "250 pounds."
He shook his head and said, "Wow! That's fantastic! Amazing!"
"Thank you." I think I actually crossed my arms in front of me at this point and smiled with satisfaction. LOL!
Then he launched into a bunch of questions about where I had it done, what my life is like now, do I still take any prescription medication, etc., etc. He told me he was very happy for me and "You see things like this on tv, but wow, here it is! Amazing."
Mm-hm.
Did I mention that the surgery I'm scheduled for is not invasive? They will go right in through the vagina, no cutting required. So his whole argument of "what am I supposed to do with that"? goes right out the fucking window. I'm just sayin'.
My family doctor told me I had "mild" endometriosis, but he wasn't prepared to make that diagnosis. Basically, he said, you can't say for sure that someone has endometriosis without removing the uterus to examine it. Diagnostic tests are not advanced enough to be so definitive. Which makes me think if MEN had to put up with psycho-cycles, I bet science would have a cure for the shit by now, let alone have proper testing in place. But I digress. So to treat said psycho-cycle, he will insert an IUD at the time of the surgery. Since I've never had kids my uterus is very small (HEY! at least something is!) and insertion will be painful if it's done in an office visit, which is the norm. So since I'll be knocked out for the cyst removal anyway, he'll do it then.
Now listen. I don't know for sure why none of this stuff was addressed till I lost weight. Perhaps testing was more difficult on a 450-pound woman. I totally get that. But honestly....couldn't something have been done to ease the suffering I have to endure every month?? Obviously, my weight was not the issue since the problem is still there now that I'm thinner. So...what? If you're fat, too damn bad? That's not acceptable. It's especially not acceptable to make obese patients feel like their ailments are entirely their own fault when it's not necessarily true. Doctors are supposed to help ALL patients. A doctor throwing up his or her hands because it's more difficult to diagnose or treat an obese patient is shameful.
Surgery date is September 9. Here's hoping I get some relief.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Today I'm two
Today is the second anniversary of my re-birth.
It’s funny that I had the surgery on the 7th day of the 7th month because my actual birthday is also on the 7th. My stepdaughter’s birthday is also on the 7th; seven has been good to me. The number seems to seek me out in a lot of ways. It’s a stereotypical lucky number but for me it’s really true. July, as well as February, has been good for me in the past as well.
So it was perhaps fated that my life changed so drastically on the 7th day of July in 2009.
In the past year, I have reached my goal weight yet had many struggles. It never ends, this addiction. The pull towards old habits is still intoxicating to me, I will admit. Fighting it every day, sometimes minute by minute, is something I will endure forever. But I have to realize that maintenance is something fought for and really, aren’t all things in life worth having?
Once upon a time I figured I would be “normal” someday and everything would be perfect. That is not to be and it’s ok. You take yourself with you wherever you go and simply changing the exterior does nothing to change YOU.
The two-year, post-op mark is a crucial time for gastric bypass patients. Some have started the regain by this time as the so-called “honeymoon phase” is over. If you haven’t learned how to deal with food, you will find yourself in the same position you were in pre-op. Can’t just change your stomach; you have to change your brain.
Also, studies show that within two years, 80% of gastric bypass patients who were in a relationship prior to the surgery are now single. That might be shocking to some of you but probably not to most WLS patients. Everything changes. If you don’t have a partner who is willing to roll with you, you’re in trouble. As I’ve said many times before, I’m an extremely lucky woman. I don’t see a divorce happening with Erich & myself, thank goodness. I know two post-ops whose relationships are experiencing major turmoil right now. Pretty much right on schedule, too.
By this time, studies also show that well over half of post-ops will change careers and/or jobs. Here’s the thing – both in relationships and jobs – what might have worked before may not now. Sometimes pre-ops settled for less than they should have thinking they could do no better or they didn’t have the energy to strive for more. Sometimes your ambitions simply shift; partners and offices sometimes just don’t fit anymore. Losing 100 or 200 pounds alters everything about you.
Tonight I’m going to celebrate my re-birthday by having dinner with my good friend Randi; then we’re coming back to my place to wallow in Bo Bice videos, pictures and stories. Can’t think of a better party!! Of course the real party will be this Saturday when Bo plays his first solo Canadian gig in Burlington, Ontario – about 45 minutes away from me. I met Bo Bice for the first time on July 8, 2006 (see…almost the 7th…LOL). The Burlington show will be my 25th. So you see, I have a lot to celebrate in the next few days. WHOO-HOO!! Bo is a critical piece of my journey. I give him, the whole experience of being his fan, some credit for helping me see there was more to life than sitting on my sofa eating pizza. If that sounds freaky to you, well I’m sorry. He and the people I’ve met because of him are very, VERY important to me.
This time last year, I blogged and shared a video taken the night before my surgery. I watched it again just now and that woman sitting on the sofa feels further and further away from me which is a little sad. I don’t want to lose her completely. I liked her! She still is me in some ways but in many other ways, she isn’t anymore. That woman sacrificed herself so I could live. She did the right thing and I am grateful to her for making such a brave, inspired decision.
I feel like that woman is counting on me to succeed. And because I care about her, I don’t want to let her down. It’s my job to continue the work she started and that’s my ultimate goal. Here’s to many more years of freedom!
Then and now (click to enlarge):
It’s funny that I had the surgery on the 7th day of the 7th month because my actual birthday is also on the 7th. My stepdaughter’s birthday is also on the 7th; seven has been good to me. The number seems to seek me out in a lot of ways. It’s a stereotypical lucky number but for me it’s really true. July, as well as February, has been good for me in the past as well.
So it was perhaps fated that my life changed so drastically on the 7th day of July in 2009.
In the past year, I have reached my goal weight yet had many struggles. It never ends, this addiction. The pull towards old habits is still intoxicating to me, I will admit. Fighting it every day, sometimes minute by minute, is something I will endure forever. But I have to realize that maintenance is something fought for and really, aren’t all things in life worth having?
Once upon a time I figured I would be “normal” someday and everything would be perfect. That is not to be and it’s ok. You take yourself with you wherever you go and simply changing the exterior does nothing to change YOU.
The two-year, post-op mark is a crucial time for gastric bypass patients. Some have started the regain by this time as the so-called “honeymoon phase” is over. If you haven’t learned how to deal with food, you will find yourself in the same position you were in pre-op. Can’t just change your stomach; you have to change your brain.
Also, studies show that within two years, 80% of gastric bypass patients who were in a relationship prior to the surgery are now single. That might be shocking to some of you but probably not to most WLS patients. Everything changes. If you don’t have a partner who is willing to roll with you, you’re in trouble. As I’ve said many times before, I’m an extremely lucky woman. I don’t see a divorce happening with Erich & myself, thank goodness. I know two post-ops whose relationships are experiencing major turmoil right now. Pretty much right on schedule, too.
By this time, studies also show that well over half of post-ops will change careers and/or jobs. Here’s the thing – both in relationships and jobs – what might have worked before may not now. Sometimes pre-ops settled for less than they should have thinking they could do no better or they didn’t have the energy to strive for more. Sometimes your ambitions simply shift; partners and offices sometimes just don’t fit anymore. Losing 100 or 200 pounds alters everything about you.
Tonight I’m going to celebrate my re-birthday by having dinner with my good friend Randi; then we’re coming back to my place to wallow in Bo Bice videos, pictures and stories. Can’t think of a better party!! Of course the real party will be this Saturday when Bo plays his first solo Canadian gig in Burlington, Ontario – about 45 minutes away from me. I met Bo Bice for the first time on July 8, 2006 (see…almost the 7th…LOL). The Burlington show will be my 25th. So you see, I have a lot to celebrate in the next few days. WHOO-HOO!! Bo is a critical piece of my journey. I give him, the whole experience of being his fan, some credit for helping me see there was more to life than sitting on my sofa eating pizza. If that sounds freaky to you, well I’m sorry. He and the people I’ve met because of him are very, VERY important to me.
This time last year, I blogged and shared a video taken the night before my surgery. I watched it again just now and that woman sitting on the sofa feels further and further away from me which is a little sad. I don’t want to lose her completely. I liked her! She still is me in some ways but in many other ways, she isn’t anymore. That woman sacrificed herself so I could live. She did the right thing and I am grateful to her for making such a brave, inspired decision.
I feel like that woman is counting on me to succeed. And because I care about her, I don’t want to let her down. It’s my job to continue the work she started and that’s my ultimate goal. Here’s to many more years of freedom!
Then and now (click to enlarge):
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