The "Easy" Way Out?

My weight loss surgery was was almost 27 months ago. Most days, I feel absolutely great. I don't really have many food intolerances as long as I stick to moderation as my guide. Every once in a great while, for some reason unknown to me, food gets "stuck" in my stoma (the opening between my pouch and my small intestine). The result is that I have a great deal of pain just beneath my breast bone...it feels like something is cutting me from the inside out. And then the foaming starts...and eventually, if I'm lucky, the puking will start to get rid of whatever is stuck. On rare occasion, taking papaya enzyme will help it pass through without vomiting. But, as was the case yesterday, no dice. The episode lasted a full hour yesterday. I have only had one that was worse, about a year ago...and that resulted in having an endoscopy to make sure everything was ok with my pouch (which it was).

For me, this kind of vomiting is really forceful and violent...it feels like I will actually purge my pouch itself. And it leaves my eyes with broken capillaries all around. So, for anyone who thinks that weight loss surgery is the "easy" way out, think again. I have it pretty good...this happens very rarely for me these days. For some, it's more often. Even with this as occasional disturbance, my gastric bypass surgery was still the right choice for me. This is what my eyes look like the day after. Blech.

Third 5K Done

Yesterday was the worst race I've ever run...for so many reasons. When I woke up yesterday morning, I felt really shaky...like blood sugar issues shaky. I hadn't ever felt like that pre-race. Having consumed more than normal amounts of carbs the night before, I suspect I was having aftereffects of late dumping. I strayed from my normal routine pre-race as well. I had my coffee like I always do, but I had a high protein breakfast of some turkey jerky and then, for carbs, a banana. I had two FRS chews just before the race as well as a 20 oz. bottle of water because the jerky was so salty. I felt parched. My optimism had been high...I had great hopes for completing the race in my best time ever...under 30 minutes. I even aspired to make 28:30. I had a goal. I've never set one that was quite that specific for myself in a race...just wanted to finish and be faster than the time before.

It was a beautiful fall morning...very cool and crisp and brilliant blue sky. I was mentally optimistic, but physically feeling really off. At the start, I took off in a sprint. And within the first mile I had to start walking. I felt blood in my throat from coughing/wheezing. With the the colder weather, it probably would have been wise to use my inhaler that morning, but I didn't think of it. And so, my airways did not respond well at all. Next, the abdominal cramping started. I kept trying to run, and did complete the first mile in under 10 minutes. But by mile 2, that abdominal cramping turned into something I knew would be really bad. I needed to find a rock or tree to escape behind, or a bathroom desperately or there was going to be a really horrifying incident for me. I scoped out all of the houses as I ran, looking for someone outside (it was after all, only after 9 a.m. on a Saturday morning). Finally, there was a woman who had been out in her yard headed back inside. I ran over to her (after Martha passed me on the route, asking if I was okay and I said no, but I didn't need help but I did need a bathroom, to keep on going). In the most pleading voice and face I had, I asked if I might use her restroom as my stomach was not cooperating with me during this race. She skeptically looked me over, apparently decided I was harmless and indeed in trouble, and said "let me get my husband out of there." And so, I polluted some poor strangers' bathroom in the lovely town of Rowley. Thank heavens for Febreze. I thanked them profusely and they graciously said not to worry, they had a daughter who was a runner and so they understood. And then, I was on my way.

Within 1 minute of being back on the race route though, I was uncertain I would complete the entire race without yet another stop (or accident in lieu of a stop). But yes, I did indeed finish the race. I had my worst time ever: 38 minutes 10 seconds. But, I did indeed finish. Yesterday I felt so physically awful (I wheezed for the rest of the day even with inhaler use, and my stomach is still not quite right today), that I told myself I was never going to run another race. I was done.

Today, I feel a little better...and I decided to write a little about it. And after talking to Martha this morning, who by the way completed the race in her best time yet--woo hoo Martha!!!--well, we have two more this year to complete to be 2009 Road Race Series Finishers. That was our goal, and we will make it. I'm not sure it could get worse for me than it was yesterday anyway...well it probably could, but I'm not going there.

As for yesterday, I can literally say "shit happens." It does...and then you move on.

Monday, Monday

*sigh* So where do I even begin? It's been almost a month since the last time I wrote. I think there's been so much swirling about in my head and in my life that I've just been unable to put it all into words.

My third 5K is coming up this Saturday. Martha and I will run it together and then, in October, we'll run the Witch City 5K. My dear friend Melissa will be visiting from Iowa at that time, and she will be running it with us as well. One thing that I would have never anticipated being a benefit of having WLS is meeting so many other truly awesome people who understand the kinds of struggles I've had with food, weight, body and self-esteem issues. I met Melissa through the RNY board on OH. Melissa has inspired me since I was a pre-op and it was from her that I got the idea to take monthly pictures of my weight loss progress. Over the past few years, we've gotten to be very close, and we struggle in some very similar ways with eating properly, exercise, how much we eat, being people pleasers, etc. I have the distinct advantage of being older though and so, I have more wherewithall to let go of the people-pleasing stuff. But hey, with me coaching her she'll learn. ;-)

Zachary and I took a vacation out to Iowa to visit with Melissa and her husband. We spent several wonderful days relaxing, talking, laughing and just generally enjoying our time together. We have similar issues with reactive hypoglycemia post-op and though she says she has bad gas issues, I far surpass her in this area...I know, something you all wanted to know. For the record? I was just as bad pre-op...surgery did nothing to make me worse.

I've been dating here and there, but I think I'm going to take a good break from it for a while. I don't really care for setting myself up to be hurt, and I don't really like feeling like I'm hurting others when I'm not interested...and so, a break it is. Besides, my mind has really been rather preoccupied with thoughts and feelings for someone. Until I can really get my head and heart around that, I'll just continue to compare everyone else to him and they'll fall short. I've thought about both how lonely it is to be alone/without a partner, and also how glad I am at times that I have no one else I'm responsible/accountable to. What a double-edged sword.

It's a Monday, and there's been a lot of sadness/heavy heartedness/worry at work. A coworker lost his mom over the weekend...he'd already lost his dad. So at a pretty tender age (he's still under 30) he's been orphaned. It makes me sad...I was young, but he is even younger. Add to that a very close coworker (and friend) of mine has a aneurysm. Hopefully he'll be fine but I'm definitely thinking about him and worrying.

Add to that family stuff that just makes me nutty, school starting (and I can't believe I have a child in third grade already...where did the time go???) and well, I just really feel like the Earth is spinning way too fast and my life with it.

I'm struggling with about 7 lbs. that I'd really like to get off to be back where I'd like between 118 and 120. My clothes all still fit, but it's irritating to me. Staying on track is hard...exercising the majority of the week is hard. I still log my food every day...even when I haven't eaten as I should. In an ideal day, I consume about 1600 calories, 45 to 60 g of fat, between 180 and 220 g of carbs, 40 to 50 g of fiber and between 110 and 120 g of protein. Additionally, I drink between 100 and 120 oz. water daily (typically...sometimes it's more). I seem able to stick to this for 2 or 3 days at a time...and then I have some kind of transgression. I'm trying to do better in terms of the things I eat during the transgressions and at least keeping them protein focused. The resulting blood sugar drops from less protein-dense choices aren't worth it. I think that part is finally getting through to me.

I watch diet ads and fads and was thinking this morning that it's really kind of weird to not be looking for a "diet" to lose weight with. That I know all I really need to do is stay focused on eating properly. There will never be another "diet" (I thought this as I was watching some infomercial for something called Slim 6 I think). It was the first time I really had that realization. Diets are done for me. This is just how I live...eating the RIGHT way. But that is hard. It sounds so simple, and it is...but it isn't easy. And I wonder if worrying about these 7 lbs. is really worth the agonizing I'm doing...but I'm afraid that if I say "eh, it's just 7 lbs." that it will become 10, then 15, and then 20...and I simply cannot go there.

I think I need to resume setting goals for myself weekly, monthly, or whatever...and one of them needs to be to have a daily meditation practice. I bet it would help "slow down" the spinning that feels so out of control sometimes.

The Wearying Journey…Some Days

I’ve been plagued with nightmares for as long as I can remember (way, way back to early childhood). They seem to be somewhat cyclical in terms of when they come. I’ll go for several weeks without any and then, I’ll hit a patch of a few weeks where they are every night, sometimes several in a night. Last night’s dream was a doozy. I’ve shared it with my brother and with three very close friends who were happy to offer their ears and support (thank you Andy, Laura, Dave and Martha). The details are not as complete here as I remember the dream…it would simply be too much to write it all out. Consider my memory of it to be about as complete as a written screen play, complete with costume direction, movement direction, etc. I can remember just about all of it in great detail. I’m a little nervous, I admit, about letting people who don’t know me in person into the psyche of my dreams, but well, the writing that will follow the dream may make more sense if you read all the meat of the dream first. I dream frequently about my mom…and they are sadly never pleasant dreams.

The Dream:
I dreamed that my mom told me to get out (of the house) the day before Thanksgiving. Family friends from NYC picked me up, we drove down to NYC and so I spent a couple of hours with them. Then they dropped me off at the bus terminal. I was there at the terminal trying to figure out how to get back to Boston. I had my cell phone and a credit card on me and nothing else. There was a bullet train that would get me to Boston fastest. In the line in which I was standing to purchase my ticket was this wretched adult daughter talking horribly to her father. She was really being a horribly selfish and hateful person to him, and he was being nothing but kind. I finally decked her because I couldn’t stand it anymore. That of course landed her on her ass, all the while people agreeing (including her father) that she had it coming to her. She got up, I apologized to her for my actions and she said she was fine, but wanted me fined. So the train place was going to fine me $250. I was trying desperately to find someone in authority to speak to about this fine and how it could be argued/fought. Somehow, I managed to get some street heroin and I was all prepared to actually shoot it up. Don't ask, I have NO friggin' clue how this got in my dream...I have never purchase or done or even seen heroin. I get on the train, worried I'll get caught with the drugs. There are two trains. I almost miss the first one I'm supposed to take which takes me to the second bullet fast one. But I do somehow make it to the second train. On the second train is an old friend (but someone I am no longer friends with) with whom I chat, as well as (of all people) Steve Martin. Yes, Steve Martin. And he’s not being goofy but rather being a very serious and upstanding person. I explain to them both all that has transpired with being thrown out of the house, the woman I hit, the fines, etc. I also explain that I have this heroin on me. Steve was actually admonishing me from using the heroin, telling me that if I bought it off the street from someone I didn't know, well, I was basically looking at junk and I'd probably end up dead. With all certainty now I know I must get rid of this stuff without letting any of it get into my (or anyone else's) body. So we're trying to find an open window to chuck it out of on this bullet fast train concerned that some kid in the general population will get their hands on it. I end up getting to Boston and I miss my commuter train to Salem by 10 seconds (I can see it pulling away). It is the night before Thanksgiving and the next train isn't for 3 hours. It was the 8 p.m. train I missed. Next one isn’t until 11 p.m. Trying to figure out the train schedule is impossible, they have all these kiosks that have touch screens to walk you through where you’re going, time of day, etc. At one point, all of them are broken or useless or in some language I can’t switch to English from despite pressing the language touch part of the screen many times. I get French, Spanish, Portuguese. No English. There's a train leaving sooner (a special) but the doors are closed. It's packed. A man tries to jump into this (moving) train through an open window and launches himself so hard we're all convinced that he has shot himself out the OTHER window on the other side of the train. And we’re quite certain he’s probably dead from being hit by another train on the track on the other side of the train he tried to get on. The father of the woman I hit shows up. He’s with his wife and other two daughters…the snotty daughter is nowhere to be found. He now looks like Al Roker when he was obese (he was a slim, white, older businessman earlier in the dream). He hands me his dry cleaning ticket asking me to pick up his stuff tomorrow (makes no sense, I know), says he has no money to pay for it and no account, so I should ask them to send him a bill. I'm wondering where I'm going to go when I get back to Salem. I can’t go to mom's obviously, which is where Andy (my brother) and Elizabeth (my sister-in-law) will be. But I call my brother and ask if he’ll pick me up in Salem. He says of course he will, he’d be happy to and it doesn't matter what time it is that I get in. I'm hoping I will figure out where to go from there, but I'm adamant about not seeing mom on Thanksgiving after this crap she pulled, and my brother understands completely.

That is the story of the dream. I’ve been in a therapy a really, really long time...the past 29+ years. I spent two of those years inpatient. I work very hard to accept and move on. And then I have dreams like this that make me wonder what I have worked so hard for. It was 6:15 this morning when I got up and thought “I am emotionally exhausted already.” These dreams leave me in quite a funk. Thankfully, talking about them/writing about them has actually helped distance myself a bit from that funk of feelings and see them a little more clearly.

But honestly, there are days when I wonder if this journey is worth it. No, I’d never give up my life…I’m way, way beyond that. But when I work this hard in therapy, on myself, to process things, do the right thing, accept, forgive, grow stronger, and then the events in my life cause an overwhelming sense of rejection, abandonment, unworthiness, lostness, anger, well, it makes me wonder if I’ve really made the progress I think I have. My brother, trying so hard to assure me he’s not meaning to sound cliché but wants me to know that in comparison to 20 years ago, I’ve come a long way baby. And you know what the bright spot of this dream was (yup, there really was one)? That in this dream, my brother was there for me. He understood. He would pick me up, regardless of the time. He was there for me. I don’t know…maybe I’m not so alone after all…

Another One Down

Martha and I completed our second 5K in the North Shore YMCA 2009 Road Race Series. We have three more to complete to be considered series finishers, and we will do that. It was a challenging run for me. I had some very unexpected oral surgery on Tuesday, including two extractions (one of a wisdom tooth) that left me with a baseball stitch to hold the edges of the gum with a little bit of tension over the big gap left. But, that stitch loosened up pretty well today.

The run went fine...until the last half mile or so and then my gum and jaw was kind of throbbing. I was really glad to finish...and actually cut 2.5 minutes off my time. YEAH! I think the last race I ran, with the sinus issue and pain medication, it really slowed me down. I made sure I had only taken Tylenol in the past 24 hours before the race this time. So, despite the discomfort, I still came out faster than last time.

I'm having a really difficult time though viewing pictures of my body. Thankfully, at least one of the pictures shows the muscle definition of my thigh. If not for that, I'd feel like I was looking at a porker picture of myself. I feel like I look really chubby and fat...and it's very, very disconcerting. I'm not even sure what to do about it, to be honest. I guess that will be a topic for discussion in therapy. *sigh*

Anyway, here's the pic of my awesome thigh muscles...and of me and Martha after we finished the race. :) She's my running buddy and co-conspirator.

Two-Year Follow-Up Appointments

Today I had appointments with both Heart and Wellness and Dr. B. I also just returned from my first ever vacation without my child since he was born. For three days (and part of a fourth due to flight cancellations and delays), I was responsible for no one but myself. I think I remarked on this many times Friday night while we were sitting around talking. Even if Zachary were to become sick, I'd not be the person to call to do something about it because I was two airplane flights away in Texas.

I went to San Antonio to visit with some truly fantastic friends I've made as a result of the past two years since my weight loss surgery. I'd have never met these folks if I hadn't had gastric bypass surgery. We went tubing on Saturday in the Texas heat and sunshine and had an absolutely fantastic time, eating, drinking, and relaxing. Can you see where I'm going with this? Me, the person who still food journals every day, who still weighs and measures her portions, who exercises three to four times per week, let all that go for a few days. And let it go I did, believe me. I didn't eat or drink anything that made me feel sick (well, unless you count the very bready sandwich I had on the flight home that resulted in a horribly low blood sugar episode just as we were about to deplane in Boston...I was glad for the glucose tabs I had on-hand).

I did not weigh or measure anything this entire weekend...including my body. But oh could I feel it. The resulting bloat left my pants and shorts feeling snug and my tummy feeling pretty bloated as well. The scale this morning was not at all kind to me...but I earned that. I know it's a result of the choices I made. Part of me contemplated rescheduling my appointments with Heart and Wellness and Dr. B. I felt ashamed and embarrassed that my weight would be up and that is the number they would have recorded for me at two years post-op. Not necessarily an accurate number of where I am typically, but rather where I am pursuant to a three-day free-for-all with food and drink. I kept my appointment...I made my disclaimers. And today, I ate on plan; tomorrow, I will return to the gym.

This was my vacation. I didn't make horrible food choices really...I just probably consumed more than I should. There was more grazing than there should be. I don't usually graze at all. In talking to Dr. Benedetto today while I was waiting for my Dr. B, we chatted about how this is "normal"...people go on vacation...and if they eat or drink too much, they know they have a few lbs. to take off when they return home. It's not end of the world stuff. And strangely enough, I have some mild anxiety about losing the lbs. I put on, but I'm not at all feeling panicked. My pants and shorts will once again fit well. The bloat will be gone and my muscle definition will show better again. And overall, I'll feel better physically as a result of consistent good eating choices.

Overall, Heart and Wellness and Dr. B. were both happy with where I am…probably happier with me than I am. For me, I'm going to continue to stay on track now and take their satisfaction with where I am as being an indication that really, I am ok. Maybe I am even better than ok. I'm adjusting to life post-obesity. There will be (and have been) a mess of firsts...boyfriends, dating, intimacy, 5Ks, vacations. I will just keep doing my best to plow through them and keep my chin up.

Two Years...And Counting!

Two years ago today, I had RNY gastric bypass surgery at NSMC with Dr. Buckley. It's really hard to believe it's already been two years. But what is even harder for me to believe is that I have essentially maintained my weight loss for almost a full year. I honestly have no idea when the last time was I could claim that. Maybe never.

You see, I've lost weight many, many times in my life. Losing wasn't so much the issue, but maintaining that loss has been. I'm still afraid. And if I am going to be honest, I worry that in 3 years, 5 years, 10 years, I won't have stayed here. It scares the crap out of me because I don't ever want to go back there again. It took all the courage I could muster to have my surgical consult with Dr. B and consider weight loss surgery. The questions that went through my mind were "what if this is no different then every other means I've tried to lose weight?" "What if I lose all the weight yet again, but I can't keep it off...just like every other time...I can't go through that heartbreak again." And that is truly what it was...heartbreak.

I did all the "right" things before having weight loss surgery to lose weight. I ate properly, I exercised regularly and at the right intensity, and I was in counseling to deal with the emotional aspects. I lost the weight. And I subsequently regained it, too. It was like there was this switch in my head that would just one day, after many months of carrying on just fine, flip, and I'd no longer be able to control the eating, no longer have the gumption to kick my butt into gear to go to the gym. It took a lot of heartache to get to a point where weight loss surgery was even something I would consider in my mind...let alone pursue.

I have no regrets about my surgery. I actually never have. I didn't go through buyer's remorse. I didn't grieve the loss of food because in my opinion, I didn't lose anything...I can still have whatever I want, but the quantity and frequency has changed. If I overindulge, which I sometimes do, my body reminds me how awful that feels and reinforces how much better I feel when I eat the way I should on a regular basis.

I think I'll probably always wage this battle with food. But it is my great hope (and expectation) that as more time passes, my relationship with food will become more and more healthy (note I did NOT say normal...we are an obese nation primarily...the "norm" is not healthy). Check out the American Heart Association's Overweight and Obesity -- Statistics document. I'll take my altered anatomy and be abnormal, thank you. :) For many more years to come, I expect. :-)