Leave it to Vickie to smell trouble before I do.
I think the general attitude was that because I was still weighing in every week, I was doing fine. Sure, I’d have a “good week” and then a “bad week” and then a “good week”… but, still. Overall, I was on track. After all — Kaizen, right?
Then last week I caught myself eating more than I normally would. Look, it wasn’t anywhere NEAR a binge. Just, sort of, an acknowledgement that I was eating without asking if I was hungry or not. It was a realization that I had been eating fewer vegetables, overall. A complicating of my food choices — steps away from the simplifying that I had adopted in recent months. I was very stressed by some developments at work, some circumstances with my family, and a complication of my love life. In the end, it grew to be just a little bit too much.
But, the fact is that I have been stalled out at the same basic weight ever since I found out I would have to undergo surgery. I thought I’d be able to recover from it fairly well, but then my surgery was complicated by a surgeon’s error and I ended up hospitalized for a couple of weeks.
During those weeks, I lost about 25 pounds, but expected to gain most of it back. I did. And I have been stuck ever since.
What’s ironic about this is that I think I know what is going on. I mean, for Pete’s sake, I’m a therapist who works in a hospital. Every day, I operate under the basic assumption that major illness, surgeries, and hospitalizations are potentially traumatic. And yet, I have not been able to process the emotional impact of these medical mishaps in my own life.
When I went under anesthesia for a follow-up procedure on New Year’s Eve, I was forced to realized how much all of this has impacted me, psychologically. As I was beginning to rouse from the anesthesia, the nurses had to hold me down a little bit and insist that I calm down. I wasn’t upset, per se. But, I was trying to speak too early — around the oxygen tubes and happy gas — and the result was a lot of straining and writhing and upset. I couldn’t help it — as soon as I was even remotely conscious, I had to know. “Do I get to go home this time? Do I get to go home?”
“Well, not until you fully wake up and get dressed, lady. CALM DOWN!” they insisted.
I didn’t want to go home right that minute. I just needed reassurance that all had gone as planned and I was going to get to go home at all. The anxiety leading up to this second procedure was unbelievably intense. For the first time, I had to entertain the idea that everything might not turn out fine. I mean, in general, I try to live my life on the assumption that all is well. All is good. Worry is needless.
Increased anxiety is only part of the traumatization that has occurred. And, yes. I’ve been able to maintain my weight loss so far, but I haven’t been able to progress.
I’m not really sure how to end this posting, except to say this: “Well, at least now it’s out there.” Good night.