Chronicles of a Late Bloomer

My favorite brother was in town this weekend to help me work on a video project. Naturally, I tried to stay with my “mostly right” line of food choices and accepted the fact that entertaining my brother would likely result in a small gain on the scale.

So, you can imagine my surprise when, on Saturday — a mere halfway through his visit — I stepped up and found that I had gained over 8 pounds. I was all the way up to 325.8, in spite of being “mostly” on track. Ouch.

The double (quintuple) ouch came Sunday afternoon, about 2 hours after I took him to the airport and said goodbye. My ex-boyfriend was over and we had a nice healthy salad lunch at our favorite cafe. Then, as we settled onto the couch, I said, “Man, my tummy hurts. Maybe I ate too much salad.”

Well, the pain gradually worsened until I doubled over, held my stomach, groaned, and said, “Maybe food poisoning?”

Of course, I hadn’t eaten tomatoes or jalapenos at lunch, and the pain just kept coming. I broke into a sweat that quickly soaked through my hair and clothing and made it look like I had just sprung, fully-clothed, from a refreshing shower. It didn’t take long for me to soak the couch and render it unusable, while I writhed and moaned in pain. The ex, while sweet and very helpful, was obviously freaking out. I’d seen the look before — the “trying to be supportive but scared out of his mind” look. The last time I saw it, I was already on my way to the emergency room.

I knew exactly what was happening — and going to the emergency room wouldn’t help. It was an ovarian cyst rupture, and there was nothing to do but wait it out. Ex-boyfriend stood over me, fanning me with a hand towel and alternating telling me funny stories with giving words of gentle support.

Then, as I knew from previous experience that it would, the pain suddenly subsided. It took about 20 minutes to go from a 10 down to a 7, which is apparently the pain level where I still hurt, but not so much that I’m incapable of crying. The tears came, then, in a great flood, adding to the soaked-through sweat of everything. It was over.

Now, two days later, my weight is back down under 320. I can’t help but attribute the killer gain and loss to whatever monster ovarian cyst chose to squat in my innards and then, finding the accommodations inadequate, blew out of there like a tumorous Hindenberg. We’ll see how this week’s weigh-in goes, but I have a feeling that all will be right with the world again.

Celebrating: No trip to the emergency room this week.

Grateful for: The sheer luck of not being alone when my innards erupted.

Starting weight: 354.6 pounds
Last week: 318.2
This week: 325.8
Change this week: +8.6
Total change: -28.8
Next milestone: complete recovery from medical trauma.

This week’s mantra: Next time, bring more towels.