Chronicles of a Late Bloomer

Celebrating: My birthday today! (I was hoping to maintain this week, since it’s my birthday and I’m allowing for some celebrations. Also — I had a very late, sodium-heavy meal last night, so I’m not too ruffled about the slight gain. Stay tuned for next week! Shoot, I might lose 6 ounces of internal organ alone!)

Grateful for: my mom’s birthday gift — that she was willing to take time out of a business trip to come to my apartment and help me tailor and alter my 11 pairs of suits and work pants. I have invested in some nice business clothes over the years — and all of my size 28 trousers are falling off my hips after losing over 60 pounds. The average amount that has been removed from the waistband of these pants, so far, is 5.5″. Someday, I’ll actually buy new clothes, but I’m grateful to her for buying me some time and saving me some cash.

Starting weight: 354.6 pounds
Last week: 292.8
This week: 293.2
Change this week: +0.4
Total change: -61.4
Next milestone: 65 pounds gone

This week’s mantra: Celebrate yourself.

I admit to feeling a little smug when I found out that my referral for an endoscopy was denied. Apparently, the insurance doctors couldn’t find a good cause or medical necessity for the procedure, based on my symptoms.

So, I called my doctor today and badgered him for the results of the CAT scan that I underwent on Monday morning. He wanted to wait for my insurance to reverse the denial of endoscopy coverage before we discussed the results, because he’s convinced that I have indigestion, or an ulcer. However, because I believed that my pain was a result of gall bladder issues and not stomach issues, I felt that the CAT scan would be just as informative as the endoscopy, if not more.

Well, it took some convincing but he finally looked at the results and read them to me over the phone. Indeed, the CAT scan technician had found multiple gall stones, thickening of gall bladder walls, and severely contracted gall bladder, “which would likely account for the patient’s symptoms.” Now I await referral for a surgical consult and will probably never have to deal with this particular GI specialist again.

But, I will have to have surgery.

At least we are finally getting something done. I read this article about listening to your body earlier, and I think it’s a good reminder for us all.

Remember The Belt? I had bought it while living in Israel when I became friends with a leather artisan. I selected the leather strap, the buckle, and the spacing of the holes; he assembled it to my specifications. I hoped that choosing the longest strap available, the sturdiest buckle, and the smallest hole spacing wouldn’t result in a belt that was too small for my girth. But, it was.

Now that I’ve lost some weight, and the Problem of Pants is becoming much more troublesome, I’m working to stitch and alter my clothes until I can afford new ones. Re-enter The Belt. A year and a half ago, I declared the belt as a progress goal — hoping that I could someday buckle it, even just to the first hole. Well, a few weeks ago, feeling utterly frustrated by the Problem of Pants, I pulled the belt out and cinched it up. To my surprise, it not only buckled, it buckled at the fifth hole.

Before picture here.

After:

Because sometimes I need a burger.

This picture is not staged. This plate full of food is what I actually ate for dinner tonight. No, there isn’t a bowl of fries or a milkshake hiding off camera. There is a monstrously big cup of water, though. The carrots and grapes are from my local farmer’s market (the one only 5 blocks from my house), and the burger is fixed just the way I like it — with cheese, extra sauce, hold the onions.

To me, this is a good representation of my current [lack of] eating plan. I call it, loosely, the 80-20 Rule and it’s my most powerful weapon in the battle against perfectionism. Perfectionism has long paralyzed me. The 80-20 rule is, as you may have figured out, a tool to promote permission.

I try, 80% of the time, to eat perfectly. I pass by the cake, pack my lunches, and steam broccoli for dinner. I’m mindful and careful and purposeful 80% of the time.

The other 20% of the time, I try to eat pretty well. I don’t give myself unmonitored free reign at an all-you-can-eat buffet. I just try to act differently than I would have in the past.

In the past, after a day of thinking about and salivating over the idea of a hamburger, I would have driven straight to McDonald’s. I might not have even waited until the end of the day, but taken my binge break at lunch. I wouldn’t have asked if I could afford it or ensured that I had money available. No, I would have gone straight to the nearest drive-thru and ordered not one, not always two, but sometimes three super-sized value meals. I would have eaten them in the car — inhaled them, really. I would have included 3 or 4 desserts in the order, just for good measure. Those would be scarfed with milk — my bingeing beverage of choice.

It’s all just so Freudian.

Now, though, I make those 20% choices pretty good. It does me no good to eschew the burger after craving the burger for 24 hours. By that point, this is not just a passing thing. Nor is it the universe’s representation of evil on earth. It’s just some meat on a bun. Granted, the bun is made of refined white flour, but…

• I check my wallet, and make sure I have cash to pay.
  
• I choose a restaurant that is committed to using fresh ingredients, reasonably similar to what I would eat at home.
  
• Even though the fries are made from actual potatoes, I only order the burger, knowing what potato does to me.
  
• I don’t order two or more burgers. Well, I almost do. The conversation at the menu board goes like this: “I’ll take a cheeseburger with no onions. And… um… okay make that two cheeseburgers with no onions and a… wait. No. Make that one burger. Just one burger, no onions. Awesome.” (The “Awesome.” is my little pep talk to myself.)
  
• I don’t eat it in the car. Rather, I drive home, put it on a plate, and make an actual meal of it. I consider that this meal contains a portion of meat, a carb, and should also include vegetables and/or fruits. That’s what I’m doing these days. I eat veggies. Two meals a day. And tonight I sort of felt like the lettuce and tomato on the burger wasn’t really going to be enough. It wasn’t going to get me all the way to 80-20. So, I sliced carrots.

20% of the time, I cut a smaller piece of pie. I skip the mayo. I double up on salad. 20% of the time, I slice berries into my cereal. A certain measure of freedom is built into most every healthy eating plan. In Weight Watchers, it’s the Points Allowance. I mean, if the expectation is that you are going to be perfectly perfect all the time…

…you will fail.

Celebrating: The return of my WW leader from her 3-week trip to Europe. I am so glad I shopped around and found a leader whose focus is consistently helpful for me and who is a brilliant cognitive-behavioral group therapist without even knowing it.

Grateful for: The power of writing. I’m beginning to think that writing things down is the most important step between dreaming and achieving. Writing things down takes bold daring, courage, and moxie. It invites success into my life.

Starting weight: 354.6 pounds
Last week: 294.2
This week: 292.8
Change this week: -1.4
Total change: -61.8
Next milestone: 65 pounds gone

This week’s mantra: Let the storm blow all around you. If you cannot move forward, drop your anchor and just stay pointed in the right direction.

This summer, I launched a new initiative to “be a grown-up now.” It’s been a very empowering process — defining my core values, setting long-term goals, and projecting markers and milestones along the path toward achievement. I’ve committed to taking more personal responsibility. I’ve, in a sense, gotten my butt in gear.

One of the overarching goals is called, ubiquitously, Health. Naturally, losing weight falls under this category (exit 60 pounds, stage left). Another part of my accountability for health issues is to build a good relationship with a doctor, to receive checkups routinely, and to actively seek treatment when I am unwell.

This seems like an obvious life skill — GO TO THE DOCTOR — but like so many overweight women, I have studiously avoided doctors for years and years and years. It seemed that no matter what my complaint, The Doctor could twist and turn it around so that it was caused by my morbid obesity. Now, I know that obesity is not conducive to health, generally. However, I had a hard time believing that every single ache and pain would magically disappear if I were to lose weight. Infrequently, I would actually see thin people sitting in the waiting room of the doctors’ office. Sometimes, on TV and in the movies, thin people even DIED. Imagine that!

The straw that broke it was when I sought treatment in my early 20’s for a severely sprained finger. I had jammed it while playing a friendly game of volleyball and, although I was sure that the doctor couldn’t find a way to pin a sprained finger on my 100+ pounds of excess weight. I was wrong.

“Well, if you were in better shape, you wouldn’t have gotten injured.”

That’s about when I stopped going to the doctor.

So, deciding to seek medical treatment for my episodes of abdominal pain (ridiculously, this decision was only made after the pain became so intense that I resigned myself to the emergency room) is a big step for me. I know that I am hypersensitive about my body in every way — both offhanded and clinically-neutral commentary triggers major emotions in me — so I am trying to give the doctors the benefit of the doubt.

That said, this whole process of diagnosis is really taxing me. I want answers. I am afraid that there won’t be any and I’ll just be another pathetic, fat hypochondriac. I’m worried that, at the end of the day, all I’ll have for my troubles is a pat on the head and a slap on the back and an admonition to “just lose weight.”

I find some of the doctors’ comments utterly trivializing — as though I might seek medical assistance for a hangnail or a bad case of the hiccups. “Take this acid-blocker” is a popular piece of advice in this process of diagnosing abdominal pain. Now, I understand rationally that this is not an emotionally-loaded piece of counsel. Nonetheless, it has sent me into near-tears all three of the times that I’ve heard it. “Take an acid-blocker” is probably not meant to be dismissive, but it feels that way. As though I might go to the emergency room for a case of indigestion. As though I could confuse mere heartburn for a true medical concern. As though I were a whiny crybaby who imagined symptoms in order to get attention.

As though I hadn’t lain on the floor of my office, writhing in pain so unbelievable that I couldn’t form words or take a full breath for almost 45 minutes before seeking help. As though I hadn’t soaked through all of my clothes and lain in a puddle of my own sweat. As though all I needed was a Tylenol and a warm blanket (the remedy offered to me by the hospital). As though I didn’t know my body, my own ridicusly-high pain tolerance, and my history well enough to formulate the following opinion: SOMETHING’S WRONG.

To be fair, my Primary Care Physician took me a lot more seriously after she saw my lab results. When my liver counts came back in the high 300’s (the “normal” range caps out at the mid-teens), it was though she had pulled cotton from her ears and could actually hear me. I no longer felt dismissed by her. She shared my concern, and she sought out a specialist.

Did the specialist actually roll his eyes during my appointment with him yesterday? I’m not sure, but it sure felt like he did. Again — I’m happy to take ownership of my hypersensitivity on this one. Hell, I’ll even agree that I might have an acid problem. But, I won’t take your daily acid-blocking pill until you give me a more thorough work-up and put me through some damn tests.

And so, as soon as they’re approved by my insurance, I’ll be getting more bloodwork done, a CAT scan, and an upper endoscopy. Add this to the 4 rounds of bloodwork I’ve already had, two pelvic and one abdominal ultrasound, and three episodes of pain so intense that I (and the people who saw me) thought I might die, and then let’s talk. If you still don’t know what’s wrong with me, we might get around to taking acid-blocking shots in the dark. We can resign to taking medications on the hope that they might hopefully someday avoid another pain episode. Maybe. If you’re lucky. I guess. [Fatso.]

But, until then, please look past my shape and size and try to take me seriously. I promise to handle the hangnails and heartburn at home, but I need you to help me puzzle through my liver, pancreas, gallbladder and spleen.

My ex-boyfriend has been indispensable in counteracting my blindness throughout this process. Although I’ve lost 60 pounds — and although I’m aware that 60 pounds must come from somewhere! — it’s been hard for me to accept that I am making any visible progress toward health. As I mentioned before, all of my same rolls and lumps and bumps are still intact and, while they are smaller, I do so look forward to the day when I no longer sport a tiered belly. A layered belly cake with raspberry filling. Mmmmmm.

Last night, as we perched on the edge of my bed, my ex quietly absorbed the reality of my “new” arm shape. He said, kindly stroking his fingers along the fleshy parts, “It’s coming off nicely, isn’t it?” I had to laugh, because the phrase struck me as sweet and a little strange. Like something you might hear from a plumber, or a barber. I wish I could see it the way he does. Yes, the scale blows mathematical sunshine up my bum at 5-pound intervals, but the visible evidence of change is so slight and so slow.

“You don’t spread out right here the way you used to,” he muses, pointing to a certain spot on my hips when we relax on the bed. His words are drenched with true affection and care, so it’s hard to feel any sting in them. He assures me that my back, arms, hips, and even knees look slimmer than they ever have. I had to point out to him, with a sigh, that so do my boobs. He just smiled his genuine smile and said, “But isn’t it kind of exciting? You’re getting a whole new body!”

This alternate perspective means a lot to me, as I still have over 100 pounds to lose. It’s a little bit surreal I have resigned myself to being so big for so long. But, as I tune into the little signs of change — the arm-shaped arms and the emerging ankles — I hope to better acknowledge the non-scale victories just as much as I enjoy pushing toward that 5-pound mark every week.

Celebrating: 60 pounds gone!

Grateful for: Having this place to express and sort through my feelings. It helps me refocus on what’s important. Also grateful for the people whose insightful comments challenge me.

Starting weight: 354.6 pounds
Last week: 301.2
This week: 294.2
Change this week: -7.0
Total change: -60.4
Next milestone: 65 pounds gone

This week’s mantra: Stay calm and focus on smaller goals.

Celebrating: Crossing into the 200’s! Defeating the troll under the 300-pound bridge! Achieving my end-of-the-year goal! Call it what you will, I’m under 300 pounds!

Grateful for: I had really wanted to take a picture of my purple toesies framing the 299.8 point. However, I must have hit that point somewhere around Wednesday night after spending all afternoon and evening in the emergency room. Wednesday, I had another pain crisis which resulted in a 7-pound drop only 30 hours later. My doctors seem to think I have stomach acid problems, which leads to such debilitating abdominal pain that I am rendered immobile, speechless, breathless, and lying in a pool of my own sweat on the carpeted floor of my office. I just don’t understand how severe indigestion could be making me lose this weight. I’m sticking with my ovarian cyst theory until proven otherwise. (Note: I don’t “bounce back” from these dramatic weight losses, as though they were pure water weight or some other scale game. No, I lose the outrageous amount of weight in the 2 days following the pain crisis and it never comes back. All I can figure is that a combination of eating right, exercising, and battling the huge, fluid-filled aliens living deep in my torso has spurred me to these current numbers.)

Starting weight: 354.6 pounds
Last week: 300.4
This week: 296.8
Change this week: -3.6
Total change: -57.8
Next milestone: 60 pounds gone

This week’s mantra: Be grateful. Be grateful. Be grateful.

Celebrating: Crossing over from BMI’s “Severly Obese” into just “Obese.” Yay!

Grateful for: I wrote earlier about an increase in [otherwise healthy] carbs and my trepidation over weight fluctuations this week. Well, the mystery seems to have been solved when I experienced another ovarian cyst rupture yesterday at work. Thankfully, this one was only about half as severe and debilitating as the one linked above, and that is what I’m grateful for this week — that I was able to ride it out with my office door locked, get home safely, and rest. (And, heck. Maybe once my body re-absorbs the rest of the cyst fluid, I will have crossed into the two-hundreds!)

Starting weight: 354.6 pounds
Last week: 301.6
This week: 300.4
Change this week: -0.8
Total change: -54.2
Next milestone: 55 pounds gone

This week’s mantra: I’m too close to ease up! TIME TO CROSS 300!