After all that has gone on, where am I at?
Honestly...and I am going to be honest here...
I weighed myself today and I'm 226. My lowest ever was 188 and I was hanging around 192-195 for the first 6 months of 2013. I have 1 pair of work pants that I can get on, but they're so tight that I'm uncomfortable by the end of the day. I have 2 pair of jeans that fit me. I have 5 or 6 shirts that fit for wearing out. But mostly I wear yoga pants and old YMCA t-shirts.
I developed planter fascitis in my left foot. So running...nope. Walking...nope. Some days, by the end of the day I can barely walk on it. I'm trying to use the store bought inserts and being aware of my foot ware and doing the exercises I found on the net. The gym has been non existent.
Eating. Sigh. I am full out sugar addicted again. FULL OUT. Pete has done so well with his weight loss and is hovering at 162-167 with a really fast metabolism. He makes cookies about twice a week and keeps them on the counter. I try not to indulge and honestly he would stop if I asked, but I don't want my stuff to impact him. I try to have a green salad with lots of veggies and some protein in the form of hard boiled egg, cheese or tuna on it for lunch every day. So that's on target. But I'm not hungry for breakfast since I'm not at the gym and I struggle with what to eat. Dinner I'm pretty good also. It's the snacking. Licorice, cookies, cake, PB cups...snacking.
I still have days where I question the choices I made. There is a huge movement that says that doctors are 'pushing' mastectomies for people like me, when they're not really needed. The instance of cancer deaths is down, but there is testing that shows that the type of pre-cancer that I had, doesn't often turn into full blown breast cancer. The difference for me, is that I had the family history and the 60% chance of it actually going to cancer. Sometimes it's hard to look past the what ifs and just be at peace with my decision. The choices that I made had such an impact on so many aspects of my life and impacted Pete too. And I need to stress that he is supportive of whatever choice I wanted to make, but that's not to say that there were some negatives that came with it.
I'm so freaking frustrated with myself! My body image is bad again. I don't want to shop for clothes, that's why I haven't bought very much bigger things. Shopping isn't fun. In fact, I've walked in several stores, only to walk back out again because I don't have the mental fortitude to dig in and start trying on clothes. Not only have I gained weight, but my shape has changed again. I realize how small my hips had gotten when I lost weight. They're back to being big and it makes finding clothes really really hard (crying while writing this and thinking about it).
I've come to realize that what worked for me before in losing weight, isn't going to work now. And I'm pissed off that I have to figure out a new plan. Pissed. But sitting here and bitching about the whole thing isn't going to change it, is it? I need to figure out that plan. Soon.
Showing posts with label Pete. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pete. Show all posts
Friday, May 09, 2014
Thursday, March 13, 2014
Oh hey, Hi.
I won't bore you with the details, but the man cold jumped ship to the wife. So I've been spending my mornings trying to furiously work for a few hours so that I can spend my afternoons coughing up a lung while trying to nap. Oh, and binge watching Grey's Anatomy via Netflix.
None of this has to do with losing weight, eating better or anything. Other than all I want to do is drink ginger ale because the carbonation seems to soothe my sore throat. I can't walk up the stairs without huffing, puffing and depositing my lung on the fifth stair. And my idea of working out is how my abs tighten when I cough.
So, the gym is a no go currently.
And healthy eating? Well lets just say that cooking has been Pete's job. And Monday night he served up "Hotdog and Baked Bean Lasagna with Pepper Jack Cheese and Spicy BBQ Sauce.
Why are you laughing? I'm dead serious. He sandwiched all that in between lasagna noodles. He was proud and I ate it. 2 nights in a row.
Yesterday seemed to be a corner in the illness front. My chest loosened up and it's not a dry hacking cough, it's productive (as my doctor says). And my head seems to be decongesting as well, as evidenced by the amount of lotion tissues I've used this morning.
And I actually don't mind "cooking" because I took out 1/2 pound of lean ground lamb that I'm going to mix with i diced potato, a couple of carrots, some peas and stock to make a shepard (but not Derek Shepard. See what I did there?) pie, minus the mashed tators on top. Or maybe I'll use the sweet potato in the mixture and microwave the white potato and make fast mashed tators for Pete...
Anyway, I hope to be back at it by Monday.
None of this has to do with losing weight, eating better or anything. Other than all I want to do is drink ginger ale because the carbonation seems to soothe my sore throat. I can't walk up the stairs without huffing, puffing and depositing my lung on the fifth stair. And my idea of working out is how my abs tighten when I cough.
So, the gym is a no go currently.
And healthy eating? Well lets just say that cooking has been Pete's job. And Monday night he served up "Hotdog and Baked Bean Lasagna with Pepper Jack Cheese and Spicy BBQ Sauce.
Why are you laughing? I'm dead serious. He sandwiched all that in between lasagna noodles. He was proud and I ate it. 2 nights in a row.
Yesterday seemed to be a corner in the illness front. My chest loosened up and it's not a dry hacking cough, it's productive (as my doctor says). And my head seems to be decongesting as well, as evidenced by the amount of lotion tissues I've used this morning.
And I actually don't mind "cooking" because I took out 1/2 pound of lean ground lamb that I'm going to mix with i diced potato, a couple of carrots, some peas and stock to make a shepard (but not Derek Shepard. See what I did there?) pie, minus the mashed tators on top. Or maybe I'll use the sweet potato in the mixture and microwave the white potato and make fast mashed tators for Pete...
Anyway, I hope to be back at it by Monday.
Monday, December 09, 2013
Admissions and Limitations
Saturday was spent hibernating in the deep freeze of Minnesota. Love the cold wintery weather with snow. But high temps that never get above zero? Um no thanks.
So between laundry, crochet, baking, House of Cards in Netflix and my snugly puppy, I never left the house. In return, there was a list of other things that I should have done. I just didn't.
At times, I think I have bounds of energy and I tackle that to do list in the spirit of an athlete. Friday, I shopped...for 7 hours. Grocery, clothes, crafts and Christmas. Ran home, helped Pete cook dinner and was in bed by 10pm. I had a similar, if yet indoors, list for Saturday. But I did none of it. Not because I didn't want to, but because I had no energy or motivation to do it.
About 1pm, I took a shower so I could feel clean and change into clean PJs (really just one of Pete's old long sleeved shirts and flannel pants). But in the shower I thought about how much I wanted to sit in the living room and watch the twinkling light of the tree. And how I usually spend the day after Thanksgiving putting it up. And how it's now well past Thanksgiving and I stare at an empty space and dog toys.
What I realized was sad. I didn't have the motivation to wrestle that tree up and decorate it. Oh yes, I could muster the energy to do it today. But I'd be in a heap the rest if the day. And more importantly to Pete, that damn tree would stay up until Valentines Day when Pete would take it down out of frustration. It's not fair to him or me to do that. So I made the call to not put up the tree this year. And I shared this with Pete when he got home. He was very sweet and said that he'd get me a tabletop tree that fols out so it's just set and plug in, but I told him no need.
I don't know, maybe it's a positive thing, this realization of my limits. Maybe it's good that I not only realize them, but stick to them. And maybe, a part of me wants my superhuman self back.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
You Can't Juice A Banana
So last week Pete traded appliances with a friend. (really)
He traded our never used air popper, panini maker and rice cooker for a juicer. I'm not sure who got the better deal. But I will say that even if we trade back, we got the chance to use something new and see if it worked for us before we bought.
He's juiced pears, apples, oranges, strawberries, tomatoes, carrots, kale, bell peppers and hot peppers, lemons, cranberries, broccoli, cauliflower and pineapple.
Not all together though. He makes his own blend of things, drinks the juice and goes on his way. I keep pointing out that the pineapple orange isn't really the intention of the machine. I mean, sure, it's fresh produce, but it's all sugar. I keep trying to get him to juice kale and tomatoes and add a few berries in for sweetness so that he's getting more veggies. (he doesn't eat many veggies)
So over the weekend he sent me all these SMOOTHIE recipes, as a suggestion on what produce to buy him for the week. Only I had to point out that you can't really juice a banana. Right? I guess we could try. I told him that smoothies are for the blender and juice is, well, for the juicer. I encouraged him to look up juicing and the benefits and recipes. All I get in response is smoothie recipes.
I had him juice me some cranberries and oranges. I've been adding that to my water every day to give it a bit of flavor.
Anyone else juice? Got any non banana recipes for Pete?
He traded our never used air popper, panini maker and rice cooker for a juicer. I'm not sure who got the better deal. But I will say that even if we trade back, we got the chance to use something new and see if it worked for us before we bought.
He's juiced pears, apples, oranges, strawberries, tomatoes, carrots, kale, bell peppers and hot peppers, lemons, cranberries, broccoli, cauliflower and pineapple.
Not all together though. He makes his own blend of things, drinks the juice and goes on his way. I keep pointing out that the pineapple orange isn't really the intention of the machine. I mean, sure, it's fresh produce, but it's all sugar. I keep trying to get him to juice kale and tomatoes and add a few berries in for sweetness so that he's getting more veggies. (he doesn't eat many veggies)
So over the weekend he sent me all these SMOOTHIE recipes, as a suggestion on what produce to buy him for the week. Only I had to point out that you can't really juice a banana. Right? I guess we could try. I told him that smoothies are for the blender and juice is, well, for the juicer. I encouraged him to look up juicing and the benefits and recipes. All I get in response is smoothie recipes.
I had him juice me some cranberries and oranges. I've been adding that to my water every day to give it a bit of flavor.
Anyone else juice? Got any non banana recipes for Pete?
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Feeeeeeeelings......
Woah, woah Woah, feeeeeeeelings... (is it only me that has that song in my head?)
So feelings. Powerful things. Learning a lot about them. Mostly - there is no such thing as a bad feeling. What we can and should change is how we deal with them. And what I'm learning is that we come from a generation of people who wasn't all that great at allowing feelings and modeling good behavior with regard to feelings.
I read this quote from Bears receiver Brandon Marshall about Incognito bullying a team mate:
So as an adult, I've learned that my feelings are valid at the time that I'm experiencing them. I'm ok to feel that way. But I can be positive and proactive and learn how to take control of the feelings. I'm the person who creates BIG balloons of details about something I perceive in my head, when I could stem that process by just asking questions about the issue.
Pete sells Body By Vi and has a multitude of customers. He often times offers locals not only the shakes, but personal help in starting a weight loss/fitness program. At times it's very demanding. In the last week, there were several days that he spent more time with a couple of customers than me. After a few days I started building this story in my head about how he didn't want to spend time with me, how he was leaving me behind, how he would rather be out with others. In the past, I would have let this go and build and build. But this time, I chose to just tell Pete that I was feeling lonely and left out. 1 sentence. No confrontation. No big story. You know what happened? He validated my feelings, realized that he hadn't made time for me and we planned a night out. Solved.
It. Was. Awesome.
It felt powerful and calming and loving.
So, the next time you catch yourself telling someone (child or adult) to shake off their feelings, think about how you're doing it. Can you validate the feeling and share ways to deal with it in a positive and loving manner? Try it!
So feelings. Powerful things. Learning a lot about them. Mostly - there is no such thing as a bad feeling. What we can and should change is how we deal with them. And what I'm learning is that we come from a generation of people who wasn't all that great at allowing feelings and modeling good behavior with regard to feelings.
I read this quote from Bears receiver Brandon Marshall about Incognito bullying a team mate:
“Look at it from this standpoint,” Marshall said. “Take a little boy and a little girl. A little boy falls down and the first thing we say as parents is ‘Get up, shake it off. You’ll be OK. Don’t cry.’ A little girl falls down, what do we say? ‘It’s going to be OK.’ We validate their feelings. So right there from that moment, we’re teaching our men to mask their feelings, to not show their emotions.Wow. He's right. And I think that we not only do that with little boys, but we also do it with little girls. We do it because we don't want kids thinking that every small thing is a big issue and getting upset about it. But we, because I've done it too, go about it the wrong way at times.
So as an adult, I've learned that my feelings are valid at the time that I'm experiencing them. I'm ok to feel that way. But I can be positive and proactive and learn how to take control of the feelings. I'm the person who creates BIG balloons of details about something I perceive in my head, when I could stem that process by just asking questions about the issue.
Pete sells Body By Vi and has a multitude of customers. He often times offers locals not only the shakes, but personal help in starting a weight loss/fitness program. At times it's very demanding. In the last week, there were several days that he spent more time with a couple of customers than me. After a few days I started building this story in my head about how he didn't want to spend time with me, how he was leaving me behind, how he would rather be out with others. In the past, I would have let this go and build and build. But this time, I chose to just tell Pete that I was feeling lonely and left out. 1 sentence. No confrontation. No big story. You know what happened? He validated my feelings, realized that he hadn't made time for me and we planned a night out. Solved.
It. Was. Awesome.
It felt powerful and calming and loving.
So, the next time you catch yourself telling someone (child or adult) to shake off their feelings, think about how you're doing it. Can you validate the feeling and share ways to deal with it in a positive and loving manner? Try it!
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
My Husband Likes Soup
When I first met my husband I did a fine job of trying to impress him with my cooking. I cooked homey hotdishes (casseroles for you non Midwesterners), fragrant soups and cheesy pasta dishes.
One day, about a year after we'd been married, my husband suddenly says, "You know, I don't like soup." And I was shocked. I mean, how can you not like soup? He suddenly volunteered that sandwiches were for lunch, not a dinner item. Cheese was gross. As for hotdishes, they have all the food mixed up and not much flavor.
Then I realized that he was not the man I thought I knew. Growing up German with a father from the Southeast, I thought for sure that he'd welcome the kind of food I cooked. Potatoes layered with sauerkraut and sausages? Nope. Chicken noodle soup on a cold day? Nope.
So we moved on and I cooked other things.
Then one day a month ago, I noticed that my cheese package was pretty small. After thinking about it I asked Pete and he admitted that he was...STEALING MY CHEESE! Here he'd been having toasted cheese sandwiches and even cheese slices cold from the fridge. Who was this man and what had he done with my husband?
Last week we went to a local restaurant for restaurant week. It's a fixed menu where you make a couple of choices and spend $30 on a meal that would be $75 or more. For a starter, my husband chose curried butternut squash soup with apples. WHERE IS MY HUSBAND AND WHO IS THIS MAN?
Later in the week, we visited another restaurant and one of the garnishes on the salad was a candied onion. Oh how I was looking forward to the sweetness of the candying and the sharp onion on the inside. But no. MY HUSBAND ATE IT. ALL.
So, last night for dinner, we are had Curried Butternut Squash Soup with Apple, Smoked Chicken Sausages and crusty bread with Cheddar melted on it. All things that my husband (or so he says he's my husband....) did not eat 30 days ago.
Does this seem weird to you too?
(this post is in good humor. I really do not think aliens abducted my husband.)
One day, about a year after we'd been married, my husband suddenly says, "You know, I don't like soup." And I was shocked. I mean, how can you not like soup? He suddenly volunteered that sandwiches were for lunch, not a dinner item. Cheese was gross. As for hotdishes, they have all the food mixed up and not much flavor.
Then I realized that he was not the man I thought I knew. Growing up German with a father from the Southeast, I thought for sure that he'd welcome the kind of food I cooked. Potatoes layered with sauerkraut and sausages? Nope. Chicken noodle soup on a cold day? Nope.
So we moved on and I cooked other things.
Then one day a month ago, I noticed that my cheese package was pretty small. After thinking about it I asked Pete and he admitted that he was...STEALING MY CHEESE! Here he'd been having toasted cheese sandwiches and even cheese slices cold from the fridge. Who was this man and what had he done with my husband?
Last week we went to a local restaurant for restaurant week. It's a fixed menu where you make a couple of choices and spend $30 on a meal that would be $75 or more. For a starter, my husband chose curried butternut squash soup with apples. WHERE IS MY HUSBAND AND WHO IS THIS MAN?
Later in the week, we visited another restaurant and one of the garnishes on the salad was a candied onion. Oh how I was looking forward to the sweetness of the candying and the sharp onion on the inside. But no. MY HUSBAND ATE IT. ALL.
So, last night for dinner, we are had Curried Butternut Squash Soup with Apple, Smoked Chicken Sausages and crusty bread with Cheddar melted on it. All things that my husband (or so he says he's my husband....) did not eat 30 days ago.
Does this seem weird to you too?
(this post is in good humor. I really do not think aliens abducted my husband.)
Thursday, October 24, 2013
207; A List of Plans
Even water proof mascara isn't really water proof. It's likely water resistant or something. I always wonder what kind of make up reality stars have on that they never get red and raccoon looking when they cry. Because me? I do crying, ugly. I'm red, blotchy, runny nose and tears flowing. So my lesson to you all is not to wear mascara when going for help with depression.
I love my doctor. Can I just say that? She listens, really listens to me. She helps me problem solve. She also lets me lead in what my medical care should look like. She lets me feel in control, even when I'm not.
When she entered the office I half heartedly smiled and she could tell that something was wrong. She asked me to explain in my own words what was happening and it's then that I realized I should have written it down. Not only do I ugly cry, but when something like this is bothering me, I cry when I try to speak. And you can't ugly cry and verbalize at the same time. At least I can't. So she waited while I tried to gather myself up to talk. Then she listened.
At the crux of this is that I feel very much alone. I have the support of my Mom (breast cancer/mastectomy survivor). I have the support of Pete, who does tons of things for me and listens to everything I can manage to tell him. I have the support of friends online and in person. But I feel so alone. An island unto myself.
I feel almost as though I did all of this for no reason, this self mutilation of sorts, because there was no cancer. Which leads me to wonder if I was so ready for this to happen in the first place? Did I rush (is 3 months of waiting, rushing?) into this decision when I could have waited or should have waited? I feel as though my 'choice' to do this is 'rewarded' by the complications and issues that I've had since the initial surgery.
I've tried to seek out support form several places, but there is no one like me. No one that is a Previvor, but not BRCA positive. No one that has chosen to do this in a situation that mirrors mine. No one that is in their 40's and has some of the same experiences I did/do. No one who can tell me that yes, it will be ok. Yes, this is how I got through it. Yes, call/text/email me when you have issues and I will listen.
Logically I know that what I write here is off and that I know better. But I can't seem to connect the logicalness of it and my feelings about it. They're off course and I need to get them back on track.
So we have a plan. A good one.
1. I called for physical therapy again and I'm scheduled to start on 11/6/13. Exercising is a great mood booster and I can't wait to be able to learn how to exercise without hurting myself.
2. I was prescribed a low dose antidepressant for 6 months. Something to help me get over the hump and have enough energy to do what I need to do on a daily basis.
3. Seek counseling. If I can't find a support group, I need to find a counselor for a few sessions to figure out how to sort through the feelings I'm having.
I'm adding a few to the plan:
4. I'm going to connect more with Pete about how I'm feeling on a daily basis. Let him know my fears because he is strong enough to listen, even if he can't do anything about them.
5. Keep blogging. Keep getting it out of my head and onto the 'page'.
6. Keep being creative on a daily basis. Something that makes me happy - crochet, reading, photography, cooking...anything.
7. Let go right now of my weight issues. I'm not returning to the emotional/chocolate/soda/carb addict eating, but I'm going to say that it's ok if I'm not losing weight.
So, that's my list. I'm very much a list maker who has to have a plan. And this, this is my plan.
I love my doctor. Can I just say that? She listens, really listens to me. She helps me problem solve. She also lets me lead in what my medical care should look like. She lets me feel in control, even when I'm not.
When she entered the office I half heartedly smiled and she could tell that something was wrong. She asked me to explain in my own words what was happening and it's then that I realized I should have written it down. Not only do I ugly cry, but when something like this is bothering me, I cry when I try to speak. And you can't ugly cry and verbalize at the same time. At least I can't. So she waited while I tried to gather myself up to talk. Then she listened.
At the crux of this is that I feel very much alone. I have the support of my Mom (breast cancer/mastectomy survivor). I have the support of Pete, who does tons of things for me and listens to everything I can manage to tell him. I have the support of friends online and in person. But I feel so alone. An island unto myself.
I feel almost as though I did all of this for no reason, this self mutilation of sorts, because there was no cancer. Which leads me to wonder if I was so ready for this to happen in the first place? Did I rush (is 3 months of waiting, rushing?) into this decision when I could have waited or should have waited? I feel as though my 'choice' to do this is 'rewarded' by the complications and issues that I've had since the initial surgery.
I've tried to seek out support form several places, but there is no one like me. No one that is a Previvor, but not BRCA positive. No one that has chosen to do this in a situation that mirrors mine. No one that is in their 40's and has some of the same experiences I did/do. No one who can tell me that yes, it will be ok. Yes, this is how I got through it. Yes, call/text/email me when you have issues and I will listen.
Logically I know that what I write here is off and that I know better. But I can't seem to connect the logicalness of it and my feelings about it. They're off course and I need to get them back on track.
So we have a plan. A good one.
1. I called for physical therapy again and I'm scheduled to start on 11/6/13. Exercising is a great mood booster and I can't wait to be able to learn how to exercise without hurting myself.
2. I was prescribed a low dose antidepressant for 6 months. Something to help me get over the hump and have enough energy to do what I need to do on a daily basis.
3. Seek counseling. If I can't find a support group, I need to find a counselor for a few sessions to figure out how to sort through the feelings I'm having.
I'm adding a few to the plan:
4. I'm going to connect more with Pete about how I'm feeling on a daily basis. Let him know my fears because he is strong enough to listen, even if he can't do anything about them.
5. Keep blogging. Keep getting it out of my head and onto the 'page'.
6. Keep being creative on a daily basis. Something that makes me happy - crochet, reading, photography, cooking...anything.
7. Let go right now of my weight issues. I'm not returning to the emotional/chocolate/soda/carb addict eating, but I'm going to say that it's ok if I'm not losing weight.
So, that's my list. I'm very much a list maker who has to have a plan. And this, this is my plan.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
207; Admitting Defeat
If I'm nothing else here, I'm honest about what's going on in my life. I want to know a year from now that I got through this and how I did it. So I'm saring the darker side of me, recording it all here. I'm hopeful that I can come back to this and see how far I've come.
My plastic surgeon thinks that my left nipple will heal ok. He thinks that the healing that I see as problematic is normal and I just need to ride it out. If something does happen, he can create a new one. And with that I am at once relieved and angry. I'm angry that I lost part of it and that it's just ok. I'm relieved that I'm not losing more of it. This is not how I imagined recovery.
He also shot up the scar on my chest with cortisone. He says that he uses a tiny needle so it doesn't hurt. But damn, did that little needle hurt and the solution hurt going in. It feels like there is constant pressure on my sternum normally and with that it was very irritated.
I still have to keep all my scars covered with tape, a silicone pad or this Scar Guard product that I brush on. I make raised, red, unappealing scars. Just another notch in the bedpost of things that didn't go as planned with surgery.
Yesterday when I got home from the doctor's appointment I was mentally exhausted. I had a headache, my chest hurt and all I wanted to do was sleep. My insomnia has been rearing it's ugly head and I'm averaging about 3-4 hours a night. Even though my "office" is in the bedroom across the hall from mine, it was to far away yesterday. The thought of pushing the button to turn on the computer was more that I could physically do. The idea that I'd have to use my brain for something other than sleep and taking migraine meds was impossible. So I didn't.
When Pete got home, I had been laying in bed, sleeping off and on and taking migraine meds. He asked me how I was doing and paused. He finally asked if I thought that I was depressed. He says that I'm holding back with him and not telling him what's going through my head. It makes him feel like an outsider in my world. This is not my intention and I got angry. I believe that potentially, if I say all these things out loud they are true. And having them be true is scary. Very scary.
So I made an appointment with my doctor today about my insomnia, my migraines and to talk about the possibility that I am depressed. I admit defeat in this emotional battle of being a Previvor and having surgery. Defeat.
My plastic surgeon thinks that my left nipple will heal ok. He thinks that the healing that I see as problematic is normal and I just need to ride it out. If something does happen, he can create a new one. And with that I am at once relieved and angry. I'm angry that I lost part of it and that it's just ok. I'm relieved that I'm not losing more of it. This is not how I imagined recovery.
He also shot up the scar on my chest with cortisone. He says that he uses a tiny needle so it doesn't hurt. But damn, did that little needle hurt and the solution hurt going in. It feels like there is constant pressure on my sternum normally and with that it was very irritated.
I still have to keep all my scars covered with tape, a silicone pad or this Scar Guard product that I brush on. I make raised, red, unappealing scars. Just another notch in the bedpost of things that didn't go as planned with surgery.
Yesterday when I got home from the doctor's appointment I was mentally exhausted. I had a headache, my chest hurt and all I wanted to do was sleep. My insomnia has been rearing it's ugly head and I'm averaging about 3-4 hours a night. Even though my "office" is in the bedroom across the hall from mine, it was to far away yesterday. The thought of pushing the button to turn on the computer was more that I could physically do. The idea that I'd have to use my brain for something other than sleep and taking migraine meds was impossible. So I didn't.
When Pete got home, I had been laying in bed, sleeping off and on and taking migraine meds. He asked me how I was doing and paused. He finally asked if I thought that I was depressed. He says that I'm holding back with him and not telling him what's going through my head. It makes him feel like an outsider in my world. This is not my intention and I got angry. I believe that potentially, if I say all these things out loud they are true. And having them be true is scary. Very scary.
So I made an appointment with my doctor today about my insomnia, my migraines and to talk about the possibility that I am depressed. I admit defeat in this emotional battle of being a Previvor and having surgery. Defeat.
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Like a good portion of bloggers, I'm actually writing this Monday night to auto-post on Tuesday. I've a full plate of things on Tuesday and yet I feel like I need to get this out. Excuse me, because this post is my free form ramble, not a planned and edited post.
Thursday I spent the afternoon inn the doctor's office. I lay on the table while he took out the last stitches. And he examined my left fake nipple, the one that wasn't healing well. He snipped away with scissors, the same scissors that he used to cut out the stitches. He snipped and snipped and talked about the Ren Faire, the dissolvable stitches that were poking through, and about how the nipple would heal much better now.
I remember thinking that it was all going to be ok. He put the bandaid with Neosporin on it over the area and sat me up. He told me I'd be happy with it and the profile would be a bit diminished, but it would be good. He taped up my other scars and told me to keep taping them. Then he took 3 month photos and talked about how he wanted to see me back in the office for the cortisone in the scars to help flatten them.
On his way out he handed me the business card for what he called "the hippie tattoo artist in Uptown" who they refer all patients to. He told me that she would flip to see how my body scars, and that I needed to wait until my left fipple had healed completely.
And I left. I was a bit sore on the left side. Weirdly sore. I can't feel the skin that he was working on, but it's almost as though my body sent signals to my brain that it should hurt, so it did. Much like the phantom pain that I've read about with amputees. So instead of going to a movie/presentation for work, I went home. I relaxed in bed with my reality TV, my dinner and my dog.
Friday I got up and didn't change the bandaid or the tape over my scars, I just showered, dried them all well. I got ready for work, worked all day and came home to relax with my hubby and my puppy.
Saturday I got up, was pretty lazy with my crocheting, my coffee and my pup. Pete had a meeting for the motorcycle club and I had my nephew's birthday party. I really didn't want to go, but I forced myself to get ready and I went. Pete and I got home about the same time and cuddled with the TV until bed.
My point is that I I kind of went through the motions and just did what I needed to do to get by. There are days and weeks in the last few months that have been much like this. Days and weeks that I couldn't tell you what happened, unless I read blog posts or asked Pete about them. Days and weeks where my mind was so occupied that the passing of time is a second.
But Sunday. Sunday I worked around the house, doing 6 loads of laundry, baking a cake, reading some blogs and emails and crocheting. I cleaned a couple of rooms and by 1pm I was tired. I laid down to nap and actually fell asleep easily. Pete and my alarm woke me up to shower for your dinner reservations. I took the previous bandaid off and really looked at my left nipple.
Half of it was gone. No wonder he told me the profile would be different. No wonder he snipped so long. It was cut in half from front to back. I get it. It's just a nipple. But on the flip side. It's my flipping fake nipple after a hard long summer of surgery and recovery. It's days like that where I wonder why. Why me? Why did I do this? Why did I chose now to have surgery? Why can't I heal right for once? Why do I have to keep going through this? Why?
In the scheme of things, it's a nipple. But it's just that it symbolizes so much more for me. I have breasts that are fake that I can't feel that have scars all over them. I have a tummy that has a paunch right above it/above my belly button, but my tummy is flat as Minnesota. I have hips that are bigger and my butt is still the same size as before. I can't flex my abs without wincing and I can't do much with my chest muscles before they ache. It still takes me about 15 minutes of sheer wincing and grimacing and sometimes crying in the morning to stop my muscles from spasmming after laying still all night.
Can't my nipples me the one thing that turned out great? Can't they be the one thing that didn't cause me concern or worry or tears? And then I watch TV and see how the people n the Boston Bombing talk about not letting the bombers make them victims. They talk about persevering and even prospering. And I feel weak and pitful. For today I've let breast cancer and being a previvor be something that I'm not ok with, something that has turned me into a victim. I feel weak and dumb and such a fool. If they can do that in the wake of a horrible tragedy, why I can't I do this when I knew for years in the back of my head that it was coming? Why? Why can't I live above it, through it, each and every day? Why do I cry in the shower and put on a happy face for everyone?
I want to scream and yell and punch cancer in the gut. I want to cry that it's not fair and give it to someone else. I want to throw in the towel, admit defeat and stay in bed for weeks with the blinds down, my dog on ne side of me and Pete on the other. I want to yell and scream and cry and pout and be mad. I try to decide if what I'm going through is normal or I should be seeking meds to help me get through it. I have insomnia issues starting back, just like I did before surgery. My anxiety in public is telling me that everyone knows and they're staring. I'm uncomfortable because I've gained weight and I can't fit in my clothes and I'm worried that I won't get back to where I was. I eat Starburst candy corn like it's my only saving grace.
I'm a mess. This morning I called the doctor's office because with all this, what's left of my left nipple is starting to look like it did before he cut away the skin. It's forming this thick white area between the edge of the skin and the open area. I cried when I told the nurse that I was getting worried that I was going to lose the whole thing soon. I don't want to lose it. I want 2 nipples. I want to look like a damn normal woman again. That's all I want. That's all. Normal. Equal. Even.
So when this posts, I should be back on that table again in that doctor's office. Laying back and wondering what's going to happen. Only this time I'm taking Pete. I need the support and I realize that I don't have to do it all alone. I don't have to suffer in silence. Pete married me in good times and bad and he's really my biggest champion in all this and he wants to be with me. And for that, I will never ever be able to tell him how much he means to me.
Thursday I spent the afternoon inn the doctor's office. I lay on the table while he took out the last stitches. And he examined my left fake nipple, the one that wasn't healing well. He snipped away with scissors, the same scissors that he used to cut out the stitches. He snipped and snipped and talked about the Ren Faire, the dissolvable stitches that were poking through, and about how the nipple would heal much better now.
I remember thinking that it was all going to be ok. He put the bandaid with Neosporin on it over the area and sat me up. He told me I'd be happy with it and the profile would be a bit diminished, but it would be good. He taped up my other scars and told me to keep taping them. Then he took 3 month photos and talked about how he wanted to see me back in the office for the cortisone in the scars to help flatten them.
On his way out he handed me the business card for what he called "the hippie tattoo artist in Uptown" who they refer all patients to. He told me that she would flip to see how my body scars, and that I needed to wait until my left fipple had healed completely.
And I left. I was a bit sore on the left side. Weirdly sore. I can't feel the skin that he was working on, but it's almost as though my body sent signals to my brain that it should hurt, so it did. Much like the phantom pain that I've read about with amputees. So instead of going to a movie/presentation for work, I went home. I relaxed in bed with my reality TV, my dinner and my dog.
Friday I got up and didn't change the bandaid or the tape over my scars, I just showered, dried them all well. I got ready for work, worked all day and came home to relax with my hubby and my puppy.
Saturday I got up, was pretty lazy with my crocheting, my coffee and my pup. Pete had a meeting for the motorcycle club and I had my nephew's birthday party. I really didn't want to go, but I forced myself to get ready and I went. Pete and I got home about the same time and cuddled with the TV until bed.
My point is that I I kind of went through the motions and just did what I needed to do to get by. There are days and weeks in the last few months that have been much like this. Days and weeks that I couldn't tell you what happened, unless I read blog posts or asked Pete about them. Days and weeks where my mind was so occupied that the passing of time is a second.
But Sunday. Sunday I worked around the house, doing 6 loads of laundry, baking a cake, reading some blogs and emails and crocheting. I cleaned a couple of rooms and by 1pm I was tired. I laid down to nap and actually fell asleep easily. Pete and my alarm woke me up to shower for your dinner reservations. I took the previous bandaid off and really looked at my left nipple.
Half of it was gone. No wonder he told me the profile would be different. No wonder he snipped so long. It was cut in half from front to back. I get it. It's just a nipple. But on the flip side. It's my flipping fake nipple after a hard long summer of surgery and recovery. It's days like that where I wonder why. Why me? Why did I do this? Why did I chose now to have surgery? Why can't I heal right for once? Why do I have to keep going through this? Why?
In the scheme of things, it's a nipple. But it's just that it symbolizes so much more for me. I have breasts that are fake that I can't feel that have scars all over them. I have a tummy that has a paunch right above it/above my belly button, but my tummy is flat as Minnesota. I have hips that are bigger and my butt is still the same size as before. I can't flex my abs without wincing and I can't do much with my chest muscles before they ache. It still takes me about 15 minutes of sheer wincing and grimacing and sometimes crying in the morning to stop my muscles from spasmming after laying still all night.
Can't my nipples me the one thing that turned out great? Can't they be the one thing that didn't cause me concern or worry or tears? And then I watch TV and see how the people n the Boston Bombing talk about not letting the bombers make them victims. They talk about persevering and even prospering. And I feel weak and pitful. For today I've let breast cancer and being a previvor be something that I'm not ok with, something that has turned me into a victim. I feel weak and dumb and such a fool. If they can do that in the wake of a horrible tragedy, why I can't I do this when I knew for years in the back of my head that it was coming? Why? Why can't I live above it, through it, each and every day? Why do I cry in the shower and put on a happy face for everyone?
I want to scream and yell and punch cancer in the gut. I want to cry that it's not fair and give it to someone else. I want to throw in the towel, admit defeat and stay in bed for weeks with the blinds down, my dog on ne side of me and Pete on the other. I want to yell and scream and cry and pout and be mad. I try to decide if what I'm going through is normal or I should be seeking meds to help me get through it. I have insomnia issues starting back, just like I did before surgery. My anxiety in public is telling me that everyone knows and they're staring. I'm uncomfortable because I've gained weight and I can't fit in my clothes and I'm worried that I won't get back to where I was. I eat Starburst candy corn like it's my only saving grace.
I'm a mess. This morning I called the doctor's office because with all this, what's left of my left nipple is starting to look like it did before he cut away the skin. It's forming this thick white area between the edge of the skin and the open area. I cried when I told the nurse that I was getting worried that I was going to lose the whole thing soon. I don't want to lose it. I want 2 nipples. I want to look like a damn normal woman again. That's all I want. That's all. Normal. Equal. Even.
So when this posts, I should be back on that table again in that doctor's office. Laying back and wondering what's going to happen. Only this time I'm taking Pete. I need the support and I realize that I don't have to do it all alone. I don't have to suffer in silence. Pete married me in good times and bad and he's really my biggest champion in all this and he wants to be with me. And for that, I will never ever be able to tell him how much he means to me.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
I'm here...Anxious Again
I'm going through that rollercoaster of emotions again.
Friday I have my revision surgery to clear up some issues with my foobs (fake boobs) and I get my fipples (fake nipples).
Again I think I'm in that place of "it will be over once this is over." That place where I try not to think about what is coming, because if I did, I'd go nuts. Maybe I am already nuts.
I had a major nesting episode this past weekend where I started cleaning. Pete causally says "Are you bored?" Wrong thing to say. Nope, not bored, just cleaning a house that needs cleaning. I think I tarted a fight to relieve some of my pressure and he started to respond, then told me to go away. An hour later, we had both cleaned our anger away and apologized.
I'm struggling with the fact that I feel better. I feel good enough that I'm working 8 hours a day (albeit at home). I can clean for an hour (it exhausts me and I'm fast asleep by 8:30pm). I can cook/bake (but take a nap in the afternoon). It's a struggle because I keep telling Pete to go, ride his motorcycle, go to the store, walk and work out. When I want to be doing those things with him. Initially I told him to get out of the house and do stuff because it wasn't fair that he was stuck inside with me. But partially I did that because I knew that I couldn't participate. Now I think I can do it and it stings to watch him walk out of the house without me and make plans without me.
It must be like living with someone who is bi-polar, this living with me.
I've learned though, that I need to talk. That I can talk. And that it's ok to share. I'm opening up a bit by bit and letting him understand some of what's in my head. I hope that I can continue to do this, bit by bit.
So that's my story, for today and today only. All of this may or may not change tomorrow. It's just how my life is working right now.
Friday I have my revision surgery to clear up some issues with my foobs (fake boobs) and I get my fipples (fake nipples).
Again I think I'm in that place of "it will be over once this is over." That place where I try not to think about what is coming, because if I did, I'd go nuts. Maybe I am already nuts.
I had a major nesting episode this past weekend where I started cleaning. Pete causally says "Are you bored?" Wrong thing to say. Nope, not bored, just cleaning a house that needs cleaning. I think I tarted a fight to relieve some of my pressure and he started to respond, then told me to go away. An hour later, we had both cleaned our anger away and apologized.
I'm struggling with the fact that I feel better. I feel good enough that I'm working 8 hours a day (albeit at home). I can clean for an hour (it exhausts me and I'm fast asleep by 8:30pm). I can cook/bake (but take a nap in the afternoon). It's a struggle because I keep telling Pete to go, ride his motorcycle, go to the store, walk and work out. When I want to be doing those things with him. Initially I told him to get out of the house and do stuff because it wasn't fair that he was stuck inside with me. But partially I did that because I knew that I couldn't participate. Now I think I can do it and it stings to watch him walk out of the house without me and make plans without me.
It must be like living with someone who is bi-polar, this living with me.
I've learned though, that I need to talk. That I can talk. And that it's ok to share. I'm opening up a bit by bit and letting him understand some of what's in my head. I hope that I can continue to do this, bit by bit.
So that's my story, for today and today only. All of this may or may not change tomorrow. It's just how my life is working right now.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
My Life *IS* Randoms
I was watching some TV show today talking about being authentic. And I couldn't help but wonder if I needed therapy. I mean, in the last 48 hours I've signed up to be an advocate for Force but actively spent hours wondering if I did the right thing in having surgery. I'm irritated/frustrated about my inability to work out/run like I used to and hate the number on the scale, but eat chocolate cake and chex mix like it's my main sustenance.
I think I have it all figured out at various points in my life, but when I look back on those episodes in life, I never really had much figured out. What is clear to me is that I give pieces of my puzzle to everyone. They help with that one piece and I bring it back to add it to the table. The thing is that the piece changes a little with each fix and the puzzle no longer fits together. So I cover up the empty spaces as best that I can to make the puzzle look whole.
When I met Pete I starting giving him more and more pieces to my puzzle. And it was so liberating. My heart soared and my soul was more free than it had been since I was a child. The preverbal birds sang and hearts floated on air. The issue? I revert back into myself and start hoarding my pieces. This causes me pain and issues and self doubt and all that crap floats back in my head. I close off to Pete and he thinks that he is doing something wrong and he closes himself off.
Lets get one thing clear. Well 2 things. 1. I love Pete with my heart and soul. 2. Closed off people cannot succeed in a relationship and be truly happy.
So I come back to the thought - Do I Need Therapy? I've never done it before. Well, no, that's not true. I've done some sessions for my TMJ back when I was a teen and I've done some sessions for an assessment for my lap band/gastric band. I know that there are people who are totally against it. I know that there are people who participate and keep it secret. Then there are people who sign from the rooftops about therapy.
Maybe I'm tired of trying to hold my puzzle pieces in place. Maybe I'm tired of not being able or feeling like I can show anyone my puzzle. Maybe I just want someone to validate my thoughts and let me know that I'm normal, or at least working towards normal.
I think I have it all figured out at various points in my life, but when I look back on those episodes in life, I never really had much figured out. What is clear to me is that I give pieces of my puzzle to everyone. They help with that one piece and I bring it back to add it to the table. The thing is that the piece changes a little with each fix and the puzzle no longer fits together. So I cover up the empty spaces as best that I can to make the puzzle look whole.
When I met Pete I starting giving him more and more pieces to my puzzle. And it was so liberating. My heart soared and my soul was more free than it had been since I was a child. The preverbal birds sang and hearts floated on air. The issue? I revert back into myself and start hoarding my pieces. This causes me pain and issues and self doubt and all that crap floats back in my head. I close off to Pete and he thinks that he is doing something wrong and he closes himself off.
Lets get one thing clear. Well 2 things. 1. I love Pete with my heart and soul. 2. Closed off people cannot succeed in a relationship and be truly happy.
So I come back to the thought - Do I Need Therapy? I've never done it before. Well, no, that's not true. I've done some sessions for my TMJ back when I was a teen and I've done some sessions for an assessment for my lap band/gastric band. I know that there are people who are totally against it. I know that there are people who participate and keep it secret. Then there are people who sign from the rooftops about therapy.
Maybe I'm tired of trying to hold my puzzle pieces in place. Maybe I'm tired of not being able or feeling like I can show anyone my puzzle. Maybe I just want someone to validate my thoughts and let me know that I'm normal, or at least working towards normal.
Monday, September 09, 2013
The Emotional Toll
I thought I had it all worked out. I spent hours with Pete talking 5 years ago when my Mom was tested for BRCA. We talked about how having a mastectomy would change myself, and in turn change our lives. I had it figured out after spending so much time talking. It would change me, but I could get through it. And I had it all figured out.
When my mammo was abnormal and my path changed and I thought I had it all figured out. I had spent all that time talking and thinking and figuring it all out. But the reality is that I didn't. I have this self doubt that is creeping in. I have a lack of confidence that is disheartening. I can't help but wonder if I did the right thing.
I spent so much time prior to surgery getting physically and mentally ready for surgery. When I let myself think too much, I was an emotional mess and spent the day or days in bed crying. I tried to focus on the positive and often put a smile on for those around me. I planned and wrote lists and made calls, all things to keep me busy.
I spent the days after surgery trying to physically recover. This was a hard surgery. Even now, 60 days later, I hurt and have muscle soreness and pain. And I remember remarking to someone, about 30 days out, how surprised that I wasn't more of an emotional basket case. I kept waiting for the emotions to bubble up and flow out.
The last couple of weeks, as I try to resume my life from before April, I noticed that I was more emotional about random small things. While I can potentially attribute some of this to my cycle (I'm still learning my body's new/other cues), I can't blame it all on that. I've had some long crying jags and intense discussions with Pete, along with car rides where I don't remember getting from point A to B. The emotional part has kicked in. Hard.
I think I'm in the middle of grieving my old life. I've done this before. My failed and destructive TMJ surgeries led me to grieve the life that I would have had without the daily pain. I was well out of grief when I could look back and see that's what had happened. I had no idea what was happening while in it and likely held most of it in, leaving no one to point out to me what was going on while I was in it. This time I have an inkling of what's going on. But as with any grieving process, it's different for each person and each time. The difference is that I can't go this alone and I shouldn't go it alone.
It's a struggle. I spent so much of my life relying on me. Living in my head, figuring out things myself and living my own problems out. But I can't expect to not let Pete in. I can't expect him to support me, without knowing what I'm thinking and what I need from him. I need to let him in.
I've come to realize today, that I think I'm second guessing myself. Second guessing if I should have had the surgery. I'm caught in this no mans land of being a previvor, not having cancer, but having a pretty big probability of having it at some point. I'm struggling with body image, self confidence and figuring out how my life looks today and forward. What if it was all for nothing? What if I took the wrong path?
When my mammo was abnormal and my path changed and I thought I had it all figured out. I had spent all that time talking and thinking and figuring it all out. But the reality is that I didn't. I have this self doubt that is creeping in. I have a lack of confidence that is disheartening. I can't help but wonder if I did the right thing.
I spent so much time prior to surgery getting physically and mentally ready for surgery. When I let myself think too much, I was an emotional mess and spent the day or days in bed crying. I tried to focus on the positive and often put a smile on for those around me. I planned and wrote lists and made calls, all things to keep me busy.
I spent the days after surgery trying to physically recover. This was a hard surgery. Even now, 60 days later, I hurt and have muscle soreness and pain. And I remember remarking to someone, about 30 days out, how surprised that I wasn't more of an emotional basket case. I kept waiting for the emotions to bubble up and flow out.
The last couple of weeks, as I try to resume my life from before April, I noticed that I was more emotional about random small things. While I can potentially attribute some of this to my cycle (I'm still learning my body's new/other cues), I can't blame it all on that. I've had some long crying jags and intense discussions with Pete, along with car rides where I don't remember getting from point A to B. The emotional part has kicked in. Hard.
I think I'm in the middle of grieving my old life. I've done this before. My failed and destructive TMJ surgeries led me to grieve the life that I would have had without the daily pain. I was well out of grief when I could look back and see that's what had happened. I had no idea what was happening while in it and likely held most of it in, leaving no one to point out to me what was going on while I was in it. This time I have an inkling of what's going on. But as with any grieving process, it's different for each person and each time. The difference is that I can't go this alone and I shouldn't go it alone.
It's a struggle. I spent so much of my life relying on me. Living in my head, figuring out things myself and living my own problems out. But I can't expect to not let Pete in. I can't expect him to support me, without knowing what I'm thinking and what I need from him. I need to let him in.
I've come to realize today, that I think I'm second guessing myself. Second guessing if I should have had the surgery. I'm caught in this no mans land of being a previvor, not having cancer, but having a pretty big probability of having it at some point. I'm struggling with body image, self confidence and figuring out how my life looks today and forward. What if it was all for nothing? What if I took the wrong path?
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
199.8; Pity! Party of One.
Yesterday I was supposed to go to a training for work. I signed up for it, even though I'm on medical leave because I am about 1 hour short on my total for the year. But he closer it got, the more I didn't want to go. Initially I told myself that it was because I just didn't want to go. So I started talking to Pete via text about it. When I pulled away the layers, I realize that there were specific reasons for not wanting to go.
I'm mentally tired of explaining what surgery I had and why. I still have people in my life questioning my choices. Maybe not directly to me, but to family members and to Pete. And every time I hear about it, I'm a little more beat down. I made this choice to have an elective mastectomy because I have close to 60% chance of breast cancer and doing it this way means no chemo, radiation or the side effects of those treatments. Are there things about doing it this way that are hard? Yep. But they definitely don't compare to life long issues because of chemo.
I'm afraid of people staring at my foobs. And it's already happened. It happened before surgery; as though they wanted to memorize what I looked like to compare afterwards. Last weekend I told someone about the surgery and watched their eyes. The leave my face and for a second, they focus on my foobs. I have a shirt that says "Of course they're fake, the real ones tried to kill me!" Other than wearing it all the time, I don't know how to address this.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I needed to push myself out of this comfortable cocoon of a home and go out in public again. And from that I realized that I need to push myself out of my comfort zone with my weight again. And by the end of the day I had an action plan.
Action Plan
Goal: I want a TV that costs about $150 for my office/our second bedroom.
Plan: I'm hanging a list of things to do each day and each thing I do is a $1 toward to TV Fund. It's up to mw to chose how many, if any, I do each day. I take the lead and I need to live up to my expectations and no one else's.
Items: So far, my list includes this following items. But, I reserve the right to add things along the way.
I feel stronger, somehow better, just knowing that I have a plan. I feel like I moved back into living in grace; being kinder to myself and loving myself by flying back out of the nest.
I'm mentally tired of explaining what surgery I had and why. I still have people in my life questioning my choices. Maybe not directly to me, but to family members and to Pete. And every time I hear about it, I'm a little more beat down. I made this choice to have an elective mastectomy because I have close to 60% chance of breast cancer and doing it this way means no chemo, radiation or the side effects of those treatments. Are there things about doing it this way that are hard? Yep. But they definitely don't compare to life long issues because of chemo.
I'm afraid of people staring at my foobs. And it's already happened. It happened before surgery; as though they wanted to memorize what I looked like to compare afterwards. Last weekend I told someone about the surgery and watched their eyes. The leave my face and for a second, they focus on my foobs. I have a shirt that says "Of course they're fake, the real ones tried to kill me!" Other than wearing it all the time, I don't know how to address this.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I needed to push myself out of this comfortable cocoon of a home and go out in public again. And from that I realized that I need to push myself out of my comfort zone with my weight again. And by the end of the day I had an action plan.
Action Plan
Goal: I want a TV that costs about $150 for my office/our second bedroom.
Plan: I'm hanging a list of things to do each day and each thing I do is a $1 toward to TV Fund. It's up to mw to chose how many, if any, I do each day. I take the lead and I need to live up to my expectations and no one else's.
Items: So far, my list includes this following items. But, I reserve the right to add things along the way.
- Workout at the gym for at least 30 minutes
- Be outside in the sun for at least 1 hour.
- Spend 15 minutes meditating.
- Shower & be presentable for company.
- Drink at least 80 ounces of water a day
- Wash and moisturize my face twice a day.
- Eat at least 3 servings of vegetables a day.
- Spend 30 minutes reading.
- Get at least 8 hours of sleep a day.
- Eat 3 meals a day with 2 planned snacks.
- Spend 30 minutes cleaning a room in the house.
- Eat at least 3 servings of fruit a day.
- Spend at least 30 minutes walking Nico.
- No added sugar treats for the day (chocolate, cake, ice cream...)
- Make a new recipe or try a new vegetable/fruit/grain/food item.
- Do at least 1 out of the house errand.
I feel stronger, somehow better, just knowing that I have a plan. I feel like I moved back into living in grace; being kinder to myself and loving myself by flying back out of the nest.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
200.8
I haven't been weighing myself daily. Truth is that I've been afraid to step on the scale.
This morning I knew that I had to do it. I needed the accountability of the number.
200.8
No way to sugar coat that is there? I worked so flipping hard to get out of the 200's and into onederland. I vowed never to return to the 2s. But, here I am.
Partially I think that I'm experiencing a bit of situational depression. I spend all flipping day with myself. I've stopped reading and I mostly watch reality TV. I haven't been walking and my attempt at the gym hurt. I eat things like: Pizza Ranch pizza, chocolate chip cookie dough, chocolate Chex Mix, smoked mozzarella pasta, Nutter Butters, grilled cheese sandwiches, ice cream sandwiches... Essentially crap food.
Truth is that the food is filling the void of work, human interaction and something to do. Truth is that I'm eating when I'm bored. Truth is that I'm sitting in my chair instead of getting outside and working off the crappy food that I eat. Truth is that I can't do the fun things that I want to, so I eat.
Truth is that I'm a bit depressed about it all.
Truth is that the person that I would usually tell all this to is Pete and I don't want to burden him with it. He already feels guilty for leaving the house and doing things, I can't make him feel more guilty, I just can't.
Truth is that I keep walking up everyday hoping that there is some spark that turns this lonely car of one back around and in the right direction.
This morning I knew that I had to do it. I needed the accountability of the number.
200.8
No way to sugar coat that is there? I worked so flipping hard to get out of the 200's and into onederland. I vowed never to return to the 2s. But, here I am.
Partially I think that I'm experiencing a bit of situational depression. I spend all flipping day with myself. I've stopped reading and I mostly watch reality TV. I haven't been walking and my attempt at the gym hurt. I eat things like: Pizza Ranch pizza, chocolate chip cookie dough, chocolate Chex Mix, smoked mozzarella pasta, Nutter Butters, grilled cheese sandwiches, ice cream sandwiches... Essentially crap food.
Truth is that the food is filling the void of work, human interaction and something to do. Truth is that I'm eating when I'm bored. Truth is that I'm sitting in my chair instead of getting outside and working off the crappy food that I eat. Truth is that I can't do the fun things that I want to, so I eat.
Truth is that I'm a bit depressed about it all.
Truth is that the person that I would usually tell all this to is Pete and I don't want to burden him with it. He already feels guilty for leaving the house and doing things, I can't make him feel more guilty, I just can't.
Truth is that I keep walking up everyday hoping that there is some spark that turns this lonely car of one back around and in the right direction.
Monday, August 19, 2013
???: Monday, Another Day Recovering
Let's recap, shall we?
Thursday I got up and went to the gym. Yay Me! I walked for 30 minutes at a 3-3.5 with an incline of 1. Then I walked 5 minutes at a 2.5 with an incline of 7. Burned 250 calories and felt great. I came home, ate lunch and went to the doctor. I'm progressing exactly as I should. I have a spot under my left foob that isn't healing, but it's ok. I have the lump above my left foob that isn't getting better; in fact he still thinks it's a blood clot because if it was inflamed tissue and fat it would have gone away by now. And my foobs are lopsided; lefty is hanging a little low. But, all of this will be cleared up in 4 weeks when I go in for my fake nipples; which shall be known as fipples from here on out. This surgery is about 2 hours in length and will be a same day surgery. It should happen 3 days after I'm scheduled to return to work full time.
After he doctor, I hung out in the area and waited for the Farmers Market to open. I got some German pretzels for Pete, some heirloom cherry tomatoes, basil bunch, heirloom colored beans, local sweet corn and local/single source honey. That honey? Oh My Gosh. Buckwheat, full flavor, nutty, intense honey. I've been putting it on everything and mixing it in everything I can think of. I'll definitely be going back for more.
Friday. Friday sucked. I used the heart rate monitor and a sports bra when I was at the gym. The ribs under my foobs felt like they were being poked all.the.time. I forget that they took parts of ky ribs out when they did surgery for blood supply. And that's the day I noticed lots of little ends of stitches poking out everywhere. I have about 5 of them between my foobs. They get caught on things and poke my skin. I was sore and ended up doing much of nothing.
Saturday a friend picked me up to take me to where Pete was camping with our motorcycle club. We left about 11 am and didn't get home until 8pm. I was exhausted, tired, sore and worn out. I loved being in public and with friends and getting out of the house. But it just knocked me out. I'm still tired today and I did nothing Sunday other than relax and rest.
Sunday I watched all 3 Toy Story movies. I'm 43 and I still love those movies!
Today? Monday? I'm a slug again. I have no energy and I'm just tired. I think being outside all day on Saturday got my allergies in high gear and my throat is sore. I'm still trying to recover physically. Mentally I want ot be back out in the community, doing things again. I want to head back to the gym and be active and start losing weight again.
I have high hopes for Tuesday....
Thursday I got up and went to the gym. Yay Me! I walked for 30 minutes at a 3-3.5 with an incline of 1. Then I walked 5 minutes at a 2.5 with an incline of 7. Burned 250 calories and felt great. I came home, ate lunch and went to the doctor. I'm progressing exactly as I should. I have a spot under my left foob that isn't healing, but it's ok. I have the lump above my left foob that isn't getting better; in fact he still thinks it's a blood clot because if it was inflamed tissue and fat it would have gone away by now. And my foobs are lopsided; lefty is hanging a little low. But, all of this will be cleared up in 4 weeks when I go in for my fake nipples; which shall be known as fipples from here on out. This surgery is about 2 hours in length and will be a same day surgery. It should happen 3 days after I'm scheduled to return to work full time.
After he doctor, I hung out in the area and waited for the Farmers Market to open. I got some German pretzels for Pete, some heirloom cherry tomatoes, basil bunch, heirloom colored beans, local sweet corn and local/single source honey. That honey? Oh My Gosh. Buckwheat, full flavor, nutty, intense honey. I've been putting it on everything and mixing it in everything I can think of. I'll definitely be going back for more.
Friday. Friday sucked. I used the heart rate monitor and a sports bra when I was at the gym. The ribs under my foobs felt like they were being poked all.the.time. I forget that they took parts of ky ribs out when they did surgery for blood supply. And that's the day I noticed lots of little ends of stitches poking out everywhere. I have about 5 of them between my foobs. They get caught on things and poke my skin. I was sore and ended up doing much of nothing.
Saturday a friend picked me up to take me to where Pete was camping with our motorcycle club. We left about 11 am and didn't get home until 8pm. I was exhausted, tired, sore and worn out. I loved being in public and with friends and getting out of the house. But it just knocked me out. I'm still tired today and I did nothing Sunday other than relax and rest.
Sunday I watched all 3 Toy Story movies. I'm 43 and I still love those movies!
Today? Monday? I'm a slug again. I have no energy and I'm just tired. I think being outside all day on Saturday got my allergies in high gear and my throat is sore. I'm still trying to recover physically. Mentally I want ot be back out in the community, doing things again. I want to head back to the gym and be active and start losing weight again.
I have high hopes for Tuesday....
Wednesday, August 07, 2013
197.4; Dear People Who've Noticed Me...
A friend of mine writes this blog: My Eclectic Mess. She's funny, sarcastic, but honest.
Last week she wrote this post:Dear Men Who Just Noticed Me Since I Lost Weight... Go read it. I'll wait here.
Did you read it? By the end of it were you saying, "Yes. Yes!" ?
I was. I've talked before about how it's weird to have men notice me now. How opening a door seems like so much more than just a door. Before it felt like men did it out of sympathy or because someone else was around. Now it happens much more frequently and I see them checking me out while they do it. I've talked about how strangers are nicer to me by offering advice in stores, both men and women. Before I could have stared at that shelf of light bulbs forever, now I have 3 staff and one customer giving me suggestions.
At times I want to yell to these people, "Why didn't you show me the same attention when I was overweight? I was still a consumer; still a PERSON." I mean, talk about screwing with not only your body image, but your head! It's as though the world is telling me that I'm a more interesting person, the thinner I get. And despite trying to ignore it, this is reinforced publicly about once a week.
It's frustrating. I'm still the same person I was when I was overweight. Mostly. The only thing that's changed, is that I force myself to engage these people now when they do this. Whereas before, I would have shied away, lowered my head and left as soon as possible.
When Beth posted her blog last week I posted this on Facebook:
The thing is, Pete loved me when I was overweight and I loved him likewise. Pete supported me while I lost weight, and I supported him likewise. Pete loves me and pays attention to me now that I'm skinny(er), and I do the same to him. I am thankful EVERYDAY that I found a man who loves me for me. Part of my vows to him included that he loved me for me as I am, not who I was or who I may become. He loves me for me, here and now.
I appreciate being noticed every once and a while. Let's be honest, it's sometimes a boost to your confidence to feel noticed. However, most times, I don't know how to handle these situations because I spent 30 years trying to be invisible and I have no practice at it. I leave the situation, a bit unsure of myself and how I handled it because I don't ant to encourage men; I love Pete and only Pete.
Have you noticed people treating you differently as you lost weight? How do you deal with it?
It's weigh in Wednesday! Go check out some new blogs for some new inspiration on your journey!
Last week she wrote this post:Dear Men Who Just Noticed Me Since I Lost Weight... Go read it. I'll wait here.
Did you read it? By the end of it were you saying, "Yes. Yes!" ?
I was. I've talked before about how it's weird to have men notice me now. How opening a door seems like so much more than just a door. Before it felt like men did it out of sympathy or because someone else was around. Now it happens much more frequently and I see them checking me out while they do it. I've talked about how strangers are nicer to me by offering advice in stores, both men and women. Before I could have stared at that shelf of light bulbs forever, now I have 3 staff and one customer giving me suggestions.
At times I want to yell to these people, "Why didn't you show me the same attention when I was overweight? I was still a consumer; still a PERSON." I mean, talk about screwing with not only your body image, but your head! It's as though the world is telling me that I'm a more interesting person, the thinner I get. And despite trying to ignore it, this is reinforced publicly about once a week.
It's frustrating. I'm still the same person I was when I was overweight. Mostly. The only thing that's changed, is that I force myself to engage these people now when they do this. Whereas before, I would have shied away, lowered my head and left as soon as possible.
When Beth posted her blog last week I posted this on Facebook:
I appreciate being noticed every once and a while. Let's be honest, it's sometimes a boost to your confidence to feel noticed. However, most times, I don't know how to handle these situations because I spent 30 years trying to be invisible and I have no practice at it. I leave the situation, a bit unsure of myself and how I handled it because I don't ant to encourage men; I love Pete and only Pete.
Have you noticed people treating you differently as you lost weight? How do you deal with it?
It's weigh in Wednesday! Go check out some new blogs for some new inspiration on your journey!
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
I Feel Defeated
I sit in my recliner every day. It's as though it's my compact little home. I eat while sitting in it, sleep while sitting in it, watch TV in it, read in it, crochet in it...everything.
At almost 2 weeks out, I can be home by myself. I get up and wash up in the sink as best I can. Every third day I wash my hair in the sink as best I can and let it dry or if I have enough strength, I dry it a bit with the blow dryer. Just doing that, exhausts me. I have to go back to my chair and rest for a while.
I've had lunch guests almost every day I've been home, either Pete or family/friends. Sunday we had a friend over with her 3 dogs for about an hour. Then I had a friend from a message board I belong to over for an hour or so. I was wiped out. The activity, even if I'm only sitting in my chair, tires me out.
When I'm by myself I read on my Nook, watch some TV (but this is already getting old), crochet a line or two, play a game on my phone/social network or read blogs/message boards on my netbook. I take the dog out every couple of hours by putting him on his line and I sit in a chair on the patio. The sun feels good on my face and the weather's been good.
I tried early on to get into bed to sleep and couldn't do it. I couldn't lean back, even with a bunch of pillows and Pete and I struggled to get me out. Last Friday, I could get in bed myself and I took a couple hour restless nap there. So last night I decided I was strong enough to get in bed and I was going to slept the night there with Pete. It's so disjointed to me to kiss him good night and we go to separate rooms. I just want to cuddle with him again. Watch TV with him holding my hand (even the chair makes this hard).
I got in and adjusted the Sleep Number bed and relaxed. And it felt wonderful. For about 3 hours. Then I felt like I just couldn't support myself or I was sliding down and the pressure on my abdomen and my chest was uncomfortable. Actually it started about 2 hours in and I kept readjusting myself to see if I could figure out the combination. But it just wasn't going to work.
I feel so defeated. This is the point in recovery where I feel ok and I think I could be back to "normal" and the fact that I'm not makes me feel just miserable. I cried as I got out of bed and came back down to my chair. Pete comforted me, but in the end, he again had to kiss me goodnight and head to our separate rooms.
At almost 2 weeks out, I can be home by myself. I get up and wash up in the sink as best I can. Every third day I wash my hair in the sink as best I can and let it dry or if I have enough strength, I dry it a bit with the blow dryer. Just doing that, exhausts me. I have to go back to my chair and rest for a while.
I've had lunch guests almost every day I've been home, either Pete or family/friends. Sunday we had a friend over with her 3 dogs for about an hour. Then I had a friend from a message board I belong to over for an hour or so. I was wiped out. The activity, even if I'm only sitting in my chair, tires me out.
When I'm by myself I read on my Nook, watch some TV (but this is already getting old), crochet a line or two, play a game on my phone/social network or read blogs/message boards on my netbook. I take the dog out every couple of hours by putting him on his line and I sit in a chair on the patio. The sun feels good on my face and the weather's been good.
I tried early on to get into bed to sleep and couldn't do it. I couldn't lean back, even with a bunch of pillows and Pete and I struggled to get me out. Last Friday, I could get in bed myself and I took a couple hour restless nap there. So last night I decided I was strong enough to get in bed and I was going to slept the night there with Pete. It's so disjointed to me to kiss him good night and we go to separate rooms. I just want to cuddle with him again. Watch TV with him holding my hand (even the chair makes this hard).
I got in and adjusted the Sleep Number bed and relaxed. And it felt wonderful. For about 3 hours. Then I felt like I just couldn't support myself or I was sliding down and the pressure on my abdomen and my chest was uncomfortable. Actually it started about 2 hours in and I kept readjusting myself to see if I could figure out the combination. But it just wasn't going to work.
I feel so defeated. This is the point in recovery where I feel ok and I think I could be back to "normal" and the fact that I'm not makes me feel just miserable. I cried as I got out of bed and came back down to my chair. Pete comforted me, but in the end, he again had to kiss me goodnight and head to our separate rooms.
Monday, July 08, 2013
194.5; I Got Biker Married
Thursday Pete and I packed up the camper and the bike and rode out of town.
We travelled about 3 hours south to Algona, IA. The Abate Freedom Rally. A true biker rally, the kind you think about when you think bikers and the kind you see on TV. Lots of good people watching for Pete and I. He doesn't drink at all and I have a beer every month or so. Neither of us is into public nudity. But we are into seeing the different bikes, the contests, the bands and watching others get crazy.
I had a great time. It was hot, sunny and perfect weather. It was also the best distraction ever. I thought about surgery a couple of times, but mostly just tried to relax and hold Pete's hand a lot.
We also got biker married. An organization called Christian Motorcycle Association helps out at the rally every year. And this year, 2 months shy of our 5th wedding anniversary and the week before this life altering surgery, it seemed appropriate for Pete and I to recommit ourselves to each other. We didn't renew vows, because they still stand. They never left. We recommitted ourselves to each other with the same ideas of marriage as before. It's here to stay for both of us, through good and bad.
I cried I in the service, holding Pete's hand. Pastor Carey was talking about being together in all times, loving and supporting each other. It was as if he knew that I was going to be having some hard times and wanted to remind us that this is all part of it.
I know it's hard to see, but I have a necklace on in the last photo. It's beaded with a silver wedding cake, ring and heart. Pete asked about having a ceremony the day before when I was taking a nap. So the CMA's had no idea until then, that we wanted to do this. At the end of the ceremony, the pastor brought out that necklace. He relayed that not even an hour prior, a woman who volunteers for the rally had come up to him and asked if someone was getting married. She wanted the bride to have this necklace. I cried again. It was like the world had spoken about Pete and I and our journey. It was as though God was telling me that I'd be ok and Pete would be ok also.
So here I am, committed for life and a little more ready to face this surgery.
 |
| Trailer packed with a bear for the kids we pass to wave at. |
 |
| Me; all "bikered" up. My coworkers wouldn't recognize me! |
 |
| Listening to a band the first night. |
We also got biker married. An organization called Christian Motorcycle Association helps out at the rally every year. And this year, 2 months shy of our 5th wedding anniversary and the week before this life altering surgery, it seemed appropriate for Pete and I to recommit ourselves to each other. We didn't renew vows, because they still stand. They never left. We recommitted ourselves to each other with the same ideas of marriage as before. It's here to stay for both of us, through good and bad.
 |
| Pete and I before the service. |
 |
| Pastor Carey talking about how important it is to remember why we got married in the first place and to keep those ideas in our hearts. |
 |
| Praying over us. I cried. |
I cried I in the service, holding Pete's hand. Pastor Carey was talking about being together in all times, loving and supporting each other. It was as if he knew that I was going to be having some hard times and wanted to remind us that this is all part of it.
 |
| Recommitted! Yay! |
So here I am, committed for life and a little more ready to face this surgery.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Friday Five; Random Edition
1. This was a hard week, but I got through it. With love, support, a bit of chocolate cake, motorcycle rides and my husband.
2. I got up this morning at 7am. I have a 20 minute drive and have to be to work at 8am. Surprisingly I was on time. But I almost went to work with black & white top, red scarf and blue capris. Good think I looked at myself in the car before I drove off so I could change.
3. We are leaving for a weekend with the motorcycle club at noon. I'm so excited to sleep outside, do some riding and catch up with friends.
4. My band area seems to have settled down. But I seem to have a bit of acid reflux when I eat and sugar on an empty tummy is no bueno.
5. Love on someone this weekend. Hug them, give them a peck, give a smile or something to show love. It's my assignment for you...
2. I got up this morning at 7am. I have a 20 minute drive and have to be to work at 8am. Surprisingly I was on time. But I almost went to work with black & white top, red scarf and blue capris. Good think I looked at myself in the car before I drove off so I could change.
3. We are leaving for a weekend with the motorcycle club at noon. I'm so excited to sleep outside, do some riding and catch up with friends.
4. My band area seems to have settled down. But I seem to have a bit of acid reflux when I eat and sugar on an empty tummy is no bueno.
5. Love on someone this weekend. Hug them, give them a peck, give a smile or something to show love. It's my assignment for you...
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
191.2; I Can't Do It Myself
Remember when you were a toddler? Yeah, me neither.
But if you've been around toddlers who are figuring out things, you know their classic response "I can do it all by myself." They have this sense of superiority of the world that we somehow lose as we age. It's not that they can do it all on their own. They have this ultimate belief in themselves and their ability to tackle any new task because they're learning at such a fast rate.
What they don't know and we adults do know, is that we're not invincible. We don't know everything there is to know. And we can't do it all, all the time, by ourselves. While I know that this is true, I still have a hard time with it. I was single for so much of my life that I did everything myself or it really didn't get done. My parents both worked and I hated asking my Dad for help because he was tired at the end of the day. I hated asking my Mom because her Lymphodema prevented her from helping and she would feel bad. I didn't like asking my sister because she has her own family.
My Motto: I Can Do It All By Myself.
What I've come to realize is that I can't. Or shouldn't have to. Over the years with Pete by my side, I've learned that it's ok to ask him for help. That I can share with him what's going on in my head. And truly that part of a marriage is the give and take of sharing. He feels proud and helpful when I ask him for help. He loves doing things for me to show me that he can and that he loves me. He likes hearing what's going on in my head, because he wants to understand and help shoulder my worries.
But this surgery? This is going to be unlike anything. Not only will I need help with the stuff I'd normally ask for help with, but I think I'm going to need help with almost everything. And I already feel guilty. It's a lot to ask someone to work 30 hours a week and take care of you the rest of those hours in a week. It's a lot to ask my Mom or my sister to come to my house and stay with me while Pete is gone. It's a lot to ask my Dad to help walk up/dopwn stairs when I can't do it myself.
So I've been trying to think of little things that I can do in advance to show them how much I care. I don't have much time and my money is sucked up by all the things getting ready for this. So, I think I'm going to get some cards, write in them and then get some little $5 gift cards for gas, coffee, Nook books or whatever I can find. Because I know, I can't do it all myself.
But if you've been around toddlers who are figuring out things, you know their classic response "I can do it all by myself." They have this sense of superiority of the world that we somehow lose as we age. It's not that they can do it all on their own. They have this ultimate belief in themselves and their ability to tackle any new task because they're learning at such a fast rate.
What they don't know and we adults do know, is that we're not invincible. We don't know everything there is to know. And we can't do it all, all the time, by ourselves. While I know that this is true, I still have a hard time with it. I was single for so much of my life that I did everything myself or it really didn't get done. My parents both worked and I hated asking my Dad for help because he was tired at the end of the day. I hated asking my Mom because her Lymphodema prevented her from helping and she would feel bad. I didn't like asking my sister because she has her own family.
My Motto: I Can Do It All By Myself.
What I've come to realize is that I can't. Or shouldn't have to. Over the years with Pete by my side, I've learned that it's ok to ask him for help. That I can share with him what's going on in my head. And truly that part of a marriage is the give and take of sharing. He feels proud and helpful when I ask him for help. He loves doing things for me to show me that he can and that he loves me. He likes hearing what's going on in my head, because he wants to understand and help shoulder my worries.
But this surgery? This is going to be unlike anything. Not only will I need help with the stuff I'd normally ask for help with, but I think I'm going to need help with almost everything. And I already feel guilty. It's a lot to ask someone to work 30 hours a week and take care of you the rest of those hours in a week. It's a lot to ask my Mom or my sister to come to my house and stay with me while Pete is gone. It's a lot to ask my Dad to help walk up/dopwn stairs when I can't do it myself.
So I've been trying to think of little things that I can do in advance to show them how much I care. I don't have much time and my money is sucked up by all the things getting ready for this. So, I think I'm going to get some cards, write in them and then get some little $5 gift cards for gas, coffee, Nook books or whatever I can find. Because I know, I can't do it all myself.
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