Here's the thing. Cancer and mastectomies and reconstruction surgeries are scary. I get that. And when you talk to people about it, their first instinct is to comfort you and reassure you. So somewhere along the way, people create these groups and agencies and networks to support women (and men) going through this. They developed plans to help out, things to say to support and ways to help out.
But having DCIS, going through a mastectomy, reconstruction and subsequent surgeries, isn't a big pink ribbon. It's not being glad that it's 'over'. It's not getting on with life and being glad it wasn't cancer/glad I'm alive. It's just not. Not for me and not for a large group of people out there.
My scars are ugly. They're never going to be pretty. But they tell the story of who I am and what I've gone through. The fact that I went through this emotional roller coaster and it wasn't cancer, isn't comforting. It's just not. It never will be. I'm not over it and won't be over it for a long time, if ever.
I understand that people around me feel uncomfortable and they say and do things in the hopes of making me feel more comfortable and in turn them more comfortable. But honestly, it makes me feel worse. Like I should just sweep everything that I went through under the rug, don't talk about it and move on...pretend it never happened.
Guess what?
I had DCIS.
I had a 62% chance of breast cancer in my life.
I had a mastectomy.
I had reconstruction that resulted in big dark ugly scars.
I had a nipple & revision surgery.
I lost most of both of the revised nipples.
I'm not secure, safe because cancer is gone.
I deal with the repercussions of my choices daily.
I'm not comfortable in my skin currently.
I'm afraid to exercise.
I'm afraid to be happy.
I'm afraid to have the rug pulled out from under me again.
I'm...afraid.
Showing posts with label random thoughts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label random thoughts. Show all posts
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Thursday, March 06, 2014
The Yoga Pants Did It
Where I work, we have to dress up. I'm not talking about suits or anything, but we can't wear jeans (other than Fridays), no sweatshirts, shorts, yoga pants... We are a unit that doesn't regularly meet with clients. For the most part. there is one person assigned to meet with clients in the office each day and that person should dress appropriately to do so. The rest of us either work from home or hibernate behind computers in our offices for work.
For years I've worked to get all of us to be able to wear jeans in the office. We wear badges to get between floors so we are identified as employees. But I'm met with a NO response each time. A little over a year ago, I realized that we are the only unit on our campus of 3 buildings that cannot regularly wear jeans. And yet some people seem to wear jeans regularly and not get called on it.
Over the years, while fighting for jeans, my co-workers would comment that I should be fighting for sweatpants, not jeans. I laughed and commented how my jeans were comfortable and I'd be ok with those and a nice top/sweater and jewelry to dress it up. I maintained that my jeans were as comfortable as my sweatpants.
Then I had surgery. Oh my how those yoga pants were AWESOME! And since I never really went back into the office and started working from home after surgery, I never went back to my work clothes. So imagine my surprise when I tried on my work clothes upon having to go into the office and they didn't fit. I was crushed about the weight gain and I've documented this.
So I've tried several things to get back to my healthy journey. But in that time, I keep wearing my yoga pants. And I'm starting to think that they are my downfall. I can't help but wonder if my weight gain wouldn't have gotten so out of control if I was wearing regular work pants or jeans on a regular basis and realize that they were getting tighter and tighter. Yoga pants just keep stretching and stretching.
So I've decided that my yoga pants are to blame for my weight gain...
This post is tongue in cheek...kind of.
For years I've worked to get all of us to be able to wear jeans in the office. We wear badges to get between floors so we are identified as employees. But I'm met with a NO response each time. A little over a year ago, I realized that we are the only unit on our campus of 3 buildings that cannot regularly wear jeans. And yet some people seem to wear jeans regularly and not get called on it.
Over the years, while fighting for jeans, my co-workers would comment that I should be fighting for sweatpants, not jeans. I laughed and commented how my jeans were comfortable and I'd be ok with those and a nice top/sweater and jewelry to dress it up. I maintained that my jeans were as comfortable as my sweatpants.
Then I had surgery. Oh my how those yoga pants were AWESOME! And since I never really went back into the office and started working from home after surgery, I never went back to my work clothes. So imagine my surprise when I tried on my work clothes upon having to go into the office and they didn't fit. I was crushed about the weight gain and I've documented this.
So I've tried several things to get back to my healthy journey. But in that time, I keep wearing my yoga pants. And I'm starting to think that they are my downfall. I can't help but wonder if my weight gain wouldn't have gotten so out of control if I was wearing regular work pants or jeans on a regular basis and realize that they were getting tighter and tighter. Yoga pants just keep stretching and stretching.
So I've decided that my yoga pants are to blame for my weight gain...
This post is tongue in cheek...kind of.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Tap..Tap, Tap...
*insert joke here*
Is this thing on?
If you would have asked me 7 months ago how my recovery from these mastectomies would have gone, I would have told you that my physical issues would take a long time to heal. But I never considered longer term phychological issues. Oh sure, I realized that there may be issues with losing my natural breasts and the scarring. But the long term issues I never considered.
Today I am off the antidepressant. It's too early to know what my new normal is again. I will say that going off the meds and having PMS at the same time probably isn't recommended. I'm tired all the time, expect at bedtime. I'm way over emotional. And I still have no motivation.
But I worry. I worry that my previous normal will never be the same again. I worry that taking the meds, even for a short time, screwed up my brain chemistry already. I'm worried that I should have been on the meds long ago and life wouldn't have been so hard. I'm worried.
I talk to Pete a lot more now about my feelings and emotions and we connect much better on a deeper level. I will always have the surgery to thank for that. He is supportive and a good listener. Even if his goal is to "fix" it all, he realizes that it's not always my goal and that it's ok just to talk about it. But I sense some frustration that he can't fix it for me. I'm so very sorry for that. My heart hurts that he has to ensure that feeling of helplessness because of me.
I am done with physical therapy and therapy and, and it's just me. And when I say that in my head and see that on this screen, I wonder again if the meds aren't what I really need. I try to look at myself objectively as I can. I see in my head all the conversations I've had with clients about taking their meds. They all want to stop them because they're "fixed", but mental health is sometimes never "fixed" by a short course of medications. I think about all the times that I directed them back to their doctors to get back on the meds that they self tapered off of. I think about how I tell them that if they were diabetic they'd take the meds so they need to take the mental health meds. And I wonder, is that what I should be telling myself?
Is this thing on?
If you would have asked me 7 months ago how my recovery from these mastectomies would have gone, I would have told you that my physical issues would take a long time to heal. But I never considered longer term phychological issues. Oh sure, I realized that there may be issues with losing my natural breasts and the scarring. But the long term issues I never considered.
Today I am off the antidepressant. It's too early to know what my new normal is again. I will say that going off the meds and having PMS at the same time probably isn't recommended. I'm tired all the time, expect at bedtime. I'm way over emotional. And I still have no motivation.
But I worry. I worry that my previous normal will never be the same again. I worry that taking the meds, even for a short time, screwed up my brain chemistry already. I'm worried that I should have been on the meds long ago and life wouldn't have been so hard. I'm worried.
I talk to Pete a lot more now about my feelings and emotions and we connect much better on a deeper level. I will always have the surgery to thank for that. He is supportive and a good listener. Even if his goal is to "fix" it all, he realizes that it's not always my goal and that it's ok just to talk about it. But I sense some frustration that he can't fix it for me. I'm so very sorry for that. My heart hurts that he has to ensure that feeling of helplessness because of me.
I am done with physical therapy and therapy and, and it's just me. And when I say that in my head and see that on this screen, I wonder again if the meds aren't what I really need. I try to look at myself objectively as I can. I see in my head all the conversations I've had with clients about taking their meds. They all want to stop them because they're "fixed", but mental health is sometimes never "fixed" by a short course of medications. I think about all the times that I directed them back to their doctors to get back on the meds that they self tapered off of. I think about how I tell them that if they were diabetic they'd take the meds so they need to take the mental health meds. And I wonder, is that what I should be telling myself?
Thursday, January 02, 2014
Mayhem
I'm currently sitting in my office at home with not one, but two sleepy puppies behind me. Nico the wonder schnauzer that I'd talked about before...my baby, my first born, my spoiled little office mate doggie. And Pepper:
She's cute, right? We're puppy-sitting for some friends; the wife has been sick and needs some rest. Oh my gosh I could eat up this little black face and puppy breath and big paws and long waggy tail. But...she should really be called Mayhem.
She's peed everywhere. Just when you think that her tiny little bladder should be empty, she pees on a shoe. She's pooed in almost every room. She's dragged toilet paper through the hall and down sthe stairs while eating it. She's removed stuffing from 3 animals and tried to lunch on it. She's kocked over a side talbe full of things and gotten her color wrapped up in it, dragging it to the other room while barking. She's escaped the snow walls Pete put in place for Nico in the yard. She's tried to bite my nose off and suckled Pete's nose in the middle of the night. I'm sure there is more, but that is the last 48 hours.
But then, the little cutie does stuff like sppon my dog while sleeping and all that stuff I just listed is wiped away. Until the next time she tries to eat my earlobe and earrings.
She's cute, right? We're puppy-sitting for some friends; the wife has been sick and needs some rest. Oh my gosh I could eat up this little black face and puppy breath and big paws and long waggy tail. But...she should really be called Mayhem.
She's peed everywhere. Just when you think that her tiny little bladder should be empty, she pees on a shoe. She's pooed in almost every room. She's dragged toilet paper through the hall and down sthe stairs while eating it. She's removed stuffing from 3 animals and tried to lunch on it. She's kocked over a side talbe full of things and gotten her color wrapped up in it, dragging it to the other room while barking. She's escaped the snow walls Pete put in place for Nico in the yard. She's tried to bite my nose off and suckled Pete's nose in the middle of the night. I'm sure there is more, but that is the last 48 hours.
But then, the little cutie does stuff like sppon my dog while sleeping and all that stuff I just listed is wiped away. Until the next time she tries to eat my earlobe and earrings.
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
My 2014 Word?
For the last few years I've been choosing a word in December to live the following year by. A word that represents some change I want to make or what I need to focus on or a reminder. Interestingly I think that my choices are very representative of what actually happens within the year. Maybe it's just self fulfilling, maybe it's luck, but whatever it is, it works.
Last year my word was grace:
In reality, I think that grace supported me. Grace was there to let me recover both mentally and physically. Grace was there for me to allow myself to ask for help when I needed it. Grace was there to be ok with where I was at, at that given moment. Without thinking about it, I was living a graceful life and it was giving back to me in return. Without grace, I honestly don't know where I would be now or what my mental status would be.
So this is my little thank you to whomever started the trend of One Little Word. My thank you to the prompt of seeking something to work on year by year. My thank you for the support throughout this year.
My 2014 word? I don't know. Something is pushing me to go back to the word choices. To focus on the fact that I can't change all the choices I had to make this year. To focus on the things that I can change and do something about them. But I'm still giving it thought because I have about 3 weeks left to decide!
Last year my word was grace:
I want to live gracefully. In beauty and kindness. With poise and centered in myself. I want to chose nice over mean. I want to give myself grace and forgiveness and be ok with who I am at any given moment. I want to be graceful in motion and thought.I have to admit, when I had the abnormal biopsy I abandoned my word and I felt that it abandoned me. How could I live gracefully when this bad thing was happening to me? How could I be ok, let alone poised with this decision? How could I be ok with myself when I was about to remove body parts in a preemptive move?
In reality, I think that grace supported me. Grace was there to let me recover both mentally and physically. Grace was there for me to allow myself to ask for help when I needed it. Grace was there to be ok with where I was at, at that given moment. Without thinking about it, I was living a graceful life and it was giving back to me in return. Without grace, I honestly don't know where I would be now or what my mental status would be.
So this is my little thank you to whomever started the trend of One Little Word. My thank you to the prompt of seeking something to work on year by year. My thank you for the support throughout this year.
My 2014 word? I don't know. Something is pushing me to go back to the word choices. To focus on the fact that I can't change all the choices I had to make this year. To focus on the things that I can change and do something about them. But I'm still giving it thought because I have about 3 weeks left to decide!
Monday, December 16, 2013
I Love Myself
Deep down, I know that I love myself, just as I am. But the day to day me isn't always so sure.
After losing weight I was liking my body, but the good and the bad parts. But with the surgery scars and the weight gain, I feel the self doubt filling in those empty spots. My scar is long and red and raised. Ready? Be gentle with me, because this is the first time I'm publicly sharing some of my scars.
This is my abdomen scar. Where they took skin and tissue to rebuild the breasts. The scar runs from buttock around the front to the other buttock.
Why am I sharing this now? I watched some documentary where they talked about self doubt and hate. One of the things that a therapist said, what she would prescribe that patients go home and post on their bathroom mirror: I love myself unconditionally! Read it twice a day and say it out loud. She said that the first 20 days or so would be filled with self doubt, criticism and sometimes hate. But after day 20 those critical statements after the sentence would get less and less. After 30 days, they're down to very few.
So, I'm here to say that I love myself. I'm not perfect (no one is) and I have things that I can improve upon. I'll do those when my body and mind are ready to tackle them again. Until then, I'm choosing to give myself grace and be ok with where I am.
After losing weight I was liking my body, but the good and the bad parts. But with the surgery scars and the weight gain, I feel the self doubt filling in those empty spots. My scar is long and red and raised. Ready? Be gentle with me, because this is the first time I'm publicly sharing some of my scars.
This is my abdomen scar. Where they took skin and tissue to rebuild the breasts. The scar runs from buttock around the front to the other buttock.
Why am I sharing this now? I watched some documentary where they talked about self doubt and hate. One of the things that a therapist said, what she would prescribe that patients go home and post on their bathroom mirror: I love myself unconditionally! Read it twice a day and say it out loud. She said that the first 20 days or so would be filled with self doubt, criticism and sometimes hate. But after day 20 those critical statements after the sentence would get less and less. After 30 days, they're down to very few.
So, I'm here to say that I love myself. I'm not perfect (no one is) and I have things that I can improve upon. I'll do those when my body and mind are ready to tackle them again. Until then, I'm choosing to give myself grace and be ok with where I am.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Shades of Grey
Tell me, where did your mind just go? *wink* Well, my shades are considerably more boring.
For years I was frustrated at every political discussion I had. I was frustrated about every social issue discussion too. Oh, and schools? Yep, frustrated too.
The process would look like this:
Other Person: All cows should be blue. Period.
Me: But not all cows are blue.
OP: But they should be. Blue or yellow.
Me: But the truth is that some are green.
OP: But cows have historically been blue and yellow and they shouldn't change.
Me: But there are so many reasons why cows aren't always blue and yellow and we need to consider those.
OP: Nope. Blue or yellow.
Me: grrrrrrrr (leaves conversation)
When my counselor asked me to describe myself the other day I said that I am the greyest person I know. She laughed and asked me to explain. I told her that for any statement she gives me, I'll likely to find several different points that would both support and discount it. I told her that I usually cheer for the team who is losing, even if I switch sides every inning. I spend a lot of time explaining my reasoning behind everything and I often get frustrated.
Her response was that it was all awesome. And then I laughed.
Most people in this world have a very black/white outlook on life. They are very absolute about what they think and believe. Me? I'm the opposite. She said that in her practice, she spends a lot of time with those black/white people trying to get them to understand the grey areas as those people have a hard time seeing that there could be any other answer, other than A or B.
Interesting.
But I explained that it frustrated me when I talked with others that they couldn't see the things that I see. She acknowledged this and said that while hard, it must make me a pretty understanding person. When I thought about it, I agreed. (toots my own horn...)
What I left with was a new understanding about not only myself, but those around me. I feel a lot like the person who's always saying, "But, what about this?" And while that may be true, I also help people think about things that they had not or could not even think about in many situations. Maybe that's why I like being a probation/parole agent so much?
For years I was frustrated at every political discussion I had. I was frustrated about every social issue discussion too. Oh, and schools? Yep, frustrated too.
The process would look like this:
Other Person: All cows should be blue. Period.
Me: But not all cows are blue.
OP: But they should be. Blue or yellow.
Me: But the truth is that some are green.
OP: But cows have historically been blue and yellow and they shouldn't change.
Me: But there are so many reasons why cows aren't always blue and yellow and we need to consider those.
OP: Nope. Blue or yellow.
Me: grrrrrrrr (leaves conversation)
When my counselor asked me to describe myself the other day I said that I am the greyest person I know. She laughed and asked me to explain. I told her that for any statement she gives me, I'll likely to find several different points that would both support and discount it. I told her that I usually cheer for the team who is losing, even if I switch sides every inning. I spend a lot of time explaining my reasoning behind everything and I often get frustrated.
Her response was that it was all awesome. And then I laughed.
Most people in this world have a very black/white outlook on life. They are very absolute about what they think and believe. Me? I'm the opposite. She said that in her practice, she spends a lot of time with those black/white people trying to get them to understand the grey areas as those people have a hard time seeing that there could be any other answer, other than A or B.
Interesting.
But I explained that it frustrated me when I talked with others that they couldn't see the things that I see. She acknowledged this and said that while hard, it must make me a pretty understanding person. When I thought about it, I agreed. (toots my own horn...)
What I left with was a new understanding about not only myself, but those around me. I feel a lot like the person who's always saying, "But, what about this?" And while that may be true, I also help people think about things that they had not or could not even think about in many situations. Maybe that's why I like being a probation/parole agent so much?
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.
Wednesday, December 04, 2013
I am still here...
I'm still here. Still struggling in some ways and flourishing in others.
I haven't posted because...well it's complicated. I realized last night that I don't have the running dialogue in my head all the time. I've talked before about how I felt like there was this running stream of consciousness going on in my head all. the. time. Well, it's quiet...er. I can sit and spend time crocheting and I'm not running 40 things in my head about what I did that day or plans for the next or how I screwed up and what I need to change or 15 other random things. It's a wonder why I could never meditate with all that going on. But I sort of can now. I'm enjoying crocheting things for gifts and for myself and the time spent with no TV/radio; just me and my hook and yarn. It's relaxing, rather than stressful.
But, that stream of consciousness seems to have been where most of my blog posts formed. I sort of feel like I've lost my blogging voice. It's a hard thing. I want to blog and document what's going on in my head, but I can't. Many times in the last month I've sat at the computer or my netbook or even my phone and stared. Everything that I thought about writing felt very forced and not at all authentic. So I closed the screen without saving a single letter.
Last night I realized that if I'm going to blog, it needs to be a conscious effort to do so. And maybe, just maybe, I need to ease back into it, just like I'm easing back into my life in other ways. So today, is post 1. I probably won't be blogging daily anymore, but my goal is to do so 2-3 times a week. I've written myself some notes about things that I really do want to talk about.
PS, thanks for listening....
I haven't posted because...well it's complicated. I realized last night that I don't have the running dialogue in my head all the time. I've talked before about how I felt like there was this running stream of consciousness going on in my head all. the. time. Well, it's quiet...er. I can sit and spend time crocheting and I'm not running 40 things in my head about what I did that day or plans for the next or how I screwed up and what I need to change or 15 other random things. It's a wonder why I could never meditate with all that going on. But I sort of can now. I'm enjoying crocheting things for gifts and for myself and the time spent with no TV/radio; just me and my hook and yarn. It's relaxing, rather than stressful.
But, that stream of consciousness seems to have been where most of my blog posts formed. I sort of feel like I've lost my blogging voice. It's a hard thing. I want to blog and document what's going on in my head, but I can't. Many times in the last month I've sat at the computer or my netbook or even my phone and stared. Everything that I thought about writing felt very forced and not at all authentic. So I closed the screen without saving a single letter.
Last night I realized that if I'm going to blog, it needs to be a conscious effort to do so. And maybe, just maybe, I need to ease back into it, just like I'm easing back into my life in other ways. So today, is post 1. I probably won't be blogging daily anymore, but my goal is to do so 2-3 times a week. I've written myself some notes about things that I really do want to talk about.
PS, thanks for listening....
Friday, November 08, 2013
Long Time; No See
So Monday morning I went off to my counseling appointment. We talked more about what I wanted out of counseling and less about the past, if that makes sense. More about where I am and less about how I got there.
She was happy that I blog and seem to keep a running list of what's going on with me at any given time. And at the end she gave me an assignment of sorts. To label my feelings throughout the week, explore them and come to some conclusion about them. To learn what things I can change and what I can't. She also asked that I print my blogs so she can see them.
You know what happened? I got a blogging block. Seriously.
So let's explore this. I blogged in the beginning to track what I was going through. I blog to get things out of my head, onto paper and so that I can review them later. I blog to help myself and others. Yet blogging so someone can read it and tell me what I'm going through may not be the right way to do it? Totally scary.
So I stopped blogging (as evidenced by my lack of posts).
A couple of times this week I've had anxiety and I get all "I want to jump out of my skin" and pace a bit and my mind goes from 45 mph to 145 mph and speeds away from me. A couple of the times I talked it over in my head (I swear this is a good thing, not an "I hear voices talking to me" thing). A couple times I talked myself out of it. Meaning I had this story all built up in my head about something that Pete was doing and talked myself through a conversation with him about it (because I don't like confrontation). When I realized that I maybe making a way bigger thing out of it than needs to be and that I may very well be wrong. So I backed my brain down to 45 mph and just asked him. I was wrong. Solved.
But there was also a time this week that I get very anxiety ridden and Pete wasn't home and I got tearful about feeling very very alone again and it overwhelmed me. I started trying to think about it all and suddenly remembered the sheet about the feelings. Perfect! I literally ran to it to start writing. And in the quick few word statements that I made I quickly tamped that anxiety way down. Maybe it' documenting it? Maybe it's learning a new way to address it? But the specific items on the sheet worked well for me.
So it's Friday afternoon and I hope you're all out having fun. I have goals this weekend and coming week:
1. Tomorrow I'm meeting with women at Bright Pink in Minneapolis. I am determined to keep meeting women who are high risk for breast cancer and or have had surgery and make some connections. They don't have to be perfect, just connections.
2. I'm going to enjoy ice cream date with Pete tomorrow to tour a local ice cream shop.
3. I'm going to take time to relax and crochet.
4. I'm going to go to the gym at least once.
5. I'm going to plan my week with hopefully less in and out of the house as this week.
She was happy that I blog and seem to keep a running list of what's going on with me at any given time. And at the end she gave me an assignment of sorts. To label my feelings throughout the week, explore them and come to some conclusion about them. To learn what things I can change and what I can't. She also asked that I print my blogs so she can see them.
You know what happened? I got a blogging block. Seriously.
So let's explore this. I blogged in the beginning to track what I was going through. I blog to get things out of my head, onto paper and so that I can review them later. I blog to help myself and others. Yet blogging so someone can read it and tell me what I'm going through may not be the right way to do it? Totally scary.
So I stopped blogging (as evidenced by my lack of posts).
A couple of times this week I've had anxiety and I get all "I want to jump out of my skin" and pace a bit and my mind goes from 45 mph to 145 mph and speeds away from me. A couple of the times I talked it over in my head (I swear this is a good thing, not an "I hear voices talking to me" thing). A couple times I talked myself out of it. Meaning I had this story all built up in my head about something that Pete was doing and talked myself through a conversation with him about it (because I don't like confrontation). When I realized that I maybe making a way bigger thing out of it than needs to be and that I may very well be wrong. So I backed my brain down to 45 mph and just asked him. I was wrong. Solved.
But there was also a time this week that I get very anxiety ridden and Pete wasn't home and I got tearful about feeling very very alone again and it overwhelmed me. I started trying to think about it all and suddenly remembered the sheet about the feelings. Perfect! I literally ran to it to start writing. And in the quick few word statements that I made I quickly tamped that anxiety way down. Maybe it' documenting it? Maybe it's learning a new way to address it? But the specific items on the sheet worked well for me.
So it's Friday afternoon and I hope you're all out having fun. I have goals this weekend and coming week:
1. Tomorrow I'm meeting with women at Bright Pink in Minneapolis. I am determined to keep meeting women who are high risk for breast cancer and or have had surgery and make some connections. They don't have to be perfect, just connections.
2. I'm going to enjoy ice cream date with Pete tomorrow to tour a local ice cream shop.
3. I'm going to take time to relax and crochet.
4. I'm going to go to the gym at least once.
5. I'm going to plan my week with hopefully less in and out of the house as this week.
Monday, October 28, 2013
Sunday Mornings
As a kid, weekends were golden. No school, no rushing around and I could do what I want (for the most part). Saturdays, my Mom deemed cleaning days. We turned up the stereo and everyone worked on a room. After that we were free to ourselves. I'd spent the afternoon and evening reading, watching TV or out with friends.
Sundays mornings were spent eating some form of brunch. Pancakes, waffles, eggs, toast, bacon, sausages, cinnamon rolls, orange juice, coffee. I've memories of my Mom making perfect omelets even though she doesn't eat eggs. She'd get out the shiny silver waffle maker and boil down water and maple flavoring for syrup.
My Dad was less conventional about cooking. He grew up the son of a farmer who never had to think about cooking, because my Grandma did it all. He'd make freshly grated hash brown potatoes with large pieces of onion, scrambled eggs and diced hot dogs. Then we'd squirt copious amounts of ketchup all over it before eating.
Food is connected to my childhood memories, whether I like it or not. And while my relationship with food is a bit broken, I still treasure those memories. They speak to a childlike innocence, lazy and relaxing days. They are emotionally comforting in a time where I'm not quite sure where I fit in right now.
Yesterday was a Sunday golden day. A day I made sure to live presently in, all day. I feel as though the dog tried sleeping on my face all night, but let me sleep until 8 am. I woke up to pumpkin coffee with a dab of cream. I concocted a breakfast of potato hash with bacon, onion, jalapenos, cooking on the stove. Finished, I topped it with runny eggs and sharp salty cheddar for me, instant grits and runny eggs for Pete. We are in front of the TV, talking about the weekend. I am relaxed and present.
I read my new cookbook and crocheted a bit after breakfast. Relaxing with a warm sleepy puppy and a blanket my Grandma crocheted for my high school graduation. All the while watching reruns of Law and Order. The sun glowed through the blinds in the living room and made the cold outside seem much warmer. Golden.
It's Sunday nights where I feel most like an adult. Sundays are when I bake bread and cakes. I roast whole chickens with root veggies. I slow cook turkey sausage chili with cornbread. The making of large meals again reminds me of my childhood. Of sitting round a table in the dark evening with tender roast, buttered carrots and soft potatoes. Of pieces of white bread with butter and the TV running the evening news or a football game.
This Sunday I made Turkey Wild Rice Hotdish with a crusty whole grain honey bread. Between dinner and breakfast, I made some new golden food memories.
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.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Confessional; Seeking Forgiveness
I feel like I should be in the confessional at church asking my priest for some sin that I've committed. My sin? Gaining weight back, after working so hard ot lose it.
I had to try on pants yesterday because I'm working at the office for a couple of days and yoga/jeans are not acceptable. None of them fit. I could get none of them over my ass. None.
It makes me so frustrated to see that I had come so far and now I'm headed back in the wrong direction. Call me Judgy McJudgerson, but when I used to read weight loss bloggers talk about a significant weight gain, I judged. They fell off the food wagon and couldn't get back on. I thought that I was immune to regaining my weight. I have the gastric band, I have a good relationship with food and with the gym, I have a supportive husband.
And I was so freaking proud of myself before surgery because although my gym going was sporadic, I had learned how to maintain my weight. No I wasn't losing, but I also wasn't gaining. I thought I had such a good, reformed relationship with food and how to eat to maintain weight.
And yet here I am, 6 months after this roller coaster of possible breast cancer and mastectomies and recovery and I am a good 15 pounds heavier than I was pre-surgery. My body shape has changed, both because of my weight gain and my surgery. None of my pants fit me, other than yoga pants. I don't feel good about myself and my body and I don't fucking know how to make it all better. I just want it all better. I want my body and life that I had before it was all mashed up with biopsies and surgery and sitting around.
If I confess all my sins to you, can I get back to that place? If I say 12 Hail Marys and study the food chart, will I be forgiven? Can I forgive myself? I'm frustrated and sad and I feel like I have no control over what is going on in my life!
And then it occurs to me that maybe that's why I'm eating. Maybe my food relationship isn't all that great and I'm eating because I can't control the rest of my life. But I can sure control that bag of Muddie Buddies Chex Mix going in my mouth. Maybe that's the lesson in all of this. I know putting that food in my mouth isn't making the control and emotions any better. I know this. It's not making the fact that I had both breasts removed and have fake boobs any better. It's certainly not making my post surgical body image any better. It's not making anything better. Maybe that's the lesson in this.
I need to continue to accept that I am a disorganized eater with a broken relationship with food. Instead of pushing the emotions away by trying to eat them, I need to recognize what I'm putting in my mouth at all times and why I'm eating it. Instead of eating my life, I need to talk it out or write it out or exercise it out, hell even scream it out into nothingness. But I can't continue to eat it.
Maybe there is a lesson in all of this. Maybe I can ask for forgiveness. But not from a priest, from myself. I need to forgive myself and it's ok to do that. My relationship with food will always be broken, but I have choices in how I deal with it. Maybe the lesson is forgiveness and choices and learning to allow myself to have these periods and chose to get myself out of them.
So I bought pants. And I hate them. I absolutely fucking hate them with a passion. They fit, they're nice pants, but I will always hate them because they are a size or 2 larger than what I was wearing before.
I had to try on pants yesterday because I'm working at the office for a couple of days and yoga/jeans are not acceptable. None of them fit. I could get none of them over my ass. None.
It makes me so frustrated to see that I had come so far and now I'm headed back in the wrong direction. Call me Judgy McJudgerson, but when I used to read weight loss bloggers talk about a significant weight gain, I judged. They fell off the food wagon and couldn't get back on. I thought that I was immune to regaining my weight. I have the gastric band, I have a good relationship with food and with the gym, I have a supportive husband.
And I was so freaking proud of myself before surgery because although my gym going was sporadic, I had learned how to maintain my weight. No I wasn't losing, but I also wasn't gaining. I thought I had such a good, reformed relationship with food and how to eat to maintain weight.
And yet here I am, 6 months after this roller coaster of possible breast cancer and mastectomies and recovery and I am a good 15 pounds heavier than I was pre-surgery. My body shape has changed, both because of my weight gain and my surgery. None of my pants fit me, other than yoga pants. I don't feel good about myself and my body and I don't fucking know how to make it all better. I just want it all better. I want my body and life that I had before it was all mashed up with biopsies and surgery and sitting around.
If I confess all my sins to you, can I get back to that place? If I say 12 Hail Marys and study the food chart, will I be forgiven? Can I forgive myself? I'm frustrated and sad and I feel like I have no control over what is going on in my life!
And then it occurs to me that maybe that's why I'm eating. Maybe my food relationship isn't all that great and I'm eating because I can't control the rest of my life. But I can sure control that bag of Muddie Buddies Chex Mix going in my mouth. Maybe that's the lesson in all of this. I know putting that food in my mouth isn't making the control and emotions any better. I know this. It's not making the fact that I had both breasts removed and have fake boobs any better. It's certainly not making my post surgical body image any better. It's not making anything better. Maybe that's the lesson in this.
I need to continue to accept that I am a disorganized eater with a broken relationship with food. Instead of pushing the emotions away by trying to eat them, I need to recognize what I'm putting in my mouth at all times and why I'm eating it. Instead of eating my life, I need to talk it out or write it out or exercise it out, hell even scream it out into nothingness. But I can't continue to eat it.
Maybe there is a lesson in all of this. Maybe I can ask for forgiveness. But not from a priest, from myself. I need to forgive myself and it's ok to do that. My relationship with food will always be broken, but I have choices in how I deal with it. Maybe the lesson is forgiveness and choices and learning to allow myself to have these periods and chose to get myself out of them.
So I bought pants. And I hate them. I absolutely fucking hate them with a passion. They fit, they're nice pants, but I will always hate them because they are a size or 2 larger than what I was wearing before.
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!
Thursday, August 01, 2013
197.2; My QVC Addiction
I'm just gonna say it, I've been with QVC since the beginning of time. I once left work on a lunch break to come home, watch a show and order a piece of jewelry. Of course this was before the internet was an ordinary thing and when my job was temporary and I could schedule this. Oh, and I lived like five minutes from work.
My Mom however, is a true addict. It started, interestingly enough, when she had her mastectomy and was at home. She spent the better part of that year doing chemo treatments every 3 weeks. She couldn't leave the house, other than work, so that she didn't get sick. She watched a lot of TV. And shopped. On QVC. I think most of what we got for Christmas that year was from QVC.
I've had periods where I watch a lot of it and order a fair number of things. I did it when Bare Escentuals was new and I couldn't get it in stores. I LOVED the scents they used to produce and wore the perfume for about 10 years. I bought some clothes when plus sizes were hard to find and when they were the same price as regular sizes and looked the same. I bought jewelry with my aquamarine birthstone when it was hard to find around here (although it still is).
So since I've had surgery, I've bought a initial necklace, some Tarte BB Cream and Philosophy Total Mattness Duo. The BB cream and the mattness duo I could have bought in stores near me. But I got the brush with the cream and thought it was a good deal. The mattness duo I did check out in stores. It's $45 for just the primer and another $25 for the cleanser. So that is a great deal and it's on auto delivery to keep shipping for a maximum of 2 years.
But I've also found myself checking out clothes. And I get all set to order things and then I remember: 1. I no longer have to go to work every day so I don't need lots of work clothes. 2. I have NO IDEA what my body will look like in 30 days, 60 days or this winter. Two valid reasons why I need to refrain from buying clothes right now.
So, all this to say that I keep the drone of QVC on the TV when I'm reading and might steal a glance every once and a while. And I seem to be a walking/writing advertisement for QVC lately...
My Mom however, is a true addict. It started, interestingly enough, when she had her mastectomy and was at home. She spent the better part of that year doing chemo treatments every 3 weeks. She couldn't leave the house, other than work, so that she didn't get sick. She watched a lot of TV. And shopped. On QVC. I think most of what we got for Christmas that year was from QVC.
I've had periods where I watch a lot of it and order a fair number of things. I did it when Bare Escentuals was new and I couldn't get it in stores. I LOVED the scents they used to produce and wore the perfume for about 10 years. I bought some clothes when plus sizes were hard to find and when they were the same price as regular sizes and looked the same. I bought jewelry with my aquamarine birthstone when it was hard to find around here (although it still is).
So since I've had surgery, I've bought a initial necklace, some Tarte BB Cream and Philosophy Total Mattness Duo. The BB cream and the mattness duo I could have bought in stores near me. But I got the brush with the cream and thought it was a good deal. The mattness duo I did check out in stores. It's $45 for just the primer and another $25 for the cleanser. So that is a great deal and it's on auto delivery to keep shipping for a maximum of 2 years.
But I've also found myself checking out clothes. And I get all set to order things and then I remember: 1. I no longer have to go to work every day so I don't need lots of work clothes. 2. I have NO IDEA what my body will look like in 30 days, 60 days or this winter. Two valid reasons why I need to refrain from buying clothes right now.
So, all this to say that I keep the drone of QVC on the TV when I'm reading and might steal a glance every once and a while. And I seem to be a walking/writing advertisement for QVC lately...
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
197.4: 5 Positives for Mind/Body
My first Weigh In Wednesday after my mastectomy surgery. I started out the day of surgery at 194. My lowest was in February at 187. Today, all drains out, I weigh 197.4. Not bad considering my gastric band was loosened and I can eat way more than I should be. Not bad considering I've been eating casseroles and things that I wouldn't normally make. Not bad considering that I am still pretty swollen in my abdomen from where they took the flaps.
Today is weigh in number 1 to recovery and resuming weight loss mode!
It occurred to me that there are things that I can do to make myself feel better. To make my body feel better and my psyche feel better.
1. I am being kind to my fingernails. I'm taking care of them and the cuticles that I usually neglect into dryness and poor condition.
2. I am taking care of my face. I've purchased new skincare because I need to switch it out every so often. Philosophy is my line of choice. I'm committed to washing, night and day, and using moisturizer to improve my skin.
3. I'm taking care of my tootsies. My feet. I usually neglect them and they're dry and not the best looking. Well, no more, I'm committed to doing the foot care that makes my feet soft and silky and keep my toenails polished with F U Cancer colors.
4. I'm committed to getting back to walking daily. Even if it is the couple of blocks at a time.
5. I'm committed to eating mindfully again. Why am I eating? Hungry? Bored? Hurting? Emotional? If it's something other than hungry, announce it! Be honest about it and move on, with the intent to do better next time.
Today is weigh in number 1 to recovery and resuming weight loss mode!
It occurred to me that there are things that I can do to make myself feel better. To make my body feel better and my psyche feel better.
1. I am being kind to my fingernails. I'm taking care of them and the cuticles that I usually neglect into dryness and poor condition.
2. I am taking care of my face. I've purchased new skincare because I need to switch it out every so often. Philosophy is my line of choice. I'm committed to washing, night and day, and using moisturizer to improve my skin.
3. I'm taking care of my tootsies. My feet. I usually neglect them and they're dry and not the best looking. Well, no more, I'm committed to doing the foot care that makes my feet soft and silky and keep my toenails polished with F U Cancer colors.
4. I'm committed to getting back to walking daily. Even if it is the couple of blocks at a time.
5. I'm committed to eating mindfully again. Why am I eating? Hungry? Bored? Hurting? Emotional? If it's something other than hungry, announce it! Be honest about it and move on, with the intent to do better next time.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Body Image
Body image is a strange thing. I mean, we're all so different. No two people alike. Well, I guess they are, if you're a twin or something. But the rest of the world? We are all different.
As little girls we grow up seeing out mothers and their shape and how they view their bodies. Are they thin or thick, tall or short, round or flat? Do they mention their frame and their shape? Do they just naturally live in their frame? Do they constantly diet? Or eat whatever and seem to make no mention? Our idea of body image is first instilled by those closest to us.
As a child I remember my Mom being...perfect. Not too tall, not too short, not big or thin. My Aunt was thin, but always dieting. I don't remember the particular diet, but I remember a constant conversation on dieting. The thing is, I remember wanting to be like my aunt. Mostly, only because she wasn't my Mom, and the grass is always greener on the other side.
I've said before, but I have a few particular memories about body image. I believe I was 11, the summer after 5th grade. I had been wearing a bra for about a year and started my period. My sister, our neighborhood friends and I were playing outside. We all had swimsuits on with some shorts and t shirts on over it. A neighbor was airing out his camper trailer and said we could hang out in it. We little girls giggled and talked and as we got hot, we took off our shirts and shorts. Only I wasn't "little". Even though I was 11 and about the same age as the other girls, I had developed hips and breasts and in my swimsuit I must have appeared more teen/woman, than child. The neighbor came in to make sure we were ok and mentioned me and my suit in some manner, but no one else. I was instantly embarrassed, aware of something being "wrong" and as he left, I put my shorts and shirt back on. I instantly felt different from the other girls and my first instinct was to attempt to blend back in and become invisible. This would shape my body image for years and years to come.
The one that I've talked about before was being with my aunt and a friend of hers in the yard. We were sitting on a blanket and the friend was asking about me. At the time I was about 12, tall for my age at 5'7" and thin. Her friend said something to the effect that it was awesome that I was so tall because I could gain weight and it wouldn't show because of my height. I was 12. And I think that's one of the interactions that would also shape my image for years to come.
My body image is horrible, I'll be the first to admit it. When I was gaining weight in college and afterwards, I remember thinking to myself "I'm not that bad." What does that even mean? That I'm fat, but it's ok? That I'm not really fat, just big boned/large? That I'm thin, but just different than other women? That I'm just average, but bigger? At this point, I don't even know. It seems silly and dumb when I think about it, but at the time it made sense.
I bit of me, a tiny voice in my head, is struggling again. And I have to say that even though this surgery and the flap procedure fit my life best, I almost changed my mind. Why? I was concerned about my body image. Only not what you would think; not about my breasts. I was/am concerned about my hips/butt. I have this incredibly flat tummy right now from surgery. I have these beautiful breasts that are in place and not saggy from weight loss. But my hips and tummy? They're still the same. Large.
It's a shame really. I go through this incredible weight loss than changes my life and my body. I start coming to grips with my body image and how it's changed, but livable and beautiful in it's own right. Then this new life changing thing happens. And again I have to figure out not only what my body image is, but how to successfully live with it. It's never ending, this body image thing.
Try this: What's your body look like to you?
Tell me, how close were you to your actual body shape? What's your body image?
As little girls we grow up seeing out mothers and their shape and how they view their bodies. Are they thin or thick, tall or short, round or flat? Do they mention their frame and their shape? Do they just naturally live in their frame? Do they constantly diet? Or eat whatever and seem to make no mention? Our idea of body image is first instilled by those closest to us.
As a child I remember my Mom being...perfect. Not too tall, not too short, not big or thin. My Aunt was thin, but always dieting. I don't remember the particular diet, but I remember a constant conversation on dieting. The thing is, I remember wanting to be like my aunt. Mostly, only because she wasn't my Mom, and the grass is always greener on the other side.
I've said before, but I have a few particular memories about body image. I believe I was 11, the summer after 5th grade. I had been wearing a bra for about a year and started my period. My sister, our neighborhood friends and I were playing outside. We all had swimsuits on with some shorts and t shirts on over it. A neighbor was airing out his camper trailer and said we could hang out in it. We little girls giggled and talked and as we got hot, we took off our shirts and shorts. Only I wasn't "little". Even though I was 11 and about the same age as the other girls, I had developed hips and breasts and in my swimsuit I must have appeared more teen/woman, than child. The neighbor came in to make sure we were ok and mentioned me and my suit in some manner, but no one else. I was instantly embarrassed, aware of something being "wrong" and as he left, I put my shorts and shirt back on. I instantly felt different from the other girls and my first instinct was to attempt to blend back in and become invisible. This would shape my body image for years and years to come.
The one that I've talked about before was being with my aunt and a friend of hers in the yard. We were sitting on a blanket and the friend was asking about me. At the time I was about 12, tall for my age at 5'7" and thin. Her friend said something to the effect that it was awesome that I was so tall because I could gain weight and it wouldn't show because of my height. I was 12. And I think that's one of the interactions that would also shape my image for years to come.
My body image is horrible, I'll be the first to admit it. When I was gaining weight in college and afterwards, I remember thinking to myself "I'm not that bad." What does that even mean? That I'm fat, but it's ok? That I'm not really fat, just big boned/large? That I'm thin, but just different than other women? That I'm just average, but bigger? At this point, I don't even know. It seems silly and dumb when I think about it, but at the time it made sense.
I bit of me, a tiny voice in my head, is struggling again. And I have to say that even though this surgery and the flap procedure fit my life best, I almost changed my mind. Why? I was concerned about my body image. Only not what you would think; not about my breasts. I was/am concerned about my hips/butt. I have this incredibly flat tummy right now from surgery. I have these beautiful breasts that are in place and not saggy from weight loss. But my hips and tummy? They're still the same. Large.
It's a shame really. I go through this incredible weight loss than changes my life and my body. I start coming to grips with my body image and how it's changed, but livable and beautiful in it's own right. Then this new life changing thing happens. And again I have to figure out not only what my body image is, but how to successfully live with it. It's never ending, this body image thing.
Try this: What's your body look like to you?
Tell me, how close were you to your actual body shape? What's your body image?
Monday, July 22, 2013
Monday; Better Late Than Never
My life in photos:
My meds and vitamins/supplements. Some of them are regular meds for TMJ issues and pain management. Some of the are vitamins/supplements that I usually take. I have pain meds from surgery, a couple of meds to help relax muscles and some to help me sleep.
Gifts and cards from friends. I have some wonderful friends who have brightened my days. There's a crocheted infinity scarf from a friend and a shirt and some cards from family members.
My world. I covered the pleather recliner so it was more comfortable. I use the fan at night to help buffer sounds and let me sleep. I have my netbook, my Nook, my phone, magazines and some crochet I started. I've managed to read a whole book, but up until a couple of days ago, I didn't have enough concentration to stay focused long enough to read. The crochet helps work my chest muscles little by little. The rest is just to keep me occupied. TV is starting to feel like it's draining my brain cells and I need something to exercise my brain.
There it is, my life, currently.
Gifts and cards from friends. I have some wonderful friends who have brightened my days. There's a crocheted infinity scarf from a friend and a shirt and some cards from family members.
There it is, my life, currently.
Friday, June 07, 2013
; Friday Five, The Random Edition (link up!)
I found another blogger who does Friday Fives! So I'm linking up with The Good Life Blog for this post.
1. I am freaking excited because I'm going to host my first giveaway next week. I'm a giveaway virgin and I can't wait to explain it all to you on June 12th.
2. A CT Scan with Contrast is yucky. Trust me. It's not the scan it's self, it's the contrast solution that gives you this lovely metallic taste for hours. Maybe it's a new way to stop me form eating?
3. I'm in love...with this product:
I have oily skin and have been using the primer from Smashbox for years and it's worked great. But with the new BB creams that have been coming out I realized that I wanted something with tint. So a trip to Sephora and a wonderful girl helping me out and I have a new favorite primer.
4. Rings.
Can you see all those rings on my wedding ring finger? They are an attempt to make it so that my wedding rings don't fall off on me. I'm not quite there for getting them resized because I'll only have 1 chance. So I've been wearing other rings to hold them on, but those rings are too big too. I feel naked without my rings (anyone else feel that way? Or is it just me?) I need to find a single band that is my size that I can wear. Trouble is that I'm a 5.25 or 5.5 and those aren't found in department stores and I don't want to spend a bunch of money at a jeweler.
5. I'm meeting one of my college friends on Monday for lunch. She is a teacher/administrator who lives about 3 1/2 hours from me. We don't see each other often, but when we get together a few times a year, it's like we were last together yesterday. Do you have friends like that? This is us last June for her daughter's high school graduation. (I'm so freaking old that I have friends who's children have completed school! Is 43 old?)
Remember, I'd been riding a motorcycle for 3 hours at this point. I'm so excited to see her!
1. I am freaking excited because I'm going to host my first giveaway next week. I'm a giveaway virgin and I can't wait to explain it all to you on June 12th.
2. A CT Scan with Contrast is yucky. Trust me. It's not the scan it's self, it's the contrast solution that gives you this lovely metallic taste for hours. Maybe it's a new way to stop me form eating?
3. I'm in love...with this product:
 |
| Naked Skin by Urban Decay |
4. Rings.
 |
| Watch: Target, Leather bracelet: Kohls, Gold bracelet: long ago gift from parents, Wedding rings: Kay Jewelers both from the case and custom, Heart rings: Kohls |
5. I'm meeting one of my college friends on Monday for lunch. She is a teacher/administrator who lives about 3 1/2 hours from me. We don't see each other often, but when we get together a few times a year, it's like we were last together yesterday. Do you have friends like that? This is us last June for her daughter's high school graduation. (I'm so freaking old that I have friends who's children have completed school! Is 43 old?)
 |
| Stacy and I, summer 2012. College room mates and forever friends. |
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