Good News, Bad News, Bachelorette Finale.

Let’s start with the good news, shall we? I FINALLY STOPPED BLEEDING!!! A few days after my last blog post, the post-op bleeding stopped completely, and I’ve been “normal” ever since. I’m not sure what the blogging equivalent of cartwheels is, but I’m doing them. I can’t even explain what a relief this is. The pathology from the biopsy hasn’t come back, but I’m praying that it’s normal and that in a month or so, my real cycle will return and I can put all this behind me.

Now for the not-so-great news… I had my first gain this past Saturday (my weigh-in day). Instead of moving closer to my goal, I gained a pound back, and am back where I was two weeks ago, at 243. I’m disappointed, but I know it’s my own doing. I used my weekend in the hospital as an excuse to eat French fries and ice cream and not count calories for several days, and it caught up with me. I kind of half-heartedly counted calories last week, and even got on the treadmill, but I guess the naughty indulgences won in the end.

The entire month of July felt a little bit like a bust. I only lost five pounds, as opposed to my 12-pound loss in June. I know that there will be ups and downs, but I can’t help thinking that medicine has something to do with it. I started taking an antidepressant again at the beginning of July, since my anxiety struggles returned, and my weight loss has slowed way down. I am very happy to have those five pounds gone, though. There are worse things than not losing enough—like gaining! I’m glad that despite some of the health challenges I’ve had this month, I still managed to lose. I guess that’s a victory.

Another victory is that I didn’t let my 1-pound weight gain derail my entire goal. Instead, this week I’m back on track with a vengeance. I’m trying to eat a lot cleaner to give my hormones the best chance of coming back into balance, and I’m getting on the treadmill more, because I’m sure exercise will help, too. I’m feeling a little more energetic now that I’m taking iron and not bleeding profusely every day, but I still feel very weak when I get on the treadmill to walk. I’m walking a pathetic 2.8 MPH and lasting only 30 minutes or so, which burns like 150 calories. I hope my energy and endurance will improve as I exercise more and more, because I’d like to restart the Couch to 5K program sometime soon. 

In other news, who watched the million-hour finale of The Bachelorette last night?! I know, I know, the show is pathetic. I usually only watch to practice rolling my eyes for two hours straight, but then, inevitably, I get hooked on the drama and can't stop. I actually really like Chris, the guy Des chose. He was my favorite for most of the season, except for all the times he wrote and/or recited poetry to Des (which was every three seconds, I think). I am just not into poetry and that is the last hobby on earth I'd want in a guy, but hey, to each their own.   

Falling off the wagon...

OK, I didn’t actually fall off the wagon. It was more like I politely asked the wagon driver to pull over, gathered my satchel and gloves, hoisted my skirts and stepped down from the wagon to walk behind it for a spell.

After spending nearly a week riddled with anxiety, barely able to choke down 300-500 calories a day, my appetite returned on Friday. I was grateful, because my weight loss came to a screeching halt at 244 while my body held on for dear life to all of its fat cells and water, trying to compensate for what I’m sure it defined as starvation. So when I actually felt hungry again, rather than worry over how many calories I was eating, I simply made the decision to eat what I wanted while I felt like it. I’m sure I could have eaten a bit more healthfully, but I didn’t go overboard or binge.

Today, I have made the decision to get back on the wagon. My appetite is officially back, and I’m taking new medications that can contribute to weight gain, so I need some structure. I actually gained back a pound when I started taking a hormone that is supposed to get my cycle on track, but I’m not going to let that freak me out. I have to get my body back in order, and right now birth control appears to be the best option.

On that note, I am SO SICK of bleeding. It has been almost seven entire months of a non-stop period, and nothing else I’ve tried (losing 28 lbs., taking vitamins, taking pig thyroid, eating healthier) has helped. The progesterone I just took for a week was supposed to make me stop, but instead it tapered only slightly, and over the last few days has caused what looks like the zombie apocalypse, or a Jodi Arias-like crime scene when I wake up in the morning. (I’m not sure I ever mentioned that I tend to over-share… too late to warn you?) I’m pretty sure I need to go buy a box of adult diapers. Desperation is setting in.

I am hopeful that the BC will level out my hormones, and as I continue to lose weight, I can stop taking it. The doc says I should be able to in 3-6 months. In the meantime, I’ve had lots of blood tests and exams to try and narrow down the problem (which I’m pretty sure is my thyroid, but my doctor is old school, so convincing him has been difficult). I’ve heard horror stories of weight gain from birth control, so I’m going to need to keep track of my calorie intake and exercise whenever possible in order to combat the hormones.

So… it’s back to tracking in the SparkPeople app, and now that my bronchitis is gone, I’ll be jumping back on the treadmill. I’m actually very happy about it. As much as I love food and hate exercise, nothing in the world makes me feel as good as I do when I’m in control of my eating and when I’m making myself move.

Happy Monday! J

The Weightness Protection Program

Yesterday while at work, I received a panicked call from my best friend. She wanted me to go on facebook and check to see if a picture of her had been posted (she doesn’t do facebook). One of her relatives had taken a picture of her and posted it to their page, and my friend received a text message about it, and was horrified (seriously, close to hyperventilating). Like me, she doesn’t let people post pictures of her on social media sites, because she has gained a significant amount of weight over the last few years, and doesn’t want certain people to know, or to judge her.

I did my best to calm her, assured her she looked fine in the pic (she really did), then proceeded to do what any true friend would—I attempted to hack into the facebook account of the person who posted it, so I could delete it for her. Unfortunately, my attempts were unsuccessful (and I don’t have Kim Kardashian’s number), so now anyone who has seen the photo knows that my friend isn’t a size 4 anymore. She’s emotionally devastated.

This story probably seems a tad melodramatic to anyone who has never struggled with their weight, but to someone who has, I’m betting it’s pretty relatable. Similar scenarios have played out in my own life more times than I care to admit. I went into my Dad’s facebook over Christmas—hey, he left his iPad lying around—to delete several horribly unflattering photos he posted of me without make-up, in mismatched pajamas and at my highest weight EVER, so I completely understand the oh-my-gosh-someone-posted-a-fat-pic-of-me-I-am-going-to-DIE-OF-HUMILIATION feeling.

Since I’ve gained 80 pounds in the last two years, the last thing on earth that I want is for my out-of-state friends, relatives or old boyfriends to see that I have let myself get to my present state of hugeness. I only want to be seen by friends and acquaintances when I look gorgeous and trim, so I’ve avoided events and gatherings of all kinds. I’ve even been scared of my boyfriend proposing (!) because I can’t imagine having engagement or wedding photos of me at this size.

SERIOUSLY?

Why am I living like this? Why am I in constant fear whenever I go out of my house, terrified that a few extremely shallow former guy friends of mine might see me? Why do I refuse to go to events where I might run into someone I haven’t seen in two years? Why am I skipping vacations to visit cousins and aunts I adore, simply because I can’t bear for them to see what I’ve let my body become?

Those questions are a big part of the reason that I decided enough was enough, and made the decision to lose this weight once and for all. I got to the point where my weight was totally controlling my life, and I was serving a self-inflicted prison sentence that only made me rely even more on food for solace and comfort.  

Well. I’m tired of living in my own personal Weightness Protection Program. I’m tired of being afraid of events and people and gossip and Instagram posts. I'm tired of being miserable. I deserve to live a full, happy, healthy life, and this debilitating cycle of overeating, shame and fear is not going to be what drives every decision I make.

I’m officially coming out of hiding. Join me?

My backward before & after...

I talked about before & after photos in my last post, and then I realized that I have one. Unfortunately, it’s not the very inspiring kind...

                                           BEFORE                              AFTER

Well, that was embarrassing.

The photo on the left is of me at roughly 172 lbs, about a year before my doctor put me on anti-depressants and I spiraled into the photo you see on the right. By the time I saw a doctor about my anxiety issues, I had regained some weight and was up to 190 pounds, but I was determined to get back to my goal. That determination disintegrated with my introduction to Citalopram, then Remeron, then Prozac, and over the course of two years I have gained more than 80 pounds. At my highest I was 273 lbs, but I took myself off of anxiety medicine five months ago and I have managed to lose 15 pounds, though every ounce was a huge freaking struggle.

I don’t blame the meds entirely, because the reality of my size caused me to start eating emotionally, which exacerbated the problem, but antidepressants did play a big role in my weight gain. From the time I started taking meds I was extremely lethargic, hungry all the time, foggy, and that alarm that goes off in a non-medicated brain that says “HEY! You’re gaining tons of weight—DO SOMETHING, DUMMY!” was just switched off. It was like the weight gain was happening to someone else, and I was just observing the rapid expansion of my girth unemotionally as a third party.

My body is now a disaster. I have struggled with knee and back problems, stomach ulcers, hernias, GERD, hypothyroid, and menstrual issues (I’ve literally been on my period since Christmas). Now that I’m off of medicine, the logical thing to do is lose weight, but the reality of just how much I need to lose has been a constant excuse to not even try. I am trying, though. Because this is not me. Yes, I’ve struggled with my weight since I was a child. I’ve never been skinny. But I’ve been healthy before, as you can see from the “before” picture above, and I’m determined to get back to that place once again.

Let the hard work begin. Or a nap, and then the hard work… (See?! Constant struggle.)