Missing Lainey

If there's one person that I wish was here with me for life post-op, it would be my friend, Lainey.

We met 20 years ago next month during my first year in college. I was lighting kleenex on fire and she was chain smoking across the room. She told me to stop playing with fire and "light a cigarette with that damn thing instead." So I did.

Most people thought we were a freak of a couple. She was a good 22 years my senior, an almost dried-out drunk and a biker babe who loved big, Harley-riding guys with long, grizzly beards.

I was a crazy, self-destructive 18-year-old who didn't know her ass from her elbow, making her way through school while trying to hide from her family.

Lainey was a townie. I was a coed. And we met in a psychiatric hospital. The staff discouraged me from hanging with her. But once we were out, we stuck pretty close to each other. I think it was because we both felt unconditional acceptance--she for the choices she had made in her life, me for the ones I suspected were coming.

After I was graduated, I moved back to Wisconsin. Lainey took off for Phoenix. And in a couple of years we had lost contact. Then in '93, I got a call from her. She wanted to tell me that she was going to be on Connie Chung's news program. They did a segment about her search for her birth parents and her reunion with a half brother she'd never met. The angle, though, was that Lainey had AIDS. I hadn't known that.

We picked up our friendship where we left off. By now, she had been sober for 5 years. I was out for 6. I made a few trips to Phoenix to visit. She made plans to move to Wisconsin. She didn't have kids. She wasn't married. And her reunion with her biological family quickly soured.

Finally, in early 2000, Lainey moved to Milwaukee to live with me and Rose. We fully expected her to die within the year. But, instead, she toughened up and got a studio apartment of her own over on the east side (where she could get into all the trouble she wanted without my nagging.)

In April 2003, Lainey was diagnosed with breast cancer that had spread to her liver and lungs. Chemo really did a number on her. But by late September of that year, everything looked pretty clear.

I got a call the Thursday before Thanksgiving that year from Lainey's neighbor. She said Lainey seemed really out of it and non-responsive. By the time I got to her apartment, Lainey couldn't talk. Her eyes could. But her mouth couldn't. And she acted like she didn't know how to walk. In order to get her to the car, the maintenance guy and I put her on a dolly and wheeled her down three flights of stairs.

Hours later, it was confirmed that her cancer had returned and had shown up in her brain. Aggressive radiation helped bring back her speech and mobility. But she couldn't move back into her apartment. So I found an awesome hospice for AIDS patients. We moved her there the day after Thanksgiving.

Christmas was hard that year. Everyone but Lainey knew she was going to die. It was frustrating to listen to her plan for moving out and getting a job. Early in January '04, Lainey finally accepted that the cancer was going to kill her. And then it went fast.

I spent the last week with Lainey around the clock. She could speak very little. Again, though, her eyes stayed focused. The last couple of days she was pretty much unconscious, so I just played her favorite music, rubbed lotion on her hands, moistened her lips, helped change her diapers. I told her so much during those long snowy nights. Like how she was the one person that never expected more from me than what I could offer...that loved me for who I was, no matter how shitty that was sometimes. I told her I was pissed that she was dying, but relieved that it was finally going to be over. I told her I'd be there by her side when she died.

But I wasn't. That last night had been a peaceful night for her. The morning before, she had sat bolt upright, smiled at me and told me she was going to be ok. It was the first time she had talked in 6 days. Throughout that day, she slept quietly. Her breath was smooth. I stopped counting the seconds between gasps.

So after staying with her all night, I decided to run home, shower and stop by the office to pick up some work. I was just leaving work when the phone rang and the hospice director told me to come right away. Lainey had taken a very sudden turn for the worse. The nurse was with her and thought she'd die within the hour.

It was snowing so furiously as I left the building. Traffic was slow and it took me a half hour to get to her. I was too late. I think Lainey probably took her last breath as I was pulling out of the driveway to leave.

When I got there, I went right to her room. I don't remember if I realized right away that she was dead. I don't know if they told me or I checked her breath. But I made everyone leave the room. I fixed the false teeth in her mouth. Put sweat pants on her. Covered her feet. Fixed her stocking cap. The funeral home people came to take her and after they put her on the bag on the gurney, I folded her hands on her stomach and zipped up the bag.

During the next few weeks, I waited for Lainey to haunt me. She said she was coming back. But she never did. I'm hoping that it's because whatever happened to her on the other side was well worth the one-way ticket.

I wish I could explain better what this woman meant to me. I loved her so deeply and respected her so fiercely. She was my rock for so many years. I'd give anything for her to be here with me now. I know she'd understand my fear, my uncertainty. I know she'd have the right words to say when I need encouragement, empathy or a kick in the ass. She wouldn't let me get away with not going to the gym or with feeling sorry for myself.

I just miss Lainey so much.

Biology

Even though my stomach has been replaced by a 2-ounce pounch, I still experience many of my not-so-happy emotions in the pit of my stomach.

Does that mean I'm destined to also always have a pain in my ass and a thorn in my side no matter how thin those parts get?

odds and ends

I survived the Sassy Fatty Webring Sisters Convention, Encounter Group and Seminar! Highlights and details abound at Sister D's Site of Iniquity.

I ended up getting home around 1 a.m. and was wide awake. Around 2 I decided to post to the blog. It was a rambling post of the finest introspective bullshit. I was so impressed by myself. I went to bed at 3, was up by 7 and I deleted the post by 8 or so. Sometimes I get sick of reading my own crap. How much soul searching does a person really need to do? I think myself in circles and cause more damage. If only you could flip a switch.

40 Years in Sassy Fatty Time

Today's my 5-month WLS anniversary. I started at 317pounds with a BMI of 51. This morning I weighed 224 and my BMI is now 36. That's a total of 93 pounds.

Let's put it into perspective:

An M252 81mm Medium Extended Range Mortar weighs 93 pounds (and has greater lethality than earlier models).

Ume, the National Zoo's 6-year-old male cheetah tips the scale at about 93 pounds. I've lost quite a big hairball, haven't I?

The average 12-year-old girl weighs only a few ounces more than 93 pounds. I weighed somewhere around 160 to 175 when I was 12.

Beluga Caviar fetches as much as $1,100 per pound. My 93 pounds of hot fat on the caviar market, might have brought me $102,300. Yowzer!

On Jupiter, I've gone from 741 pounds to 524. Praise be I'm earth-bound!

So all in all, I think my loss is pretty damn fantastic. Plus, I've dropped clothes sizes like crazy, going from a 32W to 18/20. I never took my beginning measurements, so I can't report on that. I'll post a new before/after picture when I find a camera.

I sold 2 pounds!

The scale moved and the extra pounds are gone...plus 2 more.. Hallelujah!

I also think I've got the munchies closer to being under control. I started to really think about what I wanted to put in my mouth every time I reached for something. And I limited what I had available to me. My weekday snacks became protein shakes instead of solid food. In the evenings, I removed myself from in front of the TV where I'd be most likely to want to eat and kept myself busy with other things.

This week I went to the health club on Monday and Wednesday and I'll go back tomorrow. I can't believe I'm actually following through on it.

My Dad and I were chatting last night and his goal is to exercise more, too. We decided to check in with each other every week to see how we're doing. Of all the people in my family, my dad is the one person that has never made an issue about my weight, never brought it up, never offered me a bribe to lose it, etc. So talking to him about exercising feels so less stressful or judgmental than if it was one of my brothers or my mother.. He's a good guy.

Thanks to everyone for your comments of support. If you want to buy a pound of my hot fat, let me know. The quicker it goes, the better.

I knew this day would come

Actually, I knew this week would come. I've hit a plateau and this is my first. Others with surgery dates close to mine have hit their first stall--and moved on from it. I thought maybe I'd be the first WLS patient to not have a stall. Yeah, sure. But it's been a good 2-1/2 weeks since the scale has moved. And, in fact, it's actually gone up over the last 2 days.

Besides being incredibly frustrated about all of this, I feel like I'm out of control when it comes to food. Part of it is the whole girl "thang". But I know another part is testing the waters. I think I can eat something, so I try. Or I want to munch...and it doesn't end. Or I eat more frequently than I need to. Or I don't plan my meals and I wing it (and then wish I didn't). I feel like I'm on the verge of screwing it all up. Old habits in a new body. Might as well still weigh 317 pounds.

I envy people who don't have cravings, who don't care about eating, who miraculously have their brains rewired post-op and don't deal with this crap. Or at least they say they don't. It's obvious to me that I can either fix this now and clean up my act or I can surrender to the food abuse. I'd give anything to not let that happen. Guess I better figure out a constructive, proactive way to deal, cope, kick myself in the ass.

I so hate being human.

whut waz i triing to right?

This thing has spell check. I should learn to use it. A thousand apologies for the typos in the previous post or the one before that, or the one before that, or the one before that....

I do it just to bug Dona. Have you seen her site? Scroll down to the bottom of my page and click through on the Sassy Ladies of WLS webring. Dona's at I'm Unrecognizable. She's got cool stuff on her blog. And no typos. (While you're down there, say "hey" to my other webring sassy sisters, Katie and Claire.)

No pain, no gain

I joined a health club this week. Thought I'd never say those words. It's one of those "women only" places, but this one has more than just a 30-mintue circuit. And the price wa good--$250 for 18 months.

So I went last night for the first time and damn, I'm sore today. Angela, the manager, should me the ropes and walked me through their recommended beginner's work out. A bunch of curls, presses and painful contortions using 5 lb. weights.

Then she had me do some ab crunches and some squats. I thought I was going to collapse from using muscles I've never even been introduced to before. This morning I'm in pretty good shape, though. All things considered. Of course, I'm a little tender. But that sounds like a damn good excuse to not do any work around the house today.

Part of the orientation was weigh-in and measurements. I enver measured myself before surgery, so I have no idea how many inches I've lost. BUt I do think I'm down about 8-10 inches in my waist and 6-8 in my bust. I've got to be if I went from a 32W to 20W. Right? At least I can keep track of it moving forward.

Sam I Am

No, really. My name is Jen. If you care.
If you don't, move on to the next blog. You're not invited to my private hot fat clearance sale.

Magic Bullet

Get your head out of the gutter. That's my blender I'm talking about. I got a great deal at work through our catalog division on a Magic Bullet Blender. Yet another appliance I probably didn't need...but the price was so very right. I pulled it out of the box a couple of days ago and love the damn thing! I'm back to mixing powder protein shakes now just because the blender really does a fine job of emulsifying everything I throw in. And it's quick clean-up. I've got to see if I can find extras of the tall cup.

Tonight's dinner was a delish chocolate peanut butter protein shake featuring a scoop of EAS Whey Protein Chocolate powder, 8 oz. of Vanilla Soy Slender, a tablespoon of SF/Non-caloric Chocolate Syrup (brand starts with a W, can't think of the name) and a tablespoon of natural, no-sugar-added peanut butter. Plus ice. It was 16 oz. of heaven. YUMMMMMM

Between this new toy and the Tassimo coffee machine I got at Christmas time, I think I'm set for a while...until the next great thing comes along.

Incognito

I just got back from a whirlwind business trip to Phoenix. I wasn't even gone 48 hours. But I saw sunlight!

It was an amazing trip for so many reasons--and none are at all related to business.

I rode a 737 from Milwaukee to Phoenix. Nonstop. I had an aisle seat in a row of 3 people. I did NOT need to ask for a seat belt extender. And I had to tighten the belt to be snug on my lap! The skinny woman next tome put her tray down about 20 minutes into the flight. I eyed it up and thought I might be able to put my tray down, too, without it resting on my belly. So I tried. Damn if it worked! I could even put 2 fingers between my stomach and the edge of the tray! I left it down the whole damn time just because I could.

Across the aisle from me was a woman who probably weighed what I did when I started my surgery experience. I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she tried the seat belt, adjusted the chair arms, wrangled the attendant for an extender and then hid it beneath her blouse. She could have been me. I wanted to turn to her tell her that I was just like her. That I knew exactly what it was like to be in her seat. I felt almost guilty for fitting comfortably in my chair.

Once I was in Phoenix, I spent the time with new colleagues from other divisions of our company that I was meeting for the first time. On Jan. 3 I started a new job as a book editor (no more junk mail writing for me!). Normally, I am freaked out by situations like this. I worry about what people think of me, how they judge me, do they like me, etc. Four months ago I would have found an excuse to not go out to dinner with them and to excuse myself from drinks.

But I joined right in. In fact, I walked a good 1/4 mile to the restaurant and hoofed up 3 long flights of stars--and never lost my breath. Oh, and I also had spent 4 straight hours on my feet that afternoon working our booth.

At the bar, a couple of the skinny younger women (at least 10-12 years my juniors) were talking about harrowing flight experiences. One of them recalled traveling on a 16-seater plane where they asked your weight before you boarded. She talked about an overweight woman on that flight who "obviously lied about her weight" and how they had to rearrange people to balance out her heft. They were laughing about her and the situation. I didn't say anything. I had this huge lump in my throat because I know that I would have been that woman. I was so mortified for her.

I don't think that these women would have told the story or laughed about the instance if I had been the fatter me. No one ever told fat jokes in my presence or even brought up the topic of weight. But now I find myself in a position where not everyone knows that 4 months ago I weighed 90 pounds more. People think I am like them.

Part of me loves it. Is this what "normal" is? To not feel like the center of attention because of your enormous girth? To not worry about fitting in seats, sitting at crowded tables, walking a few city blocks with no thought about perspiring?

But a larger part of me feels like a sell out. Like I should confess that I'm a lifelong fatty. I think I should stick up for the fat chicks, but I'm embarrassed to admit that I am one, because I like being the way I am now. I never want to go back.

Don't get me wrong. I am not looking down on any fat person. I just am trying to find my way in this new thinner world where I've never ventured before. I haven't done this before. I've never known what it's like to be able to order anything off a menu and not worry about what people will think of me. I've never been able to walk into an airport gift shop and not be embarrassed to look at souvenir t-shirts, afraid that someone will laugh because it's obvious I'd never fit in them.

This cross-country trip opened my eyes to another reality. I'm just trying to get my bearings about me. Should be interesting, to say the least.

Happy New Me!

My parents came to visit this weekend. We took them to a local restaurant where I indulged in Prime Rib, Twice-Baked Potato and Suffed Mushroom Caps. Of course, it was about 2 oz of the beef, 3 bites of potatoes and maybe a 1-sq.-inch piece of mushroom. But, damn, it was delicious. I don't think I've ever had a celebratory meal that tasted to good.

Today my dad and Rose stayed home to watch football while my mom and I went shopping. Casual Corner Annex is going of business and everything is 60% off. I'm wearing size 22 pants for work, so I thought I'd try on a 20. Fit perfect. So I didn't buy any. Why bother if they are going to be too big in another few weeks? Instead, I tried on size 18 pants. I actually got them buttoned. Not ready to wear in public yet. But they had these cool side snaps in the waistband to let you adjust the waist. Bought those in an 18 and a 16. And I picked up a few turtlenecks in a 1x. I also found this hot , knee-length black blazer in an 18. Damn, I looked fanfuckingtastic. But I couldn't justify even $44.

The coolest thing about the day? My mom wears a size 16. And I'm about 6 weeks away from that. I have always felt like I've not lived up to her expectations when it came to weightloss. I really don't care anymore (and haven't for most of my adult life). Now the fact that pretty soon I could wear her clothes is starting to freak her out. I could tell she was a bit weird about it. (Strange how people always expect you to be the fattest on in the family.)

It felt wonderful to try on clothes. And it was so hope-filled. I've never stood at the door of a new year and felt anticipation--or even lack of dread--about losing/gaining weight. I know it's going to happen. I know that I will not be the same person next year on this day as I am right now. I also know there'll be hard work required of me, and there'll probably be a bunch of disappointment along the way. But I've never felt so capable of change and growth (in spirit, not size) as a I do right now.

So to all my sassy sisters, fellow WLS souls and those who are trying in any way to conquer the beast of burden called obesity, here's to a wonderful new you, too!