Vacation

A full week of no work (except the 3 hours Wednesday night I spent reviewing press ozalids). Joy. I haven't felt this relaxed in such a long time.

Christmas was nice. Rose and I exchanged gifts Christmas Eve before going to a candlelight service, where she did a marvelous job on a vocal solo. Christmas morning we drove north to visit our families.

The rest of the week has been spent sleeping late (that's past 7 a.m. for me), shopping, noshing, watching movies, organizing, playing.

The eating was a little out of control there, but that was quickly brought under control with one batch of delicious, but digestively deadly sugar-free peanut brittle. I found the recipe for it at Susan Maria's site, Bariatric Eating. The sweetener creates a laxative effect if you eat too much. Say no more. In moderation, though, the recipe is quite a treat.

We head back up north tomorrow for a dinner with my family. My grandparents are in Wisconsin for the holidays for the frist time in more than 20 years. While we spent Christmas with them at my parents' home, my grandma wanted to have all of us over to their house. My brothers and I are looking forward to rousing games of Kerplunk on the living room floor--just like we used to play as kids after a huge Thanksgiving meal.

And then Tuesday it's back to work. Damn.

Back on track

Yesterday was a much, much better food day for me. I managed to each the foods that I knew were healthy choices, avoid the ones that weren't, and enjoy everything in moderation. Thank god for cheese and sausage plates to balance out the cookies!

Maybe my body needed a jolt of high calories. I stepped on the scale this morning and since my last report, I've dropped another few pounds. Granted, it's not my 3-day rule, but I was pretty surprised to see it slinking downward.

Mindless eating

Today, I have consumed 900 calories worth of banana chips.

I drank 300 calories in coffee beverages.

I chomped about 250 calories in soy chips.

I downed 300 calories from a cup of chili with cheese and crackers.

That’s 1,750 calories. And I haven’t even eaten dinner yet.

Eating without thinking is going to kill me. I threw away the last of the banana chips and opened a bottle of water.

Tomorrow’s a new day. If I can get through tonight.

Down to earth

I'm back to my normal, clear-headed sassy self. Headache is still lingering, but I don't feel like a walking zombie. Panic attacks are subsiding. Life is coming into focus. All's well for today. Thanks for the emails.

Buzzed

My mind is fuzzy, I can't concentrate and I have a nagging, low-grade headache. I'm weighing whether these side effects are worse than the ones I was treating with the drugs that are causing them.

For the past few weeks I've been having panic attacks. I went through this a few years ago when I was taking care of my friend Lainey during her last month. Same choking sensation, same chest-exploding pain, same stomach-clenching fear.

I got some drugs from my primary doctor, careful to get ones that aren't continuous release. But I feel so stoned. I wouldn't know if I was having another panic attack even if red lights started flashing and alarms sounded. I left work today because I simply couldn't concentrate.

I know enough about myself to realize when it's time to get help. Drugs were the first step. I'm going back to counseling. I think that the attacks are a physical manifestation of my inability to deal with something. I'm at least past the point of trying to eat through these times. I guess being stoned on paxil and xanax is a fair trade off for the time being.

Guest Post #15,000

I was serious when I said that the 15,000th visitor would get a guest spot on this blog. Let me introduce Marie Braden, loyal HF4S reader and fellow traveler. Read her post. Visit her blog. Share the love.

He said he would divorce me if I didn't have the surgery. Little did I know that he had already made the choice to leave me, and perhaps this was his final farewell--a way to wash his hands of the mess we'd made of our life together. I don't talk to him, so I'll never know. The thing is, my weight bothered him far more than it did me. I have always said that if I wasn't happy with who I was, I couldn't have the surgery--I could not look to it to fix any problem other than my weight. And, hey, it definitely fixed THAT. But my husband didn't understand why I didn't hate myself for being fat. He was no prize, but he also didn't realize that my weight gain wasn't the real problem--it was the things that had gotten me to that point. It was the depression, the feeling crippled, unwhole. It was only after I addressed those feelings that I could even consider taking such a drastic step.

When I tell people that I've had WLS, I usually get the following reactions: 1. "I know someone who had that and gained back all their weight and then some." 2. "I've heard about someone who died from that" 3. "OH, I bet you're so much happier now!" or 4. "Well, I'm thinking about it myself, do you think I should?" (The last, usually from someone who wouldn't even qualify.) The thing is, I do NOT want to spend the rest of my life identifying as a bariatric patient. I'm me, Marie, whatever that means. What perverse need do people have to try to sabotage my successes with their negativity (responses 1 and 2). It isn't easy. I don't like that I will have to have additional surgeries eventually (the skin removal), I don't like that I have to think carefully when I order food in a restaurant (Ironically, my boyfriend says it is easier to go to dinner with me than it is some of our female friends who insist on having their food meticulously prepared, where I just find something that looks likely to work). But I have made huge strides, so dwelling on the negatives won't get me anywhere. As far as responses 3 and 4, I think, sometimes, that I find them even MORE offensive. I wasn't unhappy about my fat, I was fat because I was unhappy. That's a crucial distinction that most people don't understand. And it isn't an easy choice, so for someone who is only 20 lbs overweight to say they have considered surgery really gets to me. Someday, I'm sure I'll snap and say, "What, would you amputate your finger for having a hangnail? It's pretty much the same."

But along with my desire NOT to be identified as a bariatric patient comes a series of needs, too. Unless you've been there, you don't understand how you can dissolve in tears in a clothing store that doesn't carry 4X, because you've FORGOTTEN that you wear a 4 WITHOUT the X now. Unless you've been there, you don't understand the tears that come when, as hard as you tried to prevent it, your hair falls out anyway. Unless you've been there, you don't understand the self-loathing you feel when you see someone as large as you were or larger and the thought flickers across your mind, just for a moment, "Why doesn't s/he have surgery?" I would never want to talk anyone into this drastic step; it was the right choice for me, although for the wrong reasons. But the thought still occurs, and then I hate myself for thinking it. Because it's NOT my life, it's theirs, and it's not as if the information isn't out there if they are ready to change.

Support groups haven't really helped me, which may be why I love reading this blog so much. I discovered it a few months after my surgery, when I was thoroughly disgruntled by the support group I'd been attending. I began reading, and found a sassy voice that was dealing with so many of the issues that I have been tackling on my own. I felt, surprisingly, uplifted, knowing I wasn't alone. How very different from attending a support group meeting and getting yelled at by someone who felt that I didn't "deserve" to have surgery, because at the time of my procedure I was "only" 221--never mind that at 5'3", that gave me a BMI of 40; never mind that I had been as high as 276; never mind that I didn't start attending group until I was several months post-op. It's hard. It's not something I can discuss with my thin friends, because they don't understand the fat side of the equation. It's also not something I can discuss with my fat friends, because, to them, I'm no longer "one of them". So that's why I've gravitated towards the blogs of other WLS patients--the ones who have been there but do NOT let it define their sense of self.

I'd like to think my blog falls under that category, as well. Admittedly, right now, it's kind of barebones as I am porting over the posts from my old one. When I was married, when I was fat, when I was somewhat crazy... "Postcards From the Wasteland" suited me. But, now, with a new life, a new me, a new world... I'm ready for "Whatever Happened to Fun?" It's out there--just waiting for me to find it!

Returning to the scene of the crime

Tonight I was on a mission to find a size 5X nightgown to give as a gift to a woman I've never met. From my fatter days, I could think of only one store that carried sizes that large: Catherine's.

I don't think I've been there for over 8 months. As soon as I was small enough to shop in the plus-size section of regular stores like Wal-Mart or Target, I gave up on the over-priced clothes of Catherine's.

It was like walking into a bad dream. I forgot the synthetic blends, the elastic waists and extra-long tunics. I looked at the store like I was seeing it for the first time. Why, in a store for large-size woman, were the racks wedged so close together that even I in my size Large body brushed through sweaters and stretchy denim slacks? Why did most styles feature garishly printed patterns? To cover the fat? To accentuate it? And why in the hell were they selling frickin' toffee, nuts and fruit car in Figi's boxes at the cash register? WHY? It's insane.

I'm going to admit it. I looked at the people in the store and I was, first, glad that I was not one of them, and two, embarrassed for them. When did this change for me? I have been very critical and condemning of newly thin people who say they are repulsed by fat people. I can't say that I'm repulsed, but I do want distance from them. I want to NOT be associated with them.

Someone said to me that we are most critical about other people for the things we like least in ourselves. I guess that's true. I least like that part of me that lived for 38+ years in a casing of hot, miserable fat. Time to find the things I do like.

We have a WINNER!

The 15,000 visitor landed on this site today at 1:35 p.m. CST. Congrats to IP Address 209.63.207.# from Ogden, Utah! I don't know who you are, but I appreciate your frequent visits!

So just for you, I am awarding you a personally autographed copy of this Fat Jen photo...


....plus free use of my personal Hot Fat 4 Sale button:



...and a special guest blog post spot for Saturday, Dec. 9.

Contact me to claim your prizes: jen@hotfat4sale.com

Another milestone

I've been flirting with this number for so long, that I could barley talk about it without feeling like I was going to jinx myself. But after five days of consistent readings, I think it's safe to say: I've lost 150 pounds.

I have 5 pounds to go until I could be considered the "normal" weight for a woman my age and height. I have 8.5 pounds to go until I can say I have lost half of my body weight. I have 13 pounds to lose before my BMI would be below "overweight." And I am only 20 pounds above my ulitmate weight goal.

While I'm still scale obsessed and stand on the damn thing a gazillion times a day, it feels more like "checking in" with myself than judging. If it goes up a pound or two, I know it's going to come back down. If it dips a couple pounds, I don't believe it until it's been there several days in a row. I judge my weight better by how my clothes fit than how the scales reads.

Those weightloss goals are out there for me. I could live with not hitting that ultimate goal. I couldn't live with gaining a significant portion of this weight loss back. So for today, I'm celebrating this new milestone just for myself. It's been nobody's goal but my own, so it makes reaching it all that more sweet.

Who will be #15,000?

My site meter tells me visitor number 15,000 is lurking nearby. Who will it be? I think I'll have a special prize for #15,000. I'll take suggestions for fabu prizes.

Diving Deep and Surfacing

Through a series of fortuitous events, none of which I've written about in this space (or have only alluded to), I find myself at the beginning again. The beginning of me.

When I traveled to Atlanta last month, my time spent with Wendy was refreshing and relaxing in a way that I didn't even know I needed. The last time I had been with her I was well into therapy, intent on clear thinking, in the zone of healing. But since then, I realized during this trip, I had let a lot of that slide. As I began to feel more grounded while with her last month, it became obvious to me how detached I had become the last few months.

In the terminal waiting for my return flight, I spotted a peculiar man. Fiftyish. Wildly crazy hair. Equally bizarre clothing. I wondered what his story was. When I got to my airplane seat, he was sitting next to mine. Within minutes we struck up a conversation that lasted beyond the arrival gate in Milwaukee. This guy has a long list of credentials, an impressive set of accomplishments, a keen insight into human behavior. But what really intrigued me about Neil was how he's carved a niche for himself in this world--with his clothes, his persona, his reputation--and fills it full with creativity and caring for humanity. I admire his fearlessness and sense of self.

A few days before Thanksgiving, I received a message from a friend, someone long lost but rarely far from my thoughts. After 10 years, he had returned home and was seeking me out. I've loved this man since we first met when we were young and lost, searching for meaning in our lives before we even understood where that could take us. He was one of those seminal figures in my world whose presence cajoled me into adulthood. We met over the holiday weekend and have spoken and written since. Stepping back into this friendship has been like slipping on last season's winter coat...familiar, warm, comforting, knowing what it's capable of because it's already weathered the vicious, bone-chilling storms. He's struggled himself over the past few years. I wonder if what we each have been through has, in part, happened so that we could come together again.

But he's also pushed open that door of mine a little bit further. As Wendy's presence helped me see my need for sure footing and Neil's chance meeting opened my eyes to possibilities I had long considered but been too self-censoring to consider, Steven's return is becoming for me the map to a path I formerly might not have considered. All things point me in this direction.

I want to be my authentic self, the person I was destined to become, true to my soul. While I've started this process or, in the least, have set the process in motion with definitive choices I've made, I know that I honestly haven't committed myself to it. I've not integrated into my life what I've been learning (or saying I need to learn). It's been superficial at best.

Where am I going with all this? Not a clue. Other than to know that I'm going somewhere. I need to keep moving, keep searching, keep changing.

I visited this morning, a website that Steven recommended. Yesterday I visited a website recommended by Steven and listened to some of Caroline Myss' free audio lectures on risk. She speaks a truth I need to hear.

As if I needed a further sign, her thought for today reads: You are afraid of your own empowerment as much as those around you are of you becoming empowered.

Whether it's all things aligned in the universe, the hand of God swirling my world or some other divine intervention, I feel compelled to dive deep on blind faith--maybe intuition--that I will surface.