That Sucks

Lipo, that is. Last Friday I underwent the last major step in recovering from damage I've done my body with all those years of yo yo dieting and just generally not taking care of myself. Now I'm hobbling around the house wrapped like a sausage from knees to underarms, bruised and battered and looking like someone has bashed me across the legs and below my arms, front and back, with a baseball bat. The shades of mauve and purple and teal I'm sporting aren't my best colors, and wrestlin' with Spanx has reduced me to tears a time or two. But this is another one of those things I know will be worth it.

Since my last blog post we've added two new sons-in-law to our family, two ready-made grandsons, and the excitement of getting ready to add another little granddaughter to the Ogglet count. Maddy, Mamaw can hardly wait to see you and hold you and rock you in the chair that's been my grandmotherly throne since your oldest sister was born in 1995, rocking each of the eleven grands that preceded you.

Just when you think God can't bless you anymore than He already has, He does. Life is good.

Cha Cha Cha Changes

Yep, I've renamed by blog. It's been closer to four years than three since I underwent weight loss surgery. I managed to reach my goal of 130 lbs. before creeping back up to 140, which seems to be where my body is happiest and healthiest, and now that I've been in maintenace for about a year it seemed like a good time to change my focus from reducing to rediscovering. Whether a person gains a great deal of weight or loses it, the changes go much deeper than just physical appearance.

One of my biggie issues is that I still tend to choose clothes made by Omar the Tent Maker, camouflaging instead of accentuating. And why, why, why do I still automatically gravitate towards the plus size clothing? I celebrated the day I could shop from the misses department again, yet when I go into a store my autopilot activates and in my mind's eye I go (grow?) from a size 8 to an 18. It's all about the picture we have of ourselves, the one we use to judge each and every "flaw", raking ourselves over the coals for every blemish or pound or wrinkle, magnifying it until it overtakes almost every positive feeling about our bodies we might have had.

It's time to embrace my new lifestyle. I may never grow to love working out. I'm sorry if I offend, but all you people who claim to love it? I think you're a buncha sickos! I know I'm never going to want to jump from airplanes or swim across the Atlantic or zip-line through the rainforest, but there are more things to add to my bucket list than there are to erase.

Hopefully the new direction I'm taking will be as helpful to someone as people have told me the old one was. I'm usually an aggravation; being an inspiration is a nice change :)

Okay,so I'm not the most techno savvy person

If I were, it wouldn't have taken me so long to realize that the reason I couldn't access my own blog was because I was logging in with the wrong e-mail address. Hey, my hubby is the techno geek of the family; it's why I pay him the big bucks ;)

An awful lot has happened since my last posting, most notably that after consults with three different plastic surgeons, and a surprisingly easy insurance approval for panniculectomy, I underwent a belt lipectomy, or lower body lift, three weeks ago, on March 29th. A pretty intense surgery, my LBL took approximately six hours (nine hours from the time I was taken to the OR to the time I was released from recovery and sent to a room) and involved an incision all the way around, about where low-rise pants or a bikini bottom would sit. Mine included removal of the pannus (the "apron" of skin that falls below the belly button in people who've lost weight) with a with the creation of a "new" belly button, tightening of abdominal muscles, an outer thigh lift, and a buttocks lift - in true "green" style, my surgeon "reduced, reused, and recycled" some of my own fat to give shape and lift to my tush. All the excess fat over my hips and below my bum is gone, and so is all of the cellulite that dimpled the backs of my thighs.

My research showed that roughly 99% of surgeons have their patients wear a compression garment after tummy tuck, but my surgeon reassured me that he would suture me so tightly that a compression garment wouldn't be needed...and he was right. I joke that if my hubby gets bored he can amuse himself by bouncing quarters off my bum or my belly :).

Now, I have to admit that this surgery is not for the weak of heart. I was so scared that even after having the LaLa juice administered I was telling everyone that I was okay with living with a layer cake top (having surpassed muffin top about 75 lbs ago) and would be glad to get up and just go on back home. My husband and our youngest son, who had accompanied us that day, just laughed. I vaguely remember putting my hands up, thinking I could push away the mask, and that's my last memory before hearing someone call my name in the recovery room. Apparently I was pretty worried about picking my maltese up from the groomer, even though he'd been the day before and was safely ensconsed at home. It's funny the things the mind can dredge up under the influence.

No matter how hard I tried to stand up and walk that night, I simply could not do it. I'd make it as far as to stand up beside my bed (and my gosh, but that hurt) and then a wave of heat would wash over me and I'd start to get sick. Thankfully I was able to ambulate early the next morning, which we all know is a big part of recovering from surgery.

There never was a point when I was so miserable that I regretted having this surgery, not even when I waited too long between doses of pain medication...NOT a smart move. From the moment I lifted the covers and, through the bandaging and drains and tubes could see a flat stomach, I knew I'd done the right thing. The day after, when I could stand in front of the mirror and assess everything, that was confirmed. In spite of the fact that I looked like I'd been pieced together by a manic-depressive quilter during a manic phase, I could see the immediate changes and imagine the ones to come as my body healed.

I can't sing enough praise of Bio-Oil and Mederma, but mostly the Bio-Oil. Once the incion was closed, I started four-times daily deep tissue massage (or my version of it anyhow), twice with Bio-Oil and twice with Mederma. Even though I know it can take up to nine months for all the redness to dissipate, there's a noticeable improvement in color and texture on a daily basis. I highly recommend these products.

One of the hardest aspects of the surgery was dealing with the drains. I came home with four of them. Two came out after nine days, a third came out after another five days, and the last one was finally removed three weeks post-op. They didn't hurt; they were just a big incovenience and trying to keep them hidden was a huge challenge. Thank goodness for loose fitting tops. The absolute hardest part has been not being able to pick up our second-youngest grandchild. Every day she asks me if my tummy is better and every day I have to say not yet, because I know as soon as I say yes I'm going to be expected to pick up Her Highness and tote her around. Right now we compromise by having somebody lift her onto my lap so we can snuggle.

Belt lipectomy is not a cheap surgery, but it was financially doable for us because of our insurance covering the panniculectomy part. That approval helped defray some of the expense by covering part of the costs, including one of the two nights I spent in the hospital. I was tempted to forego all the rest of it and just have the fully-covered panniculectomy, but I knew I wouldn't be happy with the results of that procedure alone.

I've been blessed with a very strong network of help. My husband took vacation time from work to focus on taking care of me, and he, our son, daughter-in-law, and oldest daughter, took care of everything related to the house and meals and laundry and pets so that I didn't have to worry about a thing. Even though I'm three weeks post-op, I still tire easily, and they're all still pitching in. I feel like a lady of leisure! Of course, the girls can be a bit bossy at times *LOL*, and I can't get away with a darned thing, but I honestly can't imagine how people manage after surgery when they don't have the kind of strong support system I've enjoyed.

It's drummed into us that we undergo weight loss surgery for the health benefits, and that's true. Goodness knows that I'm certainly enjoying the relief of the severe osteo-arthritic knee pain that slowed me down for so many years. Chasing grandkids wasn't something I was able to do before undergoing lap-band back in December of 2007, and I can't imagine being able to carry our Butterbean around the way I do if I hadn't bitten the bullet and fought with insurance companies and had weight loss surgery. But I don't think it's fair to deny that there's an aesthetic component to it too, at least for many of us. Yes, we're healthier, but we want to look good too. And what's wrong with wanting the way we feel on the inside to be reflected on the outside? What's wrong with wanting to look as fit and healthy as we feel? Nothing, that's what. A person who's physically and emotionally healthy wants to look their best. A little vanity is a good thing because it shows that we care about ourselves and want to present our best face to others.

Of course, I'm not a therapist or counselor or psychiatrist or any kind of trained, educated professional. What I am is a woman who's been there, done that and bought the t-shirt and who can now wear that t-shirt without looking like the Michelin man. And that's a good thing.

Happy Almost Anniversary!

On the 19th it will be three years since I underwent lap-band surgery, a decision I'll never regret. Since my last post, I've hit goal and even managed to go under by a pound or two, have settled comfortably into a size 6, and have even had to purchase some extra-small yoga pants versus my usual size small.

Y'know, I can't help but be amazed when I reread what I just wrote. I never thought I'd be a "small" anything. And size 6? Please. That would only happen if the fashion world should ever decide that a size 6 should become the new size 12 (a size I was prepared to settle quite comfortably into).

Through it all, Ray has been my biggest cheerleader. He's my support, my strength, my sounding board when I've griped and grumbled about how slow the process of losing 130 pounds was. And he continues to be all those things, although now the kvetching is more about things like exercise and going to the gym. I'm sorry, but I have a deep mistrust of anybody who claims exercise is fun. Fun is going to the beach. Fun is playing with the grandbabies. Fun is, well, heck. Going to the dentist is fun when compared with going to the gym *bleah* We do it though, like the good soldiers we are (at least most of the time).

In the name of "fun", I treat myself to a Christmas goody and enjoy that decorated cookie or a couple of green- and gold-wrapped Kisses because for me weight loss hasn't been about deprivation, it's been about celebration, and sometimes that involves an edible treat. It's the non-edible ones, like the size 6's, that help keep me on track. I've discovered that I really, really, really like buying clothes now!

What a difference a day makes

Okay, actually it's been more than a day since I last updated my blog. More like a day multiplied by...a lot.

Some amazing things have happened since my last posting and some not-so-great things but, as part of my new outlook on life I've been working on learning from the not-so-great and then letting them go, choosing to focus my energies instead on the amazing.

One of the most amazing things has been the gift of seeing our #10 grandchild, our Butterbean, who has cerebral palsy, ride a tricycle for the first time, being there to share in the pride and joy she felt over her accomplishment. She's always been one of the biggest reasons for my decision to undergo weight loss surgery and the main one to keep me on track when the going got rough. I want to be able to enjoy all my grandchildren (and maybe even great-grandchildren) and be physically able to do things with them for years to come, but she's the one who will always need the most help physically, and I want to be able to help with that for the rest of my life. Besides, after spending the past three weeks visiting her in California my upper arms have gotten a lot firmer. I owe her, big-time.

Now here I am, 2 1/2 years post-op, hovering between 131-133, right on the cusp of my 130 lb. weight goal. Needing new clothes for the warmer months ahead, I began purchasing spring and summer clothes in March. Certain that I would never move to a size lower than a 10, I tossed receipts, washed and ironed all my new duds, and hung them in my closet to wait for sunshine and warmer temperatures. Well, we got sunshine and warmer temperatures...and a local consignment shop got a lot of new clothes to sell for me. Skipping size eights, I needed to go re-buy everything I need for the summer in a size six. My shirts went from medium to small. Can you believe it? I can't. Heck, I still look at things in a size 16 or so and think, "I bet I can fit into that."

Unfortunately, there's been a downside. As the rest of my body gets smaller, so do "the girls", until I'm now in a 34B. My very well endowed numero uno daughter-in-law laughed at me when we went bra shopping together because I went straight for the padded numbers. Heck, I have to admit that I laughed at me too; afterall, I haven't been a 34B (or needed a padded cup) since I was ten.

Weight loss has also continued to help my knees. Although I still use a pain medication daily the breaththrough pain has almost completely disappeared. The only time osteoarthritis rears its ugly head is when I've been sedentary for a few hours.

After purchasing (and actually using!) several exercise DVDs to work out to at home, I finally felt comfortable enough to join a gym and even attended yoga classes (until they changed the danged schedule and took away the beginner class in the time slot that had worked out so well for us). After two weeks of watching me go off alone to the Land of Sweat and Tears Ray decided to join also, and we even splurged on a personal trainer. This has all been fairly recent, and we've missed a month due to out-of-state travel, but we both noticed a difference fairly quickly. On the flip side, after a month of not using a gym we saw a not-so-great difference just as quickly. Now we're anxious to get home and settled back into our six-nights-a-week gym routine.

I've had what will probably be my last lap-band fill, the last because it's now so tight that a barium x-ray shortly after that appointment showed the barium staying in the upper part of my banded stomach for a looooooong time before slowly starting to trickle down enough to allow them to take the x-ray.

On the same day as the x-ray I was scheduled for my annual mammogram. I had to laugh when the x-ray tech asked if I'd lost weight since my last one, in February of 2009. It seems the "area to x-ray is significantly smaller than it was then." Really? I mean, I didn't have a clue *snort* I did, however, learn a valuable lesson: the smaller the boobies, the more they have to pinch and squeeze and squish to make them stay between the plates for the x-rays. OUCH.

It's a small price to pay (no pun intended), giving up some of "the girls" for my new size and weight. And I've still never regretted my decision to have lap-band, not once.

Self-saboutage

Well, SPIT. I never thought I'd be prone to saboutaging myself, but doggoned if that's not exactly what I've caught myself doing. After working my way down to 163 lbs. from an operative day weight of 239, I thought I was set. On track. Staying the course. Steady as she blows. Runnin' for the roses.

What I didn't count on was the almost culture shock-ish feeling that came over me once I stopped needing plus sizes. Never did I imagine that I'd be anything less than thrilled once my size number stopped being proceded by an "x". Now, don't get me wrong. I am thrilled about it. More than thrilled. But I'm also a little unnerved. As my weight has changed, so has my body shape, the shape of my face, my feet. On at least one occasion I've been startled by my own reflection. Who is this person?

I spent so many years trying to like myself in spite of being fat, and while I do like myself (and, as vain it sounds, applaud myself), I sometimes have the feeling that I don't know myself anymore. As I gain control over what I eat, I gain control in other areas too, in what would normally be a win-win situation, in what has been a win-win situation, at least 'til now.

But now I sit here, wondering if I like this "new" me. The me that's less concerned with pleasing people than I used to be. The me who's a little tougher, a little less worried about what others think of me. The me who is learning that some dreams are meant to stay just that, dreams, and to not waste my efforts and my energy trying to change those things I have no power over.

Over the past two weeks, I've come to realize that I've set myself up for failure and backslidden from a healthier lifestyle, from the changes I've worked so hard to implement. It's time to jack myself up by the bootstraps and stop feeling sorry for myself for succeeding. Who ever heard of a such a thing anyhow, huh?

Plumber's butt

Yep. Plumber's butt. Or carpenter's crack, if that's your druthers. It's a new issue for me; certainly not one I've dealt with since I was, oh, about three years old.

Earlier this year I had to buy all new clothes, from the inside out. Yeah, I had to since I'd "undergrown" every single thing I'd worn last summer. Since the weight was coming off relatively slowly, I figured I'd get my money's worth out of everything I bought, maybe even wearing it next year.

Welp, that ain't gonna happen.

Now, it's a good problem to have, so don't think for a second that I'm complaining. But I'm down to two pairs of capris and one pair of jeans...and those have to be held up with a belt; an item I don't own 'cause fat people don't wear belts. Well, I didn't. With my short waist and round body I looked like a Weeble.

Today I went grocery shopping with one of my 9-year-old granddaughters, my diva darlin' Lilybell. Lilybell has a problem; her pants just won't stay up. Never have. Prolly never will. So there we went, up and down the aisles, both of us tugging up our pants every few steps. What a sight we must've been.

Today's weight: 164 lbs.