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.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Thursday, August 13, 2009
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?
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?
Thursday, July 23, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, July 13, 2009
It's a good thing...
...when you close an account with a plus size clothing store because you don't need their sizes anymore. Is it vain to say I'm proud of myself?
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Buh-bye Omar
The tentmaker, that is.
Today, I said a bittersweet farewell to plus size clothing. Heck, who am I foolin'? There was no bitter, not a'tall...it was sweet, sweet, sweet! I came thiiiiiiiis close to not even trying on those 14 jeans and that XL shirt (not women's X or 1X, just a plain ol' misses XL); I'm glad I didn't listen to myself or else I'd have missed one of the best milestones of my lap-band journey. Only someone who's walked a mile in my shoes can empathize with what it's taken to get to this point and just how momentous an occasion it is.
The fireworks from Fort Ogg aren't all in celebration of Independence Day.
Today, I said a bittersweet farewell to plus size clothing. Heck, who am I foolin'? There was no bitter, not a'tall...it was sweet, sweet, sweet! I came thiiiiiiiis close to not even trying on those 14 jeans and that XL shirt (not women's X or 1X, just a plain ol' misses XL); I'm glad I didn't listen to myself or else I'd have missed one of the best milestones of my lap-band journey. Only someone who's walked a mile in my shoes can empathize with what it's taken to get to this point and just how momentous an occasion it is.
The fireworks from Fort Ogg aren't all in celebration of Independence Day.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Can I get an ai-man?
Ai-man and hallylooyah for the confirmation that yes, I AM the world's worst blogger. Would somebody please tell me where the days have slipped off to?
Since the last time I posted an update I've dealt with another round of ulcers (the bad), welcomed a new granddaughter to the family (the good), and got out of the exercise habit (the ugly). Yes, I know we lap-banders are supposed to exercise regularly, but knowin' ain't doin', and that's a problem area for me. Well, actually, it leads to multiple problems: the hips, the thighs, the belly, the boobays. From tip to toe actually. Bow to stern. North to south. From here to yonder, y'all.
Face it, when you hit the age of 50 you realize that no, the south never will rise again. That's when you get down on your knees and supine yourself in humility and awe, paying homage to the creators of Spanx and the Wonderbra.
I've reached the point where I look pretty good with clothes on, but fabric doesn't work up a good lather in the shower. So, yeah, it's time to get back on the exercise wagon, kicking, screaming, gnashing teeth, and whining all the way. And that's just getting downstairs to the exercise room.
The good news is that I'm now under 170; today's weight was 169.2, which means I'm only ("only" bwahahahahahahaaaaa!!!) 39.2 lbs. away from my goal weight.
The bad news is that if I dont' get these upper arms toned I won't have to worry about taking the car for my errands; I can just flap my arms and fly.
Since the last time I posted an update I've dealt with another round of ulcers (the bad), welcomed a new granddaughter to the family (the good), and got out of the exercise habit (the ugly). Yes, I know we lap-banders are supposed to exercise regularly, but knowin' ain't doin', and that's a problem area for me. Well, actually, it leads to multiple problems: the hips, the thighs, the belly, the boobays. From tip to toe actually. Bow to stern. North to south. From here to yonder, y'all.
Face it, when you hit the age of 50 you realize that no, the south never will rise again. That's when you get down on your knees and supine yourself in humility and awe, paying homage to the creators of Spanx and the Wonderbra.
I've reached the point where I look pretty good with clothes on, but fabric doesn't work up a good lather in the shower. So, yeah, it's time to get back on the exercise wagon, kicking, screaming, gnashing teeth, and whining all the way. And that's just getting downstairs to the exercise room.
The good news is that I'm now under 170; today's weight was 169.2, which means I'm only ("only" bwahahahahahahaaaaa!!!) 39.2 lbs. away from my goal weight.
The bad news is that if I dont' get these upper arms toned I won't have to worry about taking the car for my errands; I can just flap my arms and fly.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
World's worst blogger
I am. I think. If not, I should be. Is there an award for that kind of thing? I'd like an award. For something.
These are the kinds of things I ponder as I sit here enjoying a Snackwell's devil's food cookie and a half cup of skim milk. Chocolate...manna from heaven.
I'm either very imaginative or bored. Of course, I prefer to believe I'm the former, but the correct answer is probably that I'm the latter. Which sucks because that makes me think I should be doing something productive. However, it's too gorgeous a day to worry about silly things like dusting or rearranging the living room furniture for the umpteen kazillionith time.
Anyhow, here I am, still slowly lap-banding my way to my goal weight. Sometimes the 50 pounds I have left to lose seem like they'll never leave, but then I'll stumble across a picture of me taken a year or more ago and voila! I feel proud of how far I've come. My gosh, but was I really that big? Yes, sadly I was.
Here's what's really neat: I've reached the point in my journey where, for the most part anyhow, I feel good about myself and my appearance. This spring found me shopping for an entirely new wardrobe, right down to the jammies, because I'd undergrown literally everything I owned. My wonderful hubby never grumbled, not a bit. He's as proud of me as I am, and bless him for it, but he loves seeing me all gussied up. Yes, "gussied". It's a southern thang.
I know we're not supposed to let our self-esteem get tangled up in our weight, but the truth of the matter is that it does. As I lose weight it becomes easier to treat myself. Yes, that moisturizer is expensive, but it works, and hey, I'm worth it. Oo la la, but those shoes are to die for, and you know what? I'm worth it. A short, spiky hairstyle I'd been daydreaming about becomes a reality and, who knew? but it looks good! And throw in some highlighs for good measure...I'm worth it.
Something occurred to me recently. I joined FaceBook and started hearing from people I'd gone to high school with, "back in the day". I realized that even then, even when I was young and slender, I never felt worth much of anything. So maybe it's not so much about the weight loss, this willingness to treat myself to those little extras. Maybe it's about the way losing weight makes me feel. In control. Self-sufficient. Aware. Capable. STRONG. Maybe not beautiful, not yet, but certainly attractive; at least, more attractive than I've ever felt, and that's in spite of the inevitable signs of aging, those wrinkles and sags and bags that makeup can't disguise and exercise can't conquer.
These may be small steps forward, but at least forward is the right way to go.
These are the kinds of things I ponder as I sit here enjoying a Snackwell's devil's food cookie and a half cup of skim milk. Chocolate...manna from heaven.
I'm either very imaginative or bored. Of course, I prefer to believe I'm the former, but the correct answer is probably that I'm the latter. Which sucks because that makes me think I should be doing something productive. However, it's too gorgeous a day to worry about silly things like dusting or rearranging the living room furniture for the umpteen kazillionith time.
Anyhow, here I am, still slowly lap-banding my way to my goal weight. Sometimes the 50 pounds I have left to lose seem like they'll never leave, but then I'll stumble across a picture of me taken a year or more ago and voila! I feel proud of how far I've come. My gosh, but was I really that big? Yes, sadly I was.
Here's what's really neat: I've reached the point in my journey where, for the most part anyhow, I feel good about myself and my appearance. This spring found me shopping for an entirely new wardrobe, right down to the jammies, because I'd undergrown literally everything I owned. My wonderful hubby never grumbled, not a bit. He's as proud of me as I am, and bless him for it, but he loves seeing me all gussied up. Yes, "gussied". It's a southern thang.
I know we're not supposed to let our self-esteem get tangled up in our weight, but the truth of the matter is that it does. As I lose weight it becomes easier to treat myself. Yes, that moisturizer is expensive, but it works, and hey, I'm worth it. Oo la la, but those shoes are to die for, and you know what? I'm worth it. A short, spiky hairstyle I'd been daydreaming about becomes a reality and, who knew? but it looks good! And throw in some highlighs for good measure...I'm worth it.
Something occurred to me recently. I joined FaceBook and started hearing from people I'd gone to high school with, "back in the day". I realized that even then, even when I was young and slender, I never felt worth much of anything. So maybe it's not so much about the weight loss, this willingness to treat myself to those little extras. Maybe it's about the way losing weight makes me feel. In control. Self-sufficient. Aware. Capable. STRONG. Maybe not beautiful, not yet, but certainly attractive; at least, more attractive than I've ever felt, and that's in spite of the inevitable signs of aging, those wrinkles and sags and bags that makeup can't disguise and exercise can't conquer.
These may be small steps forward, but at least forward is the right way to go.
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