Chubby Commuter

Fatty, fatty, two by four, couldn't get through the bathroom door.

Okay, so I never really heard this when I was heavy.  Not literally.  I am, however, surprised by the subtle ways I was discriminated against when I was heavy.  I didn’t fully appreciate it until I got on a BART train headed for my new job downtown at over 100 pounds thinner than I was the last time.

It is physically much easier to sit on the seats in BART, and I don’t have to worry about sitting next to someone as large as I was.  What really caught me off guard was how people aren’t hesitant to sit next to me.  When they do, our hips don’t touch, which is a huge personal relief.  I don’t feel the barely concealed sneers and judgments I used to feel.  Men look at me.  I suppose if I found that important, I’d be happy about it.  Now, it just feels like a weird sociological measuring device that I could easily do without.  I surprised myself most recently by hiking up BART stairs because of escalator repair and not having to rest at the top.

I was at my heaviest when we lived in Connecticut between 2006 and 2008.  I got up to 340 pounds, and back then I applied and interviewed for more than four good jobs in New York City, which is where you had to go to get decent pay.  I came very close on several of them.  Leslie is convinced my weight was a barrier, a thought I didn’t want to consider too seriously then for obvious reasons. Beyond that, had I been hired, my weight would have made commuting to the city extremely difficult. 

I’m convinced I wouldn’t have this job if I was heavy.  My client contact is a nice enough guy, but he is nervous, too.  He’s the kind of fellow who would be uncomfortable with a very heavy woman no matter how experienced she was.  In my interview, it took him less than five minutes to announce he loved me, a decision he made based on first impression. 

If I was fat?

I am working very hard to get used to working full time again.  I’m tired much of the time.  How much harder would this be if I was heavy?

Sure, it’s a person’s right to be fat. I felt that way when I was.  But back then I didn’t feel I had a choice.  Having a choice, and making a decision toward better health has made a positive impact in my life. 

I see that quite clearly.

A Lesson Learned the Hard Way

Yesterday I learned a valuable lesson the hard way.

Day before yesterday, I was in the zone cleaning the house.  It felt so good to work with the energy in our home and take care of things I either didn’t have the energy or desire to do previously. 

What I didn’t do all day is take enough water.

I woke up at 6 a.m. yesterday, which is the usual time, to encourage Elizabeth out of bed.  Then, I went back to bed until 7, when Elizabeth is ready to go downstairs.

I woke up at 7 and was absolutely freezing.  My body has hot and cold swings since the vertical gastrectomy (weight loss surgery), and it’s primarily because I’ve lost weight quickly.  But yesterday morning, my coldness was off the charts, even worse when my hormones were rearranging after I had Elizabeth in 1997.  I was chattering so intensely, I couldn’t move.  Finally, after a good 10 minutes of trying, I managed to get up, get downstairs, and put myself on the big chair in the living room. I was exhausted and thought I had a relapse of the flu.

I spent the morning sleeping on and off, but what I couldn’t comprehend was that I wasn’t making sense all the time.  Leslie would ask me a question, and I mumbled the answer.  Not normal.  I was also running a fever of 103 degrees, which Tylenol couldn’t seem to bring down efficiently, and as you know, I can’t take non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs. 

Leslie got that urgent look in her eyes, and took over the situation.  We called the doctor, and a nurse told Leslie to get me to the emergency room. I argued with Leslie, but she was adamant. So I put myself together and off we went.

While in the waiting area at Mills Peninsula, I actually passed out.  First my ears began ringing, and then I had to go to the bathroom.  They put me on a wheel chair, but once I got to the restroom, I was lolling about like a rag doll.  I actually lost consciousness. Scary for me, but it was really scary for Leslie, who yelled for help.

We were put in a room finally and waited forty minutes for a doctor.  I wasn't aware of the time, however, because I slept most of the time.  It’s like I was in a trance. They took my blood (I was acutely aware of this), and tested me for influenza (which was a q-tip shoved so far up my nose, it was ridiculous, creepy, and felt dreadful), and they hooked me up to an IV.  I argued about that, too, but Leslie insisted, thank God.  The lady from the lab remembered me from when I had my surgery and refused to have my blood drawn.  Everyone got a chuckle out of that.

Once my body had the fluids it needed, I began to sharpen up.

The lab results showed that I’m still slightly anemic which means I have to take that god awful iron elixir every day again.  My white blood cells were also elevated indicating there’s a mild infection somewhere. However, what was absolutely clear was that I allowed myself to get dehydrated, hence the altered state of consciousness and the intense sleeping.

You know, I had a clue about this about a month ago.  I was in the mall with my family.  Elizabeth was spending her Christmas money.  I began to feel very dizzy.  I didn’t take enough water then either.

The lesson here is that I can’t take my body for granted like I could when I was a kid.  I must ensure I take enough water every day, even when I’m “in the zone”.  And I must take my iron and all my vitamins religiously. 

A person can’t lose weight this quickly and ignore the body’s needs.

If you do, the body will protest.

Loudly.

Adjustments at Eight Weeks

It’s been eight weeks since my surgery, the vertical gastrectomy, for weight loss, and I’ve lost a total of fifty pounds exactly.  I’m losing between 2 and 5 pounds a week.  I’ve had to make some adjustments, but I’m excited to be well on the way to achieving my goal: to be thinner, leaner and healthier at 50 years old.  The knowledge that I took significant steps toward that goal is liberating, exciting, and most important confidence building.

My first and most significant adjustment is the loss of non-steroidal anti-inflammatories. This is the medicine I was taking for painful joints, but as a category includes ibuprofen, naproxyn, asprin, Celebrex, diclofenac, etc.  These medicines are off the menu for certain because of the stress put on the stomach lining potentially causing ulcers. That would be the worst.  Leslie’s neice, Tami, ended up with an ulcer after the same procedure (for different reasons) and had to tolerate a feeding tube up her nose for six weeks.  I miss these medicines more than ever because we’re working out regularly now (thanks to a good and generous friend).  The three of us go as a family, and I’ve started with 40 minutes of cardio (20 on the bike and 20 on the treadmill). Then, I do some strength training on Nautilus type equipment.  Leslie and I struggle along as Elizabeth smokes both of us jogging on the treadmill like a pro.  She’s an inspiration, and actually got us started on this road to a healthier lifestyle.   By the end of a work-out day, my hips and joints are screaming and 800 mg of good ol' ibuprofen would fit the bill!

My next significant adjustment is something I still work on, and it’s employing an understanding of the difference between head hunger and real hunger in daily eating.  Word is that when you’re feeling head hunger you crave something specific.  Real hunger will be satisfied by eating anything good.  This can lead to eating too much or eating too quickly which has only one result … vomiting, which can stress the internal stitches. So, it’s important to be aware when eating.  Also, anything even remotely resembling raw vegetables causes the same result.  

Heartburn is my latest best friend and with me almost constantly, although my surgeon says it’ll go away in time.  Not soon enough for me thank you.  Ironically, however, there isn’t a bottle of Maalox to be found on the Peninsula.  The pharmacist told us it was recalled. The key is to eat simple foods, so I’m highly focused on getting enough protein and staying hydrated. So far I’m managing at least two water bottles a day.   I want to be thinner, but I don’t want to be a thin person trapped in a bag of wrinkles.  Water is the key to avoiding this personal hell.

I still get a little tired, but I think much of it is continued recovery from the surgery itself.  For example, last weekend we did a yard sale, so I did a lot of  lifting in the sun.  I was knocked out by the end of the day, and consequently received a serious reminder from my general physician. Recovering from major abdominal surgery can take three to six months … so don’t act too butch!

On the flipside, I’m getting into clothes that have been sitting in the closet for over eight years.  This is really what confirms the weight loss to me personally.  I pulled a shirt out of the closet to put on today fully expecting it to be snug still, and lo and behold it was a little big!  Fifty pounds makes a big difference!

Bottom Line:  It’s my 48^th birthday, and I’ve taken significant steps toward my 50 year goal.  I feel happy, healthier, and confident, and my entire family is on board reaping the benefits of this change in life.  It feels really good.

Fatigue: Going with it

I’m in the midst of “the hump” as I’ve written previously. This is the weird low energy, even fatigued time that occurs after surgery and before a healed stomach can handle proteins. Confused, the body thinks it’s starving and cycles down to conserve energy.  It’s supposed to be approximately one month post-surgery for the body to figure out what’s happening. I'm beginning my third week post surgery.

I feel like I did when I was pregnant. Really. When pregnant, the body is working so hard it’s the equivalent of climbing a mountain 24/7.  So feeling exhausted is normal, particularly in the first trimester. Now, I am absolutely exhausted 2 or 3 days out of the week and can nap like it’s the end of the world.

My appetite increases gradually, and I’m able to keep more down successfully.  I’ve had good luck with bran cereal, Leslie’s custard (heavenly and nutrient packed), and of course her chicken soup (ditto).  Fails include pastina (too rich) and cream of wheat (despite initial success). There are foods that look and smell divine, yet I dare not eat them because I know what the result will be. However, I’m able to eat more in a sitting. I mean the difference between ¼ cup over a week ago and creeping closer to the 1 ½ cup I’m suppose to consume in one meal. So, I should restrict myself to the prescribed three square meals with no snacks soon.

Here I sit pooped, but not entirely guilt free. Thank heaven I’m not working. Having to get up early and push myself through a day of Corporate clowns would be exceedingly difficult.  I feel extremely fortunate to be in this place and enjoy where I am, while it lasts, knowing it’ll probably be years before I get another chance to rest like this.

So for now … I’m going with it.