Less, loss and what I wore

I can’t believe how hard it’s been to get this stuff out of my head and onto the page. It’s not like I'm writing a thesis on thermodynamics, for God's sake. It’s all about me. And we all know how much I love to write about me.

Even so, dragging it out has been a gargantuan task. Thanks to those of you who candidly told me to quit overthinking and just do it. That, in the end, is why you’re reading this now. It’s jumbled and disjointed and not particularly pithy. But the spigot’s back on and I will endeavor to keep it going. Because there’s a whole bunch to talk about.

Hey. One thing before I jump back in.

This is about to get pretty personal. Please be generous in sharing your thoughts with me and the rest of us here. If something I write strikes a chord with you, or conjures up something you feel or have experienced, please share it in the comments. It’s not easy venturing out onto the skinny branches. If you join me, it won’t be so lonely.

Aight. The two biggest pieces of news:

First, I saw my endocrinologist on Thursday. At five weeks post-op, she reclassified me as a non-diabetic. She even did a happy dance. I haven’t had time since then to process the hugeness of this. Maybe Monday, when I have some time to myself. It will hit me, I’m sure. And when it does, it might just knock me over.

Second, I’ve lost 30 pounds. Yes, it’s a lot. Yes, it happened fast. No, I’m not done. By the time this is over, I can expect to have lost somewhere near 80 pounds. Yes that’s a lot, too. And yes, there will be plenty of me left (thanks for asking). Right now, I feel like a million dollars. Some of that is attributable to the weight loss. Most of it, though, is because I’m not taking those wretched shots anymore. If nothing else ever changes, that alone will have made this worth it.

I went on my first post-op date with my husband a week or so ago. Urchin spent the night at a friend’s house, and Husband and I went out to dinner and to see “Spamalot.” I have to confess, preparing for the evening was almost as awful as it’s been for more than a decade — because I STILL didn’t have a damn thing to wear. I went through everything in my closet, leaving behind a trail of clothes as I stormed around getting more and more irritated. Then I remembered a dress I bought more than 10 years ago because I loved it and would “someday fit into it.” It was crammed in the back of the guest room closet and, ahem, still had the tags on it. It fit beautifully. In fact, it’s the only one in my house that isn’t too big for me. I’m trying hard not to get too wrapped up in the weight loss that comes along with this awesome surgery. It is, however, a delightful side benefit.

I am now eating regular foods in atypical amounts. I’m up to about half a cup of food at a sitting. So, imagine you’re at a Mexican restaurant, where they’ve just delivered your overflowing plate of enchiladas, rice and beans. Now imagine the measuring cup in your kitchen marked “1/2 cup.” Now imagine how much of that plate of food will fit in that measuring cup. I wish I could tell you I’m always content with just that much food. I’m definitely sated every time. But sated isn’t always the same as content. Sometimes I just want to eat more. Sadly, eating more brings untold miseries. So I don’t. And won’t ever. That is my life. And I’m getting used to it.

Last night for dinner, I had about a third of a cup of lentil soup and five croutons. Today for breakfast, I had two fried eggs and a couple of bites of homemade French toast with no syrup. Tonight for dinner, we’ll probably eat out. I’ll order something Husband likes, because he’ll have to eat the leftovers. I’ll probably help out a bit, but for me to eat the rest would take more days than I’m willing to hold on to leftovers. And so it goes. (I’m also supposed to take teeny bites and chew 25 times before I swallow. I defy you to chew any-size bites 25 times. After a few frustrating days of trying to follow this rule, I stopped. These days, I take regular bites, chew as long as there’s food in my mouth and swallow when it makes sense.)

You’re right, by the way, I’m not eating much these days. I average 700-800 calories a day. About 300 of that comes from protein drinks that I’ll depend upon for the rest of my life. Believe it or not, it’s not that bad. Eventually, it will even out. I’ll be able to eat more and my smaller body will need less to maintain itself. Until then, I’ll expend more than I am physically able to take in. That’s what will take off 80ish pounds.

OK… so that’s a start. It feels good to get it out. Call this a Table of Contents for what comes next:

What Urchin knows and what she thinks … So, this girl walks into a group therapy session … What I’ve learned about myself in six weeks away from work … Wow, I definitely wasn’t expecting that … Here’s where a girl needs a little faith … A perfectly executed swan dive into a placid lake? Or, how guilt and fear are keeping me from fulling embracing my brand-new life.

Thank you, friends, for your patience and guidance. You really do rock.

bzh