Bariatric Betty Breaks down a bit, plus a new pic

I saw my primary care physician for the first time since surgery this week.  She was thrilled with my success and there were a lot of fun "Oh my goodness, I almost don't recognize you!" compliments.  She asked a lot of questions and was thrilled with my exercise routine.  She also seemed surprisingly knowledgeable about blood tests that need to be watched.  But, there were some not fun things as well. 

If you remember my birthday post, I talked about how my birthday was wonderful with the exception of some poison ivy on my face and neck.  I ended up getting both an injection of steroids and later being put on an oral dose pack as well.  About halfway through the itchy mess of that, I noticed a sore itchiness around my waist on my right side.  At first I assumed that I had spread the poison ivy there in my sleep.  Later as it spread around my back, I began to think it might be something different.  It felt uncomfortable for fabric to touch it, and it wasn't as itchy as the poison ivy.  I rubbed some topical cortizone cream on it a couple of times a day.  I started wondering if I was experiencing the skin infections/ rashes that some WLS patients get under the folds of their skin.  My rash seemed to be on top and under the flap of skin, but I thought I would get my primary care physician's opinion.  I haven't thought I would want plastic surgery unless there was a medical necessity.  On the other hand, if my skin was going to itch and sting like this off and on for the rest of my life - that might push me towards it, and I better start getting it documented.

So as I described it, she said she would take a look - we were doing my annual exam, so she was going to be looking at everything anyway.  It only took her a couple seconds of looking for her to inform me that it was not poison ivy.  It was shingles!  In a lucky coincidence, I erupted into shingles while I was being treated for poison ivy, so all the steroids I was taking for the later helped the shingles not be so horrible.    What a strange silver lining!

Next she felt my hips - I had told her about sleeping on my stomach with a pillow under my abdomen to alleviate discomfort from my hip bones on my skin.  She felt them and said "Oh my, you are bony there!"  Bony?  Never in my life would I ever dream I would be called bony ANYWHERE.  But one thing you learn about major weight loss is that you don't lose it evenly, and certainly not in any order of preference of location.  Then she felt my left hip where I have been feeling some pain especially when I'm walking/ jogging and announced that I have some bursitis.  She would have prescribed anti-inflammatories, but knew I can't take them as a WLS patient.  She said if the tylenol stops working, she can prescribe injections of anti-inflammatories, which I can take. They also suggest you stop the repetitive motion that is aggravating the bursa and causing it to be inflamed.  Yeah.  Well, I can't stop walking, and I don't want to stop jogging.  For now the tylenol works fine.  But there might come a time when I will need to change my exercise routine because of it.  Isn't bursitis like an old-person-thing?  I guess it goes with my old-person-loose-skin now.

Last borders on TMI, but she also found that the unusual pressure I have been feeling at times is due to a rectocele.  A rectocele is kind of a hernia of the colon.  In my case it isn't causing actually pain, and returns to it's proper position when there's no straining involved.  She said that there's no risk to my health involved right now but that if the pain or retraction changes we'll have to look into surgery.  Apparently obesity is a big risk factor in rectoceles.  I suspect I might have had it for a while but didn't notice it until my diet changed into 90% protein and therefore made me more prone to constipation.  So I will continue to work on packing fiber in. 

Two weeks into my new workout program results... my dog and I can both now jog North/South Roundhead circle. That means that except for a 5 minute warm up walk and 5 minute cool down walk, we are now jogging his entire walk! Boy, that was quicker that I imagined it would be. There are several advantages to this. First and foremost, I get his walk done in 25 minutes instead of 45. Extra time is a serious advantage. Second, it kicks up my exercise a notch, increasing the intensity and calories burned. I'm still not loving jogging itself, but I'm enjoying the benefits.

I'm doing the alternating walking/ jogging with my son three evenings a week, so on those days I'm just walking Perseus in the morning. Then I'm walking during my monitor shift. Last Thursday I got over 20,000 steps in a day according to my Fitbit! Even cooler, I found out that since I got it on Mother's Day I have walked over 1,000,000 steps. One million.  How wild is that???

Then there is the mental part of my work-in-progress life.  Last weekend I had a scary reminder of how easy it is to get off track.  We were holding a sleepover and I went to go make the traditional post-no-sleep-over breakfast of pancakes.  Out of Heart Healthy Bisquick.  So I got out my cookbook and made some batter from scratch, but it didn't look or cook right.  I tasted it, and realized I had forgotten to put in the melted butter.  Remixed it and tasted it again -ahhh, much better.  I made the pancakes but found myself wiping off the batter drippings with my finger (and then licking the finger).  Yum.  Uh oh.  I love to bake, and have been very good since surgery not to eat anything I bake (which has been pretty easy).  However, for some reason I have always liked the unbaked stuff (cookie dough, batter, etc.) as much or more.  Here I let down my guard and find myself slipping into old habits.  No no no no!  It's a reminder that I need to be vigilant.  I probably tasted less than a tablespoon of batter, so I didn't dump.  I did, however, crave carbs more than usual for the next couple of days.  This weekend we had another sleepover, another pancake breakfast, and I was careful not to let one drop of batter reach my lips. 

I also caught myself chain eating salted cashews when they are left out on the table.  Cashews aren't a bad snack if I haven't gotten all my protein in - but when you find yourself taking three or four nuts every time you pass the table you aren't eating to live.  You're grazing.  Away go the cashews.  Out of site, out of mind.

All of this leads up to my losing it over some innocent choices my husband made for my son and officially inducts me into the food-nazi society, I guess.  After a tough football game that my son played in a soaking rain, my family split up for the trip home.  My husband got my football-player son a bottle of "Gatorade: Recovery".  And a bottle of regular gatorade.  I found out about the first on the phone and was like "Why??? It's only 10am?  He had 20grams of protein at breakfast, he doesn't need the 16 grams of protein now when he's going to come home and eat lunch (and more protein) in one hour!  And it has a lot of sugar, too.  He doesn't need that.  He's going to get high blood sugar and then crash as the insulin kicks in and feel horrible."  The when they got home I saw a second bottle of regular gatorade being consumed on top of the first one and just took it from him and threw it out.  "Did you know that the American Academy of Pediatrics recently said that NO STUDENT ATHLETES WILL BENEFIT FROM SPORTS DRINKS?  That basically it's like giving them sugar water or pop.  The only gatorade they should get is the low cal one, and even then it's unnecessary.  Water is best.  If they want to drink one of these for treat - like instead of an Icee, that's OK, but this is not helping him!"  Add in that they stopped at GameStop on the way home so he could blow his allowance when his brother also wanted to go there, and I was beyond irritable. 

It didn't help that I was tired, having to get up at 6am on Saturday to get him to the pre-game warm-up and meeting.  Or that I hadn't gotten my usual morning walk/ jog in with the resulting endorphins.  But I think mostly it was feeling overwhelmed.  Pushing myself to keep up with my exercise, work, finding out about the shingles/ bursitis/ rectocele, and the normal daily struggling with the kids about homework/ cleaning up/ etc.  I just lost it.  My poor husband. 

So the last couple weeks have been a little shaky, but I'm leaving them behind and climbing back out of that place.  I went to a baby shower yesterday at a beautiful restaurant and drank water through the whole thing.  I really enjoyed seeing a lot of extended family, and really liked most of the compliments I got as well.  The only exception being the one surprised "You look really pretty!" that was then amended to "Oh, not that you weren't pretty before."  Yeah, it's OK, I understand.  And the spirit it was intended in was nice, and they're right I do look a lot better.  I did have to spend about 15 minutes explaining why Visalus would NOT be a good choice post bariatric surgery.  Does anyone else feel like that's a pyramid scheme?  Oi vey.  Anyway, it was fun for the most part, and I brought the take-home goodies back for my boys.  Here's a picture.

 

Bariatric Betty feels shame and pride

I'm coming up on my 6 month post-op visit in a couple days, but first I had my 9 year old son's annual check-up.  That was difficult.

My son has been struggling with his weight pretty much his whole life.  He is in the 99% for height for his age as well.  When he was 2 years old he had an incredible weight gain of 10 pounds in something like 3 months, and we requested a consult with a nutritionist after lab work ruled out thyroid problems and diabetes.  We kept a food log for a month and other than cutting out one serving of OJ a day (he used to have 2 because he didn't drink milk, so we got calcium added OJ), the nutritionist said we were doing a great job.  She wished that most of the kids she saw ate as healthy as him.

For the last 5 years we cut out juice altogether (unless it's a "treat" - like instead a bag of chips or dessert if we're eating out).  We've also paid close attention to serving sizes, making protein the priority, and helping him figure out if he is really hungry or just bored.

We've worked hard to keep him active; in addition to loving to ride his bike, play in the pool and on playgrounds, he's done over 4 years of karate and played community soccer for the last 3 years.  This summer we added baseball and the couch-2-5k training.  Last year his pediatrician said this was very important - that he's always going to be a big kid, but that we want to slow his weight gain as he grows and help him have a healthier lifestyle.  Our previous pediatrician (before me moved) had said the same thing, and had said that she would expect an average weight gain of 10 pounds or less a year for a kid like him.  I thought we did really well (especially since my surgery), and suspected he had gained less than 5 pounds in the past year.

First, the good news.  He only gained 4 pounds, so I was right about that.  But, I was wrong about how much he had grown.  I was just SURE he was 5 feet now, but it turns out that he's still under at 4 ft. 10 inches.  He only grew 1 3/4 inches this past year.  That's not a problem, because he's still the tallest kid in his grade!  What was a problem was that I was using the wrong number at home when I was calculating his BMI.  My using his incorrect height of 5 feet meant that he was overweight and had a decreasing BMI.  The correct height means that his BMI is 30.1, and he is officially obese. 

That crushed me.  My son is following in my footsteps in the last way I would want him to - to obesity.  After experiencing the joy of watching my own BMI drop from (morbidly obese) 43 to it's current (overweight) 27.8, seeing that he is just over the border into "obese" just about broke my heart.  I try to teach my kids so many good things, but he learned the lesson of overeating from me. 

His BMI is decreasing.  After I got home I realized I didn't know what his BMI was at his annual physical last year, so I calculated it.  31.2!  So in one year he has gone down 1.1 in BMI - a definite improvement.  And he's now on the border of obesity, instead of sitting solidly inside the category.  He's stretching out, can wear the same size as last year, and is definitely more active.  But that didn't stop that crushing feeling of shame; knowing I failed him by being the unhealthy role model I was for most of the first 9 years of his life. 

I am proud of the changes that I've made, and the ones I've helped my family make in the last 6 months.  I feed them healthier food, and we are all more active.  I know that he is absorbing the hard work he sees me doing, and listens to me talking about how much better I feel.  I feel that I have stopped the trend of increasing BMI and started to reverse it in him.  I knew he was overweight, and I had been trying to help him keep on the right path before I knew he was obese.  He didn't become obese at this visit, he became obese over a year ago, I just didn't know it.  Knowledge is power.  I didn't know how much I was hurting my body until I was diagnosed as a diabetic.  I didn't know I could live the rest of my life on a modified diet until I had to with diabetes, and the success I had in lowering my blood sugar gave me the confidence that I can change my life with the weight loss surgery and my new lifestyle.  I knew that even following the diabetic plan my life would be shorter and have a lower quality of life, and that meant the risks and sacrifices involved with weight loss surgery and living post-bariatric bypass were more than worth it. 


So now I will try to let go of the shame, and focus on the pride I have in the changes I have made in the last 6 months.  And the knowledge that he is almost NOT obese will be a great motivator to keep us all running, to keep me on my plan and be a good role model for him.  Because these are the lessons I want him to learn from me - that if you work hard, you can make good things happen.  You can be healthy, and find out that you're able to do things you've never done before.  The unimaginable becomes possible.

Bariatric Betty says "no" to brunch, and rape jokes

This last weekend my parents invited us to join them for brunch at their independent living facility.  They reassured me that scrambled eggs would be available, and that the kitchen staff would be happy to prepare an omlet or a veggie patty for me.  They did everything they could to make sure I would be set as a vegetarian post-WLS person that they love.  And it was not fun.  Beyond not fun, I would say that the morning of going there I realized I felt like I was about to do my taxes.  In front of an audience. 

I got irritable that morning, and it only grew when I got an email from my mom letting the whole extended family know that she was going to have my dad take a family picture while we were all there.  Great.  So now I'm hoping I don't get anything stuck in my pouch and have to puke in front of everyone, don't have dumping that leads to explosive diarrhea in front of everyone, and no matter what happens I should plan on being photographed.  I don't know what I would look like in a photo after dumping, and I don't want to find out. 

Before we left I told my husband "This is going to be the last time I accept an invite to go out there for a meal."  Given that he had been sensing my stress and irritability with the situation all morning, it is understandable that his response was "Thank you!" 

I made it though brunch without having to make a run for the bathroom, although there were a couple minutes when it was willpower (go down, dry eggs, go DOWN).  And I looked fine for the picture.  Then I talked to my parents about it and explained that I don't want to make plans to see them or anyone else around meals when it's avoidable.  If it's a matter of me spending a whole day with someone, then obviously I am going to eat with them.  But if it's about spending a few hours together, let's plan BETWEEN meals if we can.  Meals aren't fun social situations for me anymore.  In the best of circumstances they are a time I'm trying to do something I need to do and hope I do it well and don't make myself sick.  On a poorer mental health days they are a time I might feel judged, anxious, tempted, and/ or self-concious. 

My parents took this very well, and understood I didn't want to avoid them or think their brunch/ dining room was bad.  They even suggested we could try doing something less meal-oriented for Christmas/ Hanukkah (I think we'll probably have a serve-yourself buffet in the kitchen instead of a sit-down dinner this year) and Thanksgiving (that one I don't see myself changing).  I don't want to deny my kids or husband chances to have great experiences with family and friends (or myself, for that matter), but having those experiences with me as a stress case definitely lowers if not wipes out the net gain. 

So now on to a more volatile subject.  Rape jokes.  For the past few days I have been reading on www.cnn.com about fallout from a comedian who likes to make vulgar and misogynistic jokes about women.  Apparently he was doing a show and make a joke about someone being raped and when a woman from the audience spoke up and said "That's not funny".  He responded by then making jokes about how funny it would be for multiple men to rape that woman, right then. 

Yesterday I was reading an article written by two women who were talking about why some people are able to find these situations humorous.  They talked about how it is partially because of the perpetuated myth of rape victims "bringing it on themselves" - by how they dressed, by getting drunk, by being in a bad neighborhood, by being alone with someone... That even well-meaning police officers and public officials may inadvertantly contribute to this when they are warning of a serial attacker in a neighborhood and say "Women are advised not to wear tight or revealing clothing, be walking alone..." etc.   That to some men, they twist these words of advice into a judgement that says "if you wear tight or revealing clothing, or walk alone, you are willing to put yourself at risk of being raped".  Never mind that I would be willing to bet that most rape victims aren't wearing tight or revealing clothing at the time of their attack. That some are in fact wearing burqas.  Or onesies.

This concept, of somehow being a willing rape victim, is insane.  Some women will dress in revealing clothing, go out, and look to hook up and have sex.  That is completely UNRELATED to someone wanting to be raped.  Rape is not about sex, it is about violence.  Men who rape are not enjoying sex, they are enjoying hurting someone.  In my opinion, they are less than men because they have lost their humanity.  They are simply violent male mammals.  But people who find rape jokes funny turn this around - they see the women as less than human, as female mammals that can be used to bring them pleasure.  They don't see them as daughters, mothers, sisters and grandmothers. 

Current statistics say that 1 in 6 women in the United States have been attacked.  So this comic probably knows several.  I don't want to challenge him (or even write his name and give him any more audience than he already has).  I would like to challenge the women around him, and everywhere.  If you have been attacked and you are emotionally able to do this - tell the men in your life what that did to you.  The physical pain.  The shattering of your concept of being safe.  The fear that prevented you from having healthy relationship with men for however long.  The fear that may have caused you to be unhealthy - maybe like me you ate yourself into a cocoon that you felt would keep an attacker from picking you (again).  If enough of us share the reality of being attacked, more men will understand there is no humor in it.  Maybe even that comic.

In this train of thought I made a specific choice today.  I usually wear loose fitting tops, partially because most of my clothes are too big at this point, partially because I don't like my chest being defined most of the time.  And hiding my muffin top as well.  :)  But part of the not liking my chest being defined is because of not wanting to be sexualized, or for some twisted person to identify me as a potential target.  Today I thought "I can wear a top that shows my shape and not be a target, so I will."  When I walked my dog two miles around my neighborhood this morning I didn't have makeup on or look super-attractive, but I wore a top that FIT.  And I wasn't scared.  Here's a picture:

Bariatric Betty's a Hot Mess

Day 7, which means I had surgery 8 days ago, because in bariatric world, you count the days from the first day you drank liquid.  Things have been going smooth - and it sort of feels like the calm before the storm.  Like when your kids have been playing quietly together in the other room and suddenly you realize that it's TOO quiet and know that they are up to something.  Or I'm paranoid.  Could be either.

I'm drinking at least 64 ounces of fluid a day.  The liquid is mostly water (hot or cold), Crystal Light, and Syntrax Nectar Protein drinks.  Twice I've had hot Cream of Mushroom Soup (strained through a sieve) and it was a nice change.  I'm drinking at least two protein shakes a day, which is actually the goal for the second week, which starts tomorrow.  Cool.  I've lost 6.4 pounds according to my home scale, which I think is friggin' fantastic!  I was prepared to barely lose anything the first week because of all the fluid retention from surgery. 

I'm surprised at how few problems I'm having.  Other than occasionally gulping when there is no room in my pouch for gulps, everything goes down easily.  Nothing I've drank has made my stomach upset - although I did find out that the smell of cooking edamame with soy sauce is NAUSEATING.  My husband has been wonderful, and only went back to work for a full day today.  The boys are helping pitch in, especially my 11 year old.  My eight year old switches between being helpful and being upset that Mommy isn't doing her normal stuff.  If it's his idea to take the dog outside, he's proud to help.  If I ask, he might get ticked and throw a blanket over his head until he says quietly "I don't want to".  He's also been acting out more at school, but change is hard for everyone.  It doesn't mean his acting out is OK, but I know where he's coming from.

Because as much as I am a glowing success physically, I'm a hot mess inside.  What started as weird dreams definitely influenced by my pain control medicine, I realize now is a accurate picture of the psychological landscape inside my head.  My dreams have repeatedly involved someone (a friend, a realtor, etc) pointing out that I've left something a mess - lots of clutter, childhood toys, some things my mom dropped off when she downsized that I had no purpose for.  Sometimes they're in my house, sometimes I have apparently left them at a friend's house sometime in the past, and she's nicely saying "Ummm, you need to come get these out of here.  Now." 

It's fascinating, because as I realized in the middle of the night last night, it's kind of like as my fat is being burned off by my body it's almost like I'm remembering aspects of what made me put it on there in the first place.  Like a beach eroding and showing old trash (maybe treasure?).  Feeling embarrassed - ate extra servings of pasta.  Felt like a failure at keeping the house up - ate some ice cream.  Felt proud of my baking skills - made extra cookie dough to make cookies for friends, but then snacked on the dough.  Felt noticed and unsafe - ate more of anything so that nobody would make advances or threaten me.  These are all real feelings, and ones that I've prepared myself will NOT be hidden under fat anymore, and the weird thing is, I'm not feeling them now.  I'm feeling the MEMORIES of them, and they're coming out in my dreams. 

Of course, in the middle of the last night, I didn't FEEL like that.  I felt miserable.  I wrote all of the above like it was about some other person - clinical, removed - but it's about MY past, which affects my current feelings.  My current feelings include feeling proud of doing exactly what the doctors said - liking stepping on the scale.  Being impressed with myself for getting all my fluids and protein in - telling people how well I'm doing.  But it also includes feeling guilty because I can't take my dog for long walks like we used to. Can't even do short ones, really, because when he pulls on the leash it could affect my stitches and cause a hernia.  So I have his sad eyes (and bored chewing teeth) looking at me all day (and destroying every pen or marker her can find).  Feeling guilty because I can't empty the trash, or have enough energy to even just go with the family to the Rec Center (just sitting once we get there).  Feeling impotent as a mom, because I have to keep myself off the painkillers all day to be able to drive to the store to get some fresh fruits and vegetables for the rest of the family.  Then being too sore to lay down and cuddle my son goodnight.  And while housekeeping isn't normally my greatest stregth, knowing that I can't take a load of laundry downstairs to get it started, or bring one up yet means that I'm watching the laundry pile grow. 

Luckily, I've got my husband, who patiently listens to me in the middle of the night while I explain these feelings.  While I tell him that I feel super hormonal like PMS brought a friend, and that it's only by sheer willpower that I'm not biting people's heads off when I'm slightly irritated.  And that I know that some of these over-emotional mood swings are normal for post-ops, because THANK GOD I've been reading posts from so many others who have had he surgery over the past 5 months.  So I know I'm not really going crazy (crazier).  I know it's temporary.  And I know that if I keep doing what I'm supposed to do, I will stabilize and continue my success. 

I'm so thankful my husband and friends are willing to listen (especially my husband who loses sleep doing it).  Because talking is helpful, at least for that moment.  It let's me get back to sleep.  Or stop feeling like crying.  And get back to work following the Rules, working the plan.  And blogging all about this, because it is feeling cathartic, too.

I want to start working out, and maximizing this "window of opportunity".  I won't until the doctors clear me, but I think about it A LOT.  I want to stop taking any painkillers, but I know that if I push myself too hard I end up hurting and unable to do anything.  So I'm praying for patience.  I'm asking my kids for understanding.  And I'm looking at my dog and telling him I love him even thought he's not getting the exercise he needs, and giving him a new chew toy.  This too shall pass.  I'm thankful for the gift of this tool, for my family, for my friends, and for all the prayers that have been said for me.  I look forward to paying it forward.