The most fun I’ve sort of had

Not gonna lie, peeps. It’s pretty damn thrilling to be sitting here with a total weight loss of 79 pounds.

79 pounds. 3 sizes. Countless NSV’s (Non-Scale Victories). Eff’in-A, bubba.

I have a bit of a deja vu feeling about some of this, however. Back in the early 90’s my quack of a doctor misdiagnosed me with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) and told me that I would never be able to lose weight at a normal rate. She put me on a 750 calorie a day diet and told me to work out at least an hour a day…and I did. I lost 75 pounds in 4 months.

I weighed 295 pounds when I started that diet and I was 220 pounds when I hit the plateau that ended it all. No, it was more like a brick wall. I couldn’t have lost anymore weight if I’d stopped eating all together. My metabolism had had enough. I hit the wall and then, to make myself feel better, I started dating again. Big mistake since I apparently had a sign on my back that said “Assholes, please hit on me.”

On the bright side, I was having a great time shopping for clothes. Somewhere around 230 pounds my legs started looking like legs again and less like tree stumps. I wore dresses to work and even got girly and matched my jewelry and shit. Before I lost that weight I would just slap on whatever tunic covered my front butt well enough.

Never heard of front butt? It’s that horrible chunk of fat hanging off the front of my hips that’s definitely not supposed to be there. Blah!

It was really fun shopping for clothes when I was a size 18. Stores actually had cute things in my size and they didn’t look too shabby on me. Losing 75 pounds was fun, even though I was starving myself on the advice of a doctor who had no effing idea what she was talking about. (Incidentally, her diagnosis of PCOS was later disproved by my next doctor…who explained that actual tests are required in order to arrive at that diagnosis. The new doctor ran the appropriate tests, including a pelvic ultrasound and blood work, which proved I didn’t have PCOS at all.)

Anyway, here I am again. I’ve lost 75 pounds plus 4 more…and it’s not as much fun as it was the last time. Mostly because I’m still quite a huge girl despite having lost a shitload of weight…and clothes that look cute on the hanger just don’t look cute on me.

Just a week or so ago I dropped my third size. I was so excited about it that hustled my booty over to the mall on payday to grab a few things. I’m in particular need of clothes for work – especially since I’ve just been promoted and I have to look professional all the time. But I also wanted to pick up a light jacket in case HMH wanted to take me out some lovely spring evening. My current jacket is more of a wrap coat at this point. The day I had my surgery, there was about 5 inches too much of me to button this coat. Now look at it:

I grabbed quite a few cute things and bounced off to the dressing room. I found a couple suit jackets for work as well that would look cute. I thought. How exciting! Girly tops. Suit jackets. Even a light jacket for the occasional spring rain storm. Perfect!

 

Tried on the tops. Jabba the Hutt covered in ruffles. Tried on the suit jackets. New fashion length does nothing for me. I need another yard of fabric to cover my ass. Tried on the coat/jacket. Fatty at a pocket convention. Seriously, where the hell did all the pockets come from? It was way cuter on the hanger.

 

Seriously, though, I’m really grateful for the success I’ve had so far. I just wish shopping was a little more fun. It’s just not. I’m not there yet. And I have to just give myself permission to be disappointed that shopping is still a chore and move on. The most important thing is that I’m not a disappointment. I’m proud of myself.

For now, I’ll focus on getting my happy vibes from other kinds of shopping. Mainly from shopping at Pandora for charms to add to my weight loss milestones bracelet…and the Dooney & Bourke store for my reward when I hit the 200’s (or Twoderville). Twoderville sounds like an awesome place to party, doesn’t it?

I have five more pounds to lose before I’m in Twoderville, though, so I’m going to close out this post and go get my ass on the elliptical trainer. I can’t wait to get on the scale and see 299 blinking back at me instead of 300 and something.

What’s the next goal you’re excited about hitting for yourself?

Sterling Silver Cute Butterfly with White CZ Bead Charm Fits Pandora Bracelet

 

 

There’s Too Much Hair Down There

If you actually opened this blog post to read it, please stop what you’re doing right now and give yourself a huge effing hug from me. Holy shit you’re a loyal reader!!! I’d have been way too scared to open a post that might be about some crazy chick’s lady garden but hey, that’s just me.

hmp funny

As a reward for your bad-ass loyalty, let me go ahead and assure you right now that this post is not about my lady garden. Read on in peace, my friends.

I was in the shower a few weeks ago, lathering up my luxurious mane (I thought romance novel verbiage would work here…maybe not) when I looked down at the drain and thought to myself “Oh holy shit…there’s too much hair down there.” Seriously, it looked like a few hamsters had somehow sneaked into the shower and got squished into the drain by my giant Flintstone feet. Yabba Dabba Death.

As I was rinsing conditioner from my silky tresses (still not working? Shit…) I pulled on my hair just a little bit and dozens upon dozens of strands came loose. Uh oh. That can’t be good.

They warned me about this. Hair loss is a fairly common side effect of weight loss surgery. I remember my best friend calling me on the phone one day about 12 years ago…in tears because she was pulling clumps of her hair out after gastric bypass surgery. This was particularly painful because her hair was thin to begin with…and gastric bypass is a “malabsorptive” surgery, meaning that it prohibits you from getting all the nutrients from the food you’re eating. It was the only weight loss surgery available back then.

This has been going on for a few weeks now and I haven’t panicked. The only reason I haven’t blogged about it before now is that I seem to have teetered off my regular blogging schedule (does that mean I’m bloggy constipated?) and I haven’t gotten around to it. I didn’t share it on my Facebook fan page because they always find out everything first…I had to save something to actually post on the blog, right? So you’re all finding out at the same time, Facebook fans and email subscribers alike.

By the way, I took this picture for y’all about a week ago. You’re welcome.

What I typically pulled out in the shower...and then there was an equal amount caught in my hair brush
What I typically pulled out in the shower…and then there was an equal amount caught in my hair brush

I didn’t panic for two reasons: first because this is no more hair than I was pulling out of my head two years ago for reasons I’ve never been able to explain…and second because I knew it was only temporary. Plus I have super thick hair. Like…I’m sure my family tree and Chewbacca’s meet somewhere up the line.

Hair loss after weight loss surgery can start up anywhere from 3 months to a year later and it can last a few months. It’s a temporary side effect and hair will eventually grow back. I’m pretty lucky. I’ve gotten into the habit of pulling on my hair in the shower now to see what happens and last night there wasn’t much that came out.

Hopefully I’ve experienced all the hair loss I’m going to have, but if not I’m feeling resilient. Honestly, though, if I have to deal with hair loss why can’t I wake up and be all “Oh awesome! I don’t have to shave my legs anymore!” or “Yo, I wiped my hoo-hah after I peed and now I’ve got a Brazilian!”

Cripes. Why can’t we women catch a break?


Natrol Biotin 10,000 mcg Maximum Strength Tablets, 100-Count


Conair Velvet Touch Paddle Hair Brush

I Didn’t Have Brain Surgery

Big shout out to Hot Mess Princess fan Sherry W. for inspiring today’s blog post with the question she posted on my Facebook fan page. Sherry…you eff’in rock!

After I posted that I’d had quite the day from hell, I noted that it wasn’t too long ago that I would have “rewarded” myself at the end of a bad day by ordering a pizza and polishing off a pint of mint chip before bed. At work, I would have spent a small fortune on vending machine crap, then covertly tucked it into a little Starbucks bag (you know, the ones with the rope handle). That way, I looked like I was just taking a dainty little muffin back to my desk instead of two bags of chips, Zingers, a Snickers, a 3 Musketeers, and a bag of stale lemon cookies. Seriously, this fatty’s got smuggling skillz.

I can’t do that anymore. And I won’t do that anymore.

Sherry’s question? “So you still want the crappy food right? What keeps you from just eating it? That is where I struggle.” When I read Sherry’s words, I felt them right down to the bottom of my little Hot Mess heart.

The answer? Yes, I do still want the crappy food. Not all the time, but I get cravings. What I’m learning is that it’s not really me who wants it. It’s the scared little girl in my head. Or a demon…I’m not sure which. Probably like those creepy little girls in The Shining. Remember? First, you’re all “Oh hey! Look at the cute little twin girls in their matching dresses” and then ten seconds later blood pours out of the elevator and you’re all “Nope…nope…those are some scary bitches.” Like that.

Want some Pop Tarts?
Want some Pop Tarts?

I had gastric sleeve surgery to reduce the size of my stomach, but it didn’t exorcise the demon/child. All of that mental bullshit is still between my ears.

There is definitely a wounded, scared creature in my head – and that creature wants me to medicate away my troubles with ice cream and cake and candy bars and Little Debbies. And pizza. That creature has been a dominant, driving force in my life for more than 20 years.

The mature adult in my head (shut up, you guys…there is one)…okay, maybe that’s not the best way to phrase it. Stop laughing. The sassy, kick-ass girl in my head is finally telling the demon/child to shut the hell up. It was the sassy, kick-ass girl who realized last year that if she kept trying to lose weight the same way she always did she was just going to keep failing. It was the sassy, kick-ass girl who had the courage to look in the mirror and face her fears. She put her pride aside and faced facts.

So I had gastric sleeve surgery and my stomach went from being able to hold a whole pizza to being able to hold 1/4 cup of food. Not pizza. Actually, most pizza takes up too much room after two or three bites unless it’s super crispy. Even then, I get almost no nutritional value from it at all…so unless it’s Round Table Pizza (a chain in southern California), it’s just not worth the effort. When I visit family in California, I make sure I stop by for a small slice. And it’s wonderful.

One thing I’ve learned post-op is that most of my old vices are simply not worth it. I have to make sure I get 90 grams of protein in every single day. That’s a challenge with a tiny tummy. As tempting as pizza is, it’s like my first few dating experiences: good at first, but I ultimate get nothing from it but a bad case of gas.

patience

I still go to the vending machine at work, but only for bottled water. I pass by the other machines. I see Pop Tarts, donuts and Bugles out of the corner of my eye. I hear the demon/child in the back of my head. I don’t listen. Gastric sleeve surgery doesn’t prevent me from buying that crap. It doesn’t prevent me from eating that crap. I can eat anything I want to. I can’t eat very much of it, but I can still eat it. I didn’t wake up from surgery with a magic intolerance for sugar or fat. I just don’t eat it anymore.

If I feel temptation now I think back to November. I remember my week long pre-op diet of protein shakes, water, and sugar free jello. I remember being hungry all the time. I remember being tired…and scared of surgery. I remember wanting to throw in the towel a million different times. But I didn’t. Because I was done listening to the demon/child.

I didn’t go through surgery and all that pain in recovery (including the Wet Fart from Hell) to keep holding onto the same destructive habits. I can’t look at myself in the mirror now and tell myself it’s okay to eat crap every day and keep abusing myself with food. I have a world of support behind me between Hot Mess Hubby,  my family and friends, my co-workers, my surgeon and his kick-ass staff, and all of you. If I fail now I have only myself to blame…and that’s just not going to happen.

off the wagon

From the moment I wake up, I’m thinking about what nutrition I’m going to put into my body. Nutrition. Not which pastry I’ll get at Starbucks or what ice cream I’m going to eat while watching tv that night. I get up, I make my protein shake, I enjoy it during the news. At work, it’s time for some Greek yogurt. For lunch? A little grilled chicken usually. Then more Greek yogurt…or some string cheese or almonds. Another protein shake when I get home. Then maybe some lean steak or some more chicken. Somewhere in there, I hit 90 grams of protein.

I still go out to dinner with Hot Mess Hubby or my friends. I still eat chocolate (either sugar free or dark). I keep a little bag of sugar free chocolates in my desk at work. I can’t taste the difference between those and the fully loaded real thing – so if I want a little taste of chocolate, that’s what I reach for. The lovely thing about sugar free candy is that eating more than one will bring on an episode of the Hershey squirts so bad that the fear of “blowing mud” in my beige dress pants keeps the demon/child in check. I mean…it’s generally frowned upon in the professional world to walk around the office with a poopy stain on the back of your pants…and I’m trying to get a promotion. I have to be smart about it, yo.

If I’m out to dinner at my favorite restaurant, I sometimes order dessert. Not always. Sometimes. I enjoy all three bites. That’s usually about what I can get down before I get that slightly burpy feeling that tells me I’m done. One more bite after that and I’ll yack up my whole dinner…and nobody wants to see that. I also occasionally dabble in potato temptation. Sometimes you just have to have a good spud. Well, now it’s more like a few bites of a good spud…but those few bites are goooood.

You know what, though? I’ve learned that I don’t need any more than that. I’m perfectly happy with only three bites of dessert…or a little bite of sugar free chocolate…or two buffalo wings. An occasional indulgence relieves the pressure. Even more enlightening, it feels good to make healthy decisions. Really good.

My stomach only holds 1/4 cup of food, but I can just as easily fill it with 1/4 cup of Oreos as I can 1/4 cup of grilled chicken. There’s nothing to stop me from eating crap all day if I want to. I just don’t want to. I’m tired of the demon/child. I want her to shut the hell up. I opted for surgery because I felt it was the only way to stop her.

And I was right. In 4 1/2 months I’ve gone from 383 pounds to 314 pounds. I’ve lost 69 pounds and a lot of emotional baggage. I’m off my blood pressure meds. I haven’t had a migraine since October…and I used to get one or two a month. I’m 15 pounds away from being in the 200’s for the first time in more than ten years.

The sassy, kick-ass chick has put her foot down. Balance is a wonderful thing.


Bentgo All-in-One Stackable Lunch/Bento Box, Green

 

YIKES!!!

I haven’t written a blog post in almost a month. I’m quite certain this is my personal record for bloggy silence. What the hell is wrong with me?

For those of you who don’t follow my Facebook fan page, I can tell you that I’ve had a number of distractions popping up…including a trip to California to see my family, welcoming my 21 year old niece to Texas, and Kirby the dog’s knee replacement surgery. With everything going on right now I’ve just…lost the drive to write much of anything. I’ve been rendered speechless. Holy crap.

I’ll be back soon, I promise. I didn’t want anyone to think my blog has “gone dark”. I love this blog…and I love connecting with all of you. I’m just a little overwhelmed right now. Don’t go think’in I’m off in a corner somewhere with a box of Little Debbies. I promise I’m not!

princess2