Not Your Mama's Diet

I Made It Through...

2008-09-03T13:04:00.001-04:00

I made it through the MIL visit. And aside from one piece of chocolate, I didn't eat a thing I shouldn't have. So YAY me!

But the junk she sent home is another thing altogether. She sent chips (my weakness) along with all the carbie stuff like potato salad and beans etc. I did eat some chips, but I'm trying to eat very small portions and balance them with protein.

The good news is the cute doctor called back and said my blood glucose was 98, perfectly normal. (For pregnant women, they say under 95, but hey, that's pretty darned close!) The problem with that is, I have a tendency to start getting lax, once I hear numbers.

I need Harley to get new test strips, so I can keep testing. I'm out, and when I'm not testing, I'm nowhere near as diligent as I should be.

Next week is the baby-doctor appt. If things go as well as they have been, I'll start interviewing home birth midwives soon. Hard to believe it's only three more weeks to the end of the first trimester!

Doctor Doctor

2008-08-29T10:07:00.002-04:00

Went to a new doc today.

He's a really nice guy - young, cute (hey, that doesn't hurt!) and actually listens. Bonus!

I showed him the list of supplements I was taking, told him about my concern about my blood glucose levels, showed him the numbers from the past two weeks. He said my fasting was borderline, but not enough to warrant meds or insulin - but that we'd have to watch it, because as we all know, pregnant women become more and more insulin resistant as pregnancy progresses.

But it was good to hear what I already knew from a doc. And it actually alleviated a little of my worry about the possibility of something going wrong in utero. He said my numbers weren't high or erratic enough to cause too much of a problem at this point. Whew.

And after looking over my list of supplements, of which he approved (What? No "You don't need these herbal things - why are you taking so many? You know, research hasn't proven they do anything..." blah blah blah...) he also suggested fish oil - a doc who suggests fish oil instead of jumping to meds! What a find!

They took blood and are running labs, and will call if they turn out abnormal. "No news is good news."

Now I just have to wait for my OB appt a week from Tuesday.

The good news is I'm still managing to keep the sugar and carbs to a minimum most of the day. Had to stop at McDonald's for dinner last night, and got a salad while the kids ate burgers (at least they had apple dippers and milk instead of fries and pop, though :) What I wanted was a Big Mac and fries and a huge regular Coke (imagine the sugar in all of it right?)... but I got a salad. And it was good and it filled me up. It just didn't satisfy that psychological craving, that's all.

I can tell the food addict and I are going to go 'round and 'round this pregnancy. But I'm putting on the gloves and am ready to go as many rounds as I have to. (Of course, I say that now... a month from now? Two? *sigh* I might look like Rocky at the end of round 16...)

We're going to the MIL's this weekend. The same MIL who cooks 800 pounds of carb-loaded food to send home. Right. So my plan is to stick to the protein and salad - and make my own sugar free dessert. The hard part will be all the stuff we bring home, but hopefully the kiddos will eat most of that. And hopefully Harley won't.

Harley went to the same doc, btw, and has renewed his own commitment to "eating healthy." Cutting carbs... and for him, portion control. The doc said to me, "Listen, you have to keep on him - or I'M going to have a heart attack!" :)

But the truth is, while I love Harley and I definitely don't want to lose him... I can't be responsible for what he puts on his plate. I just can't. I'm barely responsible for what I put on mine!

Hello, Blog

2008-08-27T09:33:00.005-04:00

Well, hello, blog!

What happened?

I got mad at Harley for not writing here, and in my usual way, just gave up on the whole thing. If he wasn't going to do it, why should I? Can you say codependent, boys and girls? I knew you could!

So what am I doing back there again after 6 months? Well, I got back up to 285... go figure. And we kept trying to get pregnant. And finally, it stuck. I found out about a month ago. I'm due April 8, 2009.

And of course I was thrilled. And renewed my vow to get healthier while I was pregnant. But that's hard to do when you're packing up an entire house for a second move in a year's time. Yeah, we needed a bigger house and a room for the baby, but did I need more stress? That would be a big fat NO, thankyouverymuch...

So about 2 weeks ago, just for chucks and giggles, I checked my blood sugar. Harley's diabetic and has all the testing equipment (not that he ever, ever tests... he doesn't... it just sits there... so I thought, well, someone should use it!) Poked my finger, checked out the results...

183. After eating Taco Bell and having one of those yummy new Fruitista drinks.

EEK! So the next day, I vowed to be "good."

Fasting: 103

1 hour after breakfast (oatmeal made with milk): 130

1 hour after lunch (tuna fish sandwich and a glass of milk): 132

2 hours after dinner (tuna on toast, glass of milk): 114

Hmm. 103 is a high fasting. It should be under 95 (especially for pregnant women.) The other numbers weren't tooooo bad - should be under 140 one hour after you eat and under 120 two hours after you eat.

The next day's numbers were interesting, too:

Fasting: 120 (ouch!)

1 hour after breakfast (oatmeal made with water - we were out of milk): 150 !!!

But look at this:

1 hour after lunch (4 oz. steak): 94

Well then... looks like it's the carbs. Even "good" ones like oatmeal, that aren't tempered with protein. It's official - I'm pre-diabetic.

The question now is... is it enough? Is it enough to get me to stop slowly killing myself with food? Is the thought of a child with congenital anomalies enough to make me stop? Is ~~heroin~~ food more important to me than that... than anything?

Because after I discovered my sugars were elevated, I started doing the research, and it's not good. Women with pre-diabetes and undiagnosed diabetes have a risk of having babies with birth defects - specifically heart and neural tube abnormalities.

So now I'm opting for all the genetic testing - the neural translucency scan, the quad screen, the whole she-bang. Because I didn't catch this, really, until I was about 6 weeks along - and by that time, the heart was already formed and beating. And I know if my sugar was 183 after Taco Bell - imagine what it was after a piece of cake with no protein to balance it?

In the past two weeks, I've gone from 285 to 272. But that's rather irrelevant, considering. I've been checking my sugars, and for the most part, they've been fine, except for my fasting number, which is always borderline-highish. But I've cut out sugar entirely. No more junk food, no more fast food, no more regular soda. No more carbs in the form of white bread, rice, pasta, potatoes.

Two weeks. Only ... 223 days to go. :x

I honestly don't know if I can make it...

Appetite

2008-02-02T10:52:00.000-05:00

I boiled eighteen eggs to make deviled eggs.

I cut up eight big, fat cucumbers to make cucumbers and vinegar.

I put out the eggs and cucumbers when my parents came over... and within an hour, they were gone. All of them. Just gone.

We need some laying chickens and an organic garden... soon!

Is it spring yet?

Junk Food as Stress Reliever

2008-02-01T01:09:00.000-05:00

It's official.

Junk food reduces stress.

Duh!

Really, did they need a study to prove it?

I've been using it as a fairly effective solution to the stress issue for years. Oreos are the poor man's Prozac. Sugar is cheap and it does for me just what heroin does for a junkie, bay-bee.

Not that I'm not - a junkie. I am. I even nod in the mid-afternoon after a binge like a heroin junkie. Sad but true. How is it that no one else has made this connection is such a big way? We look around and say, "Oh, look, people are getting fatter, I wonder why?"

Hello!

Sugar. They're putting a highly addictive drug into our food. Almost all of our food, actually, especially anything processed. Anyone remember when Coca-Cola actually contained cocaine? It's true... talk about addictive.

My drug of choice is legal, sanctioned, and makes business owners billions a year. It also keeps their customers coming back for more... and more... and more.

Not that I think banning sugar is gonna help. Prohibition didn't work either. People who can use sugar in moderation - wow, I bow down to you folks. I don't know how you do it.

Junk food relieves stress - like this is news? I've self-prescribed it for years, and so has over half the country, if the obesity stats are to be believed. It's still better for you than heroin... right?

Right?

Thursday Thirteen #4: 13 Inspirational Quotes

2008-01-31T01:22:00.000-05:00

1. The significance of a man is not in what he attains but in what he longs to attain. - Kahil Gibran

2. If you don't know where you are going,you'll end up someplace else. - Yogi Berra

3. We can always redeem the man who aspires and strives. - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

4. In absence of clearly defined goals, we become strangely loyal to performing daily acts of trivia. - Author Unknown

5. There are two things to aim at in life; first to get what you want, and after that to enjoy it. Only the wisest of mankind has achieved the second. - Logan Pearsall Smith

6. Life can be pulled by goals just as surely as it can be pushed by drives. - Viktor Frankl

7. The only journey is the journey within. - Rainer Maria Rilke

8. Insist on yourself. Never imitate. - Ralph Waldo Emerson

9. Everybody wants to be somebody;nobody wants to grow. - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

10. If we all did the things we are capable of,we would astound ourselves. - Thomas Edison

11. Our truest life is when we are in dreams awake. - Henry David Thoreau

12. The best way to make your dreams come true is to wake up. - Paul Valery

13. They can because they think they can. - Virgil

Wordless Wednesday #3

2008-01-30T00:15:00.000-05:00

Cherry on the Cake of My Day

2008-01-29T21:39:00.000-05:00

I'm mad at Harley for not posting here. One more thing in a long list of things he committed to and said he would do that he hasn't followed through on.

And that's just one of the things on my peeved list. The kids didn't have school today. A snow day - or rather, an ice day. Threw off my whole schedule. And of course, it was rainy and wet, so the kids couldn't go outside, which meant they were inside all day driving me insane. Harley worked extra late today, and the Princess is getting over some sort of stomach flu that keeps coming and going. Can you get re-infected with stomach flu? I'm just waiting for it to hit the rest of us.

Oh joy.

I had an editing job, too, I didn't want to finish that's been hanging over my head for a month. Finally got it done, though, pushed through and now I have a headache and I'm tired. My neck is so stiff and sore you'd think I'd been sleeping on nails lately. Sure feels like it.

Oh great.

The Princess just puked all over her bed.

Perfect.

Cherry on the cake of my day.

The Sweet Witch

2008-01-28T21:46:00.000-05:00

Whenever we go over to my inlaws, my mother-in-law makes enough food to feed an army. No, that's not a metaphor.

She's already cooked enough and packaged it up in Ziploc and Glad containers to feed an army for a week and put it into the fridge. That's for us to take home. That doesn't include the food she sets out on the table. It's always some sort of meat, usually red - prime rib, steak, ribs - plus at least one meat side dish, usually sausage. And there's always shrimp as an appetizer. Harley's a big meat eater, and it's clear she's cooking for him.

But there's plenty of carbs, too, don't get me wrong. Baked beans, cheesy potatoes, macaroni and cheese. Occasionally there's a vegetable - green bean casserole (the kind with fried onions on the top) or buttered carrots. Once in a while, a salad.

We went to my in-laws for my birthday yesterday. My mother-in-law likes to find reasons for us to come over at least once a month. My birthday is a good reason in January. We came home loaded down with food. Going there, for a food addict, is like asking an alcoholic to go to a New Year's Eve party at Cheers.

Of course, if you're going to meetings and doing what you need to do, it wouldn't matter if someone set a drink in front of you, right? You'd say no.

Me, I'm not so good at the "saying no" part. I clearly haven't gotten there yet. So my lunch today consisted of cheesy potatoes and baked beans. No protein in sight. And then there was leftover birthday cake. And she sent home two boxes of cookies. And a bag full of candy. And a gallon of ice cream, packed in ice. Of course she did.

Harley often likens her to the witch in the candy house in Hansel and Gretel. Sometimes I think he's right. And sometimes, when I'm lying in a stupid migraine-inducing sugar/carb coma after a trip to the in-laws, I wish we wouldn't keep leaving a trail of breadcrumbs that lead right back there again.

Say It Ain't So!

2008-01-27T05:24:00.000-05:00

I adore Queen Latifah.

She is, after all, my namesake :)

I can't think of a more beautiful, stunning, strong, confident woman - of both color and size. She's always been someone I greatly admired, and I think she's an underrated actress, an amazing singer, and just an amazing human being.

Today, I saw her on television - a commercial.

For Jenny Craig.

*sigh*

So Queen Latifah is going to join the ranks of Sarah Ferguson

Kirstie Alley

and Valerie Bertinelli...

Once again making the implied if not direct statement: "I can't be beautiful or happy until I'm thin."

I'm just so sad. :(

Queen Bee - Weigh In

2008-01-26T20:27:00.000-05:00

276

That was the number on the scale.

The last time we did low-carb the weight literally melted off without any effort. And I was eating cream cheese and salami and pork rinds and deviled eggs... and I still managed to lose forty-ish pounds.

We'll see what happens this time. I haven't been 100% on "plan" so to speak. There was that chocolate. And that box of macaroni and cheese. And birthday cake.

One day at a time, one bite at a time, I suppose. I haven't been perfect. Which usually means, it's time to give up and grab for the Doritos. But instead, I've just been picking myself up and trying again.

I suppose the scale is reflecting that. I'm a pound lighter than when I started out (and the scale started going in the wrong direction!)

Progress, not perfection. Isn't that what they say?

Magic Chocolate?

2008-01-25T11:49:00.000-05:00

Harley couldn't decide which card to get me for my birthday...

So he got one for both of my "sides"... :)

The kids drew me pictures. And I got a bunch of Burt's Bee's honey lip balm (my favorite) and some sugar-free Russell Stover's and Whitman's chocolate.

As you can tell from the picture, I'm either 83... or 383... :D

They asked if they could have some of my chocolate.

"No, it's got fake sugar in it. It's candy that won't make mommy fat." -er... fatter... I'm thinking...

"Oh... so it will make you thin?"

Ha! I wish :)

Thursday Thirteen #3: 13 Funny Diet Tips

2008-01-24T01:07:00.000-05:00

13 Funny Diet Tips

1. If you eat something, but no one else sees you eat it, it has no calories.

2. When drinking a diet soda while eating a candy bar, the calories in the candy bar are cancelled by the diet soda.

3. Foods use for medicinal purposes NEVER count. e.g. hot chocolate, brandy, toast, Sara Lee Cheesecake

4. Movie-related foods do not have calories because they are part of the entertainment package and not part of one's personal fuel. e.g. milk duds, buttered popcorn, junior mints and Tootsie Rolls.

5. Cookie pieces contain no calories. The process of breaking the cookie causes calorie leakage.

6. Late-night snacks have no calories. The refrigerator light is not strong enough for the calories to see their way into the calorie counter.

7. If you are in the process of preparing something, food licked off knives and spoons have no calories. e.g. peanut butter on a knife, ice cream on a spoon.

8. Food of the same color have the same number of calories. Examples are spinach and pistachio ice cream, mushrooms and white chocolate.

9. Chocolate is a universal color and may be substituted for any other color.

10. 100 laughs a day is equal to 10 minutes of exercise!

11. Go to the paint store. You can get thinner there.

12. Relish today. Catchup tomorrow.

13. Carrot cake counts as a serving of vegetables.

Wordless Wednesday #2

2008-01-23T00:14:00.000-05:00

see other wordless wednesdays

Happy Birthday To Me

2008-01-22T17:56:00.001-05:00

I feel incredibly old. I'm sure my body is much older than my years, actually. Which is rather depressing.

This day always meant a good excuse to eat cake. I miss cake. And frosting. God, I love frosting. Why would something exist in the world that's so incredibly bad for you?

I saw an Intervention the other night - the first one I'd seen with a food addict. A young man, over 500 lbs. The therapist said, "Being addicted to food is like being addicted to heroin. You take it to numb out. That's the goal."

Yep. That's about right. Food is my heroin.

Whenever I complain about having another birthday, Harley says, "Well, it's better than the alternative." Ha. But some days I wonder.

5 Sticky Notes On My Computer That I Want To Have Made Into Refrigerator Magnets

2008-01-21T22:18:00.000-05:00

1. Life is hard.

2. I am not that important.

3. My life is not about me.

4. I am not in control.

5. You are going to die.

These strike me as true in my heart. They come from a man named Richard Rohr. He didn't invent them. They are timeless truths.

They sound harsh to many people when I tell them they are a code by which I strive to live. I don't know if they're harsh. If anyone would like to know how I understand them, how they apply to my challenges with food, eating, body, and addiction, please comment and ask. I would be glad to offer my 2 cents.

King Harley

Some Friends

2008-01-21T20:44:00.000-05:00

Why are women so nasty to each other?

My mother never had girlfriends when I was growing up. When I once asked her why, she said to me, "You can't trust women. They'll stab you in the back the minute you turn around. It's better just to avoid them."

Nice, huh?

I haven't gone my mother's route completely and kept friends out of my life entirely. But I do have a hard time trusting people, and usually I have one or two really good friends at a time. I'm still in contact with a friend who was my "best friend" from middle through high school, although we've grown apart over the years, keeping up with each other in Christmas letters and lately, blogs.

My other "best friend" as an adult died of breast cancer last year (her birthday was just a few days ago actually...) but even with her, we both kept a bit of distance. I'm not sharing type. I don't spill my guts. And I usually find people who like to focus on themselves a lot - mostly so we don't have to focus on me. Nicely avoidant, isn't it?

I discovered an online mommy group back when I had my third baby, and it opened up a new world of friendships. I still wouldn't let people get too close... but for the first time, I had a group of friends. That was very different, and rather scary for me. When Harley nearly died, that mommy group really rallied around me, brought me meals, offered me support. I attended a lot of their home births, did blessingways for many of them, went to potlucks and playdates.

Then we moved, and I couldn't do much of that anymore. We just lived too far away. The group changed venues from an email group to a bulletin board, and I stopped keeping up. So they unsubscribed me for "lurking." Twice. Finally, I gave up. I was too far to do too much in person anymore anyway. I got the feeling it was "personal" but I just let it go. It wasn't worth the hassle. But I did miss the connection...

Someone from the group contacted me recently to tell me that she was kicked off, too. And for her it was definitely personal. They had basically ganged up on her and ripped her reputation to shreds. I couldn't believe the things I was hearing. These were women who had been kind and supportive... and now they were turning into a pack of rabid dogs attacking an innocent victim.

I don't understand women sometimes. It's like there's a nasty switch in there that gets flipped and they just go ballistic. Things snowball out of control, they gossip and pick up on each other's energy like sharks in some feeding frenzy. It makes me sad.

I know my mother always said, "Don't trust women," but I hoped it wasn't really true. Things like this... make me wonder.

Oh, and I found and ate real chocolate today. Welcome to the world of stress-eating.

Self-Preservation

2008-01-20T17:39:00.000-05:00

Harley and I both have issues with scarcity - they just manifest in different ways. Harley prepares for the apocalpyse. He wants to be prepared for the End of Days, no two ways about it, and if that means making sure we have an alternate power source and canned food to last until 2080, so be it. A few months ago, we heard a town siren go off (we live in a very little town now) and didn't know what it was. We later discovered it was just a fire call (for the local volunteer fire department.) But Harley took it as a sign that we needed flashlights and a crank emergency radio and all sorts of various and sundry things.

Not that I wasn't grateful to have them when the power went out at 2 am a few weeks ago. But, of course, by the time he got them all powered up and ready and we listened to the weather, the power was back on again... and I could have been sleeping from two until four, instead of cranking the radio.

Harley's a planner. Me, I'm a worrier. He's preparing for the worst and hoping for the best. I'm worrying about the worst and putting my head in the sand in the meantime. I have to admit, his way it a bit more logical - and proactive.

When it comes to food, I'm a hoarder. Whatever I buy, I want to keep. Forever. Preserved so I know it's there when I want it. And I can't stand to see it disappear. Which is why junk food is so appealing to me. Twinkies have a shelf life of, what, a million years? Twinkies and a couple cockroaches, that's what would be around if we survived a nuclear blast. (And if Harley had anything to say about it, we certainly would!)

When it comes to produce, though, I freak out when it starts going bad. And produce, damnit, goes bad fast! So people have to eat it. Right away. And I can't hide it in my dresser drawers or in my secret cubbyhole hiding places. All week, I've been thinking about having my special strawberry-pecan salad. I love this salad, and I totally came to associate it with low-carbing, because it's deliciously sweet and yummy - and still low-carb, yay!

And all week long, my family has been eating strawberries. Like they grow on vines or something! :x So today, I finally made my salad, using the last of the strawberries - and it is, admittedly, just as good as I remembered it. Quite delicious. I'll give you the recipe.

But that's not my point.

The point is, I can't hoard low-carb food like I do junk food. I can't "save" it. The minute it comes out of the ground, it's on it's way to a sure death, either on my plate, or in the compost pile. If I try to "save" it, it will surely be the latter. And that seems like such a waste, especially considering the price of strawberries at the market this time of year!

But there's something to this idea that's hovering right at the edge of my awareness for the first time. I always knew I had a scarcity consciousness. But it never occurred to me that one of the great appeals of "junk" foods were that they were already preserved. I could save a box of Ho-Ho's for practically forever, and all the while carry around the secret knowledge that they were there for me. That seems important somehow.

I wonder if it will make a difference, when we're growing our own food, that I'll be able to go out and pick a quart of strawberries anytime I want? I won't have to worry about the price of fruit, whether California was having unusually cold weather this year, or whether or not Harley and the kids were going to eat them all before I get to make my yummy salad.

Anyway, here's the recipe... and if you have any more insights, I'd be glad to hear them! Sometimes we're so close to something, we can't really see what in the heck it really is...

Strawberry-Pecan Salad

1/2 head of Romaine lettuce, chopped

1/2 quart of strawberries, sliced

1/2 cup pecans, chopped

Dressing: 2 TBSP lemon juice, 2 TBSP red wine vinegar, 1 TBSP sweetener (I prefer Splenda)

Drizzle 1 TBSP oil over salad, mix dressing, and pour over lettuce, strawberries, and pecans.

Easy peasy, and oh so yummy!

Fad Diets

2008-01-19T23:27:00.000-05:00

I was watching a show last week about the dangers of various fad diets. Harley and I seem drawn like moths to a flame to all the shows about weight on the tube (wow, that's an inaccurate metaphor isn't it... there really aren't tubes inside televisions anymore, huh?) Whether it's shows about losing weight, anorexia, bulemia, obesity, it doesn't matter.

I was amazed at how many of the "diets" listed that I've tried over the years. I've highlighted in red the ones that the program mentioned that I've given the old college try:

Liquid diet
Atkins
Suzanne somers
Weight Watchers
Jenny Craig
Medical Weight Loss
Metabolife
Detox
Colonics
Juicing
Raw foods
Maple Syrup Diet
Astrology Diet
Blood Type Diet
Cookie Diet
Tapeworm

The cookie diet sounds good, but they're not talking real cookies. They're talking fake "whole meal" cookies. *sigh* If it sounds too good to be true...

Note that I have NOT tried using a tapeworm. Although, I remember when I was a teenager, learning about tapeworms, and thinking, "Hey! That would be a perfect solution!" Eat all you want... and still lose weight!?

Eek!

It's amazing the lengths we'll go to, isn't it? I once considered ingesting a parasite in order to make myself thin... wow. What's wrong with this picture?

Sugar Alcohol

2008-01-18T19:35:00.000-05:00

Sugar substitutes that end in "ol" are evil incarnate. At least, that's what my intestines think. They are definitely making a protest at the three Russell Stover Pecan Delights I ate this afternoon. They were yummy... but I don't know if they were worth it. Yeeeeouch!

These particular chocolates had malitol in them. And it does say on the package: Excessive consumption may cause a laxative effect.

Fun!

Guess that's a good way to curb chocolate consumption. :x

p.s. actually I ate four. If I'm gonna be honest, I guess I should come fully clean, right? *sigh*

Thursday Thirteen #2: 13 Refrigerator Magnets About Fat

2008-01-17T01:46:00.000-05:00

13 Refrigerator Magnets About Fat

1. If we really are what we eat, I'm fast, cheap and easy.

2. I'm out of chocolate and I have a gun.

3. Eat, drink and be merry - for tomorrow they may cancel your Visa.

4. Everyone who diets gains in the end.

5. I am not fat, I am calorically gifted.

6. Life is unsure, so always eat your dessert first.

7. You are overweight if you are living beyond your seams.

8. Diet and exercise to fight hazardous waists.

9. The Joy of Not Cooking.

10. The older you get, the tougher it is to lose weight, because by then your body and your fat are really good friends.

11. I have flabby thighs, but fortunately my stomach covers them.

12. I'm not overweight, I'm just undertall.

13. On a scale of 1 to 10......We'd weigh a lot less!

Check out Thursday Thirteen!

Wordless Wednesday #1

2008-01-15T23:56:00.000-05:00

Check out Wordless Wednesday!

Scars

2008-01-15T08:38:00.001-05:00

Harley's having surgery today.

This is just a follow-up, his third cosmetic procedure to fix his neck (as much as they can, anyway.) But I'm not looking forward to being in the hospital with him. All sorts of memories flood back every time I go to that particular hospital. Waiting for Harley to be brought over from one hospital to the other, wondering if he would be alive still... a friend sitting with me and holding my hand. He was the only one who came, that first day, and I don't know what I would have done without him. It was a pleasant surprise, and a relief, to have that human contact.

Today it's just routine surgery. They don't even put him under! Just a local and they'll do what they have to do in terms of revising the scar.

His scar is looking lots better. Especially much better than the hole in his neck originally looked. There was once an 8"x4" hole in it, while he was in Intensive Care for 8 days and the hospital for 2 weeks. Who knew an abscessed tooth could turn into flesh-eating bacteria and bankrupt us three days before our insurance kicked in?!

Ah life...

After the life-saving part was over, they decided to do chest flap surgery and take a part of Harley's chest muscle and tissue/skin and put it into the hole in his neck. It was almost science fiction, I swear.

I will spare you the pics of the huge hole in his neck (suffice to say, I could watch him swallow! We used to joke about him having a "flip-top head!") - you can find lots on the Internet if you're really curious, just Google "necrotizing fasciitis" and you'll see how much worse off he could have been... dead might have been preferable, in some of the cases I've seen.

He easily could have died from it, and I'm so grateful he didn't. It could have been an upper tooth instead of a lower one (which, as one of the nurses told us, would have eaten into his brain...) So much could have happened that didn't... I keep having images/visions of him talking about it in front of groups, showing people the scar... I don't know in what context, but I just have a feeling...

So we're off to take the kiddos to grandma's and then I'll wait in the same waiting room I did, wondering if they were going to come tell me that I was going to raise my children alone. It still gives me the creeps. :x

A Surprise Visit

2008-01-14T17:52:00.001-05:00

Maybe Dr. Evil isn't so evil after all...

I went in this morning for fasting blood work, plus my annual pelvic and pap (yeee-ouch!). I also got my IUD out. This is the second IUD I've had, and I love them as a form of birth control. It allows for total spontaneity, there are no hormonal effects, and the side effects, for me, are minor. So why did I get it removed?

Because Harley and I are going to get pregnant!

Well, I'm going to get pregnant. Harley's going to get me pregnant. And I better stop there, because this blog is PG-rated. :D

We have four kids total - but the oldest two are mine from a previous marriage, teenagers (almost 18 and almost 15) who live with their father. Harley and I have two children together, and they're 5 and 6 now. I'm 37, and edging into that gray area of fertility, and we had to decide - are we really done? Do we want more kids?

So...we're having another one!

I was so nervous about going into this doc for an exam, and even more anxious to tell her I wanted to get pregnant. I was sure she was going to say, "You're too old! You're too fat! You're much too unhealthy!"

Instead, she said, "I'm so excited! I'll write you a prescription for prenatal vitamins!"

Wow. I went out of the office feeling elated, in spite of the lower belly crampy stuff going on. I hardly even noticed it. I couldn't believe how supportive and kind the doc was. Made me want to run right home and make Harley make me pregnant NOW!

Not that Harley would object... *grin* But, since Harley switched jobs, we have to wait, because our new insurance won't kick in until April. So we'll have to be careful until May. By then, I hope to be down about forty pounds. Being pregnant is always a great motivator to eat well. What better reason is there? So far, the low-carbing thing is going well. Of course, this is only day two...

Sugar Cravings

2008-01-13T18:06:00.001-05:00

Well the grocery shopping was successful. The boys went in, got what was on the list, and got out. I'm amazed by the masculine's ability to do that.

Of course, now I'm going through sugar withdrawal. Migraine-inducing sugar withdrawal. Hasn't even been twenty-four hours yet, for pete's sake! I know from experience this only lasts a short time, but man... it's killer. I want to crawl under a rock and die.

Or eat a Snickers.

Same difference, I suppose. *sigh*

Off to get bloodwork tomorrow at Dr. Evil's. Should be... fun. Not.

"Fast" Food

2008-01-12T13:13:00.001-05:00

We had Arby's last night.

We rarely eat out, because 1) it's expensive 2) we're far away from places to eat out and 3) we know it's not good for us.

But we do, every once and a while, and somehow I always think fast food is going to taste better than it does. I remember it better, or something. I've learned that's true about places like McDonald and Burger King and I just avoid going there altogether, even when we decide to splurge. But Arby's sounds "better" to me for some reason. I thought it would taste good. It sounded good.

It wasn't good.

*sigh*

I don't know why I can't keep that in my head all the time. In fact, it gave me a migraine. Probably some sort of artificial something I ended up eating. Yuk.

We're going grocery shopping today. I was very organized this time - I planned the menus, I created the list, and I'm sending Harley and the teenager. Two masculine folks should be able to go into the store and just buy what's on the list right? As opposed to me... I wander, I put things in the cart that "look good" or "sound good"... so NOT good. So they're going to go into the grocery store and grab some REAL "fast" food.

We're heading back to doing lower carb, no refined sugars or bad carbs. Plus lower, unsaturated fats. So the Twix I had the day before yesterday was probably the last chocolate for a long time. If that had occurred to me at the time, I would have savored it more. *sigh*

I really can't wait until summer, when we can start growing our own veggies and fruits and can collect our own eggs from our own Omega-3-fed chickens... I'm even considering raising bees!

Mattress Surfing

2008-01-11T04:37:00.000-05:00

You aren't going to believe this.

They're going to lose a fricking eye! Idiots!

I mean, if they want to avoid getting nailed by someone in oncoming traffic they're going to have to learn how to lean into those turns a lot harder so they don't slide into the oncoming lane. That's the problem with kids today, no respect for oncoming traffic when doing life-threatening, yet meaningless, stunts with motor vehicles!

Hell, at least the little miscreants didn't rip the tags off...

Thursday Thirteen #1: 13 Annoying Euphemisms for Fat

2008-01-10T01:42:00.000-05:00

13 Annoying Euphemisms for Fat

1. Fluffy
2. Big-boned
3. "Such a pretty face!"
4. BBW
5. Well Rounded
6. Rubenesque
7. Curvy
8. Large and In Charge
9. "Bear"
10. More to Love
11. Thick
12. Chubby
13. Cuddly

See More Thursday Thirteen Lists HERE.

Baby Got Back

2008-01-09T12:42:00.000-05:00

I've always liked Rachel Ray. She seems like a very real person, she loves to cook and eat, and she even has a "real" body - not a stick figure.

Saw this picture of her today.

Damn, girl!

Maybe I should eat like Rachel? :)

Here's my favorite Rachel recipe, just for fun.

Citrus and Rosemary Grilled Pork. MMMM!

Melting

2008-01-08T12:14:00.000-05:00

I'm melting! MEEEEEEEEELLLLTING!

Okay, not me personally. (I wish! ha) But our huge snowstorm is melting into a gooey puddle of water and mud in a freak January thaw. Sixty degrees today. 6-0!

And we're still debating whether global warming is real?

Come on! I like to live my life in denial, but even I can't pretend I'm 5'8" and 110 lbs... which, seems to me, is pretty analogous.

And, as with global warming, my denial and wishful thinking instead of taking action is actually quite harmful.

Ouch. I hate it when I take my analogies all the way to their logical conclusion.

Ignorance really is bliss, isn't it?

Anyone Out There?

2008-01-07T01:21:00.000-05:00

It's the official blogging "delurking" week.

Not that I have any readers who are lurkers. Hell, I don't even think I have any readers.

Do I?

Mostly I feel like I'm talking to myself - doing a lot of whining and complaining and navel gazing and making excuses. Who wants to listen to that, right?

Successful diet and weight loss blogs actually have things like weight loss and diets on them - right?

Me, I'm just floundering around, fumbling my way in the dark, feeling rather lost and alone.

But that's nothing new to me...

Mean Reds

2008-01-06T09:09:00.000-05:00

I've got the mean reds. Anyone remember that phrase from Breakfast at Tiffany's? Audrey Hepburn got the mean reds, and I knew just exactly what she meant. It seems to be going around. I'm seeing it in the blogosphere, on forums I frequent. Snarkiness is at a high. Maybe it's just the New Year and holiday let-down. Or maybe there's a full moon. Has Mercury gone retrograde?

I feel mad at the world today. Our fifteen inch snowstorm is melting into huge puddles of mud, and there's the most annoying drip coming from our gutter that's driving me insane. The kids are going stir-crazy because it's too wet to go outside. The Christmas tree is drooping from lack of water, the ornaments hanging heavy on its branches, and the rest of the decorations now just look garish and are begging to be put away for the season.

But I don't want to do any of it.

Harley wanted to take our disgruntled children to the movies today, but the thought of spending $8.50 per person (including kids!) plus concessions (because like we could forgo popcorn and candy?) and then lunch afterward - we could easily drop $60 in an afternoon. For what, to see some CGI Water Horse fly around for two hours while the kids fought over who had the most popcorn and asked to go to the bathroom fourteen times? Ugh.

It's just an escape... I get that.

But I know it won't change anything. Just like the food, as escape, doesn't change anything. It only makes me forget for a little while that I want to duct tape my children to kitchen chairs, strangle Harley until he's purple, and rip the gutters off the house. Everyone's temper is short today. The littles are fighting over a yo-yo and demanding breakfast NOW, Harley wanted s-e-x this morning and then groused because I didn't want to cuddle afterward. He's right. I don't want a cuddle, it's true. I want to rip phone books in half. I want to gnash my terrible teeth and roar my terrible roar, like some Wild Thing out of the kids' books. Instead, I've been wasting my morning throwing around ascerbic comments in forums to idiots.

I've definitely got the mean reds. Seeing the whole world through a thick, crimson haze. Days like today, it doesn't pay to get out of bed.

Stuck

2008-01-05T08:50:00.000-05:00

Watched Fried Green Tomatoes this morning while the kids went out to play in the snow that will disappear in a great flood this afternoon and tomorrow.

Great movie.

Kathy Bates character's sobbing into a handkerchief after some young kid called her a fat cow, and Jessica Tandy is patting her on the back and comforting her.

"I just wish I could get it over with and get really fat! I'm too young to be old and I'm too old to be young."

I hear ya, sister. I hear ya. (Has it really been fifteen years since this movie was released? God, I am getting old!) It takes courage to really eat your way toward death. Or to stop. I feel so caught in the middle, afraid to go forward, afraid to go back.

"One candy bar won't hurt ya," Tandy says.

"One, no. But ten or eleven?"

Yep, I hear ya.

I could eat them for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Tastes wayyyyy better than Lean Cuisine. (I'm watching the latest commercial - one woman eating a rice cake, the other drinking some frothy, scary-looking diet drink... and I'm supposed to believe the mouse-sized portion of chicken parts and freeze dried veggies tastes better? Feh!)

What is wrong with me?

I wish I knew. *sigh*

There's Always Room for Cello

2008-01-04T05:04:00.000-05:00

Two hundred and eighty pounds.

Which means, I haven't lost anything (didn't expect to) but I didn't gain anything either.

The problem is, I feel crappy.

I am so unhealthy. It wasn't always this way. I was fat, yes, but I could still DO stuff. I could do yoga! Warrior I, II and III, for pete's sake! I could walk a mile on a treadmill, swim twenty laps. I could do a whole aerobics class at the gym.

Now... I can't walk up stairs without panting like a Siberian Husky pulling a sled in Mexico. I can't walk to the corner and back without feeling as tired as a narceleptic on heroin or sweating like a Coke bottle on a picnic table in August.

I'm so out of shape. Unless you count a rather squishy circle as a shape. Harley just said, "More like an ellipse... or like a cello."

The truth is, Yo-Yo Ma gets more exercise than I do just pulling a bow. I've elevated the role of couch potato beyond reason - like a deep fried Oreo Cookie - I'm redundantly sedentary. And the truth is, I so don't want to move. Newton's Law, wasn't it? An object in motion stays in motion... an object at rest stays at rest.

Gotta figure out a way to get myself moving again. I've got Nike sayings running through my head. "Just Do It!" Seems easier said than done, though...

Expert Advice

2008-01-03T13:49:00.000-05:00

I didn't make any New Year's resolutions, but I did make a commitment to blog for the next 365 days.

What was I thinking!?

I did tell myself I wasn't going to give up. I wasn't going to abandon this blog, no matter what, even if I didn't find a way through the maze of my food and eating issues. My struggle and thoughts had to be useful, even if I failed... to me, to someone, somewhere.

As I'm writing this, the 2008 Nutrisystem ad is on TV: "I went from a size twelve to a size two!"

Feh. Lady, I'd love to be a size twelve. But I don't want to do it eating Nutrisystem food. Yuk.

Over the holidays, my sister said her new goal was to be 120 pounds by next Christmas. She's not that heavy - she has, perhaps, twenty pounds to lose. But that launched a discussion of weight, and eating, and diet (all while we were shoveling in dessert). She's been doing Weight Watchers - but not the meetings. Just counting her points.

"It's a great way to keep track of your food!" she claimed. "I know, now, that I have 2 points left for twelve candy corn."

Harley raised an eyebrow and snorted. "Now that's a waste of two points."

Points shmoints. But then she pulled out the Dr. Phil book, telling us Dr. Phil had really helped her understand what "type" of person she was when it came to eating and diets. There was a little test inside. Both she and Harley turned out to be perfectionists. Me, I was in the middle - feeling helpless, powerless, as if I have no control.

But do I?

This morning I heard a doctor on a show talking about childhood obesity, saying our bodies are programmed to crave and like salt, sugar and fat.

Well, hell. Isn't there a reason for that? Because I know that's exactly what my body craves. Especially the sugar. Do I have control over that? I don't feel as if I do. Every time I try to stop, something, something drives me back to the white stuff. I gotta have my fix.

On the same show where the doctor was talking about what we crave was a twelve year old obese boy who said, "Food is comfort. It's always the same. It makes me feel good when I eat it. It doesn't make fun of me or hurt me."

Damn. If I'd had that insight at twelve? Where would I be today? I barely have that insight now. I don't even know what the feelings are underneath the food. I'm so out of touch with them... I can't even identify what they are. That's scary to me. No wonder I tested as feeling hopeless, helpless, powerless. I feel caught. Can't go forward, can't go back.

So Dr. Phil had a show yesterday I happened to catch about New Year's resolutions. I don't usually watch him - his "Just say No!" worldview makes me insane. And this show wasn't any different. There was a 400 pound fast food addict eating McDonalds three times a day, like some real life "Supersize Me," and Dr. Phil is saying, "You just need to stop eating so much and exercise more."

This is the answer??

This is the answer.

Damn.

It hit me. That really IS the answer.

And then Dr. Phil said something that made me really sit up and take notice. "Your lifestyle is set up to support what you do. If you had a different lifestyle, things would be different."

He's not wrong. It really made sense, all of a sudden.

Harley and I keep talking about how, come spring, we want to raise chickens (for eggs) and grow our own organic garden. Ultimately, we'd like to be living off the grid somewhere in a sustainable community, but it's baby steps, for now. A garden and some chickens. Which means Harley needs to build a coop and plow a field. I need to plant and hoe and weed and water. And then we need to reap what we sow.

Change your lifestyle, change your life. That makes sense. I think I see a glimmer of hope sparkling somewhere in the distance that doesn't have to do with diets or denial. It has to do with moving our lives into a different space, a different place. For me, it's always seemed like a strange, impossible step, as if we were trying to find the way into another dimension. But now... it feels real. It feels possible.

That's exciting. Maybe I WILL have something to blog about this year.

Whacked!

2008-01-02T17:59:00.000-05:00

I think my thyroid is going all wacky again. I can't sleep at night - serious insomnia. Then I'm falling asleep in the middle of the day. And I get hungry very fast - like my stomach is crawling up my throat. It comes out of nowhere, and I have to eat. Like right-freaking-now. Like yesterday. I made an appointment with the doc to have it checked again. Maybe my meds need to be adjusted?

Or maybe it's my blood sugar? Eek!

I'm going to step on the scale again this week. I'm scared. Not today.

How's that for avoidant? :P

New Year's Resolution

2008-01-01T17:53:00.000-05:00

Nope. Not gonna do it.

No resolutions to break here.

I'm just going to keep on keeping on... one day at a time.

There just aren't any easy answers. Diets don't work. And Weight Watchers is, without question, a diet. So is everything else out there.

I'm going to have to find my own way. Still struggling. Wondering what's next.

More questions than answers. Maybe that's a good thing?

Promise Land?

2007-12-27T13:07:00.000-05:00

There's a post on Chewing The Fatz today titled Diets Don't Work - Or Do They? It illustrates an interesting point about the blogosphere that I'm discovering as I take this journey - it's fairly polarized along the "diet" and "nondiet" lines. There are those who insist that "Diets Don't Work!" - those are in the Fat Acceptance crowd. And then there are those who are trying the diet thing, whether it's Weight Watchers (who lately claim they aren't a diet) or South Beach or Dr. Phil or even getting weight loss surgery, and blogging about their success (or failure.) And some are succeeding (or have succeeded.)

The latter pretty much proves the point, doesn't it? Diets work. Eat less, exercise more, and you lose weight. Maybe not as much as you want to, as fast as you want to, but it does eventually work. Create a calorie deficit, and your body mass goes down. Which seems to imply that the problem doesn't lie in the question "Do diets work or not?" - it goes much deeper than that.

At the risk of alienating one side or the other (and that there are lines drawn between them at all seems silly to me to begin with) I'm going to speak up about this. It seems to me that the root of dieting and the root of giving up on diets altogether is actually the same. There's really no difference between actively dieting or actively "not dieting." Seems strange, but stay with me... it's true. The root of both of these is fear.

Dieting is the fear of being fat, getting fatter, not being accepted - ultimately, it's the fear of dying. Actively NOT dieting on the other hand is simply a denial, and it's the fear of failure and rejection (accept me as I am!) Ultimately it's the fear of the self, of finding who is underneath it all, of discovering what's hidden. (Which is ironic, since the fat acceptance movement is all about loving "what is." Really, it's nothing but loving the denial...)

Okay, I know that sounds harsh. It probably is. But both camps seem to be missing something, don't they? They're at extremes. Which is a famous marker of those who are addicts. Addicts love extremes. Are you a dieter? Then you're going to diet, you may lose weight, but ultimately, you're going to fail. Because diets don't deal with the root cause of your addiction (your fear). It will return once you've stopped "dieting." Are you a non-dieter? Someone who insists diets don't work, I'll never be thin, I'm genetically pre-disposed to be like this, and you should accept me as I am? Then you've simply stuck dug heels in, turned your head, and are denying what's coming. It doesn't make you any less afraid, underneath. It doesn't make death any less imminent.

Nothing does.

And that's the truth that both extremes seem to miss. Neither path leads anywhere different. They're both going to the same place. Different paths, same destination. Which makes them both look sort of silly. Restricting your calories to the point of pain, spending hours on an exercise bike, becoming obsessive about the numbers on the scale... What sense does it make? Or the opposite, living in ~~denial~~ acceptance... how different is that than a heroin addict saying, "I can't change who I am, I can't stop what I'm doing, so you're going to just have to make heroin legal and accept my addiction... until I'm dead."

What kind of life do either of those make? The pain and suffering remain. Maybe those who follow the fat acceptance belief are a little happier than the constant dieters, if they can come to some sort of self-acceptance. Maybe. But on the surface, it's still a denial, and underneath, the pain and the addiction still exist. It doesn't go away simply because you say you don't want to see it anymore.

There has to be a way to live life in between these two extremes, where weight loss and a healthy body image is possible, where activity doesn't have to mean mindless hours on some machine, where food doesn't have to be a constant battleground or a complete denial. That's what I long for. A life that isn't about "diet," but that doesn't exist in denial either. Not the Weight Watchers version of a lifestyle change, where you count food points and exercise points, and not the fat acceptance journey which seems simply deny the pain of addiction.

I want a life that's about living... not one that's a denial or fear of death. I want a life that is joyous, moment to moment. I don't expect pain to disappear, but I'm tired of covering it up, stuffing it, hiding it, swallowing it. I'm tired of swallowing all of my emotion or drowning it in food instead of feeling it, painful or not. And yes, I'm still afraid of what's under there, too. It's big, it's lurking, and it's been buried under carbs for the past thirty-something years. And I think it's mad.

But there comes a point... there has to come a point. As Anais Nin once said, "And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." I'm praying to come to that point. I'm not there yet, I know, and it's frustrating and painful to feel it, to want it, and not be able to access or reach it. But it is good to know that place exists... that there is a solution that doesn't involve surgery or diets or denial.

Merry Christmas from my Twisted Sense of Humor...

2007-12-24T10:17:00.000-05:00

Me and my twisted sense of humor actually finds this amusing.

Especially the stockings! :o

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

(Click the picture to see the artist's site)

Time For a Cat Nap

2007-12-23T11:40:00.000-05:00

Okay, are we all so enamored with the bio-medical model of the universe that we really believe this crap?

Honestly, if I could sleep my way to thinness… I’d be ninety-nine pounds by now! I sleep ten hours a night. And can sleep twelve if I want to. And could STILL take a nap mid-afternoon - no problem. Harley says I’m part cat. And considering my general aloofness, dislike of water, and sharp claws, I tend to think he’s right.

Meow.

Well I’m off to make a Banana Split cake. And a Nieman Marcus cake. And Jello. And our Christmas cookies for Santa.

Then, I think, I’ll take a nap!

Shrunk

2007-12-22T17:12:00.000-05:00

My new jeans shrank.

Dryers are evil.

I don't want to entertain the thought that I've gained any weight. I've decided I'm not stepping on a scale until after the New Year. That's my Merry Christmas gift to me. Not a denial, not an avoidance... just a break from the stress of the numbers.

Of course, my jeans have decided to remind me anyway. Grr.

Denim sucks.

Toto, We're Not In Kansas Anymore...

2007-12-20T16:50:00.000-05:00

This whole "diet" thing is messing with my head. Not that it hasn't been messing with my head for years. Since before I can remember, really. Has it become such a complete part of my psyche that I'm never going to be able to get rid of it? I hope not... but I can't seem to get the mentality out of my mind, no matter what I do.

Diets are based on scarcity, restriction, and deprivation. They talk about accountability to some authority that isn't your own. They want you to spend your life counting, recording, writing it all down. It's all about the numbers, the scales, weighing and measuring, counting steps, counting calories, counting the minutes until you die...

Is this really the way I want to live?

I seem to exist in two states: dieting and waiting to diet. Dieting doesn't last very long, I admit. A few weeks. Months at most. I certainly haven't ever done it long enough to call it a "way of life" or a "lifestyle." Most of my time has been spent dreading the upcoming diet, shoving all those "forbidden" foods into my mouth I know I can't have when I'm dieting, and hoping that I'll get some fabled call from the governor at the last moment, saving me from ~~the electric chair~~ Monday - diet day.

I've done all sorts of "diets." I've paid lots of money to be weighed and measured, to weigh and measure my food, to listen to skinny folks who used to be fat talk about how they did it, one celery stick at a time. I've eaten loads of processed crap that didn't taste much better than the box they came in. Eventually, even Twiggy would get sick of miniature portions of freeze dried broccoli and salisbury steak.

I know what a "diet" is, I know what it feels like, I know what it looks like. I know what waiting to diet feels like - the sense of impending doom, the voracious journey toward restriction, the guilt and denial and avoidance. Is there a middle ground somewhere, or am I looking for the fairy tale? Is there a yellow brick road I'm missing?

This morning I watched Valerie Bertinelli get all choked up on my television and tell me that for the first time, she was going to wake up on New Year's day and not make a resolution to lose weight - because she already had. "That could be you next year!" she tearfully insisted. "So call now!" (And while you're at it, will someone please drop a house on Jenny Craig?) I thought, hmmm... I wonder if Valerie's going to be fat again next January, or if she's going to keep up with the whole "diet" thing? Is she going to still be eating red boxes full of fake food next year? And come to think of it... why is it we never see Jenny Craig? Is it because she got fat again, I wonder, after years of depriving herself?

Not to pick on Jenny. She doesn't corner the market on diets or anything - (not that she doesn't want to.) She's got lots of competition from Florine, Suzanne Somers (and whatever happened to poor Susan Powter who wanted us to all stop the insanity by signing on to her version of it? Did she get fat again? No, wait, I wiki-ed her... she's still around!) Jillian Michaels, and Denise Austin. And not to be outdone by the women, there are endless rows of doctors - from Atkins to Ornish - out there pimping their programs, too. And let's not forget Ho-prah's protege, Bob Greene, doing his thang. And poor Richard Simmons - one of the few I think who are truly sincere. And don't forget all those programs not necessarily associated with a face, like Medifast, Nutrisystem, Slimfast, South Beach, the Cavemen... etc. etc. etc.

A diet is a diet is a diet is a diet...

Unless it claims it isn't?

Ha. Right.

That rationalization works... until you fall off the wagon and you're not doing the program anymore. I was reading Cranky Fitness yesterday, who referred to Sarah and Weetabix at Elastic Waist debating about Weight Watchers' new claim that they're "not a diet."

Huh?

I'm sorry, that must be my bad ear, what did you say?

Weight Watchers isn't a diet?

Feh! Right.

And George Bush isn't an idiot...

If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck - it's a big, fat duck.

Do you know how many people I know who have joined Weight Watchers and lost weight... and then gone off it and gained it back... and joined again and lost weight... and gone off it and gained it back...? Lather, rinse, repeat. This isn't a permanent solution any more than the others. It's designed to do one thing, and one thing only: make a profit. That's the bottom line with any of these diets. In fact, I'd venture to say WW makes a majority of its profit from re-joiners, not first time members. I could be wrong - but I bet I'm not.

I'm tired of diets... even those that claim they aren't what they really are. I don't want to buy or eat another box of crappy, overpriced, processed food. Why should I trust some outer authority to tell me what to do, how to do it, and what quantities I'm allowed to do it in? How is that any different than the rest of the sheeple yo-yo-ing up and down the diet scale and paying big bucks for the privilege?

I want to wipe the slate completely clean and start from scratch. Is there a deprogramming program for the diet programs we've been fed over the years? How do I get out of this maze of dead ends? Can I click my heels together and say "There's no place like home?"

Have I had the power all along, Dorothy?

Because when you let go of the idea of relying on someone else's authority... you have nothing but your own. Now that's some serious responsibility. And some serious independence.

Blizzard!

2007-12-16T13:20:00.000-05:00

Yes, I said Blizzard.
And not the Dairy Queen sort, either!

Since Linda over at Pointing the Weigh asked, I thought I'd post pictures of our SNOW!

The weather outside is frightful...

But the fire is so delightful...

And since we've no place to go...

Let it snow!

Let it snow!

Let it snow!

We actually have a Blizzard warning in effect, because the wind is blowing the trees back and forth like twigs at 50 mph.

We've got 10 inches so far, and it's still falling and isn't expected to stop until tonight. But the kids are having a blast on our six acres!

Remember when you had that much energy? I know one thing. Harley's going to get a lot of exercise today shoveling. And we're going to take a walk in the woods later, across the creek. Maybe I should wish for snow every day?

Lazy Is As Lazy Does?

2007-12-15T17:37:00.000-05:00

Lot's of talk and thinking and feeling and heartfelt intention, but no action.

Hell, you'd think I was lazy and undisciplined, like a good fat man is supposed to be.

Yet, while it's true that I got away with murder in just about every facet of my life because everything has been easy for me to either excel at, or to simply get by with a "C" average when I'm uninterested, I do have a couple of post grad degrees, I get up and go to work everyday, etc... I know I'm not actually lazy and undisciplined...well, maybe a little undisciplined, but only because I rely on my ability to intuitively understand and respond to whatever comes up without much effort.

I want my intuitive understanding to be enough when it comes to food, eating and being healthy. This seems to be the only thing in life that I'm continually thwarted by in such a big way.

I suppose it points to the thing that is deisgned to wake me up and show me I'm not really in control, the particular cosmic 2x4 that keeps hitting me over the head until I get it...until I get that the universe doesn't revolve around me. I dunno.

It seems so simple. Eat less - exercise more. It's impossible to deny the basic truth of that.

Why can't I simply do that? Maybe it's why "won't" I simply do that. Maybe I need to ask for help. But I have and I didn't really do what was suggested. So, what am I afraid of facing? Or, do I even need to figure out what I'm afraid of facing before I face it?

I tell others to stop the problem behavior and then face the emotional and psychological pain that comes up. I don't take my own advice in the area of food and eating.

Here's what it comes down to...at least what I'm feeling in this moment: no one cares.

Which means I really want someone to care. And I'm not even sure what that means.

Here's where this goes for me: I deeply care about others, but I feel I'm invisible (ironic, considering the size of my body), particularly, emotionally invisible. I'm not even certain what the pain is that I'm eating and staying fat in order to avoid (feeling invisible?), but I feel that my feeling and my heart matters less than everyone else's feelings and heart.

Is that it, the fear of being ignored, abandoned, rejected, that keeps me from taking action?

Queenie's parent's visited today and we talked about wieght, eating, food, etc... as her father has had serious health problems due to obesity, and he also had a very controlling mother when he was a boy, just as I did. Talk then turned to my 5-yr-old son and his wilfullness, stubborness and determination. I'm grateful for those qualities in my son, and while I will certainly wrestle with him and engage in a power struggle with him now and again, I'm very aware of the power I and Queenie have to crush and smother his sense of self-direction, volition and inner authority. It enrages me and nearly brings me to tears when I allow the memories to come up of how my own inner authority and sense of self-direction was crushed and smothered by the food that was very nearly literally shoved down my throat in vast quantities as a boy.

I'm getting a sense that I'm not lazy, but that I'm simply defiant out of fear of being crushed and smothered and fed into oblivion. I would rather keep up the illusion of control and keep doing what is comfortable, safe and predictable, even if it's literally killing me, than risk changing my behavior and taking action.

It's not laziness. It takes me a helluva lot of time, energy, focus and attention to to try and control reality so that I can keep the fear of being crushed and smothered inside, in the form of fat and unlived life.

I guess I'm the one who is crushing and smothering me. I'm keeping myself cut off and alone out fear of being cut off and alone.

That's fucked up.

I feel like I could really use a friend who could help me with this, but I probably wouldn't allow a friend in for fear of being given the message, yet again, that it's either them or me.

The King has left the building.

Codependents R Us

2007-12-15T15:29:00.001-05:00

Harley and I met on the Internet, back when AOL was charging by the hour and people ran up $1200 Internet bills. Me included. When I met Harley, I was in a disintegrating marriage, and he was a psychologist with a lot of knowledge about relationships. He tried to help me fix my marriage. Can you imagine? I think he's glad he failed. :)

After my marriage fell apart and Harley and I started noticing each other in a more-than-friendship sort of way, we did what any self-respecting fat person on the Internet does in this culture. We lied. I was a 5'5" redhead... and that's where the truth stopped. I was a svelte 120 pounds, long of leg and rather busty. Well, the latter is true, but I can thank overly developed adipose tissue for it rather than a propensity toward a D-cup. Harley claimed he was a 180 lb backpacker, hiker and camper. Welcome to the ~~Internet~~ World of Wishful Thinking.

We never thought it would go any further than a little Internet fling. We felt safe pretending to be who we weren't. Neither of us could have fathomed that we, in fact, lived only half an hour away from one another. Neither of us could have imagined that the other was dealing with the same issue, the same pain, the same fear of discovery and rejection. When Harley wrote me a long letter telling me why he couldn't ever meet me face to face -- because he was a 400 pound obese man who had lied to me -- I felt nothing but relief... and a great deal of love.

Long story short, we met, we married, we had two children together. We also fed each other's addiction and created a safe cocoon of codependence. My ex was one of those naturally skinny guys. The one time he wanted to lose a little weight, he cut out drinking regular Coke and switched to Diet. He lost ten pounds like he was just breathing room air. Easy peasy. He never understood the concept or idea of food as anything other than fuel.

But it isn't any easier living with a fellow addict. It may even be harder - because, while he understands and sees much more about me than a non-addict would - he also has the same or similar issues and problems he doesn't want to face any more than I do. We've both been very good at dissolving our boundaries, so much so that it becomes dangerous for both of us. I sabotage him, he sabotages me, and we slide back into the comfortable place we've always rested together.

I love Harley, and I'm blessed to have such an amazing man in my life. But sometimes I wish we weren't so much alike. I don't know how it's all going to work out - I wish a had a crystal ball. Are we meant to do this together? Is one of us meant to lead the other? Are we supposed to be buoyed up by community, by the universe, like two beached whales waiting for rescue, not sure how to find open water again? Ugh, how's that for a self-deprecating metaphor? I should quit while I'm ahead.

Some days I'd say being with Harley is what makes my life worth living. Some days, I wish for someone who wouldn't tolerate my addiction, who would call me out, force me to quit killing myself and hurting everyone around me with my pain. I know there's a middle ground between those two extremes. Story of my life. Getting there. It's painfully slow.

Joy to the World

2007-12-14T00:23:00.001-05:00

I'm tired, but I can't sleep. Insomnia is a very strange phenomenon. And a recent one, for me. I could always sleep. Like a rock. Through a nuclear explosion. No problem. But not anymore, apparently.

Now I'm up in the wee hours, pecking away at my laptop while Harley snores beside me. I always fell asleep before Harley even started to snore. At least I know he doesn't have sleep apnea. There's looking at the glass half full, right?

The wind is blowing hard outside, whistling past the windows, and I'm thinking all of those wee-hour thoughts. Like George Bailey in It's A Wonderful Life, wondering if everyone's life would have been better if I'd never been born? I don't have any icy rivers around here to jump into... which is a good thing, because I'm pretty sure I don't have a Clarence waiting to jump in after me, either.

I got a Christmas card - first one of the season - opened it up today to the message: "May the new year bring you great joy." Joy. Wow. What in the hell is that? I think I understand the concept... I vaguely remember having that euphoric feeling a few times, maybe. The births of my children. My wedding day.

No pressure or anything, but the new year should bring me JOY? Can we aim a little lower? How about just the feeling of actually wanting to get out of bed every morning? I'd settle for that. But JOY? That feels quite foreign to me. Very out of reach. Looming in the realm of the impossible.

How often do we humans really experience joy? I mean, aside from maybe Buddha or the Dali Lama or Amma or something... those few people who seem to have been lit from the inside out... how many of us get to experience that particular emotion? Is every day a joy? One thing a week? One a month? One a year? Realistically, how often should I expect JOY to show up on my plate? (Ah there's a metaphor... slipped right in there, didn't it?)

I'd like to say I'd settle for happy. But what I really want is... joy. Euphoria. Pleasure, with a capital P. And I want it every single day. Every single moment of every single day. What? Unrealistic expectations? No one promised me a rose garden? Yeah. Right. I got it.

So the food keeps going in, the highs keep coming, and I keep longing for... more. It's never enough. Even at one in the morning, when I can't sleep and the night winds howl, and I could be outside instead of in, I could be nonexistent like George Bailey, life could always be worse, always... still, it's never enough.

This hole is bottomless. Nothing could fill it.

Intuitive Eating

2007-12-11T11:35:00.000-05:00

I read Geneen Roth years ago. Had a wonderful therapist for a while who was all about "Making Peace with Food." And now Tribole and Resch have brought the idea of intuitive eating into more mainstream thinking. It certainly makes sense to me - although I have a problem trusting that it will work. Go figure.

I know I'm passing a lot of the "food rules" on to my kids that I was taught as a child. We were never allowed to open anything. Especially the peanut butter. But that rule went for anything - bags of chips, pop, whatever. We were never allowed to take the first or last of anything. We weren't allowed to eat anything without asking first. We weren't allowed to eat anything too close to dinner. You had to eat your dinner in order to get "dessert." You had to take at least one bite of everything on your plate, even if you knew you didn't like it. You had to sit at the table with everyone else to eat dinner. There was no food allowed in our rooms. My god, the rules about food were endless...

And they're still endless, here in my own house. I'm doing the exact same thing, I know it, to my kids, as my parents did to me. It's all the same rules, because it's all I've ever known. Granted, my kids are skinny - now. But I was skinny, too, until I hit puberty, got more freedom, and started doing what I wanted (and was told I couldn't) when it came to food.

When I read about intuitive eating, I break out into a cold sweat. I'm supposed to trust MYSELF when it comes to food? I'm supposed to trust my children to know what they want, to know when they're hungry and when they're full, and let them eat what they want, when they want? Even if they want to eat a bag of M&M's an hour before dinner? Really?

That works? That creates people who have a healthy relationship to their bodies and food? I have such a hard time trusting that's the truth.

Although logically, I know the opposite is true. Growing up with a compulsive eater (my father) who had a million rules and regulations when it came to food certainly created a person (me) who has a very UNhealthy relationship to my body and to food. So if that's true... does logic dictate the inverse is true? Is there some scientific law out there that proves that somehow?

I've been reading a lot of fat acceptance blogs lately. My favorite so far is Shapely Prose, but I've also been enjoying Unapologetically Fat, Fear & Loathing in the Kitchen and First, Do No Harm. The truth is, the idea of fat acceptance has always been anathema to me. Accept my weight? Accept my body as it is? Are you kidding me? I'd rather dream about being thin and sexy and beat myself up because I'm not those things...

and how twisted is that?

Where has it gotten me so far? Hating myself because I'm fat hasn't made me thin, that's for sure. It hasn't solved any problems, it certainly hasn't made me change my wicked, bingeing ways. Hating myself because I'm fat has just made me... hate myself. That's all. No solutions there. Just more pain, perpetuated.

I don't have an answer. Do I want to be thin? Hell yes. Will I ever be? I don't know. Can I accept that? Ugh. I don't want to. But it is what it is. Whether I can change it or not, I'm a fat woman. I can certainly say that. But can I say, I'm a fat woman, and I love myself as I am?

Damn, that's tough. How do you turn around nearly four decades of self-loathing?

Pink Elephants

2007-12-09T12:30:00.000-05:00

I like to pretend pink elephants don't exist. I'm quite good at it, actually. I seem to have a knack for conveniently "forgetting" things, behavior, patterns. Ask Harley about my movie watching. I will "forget" a plot of a movie, so I can watch it over and over with nearly the same amount of enjoyment. If it's something I've only seen once and haven't seen for years, I will only vaguely remember the details.

When I was married to my ex, he had affair after affair. He was one of those guys who could convince you (or at least, me) that he was invisible even though he was standing right in front of you. I spent a lot of time second guessing myself in that marriage, thinking I was insane. Finally, I wised up. It took me years, of course, but eventually, the evidence piled up so high that I couldn't ignore it anymore.

But a pink elephant has to be pretty big, bright neon, and make quite a mess before I'll notice. I'm pretty sure I know why. It's easier for me to live in denial and ignore something than it is to confront someone about it and deal with it. I'd rather not know. Ignorance might be bliss, but denial keeps the peace.

I still haven't learned my lesson since divorcing my ex. Harley has faults, of course, but at least he's a grown up and is willing to look at them. That's all I ask, really. My ex insisted on staying a child, lying to avoid confrontation. Sadly, he keeps reminding me, year after year, that I made the right choice when I left. Harley, on the other hand, while he moves in what I call "glacier time" actually does make changes. Sloooooooooooooooooooooowly.

I know that the eating and food stuff isn't the "problem." It's actually been my solution. And it's been very effective, if I do say so myself. It's the thing I've been using to keep myself from seeing all my pink elephants. And it's turned me into some strange, twisted version of said elephant, so that when I look into a mirror, I don't even see myself. Who I really am. I don't know who that woman is in the mirror. I don't know if I ever did.

I'm afraid of all the things I've denied over the years. I'm afraid to open that box and look at them. That's the truth. I know stopping the food means the pain is going to come up. You can't ignore 100 pink elephants for thirty-seven years and expect them not to stomp you when you finally decide to pay attention to them again. I know I'm gonna get crushed.

I'm so not looking forward to that part.

Emotional Bypass

2007-12-08T04:36:00.000-05:00

I am a ~~walking~~ couch-potato cliche, I know - a fat woman sitting in my living room watching Oprah and eating chocolate. The show? "Suddenly Skinny." How could I not tune in, right?

Gastric bypass - the thing I've been fantasizing about as a magic bullet - apparently bypasses the stomach, but it doesn't bypass the reason you were eating to the point of morbid obesity in the first place. If you can't eat your feelings anymore, what do you do? I've often thought weight loss surgery must act as some sort of catalyst, speeding up the process of dealing with the pain and fear and anxiety the compulsive eating tries to cover. Makes sense, right?

It had occurred to me, too, that perhaps you might find something else to be addicted to, if you couldn't use food to cope. But that's not the fantasy in my head. The fantasy is that being thin makes people happy - that it would make me happy. It's supposed to make everything okay again. Thinness is the "answer." Isn't it?

I didn't know, though, that it's really happening to real people out there. The reality of gastric bypass can mean the transfer of one addiction to another. From compulsive overeating to alcholism. From compulsive overeating to gambling or sex addiction. Just something else to fill the hole.

Carnie Wilson, the poster girl for gastric bypass, became an alcholic. It's seven years since her surgery, and she's been sober for two years, now. Yay her.

She said, "I can find addiction anywhere in my life. I was a born addict."

I listened to her, and I heard myself. I know I'm addict - but food feels like a "safe" addiction. It's legal. No one is going to take my license or put me in jail if I eat and drive. I need food to live, so I can rationalize a food addiction much easier than I can any other. Plus, I have a fat family, and can point to "bad genes" when it comes to my appearance.

But if I lost the weight, if I did something drastic like gastric bypass - what would happen to my addiction? Would I transfer it to something else? I'm totally not a drinker, I hate the taste of alcohol. But if I didn't have food - what would I turn to? Because I know I'd turn to something. I'd have to. What would I end up addicted to? Vicodin? Booze? What?

I said jokingly the other day that I'd rather be addicted to heroin. But... would I really rather be a heroin addict? Would I REALLY?

Carnie said, after her surgery, she started drinking, and when it got really bad, she woke up every day not knowing how she was going to stop.

But that's how I feel about food. I wake up every day not knowing how to end this. I have all the information. I know all the hows. My favorite saying by Maya Angelou, "When you know better, you do better," just doesn't seem to apply in this situation. I know better. But I can't seem to do any better. Why not?

The belief, when you go in for weight loss surgery, is that if you decrease the weight, you'll decrease the emotional pain. The reality is that when you shrink your weight without dealing with all those feelings, your pain increases. That's a paraphrase of the psychologist on Oprah today.

That's the stark reality.

And that's what I'm afraid of. That's the honest truth. I'm afraid of the pain I've buried under the food. I'm terrified of collapsing into an emotional wreck. The food is keeping me emotionally functioning (if rather numb.) Without it? I feel as if I'll end up a quivering, sobbing mass of jelly that they're going to have to pour into a straight-jacket and lock in a padded room for the rest of my life.

And I don't even know what the pain is - its source or its origin. And the truth is, I don't want to know. Losing the weight means not using the food to cover it anymore. Losing the weight means leaving myself exposed and vulnerable. Losing the weight feels like death - even though the opposite is also true as well. If I keep eating this way, I'm going to die. It's quite a difficult place to be.

Diet Girl's Scavenger Hunt Entry!

2007-12-07T17:52:00.001-05:00

Okay, here are our entries for Dietgirl's Scavenger Hunt!

We couldn't agree - go figure! So we have two entries for each item on the list.

THE LIST

Queen B's Bicycle entry

Harley's bicycle... reference... entry...

Queen B's Bald Man Entry

Harley's Bald Man Entry

Queen B's Elvis Entry

Harley's Elvis Entry

Queen B's Greek yogurt entry

Harley's Greek Yogurt entry

Queen B's wedding dress entry

Harley's Wedding Dress Entry

Queen B's Letter D Entry

Harley's Letter D Entry

Queen B's Letter G Entry

Harley's Letter G Entry

Did we win, did we win? :)

Playing Games

2007-12-07T14:21:00.000-05:00

When I was in school, there were only a few "fat kids." I didn't get heavy until I hit puberty, but after that I was one of the fat girls. In our entire high school of 2,500, there were probably only 5 or 6 of us. That's a pretty small percentage. I stood out like a purple cow in a herd of black and whites.

Today? The statistics say 15% of adolescents ages 13-19 are overweight. So in the 80's it was about 2%. Twenty years later? 15%. And it seems to be increasing exponentially.

What's wrong with this picture?

I know there's been a lot of attention focused on this topic. Every other television or radio show talks about the obesity epidemic. Kids are getting diabetes and have high cholesterol and all sorts of ailments doctors didn't see starting until mid-life. There have been lots and lots of theories about why we're getting fatter, as an entire culture. Most of them, I think, hit the tree, but miss the target. And I think most of them miss the target intentionally - because they're afraid of what it might mean in terms of changing our world, if we really looked at the underlying cause.

Queen B's theory on why we're so fat, so young?

Obesity is the direct result and cost of consumerism.

As the gap keeps growing between the poorest and richest in the Western world... so does the gap between fattest and thinnest. Why? Because it's all about quantity rather than quality, from our houses to our consumer goods to our food. We're outsourcing labor to places like India and China - because they can produce large quantities of goods at cheaper prices. We're growing food on industrialized "farms" - big agri-business it's called - and turning most of it into processed foods full of artificial flavors, chemicals, fats and sugar. Those foods we don't process, we breed to produce bigger fruits and veggies that are full of harsh pesticides and chemicals, and the meat that's sold which isn't processed is full of antiobiotics and hormones.

And we wonder why we're fat?

According to the statistics, "The world’s underfed population has declined slightly since 1980 to 1.1 billion, the number of overweight people has surged to 1.1 billion."*

Just the other day, I was wondering about my tendency to go to extremes. But it clearly isn't just me. It's a whole culture. While I was one of the only fat kids in my class at one time, I'm actually not the only fat girl anymore. Lots of people are walking around like I am - wondering what the hell happened? There's no moderation anymore. We have a nation going to extremes - either ballooning up to morbid obesity or depriving themselves to starvation. Both of them are the direct result of consumerism.

Because some part of me believes that my consumption - in this case, of food - is going to make me happy. We've been sold - literally sold - on the idea that it is the consumption of goods, food, services - those are the things that make us happy. We only give lip service to the notion of "You can't buy happiness" - but we don't really believe it, and we especially don't live it.

I saw an interview with an actor this morning who spent time on the streets with the homeless as an exercise for a role he was playing. He said something that opened my eyes. "People seem to think that life ends when you lose all your stuff - but that isn't true. Life isn't stuff. Life is life. And it goes on. People continue to be hungry, people continue to feel, to fall in love. Life still happens, no matter what."

No matter what. Whether I can walk into a store, like I did today, and afford to buy two bags of salt and vinegar potato chips and a half gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Or whether I'm living in a van down by the river and eating out of garbage cans and going to soup kitchens every morning. Life goes on. Until it doesn't anymore - at least, for me. It will go on long after me, too - god willing.

The one with the most toys when they die - doesn't win. In fact, winning doesn't have anything to do with the stuff, with the food, with the consumption of anything at all. The only way to win this game - if you want to use that metaphor at all - is not to play. Because playing the consumerism game is nothing but a race against death, and it ironically gives you the life of the living-dead instead of the life of someone who is truly alive. You become a consumer zombie. It means burying yourself, your feelings, your entire life, under the stuff, the food, whatever your consumer-good of choice might be.

Remember that 80's movie, War Games, with Matthew Broderick? They're trying to teach the computer why nuclear war is a game you can't win, and to do that, they make it play tic-tac-toe over and over all by itself, until finally, finally the logic and light dawns. "The only winning move is not to play."

I'm really getting tired of this game. Aren't you?

Eliminating the Options

2007-12-06T15:34:00.000-05:00

Harley got the job.

Can everyone say hallelujah?

Yep. Amen.

It's more money, the benefits are less than half of what we're paying now, and we're currently only managing to cover Harley and me. The insurance with the new job will cover everyone (including the kiddos) for half the price. Can you say WOOT!!? Yeah. That's what I said, too.

The only thing is the deductible. I hate deductibles. It's $1000 for a family, so that means $1000 out of pocket. January is going to majorly suck. The other thing is it will not, under any circumstances, cover weight loss surgery. The insurance we have now will cover it, but only gastric bypass (no lap bands), and only when you've "failed" a 12 month weight loss program.

Which means, it eliminates the possibility, at least while Harley's working this job. In the back of my mind, I've kind of been entertaining the thought, ever since the doctor mentioned it. It feels like such a quick fix, an easy out. A way to get thin without having to do any of the work. It's quite a carrot to dangle... or in my case, a donut.

But not only do I now have to erase it from the "improbable solutions" column, I now have to cross it off the "possible solutions" list, too. Which leaves me with either....

a.) entire lifestyle change or b.) suicide.

There I go, back to extremes again! :)

Okay, so all kidding aside, this gives me no option, however small, of an easy out. I'm going to have to actually do this whole lifestyle change thing without any medical reinforcement, at least in terms of drastic surgery. Or die trying.

And that's, unfortunately, not too far into the extreme realm... that's more the truth than not.

It's either do this thing or die trying.

Going to Extremes

2007-12-05T13:40:00.000-05:00

Harley pointed out last night that we do a lot of "starting" and not a lot of "continuing" with this whole "diet" thing. And he also said we tend to begin going gangbusters and then sort of... peter out. Or conveniently "forget"... oh that's right, we were supposed to be eating low-carb weren't we? Oh, well, let's just order pizza... we won't eat the crust. Yeah. Right.

It's both good and bad having someone doing this thing with you. It's great support, but it can also be much easier to sabotage. So the current plan is to not go gung-ho jumping off the diet cliff this time, cleaning out the cupboards and going out to spend $500 on food like whey protein and almond flour that I'll never use anyway...

I'm tired of thinking and saying, "This time it's going to be different." This time is the same time. The only time. It's a long, continuous process of trying to figure it out and find something that works. No more "this time's" no more "No more's" either. Extremes have been, as Harley pointed out, part of the problem. I don't know that they can be part of the solution. I could "never" and "always" myself right to death - literally. What good is it really doing me?

I've always said I wished I was addicted to something I could quit. Cigarettes. Alcohol. Crack. Heroin. Anything but food. Something you could just cut out altogether and never have to deal with again. THAT I could do. But, of course, I didn't get those addictions. I got this one. I have to walk some sort of ambiguous line, and I've been doing it rather rebelliously and/or ambivilently over the years. I need food to live - but every time I make a choice about what to put in my mouth, I have to deal with the addiction. Either I give in to it, or I don't. So far, the addiction's winning. Way ahead.

And of course, having something I could just "quit" would be yet another extreme. That's part of it, too. I'm either perfect or I'm the worst at everything. I'm either eating the whole cake, or depriving myself completely. It's that pendulum swing between one and the other that I clearly have to learn to deal with. It's finding that middle way, not going to extremes, that seems to be the point.

Extreme-shmeme. :P I'd still rather be addicted to heroin.

Whoever Said Life Was Fair?

2007-12-04T07:42:00.000-05:00

Harley and I are so different when it comes to food.

Before we lost our friend, D, to breast cancer, we all used to sit around and talk for hours about - well, everything. But one of the things we remarked on was how similar our psychology was around food, and yet how differently it manifested in the world. D was bulemic and had been since she was thirteen. She had also been anorexic at one point. And had ballooned up to 180 pounds and then the bulemia "fixed" her weight problem. That's where she got stuck.

Harley and I - we're compulsive overeaters. I wouldn't vomit by choice even if you offered me a million dollars and promised me a lifetime's supply of chocolate. Harley thinks vomiting is ridiculously stupid - why would you waste the food you just ate? He doesn't "get" anorexics and bulemics. I do. I get the inclination, anyway - I'm just not in for the actual acting it out.

But even though we have the same issue, Harley and I, we eat totally different things to get where we are. Me, I'm a sweets/carbs eater. Harley's philosophy about food? Meat+Heat=Eat. And the 2nd part of the equation is optional. He just eats vast quantities of whatever it is he's eating. I cook enough for two families most nights. He eats for one of them. Me and the kids eat the other meal.

Me, I will forgo a meal to eat a candy bar. In fact, if I could live on candy bars, Doritos, and various nefarious junk foods, I would. I mean, if the guilt didn't get to me that I'm not eating "healthy" food. So I force myself to sit at the dinner table and eat a few bites of the "real" food so I can later gorge myself on cake. WTH? I know, it's all very twisted. Welcome to the world of a food addict.

But the underlying emotional stuff? That's the same. Different, of course, in its particulars (kind of like the food!) but at the core, it's the same. We hide how we feel. Me, I'm so disconnected, I don't even know most of the time what I'm feeling. And I don't want to know - so I bury it in the food. It's truly no different than any addict.

And I know what I'm addicted to. It's the sugar. Like any white powdered substance - cocaine, heroin. No difference. I know my body is actually, physically, addicted to the stuff, because I did go off it once. The only diet I was truly successful at for an extended period (about nine months) was a low-carb diet that cut out all refined sugar and carbs. Harley and I did the Protein Power Life Plan and we both lost weight. Those size 22's in my closet? I was considering actually going shopping for a size lower because they were getting loose.

The withdrawal from sugar was evil. I was sick, lethargic, nauseaous. I should have been in a detox center somewhere, it was so awful. But after a week or so of that, I felt fantastic. And suddenly food that had previously been nowhere near sweet enough (blueberries or a cantaloupe, for example) were bursting in my mouth with sweet flavor.

Harley wants to do the low-carb thing again. I have to make all sorts of mind-leaps when I'm doing it. I can eat bacon? Heavy cream? Cream cheese? Butter? Steak? But I can't have a cracker? Or a baked potato? Or spaghetti? Hmmmm... But it actually works. I know, because I've done it. Part of me just doesn't like it. Or think it's fair.

It's true... there's a little kid in me stamping her foot and whining, "But it's NOT FAIR!" Harley gets to eat what he LOVES - meat. Me, I have to cut out everything I love and eat the stuff I hate. *whine* How come? Why me? What kind of plan or system is that, who thought it up, and where can I set up a meeting with them so I can punch them in the face? Huh?

And secretly I believe that if I have to suffer during this diet thing, then Harley should have to suffer too, right? It's only FAIR!

I know. How twisted is that?

Logically, I know it's the right thing to do. I feel better, I lose weight without even thinking about it. And I'm not eating all the junk food that I intellectually know is not good for my (or anyone's) body. Emotionally, however, I'm dealing with a huge internal protest, and I know I'm going to have to dig deep and locate my adult-self to set some boundaries and put that little one in time-out for her temper tantrums. *sigh*

And, of course, I'm not looking forward to the sugar withdrawal. *shudder*

Can't we start Monday? No? What do you mean there's no time like the present? But I have all this sugar and flour in the house, and... and... and... *sigh* Time to clean out the pantry again, I guess. Last time we did this, I gave away probably $200 worth of carbs. Wonder how much I'll end up donating this time?

Alright, alright. I'm going already.

Doctor, Doctor, It Hurts When I Do This...

2007-12-03T19:02:00.000-05:00

Went to see a new primary care doc last Friday (3 days ago). Thin, pretty Romanian woman. With grave concern she soberly told me that I was going to die from diabetes complications and obesity if I didn't lose weight and manage my blood glucose levels better. I was shocked. Exploded the cuff on the blood pressure machine when she told me, I did. I just couldn't understand why no doc had ever told me these things before! Why hadn't I read, somewhere in the literature, that people actually died from the complications of uncontrolled diabetes and morbid obesity!

Why, I was flabbergasted, floored, shaken to my foundations! I had been liberated (yet again, for about the umpteenth time since I was a small boy) from my ignorance! I was free---free---freeeee! Finally, I could book that scuba expedition, buy that kayak, put that big order in with my broker for Speedo stock!

Fact is, addicts are never motivated by death, fear of death, or loss of this, that or the other. I'm an addict. I know this from experience. I have the most beautiful amazing children and wife in the world, yet neither fear of loss of them, nor fear of the pain I would cause them to die so meaningless a death from complications of diabetes and morbid obesity, have motivated me to get healthy.

Sorry, doc.

So fear of death and loss ain't gonna do it for me. Oh, and I should mention that my mother and father tried to instill deep shame and guilt in me, and even though they were quite successful, shame and guilt have not done it for me, either.

What's the motivator? It would be easy to give the histrionic cry of, "I don't know!" But that ain't it, either.

What I know, in the depths of my heart, is that the only motivator is feeling in my heart the real truth that I am part of something greater than myself...god, love, the Infinite Heart. The last chapter of the book in the 12 Steps is revealed to us in the first five words of Step 12, "Having had a spiritual awakening..."

So, that makes my primary sin pride, self-centeredness, hubris. I cut myself off from god, love, the Infinite Heart that connects us all and everything as one. I continue to cut myself off from that Source because I believe that I am less worthy of that love than everyone...anyone...else. How twisted is that? My imperfection is worse than everyone else's imperfection, my shadow is darker and deeper than your shadow, my demons are bigger than your demons!

Hell, that's obnoxious and annoying - even to me. What a childish ass. I wouldn't want to give love in any form to that guy. Yet that's exactly what he needs. He needs someone (a father would be good) who would stand there and wait for eternity for him to bow his head to the least of himself so he can free himself from the prison of being cut off from what he loves most. God.

I would like to write that I have a plan and I am going to follow it come hell or high water. I could, I suppose...both write it and do it. Despite the stereotype of fat people, I am not weak-willed, stupid or lazy. I don't need victory. I need surrender. I need to feel in my bones that this is the only battle in my life in which surrender is the only way to "win." I need humility to accept what I don't want to accept, that I am no lesser or greater a part of this amazing universe than anyone or anything else. I also need a plan, but that's secondary. If I devise a cunning plan and follow it with addict's pride and no real humilty, I will subvert my own cunning plan and set myself up to prove that I'm just a worthless unlovable addict.

So, as I started out writing about the evil ol' doc visit at the start of this "diet," I end up realizing that this path, for me, is a spiritual awakening, or at least an opportunity for one, an opportunity to step outside of my broken-record addictive thinking that seeks only safety, comfort and security.

Now, what are those first 11 steps again...

*Sigh*...I give up. I think I'll go Google 'Navy Seal OA Sponsors from Hell.'

Semi-funny self-deprecating humor aside, I would be grateful for any prayers.

Also, so as to do something along with praying while I am stuck in a rowboat in the middle of the ocean, I'll row. Two things have worked for me in the past: 1) a low-carb, high protein food plan and way of eating and 2) Eckhart Tolle. I'll try and bring a plan and a spiritual practice together in my next entry and see what happens. Finally, a sponsor would be a good thing to add...oh, and maybe OA meetings. There's a concept. More on that later, too.

In this moment, I want God and vast quantitites of venison jerky.

The King has left the building.

Off to See the Wizard

2007-12-03T09:40:00.000-05:00

I'm a smart girl. I've got a bachelors in mumblemumble and a Masters in blahblah. I know quite a lot about nutrition, actually. I know the basics, of course: eat less, exercise more. But I also know all the other stuff, about transfat and omega 3's and 6's and good carbs and bad carbs and mixing up your exercise and... well, all that stuff. I'm not stupid. I listen, I pay attention, I'm teachable. I learn. I've managed to pull a near 4.0 in a college degree program and write a Masters thesis.

So why is it that, when I decide to change my eating habits for the better, because all the logical signs point to doing so, I start out with the best of intentions, and end up with this:

What is this, you ask?

It's a plate that used to hold the rest of my fourteen-year-old son's birthday cake. I ate the rest of the cake last night. After my best-laid plans changed, and we ended up taking the fourteen year old out to dinner (to celebrate his report card - all A's and B's for the first time since kindergarten!) where I tried to be "good" but ended up eating fries and a burger. Then, we picked up the seventeen-year-old and went out for "dessert" at McDonald's, so she could hang out and play with the Prince and Princess in the playplace. I didn't intend to get anything. But somehow ended up with a Reese's McFlurry in my hands.

Then, when we got home, I felt sick. So what did I do? I followed my inner Marie Antoinette all the way to the kitchen and decided to eat cake. Except "decided" isn't really the word. It's more like I was possessed. Like the girl in the Exorcist. I wasn't myself. Ask Harley - my head was spinning, and I looked like I could spew pea soup at any minute. Really. So what happened was, my inner Linda Blair followed my inner Marie Antoinette and they had a little celebrity pig-out party at my expense...

And this morning, I'm feeling sick and guilty and ashamed and disappointed and defeated. Again. Again. Again. How does this keep happening? How can I be so smart and so stupid all at the same time? Logic seems to say, if I was a normal person, I could do this. I could set goals and accomplish them. That I can't seem to do something so incredibly simple makes me wonder. Is it me? Is it something else? Is something in me just... broken?

I know I'm a food addict. And "addiction" has a huge relapse rate, no matter what the substance. In fact, relapse seems to be part of the process of what they call "recovery." I tried doing OA (Overeaters Anonymous) for a while. You know - meetings, the Big Book, the Twelve Steps, getting a sponsor. The whole kit and kaboodle. I threw myself into it as hard as I ever did at Weight Watchers or Jenny Craig or Medical Weight Loss or the Cabbage Diet. I lost (like I always do!) 10-20 pounds. And then I started "cheating." And gaining again.

But something from that particular program stuck with me. The first three steps of the twelve. (That was as far as I got... step three!)

1. We admitted we were powerless over food — that our lives had become unmanageable.

2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.

Now, I have to tell you... I struggled with these three steps. I struggled with the concept that these three steps even existed in a world of medical and biological "cures" to our every ailment. But something else in me, something deeper than my inner Marie Antoinette and Linda Blair - something in me said, "Hey, stupid! Pay attention!"

I could argue with these steps from now until the cows come home (or until I die, 500 lbs and still eating cake, of a heart attack.) I've even given it a shot. The first step makes me wince. What do you mean I'm 'powerless' over food? I can stop any time I want! )Why does that sound so familiar? Hmmm) It goes straight to the heart of willpower and control. Of which, I clearly have none. My will has gotten me absolutely nowhere. Or, more to the point, it's gotten me straight into the cookie jar.

Step two introduces the concept of a "higher power." Eek! I've never been a big "God" person. I have sisters who are extremely, fundamentally religious, and the concept has always been ~~shoved down my throat~~ strongly proselytized in my family. However, over the years, I've come slowly to my own version of spirituality. It doesn't involve a big, scary parental God, but it does acknowledge something greater than myself. So step 2 finally became do-able for me.

Step three, on the other hand. *sigh* I get rather stuck there, I admit. Turn my life over... to someone else? Ack! Where's that cake?

Back to step one. Admit you have a problem. Okay, it's true. I'm a food addict. I ~~seem to~~ have no control over that. I have no control over food, and my life has become ~~almost three hundred pounds high cholesterol thyroid disease~~ very unmanageable. I need help. If I'm not going to resort to weight loss surgery, I'm going to have to go even higher. Hello, God, Are You Out There, It's Me, Queen B!

Now it's just the matter of turning my will over... How does a control freak let go of control? *sigh* Good question. Anyone have an answer? I told myself I was going to keep blogging, even if I slipped. Even if I was ashamed, even if I ~~f---ed up~~ failed. I was going to keep blogging. I read all sorts of blogs about people doing it, succeeding, and I desperately want to be one of them... but I know I have to find my way. This process has to be useful to someone. Somehow.

It's a matter of life and death for me. I have to find a way. Maybe the answer really is to stop looking for a way and let go. Surrender my "will" to something greater than myself. Because my will seems to get me into nothing but trouble. Stop trying to lead and just follow. Follow the yellow brick road. Follow, follow, follow.

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain...

Here we go again.

King Harley's Monthly Photo: December 2007

2007-12-02T21:07:00.000-05:00

Before photo, front: December 2007

Before photo, side: December 2007

Change of Venue

2007-12-02T10:13:00.001-05:00

Every other Sunday, I take my seventeen year old daughter out to a restaurant after I drop her fourteen year old brother off at their dad's. Usually, we go to Big Boy. It's cheap, it's convenient, and more importantly, I love their waffles - and their hot fudge ice cream cakes. Can you say "carb addict," boys and girls? I knew you could!

So this week, we're changing venues. There's a local restaurant called Friar Tuck's that offers not only lo-cal/low fat choices on the menu, but light "desserts" as well! Woot! I'm totally into the idea of being able to indulge while not OVER indulging. I've eaten there before (years ago) so I know their food isn't bad.

We'll see how the daughter takes to the idea. She loves the Big Boy spaghetti, so I imagine this is going to go over real easy - like a pregnant pole-vaulter! We shall see. Mom's got the $$, so mom chooses the place she spends it. Seems fair, right?

Better choices. I'm learning.

Queen B's Monthly Photo: December 2007

2007-12-02T04:26:00.001-05:00

Okay, here it is:

My bathroom mirror, in all it's toothpaste-spattered glory!

Taa Daa!

I know. Impressively messy, isn't it?

And here it is again! In case you missed a spot...

Those, by the way, are my new 28W jeans. I'm hoping not to wear them long (I don't mean like, right now... ew! 'Nuff of that, this isn't a s-e-x blog, and while I'm sure there is actually a site somewhere on the Internet that might appreciate hearing about the mating habits of two human whales, I'm not volunteering my services in the name of science or anything else, thankyouverymuch!)

What I mean is, I have a closet full of 22's hanging patiently in the back behind all those dreaded summer sleeveless tops that would like to see the light of day again.

The birthday cake I had yesterday on my occasion of my oldest son's 14th birthday (I have two children from a previous marriage - they live with their dad) isn't going to help me in that future endeavor, however. That much I know. I'm a sucker for cake. And my god, what a cake! My best friend, D, who died last year (I know I mentioned her at least once already) was bulemic since she was a teenager. (That isn't what killed her... unless you believe throwing up Twinkies and Phish Food causes cancer.)

Anyway, she was a frosting lover as well. She could eat me under the table, that girl. I used to joke that I wished I could be bulemic. (I detest vomiting. Yuk!) She could (and did) go to Sam's Club, buy not one, but two (one white, one chocolate) sheet cakes, and eat them. Herself.

Why do I tell that story? To put things in perspective, I suppose. I ate one slice of cake. Granted, I didn't stick my finger down my throat afterward (although I did have a nice sugar-induced semi-coma afterward) and it was way too many calories and not good for me. But I didn't eat the whole cake. I didn't even go back and lick the frosting off the edges of the container.

Small victories, right? Baby steps. Sanity. I'm working on it.

Fat Phobic

2007-12-01T20:50:00.000-05:00

There are a lot of things that being fat keeps me from doing. I won't be scuba diving any time soon, or riding roller coasters, or even riding a bike (those seats are killer on my behind!) And I know there's a lot of judgment about overweight people. I've been subject to it enough in my life to know.

But somehow, there's something wrong with denying someone the right to adopt a child - their own blood relative - because of their weight. An adoption agency thought it would be a good idea to disrupt the life of this baby and place it with another family for adoption based on someone's appearance!? This family was clearly committed. The 550 pound man underwent gastric bypass and has dropped 200 pounds. But should he have had to?

I just don't think so. Are they going to deny a baby to a diabetic? Someone in a wheelchair? Someone who's blind? Deaf? Black? White? When does it cross the line into discrimination?

As far as I'm concerned, this just goes too far.

Shopping

2007-11-29T13:54:00.000-05:00

I went shopping yesterday. I went shopping because I now have only one pair of pants that fits. One. My thighs have destroyed all of my others. I think I could power most of the Eastern seaboard with the friction caused between my thighs rubbing together when I walk. :)

I hate clothes shopping. I hate the thought of spending outrageous amounts of money on clothes made overseas by people making pennies a day. I hate that the clothes fall apart withing months. I also hate not being able to go into secondhand stores with the hopes of finding anything that might fit me. Not an option.

Because, as I discovered yesterday in the Plus side of Fashion Bug, I'm now a 28W. I have never been a 28. The highest I've been was a 26. The lowest, at least in adulthood, was an 18. I miss 18. But 28? There's just no higher to go. Yes, there's the elusive 30/32, whatever that is. I hardly ever glance at that size, thinking, "Oh, that's not me."

But it could be. It's just the next size up. Another twenty pounds or so. Three more candy bars and four cokes a day. That's nothing. Easy.

I also spent a while looking longingly at 14/16's on the clearance rack. It's always those left at the end. Because, really, why would you be in a Plus size store if you're a 14? You'd shop in a regular store. Or, at least, I would, if I could. But I haven't been in a regular clothing store since I was a teenager. Even then, nothing in TJ Maxx fit me anyway.

I remember my ex husband's mother once saying, on the occasion of her friend seeing her Lane Bryant charge card in her wallet, "Oh I don't shop there for myself. I use it to buy clothes for my daughter-in-law." She didn't want anything to think she shopped at a fat person's store - god forbid!

I don't even think about the "other side" of the store anymore, honestly. When I was younger, I spent the whole time wishing I could shop on that side, where all the cute clothes were. The fashionable, trendy little dresses, the tiny panties. Who fits in those? Barbie? I can't even imagine being that girl, the one who could fit into a 10, an 8... a 6? Feh! Are you kidding?

I remember being in a mall when I was a kid, shopping with a girlfriend who went into the 5, 7, 9 store. It was the first time I had ever seen a size "0." It was like baby clothes to me. Bizarre, strange, completely out of reach.

I don't know if there's a thin person in me trying to get out. I really don't know.

Well, that's not completely true. There IS a thin person in there who wants to wear a size six and be able to fit in airplane seats without the seatbelt extension and movie theater seats without wedging myself in. Sure. I just don't know if I can find her under all the candy bar wrappers and cheesecake boxes. It seems like an overwhelming task, when you look at it from a distance, like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

Is she in there? I think so.

My secret truth is... I hope so.

And most importantly... I really do hope I get to meet her some day.

Waking Up Is Hard To Do

2007-11-28T19:56:00.000-05:00

Welcome to my part of our weight-loss, health, diet, eating blog.

This may be a little unorthodox. Just a warning, not an apology.

I'm an addict, but I'm also a lot more than an addict. I deeply feel that each one of us is truly a particularly formed and miraculous manifestation of god, of the source from which we came, to which we will ultimately return, and which we are a unique expression of in this present moment.

I wish I treated myself as if that were true.

I'm very smart, yet I don't fully grasp how it is that I treat myself as less of a person than I treat others most of the time. My calling in life, and my current occupation, is to help others really feel the truth of who they are, their divine source and nature, their unity as part of all that was, is and will ever be. I do this with other addicts whose substances of "choice" are drugs and alcohol, and with people dealing with various forms of mental illness, from the severe to the amusingly neurotic. I feel hypocritical about this sometimes, but, the thing is, I'm very good at it, I help people on a deep level to make change in their lives.

I'm also quite cocky in some ways (if you didn't notice) despite my shortcomings...as a matter of fact, I have a secret part of myself that feels I'm so special that I'm both worse and better than other people. I've got both ends of the spectrum covered! That part of me isn't in charge as often as it used to be, but one minute with that arrogant prick at the helm can wreak enough havok for 100 years. I've hurt a lot of people that I love, including myslef. That part of me is actually the little boy part I will speak of in a moment or two pretending to be a mature man.

I'm resentful about having this particular problem in life....obesity, compulsive overeating, an unconscious alcoholic, sexually and physically abused, sadistic and passively abusive mother who raised me and shoved food down my throat so she would feel she existed, was loved, in control of everything and wouldn't have to deal with her own feelings.

I realize that, even if my Hansel-and-Gretel Witch of a mother was to blame for making me morbidly obese, I am 100% fully responsible for my mind, body, soul, spirit and heart in this and every moment. No one can attend to me but me. I also realize I am not that little boy anymore, and that my mother is a whole person and the Devouring Witch is only part of who she is, the part she needed to pretend she was in order to make herself feel safe and in control. I also realize that the people-pleasing, love-seeking, spoiled and stubborn boy was what I became in order to survive the emotional and physical abuse that my mother unconsciously passed onto me.

My father is a dependent and physically small man (5'3" and only slightly overweight when he ran the ice cream parlor on the aircraft carrier on which he served in the navy, just at the end of the Korean war) and wasn't willing to challenge my mother's over-feeding of me for fear she would be angry at him. My father's father died when my father was very young, and my father was raised by a stepfather. His stepfather was a good man, but I know that men who didn't know their fathers are left with a hole inside that is hard to heal and they feel as if they are lost, incompetent and don't have what it takes to live their best lives. That's my dad...he is a good man, but didn't psychologically leave his mother and grow up, so now my mother is his mother.

I think every ounce of unnecessary fat is an ounce of sadness, anger, hurt and unlived life.

I think I'm using more resources in the world than I'm giving.

My life is ruled by the message that I have to choose between myself and others, and only one of us gets to exist. I have to manipulate, steal, cheat and lie in order to get any love for myself, which I have done ad nauseum. I know that my obesity and compulsive overeating in large part (pun intended) is an unconscious assertion of my right to exist and take up space in the world.

That's right, in my heart, there is a part of me behind the curtain that feels like I have no right to exist, so I keep getting and staying large as a way to say Fuck You! to a world that rejects and doesn't want me for anything but a garbage can.

Here's some history:

I'm an almost-40-yr-old caucasian male, married, with children. I'm 390 pounds and 5'11". I've been diagnosed as an insulin dependent Type 1 diabetic since age 20 (I have poor blood sugar control).

I was born fat and have just kept getting fatter since then. Although, I seem to have plateaued at about 390.

Maybe I'll insert more of my childhood history in the future.

I played sports my entire childhood and was very good at them, despite being 215 pounds by the end of high school. Being exceptionally good at everything I did...hockey, wrestling, baseball, academics, art, socializing...blah blah blah...helped me stay in denial of my addiction and health problems until pretty recently, when my life began to unravel and fall apart in many ways (perhaps to be discussed in more detail later). Don't let anyone ever tell you that hitting bottom is about losing things in life...it's about waking up from denial.

I consider my addiction a battle in which the only way of winning is to surrender, and the only enemy is denial, not food, eating, or my body. As long as I live with the belief that I have one iota of control in life I am at risk of allowing my addiction to run my life.

My mother was morbidly obese by the time she was a teenager, and then she lost wieght through diet and exercise, achieved a "normalish" weight, and hasn't really been obese since then. My maternal grandmother, Nanna, was morbidly obese, diabetic, and died of a heart attack due to diabetes. My mother's side of the family has serious obesity, as well as alcoholism, various and sundry kinds of abuse, and paranoid schizophrenia.

My father's side has diabetes, heart disease, multiple sclerosis, a little bit of cancer, and a massive heaping helping of downright evil codependency.

That's enough for now. I have this strange paradox of working very hard and yet not doing enough. I'm tired and Queenie is nudging me from our bed.

That's another thing...life really is beautiful and amazing, and I have an amazing wife and children. I'm deeply grateful for what the universe has given me...yet, I'm also deeply unsatisfied with the resevoir of unlived life I've hoarded.

What do you call two MD's standing next to each other?

A paradox...get it...a pair-a-docs!

If I can only learn to use my powers for good instead of e-ville!

The New Math

2007-11-28T19:18:00.000-05:00

I can easily make excuses for myself.

Monday was the one year anniversary of my best friend's death. She died of metastasized breast cancer. I miss her very much.

I've been really, really sick.

But it doesn't change the fact that I haven't been eating like I want to. Well, I take that back. Clearly some part of me wants a Big Boy and fries and a hot fudge ice cream cake, because that's what I had for lunch. And that was AFTER I went to the allergist (and found out I'm allergic to both dogs and cats and we're going to have to give up ours) where I weighed in at a whopping 280 pounds.

Um... wrong direction, scale!

Now, granted, my period is due any minute now and I always gain five pounds before. Always. Like clockwork. So perhaps this is that five... which means I'm really down two?

Hey, it's the new math!

But instead of getting all down on myself and stopping on the way home to buy a load of junk food to binge on tonight, and a pizza to throw in the oven for everyone else... I came home and made a real dinner. Stuffed green peppers. Pretty healthy, as dinners go. With brown rice, no cheese.

Okay, so Harley was almost an hour late for dinner. Grrr. But that gave me time to fold laundry and watch the Oprah I TiVo-ed. Today's show was about obesity. Guests included people who had lost weight through diet and exercise alone. No surgery, no magic shakes or pills. Just common sense eating and getting off the couch. Seems simple enough, right?

It was a rather inspiring episode, I must say. Now Oprah and Bob are having a Million Viewer Challenge. So instead of six people to go on his diet (the six who were on today telling their success stories) Bob Greene wants a million. And apparently, you only have to pay *less than $5 a week to get in on the deal! Feh.

Talk about the new math! Yet another gimmick. *sigh*

Okay, so I'm not doing so well on my own. I can see that. But should I pay Bob Greene and Harpo Industries so I can fail and be broke? I don't think so.

Dr. Evil

2007-11-28T18:48:00.000-05:00

So I went to the doctor today. Since we just moved to a new house, way out in the country in the middle of nowhere, we had to switch doctors. I knew I was in the country when I saw their "rates" posted on a sign in their office, and it listed "House Calls." No kidding. Really?

Doctor P. was nice enough. She asked all the usual questions. Then she got to the big one. "What are we going to do about your weight?"

"Ummm.... nothing right now."

She actually laughed. Not a bad sign. We went over lab results. Cholesterol clocked in at 263 - although it was down from 302 about six months ago, since they now have me on a cholesterol meds. My blood pressure is fine, but my fasting glucose was 115, and she felt it should have been lower. So while I'm not diabetic - it's really only a matter of time. And considering my family history, I know what's coming.

My father has high blood pressure, high cholesterol (it's been tested over 500 before), is obese, has had a quadruple bypass and corotid artery surgery, and has developed diabetes. I'm looking at my future, and I know it. My aunts (on my father's side) were both well over 500 pounds. It's not a fun future to be facing.

The doctor asked me if I'd considered lap-band surgery. Gee, I'm almost three hundred pounds, have I considered having a procedure that almost guarantees me a size 6 somewhere in my future? Um yeah. I've considered it. I've considered it a LOT. Unfortunately, when I was considering it and we had the insurance that covered it, I wanted to have kids, and didn't want to do it... yet. Now that I've had all the kids we want (I think, anyway) we don't have insurance that covers it. The lap-band, anyway. It WOULD cover gastric bypass, but only after you participate in their 12 month "weight loss program." They pay for it, but the catch is, it's "supplement based" and you buy the supplements. Feh. I'm going to pay you to drink slimfast for a year? Hm. Nope.

I told the doc I wanted to do it on my own. At least, to try to do it on my own. I also told her I wanted a referral to an allergist because I don't think I've breathed right through my nose in ten years. She sighed, but she agreed. On both counts. So I go back to her in three months and we'll "re-evaluate." She wants my cholesterol down. That's her big thing right now.

Okay, fine, Dr. Evil... Oatmeal for breakfast here I come!

Peeking Out

2007-11-26T14:12:00.000-05:00

I'm starting... just starting... to feel human again. I've been SO sick. Eating popsicles, mostly. Sugar-free though. *patting self on back* The kids still have vacation today (must be nice to be a teacher!) and Harley went back to work, so we're all alone in the house together, and all I want to do is sleep.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Sick

2007-11-24T07:03:00.000-05:00

Okay, I really AM sick.

Ironic that I was at the doctor's just yesterday. But I didn't feel this bad. Just had a little congestion. That's not usual for me. I'm ALWAYS congested! But today my throat's on fire, I have a fever of 102 and I'm shaking like a blind lesbian at a weenie roast...

Both the Prince and the Princess had strep last week, so I'm SURE that's what it is. Of course, there's no doc open. I'd have to go the ER to get antibiotics. The good news is, I have some leftover from... something. A toothache, I think? Yay!

The other good news is it hurts to swallow. Which means I don't feel like eating. At all. And if I did, I couldn't taste it. Honestly, I think the docs who are doing weight loss surgery have missed the boat. All you'd have to do is take away my sense of taste, and I'd stop the whole overeating thing. Trust me.

Okay, I'm getting delirious. I'm going to bed!

Thanksgiving

2007-11-22T22:33:00.000-05:00

Everyone loved the pumpkin-orange cheesecake. And the chocolate peanut butter fudge. And the pumpkin bread. I know, I know, but I had to make them.

I felt like I was in the middle of that Steven Wright joke. "I poured a bowl of cereal, but I added too much milk, so I added more cereal, but then there was too much cereal, so I poured in some more milk, but then I needed more cereal..."

"An hour later..."

I had half a can of pumpkin left after making the cheesecake, so I had to do something with it, and so I made the pumpkin bread. Then, I had half a can of evaporated milk left. So I made the chocolate peanut butter fudge.

I took the leftover chocolate orange coconut carrot cake with us for Thanksgiving, too. The good news is I left at least half of it all there! And I only had a sliver of cheesecake and a taste of the fudge. But I did eat lots of yummy turkey and mashed potatoes and gravy and sweet potatoes. And, as she is wont to do, my mother-in-law sent home Gladware containers stuffed full of leftovers, which are now sitting in my refrigerator. *sigh*

And I think I'm getting sick. My throat hurts. *whine*

What do you mean, it's no excuse!?

Hmph.

Avoiding

2007-11-21T08:37:00.001-05:00

Well somehow I ate less calories yesterday, according to Fit Day, than the day before, even though I had a piece of chocolate cake. Weird, huh?

I keep trying to remind myself, "There's nothing wrong with chocolate cake." A piece won't kill you. It's eating the whole damned cake--and then baking and eating another one--that will kill you. Right? Right.

So now the trick is not eating cake TODAY. Yesterday was a special occasion. We had a friend for dinner. (Well, not FOR dinner... we didn't cook and eat her or anything! I'm not THAT bad!) But now it's the day before Thanksgiving, I'm looking at the looming food-filled holiday days ahead, and wondering how in the hell people do this every day. How do you NOT eat chocolate cake if half a cake is sitting on your counter, the kids are home from school and driving you insane, you have a house to clean, food to cook for Thanksgiving tomorrow, a husband on his way to a job interview insisting you "did something" with the envelope he left on top of the microwave for a week with his application and license in it that you vaguely remember seeing but don't know if you moved in your crazy not-really-cleaning-just-shoving-things-out-of-sight straightening binge before company came yesterday...?

How do you NOT eat the cake? My inner Marie Antoinette says: "Cake! Let them eat cake!"

So I'm doing what I usually do, and avoiding. I'm in my room on my laptop blogging about food, my stomach is growling, the kids are starting to whine about breakfast, and I don't want to face the kitchen. I know, it's silly. I'll go face the cake in a minute. After I finish this post. Gee, how long do you think I can make it?

Not only that, but I have to bake pumpkin-orange cheesecake today. Another day of baking delectable desserts. I don't know if I can do it. I don't understand how something like food can have this kind of power, but it does. It always has. Harley works with addicts (the "real" kind - you know, heroin, crack, crystal meth - although I don't know how sugar can't count. White powder is white powder, am I right?) and he always says, it's not the substance, it's the addiction. And he's right, of course.

The addict is only PART of me. Not the whole of me. That's what I have to remember. Queen B knows she can make smarter, healthier choices. Queen B loves herself and wants to live a long and healthy life. I'm just going to have to behead that inner Marie Antoinette. To hell with you, bitch, I'm NOT gonna eat cake!

So there!
*deep breath*
Off to face the kitchen.

Having Your Cake and Eating it Too?

2007-11-20T09:10:00.000-05:00

Well according to Fitday (where I'm keeping track of what I eat every day) I consumed 1,406 calories yesterday. Not a bad start. The best part was, none of it was junk. There was more fat that I'd like to ultimately have and less protein (45% fat, 33% carbs and 23% protein) but I didn't pick up a Kit Kat. Or a potato chip. Or even desperately break open the chocolate chips I bought for the cake I'm baking today.

I forgot I was baking a cake.

On top of the orange pumpkin cheesecake I'm making for Thanksgiving, I said I'd make dinner and dessert for a friend of ours who's coming to watch the rugrats tonight. It's parent-teacher conferences, and we have to go find out how our two kindergarteners are doing. Princess is our oldest, she's six, but she's in kindergarten with her brother, the little Prince, who's five, because I homeschooled rather lazily up until this year, when we decided to try out public schools. So far I'm hating public school, but they kids aren't. They're having fun, for the most part. But I digress...

This friend of ours works with Harley and has invited us over to dinner several times. She makes fantastic food and delectable desserts, and I thought we could repay her kindness by asking her to babysit for an hour and paying her with a dinner and dessert at our house. So I'm making an incredible beef stew, corn bread, salad, and homemade chocolate-orange cake for dessert.

I know I know I picked the wrong week to stop sniffing glue. Who starts a diet the week before Thanksgiving!? (It's not a diet, it's a lifestyle change, it's not a diet, it's a lifestyle change... if I click my heels together three times, do I get to have a Snickers? Can I at least wake up from this chocolate-free nightmare?)

I always do really well the first week on a "diet." Then things fall apart, when I start having cravings, and then eventually give into them and throw the whole baby out with the bathwater. I'm hoping things will be different this time. I'm hoping the new awareness I have will carry me through, and I'll be able to have a slice of cake... and not sneak downstairs after everyone's asleep and finish the whole damned thing.

We shall see. Wish me luck!

p.s. Harley really will be blogging here. I didn't make him up. He's just incredibly busy at the moment, and has a job interview tomorrow. Wish him luck, too!

We've Only Just Begun...

2007-11-19T12:11:00.000-05:00

I was kidding when I posted we were going to "start Monday." Because, you know, that's when you start diets. Monday. After a "last supper" of course. Ha. Some last supper we had. Somehow I don't think Jesus made Taco Bell out of wine and fishes..

But Harley, he went and took me seriously about the "starting Monday" thing! So now we're starting...!? Ack! I guess there's no better time than the present. And since I had to run to the doctor's this morning for fasting blood work, it wasn't a bad day to begin. I didn't eat anything until eleven, when I was done shopping for Thanksgiving, and by then I was shaking with hunger...

I know, I know, fat people shouldn't experience hunger. Isn't that the perception? Actually, I'm terrible about eating in the morning, which I know isn't good for metabolism, and I need to stop. Well, start. Eating, that is. And not chocolate or donuts, either. *sigh* Darnit.

So I had an apple out of the bag I bought while I was driving home from the store, and it felt good to stock the pantry and fridge with fruit and veggies and healthier choices. I even managed (hungry as I was!) to avoid picking up extra snacks for myself, even while I was buying things to make a Thanksgiving dessert.

Ahh, such will power. We'll see how long that lasts. I'll be Jonesin' for chocolate by dinner time, you watch. I have to go eat some protein, or I know I'm going to give into the carb-craving monster. And I have to make orange-pumpkin cheesecake the day after tomorrow. Lord help me.

Why can't this be easier?

K Harley's Weekly Progress

2007-11-19T05:57:00.000-05:00

Height: 5'10"
Current Weight: 390 lbs
Goal Weight: 180 lbs
BMI: 54.39 (according to skinnyr who says I'm super obese)
BMI Goal: 25

Queen B's Weekly Progress

2007-11-19T05:45:00.000-05:00

Height: 5'5"
Current Weight: 277 lbs
Goal Weight: 120 lbs
BMI: 46.09 (according to skinnyr who says I'm morbidly obese)
BMI Goal: 22

Queen B's Story

2007-11-18T19:42:00.001-05:00

There has been a war raging in my heart since before I can remember. I have spent my life feeling split right down the middle, and I have always carried with me the message “There is something wrong with me.” When I was born, the family story goes like this: my father desperately wanted a boy to carry on the family name, but when I was born a girl, he went home and splintered the kitchen chairs against the wall. That was my welcome to the world. So I got that message early: there is something wrong with me.

When I was very young, maybe four or five, I remember my parents arguing one night, I remember him hitting her, and I remember feeling very scared. I crawled to the back of my closet and I fell asleep, and when I woke up, it was morning. No one had come to look for me. No one even noticed that I was “missing.” And I got the message: no one wants me… there is something wrong with me.

When I was seven, my father checked into an inpatient mental health facility and was diagnosed as bi-polar. He was and still is a very active compulsive overeater, and there were many rules in my house about food. For example, we were never allowed to eat the first or last of anything. However, since my father was bi-polar, the rules were never consistent. One day, I could be spanked for eating a banana, because he was “saving” it… and a few days later, be yelled at for eating candy instead of one of the bananas sitting there going brown on the counter. I was always walking on eggshells, always trying to figure out what to say or do or not say or do, what the right thing was… because clearly whatever I was doing wasn’t the right thing, no matter what it was. And I got the message: there is something wrong with me.

I have always used food to numb my feelings, ever since I can remember. I would eat my Halloween candy in 2-3 days. My parents would hide it, but I would always find it. I remember stealing out of a piggy bank, where my parents were saving silver and half-dollars for me (I wasn’t supposed to touch them) so that I could go up to the corner store with a girlfriend and buy goodies to eat. This was a HUGE piggy bank. And it was half full with half and silver dollars. By the time I was done spending them, there was an inch left. I don’t have a clue how much I spent, but it was probably hundreds and hundreds of dollars over time. I never had the same relationship with food that I saw other people have. I could never stop at just “one” and I was always thinking about something “yummy.” Again, I got the message: I was different, there was something wrong with me.

I could never get enough of anything, whether it was food, love, attention, either positive or negative, it didn’t matter. I once gave a friend's mom a little birthday gift. I must have been eight or none. This was a woman who was the night and day opposite of my mother, tall, blonde, beautiful, she radiated light. I so wanted to be her, to be enfolded into light like that. I had such a longing in my heart. And when I gave her that gift, she praised me and petted me and I was so hungry... my appetite was beyond words, I was like a hungry little ghost. I came back to her door with another gift, and she smiled, and patted me, and then I brought another, this time she just smiled, a little strained… and still I was hungry!
So I crept to her door, stuck another little wrapped trinket in the mail slot. And hid in the bushes. Saw her come to the door, find it, roll her eyes and sigh. She called into the house to someone that it was another gift from that weird little girl down the street. Poor thing, she said. Her pity and her impatience with my offering(s) crushed me. And felt that pierce my heart like nothing ever had. I wilted, and my heart felt like it died. This has happened to me, over and over and over again, in so many forms… so I learned to stop giving, fully. I will give part. I will give some. I will give pieces. But I swore that no one would ever get the whole of me. And still, I was hungry… and I knew I wasn’t like anyone else, and there was something wrong with me.

I didn’t really start gaining weight until I hit puberty, but when I did, it didn’t seem to stop. I had an eating buddy, and she and I would go buy bagloads of junk food, take them to our “fort” in the woods, and binge. Her sister once made a huge batch of bakery goodies for her entire marching band, and my friend and I stole them out of the kitchen, and together, we ate them all. It was she and I against the world. I seemed genetically predispositioned to gain more than her. Or maybe it was the fact that I could eat her under the table! :x She was chubby, but I was getting FAT. Once, walking through a store together, someone put tags on us, “Large” and “Extra Large.” I was the extra.

I started being teased for my weight. One older boy in the neighborhood called me “goat” because that’s what he said I looked like from behind. I hated gym, I hated changing in front of the other girls, and I hated when we were forced to take off our shirts and stand in a line, waiting for “scoliosis” screening. I felt humiliated, the girls stared and pointed at my rolls of fat. I felt like the girl in “Blubber.” No one liked me because I was fat. Now I began physically manifesting that message: There really is something wrong with me.

I don’t know how many times I've tried to diet or lose weight. Every summer before bathing suit season. Every special occasion. Every time the girl at the concession stand rolled her eyes because I was coming out of the movie theater AGAIN to get more fluffy white stuff. Every birthday. Every Christmas. Every Monday. I remember doing the “grapefruit diet” in 6th grade. ½ a grapefruit in the morning. ½ a can of DRY tuna for lunch and a small salad with no-fat dressing for dinner. I did that one for three whole days. I tried my first diet pills at the age of nine. I starved myself completely for a week at the age of 11. But I couldn’t do any of this for long, because there was nothing else in my life that did for me what food did. Food never let me down. Especially junk food. It always tasted the same.

I lived with such inconsistency in my life, between my father’s bipolar and the fact that half the time I didn’t know if I was going to come home to a dark house because the electricity was cut off because we couldn’t pay the bill, or a friend would say, “I tried to call, but your phone was disconnected.” Food remained a comforting constant. Food wasn’t changeable. Half of me wanted to stop eating compulsively, and half of me just wanted to die or disappear. I put on a great act, I got good grades, I did what I was supposed to do, but very few people, if any, ever saw the real me. My heart was cold and I felt detached from the world and everyone in it. I was lost, and I was sure that food was the only thing I had to hold onto. And I knew: There was something very wrong with me.

Since I couldn’t control the fact that I was fat, I started covering it up. I had a lightweight jacket that I started wearing tied around my waist to hide my body. I wore that jacket every day, with every outfit, everywhere. I wore it to school, I wore it whenever I went outside, I wore it to family functions, even at Christmas. The only time I took it off was to sleep or shower. My friend even wrote in my high school yearbook, “I want to know the secret of the black jacket.”
I covered it in other ways, too. I figured I was never going to be the pretty girl, so I had to be the smart girl. And although it hurt my heart and wounded me deeply to be a “fat girl,” I pretended looks didn’t matter, that I was smart, I was capable, independent, that pretty and thin wasn’t “important.” I completely denied that anything beautiful or feminine might have any value. I did such a disservice to myself, to the core of myself as a feminine woman: I simply buried my heart, steeled it, locked it up, walled it off, and left it for dead, while I trudged on, zombie-like, eating my way through the hours.

Inside, I was dying.

I had a boyfriend in high school, my friend’s brother, actually. He and I were “going together” but it was a secret. I once asked him why he wouldn’t tell his friends about me. I asked him, sure I already knew the answer: “Is it my body? Because I’m fat?” His answer surprised me: “No, actually… it’s your face. You’re just not very pretty.” There went my last vestige of hope, that maybe I was a fat girl with a “pretty face.” That’s when I decided: There was nothing about me that was acceptable.

It was years before I connected my binges with that numbed, sleepy, buzzing feeling I got afterward, that’s how incredibly disconnected I remained from my body. Miserable doesn’t even begin to come close to what I’ve felt, and the food never made it better, it actually usually made it worse. Not at first, of course, but over the years, I felt like a slave to the food, to “feeding the beast.”

The lengths I have gone to for this compulsion never cease to amaze and frighten me. I have stolen food, from stores, from friend’s houses, from places I was babysitting, from places where I was doing births. I have stolen money for food, from my husband’s wallet, from my children’s birthday cards. I have baked things for my children, for their parties, and have eaten them all, only to have to re-bake another batch (and then ate half of that!) I have eaten their Easter and Halloween candy and said I didn’t. I have left my children alone in the car to go in and buy binge food. The worst has got to be leaving my two small children alone at home sleeping in their cribs one afternoon to drive up to the corner store to buy binge food.

Feeding the beast became a full time job, and that’s all I did. The bottom had completely dropped out of my life by this time, my family was torn apart, my marriage was shaky, my children were traumatized, we were on the brink of losing everything financially… and all I could think about was food. How I could get it, when I was going to eat it, how I was going to hide that I was eating it, and how I could get more. Nothing else mattered. And the irony was that the food wasn’t really even working anymore, because the more I fed the beast, the more it demanded. It was never enough. A war was being raged in me, and the beast was winning. It was relentless. It was never satisfied. It wanted complete surrender.

And I know the beast isn’t going to go quietly. But I'm ready to end this. Somehow to do battle with this. I want my obsession with food to be lifted. I want to learn what hunger, actual physical hunger, really is. I want food to just become fuel, nourishment for this body.

I want to find a way to keep the beast at bay, so I can learn how to nourish my SOUL. Because as much as my body needs actual physical food, my soul needs soul food. I want to find the real “food” I was looking for all along--what I’ve really been hungry for, why my bottom seems bottomless.

While the beast once felt like my savior, and then my enemy, now I can look and know that it was sent to bring me a message. It was teaching me, showing me how to get what I was really craving. It taught me surrender, it taught me powerlessness, it brought me to my knees again and again and again… I learned that lesson… and now instead of surrendering to the beast, I’m surrendering to something much much greater.

I don’t know if my hopes will come true for me. I can only hope. I look around now and feel connected and part of something greater that I never have before. Maybe, maybe, there’s really nothing wrong with me, either.

When a baby is born, it is completely amazed with life. They are in love with themselves and everyone around them. We all arrive as a miracle. Babies aren’t self-conscious, they don’t compare themselves with other babies, they don’t doubt their worth or their greatness…

I know that I had to be taught otherwise. I had to learn to dislike myself, criticize myself, abuse myself. With each painful circumstance, harsh word, and incomprehensible wound, that natural state of grace that I came into the world with was covered by self-protective mechanisms. The beast came with the face of a friend and told me that food would fill that emptiness. It hurt too much, and to stop the pain, I simply shut down my natural state, I buried it. I knew it was worth it. I knew I would need it. And now… now is the time… now is the process of recovering that part of me...

I can’t say that I'll be perfect, that I won’t struggle, that my life will be transformed forever, I can’t say that, because I don’t know. I feel change happening, I feel myself becoming, but I don’t have any idea where that’s leading. I’m simply feeling my way, and thankfully, I have an amazing man beside me who loves me and who is going through a similar journey.

A caterpillar doesn’t know it is going to become a butterfly, it can’t even conceive of what it will be like to be anything but a caterpillar. All it can do is spin a cocoon, and have faith. Trust the body, trust the process, and trust all the other butterflies that broke free and spread their wings.

Monday

2007-11-14T18:42:00.000-05:00

We'll start... Monday...