Think Again

Ya girl here is TIRED. 

Let me tell you what my dumb self did. Wait, me and Ange (my gym partner) did this. And it was dumb. 

It was a gym day like pretty much every Wednesday. The menopause has me with a little bit of regain. 

Not today, Satan. 

Therefore, I have amped my workouts up a notch. I get to the gym around 30 minutes before Ange and try to get some extra cardio going on. They have this new elliptical that half kills a person. I just started it this week and even on the lowest resistance, I can barely manage a solid ten minutes. Those ten minutes equal around 2.5 miles. 

Stay with me here. 

After those ten minutes, I jump on the treadmill and start going. Today, I managed around 13-15 minutes before Ange got on the treadmill beside me. I decided to see what was on tv to keep me occupied and distracted. 

Say Yes to the Dress? Closed captioned?!! Yes!

Ange put her tv on the same channel and we proceeded to critique dress choices and enjoy ourselves. The show ended and we still had around ten minutes left on the dreadmill. 

Cue the next show. About people searching for their birth parents. 

Lord bless, we got emotionally involved before we knew it. 

Then light bright here said....Hey Ange? How about we skip weights today and just walk? We can get extra cardio in AND finish this show. 

Remember how we started walking during the previous show?

This show we were invested in.....was an hour long. 

We watched the ENTIRE thing while walking. 

I ended up with 6.77 miles overall by the time I finished. Oh, and guess what? The treadmill automatically goes into cool down mode at an hour. Yup. I started it back up to finish watching this show. 

We burned some serious calories because we didn’t just leisurely stroll. We WALKED. 

We were so exhausted by the time we sat down at the diner. What were we thinking?? 

Now I sit here on my front porch with an aching lower back that is solidly pissed at me. (Side note: got DDD (degenerative disc disease)   I checked my apple watch progress and see that I have 19K steps on the books for today. I could go take a walk and aim for 20K. Yeah, that mess ain’t happening. The gym is on the schedule for tomorrow as I need to get in at least 3 workouts a week and I kinda like to spend Fridays with The Man and the gym quit offering childcare (for Ange’s son-who has a piece of my heart) on Fridays. 

I am going to be hatin’ life tomorrow morning when I need help getting out of bed. 

Next time we get on the treadmill? We’re gonna need to think again before we get all crazy like that.

   

Sigh. My body is too broken for this mess. Why do I keep it up??

Too Salty for my Own Good

Yesterday, I had to take my Tahoe in to get the brakes fixed/repaired. 

I did not want to do this. 

In fact, that is one seriously massive understatement. I despise taking a vehicle for work. I am not a stupod person, but, I know most places see a woman come in and they rub their hands together with glee because they’re gonna find a gazillion things wrong that you NEED to get taken care of. Like I see little dollar signs floating around their heads. 

I tried to bargain with my husband. I told him I would do the laundry, go to the grocery store and get the groceries, cook meals, be responsible for family member’s doctor/dentist appointments and a host of other things if he would just take it himself.  

Let that sink in a minute. Because, you know, I already do that stuff on the daily. 

Alas, they did not have an early appointment for today and he wanted to be prepared in case our now college SOPHOMORE needed us to come help her bring stuff home for summer. Gah. I hate when he makes sense. 

So, I went. After I did an hour and a half workout at the gym. 

Your girl was beyond exhausted.

That alone made me salty. 

Add in my dang back hurting (stupid Degenerative Disc Disease) and I was way past salty. 

Three and a half hours later and a much lighter wallet, I got to go home. 

Things I took note of during my threehours of  torture sitting in a hard cheap plastic chair:

1. Why didn’t this business have a bench outside? You keep the waiting room (and I use the term loosely) colder than a witch’s butt so you have to walk outside to warm up...and there’s no seating. Fix it, sir. 

2. Make me go do this and I’m not cooking supper. 

3. I called my husband out of a training to talk to them about what would get done. Wait. He called me because I sent a picture of what they wanted to do and the sticker shock hit him good. 

4. I’m not mad about fixing the truck. That sweet baby is paid for. She’s a 2007 model and has done....I think three....round trips across this great country. This is the first time we’ve done this. Not bad. I’d rather pay this and be safe traveling and not have monthly car payments. 

5. At the end of the month, HE is driving for our family vacation. I’m gonna ride shotgun and back seat drive. It’s who I am as a person to do that. 

I suppose I should be ashamed for acting like a teenager who was told to clean my room. I showed my butt about having to do this adult chore. I didn’t stomp my foot, though. I managed to refrain. And supper at Applebee’s was pretty tasty, too. 

Three weeks until vacation. 

I think I can make it. 

I think I can. 

I think I can.

I think I can. 

Is it Monday?

I really thought it was Tuesday when I woke up this morning. 

This is usually my one day home during the week to get things done around the house. Laundry being the number one thing on my list. 

My calendar alerted me that my boy has a dental cleaning at 3:30. Gah. That means I gotta shower, get dressed, and go people. So be it. Only happens once every six months. 

I was on my third cup of coffee and did a quick pit stop in my half bath. 

It started backing up. 

The heck????

I start plunging and the stupid plunger broke. (Weight training at the gym paying off, eh?)

Ran to get the one from my bathroom. Hollered at Paige to go upstairs and grab one from there. 

No luck. 

Seriously getting mad now. 

Paige took a shift plunging while I googled can you put drano in a toilet. 

That would be a no. 

Dangit. 

Google did say put dish detergent and a pot of hot (not boiling) water in and that would break up a clog. 

Well, the water level went down and more plunging made for lots of bubbles. Lots. Of. Bubbles. 

After a good thirty minutes, I admitted defeat and called a plumber. 

Who can come between 3 & 5. My son’s appointment is at 3:30. 

Called The Man to see if he can come home early. He will, but not until 3. 

What if they come early? I have to leave at 2:10. 

Sigh. 

Call dentist and tell the complete truth. I’m sure the gal really didn’t want to know my toilet struggles. She did waive the cancellation fee because....crap happens. 

Call the school because my son’s phone is messed up (thanks Apple update) to tell him to come home. 

Ya’ll. It’s 10 am here and I am already TIRED. This is ridiculous. Now I’m doing extra cleaning because some random dude is coming in my house. 

Now we get to find out if a certain four year old flushed a toy or it’s a legit clog. 

Everyone’s bet is on the toy. 

Slightly thankful I can still wash clothes and there are other toilets in my home still working. 

I can hear our money going down the drain......

Happiness in my mouth

Know what this is? This is a carnita (pork) burrito with cheese and extra grilled onions. This junk makes my mouth extremely happy. 

Who says you can’t eat good after surgery. I enjoyed maybe a little less than half, and boxed it up for my husband to take to work tomorrow. Which means it’s a good snack for him. The tortilla is on the "eh, maybe not a good idea" list. I get that. But, because I had that little bit of tortilla goodness, I’ll have a protein shake for supper. Balance. 

Time to take it up a notch. Menopause, hormones, life, and falling off the wagon has equaled some regain. Not a bunch, but enough to snap my head back and give me some whiplash. Watch out gym, here I come tomorrow!

Good thing I got some new kicks this weekend. 

Beautiful Experience

I just had a most incredible experience. I went earlier to a pharmacy to pick up my prescription. This is not my usual pharmacy. I have to have a compound made just for me. Apparently, in order for a pharmacy to label themselves as a compound pharmacy...the pharmacist has extra schooling and I guess it’s a special deal. 

The pharmacy is a little ways away in not the greatest part of town. We’re talking around 30 minutes depending on traffic. Luckily, I found out they would make it and bring it to their branch that is literally five minutes away from my home. I could deal with that. 

This morning my crazy self pushed it hard at the gym. I literally walked on the treadmill for an hour to the tune of over 4 miles. THEN, I did some weight training. My poor apple watch probably should have just exploded. 

I was tired when I pulled at the pharmacy’s drive-through window. The sweet gal there looked and looked. Nothing. Cue deep sigh from me. I just did not want to come back out once I got home. 

She said give me your address and I’ll have it delivered as soon as it gets here. 

I’m sorry...what did you say?

I wrote my address down and drove away in shock. 

Pharmacies deliver? Is this a dream?

I came home and told my daughter. She had the same reaction I did. I said...what do I do? Do I tip? Is that proper? I don’t have cash to tip!

Son of a gun if dude didn’t drive up 15 minutes ago with my script. He was incredibly nice and I was raining "Lord, bless you"’s all over his head. 

It was a beautiful experience I will treasure. 

I feel bad I didn’t tip him. 

Stupid Wagon

I hate falling off of the recovery wagon. Hate. Hate. Hate it. Every time I think I’m solidly buckled in ....here comes a bump in the road. Seat belt flies open and here I go , falling on the side of the road on my head. 

I then get up, dust myself off, and debate getting on that blasted rolling cart again. Being honest here, sometimes I just want to just give up. Let that cart head on down the road without me. I get tired. Bone deep tired of always having to be hyper aware. Constantly counting protein. Wondering if I got enough good fluids for the day. Fighting the soul deep cravings for carbs is the ultimate fight for me. And there are times I lose that fight. I will lose a small battle and other times, I lose so brilliantly and epically that I amaze myself. 

Yep. That’s my mental conversation I have with myself when I’m standing beside the road wondering if this is all worth it. 

Then I sigh really big, square my shoulders, and take off after that damn wagon. 

It’s worth it. 

I am worth it. 

The battle may be long and tiresome. Attacks from the rear (hi there menopause!) can throw you off course. In the end, when all is said and done, I want to be able to say I never gave up trying. 

Have I mentioned how sore I am today from kicking it up a notch at the gym yesterday? Mary, Joseph, and the baby lambs!! I’m walking like I’m 100 years old, but guess what?

I’m sittin’ tall in the wagon. 

Being Four is the Bomb

I have a grand daughter. Long story short- she is  not my flesh and blood as from one of my natural born children- but the daughter of my husband’s younger cousin that I claim also. My gig is being the most amazing YaYa ever. Tough job some times, but oh so worth it. 

The Man (who was named Pop’m by a stubborn baby) and I were blessed to spend the day with her yesterday on her birthday. What an adventure we had! Of course I took loads of pictures! 

Before I share the pictures, let me show you what kind of conversations happen with this particular toddler...

Sass? You want a banana?

No ma’am, I’m not hungry. 

Five minutes later.....

YaYa? I need cake and ice cream..I’m so hot. Ice cream would help. 

You have to eat a healthy choice before a fun choice. 

I really need ice cream and cake. 

No healthy choice., No cake and ice cream. 

Silence. 

You want a banana?

Yes ma’am.

It’s always a good time here at The Edge when reasoning with a future lawyer/ballerina/princess. 

Birthday micro-fashion. Rainbow Dash dress. Best part? It had pockets! 

Lunch of choice was at the barrel of crackers where she found her baby and magic bottle. Little pit stop on the way to the tahoe to rock and feed the new baby. 

Adventuring is tough, people! She was passed clean out. If she were 17 years older? I’d say she stayed too long at the club. 

Recognize the lady on the right? That’s MY baby girl. The college freshman. Gonna catch you up on her soon. 

Candid photo for the win here. 

Serious as I can be- that’s my heart right there. There is something about grand children that activate a section of your heart and soul you never knew existed until they arrive. 

Just Don’t Understand

We all know this here gal is Southern. I adore good food. Shoot, most food addicts adore good food. I am no exception. 

What I do not understand is Chinese food. We have a great one that delivers when I have decided cooking is not an option that day. It’s quick, good, and full of sodium. Last night we ordered some of that amazing goodness and sat down to eat upon delivery. 

My husband had this little container of rice. White rice. That’s it. Nothing else. (It went with his General Tso’s Chicken)

Now, what kind of sense does that make, I ask? I had fried rice with flavor, little bits of ham, and some veggies. His was just....plain.

I’m sorry, but we Southerners just can’t do this white plain rice. There’s gotta be some flavor up on top or cooked in to it. 

That sad little container of rice was thrown away and never even touched. 

Rice is a canvas.....gravy is the paint. You gotta have both, people. 

Let's Talk Sauce

I once read a little ditty that went something like "You can put ranch dressing on dirt and a kid will eat it"...or something like that. I almost have to agree with that to a point. My boy loves some ketchup and ranch dressing. When I go grocery shopping, I automatically buy another ketchup bottle that will go to the top shelf in the pantry. I discovered a package of two incredibly huge bottles of Ranch Dressing at Sam's months ago. I didn't hesitate, my friends. I picked that two pack up and felt so superior as I walked away knowing I wouldn't have to buy ranch for a month.  I kid you not, that kid goes through some condiments. 

Here comes the bad part. He's so wasteful. See, my boy makes his very own Special Sauce. I'm going to share the recipe with you. It's ketchup and ranch mixed together. Large amounts. He has to get the ratio perfect (God bless his OCD heart) because if it isn't, he will keep pouring them separately until the mixture is right in his mind. I can't tell you how many times I have sat across from him at the dinner table and bit my tongue because he honestly doesn't care if he's wasting. The ratio has to be just right. I got to hand it to the kid, he does his level best to eat as much as he can, but more often than not, the supply beats demand hands down. 

Last week I was at Sam's doing my bi-weekly trip. My coffee K-cup supply was low. That can't happen in my world. Therefore, a trip was needed. As I was walking around planning meals in my head for the upcoming week and trying to remember if I had enough toaster strudels for The Boy for another week of breakfasts, I saw the  most incredible sight.

A six pack of squeeze bottles. Lovely, plastic, restaurant quality squeeze bottles. My mind jumped to the possibilities those bottles could provide my kitchen, my sanity, and my grocery bill.  When I saw these six bottles were under $5.00, why, I just couldn't put them in the cart fast enough. 

Such a simple plastic container. Oh, the possibilities.

When I got home, I had to do some thinking. What exactly was I going to put in these six lovely containers. When I started looking in the fridge, I realized there were way too many bottles of condiments to be legal. Makenna loves the barbecue sauce like The Boy loves the ketchup and ranch. There were, no lie, 4 bottles of BBQ sauce in the door. It was time to get busy.

I explained to my son what I was planning. You have to fully explain and give him all details. I wish I had gotten pictures, but he mixed up his own Special Sauce. I was not allowed to touch the process except to pour it in the bottle. He made two bowls and mixed and tasted and added more of this and a little of that until it was perfection upon his taste buds. 

The Man also has a special sauce he likes on fries. I'm pretty sure the fast food golden arches has a similar sauce they use on some burgers. I mixed it up, poured it in the bottle and made more room in my fridge. 

I put the standard plain ranch in one, and ketchup in another. I still have one bottle left to fill. Contemplating some Duke's mayo to simplify the sandwich making process in the future.

Voila! My life is made simpler, there's more room in the fridge, and hopefully the waste will not be as bad. 

Some of you are probably thinking why on earth would I blog about plastic bottles. Because it was so simple a solution and not expensive. 

Now if I could just get some of that white sauce from the Japanese restaurant........

Oh! Can I just put this out there? Are my children the only people on this planet that when it's time to clean the kitchen after supper, the condiments blend into the table cloth and disappear and never make it back to the refrigerator? Literally every time I walk back in the kitchen after they've "cleaned" it, there sits the condiments on the table, looking forlorn and forgotten. Drives me insane. Yeah, venting that didn't make me feel any better. Just reminds me that until they all move out, I will have to go behind them and put the stuff back in the fridge. Sigh.

It's Been a While

Hi. Yeah, it's me. I know it's been a while. I can point the finger of blame to a few things that have prevented me from blogging. The Man bought me an iPad and my daughter kind of took over my laptop. Typing on an iPad can be on the hard side. Life got busy. I had nothing to say.

I would be lying. It's all on me. I think I had too much to say. So much, in fact, that my brain was a whirling  hot mess of thoughts that I just couldn't form a coherent sentence to put here. 

My therapist has told me many times that it was time to start blogging again. My friends kept asking when was I going to post again? My family is mad that I've missed important milestones and birthdays that I would have never missed before. I would always reply, "I know! I know! I really need to!" And I never would come to the computer and follow through.

In the past week, posts started forming in my head again. To the point that I knew it was time to start again and put it down in black and white. The urge to write was there again. Thoughts were coherent. 

Here I am. 

Hi! I've missed you. Lots.

Yesterday was my third anniversary of having gastric bypass surgery. Three years. Has it been that long? I think my jump back into blogging needs to address that aspect of my life so I can move on to the "Sometimes My Life is a Reality Show" posts to share with you. 

Where do I start? 

No one wants to be obese. No one wants to be morbidly obese in this world. Yet, it happens. I swear to you, you literally wake up one day, look in the mirror and think, "How in the world did this happen to me???" I did that. I looked, really looked, in the mirror one day and was just blown away by what I saw. Who was that woman? The puffy face. Eyes lost in a face due to full cheeks. I was just devastated.  

My mother had suffered many health problems by that point. I had to look at that woman in the mirror and make her realize she was heading down a fast dangerous highway to bad health. It was a numbing moment. 

Fast forward and let's skip the whole process of getting my family doc (who was just amazing and I love her to this day) getting the ball rolling. Finding the perfect doctor to perform this operation to maybe a year out from surgery.

The weight came off pretty quickly. The plus side of the surgery. You're so focused on healing and figuring out what you can eat without getting sick the first six months that it's a full time job. You're in a honeymoon phase of losing clothing sizes and getting compliments left and right. Pretty heady stuff there.

Then reality kicks in. If you're smart? You'll want to find out the root cause of that weight gain. What made you get to that size. Hello, Miss Therapist! 

You find out that maybe you really don't want to know. Maybe it's too painful or just to complicated to give that mental energy required to get to that root cause. You might even find that you avoid therapy a few months because DANG, you just can't take the emotional turmoil it causes after a session has ended. 

What many people don't realize is that you can regain after having gastric bypass/RNY.  Some of you may know someone who has, indeed, had massive regain after the procedure. The body is a complex and phenomenal machine. You can go inside and rearrange the inside, but it will eventually figure out what's going on and fix itself to a certain degree. It is up to you to learn new eating habits and implement a lifestyle change before that happens so when it does? You can handle it and go into what we post-op people call "maintenance mode".  

Sister here has had some major therapy during this time so I can hopefully handle this maintenance phase for the rest of my life. I'm not going into all the complex issues that have come up during my sessions. HIPPA and all that good stuff. I'm sure you understand. An addict is an addict is an addict. Once an addict, always an addict. Doesn't mean you are doomed forever. Heavens no. But, the "drug" is always there calling your name. Some days it's louder than others. Ahhhh, the siren's lure. My take on all of this? We self medicate. Addicts take it to a higher level. I self medicated with food. Food was my BFF. Food was always available in massive quantities and I took it that dangerous level. And let me tell you, when that BFF was taken away after surgery? I mourned. Lawd, did I mourn. In fact, I would be lying if I said I don't still miss it with a burning passions at times to this day. 

People comment all the time that I have amazing willpower. Uh...no, I don't. I really don't have any at all. I am terrified. I am paralyzed with the fear of regain. Of being that woman I saw in the mirror that morning all over again. I still see glimpses of her from time to time. When I was going through some old pictures for my Before and Now collage, Makenna asked me if I felt like her. I said I know that woman well and I know how she felt. I can't forget. I don't think I ever could. Back to willpower. What exactly is that? I mean, I do have a strong will. Where I come from we call it being stubborn as a mule. I am extremely mule headed at times (my husband can testify to this). I am also weak. So very weak. I have those days where I eat like someone is going to take it away from me forever in the next minute. Now, I can't eat massive quantities anymore. My pouch/stomach can hold around a cup of food. But I graze all day like nobody's bidness. If I eat too many carbs, I dump. (My husband got a Mac and I'm still learning how to use it so linking to sites is still something I'm learning. Look up dumping syndrome with gastric bypass if you want to know the details.) I can dump like a Queen. My sugar will bottom out. I'll get shakes like you wouldn't believe. I'll get all light headed and clammy. I'll have cold sweats that soak a shirt in a minute. Some of you might wonder why on earth would I do that to myself? I have no answer other than the drug was stronger than me in that moment and I HAD to have that extra taste of a sweet or fresh baked bread. Every once in a while I'll dump from something totally unexpected and it will catch me out of left field. I carry a protein bar in my purse at all times just in case that happens. I've walked around shopping while eating a protein bar to keep from passing out. I may or may not have nibbled on one in church during the service when this happens. That's the plus side of RNY. If you're lucky, you'll will dump the rest of your life. Yes, lucky. It helps keep you accountable. It keeps you mindful of what you're doing. Break the rule, ,pay the price. Trust me, that price is not fun and can be scary. Maybe I have some willpower. Maybe the willpower mixed in with good therapy, support from those around me, and lots and lots of prayers have me where I am today. 

Yesterday was a day of reflection for me. I thought of where I was three years ago and where I am today. And I felt pretty okay with it all. I still go to the gym on a regular basis. I will always stand by the fact that I will never love it, but I know it's necessary. I am into weight training more and toning what I have left. My brain still has serious issues with all the loose skin I still have. I know it's time to address it and get it taken care of once and for all. I think I put it off because it all has felt like a dream and that I was going to wake up and regain all that weight and I would need that skin to fill back up. Whoa. My therapist totally needs to read that. I bet that would be an epic session in just that realization. I still worry and obsess over  stupid things like "Will I be this size when my children get married? Will I be able to take a picture with them on their day and be a decent size and not embarrass them?" See? The brain is a fickle thing. 

I am open and honest about my whole experience. I put my three year surgiversary (an affectionate term we post-op peeps give our surgery dates) picture on the book of faces yesterday. I admit I was nervous. Why? It's like trusting your baby with strangers. Will you be judged for how you looked before? (sure, that's human nature) Will someone make a remark that will hurt you to the core. It's very nerve wracking. All I got was support. So many comments and all were positive. Thank you all. So much.

Am I proud of myself? Proud is a strong word for me. I am content at the moment. I know there is still work to be done, but I'm doing it. I know I will never reach that magical goal weight I have in my head. It's kind of unrealistic, to be honest. I am healthy. That's what is most important. I am healthy. I have a good grip on my recovery from obesity at the moment. I understand that there are things I have to do every single day to keep my health and grip. I will have to do them every day for the rest of my life. Some days I find that fact very daunting and I don't know if I can do it. One day at a time. One hour at a time. 

I received many messages on my picture from yesterday. How much weight did you lose? I deliberately didn't put that on the picture because it can't be about a number. When it becomes about a number, then the picture gets skewed and the true reason behind the whole process gets whacked up. I will tell you, though. I've lost 168 lbs. I've regained 4 and I believe that is due to the weight training and building muscle. Those four pounds have really done a number on my brain and I keep slipping into panic mode wondering if that's the beginning of the end. Aaaaaaannnnnndddd this is why therapy is key to me. 

There ya have it, folks. The main reason Miss Hope hasn't been able to blog much the past year and a half. I had to go inside myself and work on me. Truthfully, that is also a constant work in progress that I don't foresee ending and that's okay. I'm in a much better place now and things are starting to find a sense of normalcy and contentment that I've been searching for for a long time. I can't promise I won't blog about this from time to time. It is part of who I am now. It is my normal. I can promise to blog about my life because The Boy? Ya'll have no idea. Makenna? Wait til you hear what that kid has been up to lately. Paige? That sweet baby of mine will be 21 in April of next year. Whaat??? 

Here's the picture I posted on the book of faces yesterday and a bonus one! I contemplated putting it on my page there, but changed my mind. I thought I would save it for here. Kind of a welcome back present for you. 

The picture on the left is a month before surgery. This woman here is the one I saw with the puffy cheeks that convinced me it was time. 

Please take note that it just hurts my heart so badly that in the left picture, I was almost as wide at the door. This was before we left for the hospital that morning and I can tell you....Miss Hope was smoooooth. Nerve pills are awesome, I tell ya. Also note that in the right picture, I am sporting some seriously awesome heels. 

*** If you want to know more about Recovery from Obesity, my therapist is on the book of faces under "A Post-Op & a Doc". Look it up. Dr. Connie Stapleton is her name and she knows all about addiction and the recovery process. She has published books and I highly encourage anyone fighting addiction to check it out.