Birthday Musings

 As I sit and write this, there’s a stink bug residing in my bathroom light fixture. It’s belly-side up, legs flailing about, trying desperately to move, to flip itself over and save itself from near certain death. It seems to know it’s in a hopeless situation, lying still for a few minutes and then with a sudden burst of energy, making exasperated attempts to escape the slippery, unforgiving surface of the glass dome. The heat of the light must be unbearably hot and uncomfortable. I imagine, if that stink bug had the brain capacity to reflect on a human level, it would be probably be thinking, “How the fuck did I get here?”

Today is my 45^th birthday. Instead of the expected celebratory mood, I’m feeling more like that unfortunate stink bug in the bathroom light, wanting desperately to change my current situation and wondering just how the fuck I got to where I am. Where I “am” is the highest weight I’ve ever been, and aside from being abundantly blessed with a beautiful home, a good job, a happy marriage and wonderful husband, the most miserable I’ve ever been too. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the two are directly related.

This birthday mirrors so many that have come before it. By now, I’m used to cycling through of the familiar range of emotions that have haunted me year after year. Denial that I’m getting older. Fear that I’m not living my life to it’s fullest potential. Anger that I’ve let myself get to this weight. Worry that I will never get my eating under control and shed myself of this 247 pound monkey I’ve been hauling on my back for what seems like an eternity.  Throughout my 20’s, 30’s and now halfway through my 40’s, I’ve been in various stages of that “stink bug dilemma” – belly-up, trying to flip myself over and escape the deep unhealthy hole I somehow allowed myself to fall into. I’ve pleaded to God, the Universe, and Weight Watchers to help me make the necessary changes that would lead me to a better life. I’ve known for a long time that if I did nothing to correct my relationships with food and exercise, I’d be sorry. Well, mission accomplished. I’m sorry, very sorry indeed.

On birthdays gone by, I’ve made countless half-hearted resolutions to get my shit together. I’d vehemently vow (in my head or on a private blog space) that I’d not spend another birthday in these same tight, uncomfortable shoes. I’d swear to all that is holy that THIS was going to be the year of change. Sure, I’d said it a million times before, but THIS TIME, I really, truly, sincerely mean it. It helps that my birthday falls so close to New Year’s – a time where resolutions hold great expectations, and new beginnings actually seem attainable. I never felt ridiculous making those claims for better health and happiness. I never stopped believing I could achieve my goal, despite years of utter failure.

Then my dad died this past May, six days after his 79^th birthday. It still knocks the wind out of my sails to even speak the words. I don’t think there’s anything in life that prepares you for losing a parent. The pain and sadness caused by my dad’s death was nothing I’d ever experienced before. I’m still deeply grieving nearly 7 months later. However, somehow, through the sadness and depressing darkness there has come some light, bringing me clarity and direction in other aspects of my life. This has been both unexpected and enlightening.

Food and drink held a prominent place in my dad’s life, as it has in mine. I like to think that my jovial nature and love of a good time are some of my best inherited qualities from my dad.  Eating and drinking need always be center stage to any good time, according to Bauder Law. I don’t know that any of us ever believed that which we loved so much would betray us so terribly.

I was at my dad’s hospital bedside when he was delivered the news that he had stomach and liver cancer. I watched his face turn to stone as the doctor matter-of-factly presented the worst news he, and the rest of my family has ever received. His diagnosis and subsequent death less than 3 weeks later made our heads spin and our hearts shatter. When the smoke started to clear a bit, I began to think about how fleeting life can be and the choices we make affect us, whether we choose to acknowledge them or not. It’s my belief that my dad felt sick long before he acknowledged he was having problems and was given his diagnosis. I’m not sure how far in advance, but I believe that it was maybe long enough so that perhaps something could have been done. My dad wasn’t one for doctors, and went to see them obligatorily, but not necessarily because he wasn’t feeling good. I’ve been the same way for much of my adult life. I’ll ignore a problem hoping it will go away, knowing damn well it won’t. Denial - it ain’t just a river in Egypt, as they say.

This year I could deny no more. My health has been on a steady decline and no amount of denial and wishing it away can change the fact that certain parts of me are not functioning they way they should. At 44, I’ve had doctors tell me I have spine deterioration, and I’m looking at full knee replacement (to which I responded with an emphatic, “No thanks.”). The truth is, I do have a choice. I can keep on with what I’m doing and maybe end up like my dad, or I can finally put and end to what’s been bringing me down and make the next 45 years, God willing, count. I choose the latter.

For the first time in a long time, I’m looking forward to the new year. Instead of making empty resolutions, I am finally on a path to success that I KNOW I can achieve. May 2017 is going to be a huge mixed bag of emotions for me. On one hand, it will mark the one year anniversary of my dad’s death which will be terrible and painful; but it will also mark an important event for me. I’ve decided I need more help than I ever have to rid myself of the weight I’ve carried for too many years. It’s taking its toll and I’m ready to admit just how scared I am. It’s taken me a long time to reach this conclusion but I’ve chosen to do what I feel I need to in order to live the life I feel I deserve to live. In May I’ll be undergoing a gastric sleeve operation. It’s the scariest decision I’ve ever made. But for my health’s sake, here’s hoping it’s the best one.

A Couple of Goals

I've gotta take this one day at a time. One meal at a time. One decision at a time.

Looking at the big picture was/is/always will be overwhelming. When I think about the number of pounds to lose or why I have failed so many times, it becomes a suffocating and daunting process. So, I'm not going to do that anymore. Instead, I want my focus to be about victories, both big and small - as well as feelings of positivity. No more focus on the negative. I really don't need to be living in the past. Honestly, does anyone? It does nothing to propel you forward.

We're three days into the new year and I am feeing good about what lies ahead in the next 12 months. First of all, I am glad that I decided to take the reigns back in the beginning of the year. There is something about cleaning the slate in the first week of January that makes me feel good about this physical and mental renewal process. I didn't make a list of New Year's resolutions to dictate my journey, however, I do have a few goals in mind that I would like to accomplish that I haven't done in my past attempts at weight loss.

One of the first things to address is reducing my addiction to artificial sweeteners. Main culprits are Splenda added to drinks like coffee and tea, and diet soda. If I can kick the need to put Splenda in my coffee, it will be a HUGE victory for me. I start every single day of my life with a cup or two of coffee and a taste for something sweet. If I'm going to be successful, I need to stop thinking that everything is better if it's sweeter. Today, I'll admit I did put Splenda in my coffee - but I reduced it to two packs. I'll ween myself if needed, but the goal is to break up with Splenda entirely in a week or two. The fact that I resisted putting it on my grapefruit this morning was definitely a step in the right direction.

Another goal is to make exercise a priority, not an afterthought. I started with a 30 minute walk yesterday, which, I'm not gonna lie, wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. I climbed a rather unsubstantial hill and at the end of my walk, my back was hurting. I hate saying it, but I've reached the point where exercising is no longer enjoyable and easy. This is the part that's going to take serious effort and I'm going to be uncomfortable doing it. But if that's what it takes,  then so be it. I really want to make sure I move at least 4-5 times a week. I am serious about getting healthy, and that is going to require readjusting not just what goes past my lips every day, but also how many calories I can torch along the way.

Of course I have other goals. But I want to give each one the priority it deserves. I need to focus on a few smaller manageable short term goals and then move on to the next round. I'm ready!

Yes, It's a New Year...But Who Says It's Happy?

Holy Shit has it been a long time since I visited this place.

Avoidance of a weight loss blog can mean one thing and one thing only...and it's not good. It means I've run away from the very reason I started this thing. I've abandoned ship, turned tail, gone AWOL - call it what you want. It all boils down to giving up on the weight loss goals I set for myself last year. Ouch.

I hate the words "giving up." Because technically, I didn't give up. Giving up means you completely surrender and have abandoned all hope of ever meeting your goals. I didn't do that - not entirely. I'm back to try it again, which means I still do have hope. I still believe, despite the numerous failed attempts at getting my weight loss shit together, that I will - one day - be successful.

Last year wasn't my year. Sure, I made some good attempts at losing weight because I had to. My gallbladder issues forced me to eat differently - not necessarily to lose weight - but to feel somewhat human.  Then I had my surgery. Of course the real story is, once the surgery was all said and done, I went back. Back to all of the junk. Back to bad habits. Back to the lifestyle that landed me at 244.5 lbs. As of yesterday morning's weigh-in. I don't even have words for that number. Actually I do. Two words. Fuck. Me.

Look, I don't want to cry in my oatmeal over this, but I do realize the severity of the situation. This is my reality and it blows in every way possible. But the silver lining is, I am still able to make this happen. If I want to. And I do want to. I know I need a game plan and I need to be held accountable. I need to understand why every time I try to get a handle on my weight, I fail. I have questions. A lot of them. I want answers. But I'm not totally sure where I'm going to get them. Not yet anyway.

In the last week, I've turned 44, and the entire world has welcomed the year 2016. Within this year I will turn 45. I do NOT want to be and CANNOT be the same person on January 2, 2017 as I am today. I need to be different. I NEED to be healthier. To be more confident and secure. To be the best damn person I can be. Lord knows she's in there somewhere. I can't wait to meet her.