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.

Mini Goals

Every successful endeavor starts with a strong plan of action. For the past 2 to 2 1/2 months, I've had pretty much zero course of action where losing weight is concerned and, well,  it shows. Right now the scale hates me, and I, it. We have a very complicated relationship.

I'm sitting firmly at a quarter pound under 230 right now and I want to scream my head off. I'm so insanely angry this is my reality. I'm even more angry at how hard a time I seem to be having at changing this reality. Considering how much I loathe it - it should not be this hard to change it. Right?

Every single stinking time I seem to find weight loss momentum, I allow something - anything - to throw me off course. This has been my history from the beginning of my dieting days way back when. It's not appropriate to say I yo-yo diet, because that would imply that, at some point, I hit a goal and then bounced back and regained what I lost. Truth be told, I'm usually eons away from my goal before I bail ship and the pounds start creeping their way back on. I must be a very good host to those fat cells, that's all I can say. I sure feed them well, anyway.

Yesterday after I posted, I did a little Throwback Thursday and went back to revisit my old Sparkpeople page. I created it in 2007 and weighed roughly 24 lbs less than what I weigh now. I'd kill for that weight right about now. While I know living in the past doesn't help my future, those pictures did inspire me to firmly plant my ass back in the saddle today. And I'll stay here for as long as it takes.

Which leads me to that aforementioned plan of action. Other than my marriage, I'm actually quite terrible with long term commitment to most things. I need to aim for smaller goals so that I'm not staring this huge 90 - 100 lb monster of an obstacle in the face. That's right -  the one that's looming between me and my future healthy self. It's too big, too ominous, and too depressing to take on all at once, so smaller weight loss increments are going to be my focus right now.

To begin, I'm aiming for another 10 lbs. Since I began this journey in January, I had been slowly losing until my surgery. In May, right before my gallbladder hit the skids, I was down to 225.75, a slight increase from my lowest weight through this most recent journey, which was 224.5. I'm still only 4 lbs heavier than my pre-surgery weight but it still pisses me off that I allowed myself to slip back to this point. Part of my anger stems from knowing that had I not decided to take back control, I could easily allow myself to slide all the way back to where I started in January. I'm angry that after all the dieting I've done in my life, I'm still doing the same stupid things.

10 lbs is, in my opinion, a very obtainable goal. But how am I going to do it? This morning I spent more time than I should have Googling the shit out of "clean eating for weight loss". I found a few food blogs where people posted pics of their standard daily meals and honestly? It all kind of looks culinarily void of excitement to me. Which I, perhaps mistakenly, interpret as also being void of taste. Anyway, I quickly realized this is certainly a bad way to start thinking so soon into my weight loss recommitment ceremony. So, I abruptly halted my search and thought about what I might be able to do realistically, given that I enjoy cooking and cannot for the life of me imagine myself making a meal out of simply raw almonds, a small banana, and wilted kale. Gag me with a friggin' spoon, will you?

What  I learned from my pre-op eating is that clean eating is what you make of it. It means different things to different people. I don't doubt that if I strictly followed some pre-formulated meal plan and removed all wheat, gluten, dairy, artificial sweetener, and alcohol that I would lose weight. As a matter of fact, I know I would. I also know that I'd probably last as long as a snowball in hell on that plan. Call it lack of willpower. Call it lack of truly wanting to lose weight...Call it what you want - but I know myself and in order to do this long term, I have to figure out a way to be successful that is not going to drive me to murder or suicide. Removing alcohol and cheese from my life? Yeah, I don't think so.

My eating essentially has to go back to basics. Lean protein, veggies, fruit....get rid of the processed crap. It's all the things I talked about before my surgery - and I need to treat this lifestyle plan in a similar manner. The indigestion attacks may no longer be an issue, but I have to pretend like they are. In other words, eat like I have a problem, even if I don't. Except - I do have a problem. It's called obesity. No one needs Salt & Vinegar Kettle chips in their life, especially me. Fact. Meals should be kept simple. The easier it is to prepare, the more likely I am to stick with it. I like the sound of it already.

Now that I have the eating sort of figured out, I need to address the other elephant in the room. Exercise. Simply put, I don't really do any regular form of it, as embarrassing as that is to say. At best, I am inconsistent with yoga. It's not enough. I'm well aware. I need to get out there and burn some calories and typing at warp speed on my Mac while sitting on my ass doesn't burn the calories you might think it does. Thirty minutes a day, Saturday through Thursday, with Fridays off if needed. It doesn't matter what I do, just that I do it for thirty minutes. Yoga, walking, swimming...all perfectly acceptable activities. As I move toward my next mini weight loss goal, I'll increase my exercise time, but for now - it's 30 mins, 6 times a week. No excuses.

I'm feeling better. So far, this plan sounds promising, and I am excited about turning myself around and being back on track. Let's see if the scale and I can make peace next week.

Stay tuned...

Battlegrounds

The battle of the bulge starts right here...

I spent some time yesterday with a friend who is suffering terribly. Suffering is a strong word, but it's appropriate here. It wouldn't be accurate to say she's going through a "rough patch" or having a "tough time" because the truth is, she is battling cancer and has been for many years. If that doesn't constitute suffering, I don't know what does. She recently had back to back surgeries to first remove tumors, and then complete a painful skin graft. Radiation has left the skin on her chest as thin as tissue paper, inhibiting its ability heal on its own after making the necessary incision for the first operation. She is in deep pain -  both physically and mentally.

One thing about this friend that I do know is that she is one tough cookie. This woman has been through hell and back and despite all that she has been though, she has always maintained a sense of humor and relative optimism. That's not to say she's all rainbows and butterflies all the time. Not at all. But for the most part, looking at her, you would not believe just how sick she is. However, yesterday I saw the tremendous toll this is all taking on her. I saw just how exhausted she is of fighting for her life. 

As we talked yesterday, we spoke about the unknowns in her life right now. I asked her what she was most afraid of. She confided to me that she is petrified of not ever getting her life back. To see the fear in her eyes and sadness on her face was heart-breaking. Her statement was enough to nearly knock me to my knees. It made me go home, kiss my husband, think about my own life in the present, and ask myself why the hell am I not more concerned about my own health? Why, after years of being fat, am I still losing my own personal battle with weight? When, pray tell, am I going to get my own life back and be the person I feel that I am on the inside?

Good question.

Let me preface the next part of this post by saying I'd never in a million years compare having cancer to being fat. Those two conditions aren't even on the same plane. However, seeing someone I care about fight a disease they have no control over made me realize that life is the biggest, most fabulous gift I'm ever going to get and I'm stupid as hell if I choose not to live it to the fullest. Obesity, while classified as a disease by the American Medical Association, is a condition which can be controlled. It doesn't require drugs or medical intervention (most of the time). What it does require is a sincere willingness to change unhealthy habits and the balls to take a good hard look at one's self to determine what isn't working and be committed to fixing it. 

I feel like I constantly go round and round with this train of thought. It's not as though I had some type of epiphany yesterday or anything. But sometimes, something jolts you back to reality and forces you to refocus. I guess that's what happened to me after seeing my friend. 

Sure, I'm sick and tired of fighting the fat war. But here's the ridiculous thing - I have the ability to end the war anytime I want. I've just chosen not to. So far I've only chosen to stock up on an ammo of good intentions only to trade it for some fatty diet-illegal contraband. A donut here. Some chips there. Throw in a piece of pie for good measure. And (not so) suddenly, I'm (once again) trapped behind scale-crushing enemy lines. I've been here a while and frankly, I'm not digging the accommodations. I need a good strategy so I can start tunneling my way the hell out.

I know I talked about starting over in my last post and I suppose, in a way, I am doing that. Before my surgery I was tunneling out, little by little. I felt like finally, I had created a solid path of healthy eating, albeit forced upon me by my revolting gallbladder. Post-surgery, without the medical condition to keep me on the straight and narrow, I plummeted back to the days of yore, choosing to forget the assured consequences of those actions. In other words, I chose to go back to war with myself, trudging through the battlegrounds created by my idiotic decisions regarding enemy number one - food.

I hate viewing food as the enemy, especially because it SHOULD be my ally. And it would be my ally, if I would only allow it to be. After all, I need it to survive. At some point, making peace with it sounds like a good idea. I'm continuing on working on how to do that. How to say no to the wrong stuff and yes to the right stuff. How to stop gratifying myself with quick fixes and impulsive choices. I have to keep reminding myself - over and over and over again - that I DO have control of this. I'm fortunate and I need to remember that. This is NOT a situation where I am helpless... I just need to figure out how to help myself. Consistently. Correctly. Confidently.

Back to the drawing board, as they say...

Unexcused Absence

Funny how life moves at warp speed sometimes.

One moment it's May 13 and I'm hooked up to an IV, writhing in pain in the emergency room awaiting emergency gallbladder surgery. And in the blink of an eye the calendar screams at me that it's July 16 reminding me my precious summer is half way over.  I really shouldn't complain - I have just returned from 11 glorious, sun-drenched days at the beach. Or heaven on earth as I like to call it.  However, time stands still for no one. It seems an additional 4 lbs have taken up residence on my ass since my last weigh-in (in APRIL) and frankly, I'm none too happy about it. Between you and me, I'm thinking of suing Candy Kitchen.  Is it even possible to testify against dark chocolate covered sea salted caramels? They're at fault, after all.

In all seriousness, I've already given myself the proverbial 10 lashes with a wet noodle over how long it's been since I've blogged. And I can't "Candy Kitchen coat it" no matter how much I'd like to - there is no excuse for it other than my sheer, unrelenting lack of dedication regarding all things for which this blog stands. In case you forgot (as it seems I have - a-hem), I mean healthy eating and losing weight.

I don't pretend to be a soothsayer, but I'll be damned if I didn't predict my unfortunate relapse into eating craptastically post-surgery. Everything I had voiced and feared would happen once the gall bladder and I bid our adieus, did. I went from convent-like abstinence of all foods unholy and bad for me to triple X-indulgences of the culinary kind. Inevitably, it caught up with me - not just in those 4 lbs but also in the way I feel. In the world of dieting, what I did was akin to taking a swan dive off the top of the Empire State building. To not expect repercussions from that would be moronic.

I don't want to make light of my 4 lbs, but I'm actually surprised the gain wasn't more catostrophic. I also suspect that at least 2 or 3 of those pesky pounds meandered to my midsection during my vacation alone -  which isn't unheard of for many people, chunky or not. Again - it's 4 lbs - not 14, not 40 - so I'm not going to get my Spanx in a twist and spend a tremendous amount of time lamenting how or why this happened. It doesn't take Nancy Drew to solve that little mystery. The focus now has to be on how to stop this fat train from barrel-assing down the tracks any further. Where is Superman when you need him?

Last night, I returned to yoga, which is a promising start in the right direction. Sometimes you don't know what you're missing until you're reunited with it after an extended absence. (Insert the song "Reunited" by Peaches and Herb here. 1978, I miss you.).  Anyhoo - I was disappointed that our regular instructor, Erin wasn't there - I was looking forward to her challenging me after being away for so long. Honestly, I was a little nervous getting back to it. I thought my body would revolt in some way, shape or form. I'm happy to report, I made it with no major issues. We had a sub who was good - but her style lacked the guidance and intensity I had grown used to with Erin. I still enjoyed it very much - it was relaxing and gentle - which is maybe what my body needed to ease back into it -  and I've vowed to continue on for the summer. My goal for yoga practice is twice a week.

I've also recommitted to weighing myself each day. I know, I know...there are mixed emotions on this one. The scale, while a scary beast for some, is truly my friend when I think about it. When I need to hear the truth, she gives it to me - no matter how devastating the news. Like you'd expect from a good compadre, she tells it like it is and does her best to keep me honest. The information she gives isn't meant to hurt me - it's there to help me. To encourage me to keep going. To motivate me to stay on track. What I choose to do with that information is entirely up to me. The scale only delivers the headline; she doesn't get pushy about how to write the rest of the story. That's entirely my bag. Being in the dark about how much I weigh is detrimental to this entire process. Three months is waaaaay too long. In staying away from the scale, I realize I only hurt myself. Avoiding her since April was a mistake. I won't do it again. Pinky swear! It's just you and me, Scale! Total BFFs! Ok, not really, but you get the idea.

As for the eating, what can I say? I'm angry that I still treat sugar like heroine sometimes. Donuts in the car this week? Check! Conquering my cravings for sugar is, without a doubt, my Mt. Everest. Seriously - what is it about the white stuff that has such a choke hold on me? Yes, it's addictive. I'm certainly not the first person to make that claim. I just wish it wasn't so....so...I don't know. Delicious?? Comforting??? EVERYWHERE I LOOK???? Le sigh...One day, I'll figure it out.

Every time I jump back on the health-kick bandwagon, I start thinking about what inspires me. This time is no different. Personally, I love the diet quote that says something like: "Being fat is hard. Losing weight is hard. Choose your hard." That's about as in your face as it gets as far as I'm concerned. Anyone who has ever struggled with being overweight and has tried to lose weight understands exactly what that quote means. Life as an overweight person is never easy. The older I get, the more difficult it is to haul the load so to speak. It is, as the quote states, hard to be fat. On so many levels. Too many to count or get into with this post. I have known this for most of my life - and perhaps that is why no matter how many times I take that aforementioned swan dive from atop the Empire State Building, I always go back inside and try to climb my way back to the top. The climb, as it turns out, is also very hard. But if I had to compare the options of staying where I am or continuing to climb, I'd say choosing to climb is the better deal - each and every time I do it.

I guess what I am trying to get at is that I acknowledge the last few months have not been the most spectacular part of this little journey of mine, but that's ok. There's no tears, no self-abuse, no regret. (Ok - maybe a little bit of regret). But when the sun goes down today, I'll know which hard I have chosen and that it's the right one. For me.

You heard me. I'm back!

Looking To The Future

Well, it's official. The old gallbladder has got to hit the skids.

Other than advising that it's best if the Big G and I part ways, the meeting with the surgeon didn't reveal anything I didn't already know. What it boils down to is, if I don't get this thing out sooner rather than later, I run the very real risk of a stone becoming lodged in the bile duct which would result in A) severe pain (uh, no thanks) and B) emergency surgery that would be more complicated than regular gallbladder surgery (uh, double no thanks).

Since I'm not really down with the idea of having more pain, I'm opting to play it safe and get this all put to bed before school lets out for the year. I'm certainly not thrilled with the prospect of being out of my classroom for a week, but I'm also not digging the idea of waiting another 2 whole months to resolve this issue.

The surgery will be on May 20, provided my upper GI doesn't reveal any other surprises. The way I look at it, I have one more month of living on the edge, so to speak. I can handle that. Bland eating has sort of become my thing, except for when I lose all sense of sanity and take a risk on eating something from my diet of yore. Hello, Gertrude Hawk Chocolate Mini Smidgens... (Hey, don't look at me. They were a gift from one of my students). Oh, but I am looking at you. Your size may be tiny, but you pack a hell of an indigestion punch. It's stupid, but I have been known to do it. Pull the trigger when I know what lies in the wake of doing just that. In a way, eating has kind of become a bit like playing Russian Roulette. If I eat this (fill in the blank), will I feel like crap in a couple of hours? Spin the Wheel of Indigestion and find out! What I do know is, I've had about 7 attacks within the past month, so as far as I'm concerned, the writing is on the wall. It's getting worse. Time to take permanent action. ASAP.

One of the interesting comments the surgeon made was in regard to LAGS (Life After Gallbladder Surgery - my stupid acronym, not his). He mentioned that people sometimes complain of weight gain. Upon hearing that fantastic news, I'm pretty sure I made an audible groan. He then assured me that there is no biological reason that people gain weight after this surgery. Your gallbladder is not responsible for weight control at all. However, when people experience attacks or symptoms such as mine,  they tend to adjust their eating -  usually for the better - because if they don't,  they suffer. Weight loss can be a pretty cool side effect of that change. My surgeon went on to explain that after surgery, many people simply resort back to their old ways of eating and therefore, boom - the weight comes back. This is EXACTLY what I said in my last post. It is what I fear the most. More than the surgery itself.

I'm not going to get all religious on you or anything, but I do believe that this issue became mine to deal with for a good reason. As I've said before, I silently wished that something would make me have to eat better/differently/more mindfully and sure enough, this problem of mine has done just that. I was on the fast train to a number on the scale from which I may not have recovered. It was a number that I swore I'd never reach - and yet.....it was there. Just 7 pounds away. I'll not yet reveal that number, but I will say that had the scale reached this number to which I am referring, it would have put me in a very, very dark place, mentally speaking. No joke. We're talking Tan Mom dark.

Oh, I'll show you dark.

Let's just say, I'm glad I didn't reach that point. With start of the new year and the increasing frequency of my attacks, something inside me pleaded for a change. It was now or never. I chose now.

As much as I hate that a health problem forced me to screw my head on straight, I don't discount its importance in this process. Obviously I wasn't willing to do it on my own. As much as I thought about it, I wasn't proactive in the least. Especially in the last couple of years.

So, I suppose I'll just thank the universe for hearing those whispered cries for help, no matter how bizarre, and giving me this reason for change - no matter how annoying and painful it's been. I'm sending one more request out there. Please keep me on track even when all of this medical stuff is behind me. Allow me to continue on the path to health and not forget the real reasons this is going to benefit my life when I reach my goal. Give me the strength to stay the course and keep treating myself with patience and kindness.

This will happen. It's my time.