SKIRTing the Issue, OR the one in which I go a little crazy with Photoshop

Even though my weight loss is not what I had dreamed at this point, I was feeling a bit encouraged last week and decided I really needed a skirt. I have not worn a skirt in 2 years. I wanted that free, kicky, summer-y feeling of a knee-length denim skirt. I found one at the Avenue online that was not only ON SALE, but also concealed underneath a pair of cotton shorts (which would prevent the awful chub-rubbing and inevitable rashing of my ample thighs). I ordered it, dreaming of the cute, curvy shape my new slightly smaller body would exhibit.

I envisioned this:

but I knew that such fashionable, a-lined curviness was not being realistic. So, I changed my expectation to something more like this:

Never in my wildest, most reality-framed daydreams (you know, the ones in which yes, I AM audited by the IRS and yes, my that lipstick IS too dark on me and yes, that little thing on my face IS cancer), did I think the ACTUAL skirt would look like this:

Oh. My. Gosh!
Apparently, my waist (ass) is sooo much wider than my legs are long. I'm sure you all have known this about me for a very long time, and I appreciate your not telling me because, well, some denial can be a beautiful coping mechanism. I should've figured this out, because I buy my husband's pants. "Huh?", you say? - well, my husband is a 38-34, meaning his waist measurement is 38" and his inseam is 34". Take 1/2 of 38 and you get 19 - which is how many inches across his pants are when you look at them (because the other 19 inches go around the back and cover his butt). My waist measurement is nowhere NEAR 38 inches.

Let's dig in to the last time I measured my waist...ok, here we go...back in January it was 49 inches. That doesn't seem TOO horrific, except for the fact that I'm a curvy gal. My waist actually dips in an hourglass-esque fashion (when viewed from the front, mind you). I know this will be a great trait once I've lost the weight, but for now it makes things a bit tricky. See, my "abdomen" measurement (chubbiest part of my tummy) is a whopping 57.75 inches, with my hips (ass) creeping up to 59 inches. Half of 59 is almost 30!! And my inseam (on full-length bootcut PANTS) is only 33"! So the length of this skirt, inseam-wise (I know, I know, skirts don't HAVE inseams) can't be any longer than 15 inches. Duh - no wonder the skirt was a bizarre sideways rectangle. It was still quite a mind-bender that I'm not sure I want to grasp.

Besides being so strange-looking right out of the package, my new skirt has another very common problem. Since my waist and abdomen measurements are so far apart, most things that fit at my ample patoot gap widely at my slightly curvy waist.

I end up looking like I'm trying to be a human funnel:

These large gaps between my waist and my waistBAND can be quite useful - for hiding items like money, lipstick, meds, and baby elephants. But for the most part, it's just frustrating.

The worst gap of all is the gap in back - I've got at least 5 inches pooching out in the small of my back where the fabric doesn't meet my waist. Then, four inches to the south, all the fabric stretches tight across my enormous derriere. This gap in the back is the most annoying. It makes my shirts flip out weirdly when I'm seated, and I'm constantly flashing my granny undies at the innocent and unsuspecting folks who sit behind me. I have no idea what to do about this crazy back gap.

I've considered letting the kids throw superballs into it as a game:

But the best news of all? The skirt was too big. On my waist AND on my ass. THAT part was a very pleasant surprise.

A Ray of Sunshine

I continued in my fuming haze today, but things started to get better bit by bit. I rested last night. I got some sweet comments and some calls and emails from friends (thanks - I didn't have the energy to respond to all of them, but they were very appreciated!). I went to therapy. The fibro pain has eased a bit. I've spent some time in prayer.

I called the insurance person (let's call her "A") from my clinic again, fuming a bit because she had not returned my call from a few days ago. Amazingly, she picked up on the second ring and apologized profusely - she had no record of my call. She sounded so helpful and apologetic, I had to believe her. We ran down the list of insurance issues and she told me to talk to another woman at the clinic (B). B does all the pre-approvals. I had contacted her a lot before my surgery and she was the one who set it all up and kept me posted on my insurance current policies. I often dealt with her partner (C), and when I had my first insurance rejection, B was busy so I ended up talking to C. I got the distinct impression that since my surgery was done, she was washing her hands of me and moving on. C seemed as if she didn't care if my insurance paid or not because the clinic would get their money either way (me paying if insurance fell through). She gave me A's number and sent me on my way. When A told me to call B, I assumed the worst. I figured B would not want to talk to me (just like C didn't) and would send me off to A again and I would get caught in the "it's not my problem" run-around. (In the middle of my fuming, I was harboring unkind conspiracy theories.)

I was so very pleasantly surprised. B was absolutely lovely (as she had been all the other times I talked with her). She said it's been frustrating for everyone since my insurance stopped doing pre-approvals and now just makes you submit after the surgery. She says that's ridiculous and she's been dealing with it a lot. A glance at my info confirmed that I had met the insurance requirements (which are BMI of 40 for at least one year OR BMI of 35 with one co-morbitity). I had a BMI of 40 for at least a year (I'm 5'11" and spent the last 18 months before my surgery floating between 297 and 312 pounds (BMIs 40.5 to 43.5)).

So, the insurance SHOULD cover it, but as you all know, there's no guarantee! B promised to look in to it first thing Monday morning.

But, that wasn't even the BEST part: not only was she very helpful about the insurance stuff (and I was calling at 4:30 on a Friday - not the best time to contact anyone), but before I hung up, she asked how it was going. I was taken aback. I expected to be scooted off the phone (that's what I probably would have done at 4:30 on a Friday!), not to be asked sincerely how my Lap-Band journey was.

I was perfectly honest. I told her I was frustrated. That I was tired of not feeling restricted. That it was demoralizing to go in for a fill and be lectured about eating less because duh! - if I could do that all by myself I wouldn't have gotten a Band in the first place! She said for me to have lost as much as I have at this point (which is only 20-15 pounds, depending on the day) was great. I told her I hadn't lost ANYTHING in 7 weeks. She was so encouraging. She said my band definitely wasn't tight enough - I should feel really full quickly. She also said she has talked with many people who struggle for about 6 months (!) and then things "click" and it all starts to work.

I'm feeling encouraged. It was a tiny ray of hope, but enough to make a big difference. Most importantly, I felt again like my clinic treated me as wonderfully as they had before my surgery. I'm believing again that they really do want to help people. I need all the help I can get!

$1176 Per Pound

I'm still angry and frustrated about my weight and the Lap-Band.

The last fill finally brought me the first restriction EVER. It helped me not eat between meals, but not to eat less at meals. I am choosing carefully to eat less. I NEVER get the "soft stop" or "hard stop" that Bandsters are supposed to have.

The scale moved down from 284.5 to 281.5. Down is good, but 3 pounds in 7 weeks at the beginning of my journey is NOT what this was supposed to be about.

I'm ticked off at my clinic, especially. For encouraging me to go ahead and trust the insurance process...For being so slow and over-cautious with fills...For not having enough nurses to service all their new patients (I can't get in for another fill until AUGUST freakin' 8!!!!!!!)...I'm feeling like I was sold an expensive service that is very lucrative for them and was dropped like a brick when I actually needed the help.

This surgery hasn't been worth $100 so far, let along the NINETEEN THOUSAND PLUS that my insurance is charging me now.

And the weight seems to have jumped back up to 284 in one day. Maybe due to all the VicOdin I've had to take? I don't know. I've been eating so little that I've been feeling faint. It feels like the only thing I can do at this point, and it still doesn't work.

This is ridiculous. Why the hell did I have this surgery? I could've just spent the money on yet another diet scam without having my body cut open and my bank account depleted.

I am raging mad. I have two big things I am working on in my life right now: lose weight, and figure out a treatment plan for the fibromyalgia. Neither one of them is going anywhere, despite great effort on my part.

Every facet of life feels like a sick, cruel joke.

In So Many Ways, I am Not Enough

wonder woman
Alas, I am so very very
far from her greatness.
I do have cool Grandma
undies like she does, though!

I’ve been trying to find time to write. Time has been very precious here – birthday week was last week and I spent most of the week getting ready for celebrations.

I gave up “my” time on Friday to make a birthday cake for my beloved now-7 year old. He requested a Lego cake, and I wanted to oblige. My creation won’t win any awards, but I’m quite proud of it. He was thrilled, even though he doesn’t eat frosting! (I made him some extra cupcakes without frosting).

Saturday and Sunday were full to the brim with celebrations, and unfortunately, with pain. So much pain, that I was unable to read the much-anticipated Harry Potter*. I was able to sleep 5 hours on Sunday afternoon, but I was so too far gone by then to stave off the inevitable raging flare.

I’ve been in so much pain this last week, and it continues today. I had to take 3 Vic0din just to make it through the day yesterday. I’ve had 2 already today, and will need another to make it through the evening of Lego shopping I have promised Henry. My entire body is inflamed, and I have a low-grade fever. Everything hurts. Everything. I’m exhausted and completely on edge emotionally and physically.

The fibromyalgia is becoming a bigger deal in my life. Not just because it seems to be getting worse, although that may be contributing to it. But mostly because I am learning (slowly, badly) to take care of myself. I have lived in denial for a long time, and it has caught up to me. One of the reasons I held so tightly to the denial is fear: primarily fear that people only like me for what I can do – that I have to be SuperLeah for anyone to like me, even a little bit. I have to be a great hostess, help everyone out, befriend everyone, throw great parties, send the most thoughtful thank-you notes, have the most positive attitude, exude confidence, be the most secure in my faith, be the most amazing mother and the most self-less wife, etc. It’s been very hard to let go of this fear and free-fall through unfamiliar air, hoping I’ll land okay – bumped and bruised, but hopefully intact.

It’s been hard. I know I’ve frustrated quite a few people. I frustrate myself. It’s so hard not to try grab back hold of the SuperLeah idea, but my cape is torn beyond recognition and my superpowers are now completely depleted. I have to hold on to what I have and pray that it’s going to be enough. I am very blessed. I have a great church, small group, husband, therapist and some key friends. I also know that I have been putting stress on the husband and key friends’ relationships. I have worried about the fallout. I continue to worry. I’ve had lots of reassurance along with a few emotional blows.

Yesterday I met up with a group of women that I had not seen in a long time. These playgroup moms were very important to me during Henry’s first four years. They also knew me when I was still in denial. One of them, in particular, had every right to be angry with me. We had kept in touch for quite a while, through her back surgery and other issues, but I had not been in contact for almost 10 months, during which her father died and her husband had a heart attack. I had thought about her a lot, but did I call? No. Did I email? Yes, but only once or twice. Did I send a card? Only at Christmas. Was I a lame friend? Absolutely. I begged her forgiveness, and she acknowledged her anger at me. But she also showed me incredible grace. I know I injured her, but I also know she chose to forgive.

I finally got time to write today (after waiting an hour for a blood test) and opened my laptop to a terse email from a different friend about how I have let her down for the last time and she may never talk with me again. I worried that my letting go and surrendering to the freefall would lead to situations like this. I worried that taking care of myself would cost me relationships. I have lost my first friend due to my inadequacies. I’m pretty sure she won’t be the last. It terrifies me, but I fear it’s the truth.

I know I am not doing this well. I am learning, and am learning badly. I try to take care of myself and help other people at the same time, and it rarely works out. I am still learning balance, but sometimes I leave others in the lurch. Some forgive me and show grace, teaching me how to hope and love and do this better. Some do not. I need to learn from both situations.

I am doing this badly, but I don’t know how else to do it.

I have chosen to take care of myself and put my myself and my family first. This is incredibly stressful on many levels. Many people don’t understand. Someone quite close to me thinks that having children is the most selfish thing one can do. In my case, I do struggle with that. I can’t even manage to raise my children without help. What made me think I could do this? I am a huge drain on everyone around me. I worry that I am not enough – that everyone thinks I am not worth the effort and would be better off without me. What could I possibly have to offer?

And my faith is taking a beating. I’m trying to turn to God for refuge in this time of stress, but I’m worrying that He doesn’t think I’m Enough either. What could I possibly have to offer God at this moment? I can’t fathom. I can’t see what I have to offer to anyone.

I’m just plugging along, one foot slowly in front of the other - hoping, dreaming, wishing and praying for the fog to lift, for things to make more sense, for me to feel loved and at peace. I know that eventually, things will work out better. The dust will settle enough for me to get used to my new surroundings. The freefall will end and I’ll be able to discover who I am and what my value is. Faith, hope, and dogged determination is all I have. Looking into my children’s eyes, I know it will be worth it. Eventually.

*And yes, I did finally manage to read the last (sniff) Harry Potter – I finished it last night. I had to re-read huge sections of it as I went along, realizing that the narcotics had blurred important parts – the benefit was that it made it last longer. And I’ll bet I’ll pick up even more upon the inevitable re-readings. Yes, I thought it ended well – and more importantly – correctly. Does reading this make me selfish? Probably. But I’m in too much pain and am too exhausted to process that right now. If only St. Mungo’s could mend me…

Insurance Nightmare

I meant to post a couple weeks ago, when I got the letter from my medical insurance saying they were declining to pay for the Lap-Band until further review. I panicked a bit when I got the letter, but told myself not to freak out - yet. My clinic assured me that this often happens, but it's usually approved upon review. I followed up with them and made sure they sent the supporting paperwork.

And then I waited.

Today I got the letter I had been dreading-yet-hoping
-would-not-come.

The letter that tells me my claim was denied. DENIED.

I have another shot at an appeal, but I'm feeling a bit nervous and light-headed. I really hoped and let myself believe for once that things were going to be all right - that I'd get the "thumbs-up" letter.

I'm still praying. I've got more hoops to jump through, but my chances don't look so great right now.

And, of course, this came at a time when I'm really worrying about money and am feeling very broke.

I'm probably supposed to learn something from this experience, but I'm not sure what that is.

Gratitude, Correspondence, and Links

Thanks to the many of you who have commented or sent me emails - it means so much to me to know I am not alone and that others are interested in my journey.

My email was bouncing most of last week, and I've lost a couple of them as well. If you contacted me and I didn't reply, please try again! (LeahATmypinktoesDOTcom)

Also, thanks to two Lap-Band bloggers who have said hi!
Check out: The Low-Carb Band-It (a relative newbie with a great low-carb approach that I should pay a lot more attention to - especially because carbs are b-a-d for my fibromyalgia) and Losing the Fluff (a veteran who is only TWO POUNDS from goal). Go over there and give the gals big whoo-hoos, wontcha?

Also, the Sassy Ladies of WLS webring is exploding! I love Dagny's tagline "Less Ass; More Sass". Ha! Grab a cup of water, sit back, and check out the blogs.

If you would like to be linked here - or if I've forgotten you (sorry!) please let me know. I've been behind on correspondence and after a while the virtual pile falls off my virtual desk and on to the virtual floor, never to be seen again. I know a couple people contacted me (via SmartBandsters, perhaps?) and I have not gotten back to you. Please contact me again!

I'm sure you all are considerate and highly-organized, but thanks for extending me some grace.

Cheers!

Off the Grid

raspberry from Mayiii's photostream

Some days I feel like a writer – where every experience seems to come fully realized with words ripe for the picking, falling into my hand like sunkissed raspberries.

Other days I wonder what the heck I am doing here. Why did I think I could do this? I have no insight, no knack for description, no poignant pen for truth-telling.

I’ve been reading. Sometimes I need to replenish myself with other people’s words. I need to retreat to my love of writing and books. Somehow, that’s not feeling like enough right now. But it has been helpful to drink in the carefully crafted sentences and plotlines of some masters of the craft.

Nothing feels quite right. Environmentally, physically, spiritually, emotionally… I know it will sort out and sift into the right drawers, compartmented and keepsaked in the silverware drawer of my mind.

At least I have learned one thing: to be patient. I will wait upon myself and wait upon the Lord. In his timing, things will be more clear.

Trick Question

Every time I go in for a fill, the nurse asks a series of questions to determine if I am at the right level of Band tightness. One of these questions is, "Can you eat bread?"

Because bread, rice and pasta are on the "forbidden" list for Bandsters, I know the correct answer is, "I have no idea".

And yet, every single time, I answer, "Yes. Yes, I can".

Non-compliant

I had my 4th fill today, along with my first un-fill. (At first, the nurse put an additional 1.0cc in, but then decided to take 0.5 back out when she heard how much I was burping, just trying to swallow my water).

As I talked with her, and then as I sat down to lunch which ended in a PB, I realized I was being non-compliant. To be honest, the realization shocked me.

I'm not non-compliant. I'm a good little girl, a rule-follower. I'm being GOOD! I CHOSE this surgery - I KNOW what I need to do. I'm READY. Other people who complain are doing something wrong - but not me!

But here's the cold, hard truth: I AM being non-compliant. For the first time, I realized how much of an addiction the food is. I felt like a true addict: sitting down at lunch to eat my (forbidden) bread, I realized I was doing a lot of saying "just this once" and "other people can't handle this, but I can". I realized those are words straight out of an addict's mouth - they think they have things under control, but their self-delusion is enormous. They are ruining their lives, but they can't let themselves realize it. And by "they", I mean "me".

Not having real restriction has frustrated me and has been hindering me, but there are other real truths, too. I finally experienced some restriction after last Thursday's fill. Not quite enough to be at that point where I have the tool I was looking for, but enough to make a difference. Enough to feel like I actually have a Band.

I also realized I was self-medicating with alcohol, but not in the way you may think. I never drink to get drunk. However, I think I was subconsciously drinking more, and choosing sugary, calorie-laded drinks like margaritas, to self-medicate with food. I'm not sure if it's the sugar I was craving, or the rebellion, or the calories. I just know that my subconscious is very tricky. There are lots of Issues that come up as I shed my cozy-yet-suffocating Fat. It is very very painful to deal with these issues. It seems counter-intuitive, but even though dealing with the Fat and frustrations that go with it are very painful, they are familiar pains and my subconscious chooses those over dealing with the unknown pain of processing the deeper issues.

I'm not looking for sympathy, and if you gained your Fat without emotional baggage and lost it without having to mourn what you lost in the process (for good, or for bad), then I congratulate you. Please consider yourself blessed. Most of us who are very Fat and have been for a while have become this way for a very complex and painful set of reasons, far beyond "eating too much, and exercising too little".

The currents run deeper and swifter than Genes and Choices.

I'm ready to run the rapids. I want to keep being aware (no matter how painful it is) when I have gotten out of the boat.

I will start with compliance.

Thankfully, PBs Don't Come With Cramps

I just had my first PB (throwing up a bit because something got stuck in my band). I realized that although the experience itself was uncomfortable and unpleasant - I was actually excited. It reminded me of Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret. In this classic adolescent book, a group of girls are eagerly awaiting getting their first periods. It's not that they are looking forward to the cramps, the blood, and the inconvenience - it's that they are looking forward to what having a period represents: growing up, independence, and a tangible step toward understanding and embracing their unique sexuality as women.

I feel that same way about the PB - it's not that I liked having to abandon my laptop to run and puke in a public bathroom - it's that the PB represents my full entry in to the land of the Lap-Banded. It represents a tangible step toward this journey of self-awareness, consciously- chosen change, and worked-for rebirth.