Refresh

Sitting here, looking at websites, wasting time really. Now, I don’t think that looking at websites is always wasting time – I have many that I check frequently and dearly love – but if I’m repeatedly clicking “refresh” at Bloglines, I know I’m avoiding doing something else.

I need to get deeper into what it is that I’m avoiding. I have plenty to do, and plenty that I want to do. Then why don’t I do it? Sometimes, it’s because of the horrible fatigue that I get from the fibro (but if that’s the case, why do I keep surfing instead of going to bed at night?). Sometimes, it’s because I really am tired and need a break. Sometimes, well sometimes, I don’t know why I do it. I’m avoiding something, but I don’t really know what.

I have lots of things I want to write about – why do I never get to that point?

I have books I want to read….website redesigns to ponder….many things on my to-do list that have been put off for far too long.

I used to feel guilty about spending time on myself – on resting, relaxing, or taking time out for me. Thankfully I am doing a bit better about that and thanks to counseling can see sometimes when that’s the case.

But times like this, I don’t really understand what’s keeping me back. What am I afraid of? What do I really want?

Maybe I am afraid to know.

Workin' It

I actually bought a jogging stroller
much to Peter's delight

I blame Jenny.

Of course, it’s a bit more complicated than that.

I’ve known for a very long time that I needed to get into a regular exercise program. Not only for my weight loss, but also for my health. The year before I got pregnant with Peter (which was 2003 – seems an eon ago...), I was very regular at my local Curves – 3 days a week. I also embarked on an amazing (yet unsustainable) “cleansing” diet on the advice of my naturopath who was trying to help me with my fibromyalgia, during which I eschewed all sugar and limited myself to 100 carbs a day. The combination of these things, along with a high motivation to work on my body before getting pregnant again helped me shed 30 pounds and get down to the exact same pre-baby weight I had before Henry.

Then I had a difficult pregnancy, including lots of early labor and lots of pain from my fibromyalgia.

Then came a baby. Getting up at 7:00 to work out before my husband went to work became practically impossible if I wanted to have any grip on sanity whatsoever. Not to mention be hospitable (let alone loving and nurturing) to my brood of two.

Then Dave got a new job a bit farther away. I would now have to get up at 6:15 to go work out. There was no way this was going to happen. I was sure I’d figure something else out. Once in a great while I got up at 6:15. Sometimes I went when I had childcare.

Then, I fell down the stairs and pulled most of the ligaments in my left ankle. Since I had a toddler and couldn’t exactly stay off of it (ha!), I ended up being in an orthotic boot for the better part of 6 months. During this time, I took up Yoga, which has been healing and strengthening for me on so many levels, but regular cardio work was out of the question.

I got up early and swam sometimes, but the “early” part continued to be a problem.
Underlying all of my attempts were/are the realities of my chronic health problems. Fibromyalgia can be helped by exercise, but the first few weeks/months of working out make you feel worse instead of better. You have to push through that, listen to your body, and persist to break through to the other side. I’ve done it before, but it seemed so insurmountable this time.

So, back to Jenny. She’s been such an inspiration: changing her attitudes about food and fitness, and being totally kickass about running – working up from nothing to a freakin’ half-marathon! (Ok, and she gets up at 4:30 to run. I think she’s a little bit crazy, but that’s beside the point for now). Jenny’s example, combined with therapy and some good brainstorming led me to realize that I have to find a regular form of exercise that involves my children. With taking 15 credits this year, and trying to get enough skills to start my own business, my childfree time is all taken up – I can’t “spend” hours of it a week on working out.

So, I took up walking. For real – vigorous walking. Up hills. Lots of hills. I even bought a jogging stroller on Craig’s List – something I’ve never ever had the need for up till now.

Every time I go out, I tell myself I need to do 20 minutes, which includes the Big Hill. Anything over that is entirely optional. I figured out that according to our weekly family schedule, Monday, Wednesday and Thursday are the best days for me to walk – so I am building it into the “must do” lists for those days. Last week I missed Thursday (it was Spring Break for my oldest and so our schedule was whacked). So I GOT UP EARLY and walked for 40 minutes on Friday, IN THE RAIN. This was when I knew Jenny had completely convinced me. Well, and I had convinced myself.

So today I walked with Peter in the jogging stroller – what an upper body workout! I walked 55 minutes and we chatted about all the birds and trees. It was lovely. When coming down the Big Hill, I wiped out quite spectacularly, leaving a big bloody scrape on my knee. But, I kept hold of the jogging stroller. I may suck at balance, but apparently I rock as a mom.

So I’m experiencing the drawbacks to the exercise: my left ankle is bothering me again, and my right knee pain is acting up too. I’m also fatigued in the afternoon and need a bit more rest. But, I feel awesome! I am fighting through – icing deliberately for 20 minutes after each walk, and getting more rest when I can, instead of just letting the aches and pains get the best of me. I'm not quitting this time. I'm pushing through.

I’m frustrated that it doesn’t seem to make a difference yet in the weight, but I know it will. Things feel different this time in so many levels of my life. I’ve worked through a bunch of mental crap (Jenny calls it “the Crazy”) and am doing better and better. I've even logged my food (every single bite) for a week now, birthday cake and all!

Thanks, Jenny for the inspiration. I’m so excited to be in this place, bloody knees and all!

How to Have an Anxiety Attack While Visiting a Different Church for the First Time

First, walk in late.
Second, be just under 6 feet tall. And fat.
Third, proudly wear an "Obama '08" button because you are high on the adrenaline from the caucus and feel like it's important to be integrated in your whole life. Think, misguidedly, that wearing the button is a step toward this kind of integration.
Fourth, listen to a main point in the sermon about how people are feeling alienated by some others because of strong political views. Hear about how it is important not to shove things in other's faces, but to bring all things up in relationship. Agree wholeheartedly with the message that being a Jesus-follower has a definite impact on your whole life - including your responsibility to participate in the political process. Feel like a total schmuck because not only are you late, fat, and tall, you have a fricking political button on your vest.
Fifth, try not to be distracted the rest of the sermon by trying to decide whether or not to remove said fricking button. Deliberate in your head what the point was of wearing the button to church anyway. Wish your button said "Vote" instead of "Obama". Decide that would have been a much better way to integrate faith and politics without being a case-in-point for the sermon.
Sixth, decide to not take off the button, dammit. Because you don't want it to be obvious that you are taking it off JUST BECAUSE OF THE SERMON THAT IS DIRECTED AT YOU YOU YOU and you can be a stubborn bitch. Also, you were late and therefore in a seat that no one else wanted so taking the button off would be really obvious. See also "fat" and "tall" above.
Seventh, realize that you have to go up and take communion with the fricking button on. So not only are you exposed to the half of the church that could scrutinize you in the crappy seat, now you get to expose yourself to the ENTIRE CHURCH.
Eighth, slip button off after church while crowd dissapates and you have a conversation with someone you actually know and haven't seen in a long time (which provides enough of a distraction that you don't feel like a TOTAL tool taking off your button).
Ninth, be introduced to the pastor. You are now, thankfully, without the fricking button, but are sure that it is marked on you somehow. Be convinced that the pastor saw you and directed some of his sermon remarks directly at you. Become convinced that the pastor can see directly into your soul, exposing you as a fluffy-faithed, pedicured suburbanite.
Tenth, say stupid things to the pastor, like "being on a spiritual journey" and "working through some stuff with my faith", which leave no doubt that you are a loser and poseur. Wish for the ground to swallow you whole. Realize that you started this potential church relationship off on the absolute worst foot possible.
Eleventh, come back to your blog and brood and cry. Realize that this journey you're on is a bigger deal to you than you thought. Acknowledge that despite all the work you've done, you still have a few issues to deal with. Plead to Jesus for some relief to the anxiety and for comfort and challenge in the next steps.

It's Amazing I Could Write This Entry at All

I was up the first half of the night with Peter, who threw up six times (the first of which tagged the comforter, the sheets, the pillow, the bedskirt, and the wall - pooling into a giant, disgusting swamp on the floor.) Dave gave Peter a bath and I cleaned the room. I then offered to take the rest of the night, as Henry had the same thing on Friday night and the Amazing Dave got up every time, changing sheets 3 times and helping Henry.

Peter stopped barfing around 2:30am. Unfortunately, I woke up barfing at 3:15 am. I was throwing up and not sleeping until 6 am, when I finally dozed until 9am. I am also in the middle of a huge Fibromyalgia flare - my arms, fingers, wrists, hips and back hurt so much that I couldn't fall asleep even though I was exhausted. I threw up the meds I took for pain relief last night and figured they'd just come right back up this morning (good call, as I kept throwing up all the way to 3pm). And on top of everything else, I'm having my period. I am as sick as I have ever been.

I had to lay in bed all day and finally got some liquid Vic0din down around 4pm, and it stayed down. I finally slept, until about 6 - just in time to catch the State of the Union address.

I have not been this sick for as long as I can remember. I couldn't even check email or use the computer until 6pm - you know that's sick for me! I was far too sick to even watch TV - I could only lie there and listen to podcasts. God bless Dave, for staying home and working while taking care of the kids. God bless Henry's friend, who invited him over to play in the snow for the day (I already have big guilt on snow days because I can't go sledding with my kids or play in the snow without putting myself into a big flare - I started in a flare and quite literally could not get out of bed).

Water is staying down, and I could actually follow some of the State of the Union. I hope I feel better tomorrow. It makes me envious of small children - Peter feels fine now (aside from the lack of sleep).

I'm also wondering if having the Band makes it a bit harder to purge the stomach-flu toxins completely. Peter barfed up his dinner, etc. I ony managed to barf up a pain pill (eww!) and lots of mucous. I wonder if I didn't have the Band if I'd been able to fully throw up the first time and therefore save myself some hours of agony. Have any of you had a similar experience? Let me know your thoughts on Lap-Band and the stomach flu.

I'm so grateful to have a support network to get me through days like this.

Speechless

No, not by any overwhelming incident, or gift (although the gifts were amazingly generous and heartfelt, and we did have a Christmas Eve ER incident…more on that later), but speechless because of laryngitis.

I felt it coming on and thought I had staved it off with a couple of days of rest and then an actual, full-on, watch-the-entire-second-
season-of-Arrested-Development-because-I’m-so-sick day. But then I woke up today, the first day of the year, with hardly any voice at all. I’m feeling mostly ok – worse than yesterday, but much better than the day before – but my voice is quite gone.

And, you've probably noticed how my voice has been gone here on the blog as well.

I’m still learning about the care and feeding of my body, my mind, my soul, and my blog. There were many things I wanted to post, but didn’t. I’m still figuring out how to do all the things that I want to in a way that feels good to me and not a chore.

Here’s to 2008. All the best to all of us, on so many levels.

On Santa's Lap...and On TV

Henry and Peter sit on Santa's lap
Watch the video here.

My children are so charming that they were on TV the other night. Well, OK, so the story wasn't actually about them, it was about the cool Santa with whome we get our yearly photos taken. We just happened to be the first in line when Evening Magazine finished their interview with him (he grows his own real beard every year and is such a sweet man). And, the clip is actually from last year - but I've had lots of people emailing me saying "Hey, was that you?". And yes, yes it was!

You can watch the little video here

The exciting thing? I am sooo much thinner now than when I was filmed here. It feels great. Too bad I got my 15 minutes of fame at my highest weight ever. Oh well! At least my kids are adorable (in my humble opinion, of course!)

I'm Wearing Oprah's Bra

Ok, so not her actual bra, but one that was deemed favorite enough to be given out in a frenzy at one of her shows. It was picked out for me when I finally went for a bra fitting today. I’ve lost enough weight (40ish pounds) that the girls were looking a bit lost in my old bras. The final straw was when Dave asked me why my sweater had a funny crease in it and we determined it had nothing to do with the sweater – it was the crease made by extra folded fabric in my cup due to boob-deflation.

Whenever I go bra shopping, I am reminded why I never go bra shopping. And reminded why, when I do go, that I need to be fitted. I could not pick the right bra off the rack if getting it right would stop a nuclear countdown and save the world from annihiliation. A tender slip of a legally-blonde salesgirl measured me (big points for not looking disgusted or backing off from “catching” my overweight-ness), announced “42D” with certainty, and disappeared to get a “test fit” bra. It fit perfectly, but of course is just for “test fitting”. She left me in the sample bra and disappeared (and I do mean disappeared) back on to the sales floor to find bras for me to try on.

While she was gone (a good 10 minutes!), I contemplated boob issues:

• Why are my areolas so massive? They used to be tiny and demure – not bringing attention to themselves. They don’t gain weight along with the rest of my body, so why have they gotten bigger? Is it the breastfeeding? Theory has it that’s what they’re good for in the first place: guiding the nearly-blind starving infants to the fountain of goodness (or 'trickle of goodness' in my case). But why is this “hey – eat here!” sign not designed to fade after weaning? I don’t need to advertise to the WORLD where the center of my boobs are. The only people who needed the road map are long past nursing.
• My left breast is bigger than my right. So, do you buy a bra to fit the bigger one, or the smaller one? Does it matter?
• Why do bras cost so much? It’s like swimsuits – the smaller the amount of material, the higher the cost. Bizarre. $60 a bra? Wow.
• Where on earth did the saleslady go? Is my size freakish? It would figure.
  
• I really should plan ahead and wear a white T-shirt to my next fitting.
• I hope that next fitting is a looooong time from now.
• For how big my hips (and ass) are, my boobs are tiny. I’m sure I couldn’t fit in Oprah’s actual bra if I wanted to, but I could give her ass a run for its money.
• No really, how long does grabbing a couple of bras take?
  
• How did they manage to do actual bra fittings for an Oprah audience? Think about the logistics of that for just a minute - did they have hoardes of fit specialists? Boxes upon boxes of sizes? I mean, if the whole point of the episode (as the saleslady told me) was to spread the word that most women are wearing the wrong-size bra, and encourage them to get fitted, you couldn't exactly just fling random bras as the audience members, could you?
  
• I am very long-waisted, so if I have too much “lift” in my rack, I look freakish. It’s like I have two wayward shoulder pads that migrated just under my collar bone and then nothing for a loooooong way down until my curvy hips burst on to the scene. This makes me harder to fit that in should be. And provides for some comical dressing room moments. (Thankfully the saleslady had a good sense of humor).

She finally re-emerged and after a few more (thankfully shorter) scouting trips to the sales floor, we found 2 bras that fit. The choices are a bit overwhelming. You can get bras with Swarovski crystals....bras with memory foam....bras that call the shop and book a fitting when they're wearing out - just kidding.


I'm glad to have new bras. Most of all, I'm glad to be done with this horrific chore for now.

Henry's New Kitten

Henry and Jango
It's so cute to watch my boy hold his kitten so tenderly.

Hey - you've been on the ground for 3 hours after flying home from 10 days in China. Wouldn't this be a great time to adopt a kitten?!

Our babysitter's cat had kittens on Father's Day. Henry spent so much time with them and fell in love with them. I begged Dave to let us adopt one (yes, this is my fault). The babysitter's family kept him extra long so we wouldn't have to introduce him to the house while I was gone, but it made for a doozy of a day getting back!

Henry wanted a Star Wars name for his kitten. I thought of the punny Kit(ten) Fisto. The babysitter suggested Wicket the Ewok. I nixed Darth Vader, Darth Maul, and General Grevious. Our friend Shona suggested "Jango", after the nefarious Bounty Hunter Jango Fett. Another friend joked that we could call him Jango Pett. It was a name we could all love.

We love having Jango in the house. (Ok, we humans do. Our other two cats are not nearly as thrilled.) And Henry is being so responsible and loving. I'm so proud of him.

You can click here to see more photos of Henry-and-Jango cuteness.

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…

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.

Thankful for Lazarus, Pining for Sylvia

Lazarus
Mr. Coffee (or Signore Coffee, as I used
to call him) lives to brew another day

After de-scaling my espresso machine another two times, it seems to have (slightly) resurrected. Two out of three shots actually manage to hold the pressure without leaking tons of water into the shot. The shots are still bitter and unpredictable, and I'm wasting a ton of coffee grounds, but hey - it's espresso!

I also have a stovetop model that I received as a birthday gift (thanks, Hallie!). It is entirely different, but it works ok for lattes.

The steam wand on Lazarus will work indefinitely, so I can steam milk for as long as I need to....

Miss Sylvia
photo courtesy Coffee Geek

And since I'm saving up for THIS ---->
it might take me a long time.

THIS is Miss Sylvia. She is absolutely beautiful, not so much in form, but in function.

I really love a good espresso shot, and have learned enough about how to pull a good one. I love to pore over the specs and insight at Coffee Geek, where the information is amazing and the people are really really really passionate about their espresso.

I'm not quite that passionate (yet), but I would love to have a more reliable and robust machine. The Rancilio Silvia is widely regarded as the best espresso machine you can buy for under a thousand dollars. Yes, I said A THOUSAND DOLLARS. The good (?) news is that Miss Sylvia is "only" $540. But, I really need to buy a grinder to go with it, and the whole package costs $850.

That's a huge chunk of change for anything. And since we're now being really financially responsible (harrumph!), it will be a long time before I can afford it. But it will be a good exercise in doing without in the short term to reap long term benefits. Good things come to those who wait, right??!!

Update: My friend Shona has graciously given me her Signore Coffee machine. She claims she hardly ever uses it (being as she has to get up at the crack of dawn for her job). Wow! Mmmm - now I get to enjoy real espresso AND save my pennies. Thanks, Shona!

Weight Loss Will Cure All Your Problems - NOT

Running low on spoons today
Originally uploaded by Leah Smith mypinktoes.

I have fibromyalgia, which means that on any given day, I hurt all over. Sometimes a lot, sometimes a little, but every day I’m in some sort of pain. It is mainly concentrated around my hips, and the theory is that although FM is not necessarily caused by a traumatic injury or motor vehicle accident, such events can bring out FM. I was in a serious car accident in 1991. The lap belt saved my life, but did lifelong tissue damage and since then I have been in pain every day.

And if one more person tells me that they think all this mythical-achy-stuff is going to *poof* magically disappear when I reach my goal weight, I may either throw a bottle of painkillers at them (not likely, but tempting), or (more likely) burst into tears. I’m in tears now with the weight of this dilemma – when people say that they hope my pain will disappear when I lose my weight, they are blaming all the pain on me. They are saying “you are in pain because you are fat.” I weighed 190 pounds when I was in my accident in 1991. I’ve been in pain at every weight I’ve held since then– from 180 pounds all the way up to 312. I have other pains that are clearly related to my weight – like my creaky knees, sore heels, and lower stamina for some activities. But the constant achy pain and the debilitating fatigue are unfortunately here to stay. The pain is NOT MY FAULT. I have to tell myself this over and over again. In my house growing up, most everything was my fault, so I’ve learned how to blame myself for everything. I did not bring this pain on myself, I did not ask for it, and God is not angry with me. I am still in therapy and constantly reminding myself of these things. Please stop making it even harder.

I’m cranky today. I’m in a lot of pain. I wish this was not one of the main narratives of my life. But it is. With God’s grace and help I will learn how to incorporate this narrative into the cohesive story of my life.

The photo is a reference to Spoon Theory, a very helpful analogy of what it’s like to live with chronic pain.

[This is snipped from a longer post at my other blog.]

I'm Home!

I am home and surrounded by flowers, eager children, and loving emails. My husband has been a real gem.

Hooray! Thanks for all the well-wishes!

I am feeling sore, but honestly, NOTHING like when I had my tonsils out. I know after I wean off the Vicodin I'll be a bit more whiny, but I'm feeling pretty optimistic. After the tonsillectomy, it was MURDER to take the pain meds. Thankfully my throat feels just fine now and I can slurp down the meds just fine.

I'm feeling really grateful - a good friend of mine had the same surgery a month ago (go Giseli!!) and has been such a great support to me. Unfortunately for her, she had horrible swelling and was unable to drink more than 2 tablespoons of water at a time post-surgery - her first week out was awful. She has been such a trouper and has given me the best information. I feel so lucky to have a friend have the SAME surgery just before me.

I also got a wonderful surprise today: Marybeth from Attraversiamo stopped by my recovery room in the hospital! She came in out of the blue, just to wish me the best - before yesterday she didn't even know I lived near hear and she rearranged her schedule today to drop by!! [Heh - the hospital pharmacist tried to get the copay out of her since she was in my room. That made for a great laugh.] She had (a different kind of) weight loss surgery 4 years ago, and has dropped 200 pounds. Her blog has been and continues to be a major source of inspiration for me. I feel that although the actual surgeries people choose for themselves may be different, the emotional issues are very similar. I know I have to plow through my own emotional territory for myself, but reading blogs like Marybeth's have been so helpful to me. Getting to meet her was like being visited by a celebrity - like being surprised by Anne Lamott in a recovery room. Thanks, Marybeth - you are amazing!

Night-before Trepidation

My surgery is tomorrow at 10 am.

I'm getting nervous and scared. (Finally). I knew this was going to happen and was wondering when it would finally hit me. I'm so excited for "the rest of my life" to start, and I'm eager to get this done, but I'm still nervous.

I'm told that a common "first reaction" upon waking up from surgery is regret. I've heard it comes from the idea that they were feeling fine the day before and now they did something so invasive and made themselves feel so physically bad - on purpose!

I know I'm not going to have that reaction. I'm not trying to sound arrogant or special here, it's just that I have so many health and chronic pain issues (hardly any are weight related, by the way), and spend so much of my time in doctors' offices, having testing done and the like, that the hospital experience itself is not really out-of-the-norm for me. Also, frankly, I am in pain every day of my life. It's not like I'm going to go in feeling great (because I almost never do) and come out feeling worse than ever (although perhaps I am minimizing surgery, here).

Lastly, I had my tonsils taken out 5 years ago, at the age of 30. THAT, my friends, truly sucked. I was in horrible, horrible pain for 3 entire weeks. I knew I'd be bad going in, and it really was. I also knew it would be worth it to reduce all the throat and ear infections I'd had over the many years, and it was. The short term was horrible, but the long-term has been so worth it. I'm thinking this Lap-Band surgery is going to be the same way.

I'm starting to have butterflies and lightheadedness. I think it's because my habits are so drastically going to change. I'm getting the Lap-Band because I NEED the help to change my habits. If I could do it by myself without the Band, I would have. There are some deep psychological barriers I've had to changing my habits, otherwise they wouldn't so be so ingrained. It is going to be very very painful to change all these habits. I have been reluctant to change my habits for a reason. I know this weight has been my protection - my barrier against some deep hurts. I don't really understand why it's been so hard to let go of it, but I know there is much more here than just "eating too much because it tastes good". I'm scared to face the emotional issues. I'm so glad I have my therapist, my fabulous husband, and my amazingly supportive friends and family.

I feel like I'm preparing to climb a mountain: I know it will be long, hard, cold, exhausting, dangerous work. I'm going to slip. I'm going to feel like I've run out of air. Sometimes, I will hate myself for starting this journey at all. And then, someday in the next two years, I will hit the summit. I will look out from the top of the mountain and lose my breath at the beauty of it all. I will be scarred. I will have learned a lot. It will be worth it.