At my one-year follow-up with my surgeon, the surgeon's assistant encouraged me to discuss with my primary care doctor the pain that starts in my right chest and radiates into my shoulder blade. Women don't always feel heart attack pain in the stereotypical way, she reminded me.
We talked more about it when my surgeon came in. I described it as "sharp pain, quite intense" and my surgeon said, "Not intense enough to go to the ER, though?"
"Almost intense enough," I replied. "But not quite. Could it just be gas?" I asked.
"I hate to write off pain as 'just gas,'" he replied, and suggested that the next time I have the pain, I take a Gas-X. If the pain decreases, that gives us information.
Last night, I woke up in the middle of the night with the now-familiar pain building in the right side of my chest and spreading back into my shoulder blade. My husband was up, letting out the dogs, so I asked him to bring me a Gas-X. I was half asleep, but it seemed that almost immediately, the pain lessened. Hurray! Apparently my scary, painful attacks are simply gas.
Embarrassing but definitely preferable to needing my gallbladder removed.
Saturday, January 31, 2015
Friday, January 23, 2015
One-year follow-up — and the rising of "stuff"
Do you remember in my last post I said that I've been living my life as a normal person, not like a weight-loss-surgery patient, and that has negative and positive consequences? One of the negative consequences is that I've gained about 10 pounds.
I got complacent. I stopped walking, biking and going to the gym. My carb portion often is equal to my veggie portion, rather than half. I have a cocktail every day. Yikes, huh?
Maybe not yikes for everyone — but yikes for someone who has been morbidly obese. Yikes for me.
Against that backdrop, I had my one-year follow-up with my surgeon Thursday of this week. I didn't talk about it with anyone until Wednesday. "I'm up about 10 pounds," I said to Paul that evening, "and I'm worried they're going to yell at me." I knew, as I said it, it was a needless worry, but it was real.
Paul shook his head gently. "They're not going to yell at you. They want you to succeed."
Does that mean that I don't want myself to succeed? Because I've sure been yelling at myself.
Thursday morning, before my appointment, I felt ashamed and was a nervous wreck about my appointment. I meditated with some crystals and my camera to soothe myself, and it helped bring me back a little. After my shower, I looked at myself in the mirror and found compassion. "Did you really think it would be a perfectly smooth process?" I asked myself.
"Of course!" was the answer.
I found my first smile of the day — a smile of warmth, compassion, humor and love.
~~
A few hours later, in the weight-loss clinic at Beth Israel, as I stepped on the scale, I said to Erin, the wonderful bariatric nurse, "I'm up."
She opened her hands. "Hey. No judgement here," she said, and sounded like she meant it.
When the surgeon's assistant came in the room and asked how I was doing, I said, "Mostly I'm doing really well, but I'm up a little."
"Okay," she replied, and scrolled through my records. "Let's look at the numbers. From when you first came here, you're down 75 pounds. You've lost 55% of your excess body weight," she reported. "That's amazing."
She calculated that I've gained 8 pounds and asked if I knew why I was up. Absolutely, I said, and went through the reasons. I also told her that before surgery, gaining 10 pounds would have seemed like another nail in my coffin — something irreversible. Now I feel like I can shift my behavior, and my body will respond.
When I told my surgeon that I'd been complacent, he shook his head. "You can't get complacent," he said, both gently and matter-of-factly. I agreed. My sleeve limits what I can eat — but of course not as much as it did right after surgery. My sleeve contributes to my health and success — but my actions also contribute.
Looking back over the many years since I first gained weight, I think I doubted myself. I doubted my strength and my ability. In the past year and a half, since I started the surgery process, I've proven to myself that I'm strong enough. If I could start where I did and get to here, I can refocus and move forward.
I'll finish today with two non-scale victories (NSVs).
1. Although I'm not working with a trainer right now, I have a personal goal to improve my ability to do my old trainer Sal's 5-minute warm-up: one minute each of jumping jacks, butt kicks, high knees, squats and burpees. I never did burpees with Sal, but a few weeks ago, I timed myself from start (jumping jacks) to finish (burpees — very awkward burpees, but burpees): 13 minutes. I hope to be a little faster, at least, in April. (That will take practicing. I've got to get on that.)
2. Paul and I signed up to do another 5K, this one on Valentine's Day. Given that wanting to spend many happy and healthy years with my husband is one of my main motivations on this journey, I think celebrating Valentine's Day by celebrating our improved health is perfect. (And if we split a dessert that night, I'll feel like I earned it.)
I got complacent. I stopped walking, biking and going to the gym. My carb portion often is equal to my veggie portion, rather than half. I have a cocktail every day. Yikes, huh?
Maybe not yikes for everyone — but yikes for someone who has been morbidly obese. Yikes for me.
Against that backdrop, I had my one-year follow-up with my surgeon Thursday of this week. I didn't talk about it with anyone until Wednesday. "I'm up about 10 pounds," I said to Paul that evening, "and I'm worried they're going to yell at me." I knew, as I said it, it was a needless worry, but it was real.
Paul shook his head gently. "They're not going to yell at you. They want you to succeed."
Does that mean that I don't want myself to succeed? Because I've sure been yelling at myself.
Thursday morning, before my appointment, I felt ashamed and was a nervous wreck about my appointment. I meditated with some crystals and my camera to soothe myself, and it helped bring me back a little. After my shower, I looked at myself in the mirror and found compassion. "Did you really think it would be a perfectly smooth process?" I asked myself.
"Of course!" was the answer.
I found my first smile of the day — a smile of warmth, compassion, humor and love.
~~
A few hours later, in the weight-loss clinic at Beth Israel, as I stepped on the scale, I said to Erin, the wonderful bariatric nurse, "I'm up."
She opened her hands. "Hey. No judgement here," she said, and sounded like she meant it.
When the surgeon's assistant came in the room and asked how I was doing, I said, "Mostly I'm doing really well, but I'm up a little."
"Okay," she replied, and scrolled through my records. "Let's look at the numbers. From when you first came here, you're down 75 pounds. You've lost 55% of your excess body weight," she reported. "That's amazing."
She calculated that I've gained 8 pounds and asked if I knew why I was up. Absolutely, I said, and went through the reasons. I also told her that before surgery, gaining 10 pounds would have seemed like another nail in my coffin — something irreversible. Now I feel like I can shift my behavior, and my body will respond.
When I told my surgeon that I'd been complacent, he shook his head. "You can't get complacent," he said, both gently and matter-of-factly. I agreed. My sleeve limits what I can eat — but of course not as much as it did right after surgery. My sleeve contributes to my health and success — but my actions also contribute.
Looking back over the many years since I first gained weight, I think I doubted myself. I doubted my strength and my ability. In the past year and a half, since I started the surgery process, I've proven to myself that I'm strong enough. If I could start where I did and get to here, I can refocus and move forward.
I'll finish today with two non-scale victories (NSVs).
1. Although I'm not working with a trainer right now, I have a personal goal to improve my ability to do my old trainer Sal's 5-minute warm-up: one minute each of jumping jacks, butt kicks, high knees, squats and burpees. I never did burpees with Sal, but a few weeks ago, I timed myself from start (jumping jacks) to finish (burpees — very awkward burpees, but burpees): 13 minutes. I hope to be a little faster, at least, in April. (That will take practicing. I've got to get on that.)
2. Paul and I signed up to do another 5K, this one on Valentine's Day. Given that wanting to spend many happy and healthy years with my husband is one of my main motivations on this journey, I think celebrating Valentine's Day by celebrating our improved health is perfect. (And if we split a dessert that night, I'll feel like I earned it.)
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
364 days later
Have you noticed the radio silence around here? There are a few reasons.
First, much of my life is (beautifully) a non-event. Camping in October meant getting up and down from the ground several times a day. No problem. Watching my friend's 1-year-old, jumping up from the floor to follow him around? No problem. Doing a 5K after months of not being as active as I'd been?
Well, that was a little problem, but I still finished and even beat my first 5K time from last fall by about a minute.
The other reason: I've been living, in many ways, as a normal person rather than as a weight-loss patient.
That has positive and negative repercussions, which I'd like to explore another time. For tonight, I'll say that I could work harder. I could be more disciplined. I make many food choices based on nutrition, but I could eat fewer carbs, indulge less frequently, drink less alcohol. I could be more active.
Tomorrow is my one-year surgery anniversary, so I'm extra reflective. Where am I?
In spite of the things I could do better, I'm in an amazing place. My husband and I started the year by doing a 5K on January 1st. I hadn't been to the gym in months and haven't been exercising at home, either. I seriously contemplated backing out — but I didn't want to. And what's more, I actually wanted to do the 5K. I wasn't sure how much I'd be able to run, but I knew I could walk all of it and run at least a little. And I wanted to do it.
A year ago, walking a 5K would have been impossible.
So even though I'm feeling very human and very aware of my struggles and weaknesses, I'm incredibly proud of my progress in the last year — and incredibly grateful. I don't feel trapped; I feel free to live my life. I don't feel hopeless; I'm living a healthier and happy life, with room for even more good health!
I've received amazing support. From my husband. From my friends and family, near and far, and neighbors. From my boss and coworkers, from parishioners at the church where I work. So many of you have accepted my choice and offered words of encouragement or simply listened.
I feel strong. Proud. Grateful. Alive. Human. Flawed.
I feel empowered to move forward in health.
First, much of my life is (beautifully) a non-event. Camping in October meant getting up and down from the ground several times a day. No problem. Watching my friend's 1-year-old, jumping up from the floor to follow him around? No problem. Doing a 5K after months of not being as active as I'd been?
Well, that was a little problem, but I still finished and even beat my first 5K time from last fall by about a minute.
The other reason: I've been living, in many ways, as a normal person rather than as a weight-loss patient.
That has positive and negative repercussions, which I'd like to explore another time. For tonight, I'll say that I could work harder. I could be more disciplined. I make many food choices based on nutrition, but I could eat fewer carbs, indulge less frequently, drink less alcohol. I could be more active.
Tomorrow is my one-year surgery anniversary, so I'm extra reflective. Where am I?
In spite of the things I could do better, I'm in an amazing place. My husband and I started the year by doing a 5K on January 1st. I hadn't been to the gym in months and haven't been exercising at home, either. I seriously contemplated backing out — but I didn't want to. And what's more, I actually wanted to do the 5K. I wasn't sure how much I'd be able to run, but I knew I could walk all of it and run at least a little. And I wanted to do it.
A year ago, walking a 5K would have been impossible.
So even though I'm feeling very human and very aware of my struggles and weaknesses, I'm incredibly proud of my progress in the last year — and incredibly grateful. I don't feel trapped; I feel free to live my life. I don't feel hopeless; I'm living a healthier and happy life, with room for even more good health!
I've received amazing support. From my husband. From my friends and family, near and far, and neighbors. From my boss and coworkers, from parishioners at the church where I work. So many of you have accepted my choice and offered words of encouragement or simply listened.
I feel strong. Proud. Grateful. Alive. Human. Flawed.
I feel empowered to move forward in health.
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