Gallbladder? Heart attack? Make that...

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.

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.)

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.

Alzheimer's Walk victories

Yesterday was the Boston Alzheimer's Walk, which Paul and I did with his family in memory of his grandmother. It was the family's third year walking but my second; the first year, I broke my ankle two days before the walk.

Last year, I was in process for surgery. I'd met with the dietician, bariatric nurse, social worker and medical director. I'd had blood work, an abdominal ultrasound and a sleep study. I was waiting to meet with my surgeon and be assigned a surgery date.

Physically, I'd been walking a few days a week. It's hard to remember exactly, but I think I could walk about three-quarters of a mile with effort but without pain.

For the Alzheimer's Walk, you could choose either 2 miles or 6 miles. 2 miles was going to be a stretch. 6 was impossible. I ended up walking about 2 miles, I think, worrying about how far I could go and still be able to make it back. At one point, I stopped and sat in the shade to wait for my husband and his relatives to walk on and then come back.

This year, I was excited to walk the 6 miles — because I know I can. The Boston walk changed location, though, and the loops were either 1.5 or 3.5 miles. I'd planned on walking the longer route, but yesterday was hot — and the longer I stood outside, the more I realized it was okay if I walked the shorter loop. I have nothing to prove.

Paul and I did end up walking the shorter route because his parents, who drove in with us, chose that, and we didn't want to strand them while we did the longer route. While it wasn't the physical challenge I'd been planning, there was a mental victory in realizing I have nothing to prove. There was a physical victory in that 1.5 miles felt like nothing.

And there was a combined emotional-physical victory: although I still sweat a ton when I work out, I no longer sweat excessively other times. I sweated yesterday — but it was hot, and everyone was sweating. I didn't feel self conscious at all.

Here's last year's group shot; I'm in red.

And here's me and Paul this year:

I think I look happier, more energetic, comfortable in my body and confident in what it can do.

Progress in my liver

Last Monday morning, the day after my first 5K, I woke up with intense chest pain. "Heart attack?" I wondered but then noticed it was on my right side and radiating into my shoulder blade in the back. "Oh, gallbladder," I thought.

Gallbladder problems are common after weight-loss surgery; rapid weight loss can lead to formation of gallstones. My surgeon prescribed medication to protect my gallbladder after surgery, but I was 99.9% sure I'd had a gallbladder attack. I called my bariatric nurse, who had me schedule an ultrasound and a follow-up appointment with my surgeon.

At noon Monday, I met with my new trainer, Bobby. What an awkward start, with me far from 100%, but I showed up and we mostly talked. I slept all afternoon. Tuesday morning started fine, but rapidly deteriorated as I had a fever and became more and more nauseated. I slept all day Tuesday.

Wednesday I was okay and returned to work. Thursday morning I headed into Boston to my hospital. The ultrasound showed no gallstones — and I was shocked; I was sure I'd had a gallbladder attack. What else could that pain have been? My surgeon is stumped. He ordered blood work, which all looks normal. If I have more attacks, he'll order more tests — a HIDA scan to check the gallbladder's function — but for the moment, we're chalking it up to one of those things we don't understand. Frustrating.

The good news in all of this is that they did an ultrasound of my entire abdomen, not just my gallbladder. All my organs look great— including my liver, which before surgery was fatty. Now, 84 pounds later, there's no sign of fatty liver. My surgeon was thrilled, and I love that there's concrete proof of my improved health.

My first 5K

Today I did something that I couldn't have imagined a year ago: I did a 5K. A year ago, walking 3.1 miles was impossible, and voluntarily signing up for a 5K was inconceivable.

I have to send a shout-out to my Massachusetts bariatric support group on Facebook and the women who convinced me, a month after my surgery this winter, to sign up for the Diva Dash 5K fun run/obstacle course. As I said in my last post, I didn't do the Diva Dash last weekend, opting instead to do my first 5K today with my husband — but without the encouragement this winter, I never would have thought of doing a 5K. Thanks, ladies!

This morning, as Paul and I people-watched while waiting for the start, I realized something amazing: I didn't feel like an imposter, and I didn't feel out of place. I felt like I belonged among all these people setting out to walk, run and walk/run 3.1 miles.

As usual, I worked to create reasonable expectations. If I walked the whole way, I would have counted that as a success. That I was able, physically and emotionally, to alternate walking and running is an awesome success. I'm a little stiff, and I had some asthma coughing afterwards, but I DID IT!! And I feel proud, happy and very grateful for where I am in life.

Catching up and refocusing

Radio silence here for the last month, so it's time for a catch-up.

I've been content for the last few months to rest. I remember the first time I joined Weight Watchers, my leader talked about the "scenic route" rather than the "highway." Well, I've been taking the scenic route. I've been enjoying summer cocktails. I haven't been exercising much. I haven't even been tracking my food. My weight loss has been on vacation, along with my ambition. I've been content because I'm 80 pounds down from my highest — and I feel so much better.

But now, after a rest, I can say that while I'm a whole lot healthier than I was, I'm not as healthy as I want to be.

For some of the summer, my husband and I were walking and biking, but then we had a hot spell and got out of the habit. Recently, I've done almost nothing. That will change Sunday, when Paul and I walk our first 5K.

My original plan was to do the Boston Diva Dash on September 6 with a team from my Massachusetts bariatric support group. But then almost everyone who'd signed up couldn't do it, leaving only me and one other woman. I checked in with her and found out she'd be running most of the race, which meant I'd be by myself since I can run, at best guess, about 1 mile total — about a third of the 5K.

That was not what I signed up for. I wavered: should I back out or should I push through my first 5K (and obstacle course!) by myself? I decided I didn't want to do it alone — but I didn't want to give up doing a 5K. I asked my husband if he'd do one with me; he of course said yes.

Every morning on the way to work, I pass the house where Louisa May Alcott wrote "Little Women." The Orchard House has been advertising a 5K/10K on September 14, just one weekend later than the Diva Dash. Perfect solution.

So Sunday morning, after photographing the morning's activities at the church where I work, Paul and I will change into workout gear and drive a few miles to Concord. I'm guessing we'll alternate walking and running, but if we walk the whole way, I'm perfectly fine with that. I've never said in my head, "I'm running a 5K this fall." I've said, "I'm doing a 5K this fall."

Then on Monday I start working with my new trainer, and I've committed to myself that I'll start back in cardio at the gym two other days next week. With the days getting shorter, it's less and less likely that I'll head outside for cardio after dinner, so back to the gym I go.

I'm both nervous and excited about working with a new trainer. I'm nervous because overcoming my worries and my embarrassment about my size and lack of shape is a habit I've had for a long time — and I don't think my mind has caught up to my current size and fitness ability. I have lots more progress I can make — but I'm very aware of how far I've come.

Still, of course I'm nervous that he'll push me too far, to my physical or mental breaking point. Does that sound dramatic? But I once took a strength-training class that had me crying every week and doing squats until my legs collapsed.

With that memory pretty close to the surface, I told my new trainer that I won't be miserable and I won't compete with other people. He can push me, and I'll work hard, but not to the point of misery. He said he understands because he won't be miserable, either. Perfect.

I'm excited, too, to use this as a reboot, as a kick-start to refocusing on my health. In real life, I avoid highways whenever possible, and I'm realizing that's probably true metaphorically as well. But I'm eager to move from a 25-mile-per-hour zone to, say, a 40 or 45. I can still enjoy the scenery while being a little more focused.