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.

Not making myself do things

"Today is the day I make myself exercise," read a post in one of my weight-loss surgery support groups this morning. I've spent enough years in therapy (many of the years since I was 19, and I'm 41) to automatically reframe that to "Today is the day I exercise." I'm not good at making myself do anything. 

It's a fine line. Sometimes I have to muscle through something — but usually not with brute force.

Making myself do something — using force — requires a great deal of energy. In the years when my depression was severe and I had very limited energy, I learned to conserve. I evaluate how much energy something will take and whether I'm willing to spend that energy.

These days, I have much more energy. My depression is in a good place, and I'm carrying around almost 80 fewer pounds. For years, I blamed my low energy solely on my depression. Right before surgery, I acknowledged that weight probably had a lot to do with it, too. If someone handed me 80 pounds in weights and asked me to carry them while going about my day, I would use a lot more energy.

Still, even with more energy to use, I don't force myself to do things. I choose to do things. I decide to do things.

Yesterday I was dressed for my session with my personal trainer when he texted that he was stuck in traffic and we needed to reschedule. Instead of changing back to regular clothes and vegging in front of the computer, I asked Paul if he wanted to go for a bike ride. Strike while the iron's hot, they say, and I was physically and mentally prepared to work out. We rode 7 miles in about 50 minutes — my best ride yet.

Part of me admires people who can force themselves to do things — but for me, it's not sustainable. I'm in this for the long haul, and figuring out how to make this my life, not a temporary state, is key. I'd rather invest my energy in creating long-term healthy habits than forcing myself to do anything.

Moderation — or the cookie post

For the past few weeks (maybe even a month?), I've been wanting a chocolate chip cookie. When I told Paul, he asked me why. "I want the chocolate, and the butter, sugar and flour," I replied after thinking.

Rather than eating a junk cookie from somewhere, I decided to bake. I'll eat 1 (or, realistically, 3), Paul can have some, and the rest will go out of the house so I'm not tempted to eat more. I'm not using a sugar-free recipe — I'm talking lots of sugar, butter and chocolate chips.

I decided to bake today because I have the day off and my in-laws are coming for supper — so there'll be extra people to help eat the cookies. The cookies look and smell delicious, but I haven't had one yet. Most days, I don't eat breakfast — it takes a while for my tummy to wake up, it seems — and today is no different. I know that if I eat a cookie on an empty stomach, without a foundation of protein, my blood sugar will tank and I'll feel miserable. As I sit sipping my protein shake, I'm wishing all choices were as easy as this one.

Late last night, lying in bed before I fell asleep, I wanted a snack. Specifically, I wanted 15 Kashi 7-Grain crackers (or 1 portion). Instead, I meditated and fell asleep. That wasn't an easy decision, but it was another healthy one. 

Even without the crackers, I went over my calories yesterday thanks to two margaritas, and I've been going over my calories a lot lately. I've been content to rest here for a few weeks, but now I'm refocusing. I'm much healthier than I was, but not as healthy as I'd like to be.

So why eat a cookie (or 3)? Because I'm not on a diet. This is my life; this is my forever. I have to learn to make food choices that fit my goal of health. For me, deprivation does not work forever; moderation is a much better bet.

Measuring success (and NSVs)

Someone in a Facebook weight-loss surgery support group asked if she was the only one not worried about losing weight quickly. I replied, "I want to be healthy. I'm working on creating healthy, sustainable habits — so I'm not concerned with how quickly or how slowly the weight drops. I'm concerned with how I feel and what I'm able to do now. My scale was up 4 ounces this morning, but this day is a success because I just ran a whole lap for the first time since high school (I'm 41). THAT matters way more to me than 4 ounces on the scale."

I see so many people in my support groups who are worried about the scale and focus on it exclusively. "Don't give the scale power over you. You're worth more than that," I told someone yesterday. 

If I measured my success by my scale, I'd feel like a failure today. Instead, I choose to measure my success by things I can control (what I eat and whether I exercise); by how I feel physically (energized) and mentally (confident, happy); by what I can do (I just ran a lap! I just ran for 3 minutes 23 seconds straight!); and by non-scale victories (NSVs). 

Some recent NSVs:
* Monday evening, my husband said I look "professional" riding my bike now. We've been riding the past few weeks, and I've gone from feeling very shaky to steady. And my legs are getting used to the work. 
* A pair of pants and a skirt that I bought to shrink into now fit. The skirt is super exciting because it's an XL — I fit in a bottom that isn't plus size! (I started in a 3X.)
* My favorite ring from college almost fits.
* Yesterday evening, we went for a walk with the dogs, and I suggested we walk UP the biggest hill in the neighborhood. I didn't need a break this time, and I kept a steadier pace than last time. 

Do the thing you think you cannot do

This morning, I'm drinking my coffee, comforting two scared dogs in a thunderstorm and looking on Pinterest. I was looking at a friend's board called "Being Better," and I came across this quote from Eleanor Roosevelt: "You must do the thing you think you cannot do."

You can't move forward when you're stuck in fear. You have to ignore the fear, at least for a little while.

A whole lot of my journey forward is about doing exactly that. Practice makes it easier, but in the beginning, it seemed impossible. It's something I've practiced with therapists over the years: being at least a little comfortable being uncomfortable. And then in my yoga class this spring, I learned to practice being present with the discomfort.

At one point, surgery seemed impossible. Being healthy seemed impossible. Being fit definitely seemed impossible.

Feeling trapped is hellish. As I've said before, I felt trapped by my body and my size, by being so out of shape and unhealthy. I'd reached a place where I couldn't see the way forward. I see now that when I asked my doctor for help with my weight, I was ignoring the fear, just for a few moments. It can start small and grow.

I saw a meme about pushing yourself just a little bit further, and then a little bit further again, and again. That's what I do with the fear: push it just a little bit at a time.

That pushing is also how I approach fitness, I realized this morning. "I'll run as far as I can," I tell myself when I start a lap. I feel good but then pretty quickly start to get tired. "Half a lap," I say. "You can stop at half a lap." I make it half a lap and then set the next goal. "I'll go to that yellow mark." It becomes clear I can do that, so "I'll go to that white mark." 

At some point, I run out of steam and really do need a break. But inevitably, I find I can go further, last longer, than my mind thought. I'm pushing myself and finding I can do things I think I cannot do. That's an amazing feeling.

6-month check-in

This afternoon I had my 6-month check-in at the hospital. I saw Erin, the bariatric nurse, who's wonderful; she weighed me and took my vital signs. Then I saw my surgeon's nurse, LeighAnne, who's also wonderful. She examined my abdomen (no hernias, happily, but there's a bit of a yeast infection in my belly button. They told me what to use and are documenting it; if it's a recurring, frequent problem, health insurance might pay for excess skin removal down the road) and said my progress is right on track. Then I saw the surgeon, Dr. S, who's also wonderful and was happy with my progress. 

After, LeighAnne put in an order for blood work so they can check my nutrient levels. I was confused about whether they measure my loss of excess weight from my highest weight or from surgery weight. She said my highest — but she kept saying I'd lost 50 pounds, not 75. She looked it up in the computer and saw that she'd been using numbers from my last appointment in April. When she looked at my numbers today, she went from being happy to thrilled. I've lost more than 50% of my excess body weight.

Comparison

That was such a relief and a boost for me. In spite of my attempts to not compare my weight loss with other people's, I inevitably do — and I come up short. Someone in a support group posted the quote "Comparison is the thief of joy," and I liked it so much I ordered a print of it to hang in my house, a visual reminder of owning my journey. 

I'm averaging 10 pounds a month, which I read somewhere was average. When I don't compare my loss with anyone else's, I'm thrilled. When I start comparing, I don't think I'm doing well enough. Daily I see posts in support groups from people bemoaning their "slow" losses of 20 pounds the first month (I lost 17) or 40-50 pounds in 3 months (I lost 35). 

Lesson: Don't compare. 

Real life, and in it for the long haul

I was supposed to see my dietician today, but my insurance doesn't cover it, and the out-of-pocket cost is a couple hundred dollars. Instead, LeighAnne asked how my eating is. I replied honestly that I make healthy choices about 80% of the time; she said that's real life, and that's what the program hopes for. I told her I can do anything for a short time, but I'm working to build healthy habits that will be the foundation for the rest of my life; she said that's the attitude of someone who keeps off weight for the long term. 

I left feeling like a success. Hey, I guess I am.

Ripple effects

One of the fascinating things about this journey is how the effects from my weight-loss surgery ripple out into all other areas of my life. Regaining my sense of freedom (from not feeling trapped by my body or my size) and having increased confidence opens up possibilities.

One example: I've started writing again. Since I was 10, I've identified myself as a writer, even in the long years when I've written very little. It feels great to write, and I even got brave enough to send off the first few chapters to some friends for review. 

Another example: This past weekend, I went to Connecticut for a Flickr meetup. As a morbidly obese person, I would have been too self-conscious and I'd have worried about getting hot and tired. I would have missed out on meeting in real life three fantastic women I've been online friends with for a couple of years.

Last night as Paul and I rode our bikes, I told him I'm sad that I would have missed out before. He was quiet for a minute and then said seriously, "I look at it as a joyful thing that you were able to do it now — looking forward, not back." I married a wise man. 

The weekend had some NSVs, too. 
* Friday night, we went out to supper at a tavern in Mystic. It was crowded and we had to wait for a table. When a table opened up, there was not much room between it and the table behind it — but I fit. 

* Saturday we walked around Mystic Seaport. It wasn't hot, but it was humid. I was sticky and sweaty, but not miserable or self conscious. 




 

Digging deep

I've gone off track. I haven't been exercising as much. I'm eating too many calories and too many carbs. I'm not drinking enough water. 

"Sometimes you just got to dig really deep and find your strength. YOU CAN DO THIS!!!!!" someone posted in a support group last night. It was directed at someone else, but it struck me. 

Many times I've responded to posts by people who've gone off track and don't know what to do. I've always known I'd probably say it to myself one day, and now I am. 

"Reread (or write if you never did) the list of reasons why you had surgery. Measure your food. Eat 2-4 oz. of lean protein first, then 1/2 cup veggies, then 1/4 cup starch. Move your body. Drink lots of water. Good luck! You can do this!"

Why did I have surgery? Because I wanted to live a long, healthy life and spend as many years with my husband as I can. I didn't want to end up using a cane or in a wheelchair in my 50s. I was tired of being tired all the time. I was sad that I missed out on things that required walking or other physical activity. I was tired of being out of shape, and I felt scared because walking for just 20 minutes caused serious pain in my back and hips. I was tired of being ashamed. I was tired of not having many options for clothes. I was tired of worrying if I would fit in a booth or a public restroom. I was worried I was burying myself in an early grave. I was tired of always feeling self conscious and knowing I was the biggest, by a lot, person around. I was tired of worrying about my health and feeling out of control.

Since my surgery about 6 and a half months ago, I've gained a sense of freedom that was long lost. I don't feel that my body or my size hold me back anymore. My physical fitness has increased dramatically, and I enjoy moving my body — and moving doesn't hurt. I'm able to do more things with my husband. I feel like a normal person. I'm not self conscious all the time. I have more energy. I'm improving my health.

I took a vacation day today and am dedicating it to refocusing. I'm remembering why I chose surgery: for my health. The decisions I make today will be bounced up against that: Does doing this increase my health? I'm going for a walk. I'm making healthy food choices. I'm drinking water. I'm seeing my therapist (regularly scheduled appointment but excellent timing). I'm remembering who I am now.

Fitness NSVs

It's a perfect day to share some fitness non-scale victories (NSVs).
* Yesterday in my training session, I did 50 seconds straight of jumping jacks, high knees and butt kicks. I've been doing a full minute of squats for quite a while. (My trainer Sal's 5-minute warm up is 1 minute each of jumping jacks, high knees, butt kicks, squats and burpees.We haven't touched burpees yet, but I told Sal that I tried a burpee at home.) When I started my sessions about 4 months ago, I could do about 10 seconds straight of jumping jacks. 
* Last week I went twice to the track to practice running, and my husband and I went again this morning. Today I ran 2 minutes 15 seconds, 2 minutes 30 seconds, then 2 minutes 15 again, and I made it three-quarters of a lap. (Last week, my longest was 1 minute 50 seconds, and a little more than half a lap.)
* After the track, we came home and took the dogs for a mile-and-a-half walk(in the heat). 
* Last weekend, my husband checked over our bikes, and this evening, we went for our first ride. As a kid, I loved riding my bike, but I haven't ridden for years. I've worried about sharing the road with cars, shifting gears, keeping my balance. All of those things went fine. After a slightly shaky start in our driveway and down the hill, my body remembered what to do, and I grinned. 

Biking is harder on the muscles than I remember — but the feeling of the wind in my face was exactly as I remembered.

Scale and non-scale victories

After a few weeks of the scale not moving much, it started again, and as of today, I've lost more than 76 pounds from my highest. That highest was almost exactly a year ago, when I asked my PCP for help with my weight. 

I've been looking forward to the scale goal of 75 pounds lost as one of the major milestones (50, 75, 100). And it feels great!

As my reward, I'm having my car detailed. I hit 75 pounds yesterday, I called today and the appointment is tomorrow — I'm not wasting time. My car hasn't been cleaned in 3 years, and we have dogs. Furry dogs. Furry dogs who shed. A lot. 

My best NSVs for the week both are fitness related. 
* Saturday morning, Paul and I went to the middle school track. I ran three times, from 1 minute 30 seconds to 1 minute 50 seconds, and made it a little more than halfway around the track without stopping. I was really proud I did it three times.
* Our short loop in the neighborhood is twice as long as our old short loop, up from .8 mile to 1.5 miles.

6 months post-op

Today marks 6 months (6 four-week months) post-op. 

I feel fantastic. I'm down 71 pounds total, 55 since surgery. I remain off 3 prescriptions. My walks are up to 2 miles, and I've started running a little (a very little: three 1-minute laps, one 1-minute-30-second lap). I've gone hiking, walked up the big hills (which I used to avoid) in my neighborhood and gotten back into yard work. I know I've said all this before, but to me, it bears repeating. I have my life back, my freedom back, and I'm so very grateful for my surgery and this process. 

The scale hasn't moved much the past few weeks, and, as always, I'm focusing on my NSVs, how I feel and what I can do. It's a challenge, but I'm managing pretty well. 

Next up: getting back on my bike. I'm thinking this weekend. 

 

How surgery helped me

Yesterday, someone posted this question in a support group: "A question for postsurgery people: In retrospect, could you ever have gotten to your goal WITHOUT the sleeve? If not, how did the sleeve make success possible, at last?"

I'm posting my answer here because although I've said all of this in different places, I like having it in one place. 

The most important thing for me is this: the thought of surgery gave me hope. I'd given up on losing weight (tried everything except surgery, of course). I'd been morbidly obese for many years, and I'd reached a point, at 40, where it hurt to walk less than a mile. How could I walk if it hurt to do it? How could I lose weight without walking? I was trapped.

Starting the surgery process gave me hope. I'd thought about it for about three years. I started seeing a therapist to work on the mental and emotional pieces. I pushed through the physical pain of walking and started changing my eating habits, to prove to myself I could follow the program.

I'm 6 months post-op next week, down 70 pounds overall. After surgery, the restriction affects me and helps me the most. I want to be healthy, and since I can eat so little, I have to make my food decisions based on nutrition. If I slip (as I do), the sleeve means I can't eat much of an unhealthy choice.

Now, for the first time in many years, my body doesn't hold me back from doing what I want to do. I have my life back, and I absolutely don't believe that would have happened without my surgery.

NSVs

It's been a while since I posted NSVs, so here are a few recent ones. 

• I did a bunch of yard work with my husband this past weekend. I used to love working outside, but for years, I haven't had the energy or the strength. This year, returning to yard work is one of the things I've been looking forward to. We weeded an area we're turning from lawn to garden, put down landscaping fabric, and mulched. Then, with pruning snips, I attacked the one dead and other mostly-dead butterfly bushes. I worked easily for a couple of hours, and it felt minor and like no big deal. 
• Lately, it's been so beautiful that I'm going for walks in our neighborhood rather than going to the gym for the elliptical and treadmill. This past week, I noticed that what used to be the long loop (1.2 miles) is much too short. The past few nights, Paul and the dogs and I have walked 2 and 2.25 miles, which feels much better.
• The heat, so far, isn't bothering me this summer. I just turned on the AC — but only after I looked at the panting Siberian Husky (who now, 10 minutes into AC, is napping happily). 

Reality

Do you know how they say addicts have to hit rock bottom before they change? I resist calling myself a food addict, but I admit I've used and abused food. In fact, I did it again Friday. As you know, I've been fighting urges for junk food and comfort-eating as I grieve Roo. Thursday morning, when I bought my iced coffee, I also bought a small bag of Doritos. I tucked them away but ate them over the course of Friday, all 3.5 servings. 

I love and enjoy the crunch. The salt. The cheese. I don't love seeing the calories, fat and sodium in my daily tally. But most of all, I don't like that I gave in and did some mindless eating. 

Because it *was* mindless, in spite of the fact I thought about it for 24 hours and made the decision. It felt like mindlessly using food for comfort. And I didn't even go to the gym. 

I'm grieving. I'm depressed. I'm hormonal. All true, and yet — they sound like excuses. 

In spite of my unhealthy choice, I ate all my protein and did better with fluid than I have been. And the scale the next morning, shockingly, was down 2 ounces. I'd almost feel better if it had been up — a kind of penance. 

The next day, I got back on track, focusing on protein and mindfully eating, and I did my cardio workout at the gym. I'm reminding myself of all the changes I've made, how different my life and thought patterns are. I bought a small bag (not huge) of chips, thought about it for a full day (instead of eating them right away), and then ate them slowly (not in one sitting) throughout the day. I'm blogging about it (not hiding it like a shameful secret). I went to the gym. I made sure my nutritional needs were met. 

I might not be as far along as I'd like (never struggling — ha! Not realistic, I suspect), but I guess, all things considered, I'm in an okay place.