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Archive for the ‘weight loss’ Category

This: I got the dang root canal started yesterday.  Dr. W. got me good and numbed, so I only felt a very little pain just a couple of times.  And it took hours for the numb to wear off, although the pain in the tooth started while the rest of my face was still so numb that I was drooling.  Last night was unpleasant, to say the least. I made scrambled eggs and toast for dinner (my smaller tummy ate a little egg and half a piece of toast), and I will confess to splurging on a slice of carrot cake, although I won’t be doing that again. I have to go back in a week or so so that they can make sure all of the infection is completely gone, and then he’ll finish it.  I bought the pilot episode for the Stargate series, so I put that on last night to try to take my mind off the misery.  Joe looked at me, and wanted to know if I was eating too much.  I said no, and asked why he thought that.  Apparently in my lack of comfort, I was kicking back and letting it all hang out.  And when I’m letting it all hang out, I resemble Buddha. So I guess I had that going on last night in addition to the pain in my mouth.

That: I was dreaming last night that in the course of 5 or 10 minutes, I ate all of the icing, the filling, and the top layer of a layer cake. Is it because I felt guilty over the slice of carrot cake I had last night? Because trust me when I tell you there is no way I could eat more than a smallish piece of cake, much less an entire layer and a gallon of frosting. And speaking of frosting, in the dream I commented to myself that I’d have been better off buying a can of frosting and eating it. Not only that, but in the dream I remember looking at all of the cakes, and almost picking up a small cake, but then bought the full size layer cake. Cuh-razy, no?

The Other: I’m wearing a dress today. I never wear dresses to work, and for good reason–our dress code is business casual, with emphasis on the casual. But I think my jeggings are in the wash, and the jeans I wore yesterday are so baggy they are having trouble staying up, and I got a really cute new dress so I figured what the hey.  Well, I always used to wear dresses that hit mid-shin, and this one is about knee-length. It’s a faux wrap dress, with shirring across the front, that makes me look as if I have a figure. I like that. And with Catherine making it acceptable once more to wear nylons, my legs look better than if I were going bare-legged. Which I wouldn’t, because my legs are white, white, white. I mean glow-in-the-dark white. White. Ghostly white. Pale, in fact, beyond the pale. Got it? Okay.  I’m also wearing a pair of heels I bought at Payless because all of my lovely gorgeous sexy heels are at the house and I haven’t been permitted yet to remove them, and don’t know if I will. So I’m feeling rather self conscious today. Every time I get up to go to the restroom or the break room for ice, I am vividly aware of my high heels and bare (except for nylons) legs. Honestly–I couldn’t tell you the last time I wore a dress this short. Maybe I was 12 or 13? It’s been a while. So I’ve got legs. And they’re rather shapely, despite being far larger than I want them to be. 

So there you have it. This, that, and the other (which is what my mom always said when we were out running errands when I was a kid, unless she said we were going hither, thither, and yon.  My mom is a wee titch poetic.)

You may now return to your regularly scheduled day. I hope it’s a good one.

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When I had my last visit with my bariatric surgeon’s office, Monday last, they said my official tally is 65 pounds lost. I have to say right here, however, that according to my scale at home, it’s only 55 pounds. Apparently whenever they were doing one of the weigh-ins, I was bloated. 10 pounds worth of bloat.

Ahem.

Anyway, 55 pounds or 65 pounds, however you slice it, is a nice tidy chunk of weight lost. I’m happy about that.

And then this weekend I found myself at Penney’s. Amazing how that happens, you just find yourself somewhere like that. And I was picking out clothes to try on. It’s nice that dresses are kind of making a comeback, thanks to some fantastic television shows (which shows that television is actually good for something), and I tried on a couple of dresses, size 18, and they fit, and one of them was even quite flattering on me. I’m planning on wearing it to work tomorrow. And I got a pair of pants, also size 18. And I got a new top, a 1X.  I picked up, in addition, a pair of black pumps from Payless (where I rarely go, but it’s nice to be able to buy 9 wides instead of 9-1/2 or 10’s, which are too long, but are the only way I can get shoes wide enough for my fat footsies).

Bear in mind that when I started I was wearing tight size 24’s and loose size 26’s. That means 4X. And now I’m in 18s and 1-2X’s depending upon the cut.

I’m happy about that.

There’s still a long way to go, and I’m enjoying the journey, even if it does make my tongue hurt (stinkin’ grapes and pineapple) and even if it does take a little longer because I’m enjoying a couple of double-stuffed golden oreos in a day.

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Don’t go commando when your pants are too big for you, because inevitably they will ride further and further down your backside, and if you’re not wearing a super long tunic, you stand the very real risk of mooning people.

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Did you know that dogs can get acne?  Because I didn’t.

Scout had these nasty bumps all over his chin, and I couldn’t figure out what they were. So since Joe was taking Emmy to the vet anyway for her introductory check-up, I asked him to take Scout as well.

Turns out those nasty bumps were zits. The vet squeezed them and treated them; gave Joe a prescription for antibiotics; and told him that we have to squeeze them whenever they pop up, and treat his chin with Clearasil.

Scout is a big kisser, and he likes to kiss me on my face.  I’m guessing that may be why my face has asploded.

Oh, and squeezing Scout’s zits?  That’s Joe’s job. I’m just sayin’.

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We’ve been getting numerous postcards and letters about signing the gas lease so they can drill for natural gas under our neighbourhood. And Joe and I finally went to find out the details. We ended up signing the paperwork. They were advertising a $3K signing bonus per net acre. We obviously have nowhere near an acre of property, so we get a whopping $603. Joe and I agreed that we are going to split it between us, so I can add $301.50 to my savings account. I like having a cushion instead of always being so close to the dollar. Izzy has inspired me, and I’m going on a money diet as well.  I’ve already cut way back on the books I purchase for my nook.  I’m doing a lot of research for a project Izzy and I are working on, so I’m trying to do it online. I did buy one book for $10 (and may I say here that it really chaps my hide to pay so much for an e-book when I could get a printed copy for less).  I was planning to go to Half-Price Books this weekend to find some more resources, but I got lovely coupons in the mail yesterday that are good from July 11-17, so I’ll hold off.

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I have lost 50 pounds. That’s great. I’m really happy about it.  But at the same time, I’m still really fat. So I keep hearing people at work compliment me on how good I look, and then I see a photograph of myself, and it makes me want to barf.  Joe took one the other day that made me cry because I look like a huge whale. Why are photographs so cruel? Is it because they catch you at angles you never catch when you’re looking in the mirror?

It’s funny anyway, because on the one hand, when I look in a mirror, I see how heavy I am. But on the other hand, I don’t see myself as heavy. It’s odd. What did they call it in the Matrix–residual self-image?  I know what I look like underneath the layers of fat, and I see that I’m slowly getting there.  I keep getting into smaller clothes, which is a mental boost.   Joe is insistent on taking lots of photos of us with the dogs, because he regrets that we didn’t take more with Molly.   So somehow I’ve got to not let myself get stressed about the  (adjective deleted) photos.

 

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Meet Emmy

We got approved! Woot!  So, with no further ado, meet the newest member of our family, Emmy:

We’re bringing her home tonight, and we’re all very happy to have her with us.  She won’t take Molly’s place, of course, but she’ll have her own place in our home and in our hearts.  We’re going to get a family portrait made with all of us.

In other news, very briefly, last night I stood up but my pants didn’t.  I’m so glad it happened at home and not at work, because I was wearing ugly undies. So the weight loss is proceeding apace. I’m down about 50 pounds, but somewhere in there I just sort of shrunk a bit even though my weight stayed the same for quite some time.  The doctor’s office said I’m doing very well, and if I continue as I started, I will achieve a great level of success with my band.  I’m so, so glad I did it!!

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  • I can’t eat bacon.
  • I can’t, as discussed last night, eat chicken.
  • I can’t eat bread unless it’s well toasted.
  • If anything gets stuck, I can’t try to help wash it down.

Whoever said getting weight loss surgery was taking the easy way out?  I’d like that person to sit with me for some good discussions. I’d even be willing to try to eat a little chicken so that person could see what happens when I commit a dietary indiscretion.

I do not for an instant regret having this surgery done.  But don’t anyone try to tell me I took the easy way out.

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Hear it? You know, that ominous music, like from Jaws. The music that tells you something dreadful is about to happen, and you just sit there and hope like heck you can hang on to your popcorn before the head pops out of the boat. That music.

I have to go on a low-fat, low-cholesterol diet and take Cre*tor. (Imagine that being said very rapidly and with no punctuation whatsoever, because that’s how I feel about it.)  My doctor blackmails me into going in for a physical by saying he wouldn’t give me any more refills of my hormones until I had a physical. Me, without hormones? No, I don’t think so. And neither would my husband. Whenever I’m being particularly nasty or emotional, he asks if I’m taking my hormones. Yes, dear, I’m just a raging maniac sometimes.

Anyway, I need my hormones so I went for the dang physical. And yesterday I got the results of the blood work. Everything’s beautiful, blood sugar, kidneys, liver, thyroid, blood count. But my cholesterol. Oh, my, my cholesterol. Doubleplus ungood. That’s my cholesterol. Scarily high.

I’ve lost the same 70 pounds multiple times over the last decade, and I keep finding it again. Right now I’m dang close to my highest weight. And I hate dieting. And don’t tell me that “it’s not a diet, it’s a lifestyle change.” I know that, but it’s still a diet. Anything where I have to weigh/measure my food, keep track of what I eat, and make recipe alterations and substitutions is a diet, even if I do it for the rest of my life. So I had pretty much decided to just forget the whole diet thing and if I’m fat, then so be it. I’m fat. But now that the doctor wants me to take this medication for 3 months and then go back for more fasting blood work, as well as following a low-fat low-cholesterol diet, well, I mean, what’s the point of taking the medication to lower the cholesterol if I’m not going to follow the dietary guidelines as well?  How weird am I, anyway, that I won’t follow a diet for general health or out of vanity, but I’ll at least make the effort because of my cholesterol?

So if I’m grumpy for the next few days, you’ll know why. I’ll be in sugar & fat withdrawal.

(And in case you’re wondering, yes, I’m still a Daring Baker. I only have to bake something once a month, and my office is always glad to dispose of anything anyone brings in.)

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