Doctor Doctor

Went to a new doc today.

He's a really nice guy - young, cute (hey, that doesn't hurt!) and actually listens. Bonus!

I showed him the list of supplements I was taking, told him about my concern about my blood glucose levels, showed him the numbers from the past two weeks. He said my fasting was borderline, but not enough to warrant meds or insulin - but that we'd have to watch it, because as we all know, pregnant women become more and more insulin resistant as pregnancy progresses.

But it was good to hear what I already knew from a doc. And it actually alleviated a little of my worry about the possibility of something going wrong in utero. He said my numbers weren't high or erratic enough to cause too much of a problem at this point. Whew.

And after looking over my list of supplements, of which he approved (What? No "You don't need these herbal things - why are you taking so many? You know, research hasn't proven they do anything..." blah blah blah...) he also suggested fish oil - a doc who suggests fish oil instead of jumping to meds! What a find!

They took blood and are running labs, and will call if they turn out abnormal. "No news is good news."

Now I just have to wait for my OB appt a week from Tuesday.

The good news is I'm still managing to keep the sugar and carbs to a minimum most of the day. Had to stop at McDonald's for dinner last night, and got a salad while the kids ate burgers (at least they had apple dippers and milk instead of fries and pop, though :) What I wanted was a Big Mac and fries and a huge regular Coke (imagine the sugar in all of it right?)... but I got a salad. And it was good and it filled me up. It just didn't satisfy that psychological craving, that's all.

I can tell the food addict and I are going to go 'round and 'round this pregnancy. But I'm putting on the gloves and am ready to go as many rounds as I have to. (Of course, I say that now... a month from now? Two? *sigh* I might look like Rocky at the end of round 16...)

We're going to the MIL's this weekend. The same MIL who cooks 800 pounds of carb-loaded food to send home. Right. So my plan is to stick to the protein and salad - and make my own sugar free dessert. The hard part will be all the stuff we bring home, but hopefully the kiddos will eat most of that. And hopefully Harley won't.

Harley went to the same doc, btw, and has renewed his own commitment to "eating healthy." Cutting carbs... and for him, portion control. The doc said to me, "Listen, you have to keep on him - or I'M going to have a heart attack!" :)

But the truth is, while I love Harley and I definitely don't want to lose him... I can't be responsible for what he puts on his plate. I just can't. I'm barely responsible for what I put on mine!

5 Sticky Notes On My Computer That I Want To Have Made Into Refrigerator Magnets

1. Life is hard.

2. I am not that important.

3. My life is not about me.

4. I am not in control.

5. You are going to die.

These strike me as true in my heart. They come from a man named Richard Rohr. He didn't invent them. They are timeless truths.

They sound harsh to many people when I tell them they are a code by which I strive to live. I don't know if they're harsh. If anyone would like to know how I understand them, how they apply to my challenges with food, eating, body, and addiction, please comment and ask. I would be glad to offer my 2 cents.

King Harley

Self-Preservation

Harley and I both have issues with scarcity - they just manifest in different ways. Harley prepares for the apocalpyse. He wants to be prepared for the End of Days, no two ways about it, and if that means making sure we have an alternate power source and canned food to last until 2080, so be it. A few months ago, we heard a town siren go off (we live in a very little town now) and didn't know what it was. We later discovered it was just a fire call (for the local volunteer fire department.) But Harley took it as a sign that we needed flashlights and a crank emergency radio and all sorts of various and sundry things.

Not that I wasn't grateful to have them when the power went out at 2 am a few weeks ago. But, of course, by the time he got them all powered up and ready and we listened to the weather, the power was back on again... and I could have been sleeping from two until four, instead of cranking the radio.

Harley's a planner. Me, I'm a worrier. He's preparing for the worst and hoping for the best. I'm worrying about the worst and putting my head in the sand in the meantime. I have to admit, his way it a bit more logical - and proactive.

When it comes to food, I'm a hoarder. Whatever I buy, I want to keep. Forever. Preserved so I know it's there when I want it. And I can't stand to see it disappear. Which is why junk food is so appealing to me. Twinkies have a shelf life of, what, a million years? Twinkies and a couple cockroaches, that's what would be around if we survived a nuclear blast. (And if Harley had anything to say about it, we certainly would!)

When it comes to produce, though, I freak out when it starts going bad. And produce, damnit, goes bad fast! So people have to eat it. Right away. And I can't hide it in my dresser drawers or in my secret cubbyhole hiding places. All week, I've been thinking about having my special strawberry-pecan salad. I love this salad, and I totally came to associate it with low-carbing, because it's deliciously sweet and yummy - and still low-carb, yay!

And all week long, my family has been eating strawberries. Like they grow on vines or something! :x So today, I finally made my salad, using the last of the strawberries - and it is, admittedly, just as good as I remembered it. Quite delicious. I'll give you the recipe.

But that's not my point.

The point is, I can't hoard low-carb food like I do junk food. I can't "save" it. The minute it comes out of the ground, it's on it's way to a sure death, either on my plate, or in the compost pile. If I try to "save" it, it will surely be the latter. And that seems like such a waste, especially considering the price of strawberries at the market this time of year!

But there's something to this idea that's hovering right at the edge of my awareness for the first time. I always knew I had a scarcity consciousness. But it never occurred to me that one of the great appeals of "junk" foods were that they were already preserved. I could save a box of Ho-Ho's for practically forever, and all the while carry around the secret knowledge that they were there for me. That seems important somehow.

I wonder if it will make a difference, when we're growing our own food, that I'll be able to go out and pick a quart of strawberries anytime I want? I won't have to worry about the price of fruit, whether California was having unusually cold weather this year, or whether or not Harley and the kids were going to eat them all before I get to make my yummy salad.

Anyway, here's the recipe... and if you have any more insights, I'd be glad to hear them! Sometimes we're so close to something, we can't really see what in the heck it really is...

Strawberry-Pecan Salad

1/2 head of Romaine lettuce, chopped

1/2 quart of strawberries, sliced

1/2 cup pecans, chopped

Dressing: 2 TBSP lemon juice, 2 TBSP red wine vinegar, 1 TBSP sweetener (I prefer Splenda)

Drizzle 1 TBSP oil over salad, mix dressing, and pour over lettuce, strawberries, and pecans.

Easy peasy, and oh so yummy!

Thursday Thirteen #2: 13 Refrigerator Magnets About Fat

13 Refrigerator Magnets About Fat

1. If we really are what we eat, I'm fast, cheap and easy.

2. I'm out of chocolate and I have a gun.

3. Eat, drink and be merry - for tomorrow they may cancel your Visa.

4. Everyone who diets gains in the end.

5. I am not fat, I am calorically gifted.

6. Life is unsure, so always eat your dessert first.

7. You are overweight if you are living beyond your seams.

8. Diet and exercise to fight hazardous waists.

9. The Joy of Not Cooking.

10. The older you get, the tougher it is to lose weight, because by then your body and your fat are really good friends.

11. I have flabby thighs, but fortunately my stomach covers them.

12. I'm not overweight, I'm just undertall.

13. On a scale of 1 to 10......We'd weigh a lot less!

Check out Thursday Thirteen!

Sugar Cravings

Well the grocery shopping was successful. The boys went in, got what was on the list, and got out. I'm amazed by the masculine's ability to do that.

Of course, now I'm going through sugar withdrawal. Migraine-inducing sugar withdrawal. Hasn't even been twenty-four hours yet, for pete's sake! I know from experience this only lasts a short time, but man... it's killer. I want to crawl under a rock and die.

Or eat a Snickers.

Same difference, I suppose. *sigh*

Off to get bloodwork tomorrow at Dr. Evil's. Should be... fun. Not.

Baby Got Back

I've always liked Rachel Ray. She seems like a very real person, she loves to cook and eat, and she even has a "real" body - not a stick figure.

Saw this picture of her today.

Damn, girl!

Maybe I should eat like Rachel? :)

Here's my favorite Rachel recipe, just for fun.

Citrus and Rosemary Grilled Pork. MMMM!

Melting

I'm melting! MEEEEEEEEELLLLTING!

Okay, not me personally. (I wish! ha) But our huge snowstorm is melting into a gooey puddle of water and mud in a freak January thaw. Sixty degrees today. 6-0!

And we're still debating whether global warming is real?

Come on! I like to live my life in denial, but even I can't pretend I'm 5'8" and 110 lbs... which, seems to me, is pretty analogous.

And, as with global warming, my denial and wishful thinking instead of taking action is actually quite harmful.

Ouch. I hate it when I take my analogies all the way to their logical conclusion.

Ignorance really is bliss, isn't it?

Time For a Cat Nap

Okay, are we all so enamored with the bio-medical model of the universe that we really believe this crap?

Honestly, if I could sleep my way to thinness… I’d be ninety-nine pounds by now! I sleep ten hours a night. And can sleep twelve if I want to. And could STILL take a nap mid-afternoon - no problem. Harley says I’m part cat. And considering my general aloofness, dislike of water, and sharp claws, I tend to think he’s right.

Meow.

Well I’m off to make a Banana Split cake. And a Nieman Marcus cake. And Jello. And our Christmas cookies for Santa.

Then, I think, I’ll take a nap!

Going to Extremes

Harley pointed out last night that we do a lot of "starting" and not a lot of "continuing" with this whole "diet" thing. And he also said we tend to begin going gangbusters and then sort of... peter out. Or conveniently "forget"... oh that's right, we were supposed to be eating low-carb weren't we? Oh, well, let's just order pizza... we won't eat the crust. Yeah. Right.

It's both good and bad having someone doing this thing with you. It's great support, but it can also be much easier to sabotage. So the current plan is to not go gung-ho jumping off the diet cliff this time, cleaning out the cupboards and going out to spend $500 on food like whey protein and almond flour that I'll never use anyway...

I'm tired of thinking and saying, "This time it's going to be different." This time is the same time. The only time. It's a long, continuous process of trying to figure it out and find something that works. No more "this time's" no more "No more's" either. Extremes have been, as Harley pointed out, part of the problem. I don't know that they can be part of the solution. I could "never" and "always" myself right to death - literally. What good is it really doing me?

I've always said I wished I was addicted to something I could quit. Cigarettes. Alcohol. Crack. Heroin. Anything but food. Something you could just cut out altogether and never have to deal with again. THAT I could do. But, of course, I didn't get those addictions. I got this one. I have to walk some sort of ambiguous line, and I've been doing it rather rebelliously and/or ambivilently over the years. I need food to live - but every time I make a choice about what to put in my mouth, I have to deal with the addiction. Either I give in to it, or I don't. So far, the addiction's winning. Way ahead.

And of course, having something I could just "quit" would be yet another extreme. That's part of it, too. I'm either perfect or I'm the worst at everything. I'm either eating the whole cake, or depriving myself completely. It's that pendulum swing between one and the other that I clearly have to learn to deal with. It's finding that middle way, not going to extremes, that seems to be the point.

Extreme-shmeme. :P I'd still rather be addicted to heroin.

Whoever Said Life Was Fair?

Harley and I are so different when it comes to food.

Before we lost our friend, D, to breast cancer, we all used to sit around and talk for hours about - well, everything. But one of the things we remarked on was how similar our psychology was around food, and yet how differently it manifested in the world. D was bulemic and had been since she was thirteen. She had also been anorexic at one point. And had ballooned up to 180 pounds and then the bulemia "fixed" her weight problem. That's where she got stuck.

Harley and I - we're compulsive overeaters. I wouldn't vomit by choice even if you offered me a million dollars and promised me a lifetime's supply of chocolate. Harley thinks vomiting is ridiculously stupid - why would you waste the food you just ate? He doesn't "get" anorexics and bulemics. I do. I get the inclination, anyway - I'm just not in for the actual acting it out.

But even though we have the same issue, Harley and I, we eat totally different things to get where we are. Me, I'm a sweets/carbs eater. Harley's philosophy about food? Meat+Heat=Eat. And the 2nd part of the equation is optional. He just eats vast quantities of whatever it is he's eating. I cook enough for two families most nights. He eats for one of them. Me and the kids eat the other meal.

Me, I will forgo a meal to eat a candy bar. In fact, if I could live on candy bars, Doritos, and various nefarious junk foods, I would. I mean, if the guilt didn't get to me that I'm not eating "healthy" food. So I force myself to sit at the dinner table and eat a few bites of the "real" food so I can later gorge myself on cake. WTH? I know, it's all very twisted. Welcome to the world of a food addict.

But the underlying emotional stuff? That's the same. Different, of course, in its particulars (kind of like the food!) but at the core, it's the same. We hide how we feel. Me, I'm so disconnected, I don't even know most of the time what I'm feeling. And I don't want to know - so I bury it in the food. It's truly no different than any addict.

And I know what I'm addicted to. It's the sugar. Like any white powdered substance - cocaine, heroin. No difference. I know my body is actually, physically, addicted to the stuff, because I did go off it once. The only diet I was truly successful at for an extended period (about nine months) was a low-carb diet that cut out all refined sugar and carbs. Harley and I did the Protein Power Life Plan and we both lost weight. Those size 22's in my closet? I was considering actually going shopping for a size lower because they were getting loose.

The withdrawal from sugar was evil. I was sick, lethargic, nauseaous. I should have been in a detox center somewhere, it was so awful. But after a week or so of that, I felt fantastic. And suddenly food that had previously been nowhere near sweet enough (blueberries or a cantaloupe, for example) were bursting in my mouth with sweet flavor.

Harley wants to do the low-carb thing again. I have to make all sorts of mind-leaps when I'm doing it. I can eat bacon? Heavy cream? Cream cheese? Butter? Steak? But I can't have a cracker? Or a baked potato? Or spaghetti? Hmmmm... But it actually works. I know, because I've done it. Part of me just doesn't like it. Or think it's fair.

It's true... there's a little kid in me stamping her foot and whining, "But it's NOT FAIR!" Harley gets to eat what he LOVES - meat. Me, I have to cut out everything I love and eat the stuff I hate. *whine* How come? Why me? What kind of plan or system is that, who thought it up, and where can I set up a meeting with them so I can punch them in the face? Huh?

And secretly I believe that if I have to suffer during this diet thing, then Harley should have to suffer too, right? It's only FAIR!

I know. How twisted is that?

Logically, I know it's the right thing to do. I feel better, I lose weight without even thinking about it. And I'm not eating all the junk food that I intellectually know is not good for my (or anyone's) body. Emotionally, however, I'm dealing with a huge internal protest, and I know I'm going to have to dig deep and locate my adult-self to set some boundaries and put that little one in time-out for her temper tantrums. *sigh*

And, of course, I'm not looking forward to the sugar withdrawal. *shudder*

Can't we start Monday? No? What do you mean there's no time like the present? But I have all this sugar and flour in the house, and... and... and... *sigh* Time to clean out the pantry again, I guess. Last time we did this, I gave away probably $200 worth of carbs. Wonder how much I'll end up donating this time?

Alright, alright. I'm going already.

Doctor, Doctor, It Hurts When I Do This...

Went to see a new primary care doc last Friday (3 days ago). Thin, pretty Romanian woman. With grave concern she soberly told me that I was going to die from diabetes complications and obesity if I didn't lose weight and manage my blood glucose levels better. I was shocked. Exploded the cuff on the blood pressure machine when she told me, I did. I just couldn't understand why no doc had ever told me these things before! Why hadn't I read, somewhere in the literature, that people actually died from the complications of uncontrolled diabetes and morbid obesity!

Why, I was flabbergasted, floored, shaken to my foundations! I had been liberated (yet again, for about the umpteenth time since I was a small boy) from my ignorance! I was free---free---freeeee! Finally, I could book that scuba expedition, buy that kayak, put that big order in with my broker for Speedo stock!

Fact is, addicts are never motivated by death, fear of death, or loss of this, that or the other. I'm an addict. I know this from experience. I have the most beautiful amazing children and wife in the world, yet neither fear of loss of them, nor fear of the pain I would cause them to die so meaningless a death from complications of diabetes and morbid obesity, have motivated me to get healthy.

Sorry, doc.

So fear of death and loss ain't gonna do it for me. Oh, and I should mention that my mother and father tried to instill deep shame and guilt in me, and even though they were quite successful, shame and guilt have not done it for me, either.

What's the motivator? It would be easy to give the histrionic cry of, "I don't know!" But that ain't it, either.

What I know, in the depths of my heart, is that the only motivator is feeling in my heart the real truth that I am part of something greater than myself...god, love, the Infinite Heart. The last chapter of the book in the 12 Steps is revealed to us in the first five words of Step 12, "Having had a spiritual awakening..."

So, that makes my primary sin pride, self-centeredness, hubris. I cut myself off from god, love, the Infinite Heart that connects us all and everything as one. I continue to cut myself off from that Source because I believe that I am less worthy of that love than everyone...anyone...else. How twisted is that? My imperfection is worse than everyone else's imperfection, my shadow is darker and deeper than your shadow, my demons are bigger than your demons!

Hell, that's obnoxious and annoying - even to me. What a childish ass. I wouldn't want to give love in any form to that guy. Yet that's exactly what he needs. He needs someone (a father would be good) who would stand there and wait for eternity for him to bow his head to the least of himself so he can free himself from the prison of being cut off from what he loves most. God.

I would like to write that I have a plan and I am going to follow it come hell or high water. I could, I suppose...both write it and do it. Despite the stereotype of fat people, I am not weak-willed, stupid or lazy. I don't need victory. I need surrender. I need to feel in my bones that this is the only battle in my life in which surrender is the only way to "win." I need humility to accept what I don't want to accept, that I am no lesser or greater a part of this amazing universe than anyone or anything else. I also need a plan, but that's secondary. If I devise a cunning plan and follow it with addict's pride and no real humilty, I will subvert my own cunning plan and set myself up to prove that I'm just a worthless unlovable addict.

So, as I started out writing about the evil ol' doc visit at the start of this "diet," I end up realizing that this path, for me, is a spiritual awakening, or at least an opportunity for one, an opportunity to step outside of my broken-record addictive thinking that seeks only safety, comfort and security.

Now, what are those first 11 steps again...

*Sigh*...I give up. I think I'll go Google 'Navy Seal OA Sponsors from Hell.'

Semi-funny self-deprecating humor aside, I would be grateful for any prayers.

Also, so as to do something along with praying while I am stuck in a rowboat in the middle of the ocean, I'll row. Two things have worked for me in the past: 1) a low-carb, high protein food plan and way of eating and 2) Eckhart Tolle. I'll try and bring a plan and a spiritual practice together in my next entry and see what happens. Finally, a sponsor would be a good thing to add...oh, and maybe OA meetings. There's a concept. More on that later, too.

In this moment, I want God and vast quantitites of venison jerky.

The King has left the building.

Off to See the Wizard

I'm a smart girl. I've got a bachelors in mumblemumble and a Masters in blahblah. I know quite a lot about nutrition, actually. I know the basics, of course: eat less, exercise more. But I also know all the other stuff, about transfat and omega 3's and 6's and good carbs and bad carbs and mixing up your exercise and... well, all that stuff. I'm not stupid. I listen, I pay attention, I'm teachable. I learn. I've managed to pull a near 4.0 in a college degree program and write a Masters thesis.

So why is it that, when I decide to change my eating habits for the better, because all the logical signs point to doing so, I start out with the best of intentions, and end up with this:

What is this, you ask?

It's a plate that used to hold the rest of my fourteen-year-old son's birthday cake. I ate the rest of the cake last night. After my best-laid plans changed, and we ended up taking the fourteen year old out to dinner (to celebrate his report card - all A's and B's for the first time since kindergarten!) where I tried to be "good" but ended up eating fries and a burger. Then, we picked up the seventeen-year-old and went out for "dessert" at McDonald's, so she could hang out and play with the Prince and Princess in the playplace. I didn't intend to get anything. But somehow ended up with a Reese's McFlurry in my hands.

Then, when we got home, I felt sick. So what did I do? I followed my inner Marie Antoinette all the way to the kitchen and decided to eat cake. Except "decided" isn't really the word. It's more like I was possessed. Like the girl in the Exorcist. I wasn't myself. Ask Harley - my head was spinning, and I looked like I could spew pea soup at any minute. Really. So what happened was, my inner Linda Blair followed my inner Marie Antoinette and they had a little celebrity pig-out party at my expense...

And this morning, I'm feeling sick and guilty and ashamed and disappointed and defeated. Again. Again. Again. How does this keep happening? How can I be so smart and so stupid all at the same time? Logic seems to say, if I was a normal person, I could do this. I could set goals and accomplish them. That I can't seem to do something so incredibly simple makes me wonder. Is it me? Is it something else? Is something in me just... broken?

I know I'm a food addict. And "addiction" has a huge relapse rate, no matter what the substance. In fact, relapse seems to be part of the process of what they call "recovery." I tried doing OA (Overeaters Anonymous) for a while. You know - meetings, the Big Book, the Twelve Steps, getting a sponsor. The whole kit and kaboodle. I threw myself into it as hard as I ever did at Weight Watchers or Jenny Craig or Medical Weight Loss or the Cabbage Diet. I lost (like I always do!) 10-20 pounds. And then I started "cheating." And gaining again.

But something from that particular program stuck with me. The first three steps of the twelve. (That was as far as I got... step three!)

1. We admitted we were powerless over food — that our lives had become unmanageable.

2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.

Now, I have to tell you... I struggled with these three steps. I struggled with the concept that these three steps even existed in a world of medical and biological "cures" to our every ailment. But something else in me, something deeper than my inner Marie Antoinette and Linda Blair - something in me said, "Hey, stupid! Pay attention!"

I could argue with these steps from now until the cows come home (or until I die, 500 lbs and still eating cake, of a heart attack.) I've even given it a shot. The first step makes me wince. What do you mean I'm 'powerless' over food? I can stop any time I want! )Why does that sound so familiar? Hmmm) It goes straight to the heart of willpower and control. Of which, I clearly have none. My will has gotten me absolutely nowhere. Or, more to the point, it's gotten me straight into the cookie jar.

Step two introduces the concept of a "higher power." Eek! I've never been a big "God" person. I have sisters who are extremely, fundamentally religious, and the concept has always been shoved down my throat strongly proselytized in my family. However, over the years, I've come slowly to my own version of spirituality. It doesn't involve a big, scary parental God, but it does acknowledge something greater than myself. So step 2 finally became do-able for me.

Step three, on the other hand. *sigh* I get rather stuck there, I admit. Turn my life over... to someone else? Ack! Where's that cake?

Back to step one. Admit you have a problem. Okay, it's true. I'm a food addict. I seem to have no control over that. I have no control over food, and my life has become almost three hundred pounds high cholesterol thyroid disease very unmanageable. I need help. If I'm not going to resort to weight loss surgery, I'm going to have to go even higher. Hello, God, Are You Out There, It's Me, Queen B!

Now it's just the matter of turning my will over... How does a control freak let go of control? *sigh* Good question. Anyone have an answer? I told myself I was going to keep blogging, even if I slipped. Even if I was ashamed, even if I f---ed up failed. I was going to keep blogging. I read all sorts of blogs about people doing it, succeeding, and I desperately want to be one of them... but I know I have to find my way. This process has to be useful to someone. Somehow.

It's a matter of life and death for me. I have to find a way. Maybe the answer really is to stop looking for a way and let go. Surrender my "will" to something greater than myself. Because my will seems to get me into nothing but trouble. Stop trying to lead and just follow. Follow the yellow brick road. Follow, follow, follow.

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain...

Here we go again.

Change of Venue

Every other Sunday, I take my seventeen year old daughter out to a restaurant after I drop her fourteen year old brother off at their dad's. Usually, we go to Big Boy. It's cheap, it's convenient, and more importantly, I love their waffles - and their hot fudge ice cream cakes. Can you say "carb addict," boys and girls? I knew you could!

So this week, we're changing venues. There's a local restaurant called Friar Tuck's that offers not only lo-cal/low fat choices on the menu, but light "desserts" as well! Woot! I'm totally into the idea of being able to indulge while not OVER indulging. I've eaten there before (years ago) so I know their food isn't bad.

We'll see how the daughter takes to the idea. She loves the Big Boy spaghetti, so I imagine this is going to go over real easy - like a pregnant pole-vaulter! We shall see. Mom's got the $$, so mom chooses the place she spends it. Seems fair, right?

Better choices. I'm learning.

Queen B's Monthly Photo: December 2007

Okay, here it is:

My bathroom mirror, in all it's toothpaste-spattered glory!

Taa Daa!


I know. Impressively messy, isn't it?

And here it is again! In case you missed a spot...

Those, by the way, are my new 28W jeans. I'm hoping not to wear them long (I don't mean like, right now... ew! 'Nuff of that, this isn't a s-e-x blog, and while I'm sure there is actually a site somewhere on the Internet that might appreciate hearing about the mating habits of two human whales, I'm not volunteering my services in the name of science or anything else, thankyouverymuch!)

What I mean is, I have a closet full of 22's hanging patiently in the back behind all those dreaded summer sleeveless tops that would like to see the light of day again.

The birthday cake I had yesterday on my occasion of my oldest son's 14th birthday (I have two children from a previous marriage - they live with their dad) isn't going to help me in that future endeavor, however. That much I know. I'm a sucker for cake. And my god, what a cake! My best friend, D, who died last year (I know I mentioned her at least once already) was bulemic since she was a teenager. (That isn't what killed her... unless you believe throwing up Twinkies and Phish Food causes cancer.)

Anyway, she was a frosting lover as well. She could eat me under the table, that girl. I used to joke that I wished I could be bulemic. (I detest vomiting. Yuk!) She could (and did) go to Sam's Club, buy not one, but two (one white, one chocolate) sheet cakes, and eat them. Herself.

Why do I tell that story? To put things in perspective, I suppose. I ate one slice of cake. Granted, I didn't stick my finger down my throat afterward (although I did have a nice sugar-induced semi-coma afterward) and it was way too many calories and not good for me. But I didn't eat the whole cake. I didn't even go back and lick the frosting off the edges of the container.

Small victories, right? Baby steps. Sanity. I'm working on it.

Shopping

I went shopping yesterday. I went shopping because I now have only one pair of pants that fits. One. My thighs have destroyed all of my others. I think I could power most of the Eastern seaboard with the friction caused between my thighs rubbing together when I walk. :)

I hate clothes shopping. I hate the thought of spending outrageous amounts of money on clothes made overseas by people making pennies a day. I hate that the clothes fall apart withing months. I also hate not being able to go into secondhand stores with the hopes of finding anything that might fit me. Not an option.

Because, as I discovered yesterday in the Plus side of Fashion Bug, I'm now a 28W. I have never been a 28. The highest I've been was a 26. The lowest, at least in adulthood, was an 18. I miss 18. But 28? There's just no higher to go. Yes, there's the elusive 30/32, whatever that is. I hardly ever glance at that size, thinking, "Oh, that's not me."

But it could be. It's just the next size up. Another twenty pounds or so. Three more candy bars and four cokes a day. That's nothing. Easy.

I also spent a while looking longingly at 14/16's on the clearance rack. It's always those left at the end. Because, really, why would you be in a Plus size store if you're a 14? You'd shop in a regular store. Or, at least, I would, if I could. But I haven't been in a regular clothing store since I was a teenager. Even then, nothing in TJ Maxx fit me anyway.

I remember my ex husband's mother once saying, on the occasion of her friend seeing her Lane Bryant charge card in her wallet, "Oh I don't shop there for myself. I use it to buy clothes for my daughter-in-law." She didn't want anything to think she shopped at a fat person's store - god forbid!

I don't even think about the "other side" of the store anymore, honestly. When I was younger, I spent the whole time wishing I could shop on that side, where all the cute clothes were. The fashionable, trendy little dresses, the tiny panties. Who fits in those? Barbie? I can't even imagine being that girl, the one who could fit into a 10, an 8... a 6? Feh! Are you kidding?

I remember being in a mall when I was a kid, shopping with a girlfriend who went into the 5, 7, 9 store. It was the first time I had ever seen a size "0." It was like baby clothes to me. Bizarre, strange, completely out of reach.

I don't know if there's a thin person in me trying to get out. I really don't know.

Well, that's not completely true. There IS a thin person in there who wants to wear a size six and be able to fit in airplane seats without the seatbelt extension and movie theater seats without wedging myself in. Sure. I just don't know if I can find her under all the candy bar wrappers and cheesecake boxes. It seems like an overwhelming task, when you look at it from a distance, like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

Is she in there? I think so.

My secret truth is... I hope so.

And most importantly... I really do hope I get to meet her some day.

Waking Up Is Hard To Do

Welcome to my part of our weight-loss, health, diet, eating blog.

This may be a little unorthodox. Just a warning, not an apology.

I'm an addict, but I'm also a lot more than an addict. I deeply feel that each one of us is truly a particularly formed and miraculous manifestation of god, of the source from which we came, to which we will ultimately return, and which we are a unique expression of in this present moment.

I wish I treated myself as if that were true.

I'm very smart, yet I don't fully grasp how it is that I treat myself as less of a person than I treat others most of the time. My calling in life, and my current occupation, is to help others really feel the truth of who they are, their divine source and nature, their unity as part of all that was, is and will ever be. I do this with other addicts whose substances of "choice" are drugs and alcohol, and with people dealing with various forms of mental illness, from the severe to the amusingly neurotic. I feel hypocritical about this sometimes, but, the thing is, I'm very good at it, I help people on a deep level to make change in their lives.

I'm also quite cocky in some ways (if you didn't notice) despite my shortcomings...as a matter of fact, I have a secret part of myself that feels I'm so special that I'm both worse and better than other people. I've got both ends of the spectrum covered! That part of me isn't in charge as often as it used to be, but one minute with that arrogant prick at the helm can wreak enough havok for 100 years. I've hurt a lot of people that I love, including myslef. That part of me is actually the little boy part I will speak of in a moment or two pretending to be a mature man.

I'm resentful about having this particular problem in life....obesity, compulsive overeating, an unconscious alcoholic, sexually and physically abused, sadistic and passively abusive mother who raised me and shoved food down my throat so she would feel she existed, was loved, in control of everything and wouldn't have to deal with her own feelings.

I realize that, even if my Hansel-and-Gretel Witch of a mother was to blame for making me morbidly obese, I am 100% fully responsible for my mind, body, soul, spirit and heart in this and every moment. No one can attend to me but me. I also realize I am not that little boy anymore, and that my mother is a whole person and the Devouring Witch is only part of who she is, the part she needed to pretend she was in order to make herself feel safe and in control. I also realize that the people-pleasing, love-seeking, spoiled and stubborn boy was what I became in order to survive the emotional and physical abuse that my mother unconsciously passed onto me.

My father is a dependent and physically small man (5'3" and only slightly overweight when he ran the ice cream parlor on the aircraft carrier on which he served in the navy, just at the end of the Korean war) and wasn't willing to challenge my mother's over-feeding of me for fear she would be angry at him. My father's father died when my father was very young, and my father was raised by a stepfather. His stepfather was a good man, but I know that men who didn't know their fathers are left with a hole inside that is hard to heal and they feel as if they are lost, incompetent and don't have what it takes to live their best lives. That's my dad...he is a good man, but didn't psychologically leave his mother and grow up, so now my mother is his mother.

I think every ounce of unnecessary fat is an ounce of sadness, anger, hurt and unlived life.

I think I'm using more resources in the world than I'm giving.

My life is ruled by the message that I have to choose between myself and others, and only one of us gets to exist. I have to manipulate, steal, cheat and lie in order to get any love for myself, which I have done ad nauseum. I know that my obesity and compulsive overeating in large part (pun intended) is an unconscious assertion of my right to exist and take up space in the world.

That's right, in my heart, there is a part of me behind the curtain that feels like I have no right to exist, so I keep getting and staying large as a way to say Fuck You! to a world that rejects and doesn't want me for anything but a garbage can.

Here's some history:

I'm an almost-40-yr-old caucasian male, married, with children. I'm 390 pounds and 5'11". I've been diagnosed as an insulin dependent Type 1 diabetic since age 20 (I have poor blood sugar control).

I was born fat and have just kept getting fatter since then. Although, I seem to have plateaued at about 390.

Maybe I'll insert more of my childhood history in the future.

I played sports my entire childhood and was very good at them, despite being 215 pounds by the end of high school. Being exceptionally good at everything I did...hockey, wrestling, baseball, academics, art, socializing...blah blah blah...helped me stay in denial of my addiction and health problems until pretty recently, when my life began to unravel and fall apart in many ways (perhaps to be discussed in more detail later). Don't let anyone ever tell you that hitting bottom is about losing things in life...it's about waking up from denial.

I consider my addiction a battle in which the only way of winning is to surrender, and the only enemy is denial, not food, eating, or my body. As long as I live with the belief that I have one iota of control in life I am at risk of allowing my addiction to run my life.

My mother was morbidly obese by the time she was a teenager, and then she lost wieght through diet and exercise, achieved a "normalish" weight, and hasn't really been obese since then. My maternal grandmother, Nanna, was morbidly obese, diabetic, and died of a heart attack due to diabetes. My mother's side of the family has serious obesity, as well as alcoholism, various and sundry kinds of abuse, and paranoid schizophrenia.

My father's side has diabetes, heart disease, multiple sclerosis, a little bit of cancer, and a massive heaping helping of downright evil codependency.

That's enough for now. I have this strange paradox of working very hard and yet not doing enough. I'm tired and Queenie is nudging me from our bed.

That's another thing...life really is beautiful and amazing, and I have an amazing wife and children. I'm deeply grateful for what the universe has given me...yet, I'm also deeply unsatisfied with the resevoir of unlived life I've hoarded.

What do you call two MD's standing next to each other?

A paradox...get it...a pair-a-docs!

If I can only learn to use my powers for good instead of e-ville!

The New Math

I can easily make excuses for myself.

Monday was the one year anniversary of my best friend's death. She died of metastasized breast cancer. I miss her very much.

I've been really, really sick.

But it doesn't change the fact that I haven't been eating like I want to. Well, I take that back. Clearly some part of me wants a Big Boy and fries and a hot fudge ice cream cake, because that's what I had for lunch. And that was AFTER I went to the allergist (and found out I'm allergic to both dogs and cats and we're going to have to give up ours) where I weighed in at a whopping 280 pounds.

Um... wrong direction, scale!

Now, granted, my period is due any minute now and I always gain five pounds before. Always. Like clockwork. So perhaps this is that five... which means I'm really down two?

Hey, it's the new math!

But instead of getting all down on myself and stopping on the way home to buy a load of junk food to binge on tonight, and a pizza to throw in the oven for everyone else... I came home and made a real dinner. Stuffed green peppers. Pretty healthy, as dinners go. With brown rice, no cheese.

Okay, so Harley was almost an hour late for dinner. Grrr. But that gave me time to fold laundry and watch the Oprah I TiVo-ed. Today's show was about obesity. Guests included people who had lost weight through diet and exercise alone. No surgery, no magic shakes or pills. Just common sense eating and getting off the couch. Seems simple enough, right?

It was a rather inspiring episode, I must say. Now Oprah and Bob are having a Million Viewer Challenge. So instead of six people to go on his diet (the six who were on today telling their success stories) Bob Greene wants a million. And apparently, you only have to pay *less than $5 a week to get in on the deal! Feh.

Talk about the new math! Yet another gimmick. *sigh*

Okay, so I'm not doing so well on my own. I can see that. But should I pay Bob Greene and Harpo Industries so I can fail and be broke? I don't think so.

Dr. Evil

So I went to the doctor today. Since we just moved to a new house, way out in the country in the middle of nowhere, we had to switch doctors. I knew I was in the country when I saw their "rates" posted on a sign in their office, and it listed "House Calls." No kidding. Really?

Doctor P. was nice enough. She asked all the usual questions. Then she got to the big one. "What are we going to do about your weight?"

"Ummm.... nothing right now."

She actually laughed. Not a bad sign. We went over lab results. Cholesterol clocked in at 263 - although it was down from 302 about six months ago, since they now have me on a cholesterol meds. My blood pressure is fine, but my fasting glucose was 115, and she felt it should have been lower. So while I'm not diabetic - it's really only a matter of time. And considering my family history, I know what's coming.

My father has high blood pressure, high cholesterol (it's been tested over 500 before), is obese, has had a quadruple bypass and corotid artery surgery, and has developed diabetes. I'm looking at my future, and I know it. My aunts (on my father's side) were both well over 500 pounds. It's not a fun future to be facing.

The doctor asked me if I'd considered lap-band surgery. Gee, I'm almost three hundred pounds, have I considered having a procedure that almost guarantees me a size 6 somewhere in my future? Um yeah. I've considered it. I've considered it a LOT. Unfortunately, when I was considering it and we had the insurance that covered it, I wanted to have kids, and didn't want to do it... yet. Now that I've had all the kids we want (I think, anyway) we don't have insurance that covers it. The lap-band, anyway. It WOULD cover gastric bypass, but only after you participate in their 12 month "weight loss program." They pay for it, but the catch is, it's "supplement based" and you buy the supplements. Feh. I'm going to pay you to drink slimfast for a year? Hm. Nope.

I told the doc I wanted to do it on my own. At least, to try to do it on my own. I also told her I wanted a referral to an allergist because I don't think I've breathed right through my nose in ten years. She sighed, but she agreed. On both counts. So I go back to her in three months and we'll "re-evaluate." She wants my cholesterol down. That's her big thing right now.

Okay, fine, Dr. Evil... Oatmeal for breakfast here I come!

Peeking Out

I'm starting... just starting... to feel human again. I've been SO sick. Eating popsicles, mostly. Sugar-free though. *patting self on back* The kids still have vacation today (must be nice to be a teacher!) and Harley went back to work, so we're all alone in the house together, and all I want to do is sleep.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Thanksgiving

Everyone loved the pumpkin-orange cheesecake. And the chocolate peanut butter fudge. And the pumpkin bread. I know, I know, but I had to make them.

I felt like I was in the middle of that Steven Wright joke. "I poured a bowl of cereal, but I added too much milk, so I added more cereal, but then there was too much cereal, so I poured in some more milk, but then I needed more cereal..."

"An hour later..."

I had half a can of pumpkin left after making the cheesecake, so I had to do something with it, and so I made the pumpkin bread. Then, I had half a can of evaporated milk left. So I made the chocolate peanut butter fudge.

I took the leftover chocolate orange coconut carrot cake with us for Thanksgiving, too. The good news is I left at least half of it all there! And I only had a sliver of cheesecake and a taste of the fudge. But I did eat lots of yummy turkey and mashed potatoes and gravy and sweet potatoes. And, as she is wont to do, my mother-in-law sent home Gladware containers stuffed full of leftovers, which are now sitting in my refrigerator. *sigh*

And I think I'm getting sick. My throat hurts. *whine*

What do you mean, it's no excuse!?

Hmph.