That's all I have to say to myself. I fell off plan. Vacation overlapped with two large prednisone bursts (each lasting about a week), and there went my willpower for three weeks. THREE WEEKS. Do you know what three weeks of crappy eating does to the weight of someone who a) has the appetite of a horse thanks to prednisone, and b) can't even exercise it off? I'll tell you, it ain't pretty.
Wish me luck. I'm off the prednisone (again), starting a new drug (Imuren, another immunosuppressant to go with my Humira), and hoping to stay on track. I hope I hope I hope. When my appetite gets bigger than an desert monsoon cloud in July, it's hard to control, and one tiny slip equals a whole throwaway day.
I feel guilty, ashamed, upset with myself and adding to this is the fact that last week, after the 4th of July, I was bedridden for two days. No doubt, I eat more when I'm not feeling well and depressed, and the past three or four weeks, that has described my state. These are not excuses, per se. Not excuses at all. Just explanations.
Gone now from the house are all the goodies and treats we acquired from vacation and all the leftover 4th of July party snacks. The worst stuff in the house is stuff I don't even care to eat anymore, leaving me pretty much with only healthy options.
We are heading out to see family at the end of next month. My goal is to be about 15 pounds down from where I am now (which, sadly, puts me back to almost where I was when I last updated this blog), so that gives me 6 weeks to try to get my @#$% together. We'll see. I can only do the best I can do, but I just hope that "best" is better than what it's been lately.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
The Start of Summer
Five years ago today, I found out I was pregnant with what would become my first miscarriage. It was a turning point for me, a day that marks a suddenly more-grown-up me. We'd been trying to conceive, but seeing two pink lines had me gaping in disbelief, euphoria, anxiety, and fear. Was I ready? Was I grown up enough (heck, I was 29; I should have been grown up enough)? How was my life - no, our lives - going to change? I promised myself I had months to adjust and for now, I could just be happy. I was so, so happy. And something clicked in my brain that day, something that said, "It's not about you anymore." I gave myself to this little person growing inside me and all my behaviors, all my actions and thoughts went towards trying to figure out how to make the best life for him or her, and how to be the best mother. When I found out that the baby's heart had stopped, my world around me collapsed. I had, in just a couple months, created a new persona, a new image of myself that was dependent on the life in me, and to have it taken away left me feeling lost and literally empty. One thing that didn't change, however, was the vow to take better care of myself. To continue growing up so when the baby came along that would stick around (Lulu, as it turned out), I would be ready.
Related to this notion is the idea that before then, no diet I ever put myself on ever worked. Yes, it should be enough to diet for oneself. It *should* be. For me, it wasn't. I'm sorry. It's not that I don't respect myself or love myself or feel that I'm worth it. Sure, I do. But my body has failed me in numerous ways, and quite frankly, I'm angry with it. So, screw it, I'll be a little fatter. Who was I hurting? Only myself, and heck, I was already hurting, so what was a little more hurt on top of it?
The very idea of becoming a mother - even though it took over a year to get pregnant with Lulu, my first successful pregnancy - was enough to realize that the power was right in my hands, and I had a new reason to utilize that given power. I'm a changed person from the person I was in my 20's. That's why I believe that this time will be different, that I'll be able to get healthy and stay that way. Not entirely for me, but for them, too. All of them. Even the ones I lost.
My health has not been great lately, despite increasing the frequency of my meds. I'm back to being almost as bad as I was before. I'm taking Vicodin to take the edge off, but I hate how sleepy it makes me. Prednisone is still sitting on the shelf, unopened. I'm not that desperate yet, though maybe I should be.
I'll admit: I got depressed the other night, and I ate too much. I'm an emotional eater, always have been. The difference between now and then, however, is that before, I'd emotionally eat, feel guilt, and eat more out of guilt the next day and the day after. This time, I was able to just hop back on the train the next day, no real damage done. No sense beating myself up. In fact, if anything, I was able to give in to a couple cravings I'd been having, and now, those cravings are squashed and I'm left not feeling deprived.
This weekend, we did a family trip to Costco, which is always an exciting event in our household as Lulu and Thor love the samples, and Z and I just love getting out of the heat of summer. We picked up 4 pounds of luscious, huge strawberries and yesterday, I just plucked them in my mouth, one after another. It felt decadent and indulgent, but I could smirk at the same time, knowing that no harm was being done. Silly sweet tooth, so easily fooled by one of the most perfect fruits nature created.
Summer is heading toward us full force here, which brings along temptations of barbeques, summer holiday treats (4th of July, Memorial Day, etc.), but also the best crop of fruits, fresh herbs, vegetables, not to mention great grilling weather. Fortunately, Z is on board with my healthy eating, and the kids don't even know the difference, so we're enjoying pesto made from fresh basil, grilled chicken, fat berries, fresh zucchini, plump tomatoes, and steamed artichokes (by far one of my favorite treats). Temptations may abound that aren't healthy, but even more surrounds me that is seasonal, delicious, and good for my family and me. Summers in Arizona might be brutal but, hey, there are upsides to everything in life, even terrible events that happened years ago, for today, I have my Lulu, and I have my Thor, and I couldn't love or appreciate them more if I tried.
Related to this notion is the idea that before then, no diet I ever put myself on ever worked. Yes, it should be enough to diet for oneself. It *should* be. For me, it wasn't. I'm sorry. It's not that I don't respect myself or love myself or feel that I'm worth it. Sure, I do. But my body has failed me in numerous ways, and quite frankly, I'm angry with it. So, screw it, I'll be a little fatter. Who was I hurting? Only myself, and heck, I was already hurting, so what was a little more hurt on top of it?
The very idea of becoming a mother - even though it took over a year to get pregnant with Lulu, my first successful pregnancy - was enough to realize that the power was right in my hands, and I had a new reason to utilize that given power. I'm a changed person from the person I was in my 20's. That's why I believe that this time will be different, that I'll be able to get healthy and stay that way. Not entirely for me, but for them, too. All of them. Even the ones I lost.
My health has not been great lately, despite increasing the frequency of my meds. I'm back to being almost as bad as I was before. I'm taking Vicodin to take the edge off, but I hate how sleepy it makes me. Prednisone is still sitting on the shelf, unopened. I'm not that desperate yet, though maybe I should be.
I'll admit: I got depressed the other night, and I ate too much. I'm an emotional eater, always have been. The difference between now and then, however, is that before, I'd emotionally eat, feel guilt, and eat more out of guilt the next day and the day after. This time, I was able to just hop back on the train the next day, no real damage done. No sense beating myself up. In fact, if anything, I was able to give in to a couple cravings I'd been having, and now, those cravings are squashed and I'm left not feeling deprived.
This weekend, we did a family trip to Costco, which is always an exciting event in our household as Lulu and Thor love the samples, and Z and I just love getting out of the heat of summer. We picked up 4 pounds of luscious, huge strawberries and yesterday, I just plucked them in my mouth, one after another. It felt decadent and indulgent, but I could smirk at the same time, knowing that no harm was being done. Silly sweet tooth, so easily fooled by one of the most perfect fruits nature created.
Summer is heading toward us full force here, which brings along temptations of barbeques, summer holiday treats (4th of July, Memorial Day, etc.), but also the best crop of fruits, fresh herbs, vegetables, not to mention great grilling weather. Fortunately, Z is on board with my healthy eating, and the kids don't even know the difference, so we're enjoying pesto made from fresh basil, grilled chicken, fat berries, fresh zucchini, plump tomatoes, and steamed artichokes (by far one of my favorite treats). Temptations may abound that aren't healthy, but even more surrounds me that is seasonal, delicious, and good for my family and me. Summers in Arizona might be brutal but, hey, there are upsides to everything in life, even terrible events that happened years ago, for today, I have my Lulu, and I have my Thor, and I couldn't love or appreciate them more if I tried.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
20 Pounds!
Woooot!
*And* I managed to resist Z's famous vanilla cinnamon French toast this morning. Somehow, seeing that number on the scale fall is as motivating as anything. Next goal: 30 pounds!
*And* I managed to resist Z's famous vanilla cinnamon French toast this morning. Somehow, seeing that number on the scale fall is as motivating as anything. Next goal: 30 pounds!
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Still Here
Busy week - Z had several days off for the long weekend and although we didn't do much, I still find that I had no time to sit down to update. Yesterday was our seven year wedding anniversary, though we'll be celebrating tonight by going to the restaurant at the resort where we were married. It's a beautiful, rustic place with spectacular views of the city and a wine list to make any sommelier drool.
I'm now down 19 pounds! I'll hopefully hit the big 2-0 this week sometime. I celebrated my loose clothes by going and buying a pair of new shorts a couple days ago. My old size 4's and 6's have a long, long way to go before fitting me again, so I needed something to tide me over for these next few hot months where pants are just a cruel and sweltering option. It's odd that I have plenty of clothes that fit me when I was quite overweight, and plenty of clothes that fit me when I was quite svelte. Very few in between. What the heck did I wear last time I lost all the weight? I suspect I just went baggy, but heck, I'm just so happy to feel somewhat myself again that I want to wear clothes that look at least semi-good. Forget baggy.
Happily, last Friday's injection of Humira is still hanging in there. Granted, it's only Tuesday, but I feel fairly good and only have 3 days left until my next dose. It feels so good to sleep again without waking every few minutes due to pain. Of course, Lulu then went on to wake me up twice last night because her "feet were sticking out of the covers" (I'm totally serious) so it's time to teach her a lesson in covering oneself up with a blanket. Sigh.
A happy belated Memorial Day to all, with extra thoughts and thanks to those who serve our country as well as their loved ones.
I'm now down 19 pounds! I'll hopefully hit the big 2-0 this week sometime. I celebrated my loose clothes by going and buying a pair of new shorts a couple days ago. My old size 4's and 6's have a long, long way to go before fitting me again, so I needed something to tide me over for these next few hot months where pants are just a cruel and sweltering option. It's odd that I have plenty of clothes that fit me when I was quite overweight, and plenty of clothes that fit me when I was quite svelte. Very few in between. What the heck did I wear last time I lost all the weight? I suspect I just went baggy, but heck, I'm just so happy to feel somewhat myself again that I want to wear clothes that look at least semi-good. Forget baggy.
Happily, last Friday's injection of Humira is still hanging in there. Granted, it's only Tuesday, but I feel fairly good and only have 3 days left until my next dose. It feels so good to sleep again without waking every few minutes due to pain. Of course, Lulu then went on to wake me up twice last night because her "feet were sticking out of the covers" (I'm totally serious) so it's time to teach her a lesson in covering oneself up with a blanket. Sigh.
A happy belated Memorial Day to all, with extra thoughts and thanks to those who serve our country as well as their loved ones.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
A History of Wake-Up Calls
Almost four years ago, I stepped on the scale in my reproductive endocrinologist's office. Having had several miscarriages, I was determined to find out what was wrong with me - what was wrong with us, as Z might be a factor - and have a healthy pregnancy. At this point, I knew I was heavy; I just don't think I realized how heavy I was.
The number glaring back at me from the scale seemed unreal, impossible: 213 pounds. There had to be a mistake. I hadn't weighed myself for months, but there couldn't be any way that I had toppled over 200 pounds...was there?
My RE, Dr. H, held a copy of my driver's license, being standard procedure to have copies of all patients' licenses. He frowned at the picture in front of him, and then frowned at me.
"How long ago was this picture taken?" he asked. I knew where he was going, and I felt my face flush.
"About 3 years ago," I mumbled. I remember well. It was driver's license photo taken after I returned from my honeymoon where I was "wedding-thin". Brief pause.
"You mean, you've gained almost 80 pounds in 3 years?"
"Maybe less," I argued. "I think I might have weighed a little more than 135 at that point." This fact had no impact on Dr. H. He proceeded to explain that I was almost 60 pounds overweight and was about 30 pounds into the obese zone.
Obese? Not me. Other people were obese. People who had to have custom made clothes, who had to use scooters because they could no longer walk. There was no way I could be obese. I still fit into most stores' clothes, albeit from the "women's" section. As this was before my RA became bad again, I was still able-bodied and could moderately exercise still, if I choose. So, no, I couldn't be obese.
But I was, and in order to not be obese anymore, I needed to lose about 30 pounds. Then, and only then, would I not be obese. Just overweight. Fantastic.
Dr. H's orders were clear, no-nonsense, and included a thick handout of instructions to follow. I was to lose 30 pounds (at least) while following what can best be described as a diabetic diet. No refined sugar or starch, lots of whole grains, veggies, complex carbs, etc. He explained that having a healthier weight (and, by virtue of following the diabetic diet, a healthy blood sugar) could only help my pregnancies, that it wasn't necessarily my weight that caused my miscarriages, but why not increase my chances all I could?
I sat, crying in his office, feeling ashamed, mortified, in disbelief. Obese had never been a word that I thought would apply to me, and never had I thought it might, in any way, impact my unborn children. But my tears were tinged with motivation and desire, an early indication that my health was no longer my own and belonged equally as much to my children, whether born or not.
I started my diet that night, and the next day, the scale slipped down 3 pounds. My body liked this new diet. The weight shed incredibly fast, and once I threw in some treadmill walking, it slipped even faster. Weeks later, I became pregnant with my daughter. I started heparin (a blood thinner, as I have a history of blood clots), continued to eat healthy throughout my pregnancy, and boom, healthy baby. I suspect the heparin is primarily responsible for carrying to term, but I have no doubt that my healthier weight contributed, too, if only by not causing as much wear and tear on my body.
Everyone has their own wake-up calls. For some, it's seeing photos of themselves. For others, it's being told by a concerned loved-one that it's time to start monitoring the scale. Others, like me, have their attention brought about by a doctor, but with health implications. For me, it was more than my own health; it was my kids'. Double health implications.
Today, it's easy to turn a blind eye to what obese actually is. Many (such as myself) just picture morbidly obese but happily ignore those who are on the lower-obese (yet still make-no-mistake-about-it obese). I remember seeing old episodes of "Friends" where they flashback to Monica's "fat" days. To me, she never looked fat. Chunky, sure, but so was I. On the show, she was continuously riddled for her weight, implying she was enormous, unfathomably huge. Then it was mentioned she weighed 200 pounds. 200 pounds! Heck, I weight MORE than 200 pounds! So, what did that make me? And thus was born yet another (yet, perhaps somewhat ridiculous) wake-up call. I was heavier than I thought I was. The depiction of poor Monica was unfair, to be sure. I'll be first to admit it, as will others who fight their weight who never thought Monica was as heavy as they described her. But at the same time, it proved the idea that I so stubbornly resisted: obese is a lot smaller than most of us realize. And I fit the criteria.
For over two years, even throughout my pregnancy with Thor, I've maintained a healthy to semi-healthy (read: slightly overweight, not obese) weight. This most recently weight-gain, though, had me on the fast track to obesity again. The scale was sliding too close, and stepping on that scale for the first time in weeks was the latest wake-up call. These days, I weigh myself daily. For the past almost 5 weeks, I haven't missed a morning of stepping on my scale. Some may advise against daily weighing, but for me, it is a necessity. I need the daily reminder. I need the daily wake-up call that I can no longer just sit aside and pretend that the number isn't creeping up. For me, it's about accountability. It's when I avert my eyes that my weight becomes an issue. Whether I like the number in front of me or not, I at least need to know what I'm dealing with so I no longer become as happily ignorant as I was 4 years ago.
In happier news, I saw my rheumatologist yesterday and my Humira dose got increased to every week from every other week. That means more days of feeling well with fewer days of feeling icky in between. In one month, if I'm not better, I'll start Imuran, the disease modifying agent. I'm not terribly thrilled at this prospect, but will do what it takes to feel better. After not feeling well all of last week, I took my Humira injection on Friday and felt better within hours. This is a good sign. It works, just wears off quickly, hence increasing the frequency. I just hope this works.
This weekend, I managed to eat healthily and the scale reflect my progress: I'm almost 17 pounds down from when I started. Amazing how just changing little habits makes such a big difference! My desire is just to make these "little habits" permanent, so no wake-up call is needed in the future.
The number glaring back at me from the scale seemed unreal, impossible: 213 pounds. There had to be a mistake. I hadn't weighed myself for months, but there couldn't be any way that I had toppled over 200 pounds...was there?
My RE, Dr. H, held a copy of my driver's license, being standard procedure to have copies of all patients' licenses. He frowned at the picture in front of him, and then frowned at me.
"How long ago was this picture taken?" he asked. I knew where he was going, and I felt my face flush.
"About 3 years ago," I mumbled. I remember well. It was driver's license photo taken after I returned from my honeymoon where I was "wedding-thin". Brief pause.
"You mean, you've gained almost 80 pounds in 3 years?"
"Maybe less," I argued. "I think I might have weighed a little more than 135 at that point." This fact had no impact on Dr. H. He proceeded to explain that I was almost 60 pounds overweight and was about 30 pounds into the obese zone.
Obese? Not me. Other people were obese. People who had to have custom made clothes, who had to use scooters because they could no longer walk. There was no way I could be obese. I still fit into most stores' clothes, albeit from the "women's" section. As this was before my RA became bad again, I was still able-bodied and could moderately exercise still, if I choose. So, no, I couldn't be obese.
But I was, and in order to not be obese anymore, I needed to lose about 30 pounds. Then, and only then, would I not be obese. Just overweight. Fantastic.
Dr. H's orders were clear, no-nonsense, and included a thick handout of instructions to follow. I was to lose 30 pounds (at least) while following what can best be described as a diabetic diet. No refined sugar or starch, lots of whole grains, veggies, complex carbs, etc. He explained that having a healthier weight (and, by virtue of following the diabetic diet, a healthy blood sugar) could only help my pregnancies, that it wasn't necessarily my weight that caused my miscarriages, but why not increase my chances all I could?
I sat, crying in his office, feeling ashamed, mortified, in disbelief. Obese had never been a word that I thought would apply to me, and never had I thought it might, in any way, impact my unborn children. But my tears were tinged with motivation and desire, an early indication that my health was no longer my own and belonged equally as much to my children, whether born or not.
I started my diet that night, and the next day, the scale slipped down 3 pounds. My body liked this new diet. The weight shed incredibly fast, and once I threw in some treadmill walking, it slipped even faster. Weeks later, I became pregnant with my daughter. I started heparin (a blood thinner, as I have a history of blood clots), continued to eat healthy throughout my pregnancy, and boom, healthy baby. I suspect the heparin is primarily responsible for carrying to term, but I have no doubt that my healthier weight contributed, too, if only by not causing as much wear and tear on my body.
Everyone has their own wake-up calls. For some, it's seeing photos of themselves. For others, it's being told by a concerned loved-one that it's time to start monitoring the scale. Others, like me, have their attention brought about by a doctor, but with health implications. For me, it was more than my own health; it was my kids'. Double health implications.
Today, it's easy to turn a blind eye to what obese actually is. Many (such as myself) just picture morbidly obese but happily ignore those who are on the lower-obese (yet still make-no-mistake-about-it obese). I remember seeing old episodes of "Friends" where they flashback to Monica's "fat" days. To me, she never looked fat. Chunky, sure, but so was I. On the show, she was continuously riddled for her weight, implying she was enormous, unfathomably huge. Then it was mentioned she weighed 200 pounds. 200 pounds! Heck, I weight MORE than 200 pounds! So, what did that make me? And thus was born yet another (yet, perhaps somewhat ridiculous) wake-up call. I was heavier than I thought I was. The depiction of poor Monica was unfair, to be sure. I'll be first to admit it, as will others who fight their weight who never thought Monica was as heavy as they described her. But at the same time, it proved the idea that I so stubbornly resisted: obese is a lot smaller than most of us realize. And I fit the criteria.
For over two years, even throughout my pregnancy with Thor, I've maintained a healthy to semi-healthy (read: slightly overweight, not obese) weight. This most recently weight-gain, though, had me on the fast track to obesity again. The scale was sliding too close, and stepping on that scale for the first time in weeks was the latest wake-up call. These days, I weigh myself daily. For the past almost 5 weeks, I haven't missed a morning of stepping on my scale. Some may advise against daily weighing, but for me, it is a necessity. I need the daily reminder. I need the daily wake-up call that I can no longer just sit aside and pretend that the number isn't creeping up. For me, it's about accountability. It's when I avert my eyes that my weight becomes an issue. Whether I like the number in front of me or not, I at least need to know what I'm dealing with so I no longer become as happily ignorant as I was 4 years ago.
In happier news, I saw my rheumatologist yesterday and my Humira dose got increased to every week from every other week. That means more days of feeling well with fewer days of feeling icky in between. In one month, if I'm not better, I'll start Imuran, the disease modifying agent. I'm not terribly thrilled at this prospect, but will do what it takes to feel better. After not feeling well all of last week, I took my Humira injection on Friday and felt better within hours. This is a good sign. It works, just wears off quickly, hence increasing the frequency. I just hope this works.
This weekend, I managed to eat healthily and the scale reflect my progress: I'm almost 17 pounds down from when I started. Amazing how just changing little habits makes such a big difference! My desire is just to make these "little habits" permanent, so no wake-up call is needed in the future.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
One Step Forward, Two Painful Steps Back
I guess the honeymoon period is over. I was so reluctant to write this, but it's looking truer and truer by the day, and that is that the Humira is already failing me. It's getting worse daily and I'm about as bad as I was before I started the Humira. My knuckles are swollen like plumped up marbles. My wrists are unbendable. My shoulders are stiff, my knees creaky and stubborn, protesting every time I stand from a sitting position. My ankles are unstable, my toes like every one has been stubbed against a chair. I've had to use my handicap permit a couple times the past few days. I came dangerously close to dropping Thor today and burst into tears when I couldn't remove his carseat yesterday to transfer it to a friend's car. My friend, who is 6 months pregnant, and had to push Thor's stroller and help me juggle him because his tiny little self is too heavy for me to hold.
Lulu watched me fall a couple days ago, landing on my left wrist and shrieking with pain. I fall easily because of the instability in my ankles and knees. She was scared and her eyes broadened with worry. I pulled together quickly, and she asked me if it hurt. I told her yes, I had a booboo. "Where?" she asked. On my wrist, I explained, and then pointed to my knuckles and asked if she could see how big they were. She nodded, caressing them curiously and tenderly with her little fingers. "Can I kiss them to make them better?" she asked. My eyes stung with tears, not out of sadness, but shock and awe at this little person. Choked up, all I could do was nod. She gently took my hand, and with the sweetness that a prince kisses the hand of the princess, she grazed her lips over the largest knuckle on my right hand. the middle one, the one that has a right-hand diamond ring that hasn't been able to come off for months, trapped underneath a huge swell.
"Is that better?" she asked, cocking her head, still holding my hand.
"Yes, sweetie, it's much better now." I hugged her and held her tightly, not wanting her to see me cry and misinterpret my tears for anything but sheer, all-encompassing love for her.
Normally, the kids have no idea anything is wrong with me. Unless they play too rough with me (in which case Z and I will tell them to be gentle with me) or if they witness a fall of sorts, like Lulu did, they probably just sort of assume I'm a wimp. Which is fine with me. I don't complain around them, but try to remain matter-of-fact: this is why Mommy can't run with you, this is why you shouldn't grab Mommy's hand too hard. I don't want them to worry. I want them to be kids and not ever have to worry about their mom. But Lulu is just so darn perceptive and there was no hiding that fall from her. I feel guilty for letting her see me shriek like that, but in the end, I had the chance to discover all the more what a beautiful little person she is becoming.
I even feel a little guilty complaining here. So many people, even people I know, have it so much worse than me. Cancer (and not the type of easy-to-remove cancer I had), lupus (a disease for which I'm susceptible and for which I've been tested for multiple times and, thankfully, have been negative), multiple sclerosis, muscular dystrophy, and a laundry list of other afflictions, all affect people I know and love. Hell, I have it easy! I know that. I remind myself of that daily, believe me. I'm so damn lucky. Yet, that whiny, entitled part of myself comes battling through on my bad days and puts me in moods like I am today. So, I am so sorry, my readers, that I complain like I do. Sometimes it's easier to do it here, where a reader can choose to skip an entry, than to my friends or family who are dealing with their own crap and may not feel like they have a choice to ignore me if I choose to complain to them. Does that make sense?
I have a doctor's appointment with my rheumatologist on Monday and I'm positive they will increase the frequency of Humira and possibly start a disease modifying agent, probably Imuran or possibly methotrexate, both chemo drugs which have the potential of increasing the efficacy of biologics like Humira. So, I have not seen the end of the road yet. I still have options, thank goodness, before going back to prednisone. It's looking mighty tempting, sitting there in my medicine cabinet, promising me almost immediate relief if I just take a few pills. I went as far as getting the bottle out and trying to open it, only to find that I physically was not strong enough to open it. In my own twisted mind, this was a sign I shouldn't take it. I put the bottle back and took a pain reliever instead.
In happier news, I managed to behave myself at dinner the other night, treating myself to just a couple slices of pizza, sharing the rest with Thor and Lulu. The sodium made my scale laugh in my face the past couple days, but I know it is only temporarily and the water weight will probably shed in a such a manner to make me feel particularly successful and virtuous. Last night was Mondo Salad night, which Lulu decided to copy, neglecting her whole grain penne and marinara sauce for her Mini Mondo Salad. 'Atta girl! Thor "asked" (via pointing and screaming) for some salad, only to pop a piece of lettuce in his mouth, wretch, and hand it back to me. One out of two ain't bad.
Tonight is a potluck at Lulu's school and I'm hoping someone brings along a healthy option such as salad or baked chicken or something. Yes, I should have opted to bring a healthy option myself (not a noodle, red sauce, sausage and cheese casserole), but I choked! I couldn't think! I was under the gun to write down what I'd bring, to make a commitment in just a few seconds, and it's all I could think of. Anyway, if nothing looks appealing/healthy, I'll eat at home. No big deal.
Today marks four weeks since The Great Weight Reversal kicked off and I am 14 pounds down. I suspect I am still hanging onto water weight and I'll see a considerable drop in the next couple days as I eat more wholesomely. Hopefully, in a few days, I'll be able to report more of a 15-16 pound drop. That would put me almost a third of the way to my goal! This is not to say that I expect to reach my goal in only three months, but it sure is motivating to have a start such as this. As we all know, though, it isn't the losing weight that is the problem. It's the maintaining. Once I reach The Goal, I plan on continuing writing here (perhaps under a new blog name? We'll see) as I try to stay healthy. It's not just a three month challenge. It's a lifetime challenge.
Lulu watched me fall a couple days ago, landing on my left wrist and shrieking with pain. I fall easily because of the instability in my ankles and knees. She was scared and her eyes broadened with worry. I pulled together quickly, and she asked me if it hurt. I told her yes, I had a booboo. "Where?" she asked. On my wrist, I explained, and then pointed to my knuckles and asked if she could see how big they were. She nodded, caressing them curiously and tenderly with her little fingers. "Can I kiss them to make them better?" she asked. My eyes stung with tears, not out of sadness, but shock and awe at this little person. Choked up, all I could do was nod. She gently took my hand, and with the sweetness that a prince kisses the hand of the princess, she grazed her lips over the largest knuckle on my right hand. the middle one, the one that has a right-hand diamond ring that hasn't been able to come off for months, trapped underneath a huge swell.
"Is that better?" she asked, cocking her head, still holding my hand.
"Yes, sweetie, it's much better now." I hugged her and held her tightly, not wanting her to see me cry and misinterpret my tears for anything but sheer, all-encompassing love for her.
Normally, the kids have no idea anything is wrong with me. Unless they play too rough with me (in which case Z and I will tell them to be gentle with me) or if they witness a fall of sorts, like Lulu did, they probably just sort of assume I'm a wimp. Which is fine with me. I don't complain around them, but try to remain matter-of-fact: this is why Mommy can't run with you, this is why you shouldn't grab Mommy's hand too hard. I don't want them to worry. I want them to be kids and not ever have to worry about their mom. But Lulu is just so darn perceptive and there was no hiding that fall from her. I feel guilty for letting her see me shriek like that, but in the end, I had the chance to discover all the more what a beautiful little person she is becoming.
I even feel a little guilty complaining here. So many people, even people I know, have it so much worse than me. Cancer (and not the type of easy-to-remove cancer I had), lupus (a disease for which I'm susceptible and for which I've been tested for multiple times and, thankfully, have been negative), multiple sclerosis, muscular dystrophy, and a laundry list of other afflictions, all affect people I know and love. Hell, I have it easy! I know that. I remind myself of that daily, believe me. I'm so damn lucky. Yet, that whiny, entitled part of myself comes battling through on my bad days and puts me in moods like I am today. So, I am so sorry, my readers, that I complain like I do. Sometimes it's easier to do it here, where a reader can choose to skip an entry, than to my friends or family who are dealing with their own crap and may not feel like they have a choice to ignore me if I choose to complain to them. Does that make sense?
I have a doctor's appointment with my rheumatologist on Monday and I'm positive they will increase the frequency of Humira and possibly start a disease modifying agent, probably Imuran or possibly methotrexate, both chemo drugs which have the potential of increasing the efficacy of biologics like Humira. So, I have not seen the end of the road yet. I still have options, thank goodness, before going back to prednisone. It's looking mighty tempting, sitting there in my medicine cabinet, promising me almost immediate relief if I just take a few pills. I went as far as getting the bottle out and trying to open it, only to find that I physically was not strong enough to open it. In my own twisted mind, this was a sign I shouldn't take it. I put the bottle back and took a pain reliever instead.
In happier news, I managed to behave myself at dinner the other night, treating myself to just a couple slices of pizza, sharing the rest with Thor and Lulu. The sodium made my scale laugh in my face the past couple days, but I know it is only temporarily and the water weight will probably shed in a such a manner to make me feel particularly successful and virtuous. Last night was Mondo Salad night, which Lulu decided to copy, neglecting her whole grain penne and marinara sauce for her Mini Mondo Salad. 'Atta girl! Thor "asked" (via pointing and screaming) for some salad, only to pop a piece of lettuce in his mouth, wretch, and hand it back to me. One out of two ain't bad.
Tonight is a potluck at Lulu's school and I'm hoping someone brings along a healthy option such as salad or baked chicken or something. Yes, I should have opted to bring a healthy option myself (not a noodle, red sauce, sausage and cheese casserole), but I choked! I couldn't think! I was under the gun to write down what I'd bring, to make a commitment in just a few seconds, and it's all I could think of. Anyway, if nothing looks appealing/healthy, I'll eat at home. No big deal.
Today marks four weeks since The Great Weight Reversal kicked off and I am 14 pounds down. I suspect I am still hanging onto water weight and I'll see a considerable drop in the next couple days as I eat more wholesomely. Hopefully, in a few days, I'll be able to report more of a 15-16 pound drop. That would put me almost a third of the way to my goal! This is not to say that I expect to reach my goal in only three months, but it sure is motivating to have a start such as this. As we all know, though, it isn't the losing weight that is the problem. It's the maintaining. Once I reach The Goal, I plan on continuing writing here (perhaps under a new blog name? We'll see) as I try to stay healthy. It's not just a three month challenge. It's a lifetime challenge.
Monday, May 16, 2011
The Verdict
Healthy!
Nothing to worry about this year, at least, nothing out of the ordinary. I have many atypical moles on my back, all of which need to be examined every couple of months for changes, but nothing today was overly worrisome. According to the doctor, having had one melanoma in the past puts me at an 8 times higher risk of developing another one in the future. And having atypical moles puts me at a 12 times higher risk. I'm a big, walking risk factor. She carefully outline how quickly melanomas can mestastisize and once they do, there is not much that can be done. I was lucky to have found my melanoma so quickly, before it spread. No radiation, chemo, or anything. Just an excision and a dime-sized dimple on my breast.
Being at the cancer clinic is always humbling, as I am going in there for a checkup with the assumption that I will walk out as healthy as when I walked in. I am overtly aware that this is not the case for many - if not most - of the patients there. My mother was a oncology nurse for many years and always said, in a similar vein, how lucky she felt every day, working with the patients with whom she worked. Today, I am lucky and I can only hope that when I walk back out of those clinic doors next time, it will be with the same relief I feel today.
I remember reading a segment on Eva Cassidy, a talented singer who, at the age of 33, died of advanced melanoma. For her, it happened quite suddenly, as it does for many people. The oncologist today told me to take pictures of my back and all the places I can't see and have Z do a comparison check every month or two, just to be sure nothing has grown or changed. I nodded earnestly, promising I would. She's heard this line from me before.
"Make it a priority this week," she said. "It's important to catch these things early."
Another earnest nod.
"If you don't do it for yourself, do it for your family. Do it so you can live a long life for your children."
Sound familiar?
This resonated with me. It chilled me. It's something I have said on this very blog. I'll have Z take the comparison pictures this weekend, and this time, I mean it.
Nothing to worry about this year, at least, nothing out of the ordinary. I have many atypical moles on my back, all of which need to be examined every couple of months for changes, but nothing today was overly worrisome. According to the doctor, having had one melanoma in the past puts me at an 8 times higher risk of developing another one in the future. And having atypical moles puts me at a 12 times higher risk. I'm a big, walking risk factor. She carefully outline how quickly melanomas can mestastisize and once they do, there is not much that can be done. I was lucky to have found my melanoma so quickly, before it spread. No radiation, chemo, or anything. Just an excision and a dime-sized dimple on my breast.
Being at the cancer clinic is always humbling, as I am going in there for a checkup with the assumption that I will walk out as healthy as when I walked in. I am overtly aware that this is not the case for many - if not most - of the patients there. My mother was a oncology nurse for many years and always said, in a similar vein, how lucky she felt every day, working with the patients with whom she worked. Today, I am lucky and I can only hope that when I walk back out of those clinic doors next time, it will be with the same relief I feel today.
I remember reading a segment on Eva Cassidy, a talented singer who, at the age of 33, died of advanced melanoma. For her, it happened quite suddenly, as it does for many people. The oncologist today told me to take pictures of my back and all the places I can't see and have Z do a comparison check every month or two, just to be sure nothing has grown or changed. I nodded earnestly, promising I would. She's heard this line from me before.
"Make it a priority this week," she said. "It's important to catch these things early."
Another earnest nod.
"If you don't do it for yourself, do it for your family. Do it so you can live a long life for your children."
Sound familiar?
This resonated with me. It chilled me. It's something I have said on this very blog. I'll have Z take the comparison pictures this weekend, and this time, I mean it.
Important Checkup
Three and a half years ago, when I was pregnant with Lulu, I had a mole removed from my breast because it had appeared suddenly after I found out I was pregnant. The dermatologist assured me it was probably benign, but had it biopsied nonetheless. Good thing he did - he called me personally a few days later (as opposed to having the nurse call - never a good sign) and told me it was the beginning stages of a melanoma. I had to have the entire area excised and fortunately, they got it all and every checkup since has deemed me cancer-free. I've had a couple moles removed since then, only to find out they were, thank goodness, benign, but not before several days of panic and worry that it was a melanoma again.
Today is my checkup with the skin cancer doctor. I haven't noticed anything unusual on my body, so I'm hopeful for good news, but I never know. I always feel a little anxious at my checkups until I'm given a clean bill of health. I'm extremely fair (blonde hair, blue eyes, easily-burnt skin) so I'm a shoe-in for skin cancer and I've known that my whole life, but it's one of those things I thought I wouldn't have to worry about until I was older, like, senior citizen older. I thought wrong, clearly, and want to slap my naive, ignorant younger self who worshipped the sun and rubbed baby oil on her body before lying outside for hours. Strawberry blonde Lulu and platinum-haired Thor (as white as hair can get) will inherit my susceptibility, but hopefully not my ignorance.
Tonight is pizza night with my dad and stepmom, as they are leaving town tomorrow for three months. I think I'll have a couple of slices of pizza (thin crust, and lower calories than traditional pizza) rather than a salad. The sodium will kill me, but the calories will not. But I think good news or not, I deserve a little extra salt tonight! I was virtuous this weekend, made good choices eating out, and kept snacking to a minimum. I'm dying for pizza, and if I'm going to have it, this is the pizza to have.
Wish me luck today for a clean bill of health.Will update tonight or tomorrow.
Today is my checkup with the skin cancer doctor. I haven't noticed anything unusual on my body, so I'm hopeful for good news, but I never know. I always feel a little anxious at my checkups until I'm given a clean bill of health. I'm extremely fair (blonde hair, blue eyes, easily-burnt skin) so I'm a shoe-in for skin cancer and I've known that my whole life, but it's one of those things I thought I wouldn't have to worry about until I was older, like, senior citizen older. I thought wrong, clearly, and want to slap my naive, ignorant younger self who worshipped the sun and rubbed baby oil on her body before lying outside for hours. Strawberry blonde Lulu and platinum-haired Thor (as white as hair can get) will inherit my susceptibility, but hopefully not my ignorance.
Tonight is pizza night with my dad and stepmom, as they are leaving town tomorrow for three months. I think I'll have a couple of slices of pizza (thin crust, and lower calories than traditional pizza) rather than a salad. The sodium will kill me, but the calories will not. But I think good news or not, I deserve a little extra salt tonight! I was virtuous this weekend, made good choices eating out, and kept snacking to a minimum. I'm dying for pizza, and if I'm going to have it, this is the pizza to have.
Wish me luck today for a clean bill of health.Will update tonight or tomorrow.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Sweet Potatoes and Why 60 Isn't the Magic Number
One of my favorite breakfasts for the past several years has been hashbrowns with over-easy eggs. Only, before, I would fill the entire huge skillet with 'browns and toss 3 eggs on top of it. Moderation, my friends. Moderation. Now, about a cup's worth of hashbrowns and one egg, approximately 150 calories of goodness. But today, I grated some sweet potato instead and made homemade sweet potato hashbrowns. Sweet potatoes are about the same number of calories of regular white potatoes, but have more fiber and less starch. Basically, they'll keep you feeling full longer and won't cause you to crash and burn come lunchtime. The verdict? Semi-successful. They came out a bit soggy on the inside and a little burnt on the outside, but I think they were too water-logged. I think drying them out on some paper towels before cooking (over just a spritz of Pam, natch) would result in greater success next time.
Lunch today will be yogurt with marionberries again, a berry which Lulu has discovered and loves just a bit frozen. Of course, Thor looks at them like they're tainted and smashes them, but at least one kid loves these anti-oxidant rich berries. And then tonight is the Girls' Night Out, and I managed to convince bff to change the venue to a restaurant with healthier options. She was game, so making a healthy choice tonight should be a simpler task.
So, one might wonder why it is that my weight loss goal is about 45-50 total pounds rather than 60, the amount that I gained. I'll explain why. Before, I was thin. Very thin. Size-fours-were-too-big-on-me thin. Mind you, I am not a big-boned person, so my healthy BMI should be on the lower-to-mid point of the BMI scale for my height, but I was beyond the lower point. The explanation is simple and complicated and has a lot to do with Thor, actually.
To say the least, Thor was a colicky baby. He was diagnosed with reflux a couple weeks after birth and within a few months, we had him on the max amount of reflux meds with only a little relief. While other babies his age slept hours at a time without a peep, he woke up screaming in pain every half hour to hour. Saying my heart was broken is an understatement. Z and I felt helpless and lost, not knowing what to do to keep our precious son feeling well and not in pain. Meanwhile, Thor's weight kept slipping lower and lower on the infant percentile charts. He got down to the 3rd percentile for several months.
At this point, it is necessary to add that I was nursing Thor at the time. Lulu had nursed until she was 2 years old, at which point the kids' pediatrician said that Thor was just too tiny to allow Lulu to steal any calories from him. Weaning her was difficult on both of us and involved a lot of Lulu-branded temper tantrums, but she got used to Thor being the only nursing child in the house in time. We waited for his weight to go up, but it didn't. Meanwhile, his weight percentile dipped lower and lower. At this time, I was also become sicker and sicker myself with my rheumatoid arthritis. My appetite plunged, as I was too miserable to feel hungry. There was speculation amongst Thor's doctors that due to my poor health, my breastmilk was suffering and although I was producing enough, it wasn't rich enough in calories and nutrients.
Before making the decision to send Thor to a pediatric GI doc, his pediatrician wanted to try one more test for allergies. After assessing several of his diapers, the conclusion was clear: he had blood in his diapers (invisible to the naked eye) which was almost entirely conclusive of milk/soy protein intolerance (often mislabeled as allergy, but is an actual intolerance as most children outgrown it in time as their little bodies learn to process the proteins better). I had two choices: either cut milk and soy out of my diet completely, or switch to hypoallergenic formula. Having nursed Lulu for two years, I felt I owed it to Thor to try eliminating dairy and soy from my diet to see how he did. This meant I couldn't eat *anything* with milk or soy, including most breads, cereals, many spice mixes, and the obvious things like cheese, tofu, etc. I had to home-make almost everything on my plate to ensure that everything I ate was completely soy and dairy free.
The result? A completely new baby, an improved and happier Thor. Within three days on the new diet, he was sleeping hours at a time, hardly fussing at all, and began smiling and laughing. Smiling and laughing! Things I never thought I'd see him do! When something with dairy or soy got into my food (such as when I went to a party and was promised something was safe, but learned later it wasn't), he reverted back into Old Thor. We had found our problem, and I couldn't be more thankful.
But I was still sick, and now I was on an extremely restricted diet. My weight plummeted. I was buying new clothes every month or two as I shrunk out of the previous size. Factor in a dose of postpartum depression (courtesy of my, Thor's, and even Z's [a story for another time] health problems) and I had no reason or even ability to chow down. Finally, breastfeeding gobbles up oodles of your body's daily calories, a fact that resounded nicely back in my desire-to-lose-weight days, but wound up perhaps being detrimental later.
And then, Thor got better. He outgrew his intolerance, as evidenced by his ability to take just tiny amounts of soy and dairy at about 12 months of age. I weaned Thor, which meant I no longer was burning calories by nursing. My health got better, thanks to prednsisone, and my postpartum depression turned into an elation that I had a healthy and happy family. And I ate. And ate some more. Made up for all the lost time, used my prednisone as a (generally valid but still over-attributing) excuse. I gained those 60 pounds, no problem. After gaining the first 15 or so, I got compliments that I looked better, and this leads me to the final point that it's not 60 pounds I need to lose to get down to my optimal weight, but probably 45-50.
That was a long story made...long. But it's a pivotal story and explains my weight fluctuations the past year and where my mindset is. I'll take a healthy little boy any day of the week over anything else, but now I can have his healthy *and* my health. If I can have both, I will. My health means being able to be there for my kids in a way I couldn't before. I can do things with them I couldn't before, and keeping my weight down means more years with my original joints, more years to be active and healthy. I had a dream last night that I was confined to a wheelchair, something I want to avoid for many, many decades, even forever. Maintaining a healthy weight just means giving my body a little break from carrying too much around, and that buys me time. Time for myself, time for my family. It's easy to get negligent when it's only yourself at stake, but when it comes to one's family, the decision is more critical, and that is what drives me today, and that is what will make me healthy in the end.
Lunch today will be yogurt with marionberries again, a berry which Lulu has discovered and loves just a bit frozen. Of course, Thor looks at them like they're tainted and smashes them, but at least one kid loves these anti-oxidant rich berries. And then tonight is the Girls' Night Out, and I managed to convince bff to change the venue to a restaurant with healthier options. She was game, so making a healthy choice tonight should be a simpler task.
So, one might wonder why it is that my weight loss goal is about 45-50 total pounds rather than 60, the amount that I gained. I'll explain why. Before, I was thin. Very thin. Size-fours-were-too-big-on-me thin. Mind you, I am not a big-boned person, so my healthy BMI should be on the lower-to-mid point of the BMI scale for my height, but I was beyond the lower point. The explanation is simple and complicated and has a lot to do with Thor, actually.
To say the least, Thor was a colicky baby. He was diagnosed with reflux a couple weeks after birth and within a few months, we had him on the max amount of reflux meds with only a little relief. While other babies his age slept hours at a time without a peep, he woke up screaming in pain every half hour to hour. Saying my heart was broken is an understatement. Z and I felt helpless and lost, not knowing what to do to keep our precious son feeling well and not in pain. Meanwhile, Thor's weight kept slipping lower and lower on the infant percentile charts. He got down to the 3rd percentile for several months.
At this point, it is necessary to add that I was nursing Thor at the time. Lulu had nursed until she was 2 years old, at which point the kids' pediatrician said that Thor was just too tiny to allow Lulu to steal any calories from him. Weaning her was difficult on both of us and involved a lot of Lulu-branded temper tantrums, but she got used to Thor being the only nursing child in the house in time. We waited for his weight to go up, but it didn't. Meanwhile, his weight percentile dipped lower and lower. At this time, I was also become sicker and sicker myself with my rheumatoid arthritis. My appetite plunged, as I was too miserable to feel hungry. There was speculation amongst Thor's doctors that due to my poor health, my breastmilk was suffering and although I was producing enough, it wasn't rich enough in calories and nutrients.
Before making the decision to send Thor to a pediatric GI doc, his pediatrician wanted to try one more test for allergies. After assessing several of his diapers, the conclusion was clear: he had blood in his diapers (invisible to the naked eye) which was almost entirely conclusive of milk/soy protein intolerance (often mislabeled as allergy, but is an actual intolerance as most children outgrown it in time as their little bodies learn to process the proteins better). I had two choices: either cut milk and soy out of my diet completely, or switch to hypoallergenic formula. Having nursed Lulu for two years, I felt I owed it to Thor to try eliminating dairy and soy from my diet to see how he did. This meant I couldn't eat *anything* with milk or soy, including most breads, cereals, many spice mixes, and the obvious things like cheese, tofu, etc. I had to home-make almost everything on my plate to ensure that everything I ate was completely soy and dairy free.
The result? A completely new baby, an improved and happier Thor. Within three days on the new diet, he was sleeping hours at a time, hardly fussing at all, and began smiling and laughing. Smiling and laughing! Things I never thought I'd see him do! When something with dairy or soy got into my food (such as when I went to a party and was promised something was safe, but learned later it wasn't), he reverted back into Old Thor. We had found our problem, and I couldn't be more thankful.
But I was still sick, and now I was on an extremely restricted diet. My weight plummeted. I was buying new clothes every month or two as I shrunk out of the previous size. Factor in a dose of postpartum depression (courtesy of my, Thor's, and even Z's [a story for another time] health problems) and I had no reason or even ability to chow down. Finally, breastfeeding gobbles up oodles of your body's daily calories, a fact that resounded nicely back in my desire-to-lose-weight days, but wound up perhaps being detrimental later.
And then, Thor got better. He outgrew his intolerance, as evidenced by his ability to take just tiny amounts of soy and dairy at about 12 months of age. I weaned Thor, which meant I no longer was burning calories by nursing. My health got better, thanks to prednsisone, and my postpartum depression turned into an elation that I had a healthy and happy family. And I ate. And ate some more. Made up for all the lost time, used my prednisone as a (generally valid but still over-attributing) excuse. I gained those 60 pounds, no problem. After gaining the first 15 or so, I got compliments that I looked better, and this leads me to the final point that it's not 60 pounds I need to lose to get down to my optimal weight, but probably 45-50.
That was a long story made...long. But it's a pivotal story and explains my weight fluctuations the past year and where my mindset is. I'll take a healthy little boy any day of the week over anything else, but now I can have his healthy *and* my health. If I can have both, I will. My health means being able to be there for my kids in a way I couldn't before. I can do things with them I couldn't before, and keeping my weight down means more years with my original joints, more years to be active and healthy. I had a dream last night that I was confined to a wheelchair, something I want to avoid for many, many decades, even forever. Maintaining a healthy weight just means giving my body a little break from carrying too much around, and that buys me time. Time for myself, time for my family. It's easy to get negligent when it's only yourself at stake, but when it comes to one's family, the decision is more critical, and that is what drives me today, and that is what will make me healthy in the end.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Lucky Friday the 13th!
'Tis a beautiful day in this blogger's household. The kids woke up in great moods, I feel rested and healthy (knock on wood), and we have the weekend in front of us. Who can resist a day like this?
I do have a challenge facing me this weekend, or shall I say, several challenges. The first, on Saturday night, is a "girls' night out." We are meeting at a trendy restaurant notorious for their unique (and fattening) spins on homey foods, as well as their decadent desserts. Just eying the menu makes me salivate. Then there are the drinks - specialty mixed drinks, astronomical in sugar and calorie content. What to do? Order the healthiest thing on the menu, I suppose, and stick to water, diet soda, coffee, or tea. Tough, tough choices, especially when I know everyone around me will be indulging to their hearts' content. But then we move to Sunday night, where we are having out best friends over for dinner. Somehow, when we have dinner guests, that is when I'm most likely to munch on crap mindlessly. The popcorn my husband makes for the movie, the cookies my friends bring, the bread we never make for ourselves but bring out for dinner guests...it's all tempting. I still have my choices, and I'm just hoping my willpower reflects my desire to stick to my plan. And then Monday is the last dinner I'll have with my dad and stepmom before they go off to another (cooler) part of the country for the summer. Every year, I know they're leaving, and every year, I get distraught. No stress eating for me, please. Please let me find a better outlet this year.
Meanwhile, here I am, about 6 weeks post Humira. I'm about halfway to my assessment point of 3 months, wherein I decide whether it is working for me. The past few days, the fingers in my right hand have felt bruised and swollen, hot and tender to the touch and my wrists have ached. But it's such a vast improvement from days of hardly being able to walk or even lift a glass that I can hardly complain. After walking too much, my knees will ache, and after holding Thor too long, my shoulders and elbows will stiffen, and all these aches and pains could be cured with the prednisone, but I won't do it. Not unless it becomes unbearable again. I weaned myself off, and would like to stay off.
Last night, I did what almost felt like a cheat, but wasn't. One of our favorite meals around our house is having an steamed artichoke with hollandaise sauce, but of course, hollandaise is out of the question thanks to the entire stick of butter that goes into it. In the past, I've substituted with yogurt, but last night, I decided to up the decadence factor by making a yogurt-based Bearnaise. I mixed 1 cup of fat-free Greek yogurt with 3 egg yolks (I know, I know...not great, but better than the butter it calls for) and mixed in a reduced mixture of 2 tablespoons each of white wine and white vinegar, 1 teaspoon of tarragon (could have used more, actually), and a tablespoon of chopped shallots, and I whisked the mixture on a double boiler until thickened. DELICIOUS. Z (my husband) and Lulu loved it and it tasted like actual Bearnaise sauce but at a fraction of the calories and fat, and with just a little bit of tartness from the yogurt (which could be resolved with a little sweetener, if one chooses). One large artichoke and just a little bit of herb-roasted chicken (for protein), and I was full and satiated.
Tonight is rotisserie chicken night, courtesy of Costco (who, seriously, makes the best rotisserie chicken ever). I might throw a bit (sans skin, of course) over some greens and turn it into a chicken salad. Perhaps Lulu will even follow my lead and do the same.
Finally, today represents a Big Day for me, the day of reaching my first goal (which corresponds to an actual weight, not weight lost, but weight lost is almost 14 pounds). Progress! The next goal (about 6 pounds away) seems like weeks away, but then again, my first goal seemed so far away at some point, too. It's easy to get discouraged, but I just have to set small goals remind myself that with each passing day, I get a little bit closer to my Ultimate Goal (which, in fact, is not 60 pounds, despite my description. Another day will be devoted to why it is not 60 pounds).
Happy Friday the 13th! Hope it's a lucky one for everyone!
I do have a challenge facing me this weekend, or shall I say, several challenges. The first, on Saturday night, is a "girls' night out." We are meeting at a trendy restaurant notorious for their unique (and fattening) spins on homey foods, as well as their decadent desserts. Just eying the menu makes me salivate. Then there are the drinks - specialty mixed drinks, astronomical in sugar and calorie content. What to do? Order the healthiest thing on the menu, I suppose, and stick to water, diet soda, coffee, or tea. Tough, tough choices, especially when I know everyone around me will be indulging to their hearts' content. But then we move to Sunday night, where we are having out best friends over for dinner. Somehow, when we have dinner guests, that is when I'm most likely to munch on crap mindlessly. The popcorn my husband makes for the movie, the cookies my friends bring, the bread we never make for ourselves but bring out for dinner guests...it's all tempting. I still have my choices, and I'm just hoping my willpower reflects my desire to stick to my plan. And then Monday is the last dinner I'll have with my dad and stepmom before they go off to another (cooler) part of the country for the summer. Every year, I know they're leaving, and every year, I get distraught. No stress eating for me, please. Please let me find a better outlet this year.
Meanwhile, here I am, about 6 weeks post Humira. I'm about halfway to my assessment point of 3 months, wherein I decide whether it is working for me. The past few days, the fingers in my right hand have felt bruised and swollen, hot and tender to the touch and my wrists have ached. But it's such a vast improvement from days of hardly being able to walk or even lift a glass that I can hardly complain. After walking too much, my knees will ache, and after holding Thor too long, my shoulders and elbows will stiffen, and all these aches and pains could be cured with the prednisone, but I won't do it. Not unless it becomes unbearable again. I weaned myself off, and would like to stay off.
Last night, I did what almost felt like a cheat, but wasn't. One of our favorite meals around our house is having an steamed artichoke with hollandaise sauce, but of course, hollandaise is out of the question thanks to the entire stick of butter that goes into it. In the past, I've substituted with yogurt, but last night, I decided to up the decadence factor by making a yogurt-based Bearnaise. I mixed 1 cup of fat-free Greek yogurt with 3 egg yolks (I know, I know...not great, but better than the butter it calls for) and mixed in a reduced mixture of 2 tablespoons each of white wine and white vinegar, 1 teaspoon of tarragon (could have used more, actually), and a tablespoon of chopped shallots, and I whisked the mixture on a double boiler until thickened. DELICIOUS. Z (my husband) and Lulu loved it and it tasted like actual Bearnaise sauce but at a fraction of the calories and fat, and with just a little bit of tartness from the yogurt (which could be resolved with a little sweetener, if one chooses). One large artichoke and just a little bit of herb-roasted chicken (for protein), and I was full and satiated.
Tonight is rotisserie chicken night, courtesy of Costco (who, seriously, makes the best rotisserie chicken ever). I might throw a bit (sans skin, of course) over some greens and turn it into a chicken salad. Perhaps Lulu will even follow my lead and do the same.
Finally, today represents a Big Day for me, the day of reaching my first goal (which corresponds to an actual weight, not weight lost, but weight lost is almost 14 pounds). Progress! The next goal (about 6 pounds away) seems like weeks away, but then again, my first goal seemed so far away at some point, too. It's easy to get discouraged, but I just have to set small goals remind myself that with each passing day, I get a little bit closer to my Ultimate Goal (which, in fact, is not 60 pounds, despite my description. Another day will be devoted to why it is not 60 pounds).
Happy Friday the 13th! Hope it's a lucky one for everyone!
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
3 Weeks In!
After 21 days, I can boast almost a 13 pound loss! I got my first "notice" yesterday when a friend mentioned that I was looking trimmer. I thought it'd take another 10 pounds or so before anyone noticed, so I was happily surprised and welcomed the compliment! Even when I look in the mirror, I see a difference and that doesn't even begin to speak of the difference I feel. If I feel this way after 13 pounds, imagine how I'll feel at 30 pounds! Or 45 pounds!
Mother's Day came and went with flowers, cards, and the most adorable recital of "Happy Mother's Day, Mommy!" from a three-year-old ever (well coached by her daddy, of course, but that almost made it more endearing). We went for a lovely lunch where I ate less than half of my meal, and after a dinner with my father and stepmom, consisting of a small steak and steamed veggies, I ate the teeniest portion of cheesecake ever. The scale reflected weight gain (probably water retention) the next day, but was lost - and then some - by the next day. The last two nights, I made what my husband calls "Mondo Salads," consisting of about 1 1/2 heads of romaine lettuce, 3 oz of grilled chicken, tomatoes, a couple tablespoons of canned corn, and light Cesar dressing. Seriously, and I'm not just saying this, it is one of my favorite meals. I enjoy these salads so much (and have for a couple years now) that Lulu often asks for her own salad, seeing how much I savor mine.
She's a strange breed, Lulu. She's more likely to finish the salad in her bowl than the spaghetti on her plate. On the rare occasion where we eat out, she never touches French fries and gobbles down her fruit instead. She's learning fairly good eating practices early on, though she does have quite the sweet tooth and once happily gobbled down three lollipops while getting her hair cut. Still, she's not a grease-eater, and that is just fine by me. I envy her natural inclinations and am trying to get where she is, naturally.
Tonight is stir fry night, although the word "fry" is a misnomer, as we really just sautee the veggies with a tiny, quick spray of Pam and let them steam the rest of the way. I throw in some chicken strips, coat lightly with teriyaki sauce (which is, unfortunately, deceptively high in calories, sodium, and sugar), and make it a meal.
This morning, I stirred some defrosted marionberries in my Greek yogurt and, oh, wow, it was heaven. Tangy, sweet, a little sour, and so natural tasting. I'm finding my yogurt breakfasts are one of the highlights of my day, sometime I savor slowly and which fill me up, satisfyingly, for the rest of the morning. It should; one serving contains almost half my recommended daily dose of protein. Breakfast of champions indeed.
I'll tell you what's still tough, though: kiddie leftovers. They are the bane of my existence. Leftover quesadillas squares (Lulu and Thor love them occasionally), uneaten noodles with marinara sauce, a half of a bagel that Lulu asks for and then abandons once it's on her plate, the pizza she wanted yesterday while we were at a museum cafe but only ate a few bites of...it's all there, looking me in the eye, pleading, "Don't waste me!" Who knows where I got this mentality, but when I see food left on a plate, I feel it has to be eaten. I wish it were only my plate - I could deal with my plate, because then I'd only serve myself a reasonable portion meant to be finished - but oddly, I feel the same way looking at my my children's plates. And, hooo boy, seeing that pizza stare me in the face yesterday was hard, hard, hard. Hell, it was only museum cafe pizza, not even gourmet, fresh-ingredient-$20-a-pie pizza. But I took one mini bite, and I was sold. I wanted it. As soon as I became convinced that both Lulu and Thor were done, I tossed the rest of the pizza (almost half) in the trash. That is my only defense, throwing it in the trash. If it lingers in front of me, it WILL be eaten. It's like a silent challenge. It's like that "Seinfeld" episode where George fishes the eclair out of the trash. Once it's in the trash, it's garbage. At least, it should be. I have not fished anything out of the trash...yet. If I do, that will be an all time low, and I will need more help than just dieting.
Of course, the previous paragraph makes it seem like I only feed my children junk. I assure you, I do not. But they, like any kids, get the occasional treat, and heck, we all deserve the occasional treat. Like on Mother's Day, and my tiny slice of cheesecake. It's what we eat the rest of the time that matters, and if eating a huge salad inspires Lulu to want one of her own, then I know I've got to be doing something right.
Mother's Day came and went with flowers, cards, and the most adorable recital of "Happy Mother's Day, Mommy!" from a three-year-old ever (well coached by her daddy, of course, but that almost made it more endearing). We went for a lovely lunch where I ate less than half of my meal, and after a dinner with my father and stepmom, consisting of a small steak and steamed veggies, I ate the teeniest portion of cheesecake ever. The scale reflected weight gain (probably water retention) the next day, but was lost - and then some - by the next day. The last two nights, I made what my husband calls "Mondo Salads," consisting of about 1 1/2 heads of romaine lettuce, 3 oz of grilled chicken, tomatoes, a couple tablespoons of canned corn, and light Cesar dressing. Seriously, and I'm not just saying this, it is one of my favorite meals. I enjoy these salads so much (and have for a couple years now) that Lulu often asks for her own salad, seeing how much I savor mine.
She's a strange breed, Lulu. She's more likely to finish the salad in her bowl than the spaghetti on her plate. On the rare occasion where we eat out, she never touches French fries and gobbles down her fruit instead. She's learning fairly good eating practices early on, though she does have quite the sweet tooth and once happily gobbled down three lollipops while getting her hair cut. Still, she's not a grease-eater, and that is just fine by me. I envy her natural inclinations and am trying to get where she is, naturally.
Tonight is stir fry night, although the word "fry" is a misnomer, as we really just sautee the veggies with a tiny, quick spray of Pam and let them steam the rest of the way. I throw in some chicken strips, coat lightly with teriyaki sauce (which is, unfortunately, deceptively high in calories, sodium, and sugar), and make it a meal.
This morning, I stirred some defrosted marionberries in my Greek yogurt and, oh, wow, it was heaven. Tangy, sweet, a little sour, and so natural tasting. I'm finding my yogurt breakfasts are one of the highlights of my day, sometime I savor slowly and which fill me up, satisfyingly, for the rest of the morning. It should; one serving contains almost half my recommended daily dose of protein. Breakfast of champions indeed.
I'll tell you what's still tough, though: kiddie leftovers. They are the bane of my existence. Leftover quesadillas squares (Lulu and Thor love them occasionally), uneaten noodles with marinara sauce, a half of a bagel that Lulu asks for and then abandons once it's on her plate, the pizza she wanted yesterday while we were at a museum cafe but only ate a few bites of...it's all there, looking me in the eye, pleading, "Don't waste me!" Who knows where I got this mentality, but when I see food left on a plate, I feel it has to be eaten. I wish it were only my plate - I could deal with my plate, because then I'd only serve myself a reasonable portion meant to be finished - but oddly, I feel the same way looking at my my children's plates. And, hooo boy, seeing that pizza stare me in the face yesterday was hard, hard, hard. Hell, it was only museum cafe pizza, not even gourmet, fresh-ingredient-$20-a-pie pizza. But I took one mini bite, and I was sold. I wanted it. As soon as I became convinced that both Lulu and Thor were done, I tossed the rest of the pizza (almost half) in the trash. That is my only defense, throwing it in the trash. If it lingers in front of me, it WILL be eaten. It's like a silent challenge. It's like that "Seinfeld" episode where George fishes the eclair out of the trash. Once it's in the trash, it's garbage. At least, it should be. I have not fished anything out of the trash...yet. If I do, that will be an all time low, and I will need more help than just dieting.
Of course, the previous paragraph makes it seem like I only feed my children junk. I assure you, I do not. But they, like any kids, get the occasional treat, and heck, we all deserve the occasional treat. Like on Mother's Day, and my tiny slice of cheesecake. It's what we eat the rest of the time that matters, and if eating a huge salad inspires Lulu to want one of her own, then I know I've got to be doing something right.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Two Accomplishments!
I am happy and proud today, one in an obvious way, and one in a more personal, less obvious way.
First, the obvious. In two weeks, I've lost close to 11 pounds! Woot! Now, I know that weight sheds very quickly at first and this is the most I'll probably ever lose in such a short amount of time, but it's a testament to the fact that I've adhered well to my diet and that what I'm doing is working. My "fat pants" (which were, sadly, tight on me) are loosening up, I'm able to slide my wedding ring off my finger without prying if off, and I just feel better overall.
The second accomplishment? Though it's not necessary my own conscious doing, but my body's, I'm happy to announce that as of a week now, I've been off the prednisone completely. I'm sorer than I was before I stopped, for certain, but I'll trade a little soreness for the dramatic decrease in appetite and cravings I've experienced. I feel like I used to before I started the steroids, when healthy eating came so much more naturally to me, when a diet didn't feel like a diet, but more the way a lifestyle should feel like. That's not to say I don't want carbs and grease and sugar. Absolutely. But my willpower seems to have increased tenfold, and my stomach rumbling decreased tenfold. I knew ending the prednisone would make a difference, but I didn't realize how much until I stopped. That also means the Humira (my biologic) is working! Again, I'm not 100%. My fingers are still stiff and swollen in the knuckles. My knees still click and protest in the morning. My wrists are still unstable and unable to pick my children up for more than a few seconds. But it's progress. Right now, it's good enough, and I feel better now, off the prednisone, than I did on the prednisone with less pain in my body.
Chances are good I'll have to go back on the steroids someday, but until then, I am taking advantage of this time to kick start my healthy eating. I will hopefully never, ever have a period of time in my life again where I'm on prednisone or cortisone for months - or even years - at a time, but rather just a few days to a couple weeks. No biggie if that's the case; I can handle that, and so can my body.
In the meantime, my nasty sinus infection is starting to clear up. It takes me longer to kick an infection thanks to my immunosuppressants, and I have to wait until I'm 100% better before taking my next dose of Humira, but right now, I'm so thankful to not be sick anymore. Please, let my household be illness free for more than a couple days at a time! I just want to enjoy this lovely weather with my lovely kids and my lovely husband, enjoying my (as of right now) lovely health. And maybe, if I'm lucky, I can break out the elliptical trainer - the one that has been sitting 100% new, 100% assembled, and 100% unused for over a year - within the next few weeks. One has to have goals, and that's a big one for me.
Tonight, I'm having dinner with a friend who's going through a rough patch. Ordinarily, she and I delight in going to decadent restaurants and sharing a gooey dessert, but tonight, I suggested a salad and sandwich place. I'll treat myself to a huge salad, which I know will be filling, and skip the dessert. Going out for meals can break any diet, but with enough preparation and planning, it doesn't have to.
Time to relax a bit while Lulu is at preschool and Thor naps. Ah, quiet bliss.
First, the obvious. In two weeks, I've lost close to 11 pounds! Woot! Now, I know that weight sheds very quickly at first and this is the most I'll probably ever lose in such a short amount of time, but it's a testament to the fact that I've adhered well to my diet and that what I'm doing is working. My "fat pants" (which were, sadly, tight on me) are loosening up, I'm able to slide my wedding ring off my finger without prying if off, and I just feel better overall.
The second accomplishment? Though it's not necessary my own conscious doing, but my body's, I'm happy to announce that as of a week now, I've been off the prednisone completely. I'm sorer than I was before I stopped, for certain, but I'll trade a little soreness for the dramatic decrease in appetite and cravings I've experienced. I feel like I used to before I started the steroids, when healthy eating came so much more naturally to me, when a diet didn't feel like a diet, but more the way a lifestyle should feel like. That's not to say I don't want carbs and grease and sugar. Absolutely. But my willpower seems to have increased tenfold, and my stomach rumbling decreased tenfold. I knew ending the prednisone would make a difference, but I didn't realize how much until I stopped. That also means the Humira (my biologic) is working! Again, I'm not 100%. My fingers are still stiff and swollen in the knuckles. My knees still click and protest in the morning. My wrists are still unstable and unable to pick my children up for more than a few seconds. But it's progress. Right now, it's good enough, and I feel better now, off the prednisone, than I did on the prednisone with less pain in my body.
Chances are good I'll have to go back on the steroids someday, but until then, I am taking advantage of this time to kick start my healthy eating. I will hopefully never, ever have a period of time in my life again where I'm on prednisone or cortisone for months - or even years - at a time, but rather just a few days to a couple weeks. No biggie if that's the case; I can handle that, and so can my body.
In the meantime, my nasty sinus infection is starting to clear up. It takes me longer to kick an infection thanks to my immunosuppressants, and I have to wait until I'm 100% better before taking my next dose of Humira, but right now, I'm so thankful to not be sick anymore. Please, let my household be illness free for more than a couple days at a time! I just want to enjoy this lovely weather with my lovely kids and my lovely husband, enjoying my (as of right now) lovely health. And maybe, if I'm lucky, I can break out the elliptical trainer - the one that has been sitting 100% new, 100% assembled, and 100% unused for over a year - within the next few weeks. One has to have goals, and that's a big one for me.
Tonight, I'm having dinner with a friend who's going through a rough patch. Ordinarily, she and I delight in going to decadent restaurants and sharing a gooey dessert, but tonight, I suggested a salad and sandwich place. I'll treat myself to a huge salad, which I know will be filling, and skip the dessert. Going out for meals can break any diet, but with enough preparation and planning, it doesn't have to.
Time to relax a bit while Lulu is at preschool and Thor naps. Ah, quiet bliss.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Long Day
Felt like all I've done is sleep this weekend, but in the end, that's worked to my favor since I'm finally feeling better. Such big news in our nation tonight, and I'm resigning to sleep instead, figuring the news will still be waiting in the morning.
Went to a kiddie birthday party tonight, replete with pizza and cake. I planned accordingly and had an eggwhite and veggie frittata for breakfast, just a snack for lunch, and then shared my pizza and cake with Thor so I didn't overdo it too much. I feel satiated from having not held back, but not overly guilty for indulging a bit since I made up by not having many calories earlier in the day.
Time for bed, as it beckons me softly, promising an even healthier tomorrow.
Went to a kiddie birthday party tonight, replete with pizza and cake. I planned accordingly and had an eggwhite and veggie frittata for breakfast, just a snack for lunch, and then shared my pizza and cake with Thor so I didn't overdo it too much. I feel satiated from having not held back, but not overly guilty for indulging a bit since I made up by not having many calories earlier in the day.
Time for bed, as it beckons me softly, promising an even healthier tomorrow.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
On the Subject of Support
No wonder I'm feeling like shizzle. I've got a sinus infection, as evidenced by the fact that rather than getting better, I kept feeling progressively worse and now feel like my head is going to implode. Infections are nothing to mess around with when you're immunocompromised, so I managed to get seen by a NP yesterday and got antibiotics.
I've barely eaten because I feel so awful, yet my weight has gone nowhere since what I do eat is rich with sodium. Meh, whatever. It'll all round out in the end.
Being sick, and having a fabulous husband who is watching the kids so I can rest, I've managed to keep up (for better or for worse, no pun intended) with the whole royal wedding spectacle. This is generally not a topic of interest to me, but when the rest of the world is watching, one feels compelled to see what the hell the big deal is.
Now, let's be honest: Kate Middleton is a knockout and has a figure that dreams are made of, but there's no question she's lost weight before her wedding. I'm not about to speculate as the the source of her weight loss, but some media have liberally thrown around accusatory ideas that would suggest a less-than-healthy weight loss approach. Can these royal women ever win? Lady Diana, Fergie, now Kate Middleton, always the under the microscope for being too chunky, too thin, too whatever. Being criticized by some for being too thin, Kate Middleton is in a lose-lose situation should she decide to even put on a few more post-wedding pounds, despite the fact that a few more pounds would look perfectly healthy on her.
That said, it makes me feel fortunate that my weight is my private business. Sure, I gained 60 pounds, and sure, I suspect friends and family probably nudged each other behind my back in disbelief, but hey, at least I didn't hear the whispers and start myself on a nasty downward spiral as a result. If I want to lose a few pounds, great. I'm supported by my family. If I gain a few pounds, no worries, they know if I've lost it once, I can lose it again. No speculation about how it happened. No accusatory tones. They just want me to be healthy and will support me in any way. I doubt I'll ever post my weight here even. I'll show what I've lost, but my weight = my business, and those who love me and support me understand that and never pry.
Moreover, I'm lucky that for the most part, my life lacks enablers. Sure, there is my pregnant friend who would love to have an eating buddy, but she also knows what it's like to try to diet and is one of my biggest supporters. My husband is hardly the complaining type when I cook healthy, and actually prefers it. Even going out to eat with my family (that is, the extended family who live in town), no one bats an eye when I order a salad or unbuttered wheat toast with my fruit platter.
Then there's Lulu and Thor, both of which enjoy a nice, junky treat every once in awhile. However, neither will turn down whole grain bread, unbuttered wheat noodles, or 98% fat free turkey hotdogs. It makes life easier that my children will eat healthy and that I don't have to keep junky food in the house. Out of sight, out of mind, and that's true for the whole family, not just me.
I know I'm lucky, and I'm lucky to realize I'm lucky. It helps me be more introspective, helps me be aware that support exists where I didn't even realize it existed. Many people use enablers in their lives as an excuse, but I can't use that as an excuse. And I'm lucky for that.
I've barely eaten because I feel so awful, yet my weight has gone nowhere since what I do eat is rich with sodium. Meh, whatever. It'll all round out in the end.
Being sick, and having a fabulous husband who is watching the kids so I can rest, I've managed to keep up (for better or for worse, no pun intended) with the whole royal wedding spectacle. This is generally not a topic of interest to me, but when the rest of the world is watching, one feels compelled to see what the hell the big deal is.
Now, let's be honest: Kate Middleton is a knockout and has a figure that dreams are made of, but there's no question she's lost weight before her wedding. I'm not about to speculate as the the source of her weight loss, but some media have liberally thrown around accusatory ideas that would suggest a less-than-healthy weight loss approach. Can these royal women ever win? Lady Diana, Fergie, now Kate Middleton, always the under the microscope for being too chunky, too thin, too whatever. Being criticized by some for being too thin, Kate Middleton is in a lose-lose situation should she decide to even put on a few more post-wedding pounds, despite the fact that a few more pounds would look perfectly healthy on her.
That said, it makes me feel fortunate that my weight is my private business. Sure, I gained 60 pounds, and sure, I suspect friends and family probably nudged each other behind my back in disbelief, but hey, at least I didn't hear the whispers and start myself on a nasty downward spiral as a result. If I want to lose a few pounds, great. I'm supported by my family. If I gain a few pounds, no worries, they know if I've lost it once, I can lose it again. No speculation about how it happened. No accusatory tones. They just want me to be healthy and will support me in any way. I doubt I'll ever post my weight here even. I'll show what I've lost, but my weight = my business, and those who love me and support me understand that and never pry.
Moreover, I'm lucky that for the most part, my life lacks enablers. Sure, there is my pregnant friend who would love to have an eating buddy, but she also knows what it's like to try to diet and is one of my biggest supporters. My husband is hardly the complaining type when I cook healthy, and actually prefers it. Even going out to eat with my family (that is, the extended family who live in town), no one bats an eye when I order a salad or unbuttered wheat toast with my fruit platter.
Then there's Lulu and Thor, both of which enjoy a nice, junky treat every once in awhile. However, neither will turn down whole grain bread, unbuttered wheat noodles, or 98% fat free turkey hotdogs. It makes life easier that my children will eat healthy and that I don't have to keep junky food in the house. Out of sight, out of mind, and that's true for the whole family, not just me.
I know I'm lucky, and I'm lucky to realize I'm lucky. It helps me be more introspective, helps me be aware that support exists where I didn't even realize it existed. Many people use enablers in their lives as an excuse, but I can't use that as an excuse. And I'm lucky for that.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Frustrating
Even though I know that water retention (thanks to our friend, sodium) can pack on weight faster than gorging on a loaf of bread, it's still frustrating to stand on the scale a day after eating rather virtuously, minus a couple bowls of sodium-rich soup because I'm still not feeling well. Up goes the number on the scale by about a 1/2 pound. I know it's water, and I know I'll lose it as soon as I rid myself of the sodium buildup, but dang, it can still be so discouraging.
I've got this strange head cold that consists of a terribly sore throat, headache and sore sinuses, but no runny nose to speak of. I'm just tired, tired, tired. Thanks to my immunosuppressant, I get sick easily, I get sick hard, and I get sick long. Poor little Thor slept until 9:30 today (I finally woke him up) and I suspect he's coming down with what I have, too. Unlike me, however, I can fill myself up with Sudafed, NyQuil, whatever, and he's left with practically nothing save a few home remedies. In true Thor form, he is busy giggling to himself today (no one ever really knows what's so funny to him), rolling around with his toys and babbling away, so hopefully, he's just got a muted version of what I've got and is just tired, nothing more.
Last night, I had an epiphany moment with Lulu. I took her to swim class, and I was watching her prance around in her swimsuit, thinking, "Man, when did she get so chunky?" Enter Mommy Guilt. I started reviewing in my head what I feed her, dissecting every meal she has in the day, trying to find the culprit for why my little girl has a belly that rivals a 9-month-pregnant woman. Do I give her too much milk? Do I let her have too much candy? No, that can't be it - she rarely has candy, and she only drinks skim milk with meals. Do I give her too much bread? Too many chicken nuggets? Hell, this is a child who voluntarily will ask for a salad in lieu of pizza, eats fruit like it's going out of style, and is about one chicken nugget away from being a vegetarian. Then where did I go wrong with my child's diet? And how did I never notice it before now?
Then she went home, and long (and grotesque) story short: she was "backed up." One very messy 10 minutes later, she was a svelte gal again, with just an appropriate amount of adorably chubby toddler tummy, exactly what you'd expect to see on a child her age.
Now, see, my weight problems didn't begin until late elementary school or so. I was never big enough to be teased; not by a long shot. But my father was a doctor, and my mother a nurse, and obesity runs in my family. My parents never wanted me to be "one of them" and I remember nights of my mother (who was also a tad overweight back then) and I eating plain chicken and salads while my dad and brother chowed down on crusted chicken, noodles, and full-calorie sodas. I do not want my child to go through that. I do not want her to find herself dieting in fifth grade. I don't want her skinny, either, mind you. Right now, she is tall and extremely muscular. You look at her legs and you can see how strong she is. She's not a stick, and never will be. If she harnesses her body correctly, I suspect she'll be excellent at sports and will have a lean but built body. To me, that's the body to have. Not wispy, not rail-like, but strong, sturdy, lean, and able.
Of course, I could be projecting. Thanks to my RA, I will never be strong, sturdy, lean, and able. Okay, lean, perhaps, if I'm lucky. But when I'm thin, I have a boy's body, and it's not pretty. Just kind of curveless and flabby. But for my health, I need to be thinner.
Back to Lulu. And Thor, too, I suppose, but I see myself in Lulu so much since I already see her zest for the sense of taste. I love watching her eat - she eats with such gusto, and loves all the things I love, which includes healthy things as well. But I don't want her getting to the point where she automatically turns to food when she's sad, or frustrated, or angry, or even bored or happy. I know that emotional eating route. I've been there.
How do you teach your children to make the right decisions? How do you, when you fight your own issues with food, not even subconsciously pass the same issues to your children? I want her to be comfortable with her body, I want her to enjoy eating, but I don't want her to live to eat the way I've become. There's a fine line between living to eat and eating to live, and I want her to fall in that line. I can't understand people who eat to live, and I don't want to be like them. I want to enjoy eating, but I don't want to be preoccupied with it.
Healthy living becomes such a different story when you're not just looking after your own health, but your family's as well. My decisions become their decisions, and what she sees now will likely be what she learns is the norm. She's young, impressionable, and absorbs my behaviors like a sponge. When I eat a salad, she wants a salad, too. Fantastic! But if she sees me gorging on cookies? Of course, she's going want that, too. Therefore, my choices need to be just as much about my family as about me, because this is how my children will learn. These are the rules of eating they will acquire, and it's up to me (and my husband, too, of course) to instill them.
Now, to get Thor to eat more than just bananas and lima beans...
I've got this strange head cold that consists of a terribly sore throat, headache and sore sinuses, but no runny nose to speak of. I'm just tired, tired, tired. Thanks to my immunosuppressant, I get sick easily, I get sick hard, and I get sick long. Poor little Thor slept until 9:30 today (I finally woke him up) and I suspect he's coming down with what I have, too. Unlike me, however, I can fill myself up with Sudafed, NyQuil, whatever, and he's left with practically nothing save a few home remedies. In true Thor form, he is busy giggling to himself today (no one ever really knows what's so funny to him), rolling around with his toys and babbling away, so hopefully, he's just got a muted version of what I've got and is just tired, nothing more.
Last night, I had an epiphany moment with Lulu. I took her to swim class, and I was watching her prance around in her swimsuit, thinking, "Man, when did she get so chunky?" Enter Mommy Guilt. I started reviewing in my head what I feed her, dissecting every meal she has in the day, trying to find the culprit for why my little girl has a belly that rivals a 9-month-pregnant woman. Do I give her too much milk? Do I let her have too much candy? No, that can't be it - she rarely has candy, and she only drinks skim milk with meals. Do I give her too much bread? Too many chicken nuggets? Hell, this is a child who voluntarily will ask for a salad in lieu of pizza, eats fruit like it's going out of style, and is about one chicken nugget away from being a vegetarian. Then where did I go wrong with my child's diet? And how did I never notice it before now?
Then she went home, and long (and grotesque) story short: she was "backed up." One very messy 10 minutes later, she was a svelte gal again, with just an appropriate amount of adorably chubby toddler tummy, exactly what you'd expect to see on a child her age.
Now, see, my weight problems didn't begin until late elementary school or so. I was never big enough to be teased; not by a long shot. But my father was a doctor, and my mother a nurse, and obesity runs in my family. My parents never wanted me to be "one of them" and I remember nights of my mother (who was also a tad overweight back then) and I eating plain chicken and salads while my dad and brother chowed down on crusted chicken, noodles, and full-calorie sodas. I do not want my child to go through that. I do not want her to find herself dieting in fifth grade. I don't want her skinny, either, mind you. Right now, she is tall and extremely muscular. You look at her legs and you can see how strong she is. She's not a stick, and never will be. If she harnesses her body correctly, I suspect she'll be excellent at sports and will have a lean but built body. To me, that's the body to have. Not wispy, not rail-like, but strong, sturdy, lean, and able.
Of course, I could be projecting. Thanks to my RA, I will never be strong, sturdy, lean, and able. Okay, lean, perhaps, if I'm lucky. But when I'm thin, I have a boy's body, and it's not pretty. Just kind of curveless and flabby. But for my health, I need to be thinner.
Back to Lulu. And Thor, too, I suppose, but I see myself in Lulu so much since I already see her zest for the sense of taste. I love watching her eat - she eats with such gusto, and loves all the things I love, which includes healthy things as well. But I don't want her getting to the point where she automatically turns to food when she's sad, or frustrated, or angry, or even bored or happy. I know that emotional eating route. I've been there.
How do you teach your children to make the right decisions? How do you, when you fight your own issues with food, not even subconsciously pass the same issues to your children? I want her to be comfortable with her body, I want her to enjoy eating, but I don't want her to live to eat the way I've become. There's a fine line between living to eat and eating to live, and I want her to fall in that line. I can't understand people who eat to live, and I don't want to be like them. I want to enjoy eating, but I don't want to be preoccupied with it.
Healthy living becomes such a different story when you're not just looking after your own health, but your family's as well. My decisions become their decisions, and what she sees now will likely be what she learns is the norm. She's young, impressionable, and absorbs my behaviors like a sponge. When I eat a salad, she wants a salad, too. Fantastic! But if she sees me gorging on cookies? Of course, she's going want that, too. Therefore, my choices need to be just as much about my family as about me, because this is how my children will learn. These are the rules of eating they will acquire, and it's up to me (and my husband, too, of course) to instill them.
Now, to get Thor to eat more than just bananas and lima beans...
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Sick
Seriously, someone needs to put our house in a bubble. In the past three weeks, here's what we've had:
-Lulu: two 4-day bouts of unexplained high fevers (about 104 degrees)
-Thor: two similar 4-day bouts of unexplained high fevers and one ear infection
- Z (my husband): pneumonia
-Me: bronchial infection (dangerous when on immunosuppressants), stomach flu, and now, a nasty head cold (hopefully won't lead to sinus or bronchial infection again)
The longest we've gone with the whole house being healthy is two days. Two days!! Cursed preschool! We just started Lulu three weeks ago and it's become germ haven around here since!
The bizarre silver lining is that I now have little to no appetite. I feel like soup, and low-cal chicken and veggie soup at that. Of course, it's packed with sodium (sodi-YUM? more like sodi-YUCK! Sorry, that is my lame sense of humor), but hey, better than packing on tons of carbs which is what I would ordinarily do.
Fingers crossed the little ones don't get sick, too. I'd rather a thousand times get sick than to see them get sick, and goodness knows they both have paid their fair share of sick dues the last few weeks.
-Lulu: two 4-day bouts of unexplained high fevers (about 104 degrees)
-Thor: two similar 4-day bouts of unexplained high fevers and one ear infection
- Z (my husband): pneumonia
-Me: bronchial infection (dangerous when on immunosuppressants), stomach flu, and now, a nasty head cold (hopefully won't lead to sinus or bronchial infection again)
The longest we've gone with the whole house being healthy is two days. Two days!! Cursed preschool! We just started Lulu three weeks ago and it's become germ haven around here since!
The bizarre silver lining is that I now have little to no appetite. I feel like soup, and low-cal chicken and veggie soup at that. Of course, it's packed with sodium (sodi-YUM? more like sodi-YUCK! Sorry, that is my lame sense of humor), but hey, better than packing on tons of carbs which is what I would ordinarily do.
Fingers crossed the little ones don't get sick, too. I'd rather a thousand times get sick than to see them get sick, and goodness knows they both have paid their fair share of sick dues the last few weeks.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
A Step at a Time
Two days ago was Easter, which is not (and never has been) a big deal in our household. In fact, it was a last minute decision to buy some plastic eggs on Easter day, fill them with raisins, Cheerios, Goldfish crackers (whole grain, natch), and pretzels and stuff them in the eggs for my daughter, Lulu (not her real name - a nickname), to find. No one in our house, Lulu included, needs candy, and these snacky items were just hanging around the cupboard anyway. For good measure, I hid three pieces of candy (not in eggs) left over from Halloween for her to find, too. This at least says something about our family, that we can have candy in the house and not devour it, but candy was never my downfall. Enter Easter dinner - stuffed pork tenderloin and veggies in herb sauce. I served myself a reasonable portion, but of course, Lulu didn't like it and Thor (my one-year-old; again, not his real name but rather a ridiculous nickname referring to his Nordic white hair) just picked at it, so what is a mama to do? If you guessed, "Feed the leftovers to the dog," you would be incorrect. Don't want the dog to get fat.
Nope, I devoured them in about 10 seconds flat. Thus started "The Cycle." You know the one I'm talking about. The one where you think, "Hell, I already blew it, let's blow it some more." Cheese crackers, Apple Jacks, and a granola bar later, I stopped myself. I contemplated how many calories I'd had (about 1500 total for the day). I decided that if I stopped now, no true harm done, just a speed bump. Sure, I'd put on some water weight from the sodium I'd deprived my body of the past few days, but in the end, 1500 calories wasn't going to pack on much, if anything. Sure enough, the scale the next day reflected a .8 pound gain, but I know it's mainly water weight, and today, it's gone again.
I had *almost* convinced myself that being a holiday, I should and could eat as much as I want. Erroneous thinking, of course, that hails back to my last post about making excuses. I mean, didn't I just say we don't even really celebrate Easter? Hell, I could probably find any holiday any day of the week and turn it into an excuse to gorge. National Teacher's Day? Check (I'm a former teacher). National Secretary's Day? Double check (I was a receptionist once. Does that count?). National Chocolate Appreciation Day? Who's dumb enough to ignore that one?
Add on to the fact that Easter evening, I fell down, which is easy to do with weak, unstable knees, and I landed very hard on my knees. They are now swollen and bruised, and my left one (the one facing joint replacement in the future) has a new "click" it didn't have before. The fact that I could stop my gorging even feeling such pain and depression is a big step for me.
Last night, some family came over for dinner and we grilled chicken, made homemade macaroni and cheese, and had some asparagus and corn. Let me tell you, the mac and cheese was to die for. Screw Kraft. Even the pickiest kid at dinner (my nephew) gobbled it down. I served myself a healthy dose of it (and by healthy, I mean generous) but I anticipated that I'd want quite a bit and cut back in other areas throughout the day. At the end of the day, I probably topped out at about 1100 calories or less. Yes, I know you should not dip below 1200 calories, but keep in mind that I get much less exercise than most people due to my arthritis. So, I compensate with fewer calories.
Long story short, I made choices yesterday that I'm proud of. I don't plan on making rich and decadent dishes every day, but when I do, I want to enjoy them which means cutting back in other areas throughout the day. This coming weekend, we're going to a birthday party and I plan on using a similar day-diet so I can enjoy some party food. If I didn't, I know I'd just feel deprived and miserable.
In other news, an article in the International Journal of Obesity ("Dairy augmentation of total and central fat loss in obese subjects," Zemel et al., 2005) suggests that individuals who include yogurt in their regular diets lose a substantial amount more trunk fat (in other words, fat around the belly area) than individuals not supplementing with yogurt - about 81%, in fact, so nothing to sneeze at.
What does this study mean for me? Back in my thinner days, I referred to myself as "skinny-fat." I was thin, but I could still stick out my stomach and look 5 months pregnant. I remember going out to the grocery store, and an older man cooed over my kids and then turned to me and said, "You must be a good Catholic woman." "Why?" I asked. "Two kids with another on the way! I commend you!" I must have looked baffled enough for him to have caught his error, and he mumbled something and retreated hastily. During this interaction, I wore a size 4. So, belly fat I have, and belly fat I shall like to lose. What's the point of wearing a size 4 - even a size 8 or higher - if you look 5 months pregnant?
That said, based on the results in the article and my desire to get thin-thin, not thin-fat, I'm having nonfat Greek yogurt (very high in protein and calcium, just what we'd like to see in a yogurt) with strawberries for breakfast. So far, I find it filling, satisfying, with just the right sweetness for breakfast, so hopefully I can keep it up.
A day at a time, a step at a time, though. I'll make something healthy for dinner tonight, which will make it easier to not feel tempted by decadent dishes. If I want an extra helping of veggie stir "fry" (which we never fry, but steam), that's a splurge that my body can handle. If I want one more veggie-crumble taco in a high-fiber, low-calorie tortilla (by the way, I LOVE Tortilla Factory Smart & Delicious tortillas!), it probably won't make the scale slide up in the morning. If I pick at my kids' uneaten grilled chicken (sans skin), I doubt I'll feel the swelling of water weight the next day. And in the meantime, if it teaches my kids healthy eating habits at the same time, it's a win-win. But eating habits (especially those acquired in childhood) is a post for another day.
Back to sipping my husband's glorious sun tea, watching Lulu play outside with her sand table while Thor takes a nap. It's a beautiful, healthy morning.
Nope, I devoured them in about 10 seconds flat. Thus started "The Cycle." You know the one I'm talking about. The one where you think, "Hell, I already blew it, let's blow it some more." Cheese crackers, Apple Jacks, and a granola bar later, I stopped myself. I contemplated how many calories I'd had (about 1500 total for the day). I decided that if I stopped now, no true harm done, just a speed bump. Sure, I'd put on some water weight from the sodium I'd deprived my body of the past few days, but in the end, 1500 calories wasn't going to pack on much, if anything. Sure enough, the scale the next day reflected a .8 pound gain, but I know it's mainly water weight, and today, it's gone again.
I had *almost* convinced myself that being a holiday, I should and could eat as much as I want. Erroneous thinking, of course, that hails back to my last post about making excuses. I mean, didn't I just say we don't even really celebrate Easter? Hell, I could probably find any holiday any day of the week and turn it into an excuse to gorge. National Teacher's Day? Check (I'm a former teacher). National Secretary's Day? Double check (I was a receptionist once. Does that count?). National Chocolate Appreciation Day? Who's dumb enough to ignore that one?
Add on to the fact that Easter evening, I fell down, which is easy to do with weak, unstable knees, and I landed very hard on my knees. They are now swollen and bruised, and my left one (the one facing joint replacement in the future) has a new "click" it didn't have before. The fact that I could stop my gorging even feeling such pain and depression is a big step for me.
Last night, some family came over for dinner and we grilled chicken, made homemade macaroni and cheese, and had some asparagus and corn. Let me tell you, the mac and cheese was to die for. Screw Kraft. Even the pickiest kid at dinner (my nephew) gobbled it down. I served myself a healthy dose of it (and by healthy, I mean generous) but I anticipated that I'd want quite a bit and cut back in other areas throughout the day. At the end of the day, I probably topped out at about 1100 calories or less. Yes, I know you should not dip below 1200 calories, but keep in mind that I get much less exercise than most people due to my arthritis. So, I compensate with fewer calories.
Long story short, I made choices yesterday that I'm proud of. I don't plan on making rich and decadent dishes every day, but when I do, I want to enjoy them which means cutting back in other areas throughout the day. This coming weekend, we're going to a birthday party and I plan on using a similar day-diet so I can enjoy some party food. If I didn't, I know I'd just feel deprived and miserable.
In other news, an article in the International Journal of Obesity ("Dairy augmentation of total and central fat loss in obese subjects," Zemel et al., 2005) suggests that individuals who include yogurt in their regular diets lose a substantial amount more trunk fat (in other words, fat around the belly area) than individuals not supplementing with yogurt - about 81%, in fact, so nothing to sneeze at.
What does this study mean for me? Back in my thinner days, I referred to myself as "skinny-fat." I was thin, but I could still stick out my stomach and look 5 months pregnant. I remember going out to the grocery store, and an older man cooed over my kids and then turned to me and said, "You must be a good Catholic woman." "Why?" I asked. "Two kids with another on the way! I commend you!" I must have looked baffled enough for him to have caught his error, and he mumbled something and retreated hastily. During this interaction, I wore a size 4. So, belly fat I have, and belly fat I shall like to lose. What's the point of wearing a size 4 - even a size 8 or higher - if you look 5 months pregnant?
That said, based on the results in the article and my desire to get thin-thin, not thin-fat, I'm having nonfat Greek yogurt (very high in protein and calcium, just what we'd like to see in a yogurt) with strawberries for breakfast. So far, I find it filling, satisfying, with just the right sweetness for breakfast, so hopefully I can keep it up.
A day at a time, a step at a time, though. I'll make something healthy for dinner tonight, which will make it easier to not feel tempted by decadent dishes. If I want an extra helping of veggie stir "fry" (which we never fry, but steam), that's a splurge that my body can handle. If I want one more veggie-crumble taco in a high-fiber, low-calorie tortilla (by the way, I LOVE Tortilla Factory Smart & Delicious tortillas!), it probably won't make the scale slide up in the morning. If I pick at my kids' uneaten grilled chicken (sans skin), I doubt I'll feel the swelling of water weight the next day. And in the meantime, if it teaches my kids healthy eating habits at the same time, it's a win-win. But eating habits (especially those acquired in childhood) is a post for another day.
Back to sipping my husband's glorious sun tea, watching Lulu play outside with her sand table while Thor takes a nap. It's a beautiful, healthy morning.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Making Excuses
It seems I've always given myself an excuse to eat poorly. It's a special occasion. Family is visiting. We're on vacation. I'm depressed. I'm happy. I'm bored. I deserve it.
Of course, those are all very acute reasons. I gave myself plenty of chronic reasons, too, particularly around the time I was trying to get pregnant with my first. Unfortunately for myself and thousands of other women, there is a belief that diet is not conducive to conception and pregnancy itself. Our bodies need fat to conceive, I convinced myself. Voluptuous figures are symbolic of fertility, so I certainly had plenty to add in that regard. In 1997, a Harvard study suggested that eating whole fat dairy (ice cream, in the case of the study) helped certain couples with infertility. A new excuse to eat ice cream! Fortunately, at the time, I realized that the study pertained to couples with a different fertility issues than what I had (inability to get pregnant versus habitual miscarriages), and that eating ice cream would serve one purpose: make me fatter. But while I scoffed at the women I knew downing tubs of Dreyers, I harbored my own beliefs that now was no time to diet and that if I was hungry, I should eat, and I should eat what I want.
Making the decision to lose weight to potentially prevent further miscarriages was an easy decision to make. Prior to talking with my reproductive endocrinologist, it never occurred to me my weight could be an issue. Of course, I also had a history with blood clots, so blood thinners during pregnancy also became part of my regimen. Who knows the true reason I wound up carrying to term - less body fat? The heparin injections? Pure luck? - but giving birth to my baby girl made me realize that whatever occurred, I should repeat all my steps should I get pregnant again. I did, and carried to term again with my next pregnancy.
So, trying to conceive was no longer a viable excuse to eat myself sick. But breastfeeding was! Breastfeeding my daughter, I convinced myself that she needed the calories and fat intake, and the lactation consultant at the hospital helped confirm my conviction by stating (and I remember this verbatim): "Breastfeeding is no time to start dieting." Score! Hell, I had an actual healthcare worker give me an excuse, so who was I to argue? I gained back almost every pound I gained prior to getting pregnant with her, only to convince myself to lose it again in time to get pregnant with my son.
In the meantime, my joints became inflamed after the birth of my son in January of 2010, and I was facing knee replacement surgery. I vowed to take the pressure of my weight off my joints as a favor to my body, as a way of preserving the little strength, cartilage, and bone I had left. I became the thinnest I was in years. Perhaps, to some, too thin (which is why I claim I don't need to lose the 60 pounds I gained; perhaps just 40-45 of those pounds). No excuses to gorge. No excuses to break my diet.
Enter prednisone.
In my defense, it genuinely made me hungry. It genuinely made me crave things I hadn't craved for months. But did I have to listen? Did I have to turn those cravings for cookies into scarfing down an entire sleeve of Oreos? Probably not. But my rheumatologist said the words I was craving to hear, the words that lead me down a path of caving in and gorgin: he told me that trying to diet while on prednisone was a lost cause, that I shouldn't feel bad and that I'd be off the steroids soon enough and could work on my weight then.
I don't blame my doctor. I can't. I was the one who took his words liberally, who interpreted them to be a green light for stuffing myself until I was sick. I'm the one who used his statement, as well as my own genuine hunger and cravings, as the ultimate excuse to break my healthy eating cycle. What's another couple weeks of unhealthy eating? What's another month? Another couple months? No one knew I'd be on the drug this long. I tried to wean several times, only to find myself crippled with pain, back on the prednisone, and my face back in the fridge.
60 pounds later, here I am. A couple weeks on prednisone turned into months with only in the past two weeks an end in sight. I am weaning currently, but may not be able to stop for a few more weeks or months. Can I let it go until I'm off of it? Sure, if I want to gain another 60 pounds. I'm not sure what made me realize that it was all an excuse. Maybe I knew all along, but I realize (even if in retrospect) that all I was waiting for was an excuse - any excuse - to eat unhealthy, to outright binge at times, and this silly little drug gave me the best excuse I could ask for next to pregnancy.
Yesterday, I met up with one of my best friends who is currently 5 months pregnant. She looks beautiful; sumptuously (and enviably) round, glowing in that completely cliched way that you'd expect from a pregnant woman. Before pregnancy, she and I were "diet pals." We cooked healthy meals together, went out for healthy lunches, encouraged each other along. When she became pregnant, she flat-out stated that she was going to eat what she wanted since this would be the last time she'd be pregnant, and the last time she might have an excuse to gain weight. Who could argue with that? I must admit, for the first four months, I made a fantastic "eating pal" for her. Chinese buffets, pizza outings, fast food runs, mornings at each others' houses eating fresh chocolate croissants...it was hard to tell who the pregnant one was.
Leaving a park yesterday, she asked me if I wanted to go out with her to fulfill her Chinese food craving. With a deep sigh, and heavy heart, I told her I couldn't. I'd reached my weight limit and was time to reverse it. She looked momentarily disappointed, then perked up a moment before saying, "Come on. Aren't you supposed to be my eating pal until August [her due date]?" I laughed, considering for a moment was a fantastic excuse this would be. Yearning for another excuse to give it all up right there. Then an image hit me: me four months from now, waddling next to her without the knowledge that at least my waddle would end once I gave birth. The moment of temptation passed. "I'd love to," I explained, "but by August, I'd be bigger than you'll be at 9 months pregnant." She nodded, understanding (as she, too, has long fought the battle of the bulge), and we parted ways for the day.
One small feat at a time. That's what this is has come down to.
Today marks the day I start my fruits and veggies portion of my diet. And screw it, it's not a lifestyle change for me right now. It's a diet. Sorry to all my "lifestyle change" friends out there. I'm looking to lose weight. Once I want to maintain, sure, it'll be a lifestyle change. I'm all for that line of thinking. Right now, I'm restricting. Granted, I plan on being much less restrictive in just a couple days. Right now, I'm trying to squelch my appetite and it's working. Today, strawberries taste like nectar of the gods. I had a banana for breakfast that tasted as good as any ice cream. In my fridge, I have pink lady apples, clementine oranges, more strawberries, kiwi, pears, and grapefruit. I'm craving one of those apples, and the salad I'll have for dinner tonight sounds divine. This is the result of my cleanse the last two days. Fruits and veggies sound...perfect. This is where I need to be right now. Let's just hope the desire to eat these healthy foods remains with me.
4.6 pounds lost since two days ago. Again, mostly water weight, but the last two days hasn't been about weight loss so much as body boot camp. Come next week, I'm ready for something that more resembles "lifestyle eating." Portion control, moderation, all those adages you hear about dieting. It's what I believe in, too, as opposed to fad diets and cutting off entire food groups. It's what's worked for me in the past. The challenge this time isn't just losing weight; it's maintaining weight.
No more excuses this time. I've got to will myself to not just ignore excuses that might arise, but to stop actively looking for them. It's been my biggest downfall, and it's my biggest challenge. I need to find more excuses to be healthy and to deem those excuses to carry more weight (ha!) than excuses to be unhealthy. Time to reframe my priorities, to seek out benefits. I'm right at the beginning where motivation is highest; I need accountability to keep that motivation. It's just a day at a time, but any day where I make the healthy excuse the right excuse is a day of success for me.
Of course, those are all very acute reasons. I gave myself plenty of chronic reasons, too, particularly around the time I was trying to get pregnant with my first. Unfortunately for myself and thousands of other women, there is a belief that diet is not conducive to conception and pregnancy itself. Our bodies need fat to conceive, I convinced myself. Voluptuous figures are symbolic of fertility, so I certainly had plenty to add in that regard. In 1997, a Harvard study suggested that eating whole fat dairy (ice cream, in the case of the study) helped certain couples with infertility. A new excuse to eat ice cream! Fortunately, at the time, I realized that the study pertained to couples with a different fertility issues than what I had (inability to get pregnant versus habitual miscarriages), and that eating ice cream would serve one purpose: make me fatter. But while I scoffed at the women I knew downing tubs of Dreyers, I harbored my own beliefs that now was no time to diet and that if I was hungry, I should eat, and I should eat what I want.
Making the decision to lose weight to potentially prevent further miscarriages was an easy decision to make. Prior to talking with my reproductive endocrinologist, it never occurred to me my weight could be an issue. Of course, I also had a history with blood clots, so blood thinners during pregnancy also became part of my regimen. Who knows the true reason I wound up carrying to term - less body fat? The heparin injections? Pure luck? - but giving birth to my baby girl made me realize that whatever occurred, I should repeat all my steps should I get pregnant again. I did, and carried to term again with my next pregnancy.
So, trying to conceive was no longer a viable excuse to eat myself sick. But breastfeeding was! Breastfeeding my daughter, I convinced myself that she needed the calories and fat intake, and the lactation consultant at the hospital helped confirm my conviction by stating (and I remember this verbatim): "Breastfeeding is no time to start dieting." Score! Hell, I had an actual healthcare worker give me an excuse, so who was I to argue? I gained back almost every pound I gained prior to getting pregnant with her, only to convince myself to lose it again in time to get pregnant with my son.
In the meantime, my joints became inflamed after the birth of my son in January of 2010, and I was facing knee replacement surgery. I vowed to take the pressure of my weight off my joints as a favor to my body, as a way of preserving the little strength, cartilage, and bone I had left. I became the thinnest I was in years. Perhaps, to some, too thin (which is why I claim I don't need to lose the 60 pounds I gained; perhaps just 40-45 of those pounds). No excuses to gorge. No excuses to break my diet.
Enter prednisone.
In my defense, it genuinely made me hungry. It genuinely made me crave things I hadn't craved for months. But did I have to listen? Did I have to turn those cravings for cookies into scarfing down an entire sleeve of Oreos? Probably not. But my rheumatologist said the words I was craving to hear, the words that lead me down a path of caving in and gorgin: he told me that trying to diet while on prednisone was a lost cause, that I shouldn't feel bad and that I'd be off the steroids soon enough and could work on my weight then.
I don't blame my doctor. I can't. I was the one who took his words liberally, who interpreted them to be a green light for stuffing myself until I was sick. I'm the one who used his statement, as well as my own genuine hunger and cravings, as the ultimate excuse to break my healthy eating cycle. What's another couple weeks of unhealthy eating? What's another month? Another couple months? No one knew I'd be on the drug this long. I tried to wean several times, only to find myself crippled with pain, back on the prednisone, and my face back in the fridge.
60 pounds later, here I am. A couple weeks on prednisone turned into months with only in the past two weeks an end in sight. I am weaning currently, but may not be able to stop for a few more weeks or months. Can I let it go until I'm off of it? Sure, if I want to gain another 60 pounds. I'm not sure what made me realize that it was all an excuse. Maybe I knew all along, but I realize (even if in retrospect) that all I was waiting for was an excuse - any excuse - to eat unhealthy, to outright binge at times, and this silly little drug gave me the best excuse I could ask for next to pregnancy.
Yesterday, I met up with one of my best friends who is currently 5 months pregnant. She looks beautiful; sumptuously (and enviably) round, glowing in that completely cliched way that you'd expect from a pregnant woman. Before pregnancy, she and I were "diet pals." We cooked healthy meals together, went out for healthy lunches, encouraged each other along. When she became pregnant, she flat-out stated that she was going to eat what she wanted since this would be the last time she'd be pregnant, and the last time she might have an excuse to gain weight. Who could argue with that? I must admit, for the first four months, I made a fantastic "eating pal" for her. Chinese buffets, pizza outings, fast food runs, mornings at each others' houses eating fresh chocolate croissants...it was hard to tell who the pregnant one was.
Leaving a park yesterday, she asked me if I wanted to go out with her to fulfill her Chinese food craving. With a deep sigh, and heavy heart, I told her I couldn't. I'd reached my weight limit and was time to reverse it. She looked momentarily disappointed, then perked up a moment before saying, "Come on. Aren't you supposed to be my eating pal until August [her due date]?" I laughed, considering for a moment was a fantastic excuse this would be. Yearning for another excuse to give it all up right there. Then an image hit me: me four months from now, waddling next to her without the knowledge that at least my waddle would end once I gave birth. The moment of temptation passed. "I'd love to," I explained, "but by August, I'd be bigger than you'll be at 9 months pregnant." She nodded, understanding (as she, too, has long fought the battle of the bulge), and we parted ways for the day.
One small feat at a time. That's what this is has come down to.
Today marks the day I start my fruits and veggies portion of my diet. And screw it, it's not a lifestyle change for me right now. It's a diet. Sorry to all my "lifestyle change" friends out there. I'm looking to lose weight. Once I want to maintain, sure, it'll be a lifestyle change. I'm all for that line of thinking. Right now, I'm restricting. Granted, I plan on being much less restrictive in just a couple days. Right now, I'm trying to squelch my appetite and it's working. Today, strawberries taste like nectar of the gods. I had a banana for breakfast that tasted as good as any ice cream. In my fridge, I have pink lady apples, clementine oranges, more strawberries, kiwi, pears, and grapefruit. I'm craving one of those apples, and the salad I'll have for dinner tonight sounds divine. This is the result of my cleanse the last two days. Fruits and veggies sound...perfect. This is where I need to be right now. Let's just hope the desire to eat these healthy foods remains with me.
4.6 pounds lost since two days ago. Again, mostly water weight, but the last two days hasn't been about weight loss so much as body boot camp. Come next week, I'm ready for something that more resembles "lifestyle eating." Portion control, moderation, all those adages you hear about dieting. It's what I believe in, too, as opposed to fad diets and cutting off entire food groups. It's what's worked for me in the past. The challenge this time isn't just losing weight; it's maintaining weight.
No more excuses this time. I've got to will myself to not just ignore excuses that might arise, but to stop actively looking for them. It's been my biggest downfall, and it's my biggest challenge. I need to find more excuses to be healthy and to deem those excuses to carry more weight (ha!) than excuses to be unhealthy. Time to reframe my priorities, to seek out benefits. I'm right at the beginning where motivation is highest; I need accountability to keep that motivation. It's just a day at a time, but any day where I make the healthy excuse the right excuse is a day of success for me.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
...And Away We Go
60 pounds.
That's not how much I need to lose, although it'd be nice to lose that much.
60 pounds. That's a big number.
Want to know the significance of that number?
That is the amount of weight I've GAINED in 6 months.Yes, 6 months. Not years. Months.
Seem impossible? Yeah, I never thought it'd be possible either, but here I am, squeezing into my maternity clothes (I am not pregnant), looking in the mirror with complete lack of recognition of the woman in front of me, and waking up with panic when I realize who I've become.
To my credit, I am on prednisone (a type of oral steroid) to help with my rheumatoid arthritis, and I've been on this bittersweet drug for...well, about 8 or 9 months. It all coincides. Steroids are notorious for making one's appetite fly out of control, not to mention packing on water weight and overall edema.
I've battled my weight since I was a kid, perhaps about 12 or 13 or so. Looking at old pictures of myself, I don't think I looked chubby, but standards for chubbiness have changed in the last 20 years or so since I was a child. We are more forgiving as a society now for what is considered "chunky." By today's standards, I probably would have been considered a relatively normal kid, but even normal today carries with it warning signals for what may lie ahead as an adult.
At 15, I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis (RA). I was very sick in high school as a result and lost all my "baby fat." I remained tiny through high school and most of college, and then my RA went into remission. Mixed blessing, as it turns out. I felt great physically, and as a result, my appetite came back. For the next several years, I dieted here and there, and ranged anywhere from the mid-normal BMI range to the lower-obese BMI range. Ironically, amongst my lowest weights was when I was pregnant with my kids. My highest weight was before getting pregnant with my daughter (my oldest). Before her, I had several miscarriages and my reproductive endocrinologist suggested that I should consider lopping off a few pounds. 30 pounds and 600 injections of heparin (a blood thinner thought to avoid clotting, and subsequent miscarriage, during pregnancy) later, my daughter was born. I gained most the weight back I'd lost, only to lose 30 pounds again before becoming pregnant with my son. After he was born, I continued to lose weight, reaching my all time low since high school.
Holy moly! I was wearing clothes I never thought I'd wear, especially at my age! For the first time, I felt comfortable in my skin, and not just in an aesthetic sense. I fit into clothes, I didn't feel the "fat bloat" that I'm sure many of you are all too aware of, my thighs didn't rub together anymore...life should have been great. But my RA wasn't. In exchange for my beautiful little son, my body broke down. I could barely exercise - could barely walk - and could hardly even lift my sweet little boy on most days. I tried regimen after regimen of treatments ranging from biologic infusions to a couple different types of self-injected biologic treatments and while they would work initially, the honeymoon wore off quickly. On came the prednisone. The nasty little pills with so much power. On my worst days, all I had to do was pop a few of those little suckers and I felt great. So great, all I wanted to do was sit and eat. And eat some more. Forget healthy snacks - prednisone-takers rarely crave apples and yogurt and carrot sticks. We want pizza, ice cream, hamburgers, and pretty much anything that will make our hearts and tummies happy but our waistlines expand.
It started slowly: a cookie here, a slice of pizza there, but healthy eating the rest of the day. I'm not sure what happened, but it's like I awoke one day and said, "Screw it. If I'm physically miserable, I deserve to eat to my heart's content." Only now, I'm even more physically miserable because I'm in pain *and* I'm up 60 pounds.
And that's how I know it's not all prednisone's fault. Sure, it may have initially caused my appetite to increase. But it was my decision to give into it. It was my decision to indulge every craving, not just one or two a week. It was my decision to throw caution to the wind and eat with wild abandon, swearing the next day would be different. It's time to own up. It's time to take responsibility, to accept that prednisone may not be going anywhere but my weight can. It can go up, or it can go down. It's my choice.
Today, I make the choice.
I choose to not let my disease conquer me, to not let the medications get the better of me. Today, I make my own decisions.
Well, to be technical, yesterday. Yesterday, I started a cleanse: homemade vegetable broth, carrot juice, and lots and lots of water. I will do the same today. I have a lot of nasty stuff in my system and I don't even want to get into my stomach issues that have occurred from years and years of putting potent drugs (prescription, not street drugs!) into my body. After today, I plan to move onto a few days of fruits and veggies only, and then incorporate proteins and grains. This serves two purposes: ridding my body of artificial additives and putting the kibosh on my out-of-control appetite and sugar cravings. Within a week, I hope to be on a regular, well-rounded diet incorporating simple portion-control. Unfortunately, I cannot exercise. Not even swimming. The pain factor is too high, but I do get out with my children every day and try to walk around a bit, albeit very slowly. I'm on a new biologic therapy which over the past two weeks has actually been showing some positive results so hopefully, my body will feel well enough to incorporate some exercise soon. I have a never-used elliptical collecting dust that would love some company. Until then, my challenge is calories in versus calories out.
Since yesterday, I lost 3 pounds of water weight. These first few days of weight loss are always such a great motivator, aren't they? It's like nature designs it purposely to lose several pounds quickly at first to instill a sense of efficacy in the dieter.
This time, I will do it. I don't want to lose 60 pounds, but I'd be happy with 40 to 45. I joined this community to be part of a culture that so many understand. I need the support as much as I need my own accountability. I want to feel good again. I want to my weight to be gentle on my joints so I have many years left with my original knees. I want to be an example to my children. I want to recognize the woman in the mirror again.
And away we go.
That's not how much I need to lose, although it'd be nice to lose that much.
60 pounds. That's a big number.
Want to know the significance of that number?
That is the amount of weight I've GAINED in 6 months.Yes, 6 months. Not years. Months.
Seem impossible? Yeah, I never thought it'd be possible either, but here I am, squeezing into my maternity clothes (I am not pregnant), looking in the mirror with complete lack of recognition of the woman in front of me, and waking up with panic when I realize who I've become.
To my credit, I am on prednisone (a type of oral steroid) to help with my rheumatoid arthritis, and I've been on this bittersweet drug for...well, about 8 or 9 months. It all coincides. Steroids are notorious for making one's appetite fly out of control, not to mention packing on water weight and overall edema.
I've battled my weight since I was a kid, perhaps about 12 or 13 or so. Looking at old pictures of myself, I don't think I looked chubby, but standards for chubbiness have changed in the last 20 years or so since I was a child. We are more forgiving as a society now for what is considered "chunky." By today's standards, I probably would have been considered a relatively normal kid, but even normal today carries with it warning signals for what may lie ahead as an adult.
At 15, I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis (RA). I was very sick in high school as a result and lost all my "baby fat." I remained tiny through high school and most of college, and then my RA went into remission. Mixed blessing, as it turns out. I felt great physically, and as a result, my appetite came back. For the next several years, I dieted here and there, and ranged anywhere from the mid-normal BMI range to the lower-obese BMI range. Ironically, amongst my lowest weights was when I was pregnant with my kids. My highest weight was before getting pregnant with my daughter (my oldest). Before her, I had several miscarriages and my reproductive endocrinologist suggested that I should consider lopping off a few pounds. 30 pounds and 600 injections of heparin (a blood thinner thought to avoid clotting, and subsequent miscarriage, during pregnancy) later, my daughter was born. I gained most the weight back I'd lost, only to lose 30 pounds again before becoming pregnant with my son. After he was born, I continued to lose weight, reaching my all time low since high school.
Holy moly! I was wearing clothes I never thought I'd wear, especially at my age! For the first time, I felt comfortable in my skin, and not just in an aesthetic sense. I fit into clothes, I didn't feel the "fat bloat" that I'm sure many of you are all too aware of, my thighs didn't rub together anymore...life should have been great. But my RA wasn't. In exchange for my beautiful little son, my body broke down. I could barely exercise - could barely walk - and could hardly even lift my sweet little boy on most days. I tried regimen after regimen of treatments ranging from biologic infusions to a couple different types of self-injected biologic treatments and while they would work initially, the honeymoon wore off quickly. On came the prednisone. The nasty little pills with so much power. On my worst days, all I had to do was pop a few of those little suckers and I felt great. So great, all I wanted to do was sit and eat. And eat some more. Forget healthy snacks - prednisone-takers rarely crave apples and yogurt and carrot sticks. We want pizza, ice cream, hamburgers, and pretty much anything that will make our hearts and tummies happy but our waistlines expand.
It started slowly: a cookie here, a slice of pizza there, but healthy eating the rest of the day. I'm not sure what happened, but it's like I awoke one day and said, "Screw it. If I'm physically miserable, I deserve to eat to my heart's content." Only now, I'm even more physically miserable because I'm in pain *and* I'm up 60 pounds.
And that's how I know it's not all prednisone's fault. Sure, it may have initially caused my appetite to increase. But it was my decision to give into it. It was my decision to indulge every craving, not just one or two a week. It was my decision to throw caution to the wind and eat with wild abandon, swearing the next day would be different. It's time to own up. It's time to take responsibility, to accept that prednisone may not be going anywhere but my weight can. It can go up, or it can go down. It's my choice.
Today, I make the choice.
I choose to not let my disease conquer me, to not let the medications get the better of me. Today, I make my own decisions.
Well, to be technical, yesterday. Yesterday, I started a cleanse: homemade vegetable broth, carrot juice, and lots and lots of water. I will do the same today. I have a lot of nasty stuff in my system and I don't even want to get into my stomach issues that have occurred from years and years of putting potent drugs (prescription, not street drugs!) into my body. After today, I plan to move onto a few days of fruits and veggies only, and then incorporate proteins and grains. This serves two purposes: ridding my body of artificial additives and putting the kibosh on my out-of-control appetite and sugar cravings. Within a week, I hope to be on a regular, well-rounded diet incorporating simple portion-control. Unfortunately, I cannot exercise. Not even swimming. The pain factor is too high, but I do get out with my children every day and try to walk around a bit, albeit very slowly. I'm on a new biologic therapy which over the past two weeks has actually been showing some positive results so hopefully, my body will feel well enough to incorporate some exercise soon. I have a never-used elliptical collecting dust that would love some company. Until then, my challenge is calories in versus calories out.
Since yesterday, I lost 3 pounds of water weight. These first few days of weight loss are always such a great motivator, aren't they? It's like nature designs it purposely to lose several pounds quickly at first to instill a sense of efficacy in the dieter.
This time, I will do it. I don't want to lose 60 pounds, but I'd be happy with 40 to 45. I joined this community to be part of a culture that so many understand. I need the support as much as I need my own accountability. I want to feel good again. I want to my weight to be gentle on my joints so I have many years left with my original knees. I want to be an example to my children. I want to recognize the woman in the mirror again.
And away we go.
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