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.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
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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