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.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
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.
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