Miserable Cuss

THEY CONSPIRE AGAINST ME. THEY WANT ME TO STAY FAT. THEY ARE MY FRIENDS AND MY ENEMIES.

THEY ARE COMFORTING AND NEEDY AND BLOODSUCKERS AND THEY MUST BE KILLED. IT'S A LOVE-HATE THING.

Candy corn.

Crap food.

Stress.

A sick pet.

An ailing body of my own to contend with: Pain, fatigue, falling down, weakness...

Crazy ass stupid relatives--my parents are insane and I avoid them like the plague.

Cookies, Ice Cream, nasty frozen pizzas,

A late-night compulsion to eat until I'm so tired I nearly fall asleep in the last snack bowl.

A non-committal attitude that helps me start many projects--including health regimens--and never finish them.

GUILT GUILT GUILT GUILT GUILT, ETC., ETC.

denial denial denial.

Yeah. It's all those things fault right?

Nope. Bullshit on a stick.

It's all my fault.

Now I have to do something because my self esteem is so low I'm about to actually, physically, disappear.

Death: Just Beat It!

The deaths of Micheal Jackson, aged 50, and Farrah Fawcett, aged 62 today has forced me to look at some things in my own life in ways that I would prefer not to.

Jackson had chronic health problems and it's been speculated that it contributed to the weakening of his heart. Farrah of course had Cancer and even though she battled valiantly, it ultimately won.

I've had Cancer. I have ongoing chronic health problems. I take approx. 15 different kinds of medications daily. I know that having done this for over 10 years now, it has to be affecting my liver and other organ functions. I've had heart work-ups because of chronic chest pain and it's scary as hell. Two years ago I had an angio-gram; not fun. So far, the heart looks fine, but my husband's mother went through her heart work-up five years ago, got a pristine bill of health and dropped dead from a massive heart attack two weeks later.

I'm scared. I want to be here for my child's college graduation, for his wedding, to hold his babies; and I'm so afraid that I won't be. I want desperately to not have to take so much medication just to function semi-normally. I've spent lots of time and lots of money looking into alternative therapies for all of my conditions, and there is only so much they can do quite frankly. Western medicine may fall short, and it may even be dangerous at times, but sometimes, in certain situations, it's the only thing there is.

My point...and I think I have one, is I've been staring down my own mortality today: again. It's not the first time and I'm sure it won't be the last time, but I've been thinking about the fact that Micheal was only a few years older than I am right now when he went today.

Sometimes the universe leans over and biffs us upside our stupid heads to get our attention. My attention is rapt: I'm focused and thinking hard about how I'd like to live a lot longer than I might if I continue on the path I am currently on.

I don't drink alcohol (because of medical reasons, not because I don't want to!) I don't smoke, don't do drugs--outside of the handfuls of RX's I gulp down each day--and I eat really well compared to most of my fellow countrymen and women. However, I am chronically ill, weak, ill-exercised, out of shape, and FAT. These are all bad things, a few of which I can change.

Even though I have been working on things, I need to do even more and with a greater sense of urgency. If I died suddenly and the docs said "If only she hadn't been overweight and out of shape she could maybe have survived this___________(fill in the blank)" my son might never forgive me for missing the parts of his life he would have wanted to share with his mother. My sister would be pissed too I'm sure, and my husband, well, he'd not miss my nagging about the bathroom tiles, but I know it would take a long long time for him to feel whole again and that makes me sad also.

So for all of them, and to make the rest of my days as comfortable and pleasing as possible, I must continue on this journey I'm on, and I must add exercise and a re-newed committment to better health, and I must get there as quickly as possible.

Farrah ~ I remember both of my little brother's being completely obsessed with you. Your poster was in their room for years. You were a part of the glam '70s scene and my favorite Angel. R.I.P.

Micheal ~ Even though your later years were a mish-mash of odd weirdness, your early musical work was inspirational and a very big part of my life as a teen and young adult. R.I.P.

WEIGH-IN and NEW MEASUREMENTS

Oh the unbridled joy, of taking measuring tape in hand and wrapping it around great mounds of gelatinous limbs and torso.

I make a party out of it, skipping naked through the house, thundering through the house actually, with cane in hand of course, which makes it a rather noisy affair. But a party nonetheless. I streak nude from one end of the house to the other, then slowly make my way back to the dreaded full-length mirror where I chug-a-lug a bottle of Wild Turkey and get on with the sordid business at hand. Measuring and weighing my ungainly carcass.

*Note: last weigh-in/measuring party was on June 15, 2009:

Weight: 220 lbs. ---loss of 4 lbs!!
Waist: 47" ---loss of 1 1/4"

Hips: 47 1/2" ---loss of 1"

Bra Line: 41 1/4"---loss of 3/4"
Rt. Thigh: 25"---loss of 1 1/2"

Lt. Thigh: 25 1/4"---loss of 3/4"

Neck: 16 1/2"---same

Upper Rt. Arm: 14 1/4"---loss of 1 1/4"
Upper Lt. Arm: 14 3/4"---loss of 1 1/4"
Rt. Calf: 15 1/2"---same
Lt. Calf: 15 7/8"---loss of 1/8"
Rt. Wrist: 6 3/8" (new measurement)
Lt. Wrist: 6 1/4" ( " " )

So the good news is by some miracle I managed to drop 4 lbs and a few inches. Probably had to do with the stress of the basement flooding and moving crap around and being stressed out over health issues. But, I have to take some credit:


I've added about another full cup of raw veggies to my daily diet bringing it up to approx 3 cups of raw veggies and some fruits as well each day. My gut is adjusting well and I'm having some relief from some gastrointestinal problems that have plagued me for years.

Doing some "chair" exercises for now. Still not able to drag my fat ass to the pool, just a little too scared yet. So shy, especially about the flat chest thing and the giant belly...damned Breast Cancer anyway...I feel like such a freak and people do stare...sometimes I feel so androgynous with this fat amorphous body and no boobies, that I wonder if people think I'm like a pre-surgery trans-gender person or something. I mean I do look kind of like an old boozer with this gut sticking out. I dunno...I get panic-stricken just thinking about doing things in public, much less messing around in a dressing room at the health club...in the pool...damn. We'll see. Courage is coming to me in small doses right now. Hopefully at some point I just won't give two shits what anyone thinks of how I look and I can just get on with it.

Goals before next weigh-in:
1. Lose another 4 to 6 pounds
2. Go swimming
3. Walk around the block with my cane and a friend.
4. Continue to add whole raw foods to my daily routine until I'm at 5 cups a day.

Cheers!

Titty Sprinkles

Oh today was a fun day! Where do I start? So exciting to share life's little surprises with others.



First, we've had tons of rain. Yesterday it rained like a bastard, dumped about 5 inches of hail on us and a tornado blew over. Such excitement. We discovered this morning that our basement was flooded from it all. The stupid gutters tore off the house in the wind and hail mess and all the water went down into the cave that is our downstairs. What a friggin' mess. We're cutting off drywall and molding, taking out carpet, it sucked. Needless to say, hours and hours of clearing tons of stuff to the upstairs of an already very full house...everyone was cranky, but Mr. Grumpypants (husband) was worst of all. Stomping around like someone had personally done this thing to him. What arrogance. I mean really. Grow up.



So fun day all around. Ate some sushi for dinner, had to do delivery as there would be no cooking with all the work we were doing.



Later, I put my headphones on for my bedroom tv so old Grumpypants could get some shut-eye, and was so tired I didn't care what I was watching. South Park came on. And I laughed until I nearly peed myself. Cartman was introduced to a young man who had Tourettes Syndrome. Cartman couldn't believe how cool it would be to not have to filter any of his thoughts, so he concocted a plan to 'contract' Tourettes and off it went. He was foul and the things that flew out of his mouth had me doing spit shots with my water and laughing so loud it woke old Grumpyfarts a few times. Holy hell it was good. Cheered me the hell up! That show can be so weird and vile, but tonight, it saved me. Cartman killed me with one of his long Tourettes rants that included the hysterical "Titty Sprinkles".



So thank you South Park, and thank you Cartman for turning a terrible day completely around with just a few well chosen words:

"PUSSY DICK ASS CHEESE! PENIS LIPS CRAP STINK! ASSHOLE PICKLES!

and my personal favorite:

"TITTY SPRINKLES!"

A picture is worth a thousand calories.

Note to self: Never take up Clowning.

That said, here is the sad state of the carcass I call my body. This is post-double mastectomy (Thank you Breast Cancer!) so all I'm sporting across the chest is a number of heinous scars and some extra weird tissue. Frankenboobs is how I refer to my chesticle area now. No other word comes close to fitting.

Abdominal maladies have caused my already ample gut to swell to idiotic proportions. It looks as though I've swallowed a foursquare ball. My skin is pallid and sallow. My neck has become part of my chest and back, therefore it does not exist. My legs have wasted away making me look like a keg on sticks. Lumpy crooked sticks at that. I'm wondering now if I don't have Rickets as well. (note to self: call doc tomorrow about possible Rickets.)

My arms, oh my arms. Great flabby stacks of hanging meat. My upper arms have been affected by lymphatic fluid from the surgeries. MANY surgeries I might add, that also affected lymphatic issues in my abdomen and groin. My crotch area looks as though I've padded it, as the gentlemen did in the 18th century to advertise their manhood and prowess. I'm only advertising that my vagina is morbidly obese, and it's got an ass to match.

Now in the other photos, which are recent, my butt doesn't look as bad as it should because one's eye is drawn to the obscenity of the giant round belly, but take my word for it, my ass is abominable. Better yet, take a gander at the photo on the left and tell me that isn't the goofiest backyard you've ever seen. Granted, I chose the most unflattering clothes for this fashion layout, but still, you can see how flat my ass is from countless months in hospital beds, my own bed and my couch. Sitting, eating, shuffling around, basically, it deflated from it's former round firm glory to this sad dimply thing that when you unwrap it resembles a giant boiled ham.

Now we've seen the sad state of my carcass. This is a reality check for me and a jumping off point to re-claim my former life. The life I had before Cancer, Multiple Sclerosis, Irritable Bowel Syndrome, Depression, and God I hate to say this because I really hate psycho babble, but "emotional eating".

The phrase "emotional eating" doesn't even begin to really address my relationship with food. Food is the enemy and the best friend. It can be the healer and the disease. Food sates, fulfills. Food is guilt and anger. At times food delays tears. Other times food is the glue that holds one together for another five minutes in an otherwise bleak situation. Food dulls pain. But food is NOT my problem. Food is NOT my solution. I know this like I know the earth turns on it's axis and that the sun will rise in the east. Food, as much as I'd like to make it so, is not the villain in my life.

I am.

And the only one who can change that is me. It's time for me to be my own hero again. I was my own hero when I battled Cancer. Now I have another battle to wage, and I think I'm finally ready to do it.

So here goes. I'm terrified of being so open and honest (even though I'm incognito), but excited about the journey of coming back to my former self--sans breasts. My former healthy, robust, muscular, lithe, graceful, joyful dancing self.

Today's measurements:

Weight: 224 lbs (biggest I've ever been. horrid)

Waist: 49"

Hips: 48.5"

Bra Line: 42"

Rt. Thigh: 26.5"

Lt. Thigh: 26"

Neck: 16.5"

Upper Rt. Arm: 15.5"

Upper Lt. Arm: 16"

Rt. Calf: 15.5"

Lt. Calf: 16"

I've never measured myself before. I rarely weighed myself before all of this. I know that at my height, 5'7", I am very comfortable between 135 and 140--if I'm very fit. That's 89 lbs. to lose.

Holy Friggin' Crap. I have a feeling I'm about to experience a level of hell Dante could only imagine and never quite put on paper or canvas. Oh well. Time for bravery and action not cowardice and pussiness! No pussies here! Oy! Oy! Oy! Time to kick some ass. Some really fat ass.

But first: a snack for the road.