I got the results of my lab work in the mail today, along with a brochure and a note from the surgeon. I’ve been pretty good about taking all my supplements since my surgery. I’d give myself a 7 out of 10 for taking them reliably. Um, except for calcium. I HATE the calcium citrate chewables so I’ve never taken them. And in the (almost) three years since my surgery, I’ve managed to give myself Secondary hyperparathyroidism and the beginning of osteoporosis. I’ve been taking Vitamin D supplements, but my level is just 22. (Severe Vitamin D Deficiency is classified as below 18. I’m practically knocking on their door.) The doctor made recommendations (in 72 pt red sharpie) of what supplements I ought to be taking. I read them, told Gerald what I had done to myself and immediately ate a calcium supplement.

I already knew I was anemic. I was before I even had the bypass. I take a daily iron supplement, so I’m good there. But the lab work clearly shows what skipping a couple of days can do. When my iron level was tested on 3/4, it was 85 with 17% saturation. It was tested again on 3/8 and was 24 with 5% saturation. That’s a pretty drastic drop over just four days. I will be much more vigilant about taking my iron (AND CALCIUM) every single day.

Please, if you’ve had the gastric bypass, lap band or sleeve, TAKE YOUR SUPPLEMENTS and get regular lab work as advised by your physician. The surgery is a tool to help us be healthier, not end up with our teeth and hair falling out because we’ve got rickets or severe bone loss.

I volunteered to run up to the drug store last night to pick up my husband’s prescription for the sole purpose of buying, and then gorging on, candy. I fondled different delicious treats in the candy aisle and then left, empty-handed. I felt like some sort of candy-fondling pervert as I slunk out the door. I was proud of myself but knew I’d be pissed later that night when I still had NO CANDY in the house. Turns out that if you simply go to bed at 7:30 pm, you don’t really think about candy all that much.

This morning I woke up and decided I’d had enough. I don’t have anything against candy. As a matter of fact, I sort of love it. What I don’t love is feeling out of control. After almost a full week of being snowed-in together and a raging case of PMS I was a slave to emotional eating. I wasn’t making the conscious choice to enjoy a dessert or a sweet treat. I was eating to make my mind shut up.

For three days I’ve given myself two protein shakes a day, unlimited fruits and vegetables and dinner each night. I’m not going crazy. I want to break the mindless eating habit and addiction to refined carbs, not starve to death. So far today I’ve been strong. I’ve had my two shakes, a pear, some carrots and a tangerine. I’m hungry, but I feel righteous and smug which helps immensely. There’s no feeling like defeating your own worst enemy, is there? Especially when that enemy is always yourself. Every time my stomach growls I tell myself that’s a good thing. It means I needed to do this. I need to feel hungry. I need to remember what that feels like instead of keeping my pie hole filled all the time and never giving myself a chance to feel hungry. The fact that I walk into the pantry and stare longingly at the Wheat Thins means I have a problem. For me, there’s a reason the word CRACK is in CRACKERS. I would grind them up and snort them if I could. TFS.

And that is why I will always, always be a fat girl on the inside. Regardless of my outside.

I got a little Christmas gift money in the mail and I think I’m going to save it and buy myself some snazzy new clothes when I’ve lost the rest of these 24 pounds. That seems like the perfect gift to myself.

Thank you all for the encouragement via comments and The Twitter. I couldn’t ask for a better cheering squad!

While pregnant with Sam, my OB was concerned that I wasn’t gaining enough weight and encouraged me to eat a little more. I took this to mean “eat whatever the hell you feel like in whatever quantities you feel like.” I only gained 13 lbs throughout my pregnancy, but ruined any semblance of healthy eating that I once practiced. In the six and a half months since Sam was born, I’ve gained 10ish lbs and I’m NOT GESTATING ANOTHER HUMAN.

I am disgusted with myself. I can see these extra pounds hanging off my body. And I can feel them when I try to get into my jeans. I hate it. HATE IT. But for some reason, that hatred completely disappears when it’s time to shove something unhealthy into my cake hole. This is incontrovertible proof that gastric surgery changes your body, but your mind is exactly the same. I’m still struggling to keep my weight in check even though I paid thousands of dollars to have my gut rearranged to help me.

I’m so upset. I know that this surgery was and is my last chance to get myself under control. There isn’t another option. I’m starting Weight Watchers today. Again. I accept that I will always struggle with my weight and I will always have to work harder at it than I want to. I’m willing to do it so that I can feel good about myself again. This is my public declaration in the hopes that the accountability will further encourage me.

Being Cold All The Time – Seriously, I’m in a constant state of freezing. Goosebumps are my new permanent accessory. I’m only comfortable at temperatures of 78 and above. It was actually kind of nice this summer to not be sweaty and hot as hell all the time, but now that the weather’s gotten cooler things are unbearable. And, of course, nothing from last winter fits anymore.

Being Bony Is Uncomfortable – My tailbone is all RIGHT THERE now. Sitting isn’t quite as “cushy” as it used to be, if you catch my drift. Also, my knees, pelvis and ribs are all sharp and hurty when I lay down. Getting comfortable at night requires extra pillows and poses that could probably be classified as yoga.

Even with these annoyances, I’m still so very grateful that I was given the opportunity to have the surgery. My life is SO! MUCH! better than it was when I weighed 300 lbs.

Also, I’m finding that I’m having a hard time with the prospect of getting bigger. I’m a little bloated right now and I’m obsessed with how far out my belly is pooching. My new (SIZE! MEDIUM!) jammies are a little snug in the waist and it makes me so sad. After spending the last 14 months watching myself get smaller, I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that it’s ok for me to get bigger. This is the first time in my life that I’m allowed supposed to gain weight. My bariatric surgeon was telling me that gaining 25 -30 pounds was healthy during pregnancy and in my head I kept saying “Oh hell no! I’m going to gain as little as possible!” Then he started talking about how important it is for my OB to watch the baby’s growth for any signs of slowing due to malnutrition on my part. You’d think that would have scared the bejebus out of me and made me realize that I HAD to gain weight with this pregnancy so my baby would be healthy… and you’d be wrong. While I’m eating well and NOT dieting, I’m still fretting over the inevitable. How sad is that? Sad AND selfish.

Gerald’s recovering really well from his surgery. He went back to work today, as a matter of fact. He’s handling the extreme lifestyle changes so much better than I did. He hasn’t cried ONCE, people. He’s been pissy as all get-out, but not weepy or pathetic. He’s also already lost the same amount of weight in two weeks that I lost in the first month. I’m not sure whose idea it was that men should lose weight so easily, but I’d like to punch them in the ‘nads.

We took Maddie to get a haircut yesterday. She’s got very thin, fine, soft hair and I can’t keep it out of her face. I’ve tried every ponytail holder known to mankind and they all slide out in a matter of minutes. So, we decided to get a chin-length bob. She lost about six inches of hair and aged two years. I swear she looks like a little kid now. My little baby is all gone.

* I’ve been planning this post and title for more than a year. It feels SO GOOD to actually post it!

Let’s go back a year ago and get some stats, shall we?

I weighed about 300.4 lbs on the day of my pre-surgical consultation.
I wore a 26/28 in pants and a 3x in shirts. If it was a structured shirt, i.e., button down, I wore a 30/32.
My bra size was 46DDD.
My underwear size was a 9.
I am 5′ 6″ and my BMI was 48.4.

Wow. I cannot believe that I was that size just a mere year ago. Not only that, but I had been that size (or bigger) for so very long. I had no idea what was in store for me.

Stats as of now:

I weigh 170.
I wear a 14 in pants and a large or 12 in shirts.
My bra size is 36F
Underwear is a size 7
I’m still 5’6″ and my BMI is 27.4

(I’m not posting pictures, because I stopped asking Gerald to take them around month nine. It just didn’t matter to me anymore. However, feel free to scope out some recent pics here, here, and here.)

I’ve got 10 more pounds to lose to get to my pre-plastic surgery goal of 160. My surgeon thinks I’ll be happy with 140 as a permanent goal, but that’s only realistic after plastic surgery. No amount of fat loss will help the extra skin and he estimates I’ve got roughly 20 pounds of it.

I don’t remember what it felt like to be trapped in all that fat. Barely able to move, sore all the time, tired, sweaty… gross. That person isn’t me anymore and hasn’t been for a long time. I feel confident, cute and sometimes even sexy. I’m still unhappy with my body, but what woman isn’t? The loose and saggy skin isn’t pretty. My raisin boobs are hideous. But you know what? I look pretty damn fine in clothes.

I feel amazing. I run and jump and play with Maddie. I’m not embarrassed and nervous in situations where I have to meet new people. I flew to BlogHer and had room left over when I buckled my seat belt, for cry’n out loud!

I went through some very rough months after the surgery. I stand by my philophy that the surgery only operates on your guts. When you wake up, your brain is exactly the same. It’s an extremely hard transition to go through and there’s definitely a mourning period. This surgery isn’t for everyone and it’s not a miracle cure. I have to make wise food decisions EVERY SINGLE DAY. I can choose to eat like shit (oh, and believe me, I do) or I can choose to give my body healthy fuel and stay thin. I can very easily slip back into bad habits and begin to gain weight back. However, I refuse to let that happen. I refuse to be held hostage in a morbidly obese body ever again.

I am so glad I did this.

That being said, I make no claims to publishing actual interesting content. My goal is to post. Not to post well.

Item the 1st: Why is it that motorcycle drivers/riders ALWAYS acknowledge each other on the road? I’ve seen a motorcyclist on one side of the highway raise a hand in some sort of half-assed wave to other motorcyclists on the OTHER side of the highway traveling in the OPPOSITE direction. I mean, I understand the whole “acknowledging a member of your particular tribe” thing, but really? I don’t wave to everyone else driving a minivan. I don’t wave to other mothers pushing their kids around in carts at Target. (You know, unless I know them or whatev.) I don’t give a shout out to every other person with visible tattoos, either. So what’s the deal with motorcyclists? Do any of you ride/drive a motorcycle? Can you PLEASE clue me in? This is driving me batshit crazy. Thank you.

Item the 2nd: My weight loss has stalled. Now, when I say stalled you may get the idea that I’m working diligently to lose weight by exercising and eating healthfully. And you’d be wrong. I’m pretty much eating like crap and not moving unless it’s absolutely necessary… and not always then. I really need a swift kick in the ass. Feel free to leave one for me in the comments. Bonus points if you throw in guilt about not setting a good example for/not being around a long time for Maddie.

Item the last: My “business” cards for BlogHer arrived today. I. Am. So. Effing. Excited.