"The Dreaded Plateau"

It's July 9th and this is the week I am supposed to schedule my knee surgery.  I have not done so yet, and I won't be able to do so anytime soon, simply because I am on a freaking plateau.  I haven't lost one pound for over a month now, which means that I have not come any closer to attaining my doctor's goal for me, which is a BMI of 40.0.  In fact, if truth be told, I have gained 10 lbs since March 24th, which has me at a BMI of 44.6.  Ouch!  (Remember that yo-yo thing we talked about last week?)  

So right now, I am 30 lbs away from my goal.  I've been trying to convince myself that it is all water weight.  My legs are certainly swollen, and have been for most of this last month.  I have also had an excessive amount of pain in my knees while walking... standing, sitting, sleeping,  Both are telltale signs that I am holding excess fluid in my body.  It is also true that I have been somewhat lax about taking my diuretic medication on a daily basis.  Given my history of long, drawn out plateaus, with a sudden drop in weight of 5-20 lbs inside a week's time, my story to myself might even be true.

But what if it's not!  What if I have truly gained this entire 10 lbs, thereby destroying the painstaking work I put into losing that 10 lbs in the first place?  What's going to prevent me from gaining the entire 85 lbs that I have lost so far?  And, more to the point, what will prevent me from gaining another 85 lbs beyond that?

I forget the terror of being unable to draw a deep breath... the pain of attempting to stand and the agony of walking even one step away from my chair.  It is all too easy to forget what life used to be like before the changes that I made to make myself more comfortable in my body.

I spent years weighing 225 lbs.  Regardless of how much weight I lost, I always returned to the 225 lb mark.  That is until I quit smoking and found myself eating my way up to 316 lbs within a year's time.  What is interesting to me is that I actually lost 85 lbs in my twenties... I went from 225 lbs to 140 lbs... and I kept that extra weight off for a number of years.  However, when I did gain weight again, I managed to return to the original 225 lbs, and then gained yet another 85 lbs for good measure.  Imagine!  I actually doubled the 85 lbs I had originally lost, and found a new high weight to settle into.

Sound familiar?  I took off 85 lbs a few years ago, and then gained 45 of them back.  Fortunately, I came to my senses before reaching 280 lbs.  But here I am, having taken off that same 45 lbs (returning to a total of 85 lbs lost) and what is happening?  Again, I ask, what will prevent me from gaining double what I have currently lost (170 lbs), and finding yet another new weight high to settle into???

I am hoping that the answer is myself, even though it hasn't felt like it lately.  I managed to lose the rhythm of my hope, excitement, and yearning for my new knees.  I forgot what it felt like before I lost 85 lbs... I forgot that my new knees are dependent upon a goal weight and BMI... I even forgot how easy it is to regain weight after losing it.

I haven't stopped myself from consuming more sodium than is healthy.  Nor have I followed my weight loss plan... I haven't written in my journal; I haven't posted to my blog; I haven't kept track of my food intake or my portions or the types of foods I am consuming.   Basically, I have not been doing anything to prevent holding the water or gaining weight.  I have not been accountable to myself or anyone else in any way, shape, or form.

So now what?  How do I get back on track?  Believe it or not, my swollen fluid filled legs are a painful reminder of what lies ahead if I totally lose control.  They are my first step in remembering what I do not want to return to.  Memory is the key, I think.  I need to remind myself of why I am on this weight loss journey.

This blog is one of my memory tools... I remember through writing about being obese.   Writing centers me and gives me a sense of purpose that I can translate into losing weight and becoming fit.  So let me be accountable to both you and me.  I will post my thoughts to this blog on a more regular basis.  Hopefully, I will pick up the rhythm of hope, excitement and yearning in the process.

"Breathing isn't All it's Cracked Up to Be!"

Being fat can be a bit claustrophobic.  At my top weight of 316 lbs, I was rendered to a state of near inactivity.  I would get up in the morning, take a shower, and go to work, where I would basically sit at a desk all day.  A few short walks to the bathroom or break room or another office was my form of exercise.  Then, arriving home again, I would fall into my recliner and move very little for the rest of the day.  That's not to say that I didn't do anything at all... there were household errands, chauffeuring of the children in my life, and periodic moments of spontaneity. 

Unbeknownst to me at the time, my weight had reduced me to a slow chugging machine that huffed and puffed and creaked and groaned.  My parts were failing and I had one foot in the junkyard.  I have always been listed as an anatomical donor on my driver's license and I truly wanted to have my body used for the best purposes possible after my death.  However, I am pretty certain at this point, that my parts would have been useless, even at a pick and pull yard.

As I slumped in my chair and avoided getting to my feet, two things were happening.  I felt like I could not breathe when I was moving.  My throat would tighten up and my airway would choke out the breathing process.  My breathing had become very shallow and pushing more air in my lungs felt like I was being choked.  The second thing that was happening to me was the inability to walk without a great deal of pain in my knees.

I couldn't tell anyone, even my partner of twenty years at the time.  I didn't want to draw attention to myself, even though a withdrawal from household chores was probably a pretty good signal that something was wrong.  My partner would tell me that I should get up and move around, go outside, take a walk... anything to get me out of that damn recliner.  I was full of excuses.  ""Not right now. I am tired," I'd say, and I was.  Weary with inactivity and hiding the reasons why.

There are a multitude of reasons for this decline in my life.  I remember being a strong and active person in my younger years.  I carried my three year old niece on my shoulders for long walks across town to visit the library.  I hoisted 50 lb bags of this and that, carried large sheets of plywood, and moved heavy set pieces at my local community theater.  I didn't shirk when it came to loading and unloading a truck of furniture on moving day.  And, all of this activity happened at various weights between 125-210 lbs.

The first reason I would recount is that I quit smoking cigarettes after a 20 year habit of 2-3 packs a day.  Within less than a year, I gained 75 lbs by replacing the nicotine with eating candy.  When I first made the decision to allow myself one Snickers bar a day, I was proud of myself.  I was making a decisive choice to allow myself room to escape the deadliest habit in my life.  By the time I reached 225 lbs, I was not so happy with the choice, but... *shrug* what could I do?

The second thing that happened is the death of my mother in 2003.  Glioblastoma... a deadly and incurable brain tumor was the cause.  My mom had survived two other bouts of cancer in her life, breast cancer and uterine cancer.  Both times she recovered and went on to live for many years without recurrence.  I was wounded beyond belief by the brain tumor that took her out of my life. 

And that is when the serious out of control eating became insurmountable.  My days were dark and I barely put one foot in front of another, just managing to work and avoid as much personal contact as possible.  I don't know exactly how long it took, but I swiftly managed to gain another 91 lbs within a two year span of time.  Bags of potato chips, candy bars, pasta and potatoes in heaping portions, fast food... By the time I opened my eyes again to let some of the world back into my hurting heart, I was 316 lbs and utterly in despair of changing.

It was the loss of my job that started my recovery, in a way.  While I was devastated by losing contact with the outside world, I was also motivated to make some changes in my life.  This did not happen overnight, of course, but I will cut out the messy parts of a dark depression that only allowed me to stare blankly at my living room walls for hours at a time.

We can talk about my journey into sanity later.  Right now, I just want to reach out and let my readers know that I know.  Your pain is my pain.  Your loss is my loss.  We are in this life together and it is important that we support each other, regardless of conventions.  We need to see each other as real human beings who are constantly being motivated by pain and loss and injustice, as well as love and kindness and compassion.  The next time an extra large someone rolls past us on an electric scooter in the grocery store, lets remember only one thing.  Today this person needs the electric scooter and not our judgement.