Author: craftylizard

https://www.buymeacoffee.com/lizard0305Z

Sometimes you just have a little faith in the universe that life will work itself out. Why I remain an optimist despite all the times that life, the universe in general, or people have kicked me while I was down, I don’t know. But somehow, after maybe wallowing in some self-pity for a bit, I find myself left with a deep, abiding faith that my life isn’t so bad, that good things are coming, that the right in my life far exceeds the wrong.

The Facebooks likes to give me my history of whatever I posted on that same day from year to year. It’s become clear that in my early facebooking days I was practicing my Vaguebooking rather than any type of substantial post. I was accused of only posting positive things on the InterWebs for all to see. That’s not entirely accurate, but it is true that I rarely post about the truly negative, and I’m far more likely to post something that makes me happy than something that upsets me. I think I know why. I don’t like to air my troubles in a public forum. Most of my troubles pale in comparison to anyone with actual bad crap happening in their lives, and some people take it as a personal challenge to come up with something harder to endure than anything I’m going through.

I don’t post about my weight loss journey much on Facebook. I’ve already written a blog post detailing most of that. I haven’t mentioned that I desperately need surgery on my shoulder to fix the advanced arthritis and bursitis that has me in chronic pain. I’m out of leave, so I can’t actually do it right now. Well, I could take unpaid leave, and probably will.

Faith. The belief that there’s something better, higher, bigger than myself, than the miserable crap that any person can be going through. The truth is, we all go through tough times, face tough issues. What may seem like an insurmountable mountain of burdens to one human is another person’s piece of cake. What one person takes for granted as an easy task/issue/emotion may be the hardest thing in the universe to someone else. It’s a matter perspective and opinion.

I like my life as an optimist.

Humans have an innate need to look each other in the eye. There are many articles about primates and other animals and looking each other in the eyes. It can be used as a form of dominance, with the weaker animal looking away. Staring at someone in the eyes can come across as aggressive.

Eye gaze can be used as part of a diagnosis of autism. Many high functioning autistic people have to learn to look people in the eye because it’s not instinctive for the neuro-atypical. I equate this to not quite growing out of that stage when we’re young and we realize we can see things in peripheral vision, sometimes more clearly than when it’s right in front of us. For example, consider looking at comets in the night sky. If you look beside the comet, it’s easier to see the actual comet than if you look directly at it. Some people aren’t comfortable or don’t see a need to make eye contact, or they’ll make eye contact and then assume it’s ok to look off to the side for the rest of the conversation.

Sometimes lack of making eye contact is interpreted that the person is uncomfortable, upset, dishonest; really almost always a negative connotation rather than a positive.

Mostly though, eye gaze is how we know someone is in an active listening role or actively participating in a conversation, especially if it’s a small, intimate setting. A tête-à-tête is the perfect time to practice good eye-gaze protocol. It’s not only acceptable to look someone directly in the eye, but somewhat crucial to maintain the intimacy of the conversation. Even in a group conversation, meeting someone’s eyes can help the speaker gauge if the other person is listening, or at least receptive to what is being said.

All this is my way of setting up the following statement.

Please don’t try to make direct eye contact with me when I’m driving, or even more importantly, whenever  you are driving, and I’m stuck in a vehicle with you, because it means you’re taking your eyes off the road. Dude, I will not meet your eyes if one of us is driving. Just don’t even try. I promise, I’m listening.

In November of 2017 I saw the scale leaning up against the wall in the bathroom. I debated moving it to the hall closet rather than constantly having to pick it up because it kept getting knocked over. I wondered if the battery was still any good, or if I should remove it before putting the scale into storage.  I decided to test it by turning it on and standing on it. It read 325 lbs. My God. I had no idea I’d crossed over into the 300’s, let alone 325. I was shocked, horrified, scared. Immediately I saw myself as fat, ugly, undesirable, unsexy. No wonder my husband* didn’t really like to look at me or touch me * This is not an actual reflection of how my husband saw me at that point, merely how I assumed he must see me because this is all taking place in my own head.

I’ve always considered myself to have a body-positive image of myself. I have long been comfortable weighing whatever I weigh, so long as I’m healthy and happy. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve slowly gained weight. But every new doctor I’ve ever seen has just had to run a blood test, because fat woman all have diabetes and high blood pressure and thyroid disorders, right? Every single test has always come back with really good numbers. I mean, nothing even elevated or concerning. In the last not quite decade though, I started to struggle with walking for any distance at all, let alone hiking. I developed sleep apnea and now use a cpap machine. Eating sugar or drinking alcohol became more of a dare than a good idea because I would feel so sick and awful so very fast, it just wasn’t worth it. So all the signs were pointing to something going on, but until I stepped on that scale in 2017, I was able to ignore the signs and blame any symptoms of obesity related diseases on anything other than being fat.

To sum up the other issues going on in my life, my mother had just had a pacemaker put in to assist one of her ventricles. She has congestive heart failure, and at that point had for well over a decade. She was also recently diagnosed as diabetic. She has arthritis. She was morbidly obese. She had an early, ugly, lengthy transition through menopause.

That scale. That damned scale. I’d seen other things that led me to believe I was merely a clone of my mother, but that scale proved I was headed down the exact same road as my mother.

So I gave up drinking Red Bull at work and changed to black coffee. I don’t even like Red Bull, but it worked to keep me up at night. I started walking a few laps, about 10-20 minutes a night at work on my breaks. I attempted to cut back on my snacking. I lost 25 lbs with very little effort.

I got a tattoo on my shoulder for my 44th birthday. Suddenly I wanted to show off my new tattoo. Until this point, I’ve hidden my flabby upper arms in every dress or shirt possible, unwilling to be seen in public in a tank top or anything that would expose my giant flabby arms. I hated my fat arms. But… tattoo…. Oh. Guess I better keep losing weight! A conversation with the tattoo artist about the merits of weight lifting convinced me to go to the local gym and sign back up. At first I only went a couple of days, didn’t really know what I was doing.

At the same time as the tattoo, my eyesight was suddenly horrible. I went to the eye doctor, and was told my eyesight changes were due to ‘damage consistent with diabetic eye damage’. Well damn. There’s the diabetes I thought I was avoiding. My regular doctor put me on Metformin, got me started with the whole glucometer thing, and poof, I’m diabetic. So I went to the lady who runs the gym, got a whole new routine set up. I cut out all the nasty snacks at work and got serious. Bought some really nice shoes. Lost 25 more lbs.

The walking shoes were by far the ugliest shoes I’d ever seen. I’m normally a sale shopper, and my eyes were drawn to the pretty Nikes and other sale shoes. They didn’t fit my feet. Weren’t comfortable. The salesman asked if I cared what they looked like, because he had a pair he knew I’d love, but they might just be the ugliest running shoes he’d ever seen. Yep. They were ugly. But I’ll be darned if they didn’t have me zipping all over the store with happy feet! Skippy shoes!  Shameless plug here – Hoka One One makes a mighty fine walking shoe for fat women! They call it a running shoe, specify that it’s for road surfaces, but seriously, it can take the heavy impact of a fat woman walking fast! My shoe of preference is the Bondi. I started with the Bondi 5. A year later, just bought a pair of Bondi 6’s. I LOVE THEM! ps, they’re still ugly, but the new ones are far cuter than the last. Wish they’d come in red, but they don’t.

So I stalled out at -50 lbs. I finally decided to go see the bariatric specialists recommended by my gynecologist. I’d written them off after attending a ‘webinar’ that was basically a sales pitch for bariatric surgery. I discussed it with my primary care physician, and he said I should pursue the nutritionist and weight loss clinic side of it, but to talk to him before deciding on any surgery. Some really good things have come out of following the path they set for me at the weight loss clinic. I learned that my metabolism sucks. I mean it really, really sucks. They gave me a diet pill, phentermine, for three months. It took the angry out of hungry, and let me see that it was possible to feel satisfied on a 1300 calorie per day diet. I am not pursuing any surgical options at this point in time. I’d like to get through this without it. By December of 2018. I was down 80 lbs.

I stalled out again just as I was cruising through the 240’s. My excuse is that my mother suddenly looked to be dying, and I spent over a month in the Seattle area eating poorly – some good foods, some bad, but not a regular meal plan to be had with spending a month visiting the hospital, and another couple of weeks visiting the nursing home and all the stress that came with it. So I’m going to go back to the clinic and start tracking my calories again.

In January I was diagnosed with advanced arthritis in my shoulder, but now that I know what it is, I can get back to some strength training.

80 lbs. That’s a lot to lose in 13 months. I don’t believe in diets. The term ‘lifestyle change’ makes me cringe. It’s a little overused, and it’s frequently used to make things like the Atkins diet, the Keto diet, the ‘boiled shoe leather’ diet sound like legitimately healthy diets. Folks, any lifestyle eating habit is a diet.

No, I don’t count carbs, I don’t avoid all pasta, I don’t have a diet plan. I just try to eat as balanced and healthy a diet as I can, carefully keeping it between 1200-1300 calories/day. If you must ‘diet’, I recommend the Mediterranean Diet. I’ve heard it’s the healthiest of the fad diets everyone is touting these days. I’ve had helpful friends recommend their own version of dieting, tips like, ‘drink raw vinegar!’ and ‘go vegan’. Yuck, and no, I’m very happily omnivorous. I get asked for dieting tips. My response is this. Chuck out all your diet books, and go see a nutritionist and a doctor. Find out your metabolic rate. Start tracking your calories using an app. Ignore whatever the app says about healthy calorie counts. Walk. Drink water. Find your happy strength training place. Avoid sugar. Don’t drink diet drinks (anything with artificial sugar).

And stay off your scale. Try not to weigh yourself more than once a week, but once a month is even better. Do it after a good, healthy poo. You’ll weigh less.