Oh, the post I could write on this topic. I am pretty sure I am a professional. Self-loathing comes so naturally to me it's amazing, but I will admit, thanks to therapy, self-love comes far more easily than it used to, but damn that self-loathing, it comes far faster and easier.
There is a great deal happening in my life right now and I know that certain things would make me feel much better and help me through the hardships with a little more grace and ease. Am I doing them? Hell no. Hence the self-loathing.
My 50 year old brother is suffering from early onset dementia which is rapidly escalating. You never know which part of his brain is going to short circuit next so it's always a crapshoot on how he's doing from one day to the next. My 52 year old sister has finally, after 9 months of sheer hell, been diagnosed with a tumor of the parotid gland. She's suffered and continues to suffer pain that no one can imagine, suffice it to say that the tumor has caused what is called "The Suicide Disease", meaning most who get it kill themselves because they simply cannot handle the pain of it. And to make it better, my brother is living with her. And to make it even better, my brother is going through a divorce. We have in some ways become willing participants in his divorce and in other ways, unwilling. So basically, my family is suffering a cluster fuck of epic proportions.
To get me through this craziness, I am resorting to old school habits, i.e. overeating, drinking, not exercising, etc... and what is so frustrating is that I had gotten myself into such an amazing place with the exercising. Thanks to the stress and my weakness when stressed, I haven't walked since Monday, nor have the dogs, and that is unacceptable. I'm just frozen, wallowing in sadness and misery, and stuck in this place or horror. There will be no end to most of it, except for death, and it's a matter of waiting to find out the status of my sister's tumor so that I can deal with the reality of that situation. (Please pray that it's a benign tumor and the outcome is good. Please?!)
I am struggling with self-loathing over so many different subjects: I am a horrible sister because I am not taking my brother out of my sister's house and making him my burden instead of hers. I am being a bad sister to my brother because I chastise him for behaviors that he may or may not be able to control at this point. I am a bad person for being selfish and thinking that I could lose both of my siblings in just a matter of a few years. I am a bad person for not wanting to deal with the responsibility and horror of that. I am a bad person because I am financially making poor choices in an effort to keep myself happy and other's afloat instead of myself afloat and not in debtors prison. I am a bad person for allowing all the craziness to impede on my fitness goals. I am a bad person for allowing myself to careen out of control with my food. I am a bad person for using food and alcohol to try and dampen the horrors in my life. I am a bad person for letting my house go to crap while I freak out about whats happening. Basically, it's just all fucking bad in my head and I'm making so many bad choices in response to it.
ARGHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Sigh. Ok, I feel a little better getting some of the crap out of my head and onto the "page".
Wow, this makes me sound like such a treat! Such is life, I suppose.
I have worked out with trainers on and off for years, even at 400 pounds. Sometimes I would work out three times a week with a trainer. Did it feel good? Yes, it did. Did I notice any change? Only with one particular trainer. She was amazing and I worked out with her long enough to recognize changes in my strength. I will always be able to feel my muscles growing or changing but due to extra skin I will never really be able to see them and you know what? I am completely ok with that.
Over the many years I have always read or heard that exercise could really improve depression and I thought that was the biggest lie known to man. I would work out and feel nothing. Until now. For the first time since I was 18 years old I am not on any anti-depressants. A few months ago I convinced my friend B to hire a trainer with me and we began going twice a week and I noticed an improvement in my mood. WTF? Wait a minute! You mean exercising really does help my mood!? I had no idea!
It seems that all the years I was medicated I could not get that true endorphin rush that exercise provides normal people. I have now been off meds since July of last year and WOW, now I understand it all! I realized that for a couple of days after a good workout I would emotionally feel better, so I decided to begin walking the pups around the block every day. Then I began walking a half mile a day and I am now up to 3.5 miles on most days. It's completely and utterly life altering. Due to family crisis I have not done as well as I'd like for the past two weeks and I miss it. I have never missed exercise a day in my life and I am actually longing for it. I had no idea I was capable.
So I am an exercise convert. And now I am trying to diet again and am on day 2 of the CarbLovers intro. I'm doing ok and I admit to not following to the T but I am following the basic menu plan and veering off when needed. I veered off mightily tonight by having a salad with one tbsp of light dressing and two tbsp of gorgonzola, however, I am still about 800 calories lower than my usual diet. Everything is an imrovement to what I have been doing. I figure as long as I don't eat copious amounts of chocolate, drink large quantities of wine, and limit my bread intake I will lose weight in general. Those three items are my weaknesses and I will have none of them this week.
Ok, must finish watching Castle and then sleep so I can crawl to my workout in the morning. On Monday, Dave kicked my ass in ways I didn't know it could be kicked. I can barely walk today.
When I began writing this blog many years ago it was going to be about my experience with gastric bypass surgery. I wanted to document every aspect of it so that others could learn from my experience as I was learning from other people's blogs about the surgery. As time went on I began writing about far more things either related to the surgery or just about life in general. This blog was my therapy for so long.
Once I had plastic surgery I actually went back into "real" therapy pretty hard core and my need to write diminished. I was working out my problems with a real live human being so why wax rhapsodic all over again in my blog? What I have found, though, is that I miss it sometimes. There's something so marvelous about putting my fingers on the keyboard and letting all of the shit in my head pour into them. Life has gotten complicated as of late and maybe I wil find myself here, writing about the craziness. Maybe not. Who knows.
I do know that today I am attempting to reign in my weight. I have creeped about 15 pounds above what I know is the best weight for me and I am 25 pounds from this elusive number that has haunted me since I was in high school. I know I shouldn't obsess over that damned number but I do. I found myself coming to my blog to get grounded again and have a place to bitch and moan about dieting and all it's yuckiness. I am however in a completely new place when it comes to exercise which is AWESOME if I say so myself. I will make a seperate post about that because it truly is in a totally different category for me now.
Anyway, today I am beginning the kickstart portion of the CarbLovers Diet. I am doing this with my friend, H and two Twitter/Facebook friends. I know that I am not going to follow it to a T because I AM going to use some artificial sweeteners and I am most likely going to add a snack or two here and there, however, I am going to do my damndest to follow it as best I can. I also can't drink which is probably a great thing for me since I need to break my emotional dependence on that. So there it is. I am laying it out there... I am committing to this plan for a week.
Just saying it makes me crank up a good nervous sweat.
August 18, 2010
“I am a plastic surgery survivor”. Sounds ominous, doesn’t it?
One would imagine that as a person who has had some big plastic surgery by an amazing life-changing surgeon and has ended up with the most amazing results would never say something like “I survived plastic surgery”. One would expect to hear me say “I am so lucky to have had plastic surgery!” and I am. They might imagine me saying “What an amazing life changing experience!” and it is. What people rarely expect to hear is “That was one of the most challenging experiences of my life and I survived it.” It was and I did and I am forever changed in more ways than anyone could ever expect.
Let me give you some background: I lost an amazing amount of weight and ended up with an equally amazing amount of extra skin. As a gastric bypass patient I expected to have a tummy tuck at some point but I ended up needing a full body lift with some extra thigh work thrown in just for kicks. Basically what that means is that I got cut in half, filleted and pulled up like a pair of panty hose, then add in a little extra thigh work and voila! A new woman!
I read a great deal about my impending surgery and tried to prepare myself for the pain that was involved. I’ve not given birth so I couldn’t relate it to that, nor had I had any serious surgery other than the gastric bypass, which by my standards of pain was a breeze. Laproscopic surgery and migraines were my only references for pain.
I was in for a rude awakening.
I went into surgery as ready as I could be for it. I had a positive attitude, I had one full week of 24 hour care by friends and family set up, and was as prepared emotionally (therapy) and physically (exercise and vitamin supplements) as I could possibly be. The first thing I can remember is waking up after surgery (and I’m still not sure whether it was in the recovery room or in the operating room) and being put into what I consider a medieval torture device: the compression garment. As they were transferring a freshly filleted Large/Medium Sized Marlene into an Extra Small Petite Torture Garment I felt intense pain, intense enough to use words and threats that even I didn’t know I was capable of and let me tell you, I am a professional at cursing. I remember waking up twice during that particular procedure, both times I swore like a sailor and threatened bodily harm to those who were inflicting me with that pain. The next thing I remember is waking up in my hospital room. A dear friend who was a hospice nurse for 25 years had lovingly volunteered to be with me my first night in the hospital. I had told her “Oh no, I’m sure I’ll be fine!” to which she guffawed amd swore she would not allow me to be alone on my first night. I will never be able to thank her enough for being there that night. I recall waking up and having the nurses tell me that I had to sit up and walk around. I looked at them with what I imagine to be the look of Satan, as I knew deep in my soul that this was going to be bad. I shut my eyes, said a few words of encouragement to myself and began sitting up. I’m pretty sure I moved .02 millimeters and realized that the level of pain I had was beyond anything I had ever expected. I looked at my friend and my face must have said it all as this seasoned nurse, a nurse who dealt with the dying and who had known that I was a pretty tough cookie and had survived a lot, saw my face and became slack jawed and immobile for a few seconds.
All I can remember thinking in that moment is that I wanted to die.
In that single second I thought of drug addicts I knew that could bring me enough prescription pain meds to kill me, poisons that I could get easily, and wondered if wishing death upon myself hard enough hard could actually kill me.
I realize this must sound dramatic and silly to some and I know others have suffered pain far beyond what I have, but if you research this surgery carefully I think you will agree that it is not an easy one. I also know that the mindset of someone who has to have a surgery because of a life or death experience might experience pain differently than someone who is experiencing it voluntarily. I asked for this surgery. I paid for this surgery. I wanted this surgery. I know this changes things, however, in an effort to write honestly I can only tell you what I felt and what I felt was miserable, god-forsaken pain that I wanted to end. Now.
Here’s where things better! My surgeon came in the next morning and I told him what I was feeling and he immediately said that I shouldn’t be feeling that intensity of pain and instructed the nurses to add something to my pain cocktail. This alone made me feel better. Let me say that in no uncertain terms, I adore my surgeon: he hung the moon, the stars and all celestial beings in my opinion, but in reality the man has never had a “full body lift with extra thigh work for kicks” so I cannot ask him to know what I felt. I believe that man to be god-like in many ways but I can never ask him to know what if feels like to have the surgery I had.
After that things got progressively easier. I requested an extra night in the hospital as I did not believe that I nor my “keepers” could deal with what I had experienced and my most amazing surgeon made it happen. Once I got home things got better and better. It was hard, harder than I ever expected. It was hard on my many Nurse Ratcheds, as they had no idea what to expect either (I could tell you the story of two of my friends painstakingly applying ointments, accidentally violating me and taping me to death only to have me move one half inch and have everything come off in a sheet, completely in-tact like a mummy). It truly took a village, and I had the most amazing village anyone could ever imagine, but nothing, and I mean nothing could make it easy. It was hard. And let me tell you, for several months nothing about got easier.
People assume that since you volunteered for Plastic Surgery that it’s easy... that it is somehow a delightful experiencethat you chose and because yo chose it that it causes nothing but smiles and puppies in baskets and rainbows and unicorns. Let me dispel this myth now... plastic surgery is SURGERY. They cut you, you bleed, you feel pain, you heal, etc... just because you volunteered does NOT make this easier.
There. I feel better. Do you?
I do not mean to scare you, I simply want to let you know that no matter what procedure you are having that nothing is easy. I have had minor work done (extra eyelid skin removed, Botox, Juvaderm) and major work done (full body lift with extended medial thigh lift). I would gladly take 6000 shots of botox and juvaderm and have my entire eyelid removed before I would volunteer for a full body lift again, however, let me say, unequivocally, without doubt, I AM HAPPY that I did it once. Every last little bit of pain, misery, etc... was worth it. Why? Because for the first time in my life I feel like a normal human being. When I gain five pounds I see it in my beautifully smooth lipo-suctioned outer thigh and I feel it in my amazingly tight tucked stomach. I sit down in a chair and see my lap and I now understand the whole concept of lying down to get into a pair of tight jeans!
My incredible, most amazing surgeon made me look normal for the first time in my life. This, my readers, is an accomplishment that most will never understand, but on my end, this makes my surgeon god-like. I began my journey at 426 pounds and now people see me and think that I am “normal”. Dealing with me is not easy. I am relatively smart, I ask questions and think I deserve answers. That is why choosing a surgeon is so vital. And let me add that my journey is far from over. I plan on having several other procedures (if my surgeon will suffer me!)
I highly suggest visiting several surgeons and seeing who “fits” you... do they understand where you have been? Do they know where you want to be in the future? When you sit in their waiting room, do the other patients look anything like what YOU want to look? Does your surgeon listen to your fears? Your desires? Do you like what you see when you look at their “before and after” photos? Do you like their office staff and strangely, do you like the way they look? (You will be in contact with many of them before and after your surgery and, chances are, they have had work done.)
I read a great deal about local surgeons, I read reviews of their work on websites, and as a gastric bypass patient, I admit I had amazing resources online that perhaps an average person who is looking for a facelift or breast augmentation might not have, but nonetheless, you are the consumer and YOU are in charge of your experience. You get to look at pictures, ask questions, research EVERYTHING. I chose my surgeon wisely and I have never looked back. He has been my advocate and a trusted confidant. I trust that man with my life, and let me say, I LOVE my life so I do not trust it to, well, anyone but my surgeon. He has seen parts of me that only lovers have seen and he has seen me at my absolute most vulnerable. Again, I trust him with my life.
And with my amazing surgeon, I would do it all over again. (with a little whining)
Well, it's 2:22am so I can't really say "and to all a good night" at this point, can I?
I slept off and on all day today and man, did that feel good! I was determined to use Christmas Eve and Day to totally indulge in my laziness. I did family stuff but other than that I have been watching movies, making scarves and basically being a serious bum. FABULOUS!
I am here to make a promise that I shall blog more this year. I think I wore myself out blogging, MySpacing and Facebooking. There's only so much verbal vomit a girl can, well, vomit. Perhaps I had the writing equivalent of the dry heaves this past year. Anyway, my journey is never ending and always interesting so I'll get cranked back up again. I truly think just writing it all here where most of the time no one reads it, is just a healthy thing for me. And, if someone who has had a similar experience happens upon it, well, then awesome.
A new year is coming and I am getting ready. Are you?
That is what I am feeling. I haven't written on my blog in a long time. Why? I don't know. I guess life and the dreaded Facebook has kept me so busy that the blog fell by the wayside. I am back now, though. Even if it's intermittent, i will post more.
I'm feeling lost today and have a question that no one can really answer for me, I suppose. But, how do you love someone but let them go? I am trying meditation, distraction, wallowing... you name it. I cannot seem to find a way to not want, deep down, to hold that person and have them for myself emotionally. I keep hearing that hideous "if you love someone set them free and if they come back to you blah blah blah" but how do you set them free? Seriously? How does a person, deep in their heart let someone go when you love them? Am I the only person incapable of this? is there some trick to it that I don't know?
Is it ok to not be ready for 2009 and yet be really happy the last year is finally done? Two thousand eight was unbelievable for more reasons than I care to blog about right now, and boy did it finish with a bang, but it's finished. And so are many things in my life that have been around a long time. Now it's on to "unlearning" as my sister-in-law so aptly put it and learning how to live an even better life. So much has changed over the last 5 years. So much.
So much has been going on that I have not been able to update like I'd have liked. The short version is that there has been mucho family drama that has been exacerbated by outside forces. I am washing my hands of it all.
I hope everyone has had a wonderful holiday season and may our new year be full of promise, joy, love, peace, companionship, friendship, creativity, new adventures, travel, and anything else our hearts desire.
Thank you. Thank you for thinking I'm strong and resilient. Thank you for thinking I'm "pretty" now or way back then. Thank you for loving me now or way back then. Thank you for thinking I look like Catherine Zeta Jones or Anne Hathaway or that I remind you of Chelsea Handler instead of Natalie on Facts of Life, Rosie O'Donnell or Roseanne Barr. Thank you for considering me as something other than just a "that crazy Marlene" or a just a pal. Thank you for being such an amazing friend through thickest, thick and thinner. Thank you for keeping me close to your hearts each and every time I get close to a scalpel. Thank you for taking care of me when I needed taking care of the most. Thank you for being my family and my family of choice. Thank you for thinking I'm even remotely an inspiration for whatever reason you think I am. Thank you for absolutely everything.
Just when I think I'm going to feel really sorry for myself or get really angry about something in my life, sometimes something reminds me of these things.
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