My life has been crazy lately. My ankle surgery is tomorrow. I'm almost looking forward to it just because I will be able to rest and be left alone! I'm trying to imagine how it's all going to work, not being able to put weight on it at all for almost a month. The knee scooter is actually kind of fun. Showers are going to be tricky, but a friend lent me a shower chair and I don't plan on attempting to use it unless Mr. Salted is home. I bought one of those plastic covers to protect the cast or boot at the pharmacy. I'm wondering how much the ankle will hurt and for how long--I had to track down the liquid Demerol again, which is no mean feat, and the bottle isn't that big to begin with.
I've been working as much as I could because they have needed extra help, and I just had a copywriting job to do this morning as well. My grandmother was sent home to live independently today, much to my disgust. I made a decision to back far away from THAT situation (a) because I have done everything I could and (b) for my own sanity, but I have still been in daily phone and/or email contact with family members as well as checking in on her via the phone.
I saw the nutritionist yesterday--a different nutritionist who is filling in for the one I've seen this whole time. She was nice enough, but her affect bugged me--I felt like she was doing the swooping in, "tell me about your mother", Dr.Freud kind of thing. I just don't feel that I have much to say now--I take my supplements, I eat what I'm supposed to, and my weight loss is more than satisfactory. In fact, I had lost 12 pounds in the last month and was actually two pounds lighter than that weight this morning. I just don't care about food anymore. The less it factors into my life, the better. I make sure I get my protein and I eat my healthy snacks that I can have, and it keeps me alive. Sometimes I have a couple of bites of what Mr. Salted makes, but the majority of what I eat now is protein bullets, shakes, and bars. It is weird that so much of it isn't "natural" food, but I'm getting the vitamins and minerals I need, I feel great, and my hair isn't falling out!
I will be glad when my ankle is fixed so that I can work out, but I really don't want to see the exercise physiologist. It's a big part of the wellness center's follow-up thing, so I don't know if I can really avoid it, but I think it's a waste of time and money and I hate it. I don't need to work out in front of this guy while he says "good job" like I'm a dog he's training. I know a lot of my resistance is due to my past experiences with being forced to exercise, ridiculed, etc., but I just want to make my own decision to go to the pool or go for a walk my damn self. I don't want a coach or a trainer, and I find dealing with him really annoying--it just isn't working for me.
After I weighed myself this morning, I was 235, which is less than I have weighed in ten years. Needless to say, that felt great. I heard Old Navy was having a big sale, and it was payday, so I stopped by on my way home from work. I found some great lounge pants with skulls and hearts on them that fit now, some yoga pants that will fit soon, and some absolutely darling summer dresses (that will fit by summer) for $15 and $20. It's so strange to buy clothes that are too small on purpose. It's also disconcerting to feel good about your weight all day, then try on clothes that make you look like the Michelin tire man. I had to remind myself how much weight I've already lost and have faith in the progress I will continue to make.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Compliments
Like many people, I have a hard time accepting compliments, especially about the way I look. I actually used to be much, much worse about this than I am today. It drove one man I dated absolutely nuts--he would tell me I was beautiful and I would say, "No, I'm not" reflexively, as the knee bounces when hit with the little testing hammer. It took years of time and effort to get from "No, I'm not" to "I believe you think so." I've evolved enough now to just say "thank you"--or not say anything at all. (I don't believe compliments require a verbal response. A smile works, too.)
People I know are complimenting me on a daily basis now and I'm finding it disconcerting. "You look great", "you look fantastic", and even today, "You're so beautiful." My response is usually, "Thanks, I feel good!"
Part of it may be the word: beautiful. Gorgeous is even worse; if someone says I look gorgeous (which has only happened a couple of times in my life--NOT a common occurrence!) that has to be a lie. I consider myself an average-looking, if not plain, middle-aged woman, and of course, there's the weight issue. My awkward phase was epic and fantastically bad--it lasted at least twenty years. (Come to think of it, I'm not quite certain that it's over yet.) Beautiful is a loaded word--not as loaded as perfect, which I basically consider a curse word (I have no problem using actual curse words and probably enjoy it more than I should, but that's another issue altogether). Perfect is a curse word, to me, because it is impossible. The opposite of perfect is imperfect or flawed--which defines every single solitary human being. No one can live up to perfect.
I could be complimented on my looks every day of my life and it could never erase how ugly I have known that I was. This belief goes much deeper than fat; when I am sick or down, I don't just feel ugly, I know I am ugly--I don't want anyone looking at me at all, even people I love and who I know love me. Some folks consider fat and ugly one word: fatandugly. Most fat people have heard themselves assessed in such a way at some point in their lives, and many have certainly thought it about themselves in darker moments, when it is difficult for it not to seem true. But fat does not automatically equal ugly, any more than it equals lazy, stupid, desperate, or a number of other negative traits with which fat are often associated.
I know I am a beautiful person--because I work rather hard at being one--but it isn't the same thing. I'm not always even a beautiful person, because no one is. It is something to strive for, certainly, but the word always in this context veers dangerously close to perfect, and there we are back at impossible. I spent too much of my earlier life thinking I had to seem happy and nice and funny to make up for the way I looked, but again, it went so much deeper than just looks--I felt like I had to compensate for the very air I breathed because of where and what I came from, among other things. Another thing it took time and effort to realize in my adult life was that not everyone I encountered could see the ugly on me, that they might meet me and think I was normal and okay. This was, and sometimes is still, a revelation.
My most fervent wish as a child was to be invisible, because it would have been the safest option: I knew ugly was no good, but neither was pretty because the attention pretty got was not necessarily the best kind. There was also the definite possibility that pretty could lead to the worst kind of joke--the one on me.
I don't long for invisibility as much as I once did--ironic, since women seem to become increasingly invisible as they grow older (such a shallow world). I should be happy that people tell me I look good or they find me beautiful and I am; I'm not unhappy about it by any means. However, I also cannot trust it. That is more a reflection on me than anyone else, and it serves as an illustration of how much work I still have to do, work that has nothing to do with how many grams of protein I ingest in a day or how many pounds I have lost since the surgery.
People I know are complimenting me on a daily basis now and I'm finding it disconcerting. "You look great", "you look fantastic", and even today, "You're so beautiful." My response is usually, "Thanks, I feel good!"
Part of it may be the word: beautiful. Gorgeous is even worse; if someone says I look gorgeous (which has only happened a couple of times in my life--NOT a common occurrence!) that has to be a lie. I consider myself an average-looking, if not plain, middle-aged woman, and of course, there's the weight issue. My awkward phase was epic and fantastically bad--it lasted at least twenty years. (Come to think of it, I'm not quite certain that it's over yet.) Beautiful is a loaded word--not as loaded as perfect, which I basically consider a curse word (I have no problem using actual curse words and probably enjoy it more than I should, but that's another issue altogether). Perfect is a curse word, to me, because it is impossible. The opposite of perfect is imperfect or flawed--which defines every single solitary human being. No one can live up to perfect.
I could be complimented on my looks every day of my life and it could never erase how ugly I have known that I was. This belief goes much deeper than fat; when I am sick or down, I don't just feel ugly, I know I am ugly--I don't want anyone looking at me at all, even people I love and who I know love me. Some folks consider fat and ugly one word: fatandugly. Most fat people have heard themselves assessed in such a way at some point in their lives, and many have certainly thought it about themselves in darker moments, when it is difficult for it not to seem true. But fat does not automatically equal ugly, any more than it equals lazy, stupid, desperate, or a number of other negative traits with which fat are often associated.
I know I am a beautiful person--because I work rather hard at being one--but it isn't the same thing. I'm not always even a beautiful person, because no one is. It is something to strive for, certainly, but the word always in this context veers dangerously close to perfect, and there we are back at impossible. I spent too much of my earlier life thinking I had to seem happy and nice and funny to make up for the way I looked, but again, it went so much deeper than just looks--I felt like I had to compensate for the very air I breathed because of where and what I came from, among other things. Another thing it took time and effort to realize in my adult life was that not everyone I encountered could see the ugly on me, that they might meet me and think I was normal and okay. This was, and sometimes is still, a revelation.
My most fervent wish as a child was to be invisible, because it would have been the safest option: I knew ugly was no good, but neither was pretty because the attention pretty got was not necessarily the best kind. There was also the definite possibility that pretty could lead to the worst kind of joke--the one on me.
I don't long for invisibility as much as I once did--ironic, since women seem to become increasingly invisible as they grow older (such a shallow world). I should be happy that people tell me I look good or they find me beautiful and I am; I'm not unhappy about it by any means. However, I also cannot trust it. That is more a reflection on me than anyone else, and it serves as an illustration of how much work I still have to do, work that has nothing to do with how many grams of protein I ingest in a day or how many pounds I have lost since the surgery.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Escape, Part Two: A Summary
Beaches.
Dunes.
Divine salmon fettucine.
An observation deck with a spiral staircase.
The moon.
The sun.
Sugar-free salt water taffy.
Cell phone turned off.
Blue, blue sky.
A couple selling tie-dyes by the side of the road.
Jacuzzi tub.
A new animal print purse.
My love.
Good times.
Dunes.
Divine salmon fettucine.
An observation deck with a spiral staircase.
The moon.
The sun.
Sugar-free salt water taffy.
Cell phone turned off.
Blue, blue sky.
A couple selling tie-dyes by the side of the road.
Jacuzzi tub.
A new animal print purse.
My love.
Good times.
Sunday Stealing: A Fall Meme
What did you need to do in the waning days of summer for it to feel complete?
We went to the coast this weekend. It was fantastic.
A person I know was wrong for me but about whom I frequently thought after a break-up was...
Probably all of them while I was recovering from whatever breakup was happening at the time. I process everything exhaustively.
If you could only attend one major sporting event what would it be?
Olympic figure skating!
Assuming that you write an anonymous or partially anonymous blog, by what non-physically identifying characteristics might you be identified in a bar?
I'd probably be wearing tie-dye and/or Chucks and/or Vans and laughing a lot.
Most blogs cover some sort of niche – personal, political, dating, culinary, etc. What topic, if any, would you like to address on your blog but doesn’t fit into your niche?
I'd write more about writing. I may do that.
If you could manipulate the time space continuum and give as many as three pieces of advice to a younger version of yourself, what advice would you give and to what age of you?
1. Almost everyone around you is crazy. You WILL get away from them. Don't believe all the negative things they are telling you about yourself. (ages birth to eighteen)
2. Get on antidepressants and stay on them. (ages fifteen to thirty)
3. Have more fun. Don't look at every guy you date like he has to be The One. (ages 18-28)
Who among your friends do you really wish had a blog because their stories, or perspective on something ought to be shared?
All of them. They're all interesting.
If you were to take an e-cation (vacation from the trappings of our electronic world,) and assuming that employment obligations would allow it, how long of a break could you take? What would you miss the most, the least?
I think I could go without it for weeks. I'd miss the Internet the most and the phone the least.
On September 11th of this year, I attended a couple of parties and was somewhat conflicted by the fact that this ignoble anniversary shall pass with it being just another day in the eyes of many (and in some ways my own eyes as well.) Thoughts?
I think no one is going to forget September 11--nor should they--but that we have to move on.
How high are your walls? Who was the last person to scale them? What tools should would-be climbers have on their belt?
(1) Really high. (2) Probably my husband. (3) Hard to articulate, but they would need to be considerable.
The sexiest thing a man or a woman can say to you (or has said to you) is:
I'll do it, honey.
We went to the coast this weekend. It was fantastic.
A person I know was wrong for me but about whom I frequently thought after a break-up was...
Probably all of them while I was recovering from whatever breakup was happening at the time. I process everything exhaustively.
If you could only attend one major sporting event what would it be?
Olympic figure skating!
Assuming that you write an anonymous or partially anonymous blog, by what non-physically identifying characteristics might you be identified in a bar?
I'd probably be wearing tie-dye and/or Chucks and/or Vans and laughing a lot.
Most blogs cover some sort of niche – personal, political, dating, culinary, etc. What topic, if any, would you like to address on your blog but doesn’t fit into your niche?
I'd write more about writing. I may do that.
If you could manipulate the time space continuum and give as many as three pieces of advice to a younger version of yourself, what advice would you give and to what age of you?
1. Almost everyone around you is crazy. You WILL get away from them. Don't believe all the negative things they are telling you about yourself. (ages birth to eighteen)
2. Get on antidepressants and stay on them. (ages fifteen to thirty)
3. Have more fun. Don't look at every guy you date like he has to be The One. (ages 18-28)
Who among your friends do you really wish had a blog because their stories, or perspective on something ought to be shared?
All of them. They're all interesting.
If you were to take an e-cation (vacation from the trappings of our electronic world,) and assuming that employment obligations would allow it, how long of a break could you take? What would you miss the most, the least?
I think I could go without it for weeks. I'd miss the Internet the most and the phone the least.
On September 11th of this year, I attended a couple of parties and was somewhat conflicted by the fact that this ignoble anniversary shall pass with it being just another day in the eyes of many (and in some ways my own eyes as well.) Thoughts?
I think no one is going to forget September 11--nor should they--but that we have to move on.
How high are your walls? Who was the last person to scale them? What tools should would-be climbers have on their belt?
(1) Really high. (2) Probably my husband. (3) Hard to articulate, but they would need to be considerable.
The sexiest thing a man or a woman can say to you (or has said to you) is:
I'll do it, honey.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Escape
Late-breaking news--literally, I found this out officially at 3:45 and it's Friday--the rest home is discharging my grandmother to live alone again on Monday. I'm completely disgusted with the entire situation, but there is nothing I can do about it that hasn't already been done. I have a job, and I have reconstructive ankle surgery Thursday. I just flat refuse to be the one on the hook for every rise and fall of this whole saga, which has basically served as a validation of every choice I've made to forge an adult life that includes very few biological relatives. My journey in life has taught me that one must create oneself; Mr. Salted and me are my home. Family has chosen me and I have chosen them. They know who they are.
Speaking of the Mr., he and I are escaping to the ocean this weekend. I'm not promising we'll come back, either.
Speaking of the Mr., he and I are escaping to the ocean this weekend. I'm not promising we'll come back, either.
Saturday 9: I Call Your Name
1. If you could have named yourself, which name would you have chosen, and why?
I DID name myself. I legally changed all three of my names when I was 22 years old. It was an immensely healing act of personal power that is one of the best gifts I have ever given myself. I picked three names that are beautiful, strong, and sound great together. I could not be happier with my name.
2. If you could relive a year in your life, what age would it be, and why?
I think the best is yet to come for me--so I wouldn't.
3. If you could go back and change one friendship in your past, who would it have been, and why?
I would make my best friend still be alive. If I could have done anything to save him, I would do it.
4. If you could have dated one person in your past that you did not date, who would it be, and why?
Probably no one. I ended up with who I was supposed to.
6. If you had the opportunity to live in another country, which one would it be, and why? If you choose NOT to live in another country, why do you want to stay in your current country?
I'd love to go to England and live in the country with big dogs and a polka-dotted pair of wellies. My friend B could live on the next estate and we could meet for tea.
7. If you could choose your dream job, what would it be, and why?
I'd be a writer because that's all I've ever wanted to be.
8. If you could wish a wish and it be guaranteed to come true (other than riches) what would it be, and why?
I'd like to not lose my marbles before I die. Why? Because it blows.
9. If you could meet two blogger friends (you may choose more, if you wish) who would they be?
All of them, especially my invisible friend J. She is not a blogger, but we "met" ten years ago on a message board and she knows me better than most people in my life do. To me, she is family and I've never laid eyes on her in person. The Internet can be a wonderful thing.
I DID name myself. I legally changed all three of my names when I was 22 years old. It was an immensely healing act of personal power that is one of the best gifts I have ever given myself. I picked three names that are beautiful, strong, and sound great together. I could not be happier with my name.
2. If you could relive a year in your life, what age would it be, and why?
I think the best is yet to come for me--so I wouldn't.
3. If you could go back and change one friendship in your past, who would it have been, and why?
I would make my best friend still be alive. If I could have done anything to save him, I would do it.
4. If you could have dated one person in your past that you did not date, who would it be, and why?
Probably no one. I ended up with who I was supposed to.
6. If you had the opportunity to live in another country, which one would it be, and why? If you choose NOT to live in another country, why do you want to stay in your current country?
I'd love to go to England and live in the country with big dogs and a polka-dotted pair of wellies. My friend B could live on the next estate and we could meet for tea.
7. If you could choose your dream job, what would it be, and why?
I'd be a writer because that's all I've ever wanted to be.
8. If you could wish a wish and it be guaranteed to come true (other than riches) what would it be, and why?
I'd like to not lose my marbles before I die. Why? Because it blows.
9. If you could meet two blogger friends (you may choose more, if you wish) who would they be?
All of them, especially my invisible friend J. She is not a blogger, but we "met" ten years ago on a message board and she knows me better than most people in my life do. To me, she is family and I've never laid eyes on her in person. The Internet can be a wonderful thing.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Major appliance failure
A few months ago our fridge gave up the ghost, and now the dryer died. The washer was perilously close to death as well and had a mysterious periodic leak, so we bit the bullet, applied for credit, and ordered a matching set of the second-cheapest from Home Depot: Maytag, commercial grade, allegedly good for 25 years. Front loaders are cool, and it would have been fun to get them in some jazzy color, but it was hardly necessary and we're paying off surgery bills. I'm waiting for our new set to be delivered now, and I wish they'd shake a leg. I have so few things that fit me that laundry needs frequent doing these days.
I am not losing weight as quickly as I was initially, but I was relieved to get on the scale this morning and see a couple more pounds gone. I can tell by the way clothes fit, too. I was 237 this morning; that is the least I've weighed in about ten years. I'm doing better with keeping drinking and eating separate, and physically I am feeling great. I'm still tired, but that has to do with work and life stuff. I finally got my fancy-schmancy scale today. It's mostly made of glass, and it doesn't work properly on a carpeted floor. It kept cycling between weights in the 140s and I thought, "If only." Then it said "Error" and I discovered it has to be used on bare floors. It can figure body fat ratio as well, but I didn't have the strength to see what that was today. When I think of my body fat being measured, images of calipers and public humiliation spring forth, and I'm not really in the mood.
On Monday, a doctor is supposed to make the final determination as to whether my grandmother can return to living independently or not. Everything hinges on that when it comes to her situation.
My ankle surgery is Thursday, the 1st. They have told me if I am not in too much pain and can maneuver my knee scooter, I don't have to be off work the entire month that I am non-weight-bearing. We'll see. I haven't picked the scooter up yet. Mr. Salted will be off for the first ten days with me, so hopefully any granny duties that may arise will do so during that time so that he can drive me. I may carpool to work with one of my friends from there. I am SO glad to have this job; I don't know how we would have managed if these folks hadn't asked me to come back. They have been really flexible, too, which has been a huge help.
I am not losing weight as quickly as I was initially, but I was relieved to get on the scale this morning and see a couple more pounds gone. I can tell by the way clothes fit, too. I was 237 this morning; that is the least I've weighed in about ten years. I'm doing better with keeping drinking and eating separate, and physically I am feeling great. I'm still tired, but that has to do with work and life stuff. I finally got my fancy-schmancy scale today. It's mostly made of glass, and it doesn't work properly on a carpeted floor. It kept cycling between weights in the 140s and I thought, "If only." Then it said "Error" and I discovered it has to be used on bare floors. It can figure body fat ratio as well, but I didn't have the strength to see what that was today. When I think of my body fat being measured, images of calipers and public humiliation spring forth, and I'm not really in the mood.
On Monday, a doctor is supposed to make the final determination as to whether my grandmother can return to living independently or not. Everything hinges on that when it comes to her situation.
My ankle surgery is Thursday, the 1st. They have told me if I am not in too much pain and can maneuver my knee scooter, I don't have to be off work the entire month that I am non-weight-bearing. We'll see. I haven't picked the scooter up yet. Mr. Salted will be off for the first ten days with me, so hopefully any granny duties that may arise will do so during that time so that he can drive me. I may carpool to work with one of my friends from there. I am SO glad to have this job; I don't know how we would have managed if these folks hadn't asked me to come back. They have been really flexible, too, which has been a huge help.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
About Me
- Salted with Shadows
- Seattle, WA, United States
- This blog focuses largely on a personal journey to and through weight-loss surgery. It's also about reading, writing, animals, photography, love, humor, music, thinking out loud, and memes. In other words...life.
