You know that feeling when you know what's coming, you brace yourself but you still totally flinch and groan when it hits? That explains this morning's jaunt to fat camp.
I knew I was up because I had stopped taking my usual vitamins etc. in preparation for my surgery (as originally instructed). Of course, being the brain surgeon I am, I timed it wrong and really don't have to go off them until next week. But, my body wasted no time in reacting to this change and, despite staying on plan and tracking like a motherfucker, I was treated to a whopping 3.2 gain. Oh hooray. Whatevs. Shit will change.
In other news:
I chopped off my hair. I don't have a pic of it yet because not only have I misplaced my battery charger, the camera might be dead. It's super cute (my hair, not my camera) and I dig it. Much better than the ratty grown out shit I was dealing with. Plus, it's a little more obvious that I've lost weight in my face with this 'do.
Still knitting socks, and hopefully finishing a sweater this weekend (I say that every weekend). I want an apartment full of socks by the time my recovery time is done. Then I will ship them all away to deserving feet up north. It's my recovery mission.
I totally had cast envy today at my meeting. D showed up wearing a neat-o black cast boot. Infinitely cooler than my boring grey one. So jealous!!!!!! I need to plaster mine with stickers or something, make it more mine. I already have a Rollergirl sticker on it, it improves it on many levels.
Oh yeah, my surgery got pushed back to the 10th thanks to OR closures. PISS. ON. THAT. Oh well, it's only an extra 6 days, but my brain was ready for the 4th. Bleah
xo
lb
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Winding down
Man, another little gain this week, which sucks. But, whatever, it's just a mere 0.8. No tantrums, no swearing (ahah yeah right, it'll happen, probably not about the gain though).
Two more weigh-in weeks to go before I fall off the scale radar (but definitely not the wagon). I'm so going to miss my weekly meetings. Three months is going to be hard to do when I haven't missed a weekly meeting in well over a year. I'm glad that my brain is thinking ahead to when I'll be able to go back and see those great people every week.
Notice the terminology used: WHEN I go back, not IF. There's no way in hell I won't go back. Despite the need for me to be laid up for three months thanks to the surgery, the minute I'm able to go back, I'll be there with fucking bells on. (Ah, there you are, profanity. Didn't take long...)
I'm at a plateau again, but I'm not freaking out at all. Mildly annoyed, yes, but not freaking out. Part of me is winding down to surgery time, where I know things are going to change a lot. I have no idea how this recovery period will affect my weight. I know that it went down a fair bit after the original big surgery because I was a starving student. Now I'm a starving professional, so not much change there. And, others will be doing me shopping for me (talk about keeping shit real, all public, all the time), and since I'll be limited to what i can carry to and fro, portion control will be a big deal. Of course, the scales of weight loss justice must be balanced, and that's where sitting on my ass not able to do much activity comes into play. Hand weights, yes, everything fun, no.
But I'll still be fighting the fight, which is most important. And leading up to the surgery, it's a real "que sera sera" attitude. I'm still in it to win it, but I won't beat myself up over the little gains or losses.
xo
lb
Two more weigh-in weeks to go before I fall off the scale radar (but definitely not the wagon). I'm so going to miss my weekly meetings. Three months is going to be hard to do when I haven't missed a weekly meeting in well over a year. I'm glad that my brain is thinking ahead to when I'll be able to go back and see those great people every week.
Notice the terminology used: WHEN I go back, not IF. There's no way in hell I won't go back. Despite the need for me to be laid up for three months thanks to the surgery, the minute I'm able to go back, I'll be there with fucking bells on. (Ah, there you are, profanity. Didn't take long...)
I'm at a plateau again, but I'm not freaking out at all. Mildly annoyed, yes, but not freaking out. Part of me is winding down to surgery time, where I know things are going to change a lot. I have no idea how this recovery period will affect my weight. I know that it went down a fair bit after the original big surgery because I was a starving student. Now I'm a starving professional, so not much change there. And, others will be doing me shopping for me (talk about keeping shit real, all public, all the time), and since I'll be limited to what i can carry to and fro, portion control will be a big deal. Of course, the scales of weight loss justice must be balanced, and that's where sitting on my ass not able to do much activity comes into play. Hand weights, yes, everything fun, no.
But I'll still be fighting the fight, which is most important. And leading up to the surgery, it's a real "que sera sera" attitude. I'm still in it to win it, but I won't beat myself up over the little gains or losses.
xo
lb
Friday, April 16, 2010
Now, lookit...
(You have to hear either my sister Jennifer or me say that title out loud, our mom used to start off everything warning and/or scolding with that. When she said it, she meant business.)
I just got back from the hospital for my pre-admission appointment. For the two or three people on the face of the planet that don't know, my screwed up ankle is being fused in a couple of weeks. That means Bone Doctor is removing my destroyed osteoarthritic ankle joint and replacing it with big screws and forcing all the bone to grow together. That results in a foot that has no range of motion and is permanently in a fixed position. Basically, I will always be physically ready to kick your ass.
Anyhow, they get all of the basics out of the way before the actual day, which is a good since I don't think I'll feel like doing this at my 6 a.m. surgery call on the actual day. Everything went swimmingly, got my vitals taken (their scale reads heavy, by the way.) and I was assured that my heart would not explode during surgery. That's always good to know. Very comforting.
Yes, everything was dandy except for the chat I had with Dr. Anesthesiologist. Second day on the job and there was a language barrier, but whatevs, I have complete faith in his abilities and he's very friendly. He wouldn't say anything that would throw me into a panic, right? Hmmm....
We were completely cool until he told me that they're going to do an epidural and a local anesthetic so I would actually be AWAKE during the surgery.
HAHAHAHAHHA, I said. NO.
I made him very aware that I do not want to hear, see or smell anything happening in that room that day. Mama said knock me out. Seriously. I woke up halfway through getting my wisdom teeth out and it scarred me for life.
He made a note that I can tell the sleep doctor that I want a general anesthetic on the day, and I can tell you, I will tell everyone I talk to that day that "MAMA SAID KNOCK ME OUT." I will dress up like LL Cool J if I have to in order to get my point across.
The promise of headphones and Propofol does not make me feel better. Give me the gas and tell me to count backwards from 100. Guaranteed I'll punk out at 96. I don't want to hear the conversations being had and bone doctor telling someone to pass him the mallet. I don't need to hear the bone drill and I CERTAINLY don't want to hear any part of me thunking onto any sort of tray so that it can be admired outside of my body.
My freak-out level has been elevated, I would suggest you all build some sort of rock solid shelter you can go hide in, because I'm 2 1/2 weeks away from the orthopedic shitshow and it's just gonna get worse leading up to the fusion bomb detonation.
Don't say I didn't warn you.
xo
LB
I just got back from the hospital for my pre-admission appointment. For the two or three people on the face of the planet that don't know, my screwed up ankle is being fused in a couple of weeks. That means Bone Doctor is removing my destroyed osteoarthritic ankle joint and replacing it with big screws and forcing all the bone to grow together. That results in a foot that has no range of motion and is permanently in a fixed position. Basically, I will always be physically ready to kick your ass.
Anyhow, they get all of the basics out of the way before the actual day, which is a good since I don't think I'll feel like doing this at my 6 a.m. surgery call on the actual day. Everything went swimmingly, got my vitals taken (their scale reads heavy, by the way.) and I was assured that my heart would not explode during surgery. That's always good to know. Very comforting.
Yes, everything was dandy except for the chat I had with Dr. Anesthesiologist. Second day on the job and there was a language barrier, but whatevs, I have complete faith in his abilities and he's very friendly. He wouldn't say anything that would throw me into a panic, right? Hmmm....
We were completely cool until he told me that they're going to do an epidural and a local anesthetic so I would actually be AWAKE during the surgery.
HAHAHAHAHHA, I said. NO.
I made him very aware that I do not want to hear, see or smell anything happening in that room that day. Mama said knock me out. Seriously. I woke up halfway through getting my wisdom teeth out and it scarred me for life.
He made a note that I can tell the sleep doctor that I want a general anesthetic on the day, and I can tell you, I will tell everyone I talk to that day that "MAMA SAID KNOCK ME OUT." I will dress up like LL Cool J if I have to in order to get my point across.
The promise of headphones and Propofol does not make me feel better. Give me the gas and tell me to count backwards from 100. Guaranteed I'll punk out at 96. I don't want to hear the conversations being had and bone doctor telling someone to pass him the mallet. I don't need to hear the bone drill and I CERTAINLY don't want to hear any part of me thunking onto any sort of tray so that it can be admired outside of my body.
My freak-out level has been elevated, I would suggest you all build some sort of rock solid shelter you can go hide in, because I'm 2 1/2 weeks away from the orthopedic shitshow and it's just gonna get worse leading up to the fusion bomb detonation.
Don't say I didn't warn you.
xo
LB
Monday, April 12, 2010
Where I always wanted to be, I never had to leave.
When I was little, I spent a lot of time thinking about what I wanted to be when I grew up. Usually the answer changed daily. In fact, one day, when i was about 5 years old. I marched down the stairs and announced as I got to the breakfast table "When I grow up, I want to be an Indian." It took my mom a few minutes to really explain how that wasn't going to work out for me and the next day I announced that I was going to be a fireman. I can still hear my mom's exasperated sigh and the "You know, sweetie..." that often came after it.
As I got a bit older, my mind still drifted down the road, but it was never really about a career. I looked at the older people around me and how they lived their lives. It was a lifestyle that I looked forward to, not a career.
It dawned on me today, when I caught the glint of my sparkly grey hairs in the mirror at work, and then my reflection in a store window on my way home. I am what I always wanted to be. Grown-up but still me.
Walking downtown, headphones on, grey hair with a Bad Brains hoodie, big girl job but plenty of ink in my skin, worn down stickers on my cane, always a backpack, never a purse, thirty-four going on twenty-one, smarter than I think, smarter because I think, mistakes behind me, mistakes ahead of me, all of them mine.
I'm where the 11 year old me wanted to be. This is a success that can't be measured in gross vs. net. It can't be taxed or rated. It can't be discounted or disqualified.
And it means the world to me, and only me. Then and now.
xo
lb
As I got a bit older, my mind still drifted down the road, but it was never really about a career. I looked at the older people around me and how they lived their lives. It was a lifestyle that I looked forward to, not a career.
It dawned on me today, when I caught the glint of my sparkly grey hairs in the mirror at work, and then my reflection in a store window on my way home. I am what I always wanted to be. Grown-up but still me.
Walking downtown, headphones on, grey hair with a Bad Brains hoodie, big girl job but plenty of ink in my skin, worn down stickers on my cane, always a backpack, never a purse, thirty-four going on twenty-one, smarter than I think, smarter because I think, mistakes behind me, mistakes ahead of me, all of them mine.
I'm where the 11 year old me wanted to be. This is a success that can't be measured in gross vs. net. It can't be taxed or rated. It can't be discounted or disqualified.
And it means the world to me, and only me. Then and now.
xo
lb
Sunday, April 11, 2010
multi-faceted.
oh blog. Poor, neglected blog. I am here, and I swear I'll be here more often soon enough. I think we need to expand our current relationship. I come here (almost) every week to blab about the flab. Chat about the fat. Bitch about the lard (hey, you think of a witty rhyme for "lard"). But there's more to me than that, and in turn, there should be more to you.
And really, i'm going to be housebound for three months, just try to stop me from blabbing about ankle fusion, knitting and cabin fever. there's a good chance I'll be living the Rear Window dream of spying on my neighbours in my invalid state. Fuck knows I won't be talking about weigh-ins each week since I have to put that on hold for a while due to healing and such.
I still be going on and on and on about weight loss and all that shit, but I'm bringing more to the table.
well, I'll get someone else to carry it to the table, do you know how hard it is to carry stuff around when you're all crutchy? that's right.
Yeah, blog. This summer will be all about us. Three more weeks until we can really get to kicking out the jams, homey.
(shit, I hope I'm not reading this in september thinking "oh yeah, that....")
Fat report: up 1.6 this week. Mother Nature is a mean girl. I swear.
Ankle report: shitty. The cane reappeared this week. Fuck that.
Knitting: yes. always.
Other: Whoever is dressing Tyra this season should be shot. I hate this 80's shit. Also, Gossip Girl is really going down the shitter. they should have stayed in high school forever. I am FAR too old to be watching that show. Oh well.
Oh god blog, it can only get better from here. I just talked about Gossip Girl.
xo
lb
And really, i'm going to be housebound for three months, just try to stop me from blabbing about ankle fusion, knitting and cabin fever. there's a good chance I'll be living the Rear Window dream of spying on my neighbours in my invalid state. Fuck knows I won't be talking about weigh-ins each week since I have to put that on hold for a while due to healing and such.
I still be going on and on and on about weight loss and all that shit, but I'm bringing more to the table.
well, I'll get someone else to carry it to the table, do you know how hard it is to carry stuff around when you're all crutchy? that's right.
Yeah, blog. This summer will be all about us. Three more weeks until we can really get to kicking out the jams, homey.
(shit, I hope I'm not reading this in september thinking "oh yeah, that....")
Fat report: up 1.6 this week. Mother Nature is a mean girl. I swear.
Ankle report: shitty. The cane reappeared this week. Fuck that.
Knitting: yes. always.
Other: Whoever is dressing Tyra this season should be shot. I hate this 80's shit. Also, Gossip Girl is really going down the shitter. they should have stayed in high school forever. I am FAR too old to be watching that show. Oh well.
Oh god blog, it can only get better from here. I just talked about Gossip Girl.
xo
lb
Saturday, April 3, 2010
the old college try
hmmmm. blog. blog blog blog.
I don't really have anything to say, but I don't want to let a week go by without posting something.
What.
Should.
I.
Write?
Ummmmmmmmm I could start out by telling them I was down 0.2 this week. Yes! that's a good start.
This week I was down 0.2. Nothing drastic, but down just the same.
Wow. That didn't take very long. Just one line. That's not much of a blog post.
Maybe if I just start typing the titles of CD on the shelf that's at eye level. Would they notice? I dunno. Road to Ruin by the Ramones. Pledge of Defiance by Total Chaos. Electric Aunt Jemima by Frank Zappa. Ill Communication by Beastie Boys. Wrong by Nomeansno. Everything Sucks by Descendents.
Okay, I'm pretty sure they'd notice that. Shit.
Party Time for Assholes by the Vindictives.
Yeah, they'd definitely notice that. Better not.
I wonder how long I would have to type before it was totally clear that I have nothing to say today.
Probably down to right about here.
xo
lb
I don't really have anything to say, but I don't want to let a week go by without posting something.
What.
Should.
I.
Write?
Ummmmmmmmm I could start out by telling them I was down 0.2 this week. Yes! that's a good start.
This week I was down 0.2. Nothing drastic, but down just the same.
Wow. That didn't take very long. Just one line. That's not much of a blog post.
Maybe if I just start typing the titles of CD on the shelf that's at eye level. Would they notice? I dunno. Road to Ruin by the Ramones. Pledge of Defiance by Total Chaos. Electric Aunt Jemima by Frank Zappa. Ill Communication by Beastie Boys. Wrong by Nomeansno. Everything Sucks by Descendents.
Okay, I'm pretty sure they'd notice that. Shit.
Party Time for Assholes by the Vindictives.
Yeah, they'd definitely notice that. Better not.
I wonder how long I would have to type before it was totally clear that I have nothing to say today.
Probably down to right about here.
xo
lb
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