Support

More than just a good bra or a pair of Spanx. Support is in those who surround you, those who cheer you when you stand firm, who understand when you fall short and somehow carry you forward against the crushing rush of the tide.

Support is an assorted collection of family, friends and even, sometimes, absolute strangers. Strangers they may be, yet because they've walked in your shoes and you in theirs quite enough in life, these unfamiliar faces ring of familiarity.

Because in them you witness your hard-fought tears slip from their eyes, you hear your selfsame struggles in their voices and recognize the demons they have seen as the very same that have haunted you for years. The scars they bear - some old and barely visible, others fresh and still on the mend - are identical to yours for you have been warriors fighting a parallel battle. Synonymous lives.

I only remember a few of their names but I remember every single face. I remember them because we've come together gathered around a common purpose and have rallied for the same cause. I remember each one, because together we are strengthened by each admission of weakness; we take away a measure of courage in the fact that these weaknesses are normal and only temporary. I remember each face because I look around and I see victory in their expressions. I remember because I hear the triumphs declared in each of the voices. I remember the courage and determination of my circle who, against odds decided long ago, have clawed our way out of the dark prison cells of our own making and in to the light of freedom.

And freedom is a marvelous thing.

Reality Bites

The truth is a tough pill to swallow.

Adages that are true but ever so corny in view of the blog you are reading. But still.

I don't have much to add or say to anything I've written before. Still doing okay. Yes, just okay. I am eating right, exercising and so on. And that is good.

I've reached my 100 pound goal and while that is a huge (pun intended) loss I don't feel as elated as I thought I would. And again, while the thought of the huge loss is circling my mind, there is the thought that immediately follows. Like a remora fish on a shark.

The shark being "Wow! You've lost 100 pounds!"

The remora "Now what?"

There are no easy answers or cures for what ails me. No hair of the dog that bit me. I am on a journey I tell myself. Always. And the woods, they call to me...

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Robert Frost

Fearfully and Wonderfully Made...

As a friend of mine says "more fearfully than wonderfully!"

And I have to agree. This past month I haven't written much on here. To tell the truth there's not been much to say that you haven't already heard or read.

Because I'm sure that eventually you will get tired of reading: I lost a pound. I didn't lose weight for ___ long. My clothes don't fit. I ate that. I can't eat this. I lost another pound.

So, I think I will hold off until the weight loss surgery muse strikes. Which may be never. I wonder what her name is? We could have fun with that.

For now I will give you this. God, our God. Yahweh Himself. Has one heck of a sense of humor.

I'm probably not informing any of my adoring fans of anything that they didn't already have a clue about.

You know He's so crazy because well, look at giraffes and zebras together on the same playing field. Think about kangaroos and toucans. Odd aren't they? Then there's everyone's trump card when arguing about Mr. Stand Up Comedian in the Sky, the platypus. Don't tell me they were left over parts. He don't need no stinkin' leftovers. Nope, I think Jehovah Laughter was feeling a tad bit silly one morning during the creation process and threw that one in as His own inside joke with the angels.

And then there's us. Enough said right?

And he loves showing off His humorous side. I remember once when I was going through a time where I could not drag my butt out of bed in order to spend time in the word and in prayer. I would hit the snooze until 10 minutes after I should be in the shower. And then whined about it.

I was feeling the effects of not talking with Him and listening to Him. So I begged Him one night to not let me touch that stupid snooze button and make me get out of bed. You know what He did?

Well, He happily obliged of course. In His way. The next morning the alarm went off and Mrs. Stick to Your Guns rolled over to slap that clock silly and I kid you not I rolled right out of that bed and on to the floor.

I laid there for a bit till it hit me that He'd answered that prayer quite nicely. And then I laughed. Pointed my finger at Him and said, You got me didn't you!?!? He's so crazy!

Then there's my recent struggle with the scale. I'm losing, I'm losing - it isn't that kind of struggle. It's the obsessive kind. The kind where I weigh myself every day. And not only that I cannot wait to weigh every day. And every day when the scale moves all of a pound I am thrilled to no end. And every day when the scale stays put, I am woeful beyond sense. Which is crazy.

All this in spite of the fact that I know I should not weigh every day. As women our weight can fluctuate several pounds from day to day. Especially well, you know when.

So what am I doing hopping myself up on that happy-o-meter every day? I. Don't. Know. I thought I had gotten past the part where I found my joy in numbers. But yeah. There I am. Every day. And here I am confessing.

I've told other friends as well. They've chastened me properly. I go home tail between my legs swearing I am going to wait THREE WHOLE DAYS before I step on the sardonic little thing again.

Riiiiiiight.

So, God in His wonderful wisdom has broken my scale.

Broken it. Has to be what has happened because folks this is a brand new state of the art digital scale. Brand new.

What happens when I step on it? Oh, lets see...a range of as much as 30 pounds difference each and every time I get on to weigh.

And this is only for me.

No one else. The danged thing works JUST FINE.

It's. Just. Me. I get on and I weigh 245. Get off. No way that's right. I mean I weigh somewhere around 220. Get on and I weigh 212. Get off. That would be nice but no. Get on 228. Get off. Get on 236. Cuss words. Seriously?

"Jesse?! Will you come weigh yourself?!?!?" Gets on. Number is correct give or take a pound.

"Again!" I tell him. He gets on, it's the same. Exactly the same.

I get on 200. Waaaaahhhhh....

Then it hits me. And while it wasn't so funny at first, I can now see the amusement in it. He has fixed my little problem. He knows I don't like any other scale. I won't know the progress if I weigh at work or at the doctors.

He knows I've been finding joy in the wrong places. Looking for happiness in the wrong direction. Seeking consolation and comfort where there is none. He knows I have no strength apart from Him. And He knows just how to take care of everything. Including my scale.

I am fearfully and wonderfully made. He has made me beautiful. He has made my heart to sing. He has brought me from the wilderness. He. Him. Not the numbers. Not my weight loss. Him.

And that stinking scale - for sure - didn't do any of this.

And that makes me laugh out loud. That was a good one God. You got me on that one!

The Difference

I step on the scale. 235. Step off. Sigh. Same weight as yesterday and the day before that and the day before that.

I have apparently hit what the bariatric surgery world calls a stall. Different than a plateau because it's shorter, only lasting a week or two. But frustrating none the less.

The ironic thing is, so many people have commented on my disappearing act this week. Perhaps it's inches instead of pounds which is still good....but....It's funny how a number, as insignificant as it may be, can give your spirit a lift every day. Just that smidgen of encouragement you need to go on.

I'm not sure how to react to the comments either. Comments such as:

"I don't even recognize you!"
(How do you know you are talking to the right person then???)
"You look like a completely different person!"
(Like who? Can I be Ashley Judd?)
or
"You must feel like a whole new woman!"

Truly? No. Well, I mean yes, I feel good. I feel great in fact. But a completely different person?

I know, I know, what am I complaining about? These are friends who are loving on me. And if any of you reading this has said these things to me, please don't feel bad. I love you for it. But it's just odd to hear. And I never know quite how to respond.

This is how I usually respond: I look in the mirror. Yep that's me.

Brown hair with more gray than I care to think about at the moment?
Check.
Blue eyes?
Check.
Freckles?
Check.
My mom's nose?
Check.
Nice big arms. Big legs. Good child-birthing hips?
Check. Check. Check
Huh.

I say to the mirror, "well you look like Dana." and then I think, you sound like Dana too.

But in truth, there are differences. Many. Mainly internal. Mostly unseeable. If that's even a word. I don't think it is, I see a red line....

Like I kind of feel pretty.

And I no longer feel like a Macy's Day Parade float.


And I actually want to go for a walk instead of laying around watching The Top-Secret Recently Opened Never Before Seen Undocumented Footage of Area 51 UFO Files for the 16th time in a month.

What?? The cooking channel was showing Emeril. Not a fan. No baby, give me Tyler Florence or Paula Deen or a Bobby Flay Throw Down any day...

So, that said. I am different. Not yet completely different. Or a whole new different. But well on my way.

Perhaps one day my eyes will see what it is you see.

Day to Day So Far....

You cannot begin to imagine the ride you are about to take. I know that I've already mentioned that, but each day is a new twist and turn on the rapids.

Please don't read this as negative, it isn't. This is what it is, a life change. And at times it is truly detestable, but at others it is exultation.

One step to the next is a lesson learned and a challenge met. Or not. :)

The past two weeks have gone by tremendously slow.

Tremendously. There has been so much going on, both good and bad. There has been absolutely nothing going on good or bad. There was a return to work, which was both good and bad. And each and every stinking day there was no lost weight, which was bad. Panic began to set in. I did what every normal person does when something goes wonky - I hit the internet. C'mon we are all cyberchondriachs.

I visited various and sundry bariatric websites, blogs and on line journals. For the most part very well put together and quite informative. Others not so much.

What I learned is, that at regular intervals the body must rest. It is tired and instead of losing weight you are more than likely losing inches. Huh. Let's give that a look see shall we?

Sure enough, several pairs of pants that did not fit the week before, now slid on with ease. Ahhh. The panic scampered away and settled in the bushes waiting for the next opportunity to strike.

Despite the fact that I lost inches, the scale still needed to show me love. I am selfish and needy that way.

Alas, this morning was the first loss in two weeks and it was a whopping 6 pounds. May not seem like much, but that is a change from 12 days of nothing to one morning 6 pounds. Yes, one day. So, for me, that was quite something my friends.

I've also started attempting to eat soft foods along with my liquids. Fun. You don't know quite what will disagree with you until you try. And trust me, your body will definitely let you know.

We visited a little cafe' that was recommended to us and I ordered the baked tilapia and potatoes and green beans. There is no way I can eat even 1/8th of this meal, however everyone else in the family decides to go for the chicken fried steak. Definitely not on my menu.

Three bites of tilapia, pretty good, one small taste of potato - yes it is allowed - and boom. Throat closes up, chest feels heavy, waves of nausea and the frothing begins. Just. That. Fast.

Truly I should know better, potato has not gone over well with me before. I tried cream of potato soup and honey it was all over but the crying. Wait, I think there was some of that as well.

The nausea doesn't last long, 10 minutes or so and then you start to feel better. But you truly wish with all your heart you could take back that one bite for those 10 minutes. And for me, the oddest part is the frothing at the mouth. I think your body produces the excess of saliva in order to digest the offensive food quickly as there is no longer stomach acid.

Whatever the case, nasty business. Trade off? I can have sugar free popsicles. I can have hummus. I can have salmon. I can have a lot of things. Just not potatoes for now. I'll take it.

Well, speaking of for now I'd better go. I have rambled on long enough and I have other blogs to attend to. I am quite sure they are feeling just as neglected. I will write soon!