I am someone, but no one you know....

Changes and Carrowinds and Anything else relevant...

2012-02-09T06:28:00.001-08:00

So I'm sitting here looking at the Carrowinds website for a work related issue and I see that season tickets are on sale and I instantly get excited.

One of my major goals for weightloss surgery is to be able to ride roller coasters again- something I haven't been able to do since 1998- and even then, there were some that my butt wouldn't fit in. So here I am, down 40lbs and wondering if it's worth it to spend the $150.00 for something I may or may not be able to use. In 1999, I weighed about 250, MAYBE 240...maybe. I'm at 280 right now. Do we think I can get down to at least 240 before the beginning of summer? It seems feasible, but...ugh! I asked Brett what he thought and he seems to think that he won't be able to lose enough between now and then- so he's hesitant. Is it wrong of me to want to be completely selfish and say, I'm GOING!? God I want to go SO bad! I want my heart in my throat for at least six hours in one day, several times this year! Tell me that doesn't sound most awesome? I told him that even if we aren't able to do all the rides this year, there will be some that won't be a problem and others that may start as a problem but by the end of summer will be no problem at all. He wasn't completely convinced-- I'm going to have to work on that. I REALLY, REALLY, REALLY want a season pass! Like REALLY!!!

This brings me to "other news". These last few weeks have been jam packed and super great! It's truly amazing how much better I feel. Not just physically but mentally too. I'm able to focus better, accomplish more and think more clearly. Don't get me wrong, I'm not cured of my ADD- far from it, but I do feel a lot more in control. I feel certain that having little to no simple carbs (and even less wheat) in my diet has made a HUGE difference. I'm also certain that my hormones are leveling out a bit too. I am able to sit down at my desk and actually get a lot of work done at one time rather than spending my day trying to figure out what to do. My job is getting better and I'm finally looking forward to the next day. (I really didn't realize just how depressed I'd become.) This lack of depression is really astounding.

I have been going non-stop for a couple of weeks now. Just yesterday I worked, went to the gym, came home, cooked dinner, ate, watched some TV and then went to the grocery store. The gym and store are two things I wouldn't have done two months ago. The store, eventually, when I finally got around to it, but the gym...eh, highly unlikely-- especially not two days in a row! (I am taking the day off today though)

Tonight I'm going to a meeting for a club we joined a couple months ago, tomorrow I'm going to see a play, I'll be spending Saturday at Costco, Saturday night at a piano bar, Sunday cleaning my house, Monday having coffee with a friend (hopefully), Tuesday and Wednesday preparing for our beach trip on Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday! I can't say it enough...I feel like a REAL person with a REAL life!

Even more exciting? For the FIRST TIME IN MY ENTIRE LIFE I have to get rid of clothes because they're TOO BIG! WHAT?!?!?!?! Yes! That's just insane! I'm not in need of new clothes yet, which is fine by my wallet, but there are definitely some pants that just look ridiculous on me now. Woo hoo!

Eating is going well. Maybe a little too well. I thought that my decisions would be made for me for at least the first six months, but it turns out there's nothing I can't eat. Seriously. I have had NO problems with anything I've tried, even dessert. (two bites, that's all) So it's up to me to make the right choices. I'm okay with that- the bypass is still my tool and I'm not feeling deprived at all. I'm CHOOSING to eat mostly protein and vegetables and I don't feel like I'm a slave to carbs. The best part is that when I'm at my goal weight (whatever that may be) I'll know that I earned every ounce of pride I'll have for making the choice to get healthy and fit. So that's that.

As promised...

2012-01-29T10:51:00.000-08:00

December 1, 2011

January 28, 2012 - 8 weeks since the start of the liquid diet, 6 weeks post op.

This is the same exact dress, same exact size just a different color.

I really can't even believe that it's going to get even better than this! You have know idea how FUCKING amazing that feels. Yes, I just used the whole, real F word. That's how amazing it feels- deal with it.

I Love you Dr. Gersin!

How did you get so fat?

2012-01-26T09:42:00.000-08:00

Before I had this surgery, I had to go through a fairly comprehensive psychological evaluation that consisted of an interview as well as 600+ questions on a computer and written test. I have no idea what I scored, I just know that the psychologist approved me for surgery. So my guess is that I'm pretty sane...

There are many reasons that people get fat or have a weight problem- one way or the other. For many it IS an eating disorder; for others...I don't know. I can only speak for myself.

I have just about every reason in the world to have an eating disorder diagnosis- broken home, abusive parent, absent father, virtually no stability (moved 20+ times before I turned 18, went to 14 different schools, the list goes on), my mom is overweight as is most of my family- food equals love. But I feel like somehow, that's not my problem. I really do not believe that I have an eating disorder. I think that I LOVE food, good food and bad food and that I have (had) bad habits- but I do not believe that I have a bad "relationship" with food- which is essentially what an eating disorder boils down to, right? Of course I've made many, MANY bad choices, but those choices weren't a product of a disorder.

Prior to surgery I had been told that I might be angry or depressed because I wouldn't be able to eat like I used to- I was fully prepared to feel that way. I even warned Brett that I might get mean or exceptionally moody or...who knows what. But I haven't. Not at all. I haven't missed any foods or felt deprived or angry that I couldn't eat. In fact, I'm happy to not be able to eat! It feels incredible to have that habit broken and I'm enjoying other things instead.

So how did I get to the point of being so big that I needed surgery? (I don't THINK I've written a blog about this yet, but if I did, here it is again- probably in much more detail)

It was a combination of things- learned habits, bad hormones and the snowball effect.

So first of all, I've always been heavy- at least since the second grade. How did that happen? Genetics? Learned behaviors? YES! What's different here is that although I was always the fat kid I didn't let it stop me- it didn't stop be from being active, it didn't stop me from playing sports, trying out for cheer leading, performing or eating. Sure, there were a few times I remember being unsatisfied with my body and wanting to try a diet but it never lasted. I guess that's a good thing? My family was aware of my "weight problem", they made comments, but it was never a BIG deal- they never forced me to go on diets or exercise or...in fact it was kind of the opposite, but I don't feel like going into that much detail right this second, mostly because I'm lazy AND I don't want to get sidetracked (shoot, it's already happening!) Okay- so...I think that BECAUSE they didn't make a huge deal of my weight, I never felt like I wasn't good enough or that food was my enemy or, I don't know, any number of things that lead to eating disorders. I guess I was lucky in that way. But ss I got older, the childhood habits and weight snowballed.

There were times when I lost weight, three that I can remember. The first was in 1999 when I was living in Los Angeles and doing Pirates Penzance, dancing four hours a day, five days a week and eating protein bars for dinner (Howard Stern said they were good- he was wrong, but I ate them anyway). I lost about 20lbs during the 8 weeks of rehearsal plus the 6 week run of five show weekends. I was already "overweight" when I was cast- about 250lbs, so I got down to about 230 by the end of the run. The second time was 2001 when I took metabolife (I LOVED that stuff!) and went from a desk job to being a preschool teacher- I lost 20lbs in one month and went from 290lbs to 270lbs. The third and final time was 2003 when I played Psuedolous in "A Funny Thing Happened...Forum"- again rehearsals five nights a weeks, blah, blah, blah. I lost another 20lbs over the course of a few months and by the end weighed about 260lbs. I just tried to find a picture of what I looked like back then but I don't know where any are- if I even have any. My point is, that unless I was losing, I was gaining. And even though those numbers seem like an insane about of weight to most people, they were just numbers to me. That was just who I was, who I've always been. Those numbers didn't stop me from dating or going out dancing or being active- they were just the number that appeared when I stepped on the scale.

It wasn't until the last few years that the weight started to bother me- age, I guess. It was around the time I turned 30. My joints started hurting and I just felt lethargic all the time. I'm sure that also had/has something to do with an extremely sedentary lifestyle. About a year prior to turning 30 I started working from home (the same job I have now) and would go days without leaving the house because there was no where I HAD to be- it was one of my new "bad habits". A habit I'm still fighinting which I'm planning to break starting Monday (more on that later). So, I continued to eat like I always had with practically ZERO activity, other than going from room to room in my house. As my body hurt worse, I stopped doing the things I used to do for fun, like dance, hike, theater, etc.-- the weight kept piling on and I felt more and more miserable.

I know many people who read this will thinking to themselves, "but HOW? how do you get to be SO big?" The answer is: I never saw it coming. I just went about my daily business and the weight creeped on, pound by pound. You see, when you've always been overweight, a little extra is really no big deal- the fat is almost invisible. It's not like when you're thin and you see every pound you put on. Think about it. If you start out with one cotton ball and add two more, you see a huge difference, right? It's those cotton balls have increase by 200%, but when you have 50 cotton balls and you add one or even 3 or 4 or FIVE, you'll barely see a change- that's kind of getting fat works. I have no idea why cotton balls popped into my head, but regardless of what the item is, the more you start with the less you notice when more is added. Yeah?

So that's that. It was a slow process, one that took a good 30 years to complete and one that is currently being dismantled, pound by mother effing pound.

It terrifies me to think that I could have gotten worse and probably would have if I hadn't taken control of the situation. I had just accepted my life the way it was- accepted the fact that I would always be fat and that was it, that was my destiny- not because of an eating disorder but because my 127lbs 11year old self had snowballed into my 300+ pound 34 year old self. The End.

Five Weeks Post Op

2012-01-24T07:26:00.000-08:00

Well as of yesterday it's been five weeks since my surgery and all is well. I am seeing major changes in my body which is extremely exciting. My range of motion is so much better. It's amazing how much that inner tube of fat around your mid section gets in the way. And my bip (also know as the butt-hip, the never ending hip, the shelf, or the ghetto booty) is almost normal. I'm pretty sure no one has ever had a bip like mine. I could balance a glass of Dom Perignon on my bip and walked around the block without having to worry about it crashing to the ground. Sure, it would have sloshed around a lot, but it would have been secure on that protrusion of fat that could have easily seconded as a dining room table. Now it's more like a nightstand and for now, I'm okay with that.

The rest of me is getting smaller too. I can't tell you how good it feels to be on the downswing. There have been a few times in my life when I've lost some weight, but nothing like this, this is different. I guess because it's happening quickly. Well that and I've never lost THIS MUCH at one time before. I'm officially down 40lbs from December 1st. That's pretty damned amazing. I actually hadn't really thought about that until just now. (Excuse me while I go do a happy dance...)

Okay. Whew!

Now that I'm in my fifth week my diet is no longer restricted. I am free to make my own choices and that is a relief! The only time I struggled during the restricted phase was during the "liquids only". It only lasted one week, the week of my surgery, but by the fourth day I was STARVING. That pretty much sucked. But other than that it's been smooth sailing. The only thing I've really had trouble eating are scrambled eggs- which are supposed to be a staple in the post diet-- Leave it to me to be the opposite of the norm. I've been very fortunate to have not gotten "sick", but the few times that I've tried to eat eggs have hurt. Like bad. They feel like they get stuck and the base of my esophagus and just sit there, turning into nails that dig at my abdominal cavity. It's really pretty awful. But I've found that if I get up and walk around it subsides pretty quickly. I've also found that if I just avoid eggs it doesn't happen at all. :) (Though there's bound to be something else that will do the same thing- so it's good to know for future reference)

So what do I eat? Well, The last few days it's been fruit smoothies in the morning- which let me tell you...are the best damned thing that's happened since, you guessed it, sliced bread. Every morning I wake up hungry AND thirsty but I have to choose between food or drink because I can't have both at the same time and, in fact, have to wait 30 minutes between the two. So a fruit smoothie satisfies both. Heaven sent I tell you, heaven sent. So fruit smoothie in the morning, or protein hot chocolate made with coffee...yum! For lunch I was eating left overs but this week, now that I'm not longer restricted and am tolerating them well, it's CUCUMBERS and hummus with piece of salami and provolone and wedge of laughing cow or a fresh mozzarella ball. YUM!

It's funny what I can eat and what I can't eat. And what goes down easy and what doesn't. Sometimes I eat three bites and I'm done, other times I can eat four inches of cucumber, 2tbs of hummus, salami and three kinds of cheese. Weird. Eating slow is certainly key and most of the time I'm really good about it, but every once in a while I forget to chew my food to liquid and swallow too soon. Then I have to burp and burp and burp and burp and burp. Fortunately I'm a champion burper, always have been (I was actually worried that I wouldn't be able to burp after the surgery) which makes getting through some tough situations much easier...or at least quicker.

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURP!

I guess that's it for now. I'll try to post some before and now pics soon. If you're half as curious as I am then we'll all be thrilled!

Like those who have gone before me, having this surgery was the best decision I've ever made.

Letting Go

2012-01-12T08:02:00.000-08:00

So I was just sitting here at my desk thinking about this journey that I'm on. you always hear that saying- something like, it's not about the destination it's about the journey--- or something like that? I'm so bad with sayings, it's really kind of ridiculous. Anyway, I've been stressing this week because I haven't lost any weight since last Wednesday. I mean, I know how insane that is- I hope you do too! BUT, I've decided to let go. I'm not going to stress about how much I've lost or how quickly it's happening. I WILL HAPPEN. I'm not going to feel sorry for myself, even though I am feeling a little justified in my pre-op freak out about being the (mythical) 3%. I've said for a long time that my body hates me- this is not a lie. However, I also hate my body, so I guess I can't ask for much in return.

I wish that I could say something profound like, "I've decided to love my body!" and have it be some life-changing event, but that's not going to happen-- at least for a while. If I said it, it would be a lie. So forget that...for now. For now, I will be patient: I will go about my daily business, avoid the scale except at doctor's appointments (or at least I'll try) I'll eat right and exercise daily- I will give my body NO excuses for hating me. I will simply take care of simply because it is the right thing to do. I'm not going to compare my "success" to other's, I'm just going to enjoy whatever progress I make and even though I was really hoping that I would be one of those "drastic weightloss patients", I'll be happy being a successful weightloss patient- even if it takes three years to get there. --yeah, that would TOTALLY suck ass! And, I WOULD NOT be happy if it took three years, in fact, I'd be down right pissed, but eh. We'll see.

Oh, btw, I got my period yesterday. That's three times in three months- this is a first. I wonder if this is a new thing that will stick? Weird. I guess now that I've decided that I don't want kids my ovaries have decided to start working. See it's not my imagination. My body hates me! True story.

The End.

Down 30lbs from my highest (2.5 weeks pre-op, when I started the liquid diet- this is the number I like best, for obvious reasons)

Down 10lbs since day of surgery (26 days post op) GRRRRRRRR!

Joined a Gym!

2012-01-05T06:32:00.000-08:00

I wish that "joining a gym" was actually news worthy but it really isn't. This probably the, wait, hold on, I think I can remember...this IS the fifth gym I've joined- so it's not really all that exciting or anything new for that matter. But I'm feeling better about it this time around- eh, I always feel good about it in the beginning so I guess that's not really news worthy either. Anyway, I joined a gym yesterday and I will be going for the first time TODAY!

I joined an all women's gym in hopes that I will feel confident enough to step foot in there prior to any drastic weightloss--- in order to LOSE A DRASTIC AMOUNT OF WEIGHT! Grrr...Why do I hate exercising so much? I don't mean I dislike it- I mean I HATE it! Like it makes me feel nauseated when I think about it, even just going for a walk seems like torture. SO BORING! I hate walking "for pleasure"- to me there's nothing pleasurable about it. Even though I live in a beautiful area and am surrounded by lovely parks and quaint, very walkable streets, I just can't seem to find any joy in "going for a walk". Maybe that will change with weightloss, but I doubt it. I've never enjoyed walking- seems like a waste of time. I do however love hiking and riding my bike- but those are off limits for a while. So I'm hoping that by joining a gym, AGAIN, that I will find a decent distraction in whatever is on TV while I'm on the treadmill and eventually (approximately 4 weeks from now) I'll be able to take an aerobics class or body pump or SOMETHING that doesn't require being completely stationary and/or WALKING!

You're probably thinking that I need to change my attitude, and you're probably right, but it's not going to happen...unless of course I suddenly enjoy walking. Yeah, I know, thought beget feelings, blah, blah, blah...I HATE WALKING!

So anyway- I had my two week follow up with the surgeon yesterday- also known as Mr. Personality. He's SO quiet and dry that it's almost funny. I can't do an impression of him in writing because there aren't enough descriptors in my vocabulary, but suffice it to say, he is...a great surgeon and it's a good thing the majority of his time that is spent with his patients is while they're out cold. Regardless, my appointment went well- I'm healing nicely and he's pleased with my progress. Duh.

I've moved on to "soft foods", which basically means anything except: bread (I know it's soft but it's gluey) raw vegetables, raw fruit (except bananas), dry and dryish meat, melba toast, Triscuits, and anything fried, sugary or fatty. So far, so good. This week I've dined on deli turkey and cheese, meatloaf and mashed cauliflower with peas, macaroni with meat sauce (mostly the meat sauce), grilled chicken with broccoli and Alfredo, Chex cereal with milk, sugar free pudding and Chrystal Light popsicles. It's nice to have more complex flavors and textures.

I'm supposed to eat a half a cup of food three times per day plus two snacks and LOTS of liquids and protein. Let me tell you, it's hard as hell to get that all in, in one day! I'm a big water drinker and I like to chug it but because my stomach (pouch) is to teeny tiny I can't, so I have to try to sip all day. (I'm a whiner aren't I? Sheesh!) It really is hard though. I want to chug but I have to sip and then when I'm hungry I have to wait 30 minutes since my last sip to actually eat- then wait another 30 to drink again. This leaves me feeling thirsty almost constantly. Sometimes I forget and I take a big gulp- fortunately I remember before I swallow but still. I have swallowed too much water at one time, in-fact I do it several times a day- not huge swallows, but too much. When that happens, it hurts. The pain only lasts a few seconds but it grosses me out to think about too much water in a my teen tiny pouch. I know it's supposed to stretch a bit, but thinking about it stretching gives me the eeby jeebies.

I've only lost three pounds since my last post- I think most of it is water weight. The Dr. didn't seem concerned- he says "you WILL lose weight, it's impossible not to". But if you've been reading my blog for any amount of time you know that my body is a real pistol so I can't say I'm surprised by this lack of loss. I was hoping I'd be one of those success stories that lost 90lbs in the first three months, but it's not looking like that's going to be the case. Instead I will be one of those slow steady types- greeeeat...

I guess that's all for now. Here's to walking on a treadmill for the next four weeks. Yay!

Beyond the play-by-play

2011-12-28T08:12:00.001-08:00

Okay, so yesterday I offered a play-by-play of the past week's events; it wasn't very exciting stuff but needed to be done...sorry for the bore fest.

On to the touchy feely stuff...

Christmas Eve was my first outing since the surgery- it had been six days since the big day. Originally it was decided that we weren't going to join my family on the "Eve" and instead they would come over to our house Christmas afternoon to exchange present and hang out-- we all assumed I wouldn't feel up to going anywhere, but come Friday morning I was feeling confident that I was up for the festivities of Christmas Eve.

Side Note: I still can't believe how good I've felt throughout this process. I joked with Brett last Friday that I wasn't convinced that the surgeon actually did the procedure. I felt too good...and I was HUNGRY! Perhaps he just made a few incisions, scrambled my guts for a minute, stitched me back up and took an extra long coffee break. I had expected to not have an appetite for a long time but my stomach was growling and the clear liquids were NOT cutting it! Thank goodness for Tylenol with Codeine- made the hunger pains vanish!

Back to the point of this blog entry...Christmas Eve in my family IS Christmas. We have a spread that could feed an army- cold cuts, cheeses, olives, ham rolls (we'll get to those later) crudite, more cheese and crackers and pepperoni and dough balls (oh man! the dough balls!) plus 15 different kinds of cookies and the night is topped off with a huge pot of linguini with clam sauce. It's quite the occasion. It's kind of an open house sort-of-party, people stop by, eat a little, drink a little, talk a little and eat some more.

Before we left to head west to L-town, I packed a cooler with a can of broth, a clear protein powder drink mix and an eight pack of homemade Crystal Light popsicles. Oh and my pain meds...I was prepared! I had taken my meds at three o'clock and would be due again at seven- I was good to go!

When we got there, my sisters dining room table was already lined with food-- it was beautiful. My first glance was a bit emotional. I actually felt a little choked up knowing that I wouldn't be able to eat any of the once-a-year Italian delicacies...but I took a deep breath and said to myself, "you'll live, Andrea" and that was that. The mourning was over. I did find myself wanting to grab a piece of cheese or salami or SOMETHING a few times but that was only out of habit and because it was there. It was weird to NOT walk by the table and snag a cookie but it wasn't hard. There were a few times that I contemplated pulverizing a ham roll in my sisters blender- technically I was supposed to be on CLEAR LIQUIDS until Monday, BUT I felt like I was ready for some blenderized food-- but I didn't. When the dough balls (perhaps the best part of Christmas Eve) went in the fryer, I heated up my can of broth and sipped it spoonful by spoonful. It hit the savory spot and I survived the DOUGH BALLS!

My family kept giving me apologetic looks. They felt bad eating in front of me and were sorry that I couldn't enjoy the food with them-- but really, I was okay. I wasn't sad at all. I knew when my surgery date was scheduled that I wouldn't be eating on Christmas and I was okay with that...I still am. Eating is what got me to where I am now (or was, 20lbs ago-- yes, I'm down 20lbs since the two-week-prior liquid diet!) and I knew I would survive without dough balls- I'm living proof to show that it IS possible to survive with dough balls- it IS surprising, but true.

I made it the whole night sipping soup and sucking on my Chrystal Light popsicles- which happened to be a big hit with all the kids that were there- I was happy to share. I made it the whole night without temptation until JUST before we left. Remember those ham rolls I mentioned before? Remember how I thought about blending one up? Well, I didn't go that far, BUT I did squeeze the cream cheese out of one and swirled it around in my mouth for a minute- it wasn't even enough to swallow, but it sure was tasty. Who knew ham infused cream cheese could be so delectable?

The next day I decided I was ready to start my pureed diet. Brett made me four hard boiled eggs which I practically liquified with some mayo and calorie free honey mustard and I boiled a potato to make mashed potatoes. They were the best "egg salad" and mashed potatoes I'd EVER had! I finally finished off that egg salad this morning for breakfast and I still have half the mashed taters in the fridge. Crazy, huh?

So what HAVE I been eating? Well, eggs salad and mashed potatoes- two table spoons at a time. The hardest part is not drinking 30 minutes before, with or 30 minutes after eating. I'm finding that I'd rather drink water than eat and occasionally "forget" about the 30 minute rule. It's hard I tell you! HARD! Perhaps the hardest thing I've ever done! Okay, now that's an exaggeration, but it is hard. Actually, I'll tell you what's harder than hard...GETTING IN ALL THE FRICKEN VITAMINS THAT I'M SUPPOSE TO GET IN MY BODY IN ONE FREAKIN DAY!!! I've accomplished this ONCE so far. It seems near impossible. ---I know, I don't need a lecture. I'll try harder. I promise.

I guess that's all for now. So far so good. I feel fantastic and I have nothing to complain about. I will try to update at least once a week to keep track of my progress and document my journey.

Oh one last thing that you may find funny or disgusting or just plain wrong, but I'm happy to report that not only have I not thrown up even once (a common occurrence with gastric by-pass) but my bowels are working like the old pros they are- this makes me extremely happy!

One Week Post Op

2011-12-27T10:51:00.000-08:00

Woohoo! It has been eight days since my surgery and I have (almost) nothing to complain about!

The night before the surgery was rough. Both Brett and I had a terrible time trying to sleep. We tossed and turned and talked and snuggled and tossed and turned some more. We tried to go to bed early since we needed to be at the hospital at 5:15 in the morning, but Brett finally gave up on sleep at about 12:30 and I think I finally fell asleep around 1am. Brett woke me up at 3:30, I jumped in the shower, got dressed, kissed the dog and we were out the door. I wasn't scared or nervous just anxious and ready to get it over with. There were short moments during the last couple of days leading up to that morning where I thought about changing my mind but come that morning I was ready with no hesitation.

When we got to the hospital we checked in- all my paperwork had been completed during a pre-op visit three weeks earlier- they gave me my arm band and I waited to be called back. We sat there for what seemed like an eternity, in fact they didn't actually take me back until almost 6:30 (I think). When I got to the pre-surgical area, they made me pee in a cup and change into a hospital gown. A bunch of people came in and talked with me one at a time asking all kinds of questions and eventually the nurse anesthetists put in my IV. After that, Brett and my mom were able to come back and sit with me until it was time for me to go back- which wasn't long. My surgery was scheduled for 8am.

The last thing I remember is someone putting an oxygen mask on me and that was it. I woke up some time later in recovery with a personality-lacking nurse attending to me. What would be a huge nuisance to me for the next several days was immediately apparent...GAS! Being the champion burper that I am, I immediately started burping- I could tell she was impressed even though she didn't get excited about it. I don't remember being in recovery very long before they wheeled me up to my room. I don't remember what I was saying but I do remember chatting along the way. I believe it was about 2pm.

I didn't feel much pain other than the gas- I'm sure the morphine played a big part.

Oh you know what I forgot to mention? If you've been following my blog for a while now, you know how much my ovaries hate me, so guess what? They didn't let me down, I got my period three days before my surgery and it was in full force come surgery day. --I had even taken provera three weeks prior to make sure I'd have a period prior to surgery, when I got it on December 1st, I figured I was in the clear for the 19th...WRONG! Seriously...only me!

Anyway, that afternoon was a bit of a blur. I remember meeting my awesome nurse, I remember my mom and Brett being there. I remember my mom leaving and a flower delivery and I remember eventually getting up to go to the bathroom-- I'm pretty sure I know what it's like to have a baby now...modesty is not an option.

I got up and walked the hall at some point with Brett- the nurse promised me it would help with the gas- she lied.

I slept pretty good that night, in between vitals checks. Tuesday morning I got up and sat in the chair for a while, went for a few walks and drank teeny tiny sips of water from a medicine cup. Brett stayed the night with me Tuesday night we went for lots of walks and I took a much needed sponge-bath. The next morning the doctor came in and gave me a clean bill and told me I could go home before noon. I couldn't believe how good I was feeling. I'd been off the morphine since the night before and had moved onto liquid pain meds- Tylenol with codeine to be exact. There was a brief period when I had gone too long without the meds and found myself in a lot of pain, needing to get out of bed so I could pee when the vitals-girl came around, it was no surprise that my blood pressure had spiked. The nurse came in and pushed some meds through my IV and I was ready to go! I finally got to leave about two hours later.

The ride home was somewhat stressful- I had taken a swig of the pain meds just before we left so the pain wasn't too bad, but it was raining and I was dreading a potential slam of the breaks...it never happened, Brett drove very carefully, but I stressed about it none-the-less.

The rest of the week I mostly just laid around, went for short walks and tried my hardest to drink the recommended 64oz of fluid, which DID NOT HAPPEN-- still hasn't happened but I'm working on it. I felt surprisingly good. Still gassy, very gassy, miserably gassy, but otherwise pretty damned good so good in-fact that I decided we should join my family for the traditional Christmas Eve Party tradition. It was the first day I had put on clothes, did my hair and put on make up in a week-- this is not unusual for me since I work from home, but it felt like a huge accomplishment. When we got to my sister's house everyone was surprised at how good I looked, claiming it looked like I had already looked thinner. The fact of the matter was that I actually weighed more that day than I did the day of my surgery. I had actually GAINED 11 pounds post op- I guess from all of the fluids they pumped in me. Come Saturday I had only lost nine of those eleven pounds so it was probably more that the stitches were pulling my skin tight making me LOOK thinner. :)

Today is Tuesday, it's been eight days since my day of days and I'm now down two pounds from the day of- 15lbs since I started the liquid diet started 3 1/2 weeks ago...I'm hoping the weightloss will pick up- I guess if you count the post op weight gain, I'm actually down 13lbs in one week, eh.

I had so much that I wanted to write over the past week but just couldn't find the clarity or motivation until now and now I feel like I'm missing the point. I do plan to blog more often about this journey- I know for me, reading other blogs has been incredibly helpful and if I can help someone else on their journey with mine I'd be a happy, happy girl.

So, I promise to post more...soon! Actually, I think I'm going to write a second one right now that isn't so boring and IS more informational for those interested in the "process".

Thanks for reading! Questions and comments welcome!

Stressballs! One week to go!

2011-12-13T08:12:00.000-08:00

Today is Tuesday, December 13th and in seven days I will go under the knife! I love how dramatic that sounds!

I have been on a liquid diet for ELEVEN days! I'm so proud of myself. I thought these two weeks would be impossible but it's been pretty easy. In fact, these last couple of days I've barely had an appetite at all. I won't say that I don't miss or care about food, that would be a lie. But I've had literally NO cravings- temptations yes, but cravings, no. It probably helps that I've made every effort to avoid any kind of temptation- haven't gone to a restaurant, won't watch food commercials and try hard not to pay too close attention to people eating in movies or on TV, but I still live with a food-eater and some times his food looks and smells SO good! Last night it was saltines dipped in Ranch Dressing- a snack I would usually dismiss but instead it made my mouth water. I could taste the light and airy, salty, crunchy saltines with the sweet-savory tang of the Ranch. I looked at Brett and said, "one bite! just one!" But he didn't hand me one so I just looked away. Actually, I think I got up and washed some dishes.

You may be thinking, that if I can have this kind of will-power right now, why can't I just lose the weight without surgery. I'll tell you...because two weeks is doable, but MONTHS of this- no way! It's not sustainable- nor is it healthy. Three weeks from now I SHOULD (providing everything goes smoothly) be able to eat about a tablespoon of "egg salad" and let me tell you how much I'm looking forward to that! SO forward!

I've been doing a lot of reading of other people's weight-loss experiences on random blogs- I've found it's a good way to keep me focused on the prize. I'm immensely grateful to those who shared their stories- I am feeling more prepared for what's to come.

I know there will be many physical changes, which I'm SO looking forward to but the mental and emotional changes are, I think, going to be the most challenging and perhaps the most dramatic. I can already feel myself getting antsy.

Over the past few years I've created a bit of an insulated cell for myself- a very "safe" environment and have all but given up on things that used to make me happy. Acting, mostly. I haven't even done a show for three years. I've gone to a couple of auditions for things I barely cared about, but I haven't had the energy, confidence or ambition to actively pursue any roles. I thought that it was because I'd fallen out of love with it but I'm realizing now that I'm feeling hopeful about my future; that I just shoved my desires down so I wouldn't have to think about them.

These past eleven days have been quite eye opening. Sad and exciting all at the same time. I didn't realize just how much I haven't felt like myself in so long. I haven't felt truly happy in...a while. I mean, I'm happy, or at least, I'm not unhappy. But I haven't felt that feeling of pure JOY in a long time. I felt joy when the kids were here- but it wasn't pure joy. It was circumstantial joy. Even when I laugh, there is a feeling of literal (not figurative) weight behind my eyes, in my head and on my shoulders. It's physical. I can feel it. (Might just be the weight of being pulled down by the size of my giant ass- figuratively and literally!) But I didn't even notice it until just this week. I guess it's probably depression- the circumstantial kind, hopefully. So like I said, this is both sad and exciting...and a little bit terrifying- but I'm trying not to think about that right now. Okay, maybe I will- just for a minute.

I have two friends who had the surgery last year who have both recently ended their marriages. This scares the ever living shit out of me. I have a gypsy spirit as it is, and the thought of changing so much in this next year to the point of wanting to leave my husband is very upsetting. I know that they both had issues in their marriages long before the surgery and they say that the end was inevitable, but that doesn't make me feel concerned about my own. I love Brett with almost every ounce of my heart. (The other couple of ounces currently belong to Zooey Deschanel.) But I also know, like I said before, that I can feel change a-comin'. I'm getting antsy- not in my marriage, but in my job, my goals, what defines me. Are we going to survive? I have ZERO intention of leaving him...ever. But what happens if I decide that I NEED to go do "something"- like pursue the career that I've avoided for the last several years and he is unwilling to participate? Or what if I get so full of myself that I suddenly think I'm too good for him (I don't think that possible). Or what if I get so annoying that he can't stand it anymore or what if I turn into a complete emotional wreck and go crazy and have to be institutionalized or, what if, what if, what if?

THESE THINGS HAPPEN PEOPLE!

I talk myself down from these thoughts, reminding myself that there's really no way of knowing what the next year will be like. I tell myself, remember last December?

One year ago toady, I was sitting in a hospital room with my sister waiting for my nephew to be born- wanting so badly to be the one giving birth. Brett and I were preparing for our trip to spend the Holidays with friends and family in Phoenix and we had just spent that last several months preparing our home for foster children, 2 children ages 2-6.

My nephew will be a year old tomorrow, I no longer talk to my in-laws (the ones we were spending the holidays with), we ended up with 3 foster children, 7, 9 and 11 who have since gone on to be with their birth-mom and Brett and I have no interest in having children what-so-ever. ONE YEAR! Oh and surgery? Yeah, surgery wasn't even a consideration!

With all of this said, one year from now I'd like to be writing a blog about our recent trip to Costa Rica where we zip-lined and white water rafted through the rain forest, laid on white sandy beaches, shopped at the street-markets and swam in the ocean...Brett and I had an amazing time. Our new and healthy life together is everything we dreamed it would be...Oh and I have the best job in the whole wide world, _________.

The countdown begins

2011-12-02T07:57:00.000-08:00

My surgery is in exactly 17 days and I'm so excited I can hardly stand it.

I started my liquid diet today, something I've been dreading for months but now that today is here I'm pretty okay with it. I'm actually not supposed to start until Monday but I decided to start today. I gained five pounds over the past month (might have had something to do with Thanksgiving and/or my period- who knows) that I need to be sure to lose before the surgery so I figured I might as well get a head-start.

It's funny...I thought that I would totally freak out having to give up food during this time but instead I'm finding myself excited about it. For the first time in my life I feel not just hopeful that I will lose weight, but confident that it will happen. There have been countless times in my life that I've tried to diet but other than a few pounds at the beginning I've never had much success. The lack of success led to feeling like a failure which quickly led to giving up and feeling even more like a failure, especially since giving up meant gaining back the weight that I had lost plus more.

My body is a mess. I have been significantly overweight for as long as I can remember. When people (doctors included) ask me what my goal weight is I tell them I have no idea. It's true, I really don't. Based on BMI standards I should weigh between 105 and 135lbs. The problem is, I haven't weight 135 since I was 11 years old! Do you think you could ever weigh what you weighed in grade school?! NO! So the thought of having an "appropriate BMI" seems pretty fricken impossible.

When I think back to a time that I was a "healthy weight", when I was super active (and the same height I am now) I think about 1990, when I was almost 14 and weighed 165lbs. I was still "big", still the "fat kid" (compared to others my age), but I was doing gymnastics five days a week and probably in the best shape of my life. I still had a dimple of cellulite on my upper left thigh but I was otherwise pretty toned or as toned as I could be. (My mom would always tell me my butt was so hard!) So I've decided that my ultimate weight goal is 165lbs, I don't know if it's actually attainable- like I said, I was 14 years old the last time I weighed that much, but I'm definitely going to give it a try. However, instead of stressing myself out over a number on the scale, my main focus is fitness. There are so many things I want to be able to do, one of them is a Mud Run- a 3 mile obstacle course...IN THE MUD! There's one in May 2012 which I think would be AWESOME, but since I have no idea how much weight I will have lost by then or more importantly what kind of shape I'll be in, it might be a little far fetched. I think I'll know better come February whether or not that goal is reasonable. Is it February yet?!

I had a little melt down on Monday. I have been seeing a therapist in anticipation of the surgery as well as other issues I'm trying to work through (ADD for one) and she told me during our visit on Monday that if I was going to be successful at losing weight I was going to need to be regimented. Anyone who knows me, knows that regiment is a like four letter word in my book. It's probably what I need most in my life (especially for the ADD) but it's EXTREMELY difficult for me to fathom and even more so, to implement. Grr! So armed with this bit of information I came home feeling like I was going to fail. There was no doubt in my mind. I mean, I had already been worried about it. For the past several weeks I'd been worrying that I was going to fail, that I'd be the 3% (or whatever the number is) that the surgery doesn't work for and that'd be it. It'd be one more failed diet to add to my list of failures. I was feeling depressed and stressed to the max, then when she told me that I'd have to be regimented it was like one more nail in the failure-coffin. So I cried...a lot. Brett was such a trooper, he listened, tried to be reassuring and of course laughed at me a little because well, that's what he does. I laughed a little at myself too. I knew I was being ridiculous but I couldn't help it. There's a LOT of pressure involved with all of this. Expectations for something that there's no way of knowing what to expect. (I DO NOT LIKE NOT KNOWING WHAT TO EXPECT!)

I finally decided to call my friend Kayce who had the surgery last year and she was able to talk me down. She has had INSANE results that I had chalked up to being "luck" but when she told me how hard she's worked, how she's stuck to the diet and exercised regularly I realized "duh! I can do that too!" I hadn't realized just how dumb I was being about the whole situation. I mean, I KNEW that it was going to be "hard", that's what everyone tells you, but I just thought they meant it was going to be hard to eat (or not to eat), not that the process was going to be hard work! Yes, I know how dumb that sounds and no, I did not think that it was going to be easy, I just didn't...I don't know, I just thought it was going to come down to luck.

Anyway, something clicked and I'm feeling so much better. For whatever reason, I have a tendency to make things more difficult that they need to be. Like, I am almost literally the one who goes around my ass to get to my elbow with everything in life, but once something clicks I'm brilliant. So watch out! My brilliance is about to SHINE, BIG TIME!

As for being regimented, I'm not going to stress too much about that. It will be fine. I'll get my protein in everyday and limit my carbs everyday and I'll exercise (when I'm feeling better) and I will be successful!

The weight I lose today and the next day and the next day will be the last time I EVER see those pounds AGAIN! And that my friends is the best feeling in the world!

Goings on as of Late...

2011-11-16T05:49:00.000-08:00

Well, I'm less than five weeks from the day of my surgery (December 19th) and less than three weeks from the first day of the two-week-long dreaded liquid diet!

This whole surgery thing has sparked an array of emotions that I hadn't really expected. When I first decided that surgery was my best (only) option I felt at peace. It had been a long time coming. Something that had been mentioned to me by others but something that I wouldn't even consider because I didn't want to put off getting pregnant in order to have the surgery. Once we decided we didn't want to have kids that excuse no longer existed so I was free to do whatever I wanted.

At my initial surgical consult, I learned that I was going to have to do a three month doctor supervised weightloss plan but I wasn't going to be able to see the doctor for over a month from the day of the consult. So even though I had made the decision in May, had gone to the seminar in late May, had the consult the first of June...it was going be July 14th before I'd be able to start the required "plan"-- it seemed like an eternity.

Come September, we found out that our insurance was going to change as of January 1st and I started to freak out a little. I'd already done everything except my last follow-up visit and I was ready! So ready to get the surgery DONE! And I started worrying that the insurance company wasn't going to cover it. No Bueno!

I knew there was nothing I could do other than wait and be patient but that wasn't easy.

On October 14th, I went for my last follow up appointment. The doctor signed off on everything so that it could be sent off to the insurance company. While checking out, the clerk told me that they would send everything over to the insurance company the next day and that my insurance company usually take about six weeks to get an authorization so I could expect my surgery to be around the first of the year. WHAT?! NO! I explained to her that my insurance was going to change and that I really needed to get it done before the first of the year so she called the lady in the office who handles the insurance stuff and left her a message to call me.

That was a Tuesday. She didn't call. So Thursday I called her and explained the situation. She said that she was sending everything over that day and I'd probably hear something within 3-4 weeks. Grrrrr!

Not an hour went by that I didn't think about my surgery. Wondering if it was going to happen, knowing that it was completely out of my hands. It was up to someone who had never met me to decide if my surgery would be paid for and since it wasn't something I could afford out of pocket I felt like my future was in that person's hands.

For the past several months, ever since I'd decided to have the surgery, I felt like a whole new world had been opened up for me or at least WILL be opened up for me next year. As long as I can remember I've been living for, next year. I've been on a diet, trying to lose weight for all of my adult life, saying to myself "next year I'm going to go kayaking." "Next year, I'm going to ride the roller coasters and Carrowinds" "Next year I'll be able to buy that dress" "Next year...." I've been living for next year for 15+ years! And now, FINALLY NEXT YEAR WILL COME! Hooray for surgery! If it get's approved. Crap,what if it doesn't get approved? Then what? And what have I been doing for the past 15 years? How much of my life, the best time of most people's lives, have I wasted? I mean, I haven't just sat around and done nothing but there have certainly been MAJOR things that I have put off doing for as long as I can remember. And always living for "next year?" Yeah, that blows.

So I spent most of September and October feeling sorry for myself, realizing just how much of my life I've wasted. I'm still not over it but I am feeling more optimistic-- sort of.

I ended up get the authorization on Tuesday, October 25th. Just four working days after the paperwork had been submitted. HOLY COW! That's like record time! I was elated! It felt like I had just been cast as Mrs. Lovett in Sweeny Todd. A goal that I had set out to accomplish had been attained! I did it! It's really going to happen!

All day Tuesday I was beaming! As well as most of Wednesday, part of Thursday, some of Friday...by the follow Monday I was only barely beaming. As of today, I'm mostly beaming but the reality had certainly set in.

I'm not really scare of dying- the likelihood of that is extremely slim, however, it is major surgery and of course that risk is there. The way I see it, I'm barely living so that small risk is one I'm willing to take. Besides, if I do die, I'll be dead, I won't even know or care, it's my friends and family that I worry about. But only a little, because I'm not planning on dying. Moving on. What the realization/fear that has really set in is- failing. I've failed at so many diets and so many attempted lifestyle changes. I have so many learned bad habits and issues with food and since I've never been much of a self motivator, how will I do this on my own? How will I be successful? Growing up, I was never taught to expect to succeed. I was taught to expect to fail. Of course I was never told, "you're going to fail" but I always had hear the words of "the devil's advocate". Apparently my family has a direct line to Satan. This is not a bash against my family, this is a realization of the affects of negative thinking even though they meant well.

So now I'm working to try to over come these fears. I'm seeing a psychologist who is helping me to work through this stuff. She is taking a logical route. Telling me I should make a plan, set a schedule and get regimented. Until this very moment (literally just had an epiphany) I was fighting her tooth and nail. But she's right. For whatever reason, emotional problem solving is not my forte. At least not solving my OWN emotional problems. Instead of searching for solutions I search for answers. (Mom, I know you're reading this...you do the same thing!) The fact of the matter is, that it doesn't matter WHY I eat or WHY I do much of anything, instead it's a matter of HOW to fix it.

I suddenly feel better. Deep breath.

I'm sure I will have more ups and downs before December 19th but I'm going to try to focus on solving the problem with real, tangible tactics rather than looking for some answer to make it all make sense.

The End.

BBWs and the Men Who ? ? ? ? Them

2011-09-26T08:39:00.000-07:00

A couple days ago I came across some pictures on someone's facebook page of a "Fat Acceptance Party". All of the pictures were of extra large women scantily dressed, surrounded my men who couldn't reach their arms around them. In the comments section below there were dozens, sometimes hundreds of comments from other men telling these women just how beautiful they were and it made me angry...

As a plus sized gal, I have been referred to as a BBW on many occasions. I have even capitalized on my stature a time or two for attention from men and for work as an actor. So don't get me wrong, I’m not saying that BBW's should not be proud or take advantage of their bodies in a healthy way. However, I have a real problem with chubby chasers (men who love BBWs) and I have an even bigger problem with the organizations who encourage the “chubbies” to deliver.

It has been a while since I was single, but I still remember it well. Going to the clubs and getting hit on by men—often. And internet dating-- a lot.

I guess I should start off by saying that growing up, my mom always taught me to be proud of who I was because that's why people would love me. She didn't go out of her way to make me feel fat or tell me so, but she and I were always aware of it. I know she meant well when she encouraged me to focus on my personality but it also made me very cognizant of the fact that no one would be "physically attracted" to me so I needed to make sure I had something to offer. This being said, it came as a HUGE surprise to me when, shortly after my first husband and I split up at age 25, I was suddenly attracting the attention of men- lots of men. Until then I was completely unaware that I possessed any sex appeal whatsoever.

Finally drawing the attention of men had me craving that attention more and more. I began posting my dating profile on several match-up websites, specifying my body-type as "more to love" and "pleasantly plump”-- the emails were flying in. I was getting the attention that my skinny friends always got, the attention that I always wanted. These men would present themselves like they were my knight in shining armor. Telling me how beautiful I was, and how they could "appreciate" a woman like me. It felt good-- until I realized what was really going on. CHUBBY CHASERS ARE LEGAL PREDATORS!

Now for my rant:

Men who like fat women are no better than men who don't like fat women- yet somehow they are applauded for their “ability to see past the fat”. Bullshit. The fact of the matter is that we are physically attracted to people before we are emotionally attracted to them and chubby chasers are no different. What makes chubby chasers bad, even harmful, is that they encourage not only an unhealthy lifestyle but they are the WORST about objectifying women. What's worse than that is that these women, who feel like outcasts in daily life, find tolerance and even acceptance in a strange underground community of BBWs and the men who love them-- If you look at pictures from one of the parties or conventions that these “fat acceptance” organizations offer, you’ll see more cleavage, corsets and skin than the trashiest of Halloween party.

These organizations say they are all about promoting awareness and acceptance and yet all they are doing is isolating themselves all while exploiting themselves for attention and...love? I don't have a problem with being proud of who/what you are no matter your shape, size, ethnicity, sexual preference or religion, but it bothers me that these women are being taken advantage of. They are blinded by the admiration and desires of men to the point of becoming completely unaware of what's really going on.

I realize that this may seem unfair- that I'm generalizing and making sweeping assumptions and accusations-- of course there are always exceptions, but you will not convince me that what I have to say doesn't hold true for the majority of the "large" population.

Sociologically (generally) speaking, women want to feel desired by men. We crave that attention to the point of requiring it in order to feel validated. Sociologically (generally) speaking, men are in control and possess all the power -- don't go getting all women's lib here! Tell me the last time one of your girlfriends fretted over whether or not the guy she met last night is going to call her. Now tell me the last time a dude did the same thing. Okay, moving on...as I was saying, women, generally speaking, feel the need to be validated by men, this makes them powerless and at the mercy of a man's desire. This is the TRUE foundation for BBW organizations, they just camouflage it as a way to promote acceptance. It’s not love, it’s a fetish. These women are being objectified.

It makes me sad for all of the overweight women out there who have not just accepted their “fate” but have embraced it and are using it to solicit (a deluded) love. It makes me sad that they will die young, deceived by a sexual fantasy leaving them to value their fat rather than themselves.

I’m not saying any of this because I think I’m better than anyone else. I’m saying it because I want women, especially overweight women to expect more for their lives. Organizations that encourage this lifestyle are doing a disservice and injustice for women.

“Fat acceptance” is a crock. Respect yourself and your body. Don't let it define who or what you are.

Mortality

2011-09-19T09:04:00.001-07:00

I recently realized that my sense of mortality is holding me back. Not so much the dying part, but the aging part. I just turned 34 and leading up to this birthday, for the last few years in fact, I've been feeling like my life was almost over. I think a lot of it has to do with my weight and constantly feeling sluggish and unable to do the things I actually want to do but I'm also acutely aware of my mom at 40.

Leading up to my mom's 40th birthday she became temporarily disabled and temporarily bed ridden because of her back. My memory is foggy because I was young when it happened, but I do know that from there things got worse, more permanent. I don't remember how long she was laid-up, might have been three days, might have been a week, might have been longer. But I do know that she was in a lot of pain and that pain led to more pain which eventually ended up requiring spinal surgery and two knee replacements-- she has been on permanent disability ever since.

These days she gets around just fine, but she can't work long hours and still has certain limitations. I have never seen my mom run or jump. I have never seen her hike or kayak or canoe or swim in a lake, river or ocean-- I don't know if I've ever seen my mom sit on her knees. This has completely warped my sense of age and ability.

My mom has been overweight for as long as I've known her, she's been lighter than she is now and she's also been a lot heavier too. This is my normal. This is what I've always expected for myself. I thought being thin and fit and active was for others and I have always been jealous of that.

But not anymore. I WILL learn to live my life the way I want to live it. YES I WILL!

I have one more doctor appointment left in order to meet all of the prerequisites for gastric by-pass surgery and I can't wait! As long as the insurance company authorizes it: This will be my last summer wishing I could white water raft, my last fall wanting to go to Carrowinds, my last winter not going snow-tubing. Next year is MINE! I WILL do all of the things that I have been putting off for years because this is the year that I will start living!

I accomplished quite a bit these first 34 years, I can't wait to see what the next 34 bring!

LIBERATED!

2011-08-08T07:23:00.001-07:00

Oh man! I never thought having a little piece of plastic/copper shoved up my hoo-ha could be so grand! I just got home from the GYN where my doctor delicately and close-to-painlessly inserted my brand new Paragard IUD!

I no longer have to stress about birth control and can move on with my life!

The procedure didn't feel good but now that it's over, I can CERTAINLY say it was worth it!

No more BIG, FAT lies!

2011-07-29T11:00:00.000-07:00

I am almost 34 years old. For 27 years I have been overweight or at least aware that I was overweight. And for all 27 of those years I have done everything I could to keep it a secret. I know that sounds ridiculous but it’s true. It’s the one thing about me that I have tried to keep hidden for as long as I can remember, knowing full and well that it was impossible to disguise.

I tried to dress, as my mom put it, in flattering clothes; I participated in athletics, did theater, stayed active and pushed myself to keep up with my skinny friends. In my mid 20’s I somewhat embraced my “size”. I realized that there were men out there who sought “large women”. I went to clubs and danced, got hit on, felt attractive and even more so, I felt validated. (Which I later realized was just being objectified) Yet, even then, I wasn’t proud of my body, I hadn’t even accepted it, I just kind of pretended like it wasn’t what it was. After all, people were always telling me how beautiful I was and men were paying attention to me. I was getting roles in plays, perhaps being a little type-cast, but hey! At least I was getting parts! It actually seemed to be working in my favor.

However, the little nagging voice, the constant secret insecurity just wouldn’t let go. It was my deepest darkest secret that I never really shared with anyone, even my closest friends. People always thought I was extremely confident and often commented on how much they admired that confidence. And even when I’d try to tell them that I didn’t really FEEL that confident, they’d laugh it off and say, “well you sure can’t tell!”

I kept up this facade for about 25 years, maybe even 26 as it was just recently that I finally faced up to the truth. I am not only overweight, I am MISERABLE. Extremely miserable.

I am not living the life I want for myself. This has nothing to do with vanity, it has to do with lifestyle. I have spent so many years stressing over things, distracting myself with “how to get happy” – moving from house to house, city to city, state to state; making bad choices in men just to be with someone, having semi-annual career meltdowns, obsessing over having children; etc.. But now that I have found all of the things I have been looking for, now that I have found peace from those peripheral distractions, now that I am happily married, have had the same job for almost five years, own a beautiful home and have a “stable” life, I am still left with ME.

Over the last few years I’ve known five people who have lost a significant amount of weight. Their weight-loss has been astonishing; the transformation in their LIVES has been inspiring. Four of them have had weight-loss surgery and one, my dear friend was able to do it with Weight Watchers (because she’s awesome, that buggar!) Her drive, patience and determination are to be admired.

Gastric by-pass has been mentioned to me several times over the last couple of years-by one doctor, and a few friends who have seen the lack of success I’ve had with “diets”, but I dismissed it because I was so baby crazy and felt that my biological clock was ticking. I would say, “If I decide today that I want the surgery, it will be six months before I can have it, then another year, minimum, before I can get pregnant.” That would put me at 33, 34, 35, depending on how old I was at the time of the conversation, which in my opinion at the time was, too old.

Eh.

Well, now that I’m ALMOST 34, I’m still fat and still don’t have a baby (which, if you read my last blog, you know I’m TOTALLY ok with now) --I have NO excuses! So this blog will now shift to my current journey- getting rid of this shit that has in-truth been what has consumed me since 1984 when Cara, one of my fellow Brownies (Girl Scouts) came to school and told my class that I had popped her waterbed at her birthday party the previous weekend—that was also the day I found my sense of humor.

***

On May 26th, I went to the mandatory informational seminar which ended up providing a wealth of information and made me feel confident that Gastric Bypass is the right choice for me. I had my first consultation with the surgeon on June 3rd and started the three month insurance-mandated doctor-supervised weight loss program on July 14th. So far I have met with the fitness person, started daily injections of some kind of medication to help suppress my appetite (which seems to be working, yay!) and did an in-home sleep study on Tuesday. On the 6th I will hopefully go for my psych eval (providing the psychologist comes back from medical leave before then), the 11th I will go for an endoscopy and on the 15th, I will have my second-month doctor visit as well as a bone density and metabolism test- LOTS OF HOOPS! From that point on, it should be pretty easy sailing, just two more doctor visits and a couple of appointments with the dietician. I’m hoping to have everything completed by my last doctor visit on 10/17 at which time, providing everything goes smoothly, they will send off the paperwork to get the authorization for surgery.
If all goes according to MY plan, 2011 will make my 27th year of being fat, my last. A lot of boxes need to be checked between now and the middle of October, Aetna needs to be on the ball with the approval and my surgeon has to be willing to operate around the holiday season, but HOPEFULLY, 2012 will be the first time I’ve EVER accomplished that New Year’s resolution: LOSE WEIGHT! And start living the life I was meant to live, not the BIG, FAT lie that has become my life.

The Rest of the Story

2011-07-14T22:13:00.001-07:00

So, most of you know that the kids went back to live with their mom more than a month ago. But what I haven’t shared yet, at least publically (er...semi-publically… okay, to those very few of you who read my blog) what really happened.
I have hemmed and hawed over writing this blog for several weeks now but I have to get it out. I want to be able to fall asleep at a decent hour tonight, without the perpetuating blog-monologue running through my brain.

Throughout the five months that the kids were with us I shared-- a lot. I shared lots of good stuff and some not so good stuff but I kept a lot of to myself. Not knowing how long the kids were going to be with us and knowing that some of their classmate’s parents are friends of mine, I felt like it wasn’t fair to share some of the real stuff we were dealing with. It was very important to me that no one passed judgment on them, that no one had any preconceived notions or anticipated any potential issues that would most likely never affect them directly. I wanted the kids to be accepted and given a fair chance; they deserved that. There were already many other preconceptions about them that people naturally assumed, they certainly didn’t need any more.

But as the foster-mom, I need to expel the stress and anxiety that I have experienced over these last several months. This is not me crying for attention or begging for praise, this is just my story. The story of what really happened…The rest of the story.

***

Just after my last blog, the one where I talked about the little one being removed for the night, things got remarkably better. Visits with the Grandparents were ceased and life was a lot easier. We had about three weeks of “great”! but at about the fourth week, things started to spiral out of control. The kids went a couple of weeks without seeing their mom due to communication problems and the little one being the most sensitive just kind of lost it. We had several days in a row that were difficult but not impossible-- there was definitely a shift in the little one’s behavior. We’d seen this shift before, but were able to manage our way through it, even though each new cycle was significantly more difficult than the last.

We should have known that this next one was going to be even worse, but it didn’t occur to me until it actually was.

It started with the cussing…AGAIN which led to time outs, which led to tantrums, which led to physical altercations which led to longer time outs and more hitting and door slamming and wall kicking and whatever-he-could-get-his-hands-on breaking, and spitting in my face and calling me names. The tantrums would eventually stop but as soon as he was done he’d immediately start looking for something to do to get in trouble. It was almost scary, the look in his eye as he walked around the house looking for something, anything to touch that he wasn’t supposed to- another child’s toy, our cell phones, fragile items, computers, ANYTHING, just to be told, “No!”.
We were careful about picking our battles, tried VERY HARD to use positive reinforcement as well as other tactics. We made excuses; taking into consideration everything that he had been dealt up to this point but there was only so much that we could do.

The beginning of the end happened on Saturday, April 30th. We had gone to the pool with some friends and the little one was benched for peeing on the floor (on purpose) at a public restroom earlier that day. I had made a deal with him, I told him that he could not swim that day as a consequence for his actions, but if he sat on the bench and made good choices, he could play angry birds on my phone while we swam. He agreed to those terms and when we got to the pool he sat down and followed directions- I gave him my phone and got in the pool with the other kids. I will never know if that was the right decision- I felt justified at the time and I have no regrets.

He was fine for about 20 minutes. He’d look up from the phone every once-in-a-while to see what we were doing and of course I glanced over at him twice as often. But then, as I was standing at the wall of the pool, holding onto the edge talking to someone else who was standing to my right, he walked over and stomped down on my chest as hard as he could. I heard the thump before I felt the pain and when I looked up he was running back to the bench. There were about 15 people sitting in the hot tub nearby and in unison everyone gasped. It was shocking to say the least. Brett and I immediately got out of the pool, dried off and gathered our belongings. Our friends who were with us (as part of this preplanned family outing) offered to stay with the other two while we took the little one back to the house and got him situated.

When we got to the house, he immediately ran from us, began throwing things, trying to break whatever he could. Brett finally got him in his room and tried to calm him down but he was unrelenting for almost 45 minutes. The pool was about to close and one of us had to go get the other two, so I left and Brett stayed home. He called our agency and told them what was going on. He asked that someone come to the house to help us as the child needed to be restrained but we were not licensed to do so. (I know the word restrain sounds harsh, but that’s what it’s called and it’s used to get a child who is completely out of control to calm down- it’s not like a straight jacket, just a bear hug to keep the child and others around safe) But apparently our agency didn’t feel that we needed them so they just told Brett not to be alone with him and “don’t agitate him”.

WHAT?!?! For real?!?! They are supposed to be there to SUPPORT us! To SUPPORT the children! The children are technically THEIR responsibility. I have no doubt that if the same call was made during normal business hours that someone would have been there immediately. But I’m guessing that since this was a Saturday evening, on a holiday weekend, it wasn’t the most convenient time.

(Needless to say, we will not be working with that agency EVER again.)
As the week progressed the behaviors escalated. Both Brett and I were being physically assaulted at least twice a day. By Wednesday I had bruises on my arms, scratch marks on my wrists, I’d had several things thrown at (and hit) my face, my hair pulled, I’d been spat on and called a bitch. Our house had turned into a crisis zone. And even though I held him when he was calm and praised him when he was good, it got to the point where it was dangerous; dangerous for us and him. All we could do was defend ourselves and I was so worried that I would hurt him in the process.

Our plan was to start therapeutic training the following week so that if he had been “leveled up”, to a therapeutic home, he could stay with us. But next week seemed so far away, it would be six weeks after that before we’d be finished with the training-- It became too much. Between not feeling safe in our house and the lack of support from our agency as well as the mental, physical and emotional exhaustion, I just couldn’t do it anymore. So I made the call, well actually it was an email, but I did it- I asked that he be exited from our home.

Even now, sitting here, writing this blog, two months after it went down, I’m still moved to tears. No matter how hard it was, not matter how bad he hurt me or what he broke or how difficult he was, I still loved him and the thought of him leaving was heartbreaking. How were we going to tell him? Who was he going to stay with? This is what people talk about when it comes to foster kids- kids bouncing from foster home to foster home. I was now part of the problem and no longer the solution. I was letting him down. I was sad; very, very sad. I still am.

It was Thursday evening, the night before Brett and I were to leave for the beach- our much needed respite weekend, and I wrote to the social worker:

“Please accept this email as our request for long-term removal of TG from our home. We have been physically assaulted multiple times each day, every day since Saturday April 30th. He has become a danger to us and we feel we are at risk of becoming a danger to him as we do not know how to handle his behavior except to defend ourselves. We have not and would not physically discipline him, however we fear that since we do not have proper training, we may inadvertently hurt him trying to defend ourselves.

TG is going to respite care this weekend and will most likely be okay in that home for a few days, however, it is my opinion that he needs to be in a therapeutic home or a home where he is the only child for now. We may reconsider taking him back into our home if/when we feel prepared to do so after completing therapeutic training and once he is being treated for and/or in better control of the issues he is facing.

This situation is very upsetting and disappointing. I can't help but feel that perhaps this could have been avoided had there been a more efficient response from DSS and NCH with regards to effective therapy, quicker assessments and more support.

We expect him to be removed no later than Friday, May 20th.

Thank you,

Brett and Andrea”

***

This was Thursday, May 12th at 5:30pm. It was after-hours, I knew it would be the next day before I got a response, all I could do was wait.

The rest of the evening we pretended like everything was okay. In fact, we pretended like everything was okay for the next SEVEN days! It felt like and eternity and yet, I didn’t want that day to come.

It wasn’t until the 11th hour, almost literally, before we finally got word on where he was going. The plan all along, ever since they came to stay with us was for them to eventually live with their mom. We didn’t know how long that would be, but she had been working hard to get things ready for them. Since the kids weren’t taken from her, since none of the charges were against her, there was really no reason to keep them from her except that the social worker wanted her to prove that she really wanted them which she did-- she got a house and a car and met all of her other requirements, she was the best candidate for placement.

When this decision was made, I felt relieved. I could handle telling them that ALL THREE of them were going to live with their mom, even if the little one was going first. (To give us the break and warm her up to being a full-time parent) That’s what it’s all about anyway, reunification. They were going to be reunified with their mom. We had done our job. We had prepared three children to be reunited with their family and even though it happened sooner (due to extreme circumstances) than we had expected, we had done it!

The problem was that the plan wasn’t decided until THURSDAY afternoon. We didn’t want to stress the kids out until we knew exactly what the plan was, so for seven days, we had to act like nothing was going on.

Thursday afternoon (May 19th) we sat the kids down and told them the plan: We have some exciting news! Your mom has been doing a really good job getting ready for your guys to come live with her and she is really looking forward to being together. So we talked to the social worker today and T is going to go stay with your mom starting tomorrow and then you guys (K and K) will be going the day after school gets out for the summer!

We tried to make it a positive thing. We wanted them to feel good about the transition. We thought that they would be excited, but they weren’t. The little one immediately started crying, saying he didn’t want to leave. The middle one was stressed because he was worried that his mom was going to let the little one play with his video games and that he would break them and the oldest one was concerned about leaving her friends and not going to the beach.

Looking back, I realize that we shouldn’t have been surprised by these reactions, but I don’t know, it was so weird at the time.

That night we let the little one pick what he wanted for dinner, he chose CiCi’s Pizza. We ate, came home, did our normal evening routine, and I tucked him in for the last time. That sucked ass.

Earlier that week, I think it was Wednesday, in all the stress of the situation, I got one last chance to just hold him. It was about 10pm, over an hour after they’d gone to bed-- Brett and I were sitting on the couch watching TV and he came stumbling into the living room, mostly asleep, and crawled into my lap. I just sat there and held him, and cried, hard. I cried a lot that week, when no one was looking and I was so grateful that I got to cry while holding him, without him ever knowing.

God, I’m crying now. A lot.

That kid had (has) a very special place in my heart. All three of them did, do and always will. They are precious, precious children.

I know that we made an impact on their lives; we showed them other possibilities, gave them the opportunity to learn and grow and to be loved whole heartily. I feel good about what we did and I’m glad we did it. I have no regrets. They will forever be a part of my life and will always be in my heart.

I am so blessed to have had the chance to love them. So, so blessed.

The details of the next day are too painful to recap. Even though I was dropping him off with his mom, it hurt- BAD.
I cried several times over the next few days but tried to stay positive for the older two.

The following three weeks were like night and day compared to the weeks, months leading up to them. Having just the two was effortless. They still gave us a hard time, were mouthy and didn’t always follow directions, but they were like different children.

While all three were with us, I NEVER got a free moment unless they were sleeping or I was out- alone. I know kids require a lot of attention, but this was constant and beyond normal. Neither Brett nor I realized until the little one was gone just how much all three of them constantly fought for my attention- I mean constantly. The therapist had pointed it out, but it had become my normal so it didn’t occur to me that it was actually happening. I just knew that I heard “Andreeea” about 75 times per hour- and I don’t think that’s an exaggeration. Ask Brett!

But when the little one left- a calm came over the house; the older two suddenly became independent and were able to occupy and entertain themselves, sometimes together, sometimes separately. I could actually go an hour maybe longer without hearing my name even once.

It was strange how the entire dynamic of our home changed, literally overnight.

Two nights before their last day with us the middle one chose McDonald’s for dinner and the last night, the oldest one chose Church’s Chicken. The last day school came, they said goodbye to their friends, came home and packed up their clothes and toys. That night, I tucked them in for the last time and the next morning I took them to their mom.

I’ve talked to them a few times since that day. They don’t have very good cell service where they live so talking on the phone is difficult, couple that with their limited communication skills and it’s VERY difficult to have a conversation. I am trying to stay in touch and hope to do so forever but I’m hoping that as quickly as we became a family, they are now doing the same now, only better, with their real family. So I am giving them some space, reminding myself daily that I did my job and letting them move on.

***

People often ask me if I miss them- This is a tricky question. I miss loving them. I miss seeing them. I miss the good times. But it was an INTENSE five months and there are a LOT of things that I don’t miss; the constant stress, for one.

If you follow me on Facebook, then you know how much we accomplished and I will forever treasure those accomplishments, but those accomplishments were pepper flakes compared to the daily challenges we faced and now that it’s all over, contrary to the end of many relationships- only remembering the good stuff, I mostly remember the bad. In fact, it’s not so much remembering as it is, just now recognizing just how hard it was. I spent five months trying to be positive, trying to make things good, trying to create an image for them and those who were part of their lives, that I rarely even admitted to just how bad it was.

***

And now the rest of the rest of the story…

I don’t know if we’ll ever do it again.

The truth is that we learned from them as much if not more than they learned from us. Having kids is hard- duh! Everyone knows that. But you don’t realize until you have three children who depend on you for everything to see that this may not be what you want forever, at least not for us.

I realize that we had a tough case. Trust me, EVERYONE told us that, constantly. Even the in-home therapist would come to the house every Monday, and say, “I don’t know how you guys do it. I gotta go home and drink!” Yeah, I know, she was high quality. Ha! But we did have an extreme case. One that burnt us out, big time! However, that’s not the main reason we are second guessing our want/need to have children and a “family”. We realized just what a sacrifice it is to have children and we’re not sure we want to make those sacrifices forever.

About two weeks into being full-fledged foster parents I realized, there are no guarantees. Whether you adopt older kids, babies or even have your own, there is no guarantee that you will not be bailing them out of jail when they’re 17 or giving them rent money when they’re 23 or visiting them in rehab when they’re 30. And to be quite honest, I don’t think that’s a risk that I actually want to take. I want to travel and see the world. I want to experience different cultures and lifestyles. Being a parent is one of those… which I can now check off my list.

I’m suddenly aware of my life and all that I want to accomplish- being a parent for the rest of that time isn’t on that list. Maybe for parts of it over the next ten years or so, as a foster parent, but at this point I have no desire to get pregnant, give birth or adopt. It sounds terrible when I say it out loud and even worse when I read it in type, but it’s true.

I have a whole new appreciation for parents and the forever-sacrifices they make. You are a special breed. (Breeders) And I applaud you! It takes some serious commitment and GUTS!

***

I realize of course that this could all change, and future blog title could be something to the effect of “Eating My Words”.

Recent Goings On

2011-04-07T18:52:00.001-07:00

So as you know, things were going really well…and remember what I said about “jinxing” things. Yeah, well—dot, dot, dot!

I don’t REALLY believe in the power of “jinx” but my life does have a habit of kicking my ass just when I’m feeling good about things. I don’t mean this to sound pitiful. It’s just part of life. The best times come from getting through the tough ones.

Three days after I wrote this blog things started going downhill. Slowly, then crash, BOOM!

Part of fostering is something called “shared parenting”.

The idea behind “shared parenting” (spoken in a sweet fairy godmother-type voice) is to help the families build their relationship in an effort to prepare them for reunification.

YEAH RIGHT!!!

Shared parenting can pretty much be defined as: taking the kids that you love to weekly emotional torture sessions, resulting in mental turmoil that wreaks havoc on your day-to-day lives for a minimum of five days following said visit. It is a TEST to see of the parents have got their shit together and a complete mind-#@&% for the kids.

Our situation is especially fun because we are dealing with grandparents (who the kids lived with all their lives) and the mother who has been…around most of their lives. The mother and the grandmother do not get along, so we have to have separate visits with each of them every week.

Back when I said that things had gotten better, we seemed to have a handle of visits. The kids have always responded well to visits with “mom” (I say “mom” because they don’t identify her as their mother) this is most likely because they are used to seeing her every-once-in-a-while, but visits with grandmother on the other hand result in complete turmoil for several days unless they are CLOSLEY supervised.

So, like I was saying, things were going well. Visits with mom were going smoothly and visits with Grandma were tightly watched. This is until 3/23! The visit was at a park instead of DSS or McDonalds. She had lots of time to fill their little heads with whatever garbage she wanted. The two older ones tend to blow her off, guess they’re somewhat used to her behavior, but the little one…not so much.

This was the Wednesday before the Friday that we left for the beach.

Come Friday we noticed that the little one seemed very withdrawn. He suddenly detached from us- like overnight. He had gone from being my “snuggle bunny” with hugs for no reason followed by “I love yous” to nothing. It was like someone had told him that we didn’t love him and he shut us out.

WE WERE AT THE BEACH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD and he could barely smile unless he was REALLY distracted by something. It was pitiful.

The following week we had another loosely supervised visit which ended in her telling him IN FRONT OF ME (I’m sure to show me how wonderful she is) that JESUS told her that he was being bad.

WTF?!?!?!?!?! JESUS?!?!?!? HER?!?!?!? Un-mother-effing-believable!

We were in the mall food court and he ran from her and hid in the restroom. I was speechless. All I could say was, “He’s a good boy. He’s doing really well.” And she told me that she knew it needed to be said, she’s a little “witchy” and can sense these things. She “raised him better than this” and she “doesn’t know where he gets this behavior”.

I wanted punch her in the face.

That night, unsurprisingly, things got worse. He became exceptionally defiant and was trying to do and say anything he could to hurt our feelings and make us mad.

We had court the next day, she came up and apologized to me. I told her that we didn’t believe in recognizing bad behavior for no reason and reiterated that he was doing very, very well.

BLOOD BOILING!!!

Friday the kids went to respite care. Brett and I needed a break. They had a really great time and asked if they could go back again soon. This made me feel good. Next time I don’t have to feel guilty sending them off for the weekend.

Sunday night was a little rough, but we got through it. The little one was back to being defiant, but it wasn’t anything we couldn’t handle. He was still trying to be mean, but we have thick skin. Monday however was a completely different scenario. Monday he lost his shit.

The meltdown started about about 3:45, but 4:15 when the therapist got there for her scheduled visit, he was a gonner. Completely irrational, couldn’t calm down, was--- I don’t know, just gone.

She spent two hours trying to calm him down and nothing worked. She recommended that we call the on-call social worker to be on stand-by in case he needed to leave our home. She was. He did.

I can’t even begin to tell you how painful it is to have a social worker come to you home at 7pm and take your (foster) child away, kicking and screaming “I don’t want to leave”. Brett had to physically carry him. All I could do is…nothing. Oh my god, no words.

The plan was for us to pick him up the next morning. It was explained to him that he just needed a break so he could calm down and get a good night’s rest. I don’t think he believed us.

The respite family (mom) who had him that night called me shortly after he had fallen asleep. She said that had wanted to call to talk to me but he’d fallen asleep before she was able to call. He was exhausted.

The next morning I picked him up and took him to school. The first thing he said to me when we got in the car was, “I hate you guys”.

That’s understandable.

I said, “Well we love you very much and we’re so glad that you’re coming home today. We missed you a lot, we just wanted you to come here for the night so you could calm down and get some rest.”

“I still hate you”

“Did you sleep good last night?”

“Yes”

“Do you feel better today?”

“Yes”

“Good!”

“Now lets back into that gold Saturn parked behind us”

Okay, that last part didn’t really happen. Well actually it did, but I didn’t say it and it wasn’t on purpose. Oops!

Turns out it was a nice ice breaker though AND a good teaching moment. I told him that I had to take responsibility for my mistake and went and knocked on the neighbor’s door to tell them what had happened. I gave her my contact information and explained to him that I was now going to have to pay them money to fix there car since I broke it.

I think he got it. Hopefully.

Tuesday night wasn’t TOO bad and Wednesday night was pretty bad.

Today we had a long conversation with the social worker about what needs to happen and the general consensus is (was) to have him “exited from our home”.

I know in my heart that there is only so much I can do. I realize that he may be more than we can handle, and that we may not be the right type of foster home for him, he may need to be placed in a therapeutic home. I get it, but, but, but…

Brett reminded me that sometimes we have to remember that this is a job and that I can’t get too attached I told him that I knew that. Again, I get it. But this is different. This isn’t about me being attached to him, this is about the BOND that we HAD.

The social worker mentioned a possible diagnosis of Reactive Attachment Disorder (read about it, just a few sentences, it SUCKS and it completely unavoidable but almost always unchangable). if this is in fact what he has, there is very little hope for him. I realize that I can’t fix every child that comes through my door, but I certainly don’t want to be PART of the problem.

I’m not sure what will happen from here. I am happy to report that despite some bucking this morning, this afternoon we seemed to have the “old snugglebunny” back. Not sure, how or why. Although I’d like to think that it’s because he remembered that he is safe and loved in our home, I know deep down (or not so deep) that there is an extreme possibility that no matter how much we love him, no matter what we do to tell him, no matter the ways we show him, he may never be able to understand what it is to be loved or how TO love, truly.

Seven years old.

Update, because it’s been a while.

2011-03-21T09:00:00.001-07:00

I hesitate to write this blog because I worry about jinxing things. Yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds, but it’s true.

Although every day is still a challenge, as I’m guessing it is in most families, we are certainly seeing huge improvements. We are absolutely amazed at these kids and how well they are doing with daily activities. We are perhaps even more amazed at ourselves with how well WE are doing.

One month ago we were averaging 3-4 times outs per day with each of the boys. That’s 6-8 total—EXHAUSTING! These last two weeks we’ve averaged about 3-4 PER WEEK!

The cussing has decrease significantly, which let me tell you, is SUCH a huge relief. It still happens a couple of times per day, sometimes accidentally, some times on purpose, but 95% of the time it stops with a simple warning.

For a while there it was CONSTANT. Pretty much, if the boys were awake and not eating, they were cussing. Not cussing AT us, just cussing and/or fake cussing. What is fake cussing you ask? Let me give you an example:

“cockcockcockcaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhck,cockcockcockcahhhhhhhhhhhhk”

“cut it out, now”

“what? I wasn’t saying a cuss!” I was saying ‘cock’, like a bird”

“I don’t want to hear it. Say it again and you’re going to time out”

seconds later

“crashit, crash it, cra shit”

“time out now!”

“I didn’t say a cuss!”

“Go- now…now!”

“I hate you! You’re mean! Meanie, meanie, meanie!” (and on and on for several minutes, while throwing pillows off the time out couch")

UGH!!!

But now, like I said, the cussing is minimal and I’m also happy to report that time out is bearable. Well, mostly bearable. Better anyway.

Their communication skills have improved drastically and they are now able to speak real sentences, even paragraphs, which keeps their minds and mouth from wandering aimlessly to curse words.

School! Oh my gosh! I am sooooooooooo proud of them! They are doing insanely well in school. The (now 11 year old) girl is making friends- three of them even came to her birthday party on Saturday. She wants me to do her hair every morning and she is taking pride in was she wears to school. She is learning to read and can do double digit math problems! She is learning to count money and is getting the basics of multiplication.

She is so smart and insanely athletic but man can she cop an attitude! Woooh! I mean seriously. Ah, the pre-teen years. –I’m too young for this! HA!

Emotionally, she is quite closed off but she has recently started laughing, like real belly laughs. Like the boys she really only has two emotions: happy and angry. But she and I have really bonded the past few weeks and when I tuck her in at night she always gives me a hug and tells me she loves me. *melt”

The nine year old boy is growing too, although, a little slower than the others. He is figuring out that letters make sounds and that those sounds make words. He gets so proud of himself when he can figure out how to spell things and his big huge smile just warms my heart. He talks non-stop now. NON-STOP! Mostly about random stuff, but he’s talking. AND chewing with his mouth closed. THIS IS HUGE! He gets frustrated really easily but with a lot of encouragement he is find ways to complete tasks without just giving up.

The little one, 7, is growing by leaps and bounds. He has gotten 100% on his last three spelling tests and read almost an entire picture book to me last week. I thought I was going to cry.

My GOD he is cute and he knows how to work it. I have to remind myself to stand firm and not get sucked in by it.

The last few days he has been driving me CRAZY! Getting into things he KNOWS he should be in to. On Saturday, he took all of the food color that I had on the counter (I was making frosting for K’s b-day cake) without me seeing him. He took it outside and squirted it ALL OVER the front walk-way. I didn’t realize this until I went to clean up and noticed that they were all empty. There were on the counter, where I had left them, but the BRAND NEW bottles were completely EMPTY! I called him into the kitchen and flat out asked him if he had been playing with them. He immediately apologized (in his cute little way) and I had to pinch myself to keep from getting sucked in. I, of course, scolded him then made him write “I will not touch other people’s belongings” 10 times. --Throughout the day he had also been caught with Brett’s watch, his sister’s RC helicopter AND the OLD food coloring, for which he had already gotten in trouble for that morning. When he was done writing his sentences, I presented him with a bucket and a toothbrush and made him scrub the (now kinda cool, but I won’t tell him that, tie dyed) sidewalk. UGH!! We talked about the incident and he promised he wouldn’t touch other people’s stuff. Well, at least not until Sunday when he was caught playing with my phone, Brett’s handheld GPS, my sunglasses and then this morning my keys as he was trying to break-in to the storage room to try to find god-knows-what!!! UGH!

Did I mention how cute he is? Precocious, but cute.

***

So a part of the fostering stuff that you don’t really learn about in the classes is all the business/legal stuff. Court dates, family visits, meetings with Guardian ad litems, therapists, social workers, etc., etc., etc. This is truly a full-time job and can be quite stressful on us and the kids. Understandably so.

We try to keep things as “normal” as possible and for the most part we operate just like normal family. A “normal family” that has visits with “real” (birth) family twice a week and other extraneous people several times a month.

We seem to have a good system in place, with lots of routine during the weekdays. Weekends, which we all want to look forward to are often the most stressful because of the lack of routine and structure. We are finding that when the kids have too much free-time all hell breaks loose so we are working to find a balance, it’s definitely getting better.

I’m just so proud of them and perhaps even more proud of us. Brett and I both feel like we definitely made the right choice to become foster parents. We constantly talk about just how lucky we are and how good it feels to KNOW that what we are doing is important, impactful and completely fulfilling.

Although I may never know what it’s like to be pregnant or nurse and infant, I certainly know what it’s like to be a mom…and I love it!

You may have noticed...

2011-02-02T07:00:00.000-08:00

that I haven't posted anything in almost two weeks. This lapse in posts is partially due to a lack of time, but unfortunately, it's mostly due to the struggles we've been experiencing.

No one said this was going to be easy. We knew coming into all of that this that even though we had been through all of the training, had all of our inspections and meeting with social workers-- and talked it over...and over and over; we'd never be FULLY prepared.

Over the past few weeks we've established a comptlely different lifestyle. We knew this was coming. We didn't know it was going to happen so soon, but regardless, we knew. What we didn't know was just how much it was going to affect us emotionally. We had discussed the physical aspects of it. We talked about how we were going to be on someone else' schedule and we talked about the changes we were going to have to make to our home to make it more kid-friendly. But we didn't talk about how these physical things were going to make us feel.

When a married couple gets pregnant and then has a baby, they get nine months to prepare for the arrival (similar to us) but they also get a lifetime to establish personalities, likes, dislikes, routines, habits, etc. When these three kids arrived at our home three weeks ago, we knew NOTHING about them and they knew even less about us. It goes without saying that this creates exceptional difficulties, but to what extent?

Well let me tell you. Food. Ever time I grocery shop or cook, I have to keep my fingers crossed and HOPE that they'll eat our food. A common conversation in our home goes something like,

"This isn't the kind of _______ we have at mommom's house".

"Well what kind do you have?"

"The kind in the box"

External dialogue, "Oh, well I'll see if I can find that kind next time I go shopping"

Internal monologue, "Oh the BOX, that helps! ARGH!"

Details and descriptors are not a strength, even when asked LOTS of questions, the answer is usually "uh, iunknow"

This brings us to other "things" we're having to work through. If you follow me on Facebook, you probably already know that the kids FINALLY started school last week. You may also know that this is their FIRST TIME EVER in school. FIRST!! They are 7, 9 and almost 11. Supposedly they were "home-schooled" but it doesn't appear that there was any structure.

According to the kids they each had a TV in their room with a "game system" and that's what they did all day. This may or may not be the truth, but judging by where they are academically and how GOOD they are at video games, I'm gonna go with: LIKELY.

Symantecs? Another thing we are have to work through is making sure we're all on the same page. From "what do we all consider an apple to be?" (red, green, yellow, etc.) to "what do we all consider a game to be?" If you ask the kids, "what do you like to do for fun? The answer is, "play games". But if you say,

"hey, want to play a game?"
"Sure!"
"Okay, how about Go Fish?...Tic-tac-toe?.....Twister?........"
"Those aren't games! Those are BOARD games!"
"well then what kind of games do you like to play?"
"I dunno, game system games, like Wii and Play Station."

"Ohhhh, okay, right. I see now. Well let's try something different, how about ______?"

"We don't like stupid BOARD games"

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

This is just one example of the differences in our vocabularies.

Speaking of vocabularies. Words we take for granted such as "privileges" and "consequences" had no definition three weeks ago. Words smaller than those have been a challenge too. It can be so frustrating sometimes. Dealing with children as tall as me, trying to solve "big kid" problems with the vocabulary of a four year old, creates what sometimes feels like a brain teaser. Or at least patting your head and rubbing your stomach. It requires A LOT of patience.

Trust me, I'm NOT complaining. It's challenging, EVERY DAY, but the reward is worth it. Like I said, three weeks ago they didn't know "privileges" and "consequences", now, they are experts. :-) Baby-steps, one foot at a time.

So what's going on with school? Well, with a bit of hesitation and some necessary coddling, we've made it SEVEN days now. The middle one is having the hardest time. He's extremely shy on his own and he has zero patience for anything that isn't easy. He doesn't know what to do with praise and doesn't recognize accomplishment when he succeeds. We're working on it...SLOWLY.

The oldest one was anxious to start school and so far she is loving it-- thankfully! She has A LOT of work ahead of her, as do the other two. But she will be 11 in March and can't write her last name, add more than 2+2 and can't read a sentence.

The boys have the same struggles but at least they're a BIT younger. However, they all have more catching up to do than one person can even imagine. They are SO smart. All of them. So freaking capable! But only have the education/experience of a pre-kindergartner. Makes me sick to my stomach. I often wonder how many other children there are out there in the same situation.

No child should ever have to experience what foster children experience- bad home-life, being taken away from their families, sent to live with strangers, etc.,...but I think these kids are lucky. They have been given an opportunity to learn and grow rather than perpetuate this vicious cycle that some are unable to escape; Uneducated kids, growing up to be uneducated adults, raising uneducated children.

Although this is by-far the hardest job I've ever had, it's also the most rewarding and I'm so, so, so proud of these kids.

***

So why has it been so bad? Well, last week, Brett was out of town Tuesday through Thursday, which left me alone with the kids for three whole days. Alone on their first day of school, alone on their second day of school, alone on their third day of school. I'm still not sure how I managed, but I did-- bedtime and all. Pure adrenaline maybe?

The thing is, those three days weren't THAT bad. We did have one incident on Wednesday night that I thought for sure was going to end badly. Complete with a showdown in the Target parking lot followed by kicking and screaming the whole way home, followed a tantrum that included a knocked over trash can, books thrown on the floor and a broken cat-food dish. NOT FUN. Especially when you're alone, with three kids, that you suddenly realize, you barely know.

I don't remember how I managed it now. I think I've erased it from my memory. It sounds worse than it actually was. I never felt like I was in danger, but I knew I had lost control of the situation and I had no one to help me get it back.

Oh wait, I remember. After not giving in to the cat and mouse game the "tantrum child was trying to play". We finally went upstairs, where I closed the door, stood in front of it and when the opportunity arose, I grabbed the child, gave a big hug and said calmly, "I'm not going to hurt you. I love you. You need to calm down."

It had dawned on me that these kids are probably used to being hit when they are "bad" and that the fear was that I was going to do the same- hence the running away.

This was a proud moment for me. :-)

Over the next few days we had similar episodes with the same child, followed by "monkey see monkey do" behavior by another. Saturday afternoon culminated in an emergency call the social worker, behind closed doors, complete with lots of tears and a little hyper-ventilating, I told her I didn't know what to do.

The subject of removing the child was discussed as a potential plan for Monday. I shared this conversation with Brett who thought it might be the best solution. This was Saturday afternoon.

That night, when I crawled into bed next to Brett, I just cried. And cried. I couldn't bear the thought of sending one away. I couldn't even begin to think of that scenario-- packing up belongings, opening the door for the social worker, allowing them to walk in to our home and then leave with a child. Saying goodbye. What would I say?? How would I face the other two after the door closed?

NO! NO!NO!NO!

It makes me ill to think about it.

We knew something had to change. Brett and I talked about it, and talked about it and talked about it. We were feeling helpless, feeling like we had bitten off more than we could chew. The more we talked about it, the more we realized that behavior problems aside, we were feeling inconvenienced. We knew the moment we accepted the placement that our lives were about to be turned upside down but we didn't realize that we were going to miss all of the things we once had but never noticed before.

We weren't taking this frustration out on the kids per se, but the issues that the kids were presenting made our inability to be self-centered completely impossible. We couldn't wake up when we wanted, go to sleep when we wanted, eat when we wanted, watch what we wanted and even more, we couldn't NOT sleep when we wanted, NOT eat when we wanted, NOT WATCH what we wanted. Our lives had gone from doing what we want, when we want to the complete opposite- at the mercy of three young kids. Kids that were disrespecting, testing boundaries and pushing limits.

We quickly realized that although the children were being difficult, our attitude needed to change. That was Sunday morning. That day we spent the entire day playing with the kids outside. We had a picnic lunch and ate dinner on the patio. Bedtime was still a challenge, but we found joy in what we had accomplished during the day-- some serious bonding. Since then, we've still had the same challenges we had before, but I think we've all found a new respect for each other. The kids are trusting us more and we're enjoying being "parents" more.

The hardest part in all of this is realizing that my fantasy is very different from reality. At least for right now. I instantly fell in love with these three children and wanted them to instantly fall in love with me. I anticipated "having kids" would mean "being a family". I forgot that even though I WANT a family, these kids already have one. I'm not saying that we won't grow into a family, after all it's only been three weeks, but just like my definition of "games" is different from their definition of "games", so is our definition of "family". For that, I cannot feel resentful.

I have faith that it WILL get easier, it WILL get better. But for now, I just have to be patient. Accept things the way they are and work towards making them better.

Now if I could just figure out what kind of ice cream they ACTUALLY like...

:-)

Being a Foster Parent...

2011-01-18T06:49:00.001-08:00

It's been a little over a week now since the two little boys came to stay with us and almost a week since their sister came too. Over these past several days a lot of changes have taken place. Changes in the kids, Brett, our home and ME.

The kids have certainly come out of their shells, so there's that. :-D

All three are incredibly smart and it's so rewarding to see how much they've learned and grown in such a short amount of time.

I can't go into much detail on here due to confidentialy restrictions, but I can tell you that everything we learned in our training has been extremely beneficial. There are so many things we take for granted; things that we expect kids of a certain age will know and know how to do, things that we consider basic, but children that have been in "situations"

For right now, I can tell you that we're seeing a lot of personality. A LOT! We have the beautiful, quiet, creative, future engineer who almost always follows directions every time they're given (I have experienced a couple of pre-teen eye-rolls though, I giggle on the inside); the comedian who also happens to be a great helper, extremely inquisitive and completely adorable; and the youngest- another comedian who, if allowed, would eat pizza and chocolate for every meal-- very affectionate, Spongebob-loving wild child.

Speaking of Spongebob-- I had never watched an episode until yesterday. I thought it was a kids show- WRONG! OMG, what an obnoxious little prick! Seriously. New rule in this house- NO SPONGEBOB! I haven't broken it to the kids yet, they'll figure it out eventually.

Rules, ah rules. It's so hard going from zero kids to THREE! You have to be quick on your feet! I have to be three steps ahead of three kids at all times- that makes like, nine steps.

I try to give an explaination for my rules. There have been a couple of times when it was "because I said so", but for the most part I give an explanation. I believe that's the responsibility of the parent. Even as adults we have rules but those rules aren't "because I said so". They are rules that are enforced to procect us. I believe that if a reason for a rule isn't given, the child will never understand the potential consequence and be have the ability to be pro-active in their decision making. Don't get me wrong, I believe in consequences and learning from them. (If you don't want to wear a coat outside, that's fine. When you get cold, you'll realize you need it.) But I'm not going to let a child play with a light socket and figure out that when you get shocked you die. Know what I mean? Additionally, it helps keep me in check. It's too easy for parents to become lazy and say "because I said so" just because they, themselves don't want to put forht any effort. If I don't have a good reason for not doing or allowing something (like I don't want to get off the couch) then that's not a good enough reason- for either of us.

So how is all of this affecting me? Well let me tell you. I couldn't be happier. Seriously. I know I'm honeymooning right now and will eventually need a break, but at this very moment there is no other place I'd rather be. As lame as it sounds, I finally feel complete. I have never felt so confident. All of the years I spent doing theater/films, even with accolades and standing ovations, they pale in comparison to how I feel now.

Not only have I found new confidence, but I'm becoming a better person. Before, my day consisted of rolling out of bed at 8:45, sitting at my computer till 5:30 or 6 with the occasional trip to the bathroom or kitchen. Cooking dinner, leaving the dishes to pile in the sink and plopping down in front of the TV-- on a typical weekday. Now it's non-stop! Remember that whole 9 steps ahead thing? Yeah, that takes A LOT of work! But I LOVE it! It's like a switch turned on inside my brain. My house is more organized than it's ever been. There's still work to be done on my desk and in my bedroom/bathroom, but all of the living spaces are completely functional. Everything has its place and "systems" have been implemented. I'm sure the logical explanation is that I'm being more active and more blood is pumping to my brain, but I prefer to think of it as magic. Whatever it is, it's making me feel like a better person and I like it.

I wish I could document every thought and feeling that I'm experiencing. But the best I can do is blog some highlights and hopefully, HOPEFULLY effectively express the unimaginable ammount of JOY I have.

I have a wonderful husband and three awesome kids.

Oh also, a lot of people have been wondering how long we'll have the kids. We should know within the next week if they're going to be here for a while. We HOPING the answer is yes. Since the ultimate goal is reunification with parents (or at least a family member) they may be going to stay with someone else, but we won't know for at least a few more days. If it's decided that they'll stay with us, they should be with us for a minimum of six months. I told the social worker, "six months, PLEASE give us at least six months, I KNOW we can make a huge difference in just six months". He seemed to think that was likely that they'll be with us for at least six months, but it's ultimately up to the courts since the, technically, the state has custody. So please keep your fingers crossed.

For now, they are OUR kids and will be treated and loved like they are going to be here forever. --More on that later.

Learning little lessons and making progress...

2011-01-14T04:52:00.000-08:00

So the last blog I wrote was on Tuesday night. The evening of our first full day with two new boys. It is now Friday morning and we've had three full days of two boys and just added a third child to the mix last night...their sister.

We are officially the proud foster parent to three incredible children.

I really wanted to write a blog Wednesday night because so much happened since I wrote the one the night before- what a difference a day makes. All day I had been making mental notes of all the little things I wanted to remember. But by the time the kids were in bed, and Brett and I had a chance to unwind, I just couldn't find the energy to do it.

I tried again last night, but again, I was too tired. So I'm up early this morning-- I don't want to forget any more details of this amazing experience.

Wednesday morning, I got up early. Took a shower, got dressed and made coffee. (a lesson I learned in a book that I read last year- shower first!) When the boys woke up, they came downstairs all by themselves. I didn't have to go upstairs and give them permission, they knew it was okay to do it themselves. --progress! We had breakfast and then they played.

A couple hours later, while I was cleaning up the kitchen, the little one asked me, "what are you making?" I said, "nothing, I was just cleaning up, why? did you want something?"

Big grin, "mmmhmm"

"What would you like?"

"Peanut butter and jelly."

"Okay, come in here and we'll make it together."

Big grin, "okay"

It was another huge step in the right direction.

***

This whole foster parenting thing is definitely a learning process. I'm finding that I hadn't thought about things like: where are they going to put their dirty clothes? Hell, where are they going to put their clean clothes?! (mental note, we need to buy hangers and a dresser) What are our rules about where grape juice is consumed? Where do we now put three extra pairs of shoes- the living the room? Family room? Should I get a shoe cubby? Again, WHERE do we put the shoes? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

There are also other things I hadn't thought about. Like the first time we went somewhere in the car...

On Wednesday, I took the boys to Monkey Joe's. I told them about it in the morning. They didn't know what it was, so I tried to explain, "it's a big huge indoor playground where you can run and play and climb and slide! It's going to be so much fun!" They looked at me like I was crazy- I kind of took for granted that they knew what a playground was, but I'm not sure that actually do (did).

Okay, so- I told them about it all morning. And when it was time to actually go, I said, "put your shoes and socks on it's time to go!" in a very excited voice. They put their shoes and socks on, I gathered my things and we went to the garage. This was the first time we'd left the house since they had come to stay with us.

Not thinking twice, Brett and I buckled them in, I said to goodbye to Brett, got in the car and began to drive away. Instantly the mood changed. The boys had gone from rambunctious to somber. I asked them if they were excited to go to Monkey Joe's and they softly said, "yeah" with zero excitement. It was more like they were just saying it because they "had" to, in order to be agreeable.

I tried to lighten the mood a little bit with chit chat, when it dawned on me. They last TWO times they were in a car they were being taken away from the home where they were staying. My heart sunk. I tried to explain to them that we were just going to play and when we were done we'd be going straight back home. I tried to convince them that everything was going to be okay, but I quickly realized, their trust was something I was going to have to earn.

When we walked in to Monkey Joe's the boys were a little overwhelmed. They have been homeschooled all their lives and from what I know, they have never socialized with other children. So this was probably terrifying. I reminded myself that I had to be confident and assertive so that they will feel safe and secure. (I think I pulled it off well)

I paid for the admission, we got our wrist bands and we entered the chaos. When the boys feel uncomfortable, they cover their heads with their shirts- the little one will actually close his eyes. They did this when they first got to our house and have done it a few times since. I guided them through the (much larger than I realized) warehouse full of bouncy structures and told them that they could go play! "Go! Go! You'll have fun!" There were kids everywhere!

When we got to the big slide they expressed some interest. I pointed to the other kids who were climbing the rope ladder to the top and told them to give it a try. They hesitantly took on the challenge, looking over their should to be sure I was still there the whole way up. After they got to the top and then back down, via the slid, they were sold. They did it again, and again. After the third time I pointed to the other things they could play on and encouraged them to GO, PLAY. I went and sat at the table where I told them I'd be and they were off. I was a proud mama.

***

Before we left that day, I had put chicken and rice in the crock-pot so dinner would be done when we got home. I had never put rice in the crock-pot before, but I thought, surely, it would by just fine. WRONG! When I scooped it out of the pot and onto the plate I started laughing. It was a MESS! A disgusting, gluey mess! GROSS!

We all took a bite, Brett said it didn't taste like anything, and it really didn't, even though I had seasoned it with SnP, poultry seasoning, garlic and onion powder...The boys started eating it. I asked them if they liked it, they didn't say much. The decision was quickly made to go to McDonald's. The boys were VERY excited about their chicken nuggets and the toy in their happy meal.

After we got home and ate dinner the boys took their baths and put on their jammies. Then we hunkered down on the couch with pillows and blankets (much like we had tried the night before with Shrek II) and Brett read the first chapter of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. The little one fell asleep on my lap (BEST FEELING IN THE WORLD) and the older one asked questions about the story. We were happy, happy parents.

First night as Foster Parents

2011-01-10T18:10:00.000-08:00

We finished our paperwork with our foster care agency around the first of December, knowing that the state would have 50 days to return our license. Since we were out of town for the holidays, we assumed other people would be too. This led us to believe that we could expect our license around the end of January.

We returned home on Saturday, Jan 8th. Exhausted from the previous three and a half weeks we dumped all of our luggage in the living room and flung ourselves on the couches in the family room. Over the next 36 hours, we slept through about 25. With the impending snow, I decided 10pm on Sunday night was a good time to make a trip to the grocery store for some cheap "food" to get us through the next days- as we would most likely be snowed in. (even though it was only supposed to be a few inches- everything shuts down in this town when it snows)

So I went to the store and bought ramen, ice cream, cereal, milk, bread and tuna. See, "food". Remember we'd been gone for 3+ weeks, so there was NO food in the house.

Anyway, at about noon today I emailed our social worker to see if they'd heard anything back from the state yet. The reply was something along the lines of, "I haven't received it yet, but call me when you, I have two boys that need emergency placement."

I showed the email to Brett and we just sort of looked at each other like, "uhhhh". Mostly we were thinking, "crap, our house is a huge mess, we have no food in our cupboards, the second bed isn't even put together yet!" -- let's call and get the details.

We call, phone's on speaker. The social worker gives us the information she has, which isn't much. I looked at Brett and whispered, "what do you think? Do you want to talk about it and call her back?" He said, "I don't know what there is to talk about". Less than two hours later they were here. Two boys, ages 7 and 9.

Due to confidentiality agreements we can't share details, but I can tell you that they are two good lookin' kids. The first half hour was rough. They both just kind of curled up in a ball on the couch in the front room. We gave them a while to just "be"- sad, angry, confused...all of the above and more.

After a little while I went in and asked if they wanted to play Wii. They lifted their heads and both said yes. So Brett got the Wii going, helped set up Miis and got them playing together. He and I just sat, quietly...in the same room. I gradually began cheering for them when they had a good swing on the golf course. They seemed to loosen up fairly quickly.

Because they didn't come with anything except pillows and blankets and the clothes on their backs, I emailed two friends from down the street who have boys the same age. Fortunately they were both eager to help and one had a backpack full of stuff within 30 minutes. Thank you Angie!

I told the boys that I was going to make dinner and gave them the choice between pb&j or grilled cheese to go with their Top Ramen. (not the meal I ever envisioned for a first night with kids) One chose the pb&j and the other chose grilled cheese.

I tried to be pro-active. Telling them the plan. Eat, shower/bathe, jammies, Wii. They listened, understood and agreed to the plan. All went well.

At 7:30, I told them 30 more minutes of Wii, then quiet time. I didn't really have a plan for quiet time but I knew that they had a really long day and figured they were probably exhausted. I thought maybe they'd like to read some books or something.

We went up stairs, with books, and they immediately crawled into bed. It was the worst part of the whole day. I didn't know what to do. How could I make sleeping in some strange people's house any easier? We'd role played this in class, but the role play included the "child" not wanting to go to bed. These little guys just laid down, quietly. I wanted to hug them but I didn't know what to do. All I could think about was how I couldn't imagine what they were thinking, what they were going through. I just told them, "it's okay to be scared and sad. it's okay to cry. but if there is anything we can do to help them, please tell us." They both said okay and then curled up in little balls with the covers over their heads in their beds.

Walking out of that room was so hard. I didn't want to leave them, but I know there's nothing I can do to make it better--right now. Even though I WANT to smother them with love, it's not time yet, hopefully soon. I just stood at the bottom of the stairs for a few minutes and listened. I could hear their voices but I couldn't make out what they were saying. I also heard some sobs and lots of sniffles. After about 15 minutes, I couldn't stand it any more. I went up there to make sure they were alright. They both said they were okay.

45 minutes later I went back up. The older boy was asleep but the younger one was still awake. I asked him if he wanted to come downstairs, he said no. I'm hoping he's fallen asleep by now.

One day down.

False Positive

2011-01-05T17:39:00.000-08:00

On Tuesday, December 14th, my family welcomed a new addition to the family. The cutest, sweetest baby boy- Rocco James Vickers. I was lucky enough to be there for the entire process. From induction, to the C-section decision, waiting for the surgery to be over and then FINALLY meeting him for the first time. It was the closest I've ever been to a live birth. It was truly a magical experience.

The first time I held him I just sobbed. I was overcome with emotion. He was so beautiful, so perfect. I loved him instantly. I had heard that when a mother meets her baby for the first time there is an instant connection, I never knew it was the same for an Auntie. Love at first sight does exist.

As all of my emotions poured out over this little newborn baby, my mom and sister said things to me like, "why are you crying so much? maybe you're pregnant". I guess it seemed a logical explanation for why I was being so "emotional". I just laughed it off, knowing good and well that it wasn't even a remote possibility. After my they continued to make additional comments over the following two days, I finally explained to them that it was impossible. "I just finished my period five days ago!"

But their words stuck with me.

On Thursday, December 16th, Brett and I arrived in Phoenix. We were exhausted from spending the previous days at the hospital and only became more exhausted as the week(s) went on. Between the holidays, sleeping on air mattresses, dealing with the stress being produced by our stay with his family and the time change, we (I) was a mess.

All of these factors manifested themselves into what felt like an emotional roller-coaster with the addition of constipation which in turn became bloating and nausea. This on top of those lingering words from my mom and sister...

On the 30th, I got a call from one of my good friends. She had just tested positive. I was so happy for her (I still am. I'm NEVER resentful of ANYONE who gets pregnant- I know how happy it would make me and I want that same happiness for everyone, especially the people I love). But I couldn't help it, I hung up the phone and the tears came pouring out. It was a full-on melt down. Big heavy sobs.

My sweet husband, just rubbed my back, knowing there was nothing he could do to make it better. But this melt-down was intense. I couldn't stop. I just cried and cried..."why am I crying so much?" The words of my mom and sister, haunting me...the weeks of constipation, bloating and nausea floating around in my mind.

I thought I was going to start my period that Wednesday, it was Thursday. I was one day late. Maybe it was an immaculate conception. Did I mention that we hadn't even slept in the same bed since December 11th?

The next day was New Years. I knew I wanted to drink that night so Brett and I went to Walgreens Thursday night and bought a two pack of tests, just to be sure. I peed on the stick that morning and it was negative. Just like all the other dozens, if not hundreds of tests I had taken in the past. I wasn't surprised. Not to sound like a martyr, but I'm used to it AND you have to have sex to make a baby, so, you know, there's that.

Fast forward to Monday, still no period. I was now five days late. I called my doctor and asked if I should up my progesterone dosage and he said yes but I thought I'd test, just in case, before increasing to two capsules per day. Besides, I still had the second one left from the pack of two, might as well use it.

It was Monday afternoon, about 3pm. I knew it wasn't my "first urine" but whatever, I was bored...or something. I had just taken a nap (remember that whole tired thing?) and I figured, "why not?" So I went to the bathroom, peed on the stick, set it down, went about my business, glancing down every couple of seconds. After about 15 seconds I saw what appeared to be a VERY faint line. I'm not going to lie... I whispered loudly, "holy fuck!" Never had I ever seen anything other than NOTHING.

I took it to Brett and I said, "don't get excited, but I think I see a line". I knew it was faint. I knew he would have a hard time seeing it, hell I could BARELY see it. I mean BARELY. When he didn't see it, I decided I was probably imagining things. But I KNEW I had NEVER seen what I saw.

We just kind of laughed about it. I put it back in the wrapper, placed it in the trash and forgot about it...for a couple of hours anyway. But I couldn't stand it. I just had to look one more time, in different light, like maybe outside.

I reached into the trash, pulled the stick out of the wrapper and there it was, a pretty defined, yet light blue plus sign. I showed it to Brett, he said, "yep, I see it". We decided not to get excited. Even though I have told friends who have questioned their positive results, "there are not false positives", I still couldn't feel confident that is was happening to me. I knew the math, I was pretty sure I hadn't ovulated and I certainly knew that there hadn't been any baby dancing going on. The two major requirements for pregnancy.

BUT, there was a plus sign. There are no false positives...right?

Fortunately I didn't allow myself to get excited. Well, not too excited. After all I wasn't completely convinced. But of course my mind did wander a bit. I thought about how we were going to tell people-- this is something I've fantasized about for as long as I can remember. I wondered what we'd do about fostering. I let myself feel like maybe just maybe it WAS happening to me. And it felt good.

However, it's now Wednesday, two days later-- still no period, but TWO new negative tests.

I hate to sound like I'm throwing myself a pity party, but it DID feel good, even if only for a very short while. I hope I get to see a REAL plus sign some time soon, but until then I will remember those 12 hours when I thought, maybe, just maybe it was happening to me, too.

The Phoenix Extravaganza

2011-01-05T09:36:00.000-08:00

As Brett and I set off to Phoenix for our three week stay, we had so much to look forward to, but now that today is our last day in the Valley of the Sun, we can't wait to be home.

I know, three weeks is a LONG time to stay anywhere; perhaps that should have been considered when booking our travel, but since we both lived in this area for so long we wanted to be sure we had enough time to see all of our friends and family. Now that we're less than 24 hours from leaving, I can safely say, that didn't happen.

With a few exceptions, this trip as been nothing less than awful. I did get to see most of my close friends and some of my long-lost friends and my favorite Aunt and Uncle and my new cousin, but everything that happened in between was, well, stressful.

My uncle picked us up at the airport at about 11am on Thursday the 16th-- we were starving! We stopped by his house for a bit and then dropped him off at his brother-in-law's house to pick up a spare truck- my uncle allowed us to use HIS car for the ENTIRE three weeks. (He's pretty much, the awesome) Once we dropped him off, we were on our way out west, to Brett's mom's house, after we stopped and got lunch, of course.

The first few days of our vacation were great. We lounged around my MIL's place, prepared tamales and green chili for the Christmas festivities and went to a couple of parties with friends. We had a few things to do near my aunt and uncle's house the first part of the next week, so we stayed with them Sunday and Monday. All was going well, in fact we thought, all was going great.

We returned to the MIL's Tuesday evening, had dinner and then began preparing for the arrival of Brett's brother, his wife and their new son- who we could not WAIT to meet!

Prior to our arrival and for the first few days of our stay at the MIL's, she was not feeling well, so we did what we could to help out- cooking, decorating, cleaning, etc. We didn't mind helping at all. I love to cook, so making the tamales was enjoyable. We hadn't decorated our own home for Christmas, so decorating was fun and cleaning, well, her house is pretty darned clean anyway so that really wasn't much of a chore at all. The best part, was that we felt like a family- working together to make the holidays a special time.

The next evening, the BIL, SIL and nephew arrived. I couldn't wait to hold that sweet little baby, seven months old, my FAVORITE age! He did not disappoint. He was SOOO cute and lovable! We all wanted to hold him and play with him-- he was such a good sport.

That night there was a small (mostly just uncomfortable conversation) about the sleeping arrangements. Nothing that seemed like it was going to ruin our time together, but somehow everything just went downhill from there. You know how people say, "the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife"? Well, you could cut ours with a SPOON!

By the next morning, the comfort level was almost unbearable. I was told by my BIL that my MIL was mad because I was trying to change their traditions-- the only thing I can think of was that I had told her I'd like to make some sweet corn tamales in addition to the pork and vegetarian ones already being prepared. (I didn't think this was a big deal considering there was extra masa, I wasn't asking anyone to do it for me AND vegetarian tamales were added to the menu two years ago to meet the dietary preferences of my new SIL) In fact this year, the MIL was making veg tamales AND veg green chili for the SIL as well as the "traditional" pork dishes. But apparently my desire was unreasonable.

Nothing was ever said directly TO me, just about me and then repeated to me by "others" who informed me.

But the thing was, it was nothing that I could or would change. It's not like I was being shunned because I had not put my glass in the dishwasher or left clothes in the dryer too long. I was being shunned for being me. It turns out that according to the MIL, I have an "aggressive personality" and "share my opinions without being asked". WTF?! I guess what I thought were conversations and a family sharing ideas were actually me just being offensive. It turns out, suggesting that the butter was at the wrong temperature in a recipe mishap is not allowed because, how would I know? I'm not a baker! I don't even like to bake! (those were the words of my MIL, not directly TO me, but about me...after I walked out of the room.) HOW DARE I?!?

By-the-way, it turns out, although the recipe called for butter, butter flavored Criso was used instead. When I heard this, I couldn't keep my mouth shut, I blurted out, "it always comes down to the butter!" This was AFTER I had already heard about her talking crap about me not being a baker, among other things. It felt like a moment of sweet justice.

For four years I have dealt with her going out of her way to try to make me feel stupid. I've said for years, that no matter what I say, she will disagree, even if it means she has to disagree just a little bit. It's exhausting.

But the crappiest part of all of this, was that for those few short days, before she had an audience to listen to her backstabbing, I felt welcome. I felt like part of the family, like I was liked, like I was contributing and that I was appreciated.

Turns out I was wrong. It was all phony.

After spending 13 days putting up with all that crap, I had finally had enough. I sent the IN-LAWS an email that said, "Just so we're clear. These last few days have shown where I stand within this family. I am obviously not liked, not respected and not a welcome part of this family. I refuse to pretend like everything is okay. I WILL NOT be disrespected. You are no longer welcome to be a part of my life." And I meant it.

No one responded.

Well, that's not exactly true, the SIL sent Brett a message that night that said, "Not sure what's going on with Andrea right now, but I just want you to know I'm still your "sister" and none of us are going anywhere." WTF?!

The thing is, my email to them didn't really allow for conversation; that was intentional. I really don't have anything else to say to them. If they can't accept me for who I am then there's nothing I can do. I like who I am. I believe that I am a good person- I think that can be proven by the number of genuine friends that I have- who CHOOSE to spend time with me. I am confident in that. However, I think MOST people would be shocked by an email of that nature, especially if they thought they were faking their "nice" well. They would at least want to know WHY it was sent, what they did wrong and maybe, just maybe, how they could fix it...unless of course they either A) Don't care and feel relieved of their "obligations B) They know they screwed up but are too embarrassed to take responsibility and deal with it. Or C) so offended that they couldn't possibly respond However, most likely it's D) They were just respecting my wishes. With that, I refer back to what "most people" would do.

Regardless, my email was not sent for attention or a reaction, it was meant to sever ties, so I guess, mission accomplished. I am not angry or hurt by their actions, nor am I terribly surprised, in fact, I feel more justified than ever in removing them from my life.

After all of this took place, Brett and I transferred to my Aunt and Uncles house and life got much better. We were finally able to relax and enjoy our trip. I still feel like we got jipped. There are so many people we weren't able to see during our stay because we were "spending time with family". But all was not lost. We did get to hang with Brett's cousin, who we adore, I did get to squeeze that sweet baby boy and I did get to see MOST of my friends.

Although we haven't slept in the same bed since December 11th, with the exception of three nights, our marriage is stronger than ever. We've endured this "drama" together and can't wait to GO HOME!

A Letter to A Prospective Foster Parent...

2010-11-29T11:10:00.000-08:00

This is an email that I sent to someone asking me about fostering. She and her husband are considering becoming foster parents. I thought I'd share it with you.

Since we live in NC, I'm can only tell you about the process we went through here. However, I do have some friends who have gone through the process in AZ and have both adopted a few children over the years. I can hook you up with them if you'd like. I know they'll be happy to share any information with you.

As for our experience, which I'm guessing is pretty close to the AZ experience, has so far, been pretty easy. Long and sometimes tedious, but easy.

We are going through a private agency rather than Social Services. Our eventual goal is to adopt and we feel like an agency is a better fit for us to be sure we find the right fit for our family. From what I understand, Social Services is typically desperate to place children and may not be completely forthcoming with information. Also, because of that desperation, they have a tendency to not worry so much about a good fit for the child or your family because they are more concerned with finding a place for the child/children to stay. This may just be a NC thing. Like I said, I'm not familiar with how AZ does it.

Another plus to working with an agency is that because they are privately funded, they tend to have more resources available and offer more support.

For our situation, we went through 30 hours of training- 3 hours per week for ten weeks. We had an initial home visit with the social workers at about, the 8th week. They just came in, took a look around, checked out our bedrooms and told us how many kids we could be licensed for. After we were done with our training we had a fire inspection and another home visit to finalize paperwork. We started this process in June and we're still waiting for our license. It feels like it's taking FOREVER!

Our training was incredible. We went over so much information about children, parents, foster scenarios, issues that the children deal with, issues the parents deal with and the issues that we, as the foster home will deal with. The main goal was to teach us how to be loss and attachment experts since these are the two biggest concerns for all involved. The children losing their parents, their home, friends, school, etc.. The birth parents losing their children and us potentially losing the kids that we will mostly likely become attached to.

There was A LOT of paperwork, A LOT of homework and A LOT, I mean A LOT of self discovery. It was extremely emotionally draining. I struggled with several issues that I didn't even know I had due to my own childhood while working on my profile packet which asked LOTS of personal questions. In the end, it was extremely helpful, allowed me to come to terms with things I hadn't really acknowledged, and in the end, gave me an invaluable sense of peace.

For our home, we had to create a fire evacuation route, get the CORRECT fire extinguisher (that took a few tries) remove all of our extension cords ( we live in an old house with few outlets so we had to get creative) and basically childproof form the floor up. We don't have any kids of our own so our home was well, not childproof at all. :)

I have a correction to make. I just got off the phone with our social worker and it turns out that she did not get the email I thought I had sent her about the beds we bought, so she hadn't sent off our paperwork. She's actually doing it today. Looks like it might be closer to February now. Oh well!

Do you have any specific questions? I'd be happy to answer any questions that I can help with.

What are your goals? Long term foster? Respite? (weekend care, very temporary) short term? Adoption? Do you have kids of your own? Where are you in the process right now?

One thing that I have noticed is that this has really been an up and down experience. There has been lots of excitement followed by lots of doubt, but thankfully our family and friends have been so supportive. A good support system is vital if this is what you plan to do. People will think that you're amazing and doing "such a good thing" but it's important to maintain a serious sense of realism as it's easy to get caught up in what some will see as charity. I don't know how to explain it any other way-- but I know what I mean. ;-)

Please let me know what I can do to help! I can't wait to hear about your journey!

The latest in the reproductive saga

2010-11-19T07:46:00.000-08:00

I know, I know, it's been a long time since I mentioned anything about my reproductive organs...I'm sorry. I'm sure it's been driving you crazy not knowing how my ovaries are doing. So here's an update.

First of all, the reason I haven't written about this stuff in a long time is because, well, it just hasn't been much of an issue. This is a good thing. Brett and I finished our foster parenting classes and are SO close to getting our license. Working on that has been a nice distraction from stressing about ovulation. We did our 30 hours of training, prepared our house with fire extinguishers and outlet covers, moved all of our cleaning supplies to our utility room, installed a new locking door knob on the utility room, installed blanks in our unused circuits on our circuit breaker, got all the animals their rabies vaccinations, bolted the big bookshelf to the wall and replaced all extension cords with surge protectors. It was quite a feat. We've passed all of our inspections with flying colors and now we're just waiting on our background checks to come through. THEN we can send off our paper work to get our license.

We also traveled a bit- went on a cruise, spent 10 days in Chicago and I, of course, went to Panama for business. So you see...we've kept ourselves very busy!

All in all, things have been really great. It's been nice not worrying about what was going on with my ovaries. What's even better, is that I'm still not worrying...well, mostly.

Back in August, when we went for our physicals, required by the state for fostering (I forgot to mention that check mark) I saw a different doctor than I usually see. (My normal doctor was ironically on maternity leave) So, anyway, the new doc asked why we were fostering and I told him that it was just something we'd (I'd, but Brett has been down with it since the first time I mentioned it) always wanted to do and that since we may not be able to have children, it is a good option for us that will hopefully lead to adoption. That started a conversation about my ovaries and which led to him recommending progesterone therapy.

Long story short, I started progesterone therapy in October and have had my first successful period. It was pretty fricken rad. It was light, only lasted four days and came all by itself- no nasty provera (the period inducing drug that requires me to stay home bound for several days).

While all of this progesterone talk was going on, I got an email from a friend of mine who works at the hospital in Charlotte. The email was regarding a study that's taking place where she works testing two fertility drugs on women with PCOS. At first I resisted. I sent her a reply that said something along the lines of: thank you for thinking of me, but we're not planning to start trying again any time soon. And that was that.

Well a few weeks went by and the more I thought about it, but more I began to change my mind. Brett and I had decided that we would start trying again after the first of the year anyway, and well, it just kinda made sense to give it a whirl.

I called the number listed in the email (which I had saved, just in case) and talked to the intake specialist. She asked me a series of questions and then said that someone would contact me with more information. That afternoon I got an email saying that it appeared that I was a good candidate and that in order to move forward in the process I need a clean pap smear and HSG. A pap I could handle, I was due for one anyway, but an HSG? What the crap is that? Thanks to Google, I quickly found out exactly what it is. I'll tell you in a bit.

So I immediately schedule my pap, which I had to schedule as an emergency pap, because I had just started the progesterone and didn't know if it was going to work or when my spontaneous bleeding by reoccur. Fortunately, the doctors office, after some negotiating, scheduled me for that week. While I was there, I told my GYN about the study and asked him if he would order an HSG, which by the way stands for hyterosalpingogram. (I just learned out to say it two days ago) He was happy to do it for me, and that was that.

This brings us to yesterday, the day of the HSG. Are you ready to know what it is? Okay, so...basically, it's a diagnostic procedure done by a Radiologist that entails, putting a catheter in your cervix, shooting dye into your uterus and fallopian tubes and then taking a series of X-rays. Fortunately the entire procedure only takes a few minutes, but that doesn't make it any less uncomfortable- it felt like an eternity. However, it was worth it. He was able to tell me right away that everything looks good. No obstructions. Fallopian tubes are wide open. Yay!

And that's that. Now if we can just get my ovaries to cooperate, and as long as Brett has good swimmers, we'll be in good shape! --That's next by the way. I got an email from the study coordinator this morning that said as soon as she gets my test results they will schedule the sperm analysis. He says he'll do it-- but that collection kit I told you about way back in March(?) is still sitting on his desk-- unopened. Hehe

So that's all for now. That's the latest. Won't know anything else for a while, until at least January at the earliest.

Oh and, just while I was writing this blog, an email came in from our social worker. Our background check came through and she's sending off our packet to the state! We will be licensed with in 50 days!!

Until then, we have our trip to Phoenix and a trip to San Fransisco (I have to go for work, but Brett is going to come along) to look forward to!

Life is good!

The Panama Experience

2010-10-05T12:08:00.000-07:00

While sitting in the conference room where I had been keeping my computer I decided to start a journal of my Panamanian adventures.

I didn’t have internet connectivity because even though they enabled the network for me, they didn’t give me the password. And although I was able to connect on Tuesday, I was unable to connect Wednesday. So I sat there, in the conference room waiting, waiting for something to do. It’s what I did for the five workdays I was there. Wait.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m certainly not complaining. I had a great time here in Panama. The clients that worked with are incredible people. They welcomed me with not just open arms, but with open hearts as well. They saw that all my wants and needs were met. They paid for my flight, and my hotel, even allowing me to stay two extra days so I could explore a bit on my own. I was told to order whatever I want at the four-star resort and charge it to the room. They picked me up and dropped me off, bought me lunch and worked hard to make accommodations for my American ways…even though I preferred otherwise. I truly had a wonderful time; I just wish I felt like I had “earned my keep”.

Three out of the five workdays I was there, I was picked up at about 11:30am- even though the scheduled time was 11am on Monday, 9:30 on Tuesday and 9:00 on Wednesday. In America, if you were two hours late for anything, especially if you didn’t call to tell the person you were running late, you’d be considered a failure, or at the very least, rude.
So when David (my ride) was running two hours behind, I felt like I was running two hours behind and therefore felt responsible for my tardiness-- even though no one cared.

I had heard that Latinos are typically more laid back than us uptight Americans, but I had never really experienced it first-hand. The thing is, it’s not the tardiness that is funny, it’s what comes after the tardiness—at least here in Panama, with these specific employees at this particular company with which I am working.
Like I said, I get picked up at about 11:00am, from there we drive. And drive and drive and drive. Until today I was pretty sure we had been driving in circles, after today, I am positive! I really paid attention this morning. Right turn, left turn, right turn, left turn, left turn, left turn, right turn. It’s like we’re making a really bad etch-a-sketch drawing with the city as our board. The best part is that going home is much different. Going home, we make about four turns. And it takes a quarter of the time to make the trip. Now you might be thinking that this is just because of traffic, but you’d be wrong. On Monday, I had forgotten something at the hotel but it wasn’t until we were about 20 minutes into our drive that I realized it. So I said to Aritza, she’s the one that was driving, “oh no! I forgot the power cords for the ticket printers”. So she said, “okay, I’ll take you back to the hotel.” We were there within five minutes. I asked her why it took 20 minutes to get where we were and only five to get back to the hotel and she just laughed.

Funny stuff, no?

So Monday, I got picked up at 11, get to the office about 12. Then I stand around, sit on the couch, stand around, sit on the couch for 30 minutes—while the boss, Marilyn stand in the middle of the office talking very excitedly on the phone, pacing back and forth with quick little steps while her high heeled shoes clicked on the tile floor in a room with absolutely no sound absorption what-so-ever. Click, click click. Click, click, click. “Muy para donde esta bien importante” I had NO idea what she was actually saying and it was all I could to not bust out laughing at what I was witnessing. It’s not that she was being funny, or like I wanted to make fun of her it was just the entire situation. There I was, sitting in a strange building in a strange country watching my new friend have a very passionate conversation about SOMETHING that sounded very dramatic which abruptly ended in “ciao”. Then she announced something about David and cumpleanos! A minute later Aritza, turned to me and said, “come, we’re going to the store”.

On our way to the store, which is in the same shopping plaza as the office, we ran into Jose. He was coming to tell them that his boss wanted to meet me. So he and I went on and Marilyn and Artiza went to the store.

Jose, is a Chinese-Panamain, who it turns out, speaks Spanish first, then Cantonese and then English. Cool, yeah? Anyway, he takes me up to the top floor of the high-rise next-door to the plaza where I meet, “the boss”. His immaculate office was decorated in a modern fashion and showed not one sign of any actual work being done. I found this even funnier than Marilyn’s click, click, clicking. In fact, I was having a hard time concentrating on my conversation with this guy because all I could think was, “what do you do all day?”
Fortunately, he also spoke English.

After this brief, like five minute encounter, Jose returned me to the ticket office where we quickly decorated David’s desk with the balloons and banners that Marilyn and Aritza had purchased from the, earlier mentioned, store. We finished just in time, because as soon as the last Hershey’s Kiss was strategically placed on his desk, he came sauntering in. We all (the three of us) sang Happy Birthday and giggled like three school girls then Artiza said, “Now you go to lunch with Marilyn”. I thought to myself, what? I’ve only been here 45 minutes! But, okay, I do what I’m told. Besides, I still wasn’t sure what I was in Panama for anyway.
Lunch was at Stizzoli, a small, modern Italian restaurant that offers brick oven pizza. The lunch was a sending-off for a co-worker that was leaving the company. The night before, when Marilyn, her husband Jorge and I were eating a VERY late dinner she asked me my nationality. I told her Italian, but that my family had been in America for several generations. I told her that I didn’t speak Italian and that I had never been to Italy, but she was so excited to introduce me to the owner of the restaurant, telling him that I was Italian. He of course asked me what part of Italy and expected me to speak the language. I just shook my head, laughed and explained. I teased Marilyn for falsifying my culture she just laughed. That led to much more laughter and my “being Italian” has since become an ongoing joke as she thinks it’s funny to introduce me that way.

Speaking of Marilyn, the first night I met her was Sunday when she and her husband picked me up from the airport. After going through immigration and customs I walked through a set of doors to a room full of people waiting to pick up arriving passengers. I scanned the dozens of people and quickly spotted a woman standing with a sign that said, my last name and under that, my company's name. I made eye contact with her, waved and began to approach her. She looked behind her thinking that I was waving at someone else. When she looked back I waved again, that’s when she realized that I was me. A big smile came across her face as she leapt towards me to give me a big welcoming hug. She called her husband over, who had been standing at the other entrance, introduced me to him as Jorge and then asked me if I spoke Spanish, to which I replied “muy piquito”. (I have no idea how to spell that or if it’s even proper Spanish)

“Ahhhhh! No Espanol?”

“Piquito, muy, muy piquito”

“Jorge speak English”

“Ok, good.” I felt a bit relieved.

The introduction continued as we walked from the air conditioned airport out into the thick, balmy, humid, words cannot describe, outdoors. We yammered on for the next 30 minutes in the car then at dinner in the hotel restaurant-- Jorge translating whenever necessary. Talk, talk, talk- much like the clicking of the heels. It was truly delightful. We were having a great time, learning about each other- mostly learning about me. I was asked several questions about my life and my trip and where I’d been and do I have children and what do I like to do for fun and…we just talked, talked, talked. The only difficult part of the conversation was when Jorge asked me what was going on with Arizona’s government. That was a tough conversation to have with the language barrier. Even with Jorge’s good English, I knew some of what I was saying was completely going over his head.

When I got back to my room I was beaming with joy after spending two hours with Jorge and…? Jorge and …? It was then that I realized I didn’t know who had picked me up! Through emails that I had exchanged over the previous months I knew that there was a Kari, a Marilyn and an Aritza, but I had no idea which one I had just met. She didn’t introduce herself, and we got so caught up in our conversation that I didn’t even think to ask. It wasn’t until the next morning when she and Aritza picked me up that I was able to find out who this mystery woman was!

So here’s a funny little, “you know you’re not in the US when…”story for you… When I arrived that the hotel to check in, the front desk attendant informed me that they had assigned me a cabana room that was pool-front but the electricity was going to be turned off at 2am that evening for a couple of hours. I was given the option to move to a standard room if I preferred. I’m pretty convinced that if this was the case at home, I would not have been given the option. I would have just been moved automatically. I, of course, opted to go without power for two hours for one night and enjoy the pool-view the rest of the week. At that point, I didn’t realize just how nice the “pool-view” would be—complete with a private patio conveniently located next to not only the pool, but both within eyeshot of the two restaurants located on the property. It turns out, I really couldn’t have asked for a better room so it was certainly worth sleeping through a power-outage that would take place that night.
Unfortunately, as it was, I wasn’t asleep when the outage took place. I had been Skyping with Brett, telling him about my adventures when all the lights went out. Seconds later my computer died (because the battery sucks) and we were disconnected without getting the chance to say goodbye. I felt my way around the room, using my cell phone as a flashlight and eventually made it to bed; exhausted after a long day of travel and excitement.

By the end of my first day “working” I had sat around, eaten a delicious margarita pizza drizzled with pesto, met dozens of new people who spoke little, if no English at all, and sat around some more.

That night, I returned my hotel around 8pm, ate dinner, a lovely buffet at the restaurant, drank a local beer called “Panama”, talked to Brett on Skype and went to bed, when suddenly my uterus decided to give way that resulted in my waking up in a puddle—it was the disastrous cruise all over again.

Or was it?

Just like the rest of my golden trip to Panama, by the time I was ready to go to work the bleeding had subsided. So although I had a stressful early morning, worrying that I wasn’t going to make it through the day, it turned out to be okay. But I packed two extra changes of clothes, just in case.

That day, I got picked up at 11:30 (it was supposed to be 9:30) and when I got to the office I decided to go up to the IT department to see how things were going. When I got there, the two IT guys I had been working with were trying to trouble-shoot an issue they were having with the system. After much convincing I finally got them to call our IT department to resolve the issue. This was how much of my actual working-time was spent there. The IT guys would talk about something, a lot, for a long time, in Spanish, while I sat there, grasping at familiar words, knowing that they were beating a dead horse, convinced that there was nothing they could do to fix it. When I would ask if there was something I could do to help, they would say “no” and continue their conversation…they are a very passionate people.

This would go on a few more times- me asking if I could help and them saying “no” until finally I would ask what they were talking about and they would tell me, and ta da! I was able to help!! It was borderline hilarious!

Everyone was very stressed out this day because we were meeting with the CEO of the Panamanian equivalent of Wal-Mart that afternoon. This chain of stores had been contracted with to act as remote outlets for ticket sales.

At about 1:30, I was told that I was going to lunch. I was taken to a Brazilian restaurant where I had delicious mystery food and sangria. We finished lunch at 3:30—our meeting was scheduled for 4:00, it was a ten minute car-ride away. We left at 4:08.

The meeting, it turned out, was just with the accounting person at the chain since the CEO had to go to another meeting, because we were late. She didn’t speak any English. They showed her some reports on the system and then they suddenly packed up the laptop and the projector and we left. I had no idea how it went…turns out, it went well. But the best part for me was the ride to and from the meeting. I got to sit in the back seat with Jose, the English-speaking, Chinese, Panamanian. He told me all about their government. About their socialized medicine, government mandated employee benefits and social security. Turns out, everyone insured. There are very few, and I mean VERY few, homeless people. Pregnant women cannot be fired from their jobs while they are pregnant, nor can they be fired for one year after they give birth. They are given three months of FULL PAID leave- one month before the due date and two months after. Employers have to pay their employees for 13 months of work. Everyone is paid on the 1st and the 15th of each month and the 13th month of pay is paid in three installments: 1/3 in April, 1/3 in August and 1/3 in December. This helps boost the economy every four months. Fascinating stuff I tell you, fascinating.

Jose also mentioned that he does not use public healthcare, and although he is taxed for it, he still uses private doctors and hospitals…

The live test, the reason I was there (even though I didn’t know it until two days after I had been there) was to start the next day. Everyone was very nervous about it. My client built a pretend concert event in the system so that the outlet stores could practice selling tickets. At 5:30 on Tuesday they were frantically trying to find 100 people to go to the stores located around the city and buy tickets for five dollars to a fake event.

Tuesday night, I returned to the hotel at about 9pm, ate dinner- a delicious steak with coconut rice and beans, talked to Brett and at midnight I went for a dip in the pool. I had to the whole place to myself. It was delightful.
After a long hot shower, I curled up in my comfy bed, in the chilly air conditioned room under the warm down comforter and slept like a baby.

Wednesday morning:

Up at 7:30, dressed and ready to go by 9:00 for my 9:30 pick up…David arrived at 11:00. This day I brought my camera. I started taking pictures as we pulled out of the hotel, just to document the route to the office. David decided to take the scenic route. We passed by the Pacific Ocean, went through a private gated community, stopped by his house to pick something up, drove through the ghetto (a neighborhood where even the police won’t go after dark) and finally arrived at the office at 1:00pm. When we got there, I was told to go over to Quiznos to have lunch with Aritza. So I did. I thought I had ordered a spicy chicken sandwich with pepper-jack cheese (based on the picture) but it turned out it was a chicken sandwich with honey mustard. Good thing I like honey mustard.

After lunch I sat around and waited until David said, “let’s go!”. I was told that I was going to one of the stores to buy some tickets. I asked if I should help the sales person if he or she had any trouble processing the order. I was told “no, this is just for practice.” When we got to the store, David went behind the counter, messed around with the computer, processed an order, printed a ticket and we left. I had done nothing and I was confused. When got out to the parking lot I asked David what had just happened, he tried to explain but I wasn’t sure I understood. It seemed like he was saying that they could not use the system because there was no icon on the desktop. I told him I could fix it, but he said no, so we left.

Turns out, there was a virus on the computer. I guess that makes sense.
That night, Aritza took me out for dinner and a show at a Panamanian restaurant. We ate yummy appetizers and I ordered chicken which came with a side of coconut rice sprinkled with black beans. She ordered the Yucca Pot Pie (at least that’s what I’m calling it) and it was out of this world! It was chicken and vegetables in a gravy covered with mashed Yucca and baked. Kind of like a shepherd’s pie. If you’ve never tried yucca, I highly recommend it. So good!

Got back to the hotel, called Brett and went to sleep. The next day was going to be a busy one, full of meetings about how the live test had gone the day before.
Thursday morning, I woke up, showered, got dressed, ate breakfast and wait for the phone in my room to ring telling me that David was there to pick me up. He was supposed to be there at 9. When he hadn’t arrived at 11, I wasn’t too worried, I assumed he was just running later than usual. I decided to just lie on the bed and wait. At 12:30, I woke up from an unexpected nap, looked and the clock and thought, hmmm…guess he’s running especially late, but I still wasn’t too worried. Come 2:00 I decided it was time to be a little concerned so I called Jose (because he speaks English) and told him that I hadn’t heard from anyone yet today and asked if he knew what was going on. He was very surprised and extremely apologetic. I told him there was nothing to apologize for, I just wanted to be sure everything and everyone was okay. He told me he’d find out and send me an email to let me know. At this point I was starving, so I went to lunch and when I came back to my room I had a message that said, “I’m so sorry we were not able to pick you up today. I will call you later if we can pick you up.” I took this to mean that they may still pick me up, so I sat in my room and waited.

At 6:00 I decided they probably weren’t coming and that it was safe to leave my room. So I did. I went for a walk around the block. A miserable walk around the block. It was so hot and the air was so thick it was all I could do to get back to my room. I hung around in the AC for a bit then went to the bar, had some sangria, ate an empanada, came back to my room, Skyped with Brett and went to bed.
Friday would be last day working with my client and I was sad. I had made new friends with people who really touched my heart. Their warmth and hospitality made me feel like I had known them forever. Even though we didn’t speak the same language, we managed to communicate. In this short period of time we had establish inside jokes, were able to tease each other about our inability to speak the other’s language and we managed to get stuff done- working as a team despite our vast differences. And although I didn’t feel like I had done much to help them, they were very pleased with what we were able to accomplish.

I was planning to be picked up at 9:30 because that’s what time I was told, which by this point I knew actually meant 11:00, but only seconds after my alarm went off at 7:30, my phone rang. It was Marilyn calling to tell me she was going to be there at 8:30. Crap! That was NOT enough time to get ready and eat breakfast!! So I rushed. I had just finished doing my hair when the phone rang. It was 8:40 and she was in the lobby waiting for me.

When we got to the office, we sat around and chatted for a while, I went next door to Subway and got a Veggie Delight for breakfast and then we headed to the main building for a meeting with the CEO.

Jorge was incredibly kind, well spoken, and surprisingly calm and level headed. We (they) discussed the live test and talked about ways to make their process better. I was able to offer some assistance and everyone seemed pleased with the results, knowing that it was not quite perfect yet, but with time, it would get better and easier. I was amazed. For some reason, I kept thinking that there would be some kind of drama, but there wasn’t. It was just easy. Everything had been easy.
After the meeting, the girls I had been working with so closely throughout the week, took me to see the Panama Canal. We got there just in time. A huge ship was actually moving through the Miraflores Lock, and I got to witness it! We dined in the classy restaurant located on the viewing deck and I got to see firsthand just how the Panama Canal worked. It was incredible. I felt very lucky.

When we returned to the office we had one last meeting to go over some reports that showed the data from the last two days and then I had to say goodbye. Hugs and kisses all around.

I was dropped off at the hotel at about 6pm. I ate pizza for dinner that night and enjoyed the amazing dessert buffet, called Brett, painted my nails, took a nice hot shower, watched some TV and went to bed-- ready for the next day’s adventure into the rainforest to spend the day with the Embera Indians.

I should also mention...

2010-06-25T19:23:00.001-07:00

We started foster parenting classes last week and we're both really excited about the possibilities. So I just want to go on record as saying that this funk is not because my life sucks and I'm feeling sorry for myself, it's because I just feel awful, physically and it's very, very frustrating.

On my way to go buy a kiddie pool. I really think that will make me feel so much better.

Here's the deal...

2010-06-25T18:10:00.001-07:00

I'm in a funk. A serious funk. I'll probably (hopefully) be okay in a day or two, but it may be longer. This may be the real thing. A REAL funk not just a bad mood or feeling down for a few days.

I can't remember if I blogged about the cruise. I don't think I did. The first of June Brett and I went on a cruise with my family to the Bahamas. It was really great spending time with my family just hanging out. The problem is that that's all I COULD do. I ended up getting my period the night before we left and it ended up being a real doozie. Like words can't describe the extremes of how bad it was. Suffice it to say that Saturday morning I went to the Lido deck for breakfast, sat down to eat, coughed, realized I needed to rush to the bathroom, stood up and dripped, literally DRIPPED all over the floor-- all while wearing THREE pads, like a diaper. It was bad. I spent the rest of the day in our cabin, moving from the bed to the shower every half hour. Needless to say it was quite miserable.

My mom and Gramma witness this episode and made me promise I would go to the doctor. As soon as we got to the mainland I called the doctor's office and made an appointment for the next day.

She ran all the typical blood work plus a full thyroid panel, hormone levels and some deficiencies including vitamin D and Iron plus she tested my sedimentation rate which check for inflammation. This test can determine whether you need to be tested further for things like lupus, rheumatoid arthritis, cancer, etc.

Now don't get too worried. As far as I know I don't have a life threatening disease. Even though that "scary" test came back positive for inflammation, I also tested positive for anemia which according to the research I did makes the former, null and void so I'm not rushing off to the rheumatologist just yet. I've been taking the prescribed iron supplements twice a day as directed and plan to get retested this week to see if my sed rate is better.

So where does the funk come from? Well it comes from extreme exhaustion. Like ridiculously extreme exhaustion. It's almost like the mono is back...maybe it never left. But this is a little different, plus I had felt completely fine for half of April and all of May. So I'm giving the credit to the anemia. This exhaustion is full body, including the mind and the mind is the most aggravating part. I constantly feel like I'm 10 seconds behind everything that's going on around me. I feel like my personality is gone, my sense of humor is missing and my funny has escaped. On top of this I feel the need for sunlight but it's too damned hot to be outside. Not to mention that whole exhaustion thing again which requires me to fight to stay awake.

I'm so effin sick of looking at the television. My ears feel like they're going to bleed if I have to listen to one more TV show. All I want to do is cry. I want to leave my house, go DO SOMETHING, but I can't think of anything to do that meets my needs and limitations.

I have this inexplicable urge to be at the beach- to lay on the beach and soak up the warm sun surrounded by fresh salty air, the crashing of the waves becoming white noise in the background and the water just feet away. But that's not an option this weekend.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!! I'm going CRAZY!!!

I think I might go buy a kiddie pool and set it up in the backyard tomorrow.

Coming Clean

2010-05-25T12:25:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I know, it's been close to forever since I last posted. I had good intentions but life got in the way. First it was the Mono, then it was travel then it was...forgotten about, then...put off, and off some more and off a little longer.

So what's been going on for the last few months? Well other than THE MONO incident, a trip to Gatlinburg, camping with friends at the lake and going to the beach with family-- not a whole heck of a lot. Oh wait, there was something else...we tried a round of clomid a few weeks back.

WHAT?! CLOMID? You mean you took it and didn't tell anyone?!?!?!

Yes, yes I did and it was miserable. I felt fine- hormonally and physically. I never experienced any side effects. That could be because it didn't work, but it could also be that I am just lucky. Lucky enough to not experience hot flashes, mood swings, headaches, etc. Did I mention it didn't work? Yeah, that's probably why.

Although I thought maybe it was working at the time, it turns out, according the blood tests that my progesterone levels did not indicate ovulation.

The funny thing is that even if it HAD worked, I still wouldn't have gotten pregnant. You see, there's this really important part of getting pregnant called SEX. That which, I made sure not to have after chickening out about getting pregnant at what was assumed, the last minute. Did you follow that? I think that sentence was kind of confusing. Let me rephrase the whole paragraph.

I took the clomid, on cycle days 5-9. According to the directions we were supposed to start doing, what all the message boards call, "the baby dance", on the 10th day. So the tenth day came and it was time to DO IT. What I thought would be this magical, highly anticipated dance, turned out to be nothing but miserable. The stress of it was so overwhelming that I just wanted to cry. It was awful.

We went camping the next day and when we came home I realized that I just couldn't even try. I was scared. Scared of being fat and pregnant. Actually, scared is not the right word. More like terrified. So I chickened out.

It's weird. I feel like I made the right decision, but at the same time I can't decide if I'm being selfish. I'm not asking for your opinion. I know you all support whatever I do and want me to be happy and healthy, but I just feel kind of...bad.

I know Brett is ready to have a baby. I know I'm ready to have a baby. I know what ever baby is in there is ready to become a baby, but I don't want to go through a pregnancy not even being able to tell that I am carrying a child. I want to be able to feel that baby, I want Brett to be able to feel it too. I want to have external belly ultrasounds, not internal vaginal ones because they can't see through the fat. I want people to be able to identify my pregnant belly. I want to be healthy and I want my child to be healthy. I know fat women get pregnant and have babies all the time, but I'm afraid to be one of them.

When the nurse called to tell me that I hadn't ovulated, she said that she was going to call in a new RX for the higher dose. I haven't picked it up yet. Don't know if or when I will.

For now, Brett and I are going to the gym, trying to eat better (as always) and trying to focus on summer vacations and anything and everything that doesn't involve US having a baby.

One more thing-- I need more than two hands to count how many friends and family members have either had beautiful, healthy babies or found out they were pregnant in the past three months.

Baby fever is hard to avoid.

So it's been a while! WARNING: (WAY) TMI to follow...

2010-03-08T07:23:00.000-08:00

I have a tendency to write when I'm irritated and not so much when I'm feeling good. I THINK this is healthy. I like to think that writing gets it all out and when I'm feeling good I'm busy being happy. BUT, I don't want this to be a "downer blog" where everyone who reads just feels sorry for me all the time. Of course I have many difficulties and frustrations, but I also have many blessings in my life that I am thankful for every day.

So, okay, enough about that...

What has happened since my last entry? Well, A LOT of good things...minus the continued bleeding. Yes people, we're going on a whopping TWENTY-FIVE-MOTHER-EFFING DAYS! Last weekend was REALLY bad. There were many "blunderwear" casualties, as Brett likes to call them. Many calls from the bathroom..."BRETT!!! Will you please bring me some underwear?" He's a good sport. Never complains, might huff a little, but is sensitive to my frustrations. By the third day I decided to just grab a handful of clean pairs and left them next to the toilet. Took me long enough to figure that one out! DUH!

Nights were spent wearing what I called diapers. Basically three pads one running vertically and two on either end running horizontally. Not comfortable at all, and still hardly effective. Brett slept in the guest room and I slept on a towel. It was awesome. NOT!

We barely left the house, and when we did, we had to stay close to home in case I had an "accident". Pretty ridiculous eh?

By Tuesday it had slowed down enough to feel "normal" again, but it's still hanging on even today. Just enough to be annoying.

###

So here's a funny story for you...especially those of you wondering how I had strained my back last week---

Because of all this bleeding, I decided to try a new "period management method". Anyone heard of the Diva cup? Yeah, well if you haven't, it's basically a pliable, funnel shaped, silicone dixie-cup with a "stem" at the bottom. Sound like fun yet?

Well the genius that invented this was obviously very dexterous and fearless of potentially losing plastic utensils in HIS or her vagina.

There are two sizes to choose from. 1 and 2. 1 is for those under 30 who have never had children. 2 is for those over 30 whether you've had children or not- since I'm 32 I paid $40.00 dollars for the #2. Both sizes are actually the same price, but I wanted you to know how much I "invested" in the this little "project".

So, I buy this miracle contraption that fits into my "green" lifestyle which will keep me from adding to the landfill, save me money since this one-time investment will last about two years, AND, I'll only have to "deal" with it every twelve hours or so because that's the nature of the design.

Excited to try it out, I get home from the store. The specialty store I might add. The specialty store that's about 30 miles away and rush into the bathroom thinking this is going to make my life SOOOOO much easier!

Boy was I wrong. I know I could just leave it at this and that you could fill in the blanks, but I want to be sure you truly understand what I went through. It goes a bit like this...

I told you it was pliable right? Yeah, well, not really! Especially since in order to insert it you have to fold it in half, TWICE! Are you following me here?

The directions, (almost) verbatim:

Step 1: Fold- press the sides of the cup together and fold it in half again forming a tight U.

Step 2: With one hand, hold the sides firmly together with you thumb on one side and your *four (4) fingers on the other side just below the top ridge of the cup.

*I guess if you're missing fingers you're SOL

Step 3: Take a comfortable position, with your free hand...(blah, blah you get the idea)

WARNING: DO NOT push the stem further than 1/2 inch into the vagina. (who the hell knows how far that is??) Inserting the Diva Cup too high may cause leaks. Over insertion may also make removal more difficult. (or impossible!)

Step 4: You ready for this one? This is my favorite...

Step 4: IMPORTANT: Finally, in order to the create the seal with the vaginal muscle, grip the base of the cup (not the stem) and turn the cup one full rotation (360 degrees) in either direction.

It goes on, but that's the gist of it. You got it? Think you can do it?

I just realized that the directions on their website make it sound much simpler. I'm pretty sure they do that for a reason. The old bait and switch...vag style!

Here I am, sitting on the toilet, one leg up on the side of the bathtub, trying to shove this thing up in me.

I'm here to tell you, there is nothing "Diva" about this cup! It requires, strong, nimble, fingers; flexibility; a strong will to stick a plastic mug all up in your business and absolute confidence in your ability to yank it back out...later.

After twenty minutes of folding and shoving, folding and shoving, folding, folding and folding again, and eventual success with insertion, I put my foot back on the floor and attempted to sit upright only to find that my back had seized up during this process. It hurt so bad it took my breath away. Can we say, AWESOME! Again? Oh hell yeah!

I left it in for a couple of hours. As long as I was sitting I couldn't feel it, but walking was quite uncomfortable. The cup isn't any bigger than other "things" that regularly go up in there (I know TMI, but I have to defend Brett here!) however, husbands don't feel like bendy dixie cups and don't require FOLDING. Nor do they have to be removed by pulling on what becomes a very slippery plastic tab.

Luckily removal only took about three minutes and although the aching back made it feel like an eternity, I had done it! I had successfully used the Diva Cup. After which I quickly washed it out, placed it in it's cute little Diva pouch, and threw it in the back of the cupboard where it will sit until after I give birth and can work up the never to try again. (highly unlikely)

There goes $40.00...I'm sticking to pads and tampons.

###

So on to other things. My Stacey, knowing I struggle with organization and keeping a clean house, recommended a book to me called "Sink Reflections". I picked it up at the Library last week and am LOVING it! I'm not following it to a "T", but it is giving me direction and a feeling of empowerment to gain and maintain control of my home. One of the best lines in the book is, "you can't organize clutter". SO TRUE! I never thought about it, but it's true. That's what I've been trying to do: organize all the crap in my life instead of just purging it.

I am now working to surround myself with only the things I either: use, love or to which I have a personal connection. This means, clothes that I no longer wear are gone, even IF they still have the tags on them. The two extra knife blocks that were cluttering the kitchen because I MIGHT need them are gone and the "bar" where we stored our liquor has been replaced with a pretty lamp, a candle and a plant. Of course I didn't get rid of the alcohol, but I found a home for it-- in the cupboard where the dead blender than I "might be able to fix" once lived. The bottles always bugged me seeing them there on the sideboard in the dining room. I thought it looked trashy, but now it's gone and every time I walk in that room I just see pretty things which makes me super happy!

Additionally, last week we ate EVERY meal at home. I think that's a first for us. In fact I KNOW it is. We've tried in the past, but something has always come up, whether a legitimate reason or a lame excuse, we've never made it an ENTIRE week of just eating at home and I have to admit, it feels REALLY GOOD!!

This weekend we got so much done outside. The beautiful weather helped of course, but it was amazing to come inside after a long day's work, put dinner in the oven, take a hot shower and just relax feeling a sense of accomplishment and no guilt!

It's so easy to be self destructive yet even EASIER to NOT be?? The lazy, apathetic and self-loathing snowball grows so quickly that it's hard to make it stop but all it takes is a little sunshine to melt it all away allowing for motivation, accomplishments and JOY! Hooray for spring! Literally and figuratively.

Okay, I think I've written enough for today and even though I feel like I could go on and on and on I will end here for now.

oh, one more thing...

2010-03-01T10:07:00.001-08:00

Brett is back to working in the office four days a week, and I'm thinking that's going to be his excuse for not getting his sperm checked. He's "cute" like that. :D

But also, while I'm at it, I should take a minute to brag on him a bit even though what I really want right now is a nap--

My husband is truly incredible. As I mentioned in my last post...all of like five minutes ago- he's lost 25lbs! And even though I really want to hate him for it, I just can't. I'm so happy for him! I want to say I'm proud of him because I have a problem with that word. I don't think I have the right to be proud of other people. Pride is something you take in the things YOU do. I will be proud of my children, but I can't be proud of my husband. He's the one making the choices. He is CHOOSING hard boiled eggs and cottage cheese over fast food and chips. He is CHOOSING to be more active; to go places and do things rather than veg on the couch.

He's pretty awesome, in every sense of the word. I am in awe of his patience, passion, compassion, willingness to try new things, ability to love me even when I'm hardly lovable. He is caring, loving, affectionate and always striving to improve.

After my first marriage I wrote a list of requirements should I ever get married again. The list consisted of 20 traits I thought would make up the person I wanted to be with.

I recently re-read that list and am happy to report that Brett is 18 of the 20. He truly is my perfect match. He is what I knew I wanted and needed years before I ever met him.

Not only do I LOVE him, but I appreciate all of who he is and am so grateful that I get to spend the rest of my life with him.

:-)

An Exhausting Weekend...

2010-03-01T09:51:00.000-08:00

Well it turns out that Friday was just the beginning of the carnage. Today, Monday, three days later, I'm finally able to feel confident about leaving the house. Finally wearing pants and finally feeling a little less disgusting.

Today, I'm just tired. So tired I can hardly keep my eyes open...gee I wonder why? Doctors say that the average woman loses just a few teaspoons of blood during a normal period, but I'm here to say that it's possible to lose WAY more than that!

I really want to go into all the details just so everyone know EXACTLY what I'm talking about, because really, it's quite impressive. But it's also so incredibly disgusting that I should just leave it at that.

As for baby making...

Umm, well, there's not much of that going on right now either. DUH! But my mom called me this morning to tell me that she heard on the radio, March is the month of fertility. :-D We'll see about that!

For now we're focusing on our mini vacation at the end of the month; a cabin with friends in Gatlinburg. As well as hoping Brett gets a raise this month and that we can both lose some weight. (he's down 25 lbs, that bastard!) MEN!

That's all I've got right now. Don't really have the energy to write anything interesting for funny, or with any amount of enthusiasm what-so-ever.

Can we say "extreme amount of blood loss equal complete lack of energy?" Hello Vitamins with extra Iron!

I hope I can make it through the rest of the day!

Bad, Bad Morning--- Gore Alert, and I don't mean Al.

2010-02-26T06:36:00.000-08:00

Day 15. You'd think things would be winding down a bit by now, no?

EHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! WRONG!

What I thought was coming to an end yesterday morning decided to rear it's ugly head last night, leaving me to wake up, in well, a puddle.

I know this is disgusting, but it's true. And it's all part of this BS that I'm going through with my body. So, YES! This is going to be one of those "bi-polar" days, and not the manic kind, more of the pissed off, frustrated, laundry doing, hydrogen-peroxiding, SEVERAL trips to the bathroom, multiple pairs of underwear, towel-sitting, no pants-wearing (cause it's futile) kind of day.

While I'm at it, I think I'll feel sorry for myself for a little too.

What can feel so hopeful one day can feel disastrous the next.

God I wish my laundry wasn't in the basement!

MD Today- part 2

2010-02-24T09:47:00.000-08:00

Okay, okay here it is...

So we went the doctor this morning and it went very well, as best it could I suppose. My doctor is a bit cooky to say the least, but easy to talk to and totally on board in helping us any way possible. Since he is not a fertility specialist he is limited in what he can do to help, but is willing to get us through the initial rounds of Clomid in hopes of getting pregnant.

We walked out of his office with our nifty little specimen kit (Brett is less than thrilled) and as well a prescription for Provera and Clomid; now we just wait.

It was never our intention to walk out of the appointment, run to the pharmacy, fill the prescription and come home and do it like rabbits. That hasn't changed.

For now, we plan to just hang out for a while. Let this all settle in a bit and move forward when we're ready.

I'm hoping Brett will come around sooner than later and decide the whole "filling the cup" thing isn't that bad. But I will try to be as patient as I can. Unfortunately, it's not something that can be especially spontaneous which completely removes any opportunity for "romance". It's all very clinical.

First we have to make an appointment with the lab so that they can be ready when we deliver the specimen, then the cup has to be filled (which we can do at home) but we have keep it warm by placing between our legs or under an arm and deliver it within one hour of collection. Sounds like fun, eh? Oh yeah, and no "sex" three days prior.

Who knew jacking it into a cup had to be so scientific. Yeah, I just said, "jacking it", so what?! It's funny! And it's okay to laugh about it.

From there, we'll find out what we're working with. If we've got limited, slow or abnormal sperm at least we'll know and can start looking at herbal supplements and take advantage of other remedies out there.

Once that's all determined we'll move forward.

I'm on day 14 of this "period" now, woo hoo. NOT! And if it doesn't end, and/or a new one doesn't start by the time we're ready to give this whole getting knocked up thing a whirl, I will: take a dose of Provera to jump start a period, take the clomid 3-5 days after it starts then go back to the doc on day 20 for a blood test to see what my hormone levels are and if my progesterone levels indicate ovulation. If my progesterone levels don't indicate ovulation then we start the process again only this time we increase the dose of Clomid. This will continue until A) pregnancy is achieved or B) We've reached the max dose.

If we get to B then we re-evaluate and most likely move to other plan B which is adoption. That's been plan A/B all along and will probably happen regardless...eventually.

RECAP-

Step 1: check sperm
Step 2: take Provera if a natural period doesn't occur
Step 3: take Clomid
Step 4: blood test to determine hormone levels. If test is positive -->Step 5 If it's negative we still move to step 5, because we can and then return to step 2
Step 5: have lots of sex
Step 6: take a positive pregnancy test and jump for joy or return to step 2

Here's hoping for Plan A!

MD Today- part 1

2010-02-24T05:30:00.000-08:00

Today is the day we go to see the doctor about Clomid and I'm beginning to feel very nervous. Worried that he'll tell me he doesn't think it's a good idea for one reason or another. That some how I'll be rejected, denied the opportunity to be a mother and left with one more obstacle in my way.

I realize how ridiculous this sounds, but it's how I feel; please don't try to convince me otherwise. The fact is, I'll know his response in about two hours, if at that point my worries are confirmed, then you can feel free to try and comfort me. However, I already know that he is not the end-all, be-all, with regards to baby-making so even if he does say "no", I'm well aware that he is A) not my only option and B) not the one controlling my ovaries and uterus. So, there!

So I'm off! Off to the doctor, wearing my teenage-angst panties, feeling a bit defensive and armed with pessimism, prepared for disappointment. Yay!

Oh and trust me, even if we walk out with a prescription today, my next blog will not be anymore optimistic than this one. I'm okay with that, and you should be too, no one likes to be vulnerable.

I wonder what Brett is thinking?

Day 11, The PCOS Stamp Rant and Clomid!

2010-02-22T07:51:00.001-08:00

Well it's day eleven of this "period" and I'm beginning to wonder if it's going to end. As I stated in a previous blog my second-to-last period lasted 18 months so I'm starting to get a little nervous.

I suppose eleven days isn't unreasonable when you haven't had a period in five months, but the fear of another 18 month stint is NOT something to be excited about.

This brings me to my rant on PCOS.

When I was diagnosed 10 years ago, PCOS was not commonly assigned. I had to ASK my doctor about it even though I'd been irregular ever since my first period at age 11. I was always just offered the pill as a symptom manager and there was never a concern. In fact, when I was finally diagnosed that was the RX too...take the pill to regulate and come back when you're ready to get pregnant and we'll use drugs to get you pregnant.

Since then, there have been some advancements I suppose. Doctors are more aware of the disorder and some even prescribe metformin (a diabetes med) to help with the metobolic end of things, which in turn is supposed to make you ovulate.

Here's my problem with all of this. Back when I was first diagnosed the doc performed in internal ultrasound and I remember seeing the "string of pearls" around my ovaries. My blood sugar was normal and so was my thyroid and every other test they ran.

Over the last ten years I've been back a couple of times, different doctor every time because I've moved so much, and every time I've been completely normal-- other than my weight.

If you read about PCOS there seems to be a correlation between the syndrome and obesity. (God I hate that word) But it seems no one knows which comes first. However, normal-weight women can get it too AND many overweight women DON'T have it. So there's really no rhyme or reason.

Another interesting thing about "PCOS" (notice I'm putting it in quotation marks now) is that different women have different symptoms. This is where my rant begins.

It seems to me that "PCOS" has become a bit like ADD/ADHD. "Oh your kid is more than you can handle, well he must have ADD, here's some Ritalin, have a nice day."

With PCOS it's like, "oh you're irregular? Hmmm...well ypu must have PCOS. Here's your 'PCOS' stamp." And that's it. Your medical chart now reads "PCOS".

Before you get upset thinking that I believe ADD is not real, you're wrong. I do believe it's real. I, myself should probably be medicated for it, BUT, it's also become a blanket diagnoses; an excuse for some parents and a money maker for drug companies.

Back to the PCOS, which is why you came here, right?

I call it the "PCOS STAMP" because during my last visit to a REPRODUCTIVE ENDOCRINOLOGIST, a "PCOS" specialist, I was given my stamp once again- as well as a RX for birth control pills and Metformin EVEN THOUGH all of my tests were normal. My hormones are normal, my blood sugar is normal, my thyroid is normal and there were NO PEARLS ON MY OVARIES!!

When I told her I had been bleeding for the past year and a half she was just like, "yeah, that's got to be tough".

My OB/GYN didn't seem bothered by it either. He wanted me to see the specialis to get her "specialized" opinion, but basically told me, "Some people are just fat. Don't worry about it so much. When you want to get pregnant I'll give you a prescription for Clomid and we'll see what happens."

All of this just leaves me wondering if there's something being missed; feeling a little more hopeless, a little more helpless and wishing I was a scientist, or at least knew one, willing to do some intense research just in case they're missing something-- like genetically altered corn or hormone injected chicken or drinking out of plastic water bottles. SOMETHING!

Done ranting.

So now what? Well, I wasn't going to say anything to anybody about this, but because A) I lack self-control, B) We can use all the good energy, thoughts and prayers out there, and C) This is the big one...I know there are other people out there that read my blog who are going through the same thing.

Here it is...Brett and I are going to the doctor on Wednesday to talk to him about clomid. Nervousness ensues.

(I realize this is the THIRD topic that I'm covering in this, "getting longer and longer with every keystroke entry", but it seems that I have a lot on my mind. And rightfully so I guess.)

Why clomid? I'm thirty-two years old, other than my weight, I'm in perfectly good health- normal BP, cholesterol, hormones, I eat well, and did I mention I'm 32? Yeah, that clock is ticking and to be quite frank, I'm tired of putting off having a baby, or at least trying-- I mean REALLY trying.

After writing a few blog-entries, talking to a couple of friends and having a real heart-to-heart with myself, I realized, that losing the weight I want to lose, at the rate I'm going now, will leave me 40 years old and childless. I know "they" say 40 is the new 30, but I want to have a family now, not eight years from now. I'm ready. My heart and my home are ready. Brett is ready. WE ARE READY!! So we're giving it a shot. A real, honest to goodness shot.

We're ready. Ready to face this challenge. Hoping it's just me. Hoping that Clomid will do the trick. Hoping Brett has some good swimmers and that my body will provide a good home for nine months of baby growing...that between the two of us, cause that how it works, we'll be able to make a beautiful healthy baby.

Ethnic cooking made easy...

2010-02-18T09:36:00.000-08:00

After writing the following post on Facebook, I've had a few requests from friends to write a blog about my "cooking adventures".

"It's really not hard. You just have to be brave enough to try! The main spices I use are- garlic powder, onion powder, cumin, ginger, chili powder, oregano, parsley, rosemary, (italian seasoning sometimes), fresh garlic, fresh onion. I have some other extras that come out less seldom, but with these main ones the options are endless! You just ... have to know what has what flavor. For Italian meals: garlic, onion, italian seasoning. Mexican: garlic, onion, cumin, chili powder. Asian meals: Garlic, Onion, Ginger. Any of these mixed with oil or yogurt make a great marinade or salad dressing. Lemon juice or vinegar will add a kick and/or can make the marinade penetrate better."

I'll say it again! It's really not hard. You just have to be brave enough to try!

So here's what I got...

I guess I'm pretty good in the kitchen in compared to most non-professionals, but this isn't because I'm educated or grew up cooking and/or eating terribly fancy foods...I'm just passionate about food and I'm fearless about cooking.

My desire to know where my food comes from and to rot when I die are my two main motivators. While I love a box of shells and cheese every once in a while, I get much more satisfaction out of making it from scratch. Not only is it just as easy (okay, maybe a couple extra steps) but it's lower in salt, has no preservatives and tastes de-licious! Plus, because it does take a few extra steps, I think twice before deciding to make it-- it may be from scratch but that doesn't make it healthy!

So how do I do it? Well over the last few years I have mastered a few techniques and ingredients that allow me to create dishes from all over the world. Here is break down of what my staples which will get you through basic and popular elasticities-- Italian, Mexican and Chinese

HERBS/SPICES
Garlic- fresh and powdered (I used to use jarred until I recognized the difference-- no comparison!)

Onion- fresh and powdered

Italian Seasoning

Cumin

Ginger- fresh (that weird looking root thing) and powdered

Chili Powder

Dried Oregano

Dried Parsley

Cinnamon

Chicken, beef, pork (rarely since Brett doesn't like it) and sometimes Salmon

Pasta

Rice

Potatoes

Beans (Black, Kidney and Garbanzo)

Canned Tomatoes- Paste, Sauce and Diced

Variety of Frozen Veggies- Carrots, Broccoli, Corn, Green beans, Peppers and Peas

Of course salt, pepper, flour, sugar, water and milk.

I don't buy fresh milk because we don't drink it fast enough and it just goes to waste. Instead I buy Almond milk because it's low cal, low fat, high protein, and I can keep it in the cupboard until I'm ready to use it. Brett puts it in his eggs and I use it for baking mostly. I also keep a couple cans of evaporated milk in case I REALLY need milk for something- like mac and cheese.

With these basic ingredients I can make ALL kinds of foods just by varying the combination:

Italian- Onion, Garlic, Italian Seasoning, Oregano, Parsley, Salt, Pepper- a dash of cinnamon will take away the bitter taste in canned tomato sauce.

An easy Tomato Sauce free from HFCS-

1 can tom sauce, Italian Seasoning, Garlic Powder, Onion Powder and a dash of cinnamon. Fancier? Saute some fresh garlic and onion in 1 tbsp Olive oil, add a can of dice tomatoes. Stop here for a fresh taste or add a can of sauce to thicken and add bulk. You can also add veggies if you'd like to make a well rounded meal out of it.

Pour over well salted, drained pasta and voila!

This sauce can also be used for lasagna, baked pasta and the start of chili. If you want meat just cook it first, drain the fat and then add the rest of the sauce ingredients.

Mexican- CUMIN! Onion, garlic, oregano and chili powder

For chili, start like you're making an Italian Sauce, omit the Italian Seasoning and instead use Cumin, Chili Powder and kidney beans. I like to add about a tbsp of cocoa powder too, which again, takes away the bitterness of the tomatoes. Add corn, peppers and other veggies if you'd like. Meat or no meat!

You can also use the Main Mexican ingredients to season chicken, steak, black beans and rice or even just spice up a cheese quesadilla.

Chinese- Garlic, Onion, (do we see a pattern here?) Ginger-- there's a new one! And red pepper flakes if you've got 'em and you like it hot!

These can be used to season just about anything Chinese, especially stir-fry.

Stir-fry: sautee onions and garlic, add some fresh ginger and diced chicken. Cook until done. Add veggies and a little soy sauce, cook until just heated through. Serve with rice.

Another alternative is to marinate the chicken in soy sauce, orange juice, a little brown sugar, onion powder, garlic powder and ginger powder. Saute, and then add veggies. So easy and YUMMY!

I could go on and on, but this is a good place to start. Like I said before, I'm just fearless in the kitchen. But I truly believe that once you master the main flavor of any ethnicity the possibilities are endless.

I hope this helps all the non-cookers out there.

Some lessons I've learned:

Garlic burns really fast!

Add meat to a pre-heated pan to keep it from sticking

Salt is a necessity; it's what makes the other flavors pop, especially sweet ones. Just don't go overboard because like my Gramma says, "you can always add more, but you can't take it out".

Citrus makes chicken tender.

DON'T add flour to any sauce without mixing it with milk or water first unless you like it lumpy!

Water evaporates- keep this in mind when you're cooking with water or anything that is made of water like tomatoes.

EASY EASY MAC AND CHEESE!

Boil water then add salt.
add 1lb pasta (any kind you like)
Mix a about a cup of milk with 1 tbsp flour in a separate cup or bowl
Once pasta is cooked, drain enough water to come to the top of the pasta.
Add Colby cheese- sliced or shredded, stir until melted.
Slowly add milk flour mixture a few tablespoons at a time, stirring pot each time until thick.
Turn down the heat.

That's it!

I'm not bipolar, just hormonal!

2010-02-18T07:32:00.000-08:00

So the last time I wrote a blog, well, the last three (er, um, only three) times, were all kind of pitiful. I knew they were at the time. I was aware that they didn't represent my "norm", but the feelings were completely genuine. I really was feeling very frustrated and a bit down about, well, everything. Feeling a bit hopeless and helpless-- it happens to all of us. BUT! I have good news! I GOT MY PERIOD!!!

Now this may not seem like something most people would broadcast on the web; in fact I feel a little strange doing it. BUT for all of my friends and family who either A- know my irregularity issues and B- for those who deal with PCOS themselves, know that this is quite a feat.

Why? Well because I haven't had a period since AUGUST! This isn't the longest I've gone without one, but five months feels like an eternity when you want to get pregnant. (I really should own stock in EPT) Every week that goes by is another week "late" in normal-person-world. And even though I know, intellectually that I'm not pregnant, it's easy to get caught in the maybe's and what if's.

None-the-less, I got my period and now recognize those PMS blues from two weeks ago as just that, PMS!

So what now? Well...I wait. Wait and hope it stops. My last period was induced by a round of BC pills, and boy was it a doozy! Prior to that three week long respite (during the 21 days of white pills) I had been bleeding for a year an a half. Yeah, you read that right. ONE and ONE HALF years! 18 months! 500 and some odd days. Tell me that's not exhausting! -- Which brings me to today...waiting, waiting for this period to be over. It's been about a week and has slowed down significantly since it started, but is still hanging on.

I guess I'll just wait a little longer and hope that it doesn't decide to stick around too long. The only way to make it stop is to go on the pill which is NOT my favorite option. It may make the bleeding stop, but it also makes me completely irrational and impossible to be around-- just ask Brett!

For now, I feel good. I'm eating carbs in moderation, making sure every meal has a fruit and/or veg and watching portion sizes. Haven't really lost any weight, but I'm feeling better...looking forward to warm weather, gardening, camping and other summer projects.

I've got a list of blog subjects that I will be writing and publishing soon. So keep an eye out!

So I've decided to have t-shirts made...

2010-02-04T14:44:00.000-08:00

They'll say, "Pity me, I'm infertile!" Ok, not really. That would be funny though wouldn't it? Come on, just a little? Imagine me and thousands of other women walking around in mint green shirts with bold black letters... PITY ME, I'M INFERTILE!

I suppose it might make some people feel uncomfortable, but at least it would be out there. I mean, it's already the elephant in the room, isn't it?

As a 32 year old woman, my biological clock is ticking and my maternal instincts are locked and loaded. Most of my friends already have children and they are all well aware that I want them too. Sometimes we talk about it, especially if I'm feeling really down-- they are all very supportive and are always there for me when I need them. I am EXTREMELY fortunate in the friend department.

However, this doesn't change the fact that I want to be pregnant more than anything in the world and that they already have what I want and worry I will never get.

This can sometimes leave me feeling awkward...

Now you may be thinking that the awkwardness would be on their part, but it's not. It's actually my own discomfort. I love and value all of my friends, and the ones with kids...well I get to love them double and some of them triple! (none quadruple..yet) I feel very fortunate to be a part of their children's lives-- to play with them, snuggle them and watch them grow. But it doesn't stop there...I also love watching my friends grow. From single, to married, to motherhood. (usually in that order)

My once wild and crazy girlfriends are now completely monogamous, relatively sober and 100% committed to being moms. It's really quite beautiful.

At the same time, our conversations have grown. Now we talk more about organic foods rather than how many calories are in a Red Bull and Vodka and tell each other about the great deal we got on a new set of dishes instead of the cute shirt we bought at Ross the other day. (We've always been thrifty) Most topics are still subjects to which I can contribute. BUT...there are also several that I can't. Co-sleeping, Cloth Diapers, how to make baby food, labor and delivery, nursing, and immunizations...to name a few.

This doesn't bother me, well not in the sense that I don't like or want to talk about these things. BUT, there's only so much that I can contribute and that's when I begin to feel a little awkward- although not the way you may think.

I admit, sometimes is makes me sad, and sometimes I get that pain behind my eyes as I fight to keep the tears from welling up, but that's still not what bothers me. What bothers me is completely self induced. I feel like, they worry they feel like they can't talk about baby things in front of me because it might make me sad.

This is especially at the front of my mind right now because of a conversation that took place this weekend.

Two of my girlfriends were over with their kids. We had just finish eating soup after sledding in the backyard for a couple of hours. The kids were in the living room with husbands watching cartoons and playing with cars and we were sitting around the table chatting. (kinda like in the movies) We have it pretty good!

Well, somehow the topic of sleeping came up and they began discussing their individual family's sleeping arrangements. They were talking about how they all fit in one bed, and how much easier it is to nurse, and so on. For some reason, I was feeling especially emotional that day and began to feel that recognizable ache coming from right between my eyes. I quickly stood up and began clearing dishes. I went into the kitchen took a deep breath and returned to the dining room listening to their conversation the entire time. Each time I entered the kitchen I let out an relieving exhale, pushing the tears down a little further with every breath. After a few trips I finally decided to jump in...contributing the only thing I could think to say. It went a little something like this-

"I know it's not the same, because well, he's a dog. But last night, Joe actually laid on the bed next to me and fell asleep. It was so sweet."

Trying to feel more like a mom I continued...

"He will lay with me sometimes, but as soon as I wiggle even a toe, he jumps down."

Pointing out the sacrifices I make as a mom too...

"So I just laid there in a really uncomfortable position for almost an hour just so he could sleep."

Now I DO love my dog. And he is like my child. But he's still a dog. I don't care how much you may love your dog, or how much I love my dog (which is A LOT!) it's not the same as loving a child. I will not even try to convince myself that it's the same. I am fully aware that it's not. I do know, however, that I can't even imagine what it must feel like to love a child considering how much I love that Joe-dog.

Sometimes I feel like I'm going to explode with the love I have for him. If he were a person...I may not survive!

Moving on.

So yeah, I love my dog. And I laid there for an hour in a really uncomfortable position so that he could sleep.

Well as soon as I blurted out this story to them I felt like a jerk. I know they just thought, "aw, that's sweet" because they both said something to that affect. I also know that they meant it. But I immediately felt responsible for making things awkward by drawing attention the fact that they have children and I have a dog. The thing is, they had no idea. They thought I was just clearing the table, that I could only carry three things at a time, that I was just telling a funny story. They didn't realize that I was trying to prove (unnecessarily) that I'm okay with them talking about things that I want but can't have.

I didn't give them credit for knowing me better than that. I assumed that they would think I wasn't okay with it.

UGH!

The truth is that I LOVE it when they talk about all that stuff. Not once have I ever thought any my friends were being insensitive, I've only thought they might worry that I thought they were.

I have learned so much from them that I may or may not have figured out on my own.

Okay, enough of this infertility crap, it's certainly does not define who I am and was not the sole purpose for starting a blog. I'm not sure why I started it but so far I'm enjoying it and plan to keep it up. I think my life is interesting, or at least close representation of the word.

Yesterday-
Breakfast- Peppers and Onion Omelet with cheese- coffee with cream and sugar
Lunch- Leftover Cheeseburger
Dinner- Sauteed potatoes, onions, sausage and chard with a side of mushroom and leeks and a salad with cranberries and almonds.
Dessert- 2 scratch-made soft chocolate cookies topped with berries and my first time everfresh whipped cream. (man did my wrist hurt!)

Carb Conundrum Continued...(this gets personal)

2010-02-04T07:30:00.000-08:00

So I made cheeseburgers for dinner last night with homemade buns and big salad on the side. That sounds relatively healthy right? Especially considering what I had eaten earlier in the day. The patty was a quarter pound and the bun was small. The salad consisted of lettuce, spinach, carrots, onion and homemade yogurt blue cheese dressing.

I feel good about what I ate yesterday.

Brett wanted to go get ice cream around 8:30 and I told him no, which was hard. I wasn't hungry and I wasn't craving anything sweet, so passing up on the actual eating of the ice cream wasn't difficult. But just SAYING no, was difficult for a couple of reasons. One of them I just recognized as I was typing this paragraph.

So first- it was hard because I'm not his mother. He is a grown man and he doesn't need my permission to eat ice cream. Telling him no made me feel controlling and bitchy. I mean, I knew it was the best decision for both of us, but I'm certainly not his boss. At the same time, it makes me mad that he asked in the first place.

During dinner I expressed to him how I was feeling all day. I told him that we seriously need to CONSISTENTLY make better choices. We do good for a few days but then as soon as we find an excuse to make a bad choice we totally take advantage of it.

We really like the words of Michael Pollan. "Eat Food. Not very much. Mostly Vegetables" He says it's okay to eat junk food as long as you make it yourself. I agree with this...and long as you remember to eat "not very much".

So last night, as I'm mixing up the hamburger bun dough, Brett says, "We having french fries?" and I about lost it. "NO! We're having hamburger buns!"

"What else?"

"Salad"

"That's all?"

"YES!!!"

Little did he know, I had made up a new food rule just minutes prior to this conversation. ONE CARB PER MEAL Makes sense right? So why was he questioning me?!?!?! He should know!

At this point I was fuming, thinking to myself, "Potatoes AND buns! What the hell? I've told him a hundred times! Potatoes are NOT a vegetable!!! Dammit!"

Sitting at the table in silence, we began eating our cheeseburgers and salads when finally I realized...he had no idea that I'd made a new food rule.

"I'm sorry. I'm in a shitty mood...I just--" tears begin forming, "I'm just so frustrated. I want so badly to have a baby. And every time I eat a carb I feel like I'm feel like I'm choosing food over being a mother". I continued "And the other night, when you told David that we're off the wagon because now we're going to adopt, it really upset me. Adoption has always been an option, but it certainly isn't as excuse to abuse our bodies. I would love to have a four year old right now, but I don't want to be a fat mom to any child".

"So I've decided that we should limit our carbs to 1 per meal."

Done.

Back to the ice cream dilemma. Now that he knows the rule. He knows I'm upset that we've "fallen off the wagon", he knows I want a baby, he knows I hate being fat, he knows, he knows, he knows...and yet he still asks, "you wanna go get some ice cream?" AHHHHHHHH!!!

Like I said, avoiding the temptation wasn't hard since I was satisfied from dinner and not craving anything sweet. But the more I sat there and thought about it, the better the idea sounded. Not because I wanted ice cream, but because I wanted to share that experience with him. Which brings me to the epiphany I had while writing the second paragraph of this blog.

That's what we share...food and bad choices. It's how we spend time together. It's what we do. We love being gluttonous together-- whether is food, laziness or spending money we don't really have. We've talked before about how we enable each other. We are aware that we make bad decisions together. But it wasn't until 15 minutes ago that I realized, it's what actually bonds us. It's like our hobby. And me saying "no ice cream" felt like I was saying, "I don't love you. I don't want to spend time with you."

What the frigg!?

it's the carb conundrum.

2010-02-03T13:40:00.000-08:00

I was diagnosed with PCOS (Poly-cystic Ovarian Syndrome) back in 2001. Since then, my body has become the most frustrating part of my life- physically, mentally and emotionally.

Research has shown a direct relationship between PCOS and blood sugar. It's sometimes referred to as pre-diabetes or insulin resistance. My particular symptoms include: wacked periods, weight problems and some stray chin hairs (easily yanked with a pair of tweezers), otherwise everything about me is within "normal" range, specifically my blood sugar.

So why is it such a big deal?

The one thing, okay two things I want most in this world are ONE: to be a mom and TWO: to be healthy and live the life I feel I was meant to live. The ACTIVE lifestyle I WANT to live. But instead, I'm uncomfortable in my own skin, have a butt that's too big for a kayak, calves too big for snow skis and a lack of stamina too great to move much faster than nine-month pregnant woman. Which brings me back to number one-- to be a mom, which is near impossible because of my uncooperative ovaries.

RX: low carb diet and sometimes glucophage/metformin which is a diabetes medication.

The word diet in general goes against what I believe and gets my blood a little hot. I try very hard to know where my food comes from, make things from scratch, starting with whole foods and avoiding anything that says sugar-free or fat-free, aka chemical rich!

So now what?

Every time I bake a loaf of bread, or roll out biscuits I feel like I'm choosing grains over my unborn child(ren). What is supposed to be HEALTHY is my supposed poison. This of course starts a whole new guilt trip and feeling of hopelessness.

I wish I was a better writer so I could communicate my real feelings. These words don't do the sick-to-my-stomach feeling I get when I think about these choices.

The biggest: GUILT.

Maybe I'll just start walking more.

Breakfast: two egg omelet with peppers and onions and cheese.
Lunch: Celery with peanut butter
Dinner: ???