Of Great Importance to Me

I need to get my shit together.

There, I said it. I typically do not swear online, but it's a HUGE reality. I need to regroup, get organized, and get going.

I've spent the better part of this year in a depression the likes of which I have never had before. Should have gone to the doctor, but I'm too stubborn for that. It's lifting now. I'm seeing things more clearly. Doesn't mean I'm cured by any means, but I'm better.

Exercise: Back on track with a vengeance. I feel my muscles tightening up again. I am sweaty, sweaty, sweaty! It is a great feeling to sort laundry and find sweat-soaked workout clothes. Exercise: Check.

Food: This is the biggie for me. I spent the last year not losing much at all. I even renamed the blog to The Tortoise. I measured everything, didn't cheat, and didn't lose. I went low-cal, higher cal, zig-zag: nada.

I think it's time for me to admit this: At this point I need to quit making family meals. I need to make "them" and "me" meals. I never wanted to do this, but I'm going to have to get drastic here and fend for myself. Lowest calorie biggest "full" bang I can find that I like. That does not always coincide with what my family likes.

I think I'm going to try to drop calories lower than I have. (And I'm *not* talking dangerously low at all.) I exercise hard, I average anywhere between 15,000 and 20,000+ steps a day. I move this body so I need some fuel.

The biggest thing I have to do is face this head on mentally. I've struggled so much lately with the whole bad mentality lately. Life was too hard there for awhile and I coasted along. No regrets about that AT ALL. I did what I had to do to get through. That which doesn't kill us makes us stronger. I have issues that I need to tackle, issues that I don't necessarily want to share here because they're too personal.

My health is too damned important to pussyfoot around anymore. I need to get this weight off. The weight probably caused the kidney stone issues to begin with. I don't know which came first, the insulin resistance or the weight, but having the weight in a healthy place will drastically improve the insulin resistance. And everything else.

It's time.

I'm getting my shit together.

2 Forward 1 Back

That old saying, two steps forward, one step back hit me today. The depression has been better. I've been much more active and feeling better emotionally until today.

Today I got punched below the belt (not literally!) My feelings were hurt. Not pretty. My mind just went into the "I must really suck" mode. The funny thing about that, when that thought crossed my mind? My immediate response to myself was b*lls*hit, I do NOT suck. A week ago I wouldn't have thought that way.

So...I came home, crawled into bed, turned on NCIS--it's my drug of choice. Watched an episode, cried a little, then fell asleep.

Tonight I'm better. I did not get a workout in today. I just didn't have it in me. If it weren't so late, I'd do one now because I'm feeling better. NCIS always makes things better for me. lol Such a graphic show, murder and mayhem, yet I am addicted and love it.

This is real life. Sh*t happens. Feelings get hurt. It can't be avoided, it's human nature. The key is to not let our own mind go south. I did that today, but before I got too bad off, I was able to tap into my stubborn self and pull myself out. Every day can't be sunshine and roses--life would be rather dull, wouldn't it? Doesn't make it enjoyable to have one's feelings hurt, though.

Counting my blessings, of which I have many. Maybe it's two steps forward, a half step back, because I think I've bounced back pretty well. Just a little sulking goes a long way.

Tomorrow is a brand new day with much promise. I hope to get in a good workout, get some things done around the house, and be thankful it should be above 30 degrees! It's been bitter cold again which does not help my mood one bit.

Calories today? Great, on target. Actually a few hundred lower than my normal target because of no workout. Unless something strange happens tomorrow, the scale will be kind to me Monday morning.

I think my body is finally getting acclimated to all this water. Sheesh, do I drink a lot. Makes leaving the house a royal pain because I'm always looking for a bathroom. But, that's the price to pay to avoid another kidney stone. Well, there is another kidney stone in there, which is one reason I'm blue, but hopefully it won't grow and will pass without surgical intervention when it decides to move.

Oh, life--isn't it grand. It throws many things at us, good, bad, ugly, mean--and beautiful, sunshine, happy, kind.

Tomorrow only steps forward. No back movement!

Sunshine!

My last post I asked God for some sunshine. He delivered to our home today.

First of, hubby had a fantastic day at work. I can't share what happened, but it was cause for celebration.

Then, I got some news that was positive in that it released a huge weight off my shoulders. It was a closure that I desperately longed for and needed, and it came totally out of the blue. I never thought I'd see the day. I feel so liberated. It's over. Closure. It's over.

Thank you, God.

So finally, I have a good day to report. I did a workout earlier and then since we went to a local Mexican restaurant, I had to guess at calories. I always worry when there is no nutritional information, but I'm good at estimating. At any rate, even though I did well, I was still nervous and decided to do some damage control just in case. I think if I compare what I ate to national chains, I went a bit over. So I did a rebounding workout. Holy cow, did that kick me hard!

I love rebounding, and I got a new rebounding workout for Christmas and then right after, I traded for a couple more. With the whole kidney store drama, I wasn't able to do them. I haven't stepped on the rebounder since before Christmas. Rebounding is fun, it's great, and is it ever a great leg workout--and my legs are screaming at me! I got the old Urban Rebounding disks. Most of them are short, 20-30 minutes. I think I may add one of the shorter ones every day to my exercise routine. It's fun, but it's also supposed to be very good for the lymphatic system. It's also easy on the joints, I love doing plyometric moves on it.

So great day, great news, great exercise, great food, great family, hubby, sweet son and me.

Our family really needed this wonderful day. =) We are grateful beyond words.

Struggling

I would love to have a truly fantastic, positive post one of these days. I'd love to come here and say: Happy happy, joy joy, everything is rosy! I would love to not report depression. I can report no kidney pain -- YAY! -- but the mental pain is bad. (I can feel my kidney, which I fear isn't good, but it doesn't hurt--I'm just very aware of it. I say it's talking to me.)

Soon, hopefully.

Two steps forward, one step back. Two steps forward, one step back. I just want to go straight now.

Dear God,

I know my troubles are light and small compared to so many, but could I
please have some sunshine for awhile?

Jo

The weight is coming off, but I had gained a few pounds from my last side-bar weight before the surgery, and 15 pounds from the morning of the surgery to the next morning. That happened with both of my surgeries, big weight gain. At least it's moving in the right direction. I am so mad about it, because I'm a slow loser to begin with, but I'm stubborn--I'll get there and beyond.

I was reminded of my mother last night. She was a very angry person for the last several years of her life. I loved her very much, she loved me, but I believe her anger affected her health--I know it did. She was bitter and resentful. When I was reminded of her last night (someone from my past brought her up), I got upset because I didn't want to talk about her. However, I spent the night last night and the day today thinking about her, about anger, bitterness and resentment.

Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.

I don't want to drink that poison. I'm not waiting for anyone to die, but the poison part--that, I truly get. I need to work on my resentment toward health care. How hard is it to diagnose a friggin' kidney stone? Why did it take years? Why did I have to have exploratory surgery, when a friggin' x-ray or CT scan would have shown the problem. That ate away at my life for years. I *have* to let that go. It's water under the bridge. It's poison to me. It's just hard to let go because it's easier to be pissed off about it, if that makes any sense.

Don't suppose I'll beat this depression until I take care of this issue. But geeze, six different health professionals in all these years couldn't figure that out? Well, the sixth one did, finally, thankfully. Water under the bridge, let it go, let it go. Why are my hands and mind covered with Super Glue? lol

I would love to have the great qualities my mom had, but I sure don't want to end up bitter, angry and resentful like she was. I don't have any idea how not to be that way, I have no roll model for that.

Lots of work to do.

I deserve better than all that. I certainly don't want my son to learn that.

MAJOR Meltdown

I had a meltdown this weekend the likes of which I don't think my family has ever witnessed. It was not pretty.

I was angry--I was fuming mad. I was sad to the point I just burst out bawling at the drop of a hat. I was more emotional than I think I ever have been.

This started Friday. Saturday my Low Oxalate Cookbook and Kidney Stone book arrived from Amazon. I am not a violent person. Let me just admit, though, that I got so piping hot mad that I threw that Kidney Stone book across the room. I threw it three different times.

Not necessarily proud of my behavior.

However, I was truly depressed. I was despondent, I had to give up some of my very favorite foods. Almonds? I eat almonds every single day. They're one of my very favorite things, and they're SOOOO good for your heart. Never again, because they are horribly high in oxalate. Tomato sauces, bean burritos, my bran flakes, this, that and the other...all gone.

When I was a touch calmer, I said to my husband, "How would you feel if you were told you could no longer eat your favorite foods?" Then I listed his favorites. Ever again, never, no more, history, no more favorite foods. He felt for me and tried to share that with me but I didn't want to be consoled. I just needed to vent, fume, cry and have a big temper tantrum.

Last night hubby slept on the couch (gee, I wonder why) and I was up all night. I tried to sleep, but I kept getting angry, would hop out of bed and pace.

I had had it. I was done. This get healthy thing was total BS. I've been sicker than I ever have in my life since starting this journey. Pain, pain, pain. Come on, three surgeries in less than two years? I was done. I repeated that all weekend. Done. I don't care. I even took off my fitbit and said no more. I haven't put it back on. I decided I was done exercising. Why bother? It produces sweat and I will have to drink so much more water to make up for the loss, I'm sure I'd have to go potty during an hour-long workout to boot. Didn't matter that I love it, I decided I'd find something else to love.

Yup, my life was literally in the toilet.

Toilet. Yes, that's one of the reasons I was so pissed off. Since upping my fluid intake to a cup an hour, I have been on that toilet about every 20 minutes. I cannot hold it, I have to go. I have always had a weak bladder, and this was the final straw. Picture me in a melodramatic mood crying, "My life is literally in the toilet." The realist in me knows that statement is true, but I sure was in drama queen mode.

I actually shut my computer off and didn't log on all weekend. I have never done that! I was going to take the blog down, I was going to close my Facebook, I was going to quit visiting my favorite forums. I was in passive aggressive mode, letting my inner bitch shine though. I was hurting. I was sad. I was scared. I was a mess.

This morning my husband got up and we talked over a cup of coffee. He had a good night's sleep, I had not slept at all. I told him I was so mad at myself, that I was the one who ruined my health in the first place with poor choices. His response? B*llsh*t. He told me to quit living in the past, and if I must look at the past, look at the last two years where I had literally worked my but off. He reminded me of all the fantastic health improvements I had made. I was still in a pissy mood, excused myself, and went to bed.

I slept from about 6:30 until noon. I woke up and I just felt better. My mom came to mind. In fact, I had dreamt about her. I remember her telling me that it was very common for people to suffer depressive episodes after surgeries. I thought on that awhile. Talked with hubby awhile and thanked him for his positive words because I really think that they helped pull me out of that dark place. I also told hubby that this dark place that I was in was just from exhaustion. It was exhaustion and frustration of three surgeries in two years two of which were probably unnecessary, of not being diagnosed correctly, of all the flipping pain that I had endured for so long, of the worry, the stress, and then the wonderful surgery to end my suffering which turned out to be torture during the recovery. I had not expected that at all. So the day the stent came out was to be a day of celebration. Instead, I was told what all I had to give up. It was no celebration, it was the straw that broke the camel's back.

So tonight, as I'm sitting here, I'm glad the weekend is over. I think I needed the darkness so I could see the light. I think that spark is back, that fight, that determination. I think I'll be okay.

I have made small changes all along this journey. Some of the changes I make with the new diet will have to come slowly, others quickly. A few things I am giving up immediately. Others I will have to work at. I will have to study my diet, look for alternatives, find new recipes. What a royal pain in the butt.

The water/bathroom issue I have come up with a solution. The fact is, when I leave the house or have to drive somewhere, I simply cannot drink. However, if I eat a meal out while I'm away, we can take our time and I can start by drinking a glass of water before we eat, and another after. Then I can sit and relax a bit and then hit the bathroom. The minute I get home, I can drink water again every hour. I can do as that book suggested and drink before bed, get up in the middle of the night to go--I already do that a couple times a night anyway.

The point is, I don't have to be PERFECT. I can do my best--and I usually do put 100% into something I attempt. I can compromise. Perfectionism is one of my downfalls.

So there you have it. A glimpse into my not-so-perfect world, a view of me in my worst possible light. I'm human. I am 45, I have temper tantrums and pity parties. Fortunately, I snap out of it.

The fitbit is going back on first thing tomorrow morning. I'm still not ready to push things as my kidney is still talking to me. I had a false start, got some good steps in two days, but the kidney has been uncomfortable. So it's telling me to hang on just a bit longer. I can do that.

I can do that. I can and I will. Slow and steady wins the race. Good words to live by.

I Have a Diagnosis

Fibroid necrosis. One of my fibroids is dying.

There may be more to it, but what we know for sure now is what the ultrasound showed. The fibroid was black, showing it was dying thus the horrid pain. There are some other issues that upset me but aren't earth shattering.

There are three fibroids, and the one that causes me pain shoots off to the right and I'm wondering if it is hitting the ureter, too. One of the fibroids is pushing on my bladder, which makes me have to go all the time. My uterus goes all the way up to my belly button. I was shocked by that. (It's extra large because of the fibroids.) This office has the most fantastic ultrasound tech I've ever come across, and she answered a million questions for me. Where is this, what is that next to, etc. I now know where all my organs are--plus she showed me my bowel and a bit of the upper belly. Way cool.

I'm sore tonight, have sharp twinges, but am mobile. Hubby and I went to the grocery store after the doctor and I filled that cart with crap. Kraft Mac & Cheese? What in the h-e-double-toothpicks was I thinking? (Yes, that's what I ate for dinner, too.) A loaf of French bread. HUH? Cinnamon rolls for DS for New Years morning. It was pretty damned stupid to go shopping when I was emotional.

Time to get a grip and not eat my emotions. That does not happen to me very often. I'm just feeling a bit frustrated because the severe pain is the same spot it's always been only it's worse now, and I can't help but wonder if it was the fibroid all along. That doesn't make me happy because I have a history with problem fibroids and, well, never mind. I'm not sharing my angry thoughts here.

The good news is I know what's causing the pain and will see the gyno next week. Loved the gal I saw today, professional and she listened. She actually looked at my pain chart! Kudos to her--she's the first one that has. I felt I was heard, and that is half the battle. I did find it, um, amusing that she suggested Ibuprofen for pain. Um, do ya think I haven't tried that? And Aleve? And aspirin? I told her I took ibuprofen just for inflammation purposes and she wants me to continue that and to keep on top of the pain. She asked me what I did for pain and my answer was: I SUFFER. lol Drama queen--but true.

I am feeling angry, frustrated, scared because I can't help but think there's another surgery in my future. I'm also feeling hopeful because damn it all, I want to work out hard, I want to get the rest of this weight off and move forward and be an athlete. I want that as much as I want to be pain free. So I'm an emotional basket case tonight.

Step count will be over 16,000 tonight. Didn't do a workout, but I had lots of nervous energy and have been walking around the house, resting, walking around some more. (Yes, it's called nervous pacing.) It's just more comfortable to get up and move around every so often, too.


~~~~~~~

Also, a great-big thank you to two of my favorite bloggers that reminded me that they did not lose all their weight in a year, one was shy of two years and the other took three. That made me feel SO much better. xoxo

Never give up, it's never too late!

"Missing Your Blogs"

I got an email just now that said "Missing Your Blogs." That's all it said--and it made my night. It's nice to be missed! I replied and stated that I can't think of anything to say!

Writer's block, maybe? Stuck in a rut, or perhaps better put, in a good routine? I'm sailing along right now and have nothing profound or mundane to say. Hmmm.

This past week I've been working on things that bother me. Specifically things that have happened to me that changed me--changed me in a bad way. Won't go into specifics, but it was pretty bad to me.

I started thinking of Stuart Smalley. Remember Al Franken playing Stuart? I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and dog-gone it, people like me. Positive affirmations. I started thinking about how they actually do work if you use them, and I came up with a few. The one that I used repeatedy this past week was:

I let go.

Every time the negative memories popped into my head, and that happens a lot, I just repeated over and over, "I let go." You know what? It started to work. I started having a bit of peace. I didn't get upset, I didn't get anxious, I just kept repeating it and soon the thoughts disappeared. It may just work.

Think it would work if I positively affirmed: I'm not hungry, even when my stomach is growling? lol

My husband tells me I have a bad habit of hanging on to bad things and thinking them over and over and over. He's right, I do. So I'm trying to change that. I let go.

Now, I won't be using Stuart's line. I know I'm good enough, I know I'm intelligent, and I know people like me--I have confidence in that arena. Yet I can think of many affirmations to use in areas where I'm not so strong.

Losing weight and getting healthy is not all about losing weight and getting healthy, it's mostly about fixing thinking. It's the stinking thinking that gets us overweight to begin with. So I'm at a stage now where I'm not afraid to tackle some of the more difficult self-messages I feed myself. I've come a long way, but now it's time to dig really deep. As my motto states: I can and I will.

July 8, 1979

This is an entry from my diary. I was staying with a sister, and this is about her.

"I've learned she's so fat because she eats when she gets up, at lunch, dinner, then snacks and snacks and snacks. To top that off, she eats a large snack before she goes to bed. I told her we were going to have the dinner leftovers for lunch tomorrow, but she's in there eating it right now. I don't mean to pick, but I just don't like this."

Pot calling the kettle black
We learn and do what we see
Set an example, kids are watching and learning...

I could come up with many titles for this entry.

At that point in my life, I ate very little. I was a very picky eater and couldn't be bothered with all that eating business. I've read in my diary that mom would fix dinner, such as stuffed green peppers, and I would eat a slice of bread instead. (To this day I despise stuffed green peppers.) My mom was livid. She would get so angry with me. I also remember a time when I was much younger that mom grew tomatoes and had way too many. We had tomatoes for lunch and dinner every day forever, it seemed. I drew my line at her stewed tomatoes. I remember refusing to eat them because I was sick of tomatoes and my mother made me sit at that kitchen table for hours. She even got a wooden spoon out and banged it on the table in front of me trying to scare me into eating. I won. I never let them touch my lips. I was at my limit with tomatoes.

Funny, today I will use canned stewed tomatoes in recipes, but I would never serve them as a side dish.

The quote above? I laughed when I read it. I turned into that, snacking like crazy, eating dinner leftovers instead of using them as a meal the next day, too. When I was 14, though, I could not understand that. Eat when you're hungry, eat just enough, then get on with life. I need to embrace that now. So when did my mind flip the switch into a weird eater? When did I become my mother and my sisters? I always hated the way they all ate when I was young. I also hated that none of them exercised, and I was always very fit and active.

That love of fitness has come back to me full force. When I don't have the stupid pain, exercising is my greatest joy (aside from my son and hubby, that is.) I live for it.

So did I learn this behavior from them? Did I just give in and follow suit? That's what I saw so I accepted it as my fate?

I remember being slightly hungry when I was young--and by young, I'm saying teens through about age 20. When I was 18 and 19, if I got to 120 on the scale, I quit eating. 117, 118 were my favorite numbers. I might have been slightly hungry many times, but I still had energy and was active. It was no big deal to be slightly hungry.

Now? I freak out when I'm slightly hungry. I hope that I can work on and find a happy medium between the two.

If I got my fitness groove back, maybe I can find a happy medium about food. It's fuel for the body, it's nutrition, that's it. It's not happiness, it doesn't make problems go away, it's not my friend. It's just food.

Wee Hours

I haven't blogged for awhile because for once, I really have nothing to say.

I'm in a perpetual state of numbness, I guess. Upon closer examination, I'm:

scared nervous worried overwhelmed hurting zoning

I've just been going through the motions as of late.

Rather disgusted that the swelling I thought had left me has returned. It got really hot here, close to 100 with high humidity, and that heat was like a light switch in my body: my legs and ankles swelled up. The right leg is worse. Makes me angry--I had so hoped that was all taken care of. Oh well.

With swelling goes a rise in the scale. I usually weigh every morning, but with the swelling I have not been. It would just depress me seeing the number go up even though I know it's just water. That said, I know the scale has not moved down.

My heart is not in "this" like it was. Right now I'm just focused on getting this pain/surgery taken care of. I'm still counting calories and exercising when I can, but when you don't have "it" and by it I mean that zest, I think everything falls short. It will come back, I'm certain. Patience. Just need to get over this big hurdle.

This past weekend I bought a new pair of New Balance shoes. My workout shoes were way too big and my feet were starting to hurt. I went from a size 8 to 8 1/2 down to a 7, which is what I wore for years. I have wide feet and did when I was skinny, but lo and behold, my new shoes are not wides.

Dear husband, if you're reading this, Georgia and Charlie bought me more shoes tonight. So now I have blue, black and orange.

I've also been re-thinking my strength workouts. I've been putzing along with Cathe's STS. It's okay. I like it better than P90X, but I couldn't put my finger on it, it just didn't seem right. Then I got out my two books on the topic and started reading. New Rules of Lifting for Women and Body for Life. I really like how each program pyramids, you do 12 reps with light, then go up and do 10 reps, then go up and do 8 reps, then up and do 6 reps and then you do it all in reverse. So one night instead of doing my Cathe, I did the Body for Life upper body and wow oh wow, did I have doms and I swear I have more definition. So I think I'll continue to tweak and change the way I'm doing strength. I want to build muscle.

And on a final note, tonight I was cleaning our bedroom and I unearthed my diary I got for my 14th birthday. Since my son is that age now, I got it out and started reading. What an eye opener. Things I had forgotten. Being called a bitch to my face by my sister and my mother. I had completely suppressed that. After reading, I remembered it -- plus worse. I read and read, but I didn't cry--it was as if this great compassion and understanding overwhelmed me. I've always felt -- well, not insecure, but as if I wasn't good enough, as if I had to prove myself, and that I always had to be perfect. Reading the diary tonight made me understand why. I plan on reading more as time goes on. I wrote in this into my 20s. Lots of calorie-free food for thought.

I found it very interesting that every entry I signed, "I love me, Jo." What 14 year old does that? Many of the entries were searching for love. I find it very strange because as an adult, my mom and I were very close. Lots more thinking for me. I also found it interesting that I had issues with my sister at age 14--many, and not typical sister issues. I read some things that made the hair on my neck stand up.

It's interesting how things appear when you need them--or perhaps when you're ready to deal with them. The older I get, the smarter I get and am able to see 2 + 2 and get it to total 4. It's time to do some math. I have a feeling digging deep may help me tremendously on my journey. Perhaps it will stir that inner fire that is now just a glowing ember and get it flaming again.

Big Boobs, Athletics, My Pseudo-Heart Attack and Mom

Tonight I've been previewing some new-to-me Cathe videos I got in a trade. The titles? From The Terminator series, The Gauntlet, The Vipor and Imax Xtreme. These are tough, tough, tough circuit workouts.

Watching these brings to mind two words: I WANT.

Damn, I want this. I crave it--I want to be physically fit! I want to do this tough stuff. To me, its' fun--it lights a fire in me that I haven't had in years.

When I was younger, I was always very athletic. In grade school I received the Presidential Fitness Award three years in a row--and set school records. I could run, I could push myself and I lived for it. When I got into junior high, I still had that desire in me but my mom thought otherwise.

I really wanted to start a running program. I wanted to be on the track team. I just wanted to go, push myself. I wanted to do sports: basketball, volleyball, etc., in high school. Mom thought otherwise.

Why did mom think otherwise? Because I had big boobs and I would bounce.

When I was in the ninth grade, mom had a heart attack. She was my age. I tried to help her with her fitness after the heart attack. She was supposed to walk every day, she was supposed to be active. We did Jane Fonda together for awhile until it was just me doing Jane Fonda. We did Richard Simmons when he was on TV and after awhile it was just me doing Richard Simmons. I used to take a lot of aerobics classes, mom never did.

In the summers, though, we would walk. We'd go to a school and walk the track. She hated it. I loved it. She "let" me run. I would run the track, and after a lap I'd walk with her a bit, then I'd run it again. I think she allowed this because she would have never gone alone but I was by her side, bouncing boobs and all.

For awhile we walked a bike path at a lake. I had my first lesbian experience there. lol A gal approached me, was chatting in a friendly way, then said, "I'm gay." I took that as, "I'm Gay." We ran together for awhile, caught up with mom and I introduced her as Gay. Mom set me straight when we got in the car. lol Mom was right about that. (BTW, the gal was very gracious.)

Mom gave up exercising. She didn't get back to it until she had another cardiac episode a few years later and was put into a rehab program. Mom died at the age of 59 a few weeks after a bypass surgery.

I always assumed that because we were so alike in so many ways that I would have health problems. Always. So two years ago this month, right after my son and I witnessed Dad's heart attack, doing CPR on him, and all the trauma involved with that, I had an episode. Mine was a few days after his heart attack. My son and I were at McDonald's drive through getting breakfast on our way to go to the hospital. Then it happened. I developed tunnel vision. I couldn't breathe. My chest was tight. I was panicked. I felt like I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

I was about three blocks from home. I had pulled over and parked, trying to catch my breath, scared out of my mind. I decided since I was so close, I'd drive back to his house. I made it fine, but the chest pain, the tunnel vision, the feeling like I would pass out--it got worse.

A sibling took me to a walk-in clinic. I couldn't walk in, they wheeled me in a wheelchair. It was really bad. They hooked me up to an EKG machine and within two minutes they informed me that they had called 911, an ambulance was on its way to take me to the hospital.

Holy fuck. Sorry. I try not to swear much, but no other words will suffice. There was my precious son, who had just witnessed his grandfather have a heart attack a few days earlier, with eyes as wide as saucers. The firemen arrived and I was more worried about him than me. Apparently I was having weird things (don't remember the term) on the EKG. So off I went.
I kept praying, "God, please don't leave my child motherless. He's not raised yet.)

As I was wheeled outside, I will never forget staring up at the beautiful Colorado sky. I was crying. I was thinking of my mom. I was scared I would die. I was scared I was 42 years old and having a heart attack: Just like mom.

In the ambulance, I was given a boat load of baby aspirin. My mouth was bone dry and it was awful trying to chew up and swallow them. I was hooked up to their EKG. Funny, my EKG was completely normal in the ambulance.

Well, I had every test under the sun. I was admitted overnight and had a treadmill test the next day and the test where they inject the radioactive dye. I was FINE. I did not have heart disease. I was not having a heart attack, it was a massive panic attack.

That treadmill test was very informative to me. I couldn't do the whole 5 minutes...I was winded terribly and tired. Go figure, at that weight and under the stress I had been under. However, my heart handled it fine. The tech told me that was a good rate at which to exercise. I remember thinking at the time: Kill myself rate???

From this point forward until about November of 2008, I was in a fog. Dad had passed away, we had cleaned his house, and I had suffered through drama and trauma. My son was diagnosed with epilepsy, my husband had a medical emergency, my dog died--I could write a book about the black cloud that hung over me and my family that year. It was the worst time period of my life.

Around Christmas I started waking up out of the painful fog. For Christmas, my husband took a week off and we cleaned out this house. We cleared clutter. We filled a dumpster--twice! We took van loads of books to the library. We took van loads of donations to Salvation Army and the local animal shelter. We had a clearing--physical and spiritual. It set the tone for what was ahead.

That January, after already obtaining two border collie puppies, I decided we all needed one. Our breeder had a few left overs from a litter that had the same mother as one of our pups and the same father as the other pup. It was meant to be. I bought my dog with my inheritance.

Pip arrived at an airport two hours from us on February 8. The photos I shared recently, specifically the one with the little puppy, was taken that day. My mind was waking up from all that trauma and there I was on a very happy day with a new addition to our family and I was slapped in the face with that photo of that bloated, miserable woman whom I didn't even recognize.

Worse, I felt a bad as I looked. Thus my journey began.

I think back often to that ambulance ride, and all the events that transpired in 2008. As difficult and sorrowful as it all was, it did make me stronger. It also got me in touch with ME.

When I was a kid I was athletic. When I was a teenager I was athletic. When I moved away from Mom, I was athletic -- for awhile. I miss it. It's who I am--it's who I was. I can be very competitive, mostly with myself. I want it. It does not matter that I have big boobs and bounce. Shoot, I'm now fitting in a real sports bra! Although it gives me a uni-boob appearance, I don't bounce much. And frankly, I don't care. I don't think I've ever wanted anything so much in my life--except for my son's health and happiness. That overrides anything I want.

I want to push the envelope. I do not have to accept my mother's heart disease as my own. I've got my fight on.

We discover a lot of things in our weight-loss journeys. I've been peeling those fat layers away and my body and mind is remembering how much I enjoy being physical--how I crave it. It is who I am.

Hubby asked me today why I bought P90X. My competitive spirit answered. I told him it was because he mentioned it in passing, and I wanted to prove to him and myself that I could do it.

Game on. Jo is finding herself again. Jo is throwing out what she doesn't need, and devouring what she wants and loves.

I am Jo. I am athletic. I love it. Watch me grow stronger and stronger.

Bring it.

Sometimes I Just Don't Get It!!!

I need to really listen to my body. This week I didn't hear what was going on--until this afternoon.

DS's surgery was Monday. Tuesday, my hubby left to work out of town. I don't like sharing that info until he's home safe and sound, so I'm breaking a rule here. I had "the pain" issues this week, plus a period.

Sometimes I am just dense. Every period I seem to get an anxiety attack. I was marveling how I was able to get through DS's surgery without a Xanax. I made it through Tuesday until hubby called to let me know he'd arrived at his destination. I had "the pain" and I felt light-headed many times through the week. I felt off. I kept thinking it was related to the pain.

Hit me with a 2x4. Why, as someone who has suffered with anxiety issues, do I NOT see it?

As DS and I were finishing decorating our tree this afternoon, I started shaking and feeling light headed. The shaking is when it dawned on me--this is a panic attack. I took a Xanax, and a half hour later my shoulders dropped from my ears into normal position, the shaking stopped, my breathing became normal and the light-headedness left. I'm still a bit jumpy, but good grief, I feel better.

I have really struggled this week. Those who read my blog may have noticed I haven't been reading their blogs this week. I sit down to the computer and I just can't focus, so I get up. I tried to read blogs earlier, read two, posted, then had to stop.

DUH

When is this stupid anxiety going to leave me? When will I be able to lead a normal life? If I have to have the stupid anxiety, when will I "get it" and realize I'm having anxiety? Had I recognized it earlier, I would have been taking Xanax. I could have taken a half a pill and probably thwarted it--or at least alleviated the scary symptoms. When I don't see things for what they are, it comes on fast and furious and a real full-blown panic attack starts. That is just the worst feeling to me--scary.

Now I know.

Just a note to myself: When your son has surgery, it's a big deal. When your hubby leaves town, it's a big deal. Christmas, and memories, missing my parents=big deal. Pay attention!

I had planned on doing my workout about now. Not gonna happen after taking a Xanax. Instead I'll probably curl up and take a nap--which will further help me relax. I can work out tonight.

I also ate lunch when the panic attack came on. I hadn't eaten anything since this morning, and that broke my eat-every-three-hours rule. Low blood sugar does not help matters.

At least I hadn't baked cookies--I probably would have gobbled them up.

I may be slow to realize what's going on, but now that I see it, I can change my ways to take care of myself. Nap, eating often, and a good workout are great ways to help, so all three will be done.

UGH

A Pattern Emerges

In my mind, I'm seeing my life pattern. I've never noticed it before, but now it's becoming crystal clear.

I've never been a multi-tasker. In fact, I think I've written those words here many times before. I can do one, two or possibly three things well, and beyond that, I'm a mess.

I've gotten myself into a bit of a mess quite literally here lately. School is going really well, my food and exercise is going really well, but I feel like I'm a mess everywhere else.

Here's the pattern: When I get overwhelmed, which is the perfect word to describe it, I bury my head in the sand. It's too difficult for me to think beyond, to take action, to move because I let fear, overwhelm, and frustration immobilize me. This is exactly how I got to 282.5 to begin with. Certain things have always gone well in my life while others did not. And my own health was put on the back burner and into that place of doom for years. It was too overwhelming to think about it and to take action, so I buried my head in the sand.

I build up dread, I build up fear, I build up all this stinking thinking that multiplies quicker than rabbits. My mind plays tricks on me. When I don't bring to fruition what needs to be done, I guilt myself. This guilt takes away pleasure from other areas of my life. I do not feel deserving of good things because I have not accomplished X, Y and Z.

Now I know this comes from my upbringing. My mom was a wonderful lady, and I miss her dearly. She was a Type-A personality. She was spotless. She could teach Martha Stewart and the Flylady a thing or three. So was her mother. So I have very high standards to live up to. And I've always tried to live up to them. (I also believe that this Type-A personality, and her indefatigable spirit, led to her death at the age of 59.)

The difference in my life compared to them is that I did have a career for over a decade. Mom worked until I was born, but I've never experienced life with her when she worked. When I was working, I hired a cleaning lady which helped tremendously. Now I work, but without pay, and I'm always in the home. Running the home is my job. And the house gets messier because we're in it 24/7. We also have five animals. Granny had none, and mom had a dog, a dog that didn't shed. Five animals that shed brings an extraordinary amount of work that neither my mom or granny had to deal with. It also brings a lot of love that they lacked.

I compare myself to them, always fall short, and let it reflect on my self-esteem. I live to their standards, which I could only obtain if I lived alone or if I didn't homeschool or if I had fewer pets.

Okay, so I see the problem, I've defined it, I've thought it out. Coming up with solutions--difficult.

How easy it would be to say husband, you do X, Y and Z. Son, you do A, B and C. Husband doesn't, or else he does it on his terms. He cooks quite often, he will throw in a load of laundry, and he will pick something up but he will never do anything on a consistent basis. I can't change him, I can't tell him time and time again that I can't do it all, I need help because he doesn't hear. He does what he can. I am appreciative of his help when he gives it, but I know I cannot rely on his doing certain tasks at an appointed time. And frankly, he works a full-time job with a lot of unpaid overtime. He's tired. I've been in his shoes, which is why I hired a cleaning lady all those years ago.

My son helps out quite a bit. He needs to learn how to live. He usually isn't happy about it, but he does as he is asked. Sometimes he'll surprise me by doing something when he wasn't asked.

It comes down to me, and it really should because this is my job. I don't bring in an income, and I am home all day. Now homeschooling takes a lot of my time, but now that my son's concentration issues are getting much better, I could get up and do tasks when he's working on an assignment. I squander away a lot of my time sitting in front of a computer. I squander a lot of my time thinking about doing things rather than doing them. I make poor choices, and then guilt myself for not making better choices.

I need to figure out how to be a multi-tasker. I need to figure out how to lower my perfection standards, because I can't meet them. That's why I got fat, because if I couldn't eat perfectly or exercise perfectly, I might as well not try.

Perfection is a bad thing.

So I can't multi-task, I have extremely high standards, and I live in guilt. Not good.

I know what to do and how to do it. Maybe that's the worst part of it all, I do have the skills and knowledge. I just don't.

Life's too short to live like this. I've never seen the pattern, I've never labeled or identified it, even though I was aware of problems that I have. I have been working so hard at bettering myself, improving my health, and this is one big part of my health--mental health. Now that I've got the food and exercise on auto-pilot, I need to start pushing myself a little harder in other areas of my life. I can do that.

So I think this will be my next big focus, push until the end of the year. Wouldn't it be lovely to get some good routines worked out and have them on auto-pilot as well?

This whole journey is focused on getting myself better. When I fall into a rut, which I have in a lot of areas, I need to challenge myself to find what will work for me. I need to set my own standards. And that is what I will do. It's not just about exercising and food, it is much broader than that--it's becoming whole.

Nervous Nellie

I haven't had much to say here for the past couple days.

The truth is, I'm worried sick. I've had lots of tears the past few days. I'm just stressed out.

My baby, who is absolutely not a baby at 14, is having oral surgery Monday. Maybe--his throat was red this morning and he's not feeling well. I'm really worried about it. He saw his neurologist this past Monday and he upped his medication, which is good because he's a growing boy, and I point-blank asked him what could happen to him being under general anesthesia having epilepsy. The answer? He could have a break-through seizure. Could--a short little word that put the fear of God into me.

That just scared the sh*t out of me. Sorry, but desperate times brings out my foul language.

My son was diagnosed with juvenile myoclonic epilepsy the summer of '08. He was having myoclonic jerks (similar to that jolt you may experience as you're falling asleep) and we had him checked out. My heart broke with his diagnosis, as did his, but at least we had the diagnosis before he had a grand mal seizure--a less traumatic way to learn about it.

I hate epilepsy.

So this morning when I had the flashlight out looking at his red throat, I got to thinking about H1N1. I hear it's going around our small town. Did you know that 2/3of children that have died from H1N1 have a neurological disorder? Either epilepsy, cerebral palsy or developmental delay. The latest I could find as 70% of the 36 beautiful, innocent children who have lost their lives had one of these disorders.

That scares the sh*t out of me.

My son would be a priority to get the H1N1 vaccine. Our family physician, however, quipped at me when I asked about it. "We're not ordering it. We're not going to be their guinea pigs." She advises against it. Today I had to talk to my son's neurologist's nurse, and I asked her about it (because I forgot to ask the doctor) and she said get it.

What do I do? Our doctor doesn't have it, doesn't recommend it. Son's got surgery Monday if he's not got a cold/flu or is ill. He just upped his meds to double what he was taking. That's a lot going on with his body--changes.

I am a basket case.

I've also read online that kids with epilepsy have had reactions to the vaccine. Supposedly, they need shots instead of the nasal sprays. Yet even with the shots, some had reactions that put them in the hospital.

So this week we've been out of town Monday, Tuesday I carted DS around to after-school classes, and today we had to go out of town again. We had to take my precious puppy Pip to the vet. Pip has been eating his hair! The vet doesn't know what it is, could be mange, but he didn't test positive. No fleas found. So Pip got a shot of steroids and medications to try. He looks so pathetic. Interestingly, his hair loss is only on the lower half of his body.

Hubby logged in almost 140 hours over the past two weeks at work. Gee, I wish he was paid overtime. So he's been working every Saturday and late hours during the week, and has been exhausted when he's home. It makes me extremely lonely when he falls asleep on the couch. I just need a little adult conversation from him on a daily basis, but I haven't been getting it.

When we got home from the vet today, it was supper time. I didn't cook. Instead, I went and took a hot Calgon-type bath. I needed to wash away all the stress. I wish that would work, but it doesn't take the stress away. It helps, but... The I put on my nightgown and fell fast asleep.

I am just drained.

I know that worry is pointless, stupid, and a waste of time. I know it is illogical to worry. I know this. Yet my mind won't stop it. I try cognitive behavioral therapy with myself. Stop, live in the now, not the future. That does help re-focus me a little, but still I worry.

My best friend is out of town right now, and she's the one that I can spout off to when need be. So instead, I spout off to the blog.

When I was in the tub, I was thinking of all my favorite foods...I wish I could go binge and eat macaroni and cheese, bean burritos and nachos, my beloved store-bought cookies. Then I laughed. I do think I have got it down that doing that doesn't help a thing. It only makes things worse. So I'm still within range today. After my nap, I ate a sensible dinner and am still on plan. That helps, taking care of my body.

So at least I've made great strides in that area. Now if I could learn to cope better with worries, tension, stress, and anxiety I'd be much healthier. And in reality, I am better in all those regards. I also had a visit from Aunt Flo this week, so my emotions are somewhat fueled by hormones. I am very aware of that. Nonetheless, they're still there. And I'll be worried about my son no matter what and forever, because that's how I am as a mom.

One moment at a time. We're getting through all this. I just want the surgery to be over. I just wish I had the answers and knew what to do. Vaccinate or not? And if so, where!

My mom once sent me a poem when I was feeling blue.

In everybody’s garden a little rain must fall

Or life’s sweetest fairest flowers,

Wouldn’t grow and bloom at all.

And though the clouds hang heavy

So heavy. Oh! My friend.

I’m sure that God who sends the shower

Will send the rainbow’s end.

I don't know who wrote this.

I'd like to think that my mom watches over my son. In fact, now that my dad is with her, I'd like to think they both do. And even though mom has been gone for 16 years, she still comforts me. Because that's what moms do.

So I pretend to not be worried, go about life as usual, and love and comfort my son.

That's Life

Sometimes things go great, everything is in sync and life is wonderful. Other times, life is messy, people are upset, schedules are out of whack, and it's not so wonderful.

This week, for various reasons, life has not been so wonderful.

Last night I did turn to comfort food for dinner. I made mac and cheese. I weighed my portion, counted my points, and enjoyed every last bite. It's just so clear why I used to binge, why I used to eat unhealthful foods--because they brought me pleasure when life didn't give me much.

Today was another rough day, and I should have worked out but when it was time to do so, I put the VHS in, hit play, then curled up on the couch and watched it. Somewhere along the line, I turned it off and took a nap that lasted an hour and a half. Sometimes we have to listen to our body. Stress tires me.

I tried to blog many times today about the stress and what's going on, but it doesn't matter, none of it is life threatening, it's just life.

I discovered a dirty little secret, though. I was thinking about it all day today and all night. It's when life gets messy that we really need to take pleasure in how wonderful life really is. When I changed my attitude, I sat back and laughed out loud. I get it! That's not to say the stress will go away, but if I change my thinking and enjoy and cherish the moment, it makes it a lot easier.

I was thinking back to when my son was much younger and how stressful it could be at times. I smiled when thinking back. Oh, how I'd love to relive one of those stressful days. That's when it dawned on me that some day in the future, I will look back to this very day, week--and it will be memorable due to events, and I'll smile. So why not smile about it now?

I was not raised to be a positive thinker, to see the glass half full or to look for the silver lining. It's all very foreign to me. I think that's why I love the movie and book The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio so much, because that was my first exposure to a truly positive person. (Especially the movie version.) That's not to say I'm not positive, but I do tend to see the glass half empty. I'm just learning to re-train my brain now. And that's a good thing.

So I'm going to bed early, I'm going to get a good night's sleep, and face the stressful day tomorrow with a smile on my face. It is a choice, and I finally get how to make that choice.

Saturday at High Noon

I have been putzing around this morning, then decided to catch up on blogs. I gave myself until noon. That just wasn't enough time, but I've got things to do.

Tomorrow I'm driving my baby, er, teenager to summer camp. We've got to finish getting him packed. He'll be gone six days. I wish the camp were longer, to help him with summer boredom. His summer has been pretty boring because I've been so out of it. Hopefully that will change, soon.

My doctor mentioned taking 800 mg Ibuprofen around the clock for cramping, especially after my ablation. I have taken a few this morning because I have been cramping yet again. I think I'm ovulating. I asked him if this ablation will help with that, and if it will help with the crazy hormones and mood swings, anxiety, etc. I knew the answer when I asked him: No. There were some good comments on some of my previous posts, and I will definitely look into them when I get time.

I'm a little nervous about timing of this drive tomorrow and in six days. I tend to get anxiety during this time, and it worries me because I'll be on the road for three hours to and from our destination. I don't know if I've ever mentioned it on my blog, but I have a huge fear of driving on interstates through large cities.

That fear came about from having a boyfriend's mother killed in Denver on I-70 by an idiot driver. That fear was strengthened while driving through Denver and a mattress flying out of a truck right in front of me on 6th Avenue (a highway) during rush hour. I narrowly escaped an accident with that. And the last time I drove into Denver from Wyoming, I witnessed a drunk driver. As he passed me, I pulled over as far as I could and he passed me fine, but then he hit the truck in front of me.

I also don't like driving at super-fast speeds in lots of traffic. I really don't like it. I'm as tight as a board, I get so tense.

So tomorrow, a Sunday, I have to drive through the Twin Cities to take my teen to camp. Being a Sunday, traffic should be mellow and lighter. I'm not looking forward to it, though. I have never driven further north than Burnsville, MN. I've lived in MN 12 years and have not been to the Mall of America or driven to the Minneapolis Airport.

My palms are sweaty just thinking about this. I have driven the route on Google three times now. I know what it looks like, so that helps a lot. It looks like an easy drive. God love Google maps.

We'll do fine, but I won't enjoy it. I'll drop him off, turn around and drive home. It will be a long day for me. I should be home in time for supper.

When I go to pick DS up, I've already decided to alleviate my anxiety a bit. Coming home, we'll be driving straight west a good, long way and I can't do that through the cities with the sun in my eyes due to the time we'll be through. So we are going to get a motel in Wisconsin that night. That's my birthday weekend, so I told hubby a night in a motel will be my present.

I will take a cooler tomorrow. I'll have our lunch packed and we can stop somewhere to eat. I'll pack snacks and water, too. I told my hubby if I drive by a Taco Bell, I can't guarantee the car won't turn in and stop. lol I don't know what it is about Taco Bell, but I just love their tacos and burritos. I know it's fast food, but I can't make burritos as tasty as they can.

My son has requested a Dairy Queen dinner the night I pick him up. I told him that depends on the fact that there is a Dairy Queen that serves food nearby, and my resolve at the moment. I'll be a bit stressed, and that's not necessarily safe food wise. Last year when I picked him up from camp, we stopped at a DQ on the way home for supper. He's a creature of habit, like his mom.

It will be a sluggish day, six hours of sitting, tension, and I get a little weepy when I drop my son off. I am a baby. I forced him to go to camp in the first place, but it's still hard on me. Now he likes camp, but it's still hard on me.

We're celebrating Father's Day today. Hubby has requested steak for supper. So a good, old-fashioned steak and potatoes night for us.

I know that my anxieties sound so silly. I'm not embarrassed to discuss them, though, because they are a part of who I am and if I bottle them up, I'll never get anywhere. Each time I face my fears, I get a little bit stronger. And that's the point, to get stronger.

Weighing in Crazies

This post could have different titles:

1) Weigh-in Rituals

or

2) Why I Don't Attend Weight Watchers Meetings

Either title would apply to this post.

In 2002, I lost over 70 pounds by attending Weight Watchers. I quit, gained it all back plus a few, and here I am again. This time I chose Weight Watchers Online.

The weigh-in rituals were bad. I had some stinking thinking going on.

I live in a small town. We have one Weight Watchers meeting on Wednesday nights. No others to choose from, no Weight Watchers facility, just the lovely church basement where the meetings were had.

I loved our leader. That was because I knew her outside of Weight Watchers. She has a son a year younger than mine, and we were in Cub Scouts together. She was our Popcorn chairperson (an unenviable volunteer position) and did a fantastic job. I was a den leader. We saw each other a lot, and I always enjoyed her company. Her husband was really nice, too.

I started dreading meetings, though. She was the reason I went, but my thinking got ugly. I started in with those stupid weigh-in rituals. Our weigh-in time started at 6 pm. The meeting started at 6:30. Right off the bat, that is our supper time. No way would I eat *before* attending a meeting. By the time I got home, I was starving.

Wednesdays were very unhealthy for me. I would eat a normal breakfast and lunch, but refused to drink anything in the afternoon, let alone have a snack.

I would force myself to pee. I was obsessed with getting everything out of my body. The whole afternoon, I would go into the bathroom every so often and try to get rid of whatever I could get rid of.

When it was time to get ready to leave, I would change my clothes. I wore the thinnest, most light-weight yoga pants I could find and a light-weight shirt. Not smart, in Minnesota in the winter. I wore slip-on shoes with no socks. If people at the meeting noticed me, they would think I owned only one set of clothing.

When arriving at the meeting, I would go to the bathroom. Gotta get rid of every last drop.

I would stand in line and watch the women. (There were only two men there.) I wasn't the only one with rituals. These ladies would undress themselves as much as public decency would allow. They took off their jewelry, even their rings. The took off the shoes. Some would even take hair clips or pony tail holders out of their hair. They would do this while standing in line, which means the person next to them often got an elbow. Then many would be standing there holding all this stuff and suddenly realize they had to go to the bathroom. Their stuff would be on the floor holding their place in line.

I was lucky in that I could do that at home before I left the meeting, otherwise I would have been the same as them.

When I would finally arrive to the scale, I would be hoping and praying that the scale on the right would be the one I got. See, I had a preference. It made no difference that those scales were put up after each meeting, and the odds were that I had weighed on both many times, I simply HAD to go to the scale on the right. If I was unlucky enough to have the scale on the left, I was really upset. Seriously!

When I started out, I kept my shoes on. I figured I'd have a bad week somewhere along the line and need to slip the shoes off for an added boost some week. Yes, that happened, and I became another who would take her shoes off.

The second I stepped on the scale, I would exhale--have to get all that extra stuff like air out of the lungs for the weigh-in.

As JackSh*t posted, I would also get haircuts on Wednesdays because, you know, a half-inch hair trim makes all the difference in the world. Oh, and I would clip my nails on Wednesday afternoons, too--fingers and toes.

I was absolutely obsessed with the weigh-in rituals.

It was insane.

The minute I got home, I was famished. Oh, let me set myself up for a binge here with this crazy thinking and the crazy rituals. I didn't actually binge ever, but I was in crazy "I need to eat NOW" mode.

Many of the women at the meeting would sit down and eat a WW 2-point bar after weigh-in. I suspect I wasn't the only one who had chosen not to eat on Wednesday afternoons.

I was one who paid as I went. I got smart and started going to meetings every other week, which would guarantee a loss-a bigger loss. Even when I did that, I still did the stupid weigh-in rituals.

NONE OF THAT WAS HEALTHY. It was bad physically and emotionally.

That is why I do not attend meetings this time. I know I would fall into that stupid trap again.

Now, I weigh myself every morning. My official weigh-in day is Monday, but I like to weigh daily as it keeps me on track.

Gone are the stupid rituals. Now my Monday-morning ritual is this: Wake up, go potty, strip down to my birthday suit, hop on the scale. Done. Some Mondays I wait a bit to see if, well, you know, if I could get rid of something else. Because something else is weight, you know. This morning I waited a half hour, but didn't have that, um, constitutional. That's about as crazy as my weigh-ins are now.

I was laughing at myself this morning. Not long after I weighed in and logged my info in on the computer, I had my morning constitutional. I was down another half pound. Damn! Had I only waited. I laughed because I knew better. I'm not going into that stupid thinking anymore. It is what it is. If I am truly down another half pound (which I believe I am, because Saturday and Sunday I had the same weight as my post-constitutional weigh in this morning) it will just have to wait to be recorded until next week.

While I would like to visit with Patty, my lovely Weight Watchers leader that I no longer see because our boys are done with Cub Scouts, I choose to put my health first. I am not going to get into that stupid thinking pattern any more. If I went to a meeting, that stinking thinking would be back in a heartbeat. So I choose to set myself up for health instead.

~~~
The toilet monster is a funny little joke my son played on me a few years ago. He knows Mom heads straight for the bathroom first thing every morning, and he thought he was clever. He was, it was funny, even though I almost peed my pants ripping the monster off and out of the way. He snapped the photo himself. =)

Weekend Review

I needed a break. I have never gone this long without blogging!

Friday night: I had a cry from the bottom of my soul. I cried for a couple hours. I so needed to do that. The thoughts popping in my mind as I just let everything out consisted of more than I realized I was upset about. I cried for my Dad, I cried for the loss of family that his death brought. I cried over my son's diagnosis of epilepsy. I cried over my old dog that died a year and a half ago. I cried over my uterus that has given me grief my whole life after puberty. I cried because my husband just didn't understand (and darned tootin' I set him straight) that I was scared. I cried because I was sick of pain. There's more, but those are the biggies.

Saturday? I felt human again. I cannot believe what that did to restore me. Our town was having its summer festival. We went. I was in a lot of pain so the boys would go off and do things. It was so nice sitting in the sun, though. That night we went to the parade. I love a parade. I love that there is a 3M plant where we live and every year they give out awesome things from their float. I got six sponges and two stick-it notepads this year. Cool. I like that as much as kids like candy. My son got 3 pounds of candy. I weighed the bag on the scale. 3 pounds--wow. It was mostly Tootsie Rolls, so I know his dad will help him eat it. I'm glad I don't like Tootsie Rolls.

I have decided to not exercise formally until after I speak with the doctor. It was just too painful, and when there's something wrong, I think it's best to let it be. I did do a lot of walking Saturday, but rested when I needed to. It wasn't sustained like regular exercise.

I feel renewed. YAY

I have not read blogs for awhile--I've skimmed a few, but I just didn't have anything to give to anyone. I love to read and give comments, but I just needed to hibernate, become the recluse I am. So once again, I'm very behind.

I am in a better place now, back where I belong.

One NSV I had this weekend: We went to Subway for lunch. I think this was the first time ever that I got a 6 inch and not a foot long. And even though I could have eaten a foot long, I was satisfied with the 6 inch. Wow. My foot only swelled a little from that, which is another NSV.

I think I had a breakthrough. I talk about not eating my feelings, but I think I really experienced that this weekend. I mean I haven't been eating the feelings, but i hadn't really been feeling the emotions in depth, fully. Friday when I cried, I did. Wow.

Two steps forward.

Panic Attack

I just had a panic attack. I'm still shaking a bit.

I drove my son to his art class, and while driving I just had an overwhelming sense of doom. My heart started pounding, my gut felt weird, and I was scared to death I would keel over.

Keel over. More on that later.

I talked myself out of it, but I'm still shaking. I reminded myself nothing happens when I have these things, I'm always safe. Where it came from, I have no idea. I have felt kind of weird all day, though. I felt nauseous and tired.

This is not the first time this has happened to me while driving my son to art class. What is the connection?

I did not take a Xanax. I talked to myself out loud like an idiot the whole way home. Had it been bad, I would have pulled over. I would never endanger myself or others. It's just a weird, panicy feeling.

KEELING OVER

When I have these attacks, I always worry that I'll keel over. I know why I worry about that.

I watched my mom keel over and have a heart attack in 1993. We were sitting there visiting in her living room, boom, she was having what I thought was a diabetic seizure, but instead it was a heart attack. She never regained consciousness and she died a few days later. Her last words were, "Jo, something funny's going on."

Last March, I was sitting at my dad's kitchen table, and I looked up and he keeled over. Just sitting there visiting, then the next he was seizing. It was a heart attack. This time I knew what it was. With my son's help, we got him to the floor and I was starting CPR when the paramedics showed up.

Those visions are permanently etched in my mind. I think they're connected to my panic attacks.

Epilepsy also runs on my husband's side of the family. While I've only seen a few seizures in my years, it's the same thing: Boom, on the floor. They just keel over.

My sweet son was diagnosed with epilepsy last summer. He has never had a seizure, but he was having jerks similar to those you have when you fall asleep. The difference was that he was awake and upright. They are called myoclonic jerks. He had an EEG and was diagnosed with Juvenile Myoclonic Epilepsy. He is on medication which has stopped the jerks. His type of epilepsy is one of the most controllable types, thankfully. He could drop in a second, though, and have a seizure.

So with these admissions, I think I just saved myself $200 in a therapy session. I know why I fear what I fear--because I have seen it, lived it, and it is very likely I'll see it in my lifetime again.

Now I need to figure out how to quit being so scared of keeling over myself. I need to quit fearing that it will happen to my son.

That's the hard part.

The other thing I have to figure out is why I have these panic attacks out of the blue. My blood sugar may be low because I have not eaten much today because I was nauseous. That is a strong possibility. Otherwise, I'm clueless.

I know this: I hate this. I hate the feeling of losing control. I hate the fear that comes with a panic attack. I hate that it happens to me.

I'm sitting here all alone--well, with my doggies--but eagerly awaiting my husband's arrival home from work. His presence always makes everything better in my world.

I've Set a New Goal

Last night I mentioned I started reading a "fat" book that belonged to my mother. There are so many books out there to draw knowledge and information from, but when I went to the library at the start of this journey, I didn't feel like reading any. I also have spent some time on Amazon looking but did not purchase anything. This particular book is special to me because it was Mom's, and that's why I picked it up to read.

I knew from my experience as a homeschool blogger since 2005 that I could get better support and information from blog land than books. I have made some fantastic friends online, many who I have met in real life and many who I email with on a regular basis and talk on the phone with. It is has been tremendous support for me. Blogging a little over a month in the weight-loss blog land, I have already met some wonderful people, drawn incredible inspiration and knowledge and understanding.

I knew that I needed people to support me in this journey. One of my issues is loneliness. I am very lonely. I have friends, good friends, but none that live locally. I have lived in this small town 11 years and I still don't feel like it's home.

I considered going to Weight Watchers meetings again. I know the leader, we were in Cub Scouts together. I really like her. The meetings were okay, but with my anxiety issues, going to the meeting, finding a place to sit, and watching the clicks in the group click bothered me. I always sat alone. No one ever joined me. I never moved beyond my fear to sit next to someone. I didn't know anyone at the meetings. It was highly uncomfortable.

I stopped going to meetings and just went to weigh in. I would stay for a meeting if I was getting a star. I also stayed at their insistence when I got my 50-pound star. Getting applause for one's hard work is great, but yet I was still lonely and uncomfortable.

Back to now, I decided to not go to meetings. Cost was a factor. I've given WW a lot of money over the years. Time was another factor. The only meeting in my small town is at 6:30 on a Wednesday night. I found that my pattern was Wednesdays I wouldn't eat or drink water because of the upcoming weigh-in. That was not healthy. My ability to be comfortable in this particular group setting was another factor. It just wasn't there.

So this time I was going to do it on my own and turn to the internet for support. I started the blog, joined some groups, re-visited some of my favorite haunts from times gone by. I'm thrilled with the blogging results. This will work for me. The face of friendships is changing. We can now connect easily with people all over the world. I am thrilled with the people I have met and enjoy reading their journeys and sharing mine.

Then last night reading my Mom's book, in the first seven pages, I read this:

To recover from an eating disorder involves turning away from the
self-administered comfort of food and turning instead to nurturance from people.
Fat is a Family Affair, Judi Hollis Ph.D.

Great, I thought, I've done that. And I have, really: the blog. The thing is, I think I need to do that closer to home as well. In addition to. I've decided that soon, I need to face some of my fears and reach out to others not in blog land, but in my small town.

I don't want to join WW again. I signed up online by accident. I did the one-week free trial and forgot to cancel. So I'm paid up for a couple more months. Frankly, I like the recipe builder so I think I'll just continue. I could go to a meeting, join eTools and drop WW online to save some money, but I think I'm okay this way.

Next I looked up Overeaters Anonymous. No meetings in my small town, and the closest was 50 miles away. That won't work for a couple reasons: We have doggie training the night the meetings are on, plus I don't want to drive 50 miles for support--it kind of defeats the purpose.

On a blog I've been reading, she talks about TOPS. I looked that up. Yup, there's a TOPS meeting in my town. While I'm not thrilled with weekly weigh-ins, at least it's in the morning. I don't know a lot about TOPS but maybe it's a small enough setting that it wouldn't overwhelm me, and maybe they'll get into the mind issues that I so desperately want to work on. The bad thing is it's in the morning and we school in the morning, but my son is old enough to do his assignments without mother hen watching over him. He is a teenager. I could get away for an hour.

So this is what I'm going to do. I'm going to go out at the next meeting time, blend in with the crowd (it's at our library) and watch to see who goes in. I sound like a stalker, don't I? It's a mind game with me. I will see it's just normal people, who are probably nice, and it will build my confidence. Then I might go or I might wait until the next week and go.

I can try it. If I don't like it, I don't have to continue. I do know this: If I don't push myself, I will never grow. The worst thing that could happen? I could hate it. So then I quit. The best: I could meet some people, get out of the house, push myself, and perhaps learn a thing or two.

My Photo Post...

I live with a lot of fear...fear of the unknown and fear of the known. I have generalized anxiety disorder. I have always had fear of having my photo taken -- when I got fat, that is. The photo on the side bar was one that woke me up. Yesterday's photos that I posted, though, really hit me.

I need to feel those emotions. I need to write them down. I need them in stone, because damn it, I don't ever want to be here again.

When hubby got home from work yesterday afternoon, I showed him that blog post. And then I cried. Then sobbed. Good man gave me a hug. I was pretty darned low yesterday.

This journey is about health, as mine is poor. This journey is about quality of life. While I may be alive and kickin', my quality of life sucks. Physical pain, high triglycerides, pre-diabetes, yada, yada, and emotional pain. Such as...

When I checked in at the motel last week, they had screwed up my reservation. I had requested a ground-floor room. Any guesses as to why I wanted a ground-floor room? (STAIRS) I ended up getting a room with two double beds on the ground floor at no extra cost to me due to their mistake. The nice lady at the counter said, "I have hip problems climbing stairs, too." I said nothing about hip problems. I explained that I had a lot of stuff to carry in, but mostly I wanted on the ground floor due to the fact I had a 3-month old puppy with me that when need be, I'd have to run outside fast. So she just looked at me and assumed hip problems. Yes, I have issues with my right hip. But still!

So anyway, I need to write these emotions down because when I feel a binge coming on, I need to read in my own words about the emotions and the physical limitations I'm experiencing now to keep me on the straight and narrow.

So the photos made me sad and freaked me out. I posted them anyway. I faced my fears. I was honest with what I wrote. This is a food and exercise journey but mostly it's a mind journey. As hard as that post was for me, it's the right direction to get this right in my mind.