Shake Rattle and Roll, but Mostly Shake!

This blog is turning into a “Bitching Session”. I am terribly sorry about that.

In my previous post I wrote that I wasn’t feeling well, because I had stupidly taken myself off of my stabilizing med due to its side-effects. A few days ago it was my moment of truth. I told my doctor that I had assigned myself to be an “Arm-Chair-Prescription-Dispensing-I-Know-What-is-Better-for-Me-Even-Though-I-Did Not go to Med-School” pharmacist. I found that confessing was a tough pill to swallow.

My Doctor: How are you feeling?
Me: Not so good.
MD: Why?
Me: Because I hate the mood stabilizing pill that I have take.

(In my head I was thinking that YOU MAKE me take, but I wanted to be invited back to my next session.) I continued…

The drug has too many side effects. I really hate taking those nasty pills, so instead of taking them I put them down my garbage disposable.

MD: I see.
Me: I don’t see why I have to take so many pills anyway.

(* Besides this stupid mood stabilizer I am also on 6 other pills. It is quite a cocktail.)

MD: ….

She gives me nothing but a stare.

At this point I should have tried to stare her down. I could have given her a cold icy glare. (I just asked David and he said that I can’t do an icy glare. I guess that will be something I’ll work on.) Instead I fidgeted in my seat and looked out the window. I knew that I had I lost; there was nothing left to say. I would be taking ALL of my meds. Still she was kind, and gave me a chance to plead my case anyway.

MD: What side-effects are you having?

Here was my chance! I started listing the side-effects. I gave some examples, and I might have exaggerated just a tiny bit; you know for dramatics. .

MD: I am sorry but you have no other options at this point.

I never believed that I would actually get away with my crime. I knew that I was guilty. I was pretty certain that I was destined to take this particular med. I think all I wanted to get is absolution for throwing my meds down the garbage disposal.

But wait I forgot one side-effect!

This was my back-up, “only to be used in case of an emergency” side effect. I had to play this card very carefully. I had to be clear, concise, and very accurate, no dramatics this time.

I had never shared this particular side effect with anyone in the medical community. I was afraid that I would be labelled “C-R-A-Z-Y”- too late. I really did think it was just a side-effect; I put up with so many already it was hard to distinguish side-effects from real issues!

Me: I have these seizer like episodes.

I will tell you guys what happens:

1.) A split second before the seizer happens I feel it coming.

2.)I don’t roll around on the ground. The seizers happen mainly in my upper body. I jerk my head and torso back and forth, and my arms go flying.

3.)I do feel like I am going to fall, but my feet manage to keep planted on the ground.

4.)The seizers last for 10 to 15 seconds.

5.)These episodes seem to happen when I am overly stimulated, and in certain lighted areas

6.)I don’t lose consciousness.

7.)I think the “after-seizers” are the worst. It feels like someone stuck a battery up my bum, and volts of electricity goes through my body. These seizers last for one or two seconds. I find these episodes quite annoying.

She started looking at my chart.

Please be the meds, please be the meds, or even be the bipolar.Today I am not so lucky.

MD: Sounds like epilepsy to me; I am quite sure of it.
Me: ... (Now it was my turn to stare. Take that!)
MD: We will have to run test.

(Of course we always have to run test!)

Me: Is it the drugs? Is it the bipolar?
MD: None of the drugs I am giving you would cause this to happen.
Me: Could I be faking this? Is it psychosomatic?
MD: No what you described is epilepsy. The fact that you know the seizure is going to happen just a second or two before it happens is called an epileptic aura. Many epileptics know that they are going to have a seizer moments before the seizure happens

Epileptic aura- Say what? - I thought the fact that I knew it was going to happen meant that it was psychosomatic!

OMG, you have got to be kidding me. I have had enough. I would like to talk to the management, or whoever is in charge of fairness. I have been diagnosed with bipolar, which has given me other mental illnesses. Talk about “free with purchase gifts!” I was born with Cerebral Palsy and now this Epilepsy thing! Forgive me but I just have to say it: “F word, F word, F word”! (At this point I feel I am entitled to drop a few F bombs.)

I was advised to stop driving. Duh! Yes, definitely, I don’t want to cause harm. But now my freedom is severly limited. Oh stop it. That is why you have rain boots; see it was fate. The good news is: when the doctors figure this mess out they will be able to medicate me with MORE drugs, and then I will be able to drive. (Clap, clap, clap!)

UPDATE

We found out what is possibly causing the seizers: It is my Cerebral Palsy. Apparently 1 in 3 children get it, but then they grow out of it. Then there are adults who get it; sadly they don’t grow out of it. At least it is nothing too dramatic. The doctors will be able to medicate me. I still have to do the tests. They are going to induce some episodes and study them. I wish them luck with that, because I mainly get seizures in my kitchen. HA!

You know that saying: “At least I have my health.”
I changed it: to:

“At least I have a sexy husband, a wonderful daughter, a nice home filled with my favorite things; I am surrounded by tons of people that love me, and three Starbucks within walking distance.”

Beauty is Only Skin Deep...

My next quest for beauty is to have a tummy tuck. I am going to lipo my muffin top. I wish I could also get rid of my bat wings and give lift to my “merchandise” a.k.a. “The Girls”.

However the thought of the pain scares me badly. I am not a big fan of discomfort. If I get a hangnail I bitch about it for days on end. Can you imagine what I’ll be like when I get a tummy tuck, lipo, and maybe some lifts? I already feel sorry for those around me. Let me give David and Holly some advice: Hire “stand-ins” for a month and go to Hawaii.

I had my lapband surgery in October of 2007. I thought it was only going to hurt a little bit, because the pamphlet said, “Minimally Invasive.” - Minimally invasive my butt. I was in so much pain. I woke up the day after surgery and thought to myself, “What the hell did I just do?” Getting better was very time consuming. My stomach muscles took months to heal. Minimally invasive…false advertising is what I call it.

The surgeons who are performing the tummy tucks are a little more honest, because they tell you that the tummy tuck is going to hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Ouch! They tell you that moving around for the first week is going to be as uncomfortable as pulling off your toenails with pliers. They also recommend that you limit moving as much as possible. No problem there, Doc. The surgeons even send you home with a fanny pack full of pain meds that go straight to your tummy. (How bad can the pain be if they have to send you home with a fanny pack? Uh… pretty eff-ing bad if you get a fanny pack as your take home gift.) They tell you that you will need around the clock care for one week. (Run David, run.) They warn you that you may have drains. What the hell are drains? All I know is that drains sound painful.

“Hey what’s that coming out of the side of your body?”

“Oh those things; don’t pay any attention to those. Those are just my drains. Yeah they come free with every tummy tuck. Just like the free toy that comes with every Happy Meal. Really I am thrilled to have them. Look I can see how much fluid is coming out of my stomach. They’re cool huh? Hey where are you going?”

I feel sorry for you guys, because when my pain crisis hits all I am going to do is complain and moan in my blog entries. I will have to change my blog title to: I Really Want Pain Meds, and a Cookie.

The good news is that I have to wait for a while before I can hop on the operating table. I have to lose about more 20 pounds. The doctors want me to be at my target weight, before they operate. I set my target weight at 135, but because I was never 135 as a teenager or as an adult we picked 150, which is, I feel is the best weight for me.
I am on a mission to lose 20 pounds. (Insert Mission Impossible theme song.) I am going to lose a pound a week. I need a cheering squad, determination, and a loan

I Wish This Was Just the Flu.

I have never shared while I have been in the throws of my mental illness until now. This entry is difficult to write due to how I am feeling.

Very recently I have been non-compliant with my medication. This has been the only time since I was diagnosed as a bi-polar that I have veered off of my medications. I have a whole list of reasons why I did what I did. The main reasons I took myself off of my stabilizing medication was: The drug caused me to shake and twitch. It caused word aphasia, which was very frustrating. The best way I can describe word aphasia is like this; English became a second language to me. I would be talking about our dishwasher and I could not say the word dishwasher. I knew what the dishwasher was, but I didn’t know the word for dishwasher. After a few agonizing seconds it would come to me, and sadly sometimes it wouldn’t. I would have to do a lot of pointing and someone would have to say the word for me. On average this happened 5 to 10 times a day. (Which is too much.) I could still write the words I was just unable to say the words. Sometimes I gaited instead of walked. I did tell my doctor, but I have already tried the other drugs that are available and I any had very little success or worse yet it caused massive weight gain. (Massive weight gain has caused me deep depression that in the past I have found myself admitted into a hospital.) So taking this medication seems like the lesser of the evils. I should also mention that I have cerebral palsy, and so the doctors have to be extra careful about what meds they prescribe. I hate the meds that I have to take, but I am a rapid cycle bipolar, which means without proper meds I can go up and down several times per day. I have tried to “get off” of my meds, and try more holistic approaches, but that just landed me in the hospital again.

The medication greatly improves the quality of my mental conditions. However, the downsides are the side effects. I feel tired, stupid, unfocused, sleepy, and nauseous. When it was time to take The evil drug I would put it down the garbage disposable when no one was looking. The nasty drug’s side effects mimicked the Parkinson’s side effects. I am back on it as of this morning. Do I feel hopeless and lost? No. For I understand that the way things are; is just part of my current reality.

Just so you know I did not try to do anything stupid last night. I was just on a reckless high, which I recognized to be a problem before it actually got to be a bigger problem. As a result I was medicated with drugs to bring me back down, and that is why I am in a hazy state.

*This blog will not be edited for content, grammar, or flow.

22..20...18...16...

It has been eluding me for over ten years now, but I knew it couldn’t stay away forever. SIZE 14 REG is back in town. The important part is the REG, which means it isn’t a plus size. Right now there are balloons and confetti falling from the ceiling of my walk-in-closet. It does make it more challenging to get dressed in, but it is totally worth it. I am not wearing any plus size clothing today-nope not a stitch; even my panties are REG size. Uh-oh here comes more confetti bye, bye granny panties.

The day of my surgery I waddled into the hospital wearing a size 22 everything. Wow, was I really that big? For me it has been a gradual weight loss, so I really haven’t noticed REALLY big changes. That being said, it is hard to ignore having to buy 4 pant sizes smaller.

“Excuse me miss where do you keep the regular size clothing? You see I haven’t been out of the plus size department in over ten years, so I don’t know where to find it. Is it by fragrances or handbags?”

The first time I ventured into a non-plus size store I was so nervous. I felt as if I was committing a crime of some sort. My heart was beating rapidly, my palms were sweating, and the store’s bright lights were making me feel dizzy. Why such a serve reaction? It was simple, and yet very twisted thinking. I thought that the salespeople were going to ask me to leave. I just knew they were going to tell me that I was too fat and I would have to go back to a plus size store. It was so bad that the first time I went in to a store that was not plus size I could not bring myself to try on any clothing. (I only lasted two minutes inside.) The second time I did try on some clothing, but I only tried on the biggest sizes they had. I wasn’t ready to make a commitment to smaller sizes just yet.

After more therapy and a lot of Starbucks liquid courage I did go into stores and I claimed the clothing sizes that belonged to me.

I went to Macy’s last week and I was walking by the plus size department, which is at the back of this particular Macy’s store. I remember thinking that, “I will never have to shop at the back of this store again. Now I get to shop in the whole damn store, and that is the way it should be.”

I also passed by a Lane Bryant store in the mall. I looked in and saw my former self going through the racks, looking for a size 22/24. Then I caught a glimpse of my size 14 self in the refection from the store front window, and I couldn’t help but smile and think: You Look Marvellous Darling! The Best Is Yet To Come!

Running on my Nerves

I went shopping today. Bob is happy. I am happy. David is sort of happy; the sort of part is because he is our financial advisor, and he doesn’t like to buy stuff. The dog is not happy. We bought a treadmill. (See why the dog is not happy.)

We had to go from store-to-store to find the perfect treadmill. I swear if I just stayed on my quest to find the treadmill; I would have needed one, because I would have burned enough calories just looking for the damn thing!

We went to this one store. I won’t say the name expect to say it starts with an S and ends with an S and has ears in between. They have a bazillion treadmills; okay well maybe twelve.

My method was to examine each one individually. I would get up on the sides of the treadmill and study the console. I was doing absolutely fabulous until I tripped. With much regret I caused an unplugged treadmill’s belt to move. (It was a horrible moment in my life.) The old bat…Err I mean the nice sales lady from behind the counter (Where she had parked herself for the whole time we had been looking at treadmills. “No, we don’t need any help. You just go on about your day of doing nothing. We will sell ourselves a treadmill. Thank you very much.” The nice sales lady in her not-so-nice customer service voice screamed from across the sporting goods section, “Get off that treadmill!” Whoa! Then she decided a lecture would be a good idea in order to explain to me why I should get off the treadmill.

One: If she had been anywhere near me she would have known that my feet were now firmly planted on the sides of her precious piece of machinery. Two: I am not twelve, so she did’t need to lecture me. I gave her an indication that I understood her. (I replied back in my sarcastic now-your-pissing-me-off customer voice which kind of sounded like a twelve year old.) “I understand” But she couldn’t stop with her lecture. “Blah..blah…belt…blah..ruin…you…know…why…blah…blah…break…”

“I understand.”

But she had to have the last word. Now she became an expert. It was like she had seen my picture in the employee lunch room, and it had said, “Watch out! This Woman Will Break Treadmills at Will! She Must be Stopped at Any Cost!” She just would not let the subject drop. Gosh.

“I get it; enough already!” I thought that was a great comeback. I should mention here that I kind of yelled it at her. She got the point. Needless to say we did not purchase our treadmill from S***S. Come on, they have a hard time stopping people from walking on treadmills; what if we got a broken one?

To make a long story short we did buy a treadmill-in the box; we just couldn’t leave it to chance that someone “horsed around” on my investment. Good thing I listened to Miss Grumpy Pants.

David and I had “together” time putting my new toy together. It was very challenging, but we didn’t even consider divorcing. (We almost divorced when we put the barbecue together. Now we get most things pre-assembled; we figure it is cheaper than divorce attorneys.) When it was done I went to my “gym” and had an excellent workout.

I am Going Out with Bob.

My dearest friend “Bob” is urging me to buy myself a present today. That is one thing I like about the guy is he is always looking out for my best interest, and sometimes my best interest is shopping.

I wish we were going to shop in a quaint cozy shopping district. Instead we are shopping for treadmills. Bob, Bob, Bob…wouldn’t you rather go pick out overpriced country themed home accessories? I didn’t think so.

So wish me luck. Here’s hoping I buy the right one; while keeping my piggy bank intact. I will keep you updated, and let you know how my shopping experience goes.

Smile For the Camera!

Is it Time magazine or People that does a “Year in Pictures”? As a celebration to me I thought I would put together a few "before" and “during” pictures. The process is far from over, but I have come a long way. I was 250 pounds, which you probably know from reading my aqua-green side bar on the right hand side.

This is how I have been changing over the last year. The pictures in this blog entry really exposes me to the world. This entry was a daunting emotional task for me. I never considered myself to be a "big girl", instead I was "larger than life". Now looking back on these pictures I am force to reflect on the pain I actually felt. As I take a deep breathe I give you me, all of me, the pained, the lucky, the thrilled, and the happy.

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This is a picture of me taken two years ago. I was at my heaviest, and the things I find interesting are: At the time this picture was taken I didn’t see myself as this large. (I was probably heavier than 250, but I didn't weigh myself.) I look older and tired. And where did my eyes go? (I also regret buying that sweater; the color looks gross on me.)

"I Like Big Butts!"

This is my daughter Holly and I in August of 2007. I am sitting slanted so I can hide my body. But honey the camera still gets ya. I needed help, and it was coming. Thank goodness! I could not have walked this road without my daughter and my husband.



This is David and me in Las Vegas. I made him take this photo with me. I asked a very attractive couple to take our photo, which they kindly did. This stood out to me because I did not feel worthy to be around ultra-attractive persons. We had been walking around Vegas for about nine hours and you can see that David is tuckered out. What I am also noticing is the water stain on the front of my shirt. When I was heavier I seemed to attract water, soda, juice, food, and crumbs to my tops. It was rare to find a shirt that did not have some kind of mark on it. I thought I was a freak of nature, but now I realize it was just my girth getting in the way. My fork and cup had further to travel to get to my mouth. I could not hold a plate close enough to prevent crumbs from falling; and I also ate much faster then. I must tell you that when I walk away from a meal with a clean shirt I am very proud of my accomplishment. Check out my stain free top sans bib!

These are more pictures of me before I went in for my lapband! One thing is for sure I was, and always will be a "ham"! No I was not on the Price is Right. I went to a show in Vegas.

These are my "before" pictures. I look so beaten down. Pictures were taken October 2, 2007. My surgery was on October 3, 2007.

*Warning: the next picture contains content that is not suitable for younger viewers. Parental discretion is advised. Or those with weak stomachs should skip this next one.*

"I'm Bringing Sexy Back!"
This photo was taken the night I got home from the hospital. Apparently we wanted to capture this moment for eternity. I must have been really drugged up at the time, but I don't know what to say about the person who took the photo. How did they think this was a good idea?

Here I am a week later with my swollen post-op belly. I thought it is funny because I thought I looked preggers. I went to the mall and pretended to waddle to see if people would ask me when I was due. No one did. Oh well, it was for the best. My tummy’s swelling did go away.

This is a picture of me in a pink top taken 2 weeks after surgery.






This picture was taken one month after my lapband was put in. (Still looking tired.)











This picture was taken two months after surgery. Oooo... I am starting to see a space between my arms and my side! And I also have a neck coming. Amy you're looking good! (Not so tired.)

This picture was taken the same month. Isn't it funny how we look better with clothes on?

In this photo I am trying to look smokin' hot. In reality it was freezing outside, in fact I think it was snowing. I remember thinking to myself, "This is as thin as I am probably going to get." HA!"Merry Christmas!" Here I am showcasing a present from Leslie Ann. She made me slippers in my favorite guy: Cookie Monster. I still have them, expect my cat ate one of the eyes off one of the slippers. Maybe next year she will make me a blue hat...Hmmm...I wonder if she reads my blog?

To the right is a camera phone photo.





I think this photo was taken in March. I am actually smaller. I don't have a shirt that fits. It was the best I could do at the time. But I sure felt sexy. Now I am really "Bringing Sexy Back!"





















HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! It has been 7 months since I was banded. This is the first time I think I look good in a picture.

Remember how David looked in Vegas? He was overweight and tired. (I am sorry darling, but you were.) When I got banded he supported me so much that he followed my diet, ate off of my small plates, exercised with me everyday, and lost a ton of weight. How many people can say that they have somebody that devoted to them? (I love you David. Oh yeah and you look hot!)

My daughter Holly took me out for a fancy tea party. We are dressed up in our best dresses, and we are wearing my grandmother’s tea gloves. In our purses we are carrying David’s grandmother’s handkerchiefs. Both grandmothers have passed, so it is important that we take a piece of them with us when we go out for these special occasions. In this picture we are “hamming it up”; what else is new?

This is my grandpa and me. Let me tell you a little bit about my grandfather: He was slated to play baseball in the major league as a pitcher, but it was during the time of the Korean War. As luck would have it- he was drafted. He was loyal to his country so he went without question; figuring that he could return to baseball when his service to his country was over. However, during combat one of his eyes was badly injured making it impossible for him to return to the sport he loved so much. I asked him if he regretted going to war. He said, “No, because I met your grandma at an USO dance, and if I didn’t go to war I would have never met her. And if I never met her, you wouldn’t be here.”
See why I love him so much?


This bathing suit photo was taken at the end of August. Now I am starting to pose. PLEASE...Oh gosh!!



Look at the size of those zucchinis! For once I am not the biggest thing in the picture!

You always in a picture montage with a black and white, so I decided to do the same. I don’t know when in the year this photo was snapped, but it really doesn’t matter.

Singing in the Rain!

Here is a little antidote about my weekend…

I live in British Columbia, and it is true that we walk around with umbrellas for a good part of the year. I don’t mind the rain for the most part. What I don’t like is walking in it. You know why? It is because I am a “kick-up-the-water-on-my-pants-no-matter-what” kind of person. I swear that if there is a tiny puddle I am going to find it, and it is inevitable that my pant legs will be soaking wet. And don’t even mention the “after rain” puddles. Plop, plop, plop, “Oh crap!” Now my pants and shoes are cold and wet. I have to hang up my pants to dry when I come home after a walk. The worse part is I don’t have pants to spare. I have to ask myself is it worth it to go get the mail? If it were not for David I would have a lot of unpaid bills during the rainy season. What is a girl to do? Wear shorts in the rain? No thank you!

The other day I was out shopping. I saw the most beautiful rain boots ever. My newest bestest friends are pink with sparkles. Now I know what you are thinking, and yes I agree that my choice is a little over the top, but come on how could I pass up sparkles? I just had to buy these “oh-so-great-because-they-are-going-to-save-my-pants-from-the-evil-puddles” boots! I looked at the price tag…”OMG! How do these people sleep at night?”

David said in his “I-know-everything” tone, “Sweetheart, of course their expensive they are made out of rubber. Rubber is made out of oil. Oil is expensive, therefore the boots are expensive.”

Uh-huh…
(That is what I call a “Dav-ism”: He truly believes it, but the rest of us know it is probably is not true.) I love Dav-isms.

At any rate he was giving me the green light to buy my boots. Hot damn! Now all I need is it to rain. As I said before I live in the rain country, so I didn’t wait long. I took my new boots out for some serious rain walking. The first puddle I saw I jumped. Wouldn’t you know it; my enthusiastic jumping caused the water to splash so high that came up and soaked the upper part of my jeans! That is what I called a learning curve.

I got used to my rain boots and now I am puddle jumping like a pro, and I couldn’t be happier. My jeans stay dry, and I am smiling in the rain. I am thankful for the little things

I Have a New Friend!

Have you ever heard of the Body Bugg? Or as I like to call him “Bob”. I have him attached to the upper part of my right arm. We get along great just as long as I exercise my ass off and I keep my calories down. If I fail to complete these two tasks Bob gets a little testy with me.

Here is the deal with my friend Bob. I go to Bob’s website, log what I have eaten for the day, and then download the calories my body has burned for the day. (Thanks Bob for keeping track for me; let’s all give Bob a big round of applause!) The goal is simple: consume less calories then you burn. My goal is to have a deficit of 600 calories a day. That sounds easy! It is, as long as you don’t consume a 450 calorie Starbuck’s chocolate chip cookie! Damn! Damn! Damn! At 10:00 pm I load me and Bob’s information to my computer, and when I get the bad news I am 300 calories short of my goal it means I will have to go out and do what I call the “Bob walk”. It is what I like to call my one hour walk of shame to get to my goal. My neighbours see me out there at 10:30 walking with my head hung low; I imagine they are thinking to themselves; “What a crazy lady to be walking at this hour!” It’s all Bob’s fault; notice how I didn’t blame the cookie?

As luck would have it I met Leslie through Bob; Leslie Sansone that is. She tortures me with these high level walking DVDs “That burn a lot of calories. Doesn’t it feel good to get in shape? Don’t you just have a better day? Walk, walk, walk. Good for you!” as per Leslie. I do ten miles or 1 ½ hour three times a week of “walking” with Leslie. Curses to Bob! Can you keep a secret? No matter how annoying Leslie might be, I am getting in shape. I can even do swats! (Just like Horatio Caine; without the dead bodies of course. But if I see an unfortunate dead body I will be able to swat down and say something profound.)

The good news is, since I got my new friends I have lost seven beautiful pounds! I love Bob, but I am just mildly found of Leslie.