Be The Inspiration

Now that my body is 2.5 years into its transformation I’m experiencing a new change. Once diagnosed with Hashimoto's the weight loss was shockingly fast, now after a year of a consistent body weight I feel my strength and stamina increasing in leaps and bounds.

My body amazes me, it’s this wondrous machine that constantly morphs and fills me with awe and amazement. Sure last year my body decided to fall apart and send me into an emotional spiral of anxiety and depression, that was ‘wondrous’ too, but more like a – what the fuck is going on with you – wondrous. Now I’m pushing hard and getting stronger and much to my enjoyment discovering inspiration from an endless fountain of awesomeness - and that fresh spring of power is ME!

Several weeks ago while plowing through my Tuesday spinning class I approached my scheduled breaking point…the body wrecking hill climb. For months I visualized Swason powering through her marathon training or Sweets calling out to me “Just a little further, you are so strong!” to pump a droplet of inspiration into my melting body but that day I did not call upon my virtual cheerleaders, that day I thought, “My legs are amazing, they are strong, and not only CAN I do this, but I have done it and I am AWESOME!” That day I became my own inspiration, my body, my soul, my tenacity is what inspired me, and continues to keep my adventure legs pushing stronger and further.

I try to remember how remarkable my powerful body is especially when my eyes fall to the areas of my skin that are scarred from the previous 40 years of body noncompliance. It sucks, and I don’t want to hate my body (I never did when I was larger), but I do have feelings of being cheated by biochemistry. Sure I could pay thousands of dollars for plastic surgery to remove the sagging elephant skin on my legs and tummy (I have stopped looking at my butt, I just like to assume it is juicy and full), but really shouldn’t I get my stupid dead tooth fixed first? Or maybe I should use that cash (that I don’t have) for something fun like a trip to Bali… ya see how that wrinkly skin doesn’t seem so bad anymore… ahhhh Bali.

Recently when a wave of body ughhhhh wafted over me I immediately signed up for a beginners stand up paddle board class and I killed it! I flew past those perfectly flawless skinned chicks and was the prized pupil, garnering praise from the instructor as well as my co-paddlers. My body does things, strong things, difficult things, and I know for certain that one hour of stand up paddle boarding is far superior to one saggy wrinkled tummy. Continuing on my strong body love-fest I did something last week that I have NEVER done before, I purchased a two piece athletic “bathing costume” (feels weird calling it a bathing suit). Even though my middle parts have not felt the warmth of direct sun since the age of 3 I decided to do it – buy an athletic sports bra swimming top and a cute pair of swimmy shorts so that my next venture out on the rental board will be a triumph for both my body and my head – crap I’m gonna need some SPF 70.

Grab Bag of Crazy

I’m sitting at my desk on this Monday morning, facing the new week with trepidation, anxiety and a bit of – REALLY WHAT THE F!?

I made the good/ bad decision to accept two dates this week. One is definite the other a bit more, loosey goosey. Neither of these guys is ‘relationship’ material however I think I deserve a free beverage and a bit of not so innocent flirting after the crap last week tossed me.  Good idea? Not too sure. Hopefully I can summon all my acting skills to restrain the rush of emotional crazy long enough to get through a few hours of devil make care happy attitude while my insides rot secretly deep down below.

Update on the Head Shrinker: I connected with the physician that was recommended by Dr. Pico and I have an appointment with her Thursday. We are going to see if we are a good fit then take it from there.

Other health notes – last week I got a new tooth (fancy), saw an allergist who confirmed my Oral Allergy Syndrome and proclaimed, “Wow you are in excellent condition” after timing my pulse/ blood pressure and testing my blood oxygen levels /  lung capacity , got a blood test (didn’t faint), and found out that my updated higher dosage of Synthroid is finally working. I know I shouldn’t self-diagnose BUT I think that the ever increasing amount of Synthroid (synthetic hormone taken to replace the hormone my thyroid doesn’t produce) is screwing up my mood. Since the thyroid regulates mood and I have never struggled with emotional issues before taking Synthroid AND my dosage keeps increasing as my body fights the influx…. Hmmmm I’m just saying.

Who Am I?

I mean, for reals, I look in the mirror and I’m all “Who is this person”? The update on the weight loss/ screw you Hashimoto's I’m doing the work around on you – is that since mid January I’ve dropped 37 pounds – wholly WHAT!? There has been some tweaking of my prescription after Hashimoto kicked it up a notch. You know sometimes a body that’s been broken for 40 years just does not take kindly to changing its ways, but as of last week my blood work was super fine. I’ve gone from looking into the mirror at the gym and thinking, hmmmmm I’m not this round in REAL life to staring in wonder at my square shoulders and shrinking waist and thinking…. Actually not thinking, it’s a total brain fuck.

None of my clothes fit, they are all about 3 sizes too big.  I know that may seem really cool to most of you BUT I have a HUGE wardrobe with tons of really nice things and nothing to wear. Work trousers that I wore just 9 months ago that fit so close to my hips I sewed the pockets shut so they wouldn’t bulge fell OFF last week when I tried them on. I ended up emptying my closet of all pants/ jeans/ skirts and dresses that were purchased any time prior to July. My bras are pathetic, well actually my bras are outstanding, my boobs are underwhelming, and good lord my ass!  What happened back there?  I’ve bought a few new bras and 2 new pairs of paints, but it is kinda stressing me out thinking about the expense of a whole new wardrobe. What I need now is a Sugar Daddy to support my shopping spree.

I still have not felt any physical changes; it’s all psychological and emotional. I am really pissed off at every doctor over the previous 39 years of my life who decided instead of diagnosing a genetic autoimmune disorder to guilt me, instill poor body image and lecture me about my dooming obesity and  pre -  “whatever” condition they decided to fling at me as a medical scare tactic. FYI – there is no such thing as a PRE illness, either you are ill or you or not. I can’t TELL you how many times my old GP told me, “You are PRE diabetic” until one day I asked, “How bad is my sugar level?” her answer, “It’s fine, in the normal range BUT at your weight you are pre-diabetic” THAT MAKES NO SENSE! I guess I could be pre- anything, I’m a woman who grew up on Long Island and lots of women from LI have breast cancer so go ahead, diagnose me with pre-breast cancer, no not that I HAVE cancer but…. you know it’s all the same.  

 My other ‘thing’ that just recently has been screwing with my head is being called…. Beautiful. Like really sincerely labeled beautiful. The other day a friend flung that word at me, out of the blue, totally random with no pretext and I cried (I’m welling up just typing this). It’s so F’ed up cause I can be called a fat piece of shit and walk away with my head held high with sass, but beautiful, it broke me down.

I saw Swason the other day and she was shocked at my appearance, and I have to admit, so am I. She left for tour and made me promise to stop shrinking, I will try. Also another friend informed me that I can really ONLY hold onto my fat girl kick ass personality for 2 more dress sizes then it’s Bye Bye raucous funny girl and hello vapid introverted boring chick, that’s just the rules… crap!

Out of Body Experience

Haven’t blogged for a while so I thought I should check in.

I’m still trying to get my head and body around this Hashimoto’s thang. For over ten years I’ve been extremely content with my size and weight, I didn’t even own a scale. My size/ weight fluctuated but what remained constant was my emotional balance. Prior to coming to my happy place I dieted and exercised for 20 years with NO results, except emotional despair, guilt and self loathing. I was accused of lying by family members, doctors and acquaintances when asked about my eating habits and physical activity. Time and time again I was brought to tears by the frustration of it all, not the frustration of the hard work without any results but mostly by the frustration of nobody believing me. My body and I were at odds, completely disengaged, I was so done attacking myself that I finally gave in and just LIVED. I kept going to the gym and shaking my bon bon but NEVER thought of a scale or my pants size, what mattered was that I was out and about, NOT what my body looked like. We could live separate but equal, I would keep doing what I was doing and it could just keep doing nothing. Now that we were on the same page I could manage my expectations (which were nil) and all was rainbows and unicorns.

Fast forward a few years. While in grad school 3 years ago I dropped 20 pounds with no effort. I was totally underwhelmed and emotionally detached for I knew NOT to assign any gravity to this weight loss. My body has a history of untrustworthy behavior so I refused to allow my head to buy into this morph. Looking back I am confident (thanks to my superior self diagnosis skills and google) that due to the16 months of extreme stress I mainlined my thyroid with all those wacky hormones it was lacking thereby turning me into normal person who burns and stores. Now with the addition of my thyroid meds my body is totally changing, pounds are falling off as well as my pants… but… I can’t get roped in. I don’t want to become attached to this loss because I am so frightened that something will snap, my pants will tighten up and I will be left in the gutter broken hearted. It has taken me so long to be happy in my head, detached from the physical, yet I feel that with each fraction of an inch off my hips I am setting myself up for emotional failure. I started weighing myself at the Y, just once a month, but even so I went into a total tail spin a few weeks ago when I discovered that I had gained a HALF a pound. Poor Swason had to text me off the ledge when I feverishly typed out my crazy into my blackberry. Turns out it was a fluke, I actually lost weight, but still…. I HATE that I care. My body is like a mermaid summoning my head into the cold deep waters, I know it’s dangerous in there…but I’m just so curious…oooo sparkly… maybe something good is there… I’m just gonna take a shallow dive under…

4% Less Gail, 100% Still Awesome

Since starting my thyroid meds two months ago I’ve dropped 4% of my body weight – what the what? It’s shocking and baffling and all kinds of crazy mind fuck nonsense. My blood work is fantastic, looks like the ol’ Hashimoto is in check – BONZAI - and my co-workers have confirmed that I haven’t morphed into some wackjob due to the side-effects of hopping up my thyroid on hormones. Or maybe they are just placating my crazy in hopes that I won’t go postal on their keisters.

So yeah, a few pounds down. People say I look differently, I guess I do, I have no concept of my body so I just say thank you. But inside my pea brain I believe they have read this blog and are just being polite/ supportive. This is where the mind fuck comes into play. 10 of my dearest buddies can all give me a thumbs up - “looking good” which I immediately discredit cause you know, they are my pals, but the spurned panhandler on the corner of Park and 60^th who murmured, “Fat Fuckin’ Bitch” – now THAT guy I believe is speaking the truth of all the peoples of the world. I gotta adjust my intake filter, I am giving way to much weight to the crazies.

However there is one exception to my rule of “don’t believe any complements from people who know you” and that is Long Term Booty Call (LTBC), he has a golden ticket to my happy head place. I won’t go into detail but suffice to say a very casual comment presented at a most opportune moment about my jiggly wobbly bits magically transformed me into a drop dead sex kitten (in my head). I think every chunkster should get herself/ himself a LTBC who nonchalantly drops very enthusiastic comments regarding his/her parts that maybe were the bottom of their “Things I Love About My Self” list. Cause I will tell you something peeps, just that one little comment roto rootered out all the self questioning brain crap and replaced it with a heap of - Oh Snap, I am One Hot Mamma Jamma!

Lastly I unfortunately have to report that with this 4% loss of body I will also be dropping 4% of my kick ass personality cause that’s how us skinny girls do. Besides turning vapid I am also honing my speaking without inflection skills (ala Paris Hilton, or all women under the age of 35 on The Hampton Jitney). Ok…..ummmmm…. yeah…sooooo….

A Turn in Another Direction

I know I’ve been absent from blogging, but you haven’t missed out on much. I turned 40, took a trip to Jamaica, the holidays, winter… blah blah blah. But now I’m back to blog about a new journey I’m undertaking. It’s personal (maybe too personal for the blog) and unlike my past bogging submissions may lack in humor (good lord I hope not). It’s gonna be all about me, my body, and my feelings towards it.

In the past I’ve sprinkled in some funny antidotes (see Too Luscious for the Hampton Jitney) about being a fat woman but now after receiving a medical diagnosis that may or may not affect who I think I am I feel that I need to journal the process.

Immediately after turning 40 I was diagnosed with, Hashimoto's thyroiditis or chronic lymphocytic thyroiditis. Hashimoto's disease is an autoimmune genetic disorder where your immune system thinks that your thyroid is an alien intruder and must be expelled from your body. The thyroid get’s really pissed off by this false accusation but it’s more of a fleer than a fighter so all it does to combat the attack is swell and shut down (see goiter).

Chances are that I’ve lived the first 39 years of my life with this disorder yet no doctor ever took a moment to diagnose me. As far back as I can remember whenever I submitted my body for a physical examination my various doctors would feel my neck, then pause and say with a grimace, “You have big glands”. I never knew how to react to this odd accusation except to say, “I hear that often”. The cycle of medical call and response was finally broken this past fall when at my new gyno she felt my neck, paused, tilted her head then before she could admonish me for my protuberances I proclaimed with a sigh and an eye roll, “I know I have big glands”. Shockingly she shook her head no and with a firm seriousness said, “Make an appointment with your GP, this isn’t your glands it’s your thyroid”.

At my NEWER GP’s office (side note - really why did I resist going to doctors on the Upper East Side for so long, it’s like a country club up here compared to the livestock convention in Queens), she took a feel and said firmly, “No that’s your glands, you just have big glands.” Ok….back to the drawing board. But miracles of miracles 20 min later upon completion of the physical exam my GP recanted her initial dismissal and suggested that I schedule an ultra sound of my thyroid because “Gynecologists are really good at sensing these types of things”.

Two ultra sounds and a few blood tests later my diagnosis was strongly confirmed, Hashimoto's disorder. There is no cure for the disorder; however I can treat the symptoms of my pathetically challenged thyroid with synthetic hormones for the remainder of my life, which I am.

So there it is, the first chapter of many to come. Yet again sorry that this will not be as entertaining as my “Temp Receptionist Stories” or my “On Line Dating Disasters” but sometimes I’m a little bit mushy and introspective and this is just one of those moments.