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.

Spinning wheel…going round and round

Just when things are cruising smoothly  - WHAMO  - sucker punch. First, Sweets, the poor guy got laid off, gulp. Being stressed out and broke is NOT the ideal state for one to inhabit when attempting to cultivate a burgeoning relationship, however on the plus side I am assuming this will curtail his additional dating agenda since it’s kinda hard to court concurrent women in this pricey city while not gainfully employed. Also a plus, I get to be Gee, happiness giver and general head distractor (in a good way).

Immediately following his lay off announcement we shacked up for an astounding 5 days filled with eating, drinking, late night boogie downing, road  tripping, mountain (hill) climbing, museum going, movie watching, and hours of ridiculous conversations revolving around breading mini pocket sized pets, standardizing alternative methods of measurement, repurposing sheared body hair, etc, etc, etc…. At the end of our 5 day marathon of “Let’s not think about reality” we were both exhausted and blown away by the amount of joy we shared while on our ‘stay-cation”. Yeah that’s fucking amazing.

My uber crush’s layoff news was disappointing, but not devastating (for me) but little did I know that lurking around the corner was my own little package of WHOLLY CRAPPERS!  

On the morning of  Sweet’s layoff  I submitted my neck  for a routine ultrasound of my thyroid which surprisingly uncovered some abnormal growths on my lymph nodes.. what the.. really? Seriously my body just loves adding pieces, remember my cranky cervix? But back to the lymphs – my ENT specialist is not very concerned however he wants a sample taken and for extra fun times the nubbin is all snug and cozy up along my carotid artery – bonus! But wait there is more, to prep for my upcoming procedure Doc placed me on a super antibiotic which immediately killed off all my good germs (ladies… ya know what I’m saying here) so on top of everything I also got THAT going on.

Last night was date night with Sweets (plans made prior to my medical discovery) and he couldn’t have warmed my heart more. With all his real life stuff going on he was still generous with spirit, comforting with words and supportive in action. We snuggled on my living room shag carpet as we dined on overstuffed toasted sandwiches and pomme frites . After filling his tummy with cheese, potatoes, and ALL my fancy beer (damn you antibiotics) I shyly popped the question…..”Could you meet me after my procedure and bring me home? If that is too much, too soon…or weird.. it’s ok.” He didn’t let the words drift off my lips before exclaiming “OF COURSE I will!  And I’ll walk you over and sit in the office during the procedure as well.” (side note,  his sudden lack of employment is rather handy in this situation)

I know it’s crazy to be surprised at Sweet’s eagerness to be a mensch, but after a stupid STUPID year of crap ass interactions my scale of what is normal friend behavior is fully out of whack… but  happily, it's being recalibrated.

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.

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….

My Life In The Fatosphere

If you are totally confused as to why I’m on this route – go back and read my last entry - now continue.

I’m fat, I’ve always been fat, it’s not what I am it is who I am. I’m assuming a good comparison would be people who are gay or blind, it becomes who you are, not what you are.

There hasn’t been a time in my life that I wasn’t fat. I remember several year ago Lu looking at baby photo of me in full happy Buddha glory and proclaiming, “Like your Mom was surprised that you would never be a size 6 ?” (btw – this was not a jab at me) Oh Mom…. I knew she meant well but she didn’t know what to do with a fat daughter. She herself was the daughter of a woman who triumphed in the fact that she never weighed over 98 pounds, even pregnant. Yes this was my Tab addicted chain-smoking tight-assed grandmother who grabbed my 7 year old thigh as I sat shivering in an over air conditioned car and hissed, “How could YOU ever be cold, look at this.” – then gave my squishy leg a squeeze.

Being fat my entire life has formed me into the person I am. At age 40 I could not imagine my life as anything (anyone) different. And would I want to? I don’t know. Sure if I magically dropped 70lbs I assume my life would be easier, but would I still be me?

This influx of self reflection is the direct result of my recent diagnosis, it’s so conflicting to know that even though I am NOW contented with who I am (the majority of the time), was it all an unfair joke of the universe to grow up in this body? I don’t think anybody who has ever been thin would understand this feeling. To them a body is something to be conquered, or changed, or controlled. Mine is not. Mine is like an annoying tagalong that finally became accepted into the tribe out of mere exhaustion.

Last night at the gym while I was losing a lung and ¾ of my fluids I wondered what does it feel like for the people who were once skinny and now fat? I think there is a difference between people who have always been fat and those who once lived the life of a skinny person and now have chunked up. Do they harbor self hatred for what time and age has done to them? Do they long for something that used to be? Is it like how I feel about the bags under my eyes and my bitchy gray hairs, it’s annoying, it’s not “me”, but we age and things change? Maybe they used to be school athletes and now they wish for the past, maybe that’s why they are fighting so hard, to get BACK something. I never had that something, my past body and my present body are one and the same, this is all I know. This is me, it neither makes me happy nor sad, it just is. Over the past 30 years I’ve tried to morph my body, but I’ve never experienced any outcome from my labors, oddly though I’m at ease with this non-result based physicality, or maybe I’m just living a delusional existence in my self created reality.

Now with my thyroid diagnosis and medication I wonder how or even if my body will change. I’ve googled extensively and it seems that the only thing that MAY happen is that I go hyper anxiety wacky (great) or bloat out my belly (hot). **Side note - Yet again my Masters in Childhood Education does NOTHING to help in my non professional internet medical research – one day I will find a use for that 40K piece of paper.** One would think that by shooting up my body with the thyroid hormones it’s been lacking for 30+ years I would somehow jump start the whole system, but strangely (from what I think I understand) your body finds a “home base” and even with the hormones my body will fight the change tooth and nail. Long story short - I’m a store house, not a burner AKA I’m built for comfort, not for speed.

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.