An update of sorts.

So I guess the writing has been a little spotty for the past year. What can I say. I’m kind of an all-or-nothing girl, which is something I need to change — for a lot of reasons (food being one of them). It’s good for my well-being to write. So I’m going to write when I can. That may mean once a week… or once every three weeks. We’ll see. Seeing that some of you are still out there, waiting for some sign of untitledlife is humbling as well. I am amazed that anyone is still out there. So thanks for pulling me back into the fray.

I have a lot to update you on. Let’s see. I’ve lost 108 pounds and now weigh 255 pounds. It’s a lot, but it could be more. That makes me a size 22, and a 20 sometimes. I’m tall and curvy, so I think it looks better than it sounds. I think. I’ll post some pictures here soon. I’m just happy to not be the fattest person in the room anymore. There I go with my lofty goals. But really, I’m quite happy with my weight loss. I hope it continues. I’ll get into it more in a future post.

We’re also trying to get pregnant, but it’s not going so well. My eggs are follicly challenged. Or follicly collicky, as I like to say. I have PCOS, so I have plenty of eggs, but they’re all duds. I’m taking Metformin to control the cysts, and I’ll start Clomid next month. If that doesn’t work, we’ll move on to shots, with a dash of intra-uterine insemination thrown in for kicks. After all, it’s not a party until someone jacks off in the closet. In a sterile specimen container. With four nurses in latex gloves outside the door. If that doesn’t work, we’ll move on to in-vitro. Good times. Expensive times.

I get a little crazy about this whole infertility thing. It really pisses me off that I have no control over this. Surely there must be something I can do to make this happen. I have way too much love for one child to bear. I can’t possibly expect untitledson to shoulder all these kisses, hugs and ear nibbles. They will destroy him, or at the very least, turn him into one of those boys who sits home with his mother to watch “Dancing with the Stars” and knit cat berets. The boy needs a relief pitcher. Or someone smaller and weaker than him to endure the occasional noogie. And if mommy has to endure the bi-weekly transvaginal ultrasound to make it happen, so be it.

Hi, I’m morbidly obese. Damn glad to meet you.

Sorry for the infrequent posting, people. Work has been kicking my ass as of late (and we all know how I like to stick it to the man and write during work hours). By the time I get home, make dinner, work out, and put the little man to bed, it’s 8:30. And damn if I don’t want to sit on the sofa and watch American Idol for the last remaining hour of my day. Viva Sanjaya (or as I like to call him, Indian Michael Jackson). Blake needs to win, but I just can’t get enough of the po-hawk. In fact, I’m hoping to replicate the ‘do for casual Friday next week. That ought to go over well.

The good news is that I have lost 38 pounds since my surgery on 2/12 (a total loss of 56 pounds, when you count my pre-surgical loss). I now weigh 305. My BMI has dropped almost 10 points. I’m no longer super morbidly obese, just morbidly obese. For a woman who is 5’8″, if you weigh 198 or more, you are considered obese. 264 or above, you are morbidly obese. 339, you are super morbidly obese. Two words that need to be permanently extracated from the English language — morbidly and obese. Jeez.

This whole experience has been friggin’ awesome, people. Awesome enough for me to dust off the word friggin’ and add it back into my vocabulary. And awesome, for that matter. So many people out there are hesitant to suggest the surgery because of the minute risk of complications, to which I say “blah blah blah, my big fat foot up yo ass.”

But I tell you — anyone out there who is 100+ pounds overweight needs to at least consider this surgery. And what if you’re 90 pounds overweight? Well then I say gain 10! A few McGriddles ought to do the trick. I know, I know. Everything you read will scare the bejesus out of you. I was scared, especially when I saw these awful diagrams of all the changes they make to one’s insides. I would have anxiety about permanently altering my perfectly normal anatomy. But truth is, if it was perfectly normal, I wouldn’t have weighed 361 pounds. And wasn’t my anatomy already altered by all the extra weight I was carrying around?

The docs will tell you “this is serious surgery.” And they are right. But knowing what I know now, I would gladly do it all over again — even if it meant I had to take out a $60,000 loan to pay for it. You just don’t realize how much mental and physical energy it takes to be overweight until you start losing. I was one of those people who said, “I know I am fat. But I am smart, I have a good job. I found a handsome guy to marry my fat ass, contrary to untitledmother’s predictions. I’m fine.” But really, I had no idea how sad I was until this weight started falling off. Housework is so much easier. I dare say it’s even a bit fun. I had no idea I could run the stairs and not be out of breath. I didn’t realize how much self-confidence I would gain by simply being able to wear cute clothes again.

I’m like the opposite of an anorexic. I’m now wearing size 28s and I feel like I should be trying out to be a Denver Broncos cheerleader. I know that’s funny (especially to those wearing size 14s and freaking out about it), but it’s true. I actually look for my reflection now, instead of avoiding it. It’s amazing how much happiness it gives you to look in the mirror (or step on the scale) and be proud of what you see. It makes everything in life (even folding untitledhusband’s skid-marked underwear) more sunny. What is it with men and skid marks, anyway? As untitleddad used to say, “wet fart.” Wet fart, indeed.

I feel almost completely normal these days. I can go out to eat, as long as I choose wisely. Some things I have had include 1/2 of a chicken fajita and some refried beans at a local Mexican restaurant, 3/4 of a grilled Buffalito at Buffalo Wild Wings, and 3 pieces of sushi. And yes, I get quite full off of this (you think I’d quit eating mid-fajita if I wasn’t full?). I made the mistake of eating 4 pieces of sushi once. ONCE. I ended up in the passenger seat of the Jeep, straight as a board until the food began to clear out of my stuffed stomach. “What? What? Haven’t you ever seen a person digesting before.”

Now, all together now — let’s ask untitledhusband to take my picture so I can post it for you!

Junk in the trunk.

Did I say I’d lost 23 pounds? Make that 28 (actually 46 total, counting my pre-surgery loss). I have asked untitledhusband to take my photo, but it seems he is busy reading right now. He has no shame, which is precisely why I married him.

So why five pounds in one week? I don’t know. I have been doing a few things differently. I have upped my daily water to 60 oz. (from 48 oz.). I also recently switched my exercise bike’s setting from a constant resistance level within my target heart rate zone (138 approx.) to interval training, in which the resistance alternates from zero-gravity to my-quads-my-quads-my-quad-are-on-fire. Since doing this, the weight seems to be coming off much faster. I had read on that there is something magical about interval training, in that it pumps up your metabolism. Notice they didn’t saying anything about the liquifying-your-leg-muscles part.

I’m officially on soft foods now (oatmeal, ground meat, cheeses, eggs, etc.). Unofficially, I have been eating soft (and a few hard) foods for about two weeks now. I ramped up slowly and was extremely careful. I have not gotten sick yet (which can happen when you eat something too sweet, too fat, too bulky or too fast). I only eat healthy foods with lots of protein. I am scared to death to try sweets (although I did have 3 of untitledhusband’s Junior Mints the other night). I kind of view my three Caltrate chewable calcium tablets as a sweet since they taste like big Sweet Tarts. I know I’ve mentioned this before, but it bears repeating — do NOT make the mistake of buying the Target brand of chewable calcium (they taste like ashtray). I try a few new foods a week. Turns out I can tolerate half of a Buffalito (grilled chicken with lettuce, tomato and sour cream in a tortilla) at Buffalo Wild Wings. I also had half of a beef soft taco at our favorite local Mexican restaurant (or as untitledson calls it, “the place with the gum.”). untitledhusband says he has been surprised at how little it takes to fill me up. Meanwhile, I’m watching what he eats, and I’m amazed he can fit that all in (keep in mind, he is perfectly thin). If I eat one bite too much, I’ll get the sensation of a cannonball trying to pass through my egg-sized stomach. Very pleasant. In these situations, you will find me reclined, belly in the air, looking like a snake who has swallowed a rabbit. “Do NOT talk to me! I am DIGESTING! Arrgggh!” And then it passes, and I am ready for my cake and ice cream.

I am waiting for the day when I eat something that doesn’t agree with me, and I end up shatting myself in public or something equally as disgusting. Sadly enough, it won’t be the first time (see “Female poop etiquette“). I suppose this brings me one step closer to fulfilling untitledmother’s prophecy (in which I, like her, will be forced to carry a miniature roll of toilet paper in my purse and an empty coffee can in my car trunk, you know, just in case).

Down 3 and feeling foxy.

I had my one-month checkup at my surgeon’s office yesterday, and all went well. I’m down three more pounds since last Friday. Since surgery (2/12) I have lost 23 pounds. I was told that 23 pounds in one month is an average amount (some lose more, some lose less). I am doing everything I’m supposed to, so this is clincial proof that your body will lose what it wants to lose. I am simply along for the ride.

Physically, I’m feeling great. Those first few weeks on liquids are mentally challenging, drinking 2 ounces of broth by my myself as my family sits down for a meal, but as soon as you start eating soft foods, it’s so much better. You feel very close to normal again.

Last night, untitledhusband and I went out for Chinese. I has 4 California rolls of sushi and a smidge (maybe 1/4 cup) of sizzling rice soup. I almost blew a gut. But it was so good. It’s odd how I no longer crave cookies and chocolate. I crave sushi, tuna, turkey and things like that.

untitledhusband tells me I’m looking thinner. I’ll be walking up the stairs in front of him, and he’ll say “you really are getting smaller!” I’ll never tire of hearing that.

No one at work has noticed (or, they haven’t commented). That’s fine with me. I don’t look forward to the daily scrutinization, but I’m sure it will come eventually.

Even though I am supposed to still be on pureeds, I have carefully introduced a few soft foods into my diet, including melba toast (soft when chewed), cereal, scrambled Egg Beaters, peanut butter (sparingly), sushi and low-fat string cheese. I chew very, very well (applesauce texture), and nothing has made me sick yet. I never eat more than 4 ounces for a meal, and I’m completely satisfied.

What a gift, I’m telling you. I can’t say enough about this surgery. Already, stairs are easier. Physically, I am more nimble (as nimble as one can be at 320 pounds). My tummy no longer touches the steering wheel. Turning over in bed is easier. And I’m just happier, in general. I have so much to look forward to, and every day is a little bit sunnier. I vascillate between wanting to tell the world (especially other big people) about this fantastic surgery, and wanting to maintain my privacy. I’ve decided that if someone big asks me, I will be honest. The skinny ones will be deceived, because they are skinny and they need a little harship in their lives.

If you don’t see an updated photo with this post, check back. I’m going to have untitledhusband take my picture tonight. Perhaps you’ll see a difference.

Skeletor and me.

No post on Friday, and a late post today. My apologies, people. Things have been a little crazy in the untitledhousehold. Here’s a little rundown of what I’ve been filling the last few days with – trying to prepare home for sale, dealing with another failed pregnancy attempt, oodles of freelance work, new homes plans to review, and oh yes, untitledhusband’s surgery.

That’s right. On Thursday, untitledhusband had back surgery (herniated disk), so I was at his hospital bedside. He’s on the mend, walking around like that girl in Sixteen Candles with the neck brace (Joan Cusack, maybe?). I thought I might be able to write as he slept, but I was a little distracted by daytime TV. It seems Carol Anne cannot look away from the light.

I hadn’t seen The View in quite a while, and I must say I was a little disturbed by Star Jones’ appearance. From the neck down, she looks fantabulous. But her face has this Skeletor thing going on. All the fat loss has left her with these buggy eyes and Joan Crawford eyebrows. She looks like one fierce bitch. But I feel for her. Here she’s gone on this amazing weight loss journey, only to find herself looking like a drag queen in the end. Oh well. Carry on, Priscilla. Don’t let the haters keep you down.

I’m taking this all into consideration, for I have decided to have weight loss surgery myself. Since we are once again not pregnant and it was our last month of trying (we have been trying for a year and a half), I have decided to move on. And who knows – maybe once the weight comes off, my body will accept another baby. I’m not counting on it or anything. If nothing else, I have learned to expect nothing.

This probably seems like it’s coming out of left field. But I’ve been seriously considering this for about two years. I held off, because I wanted to have another baby first. But since it looks like that’s not going to happen, I feel the time is now.

I’m sure the first few weeks will be a bitch, since I’ll only be able to consume things like Jello and broth. That, and I’ll have a six-inch incision in my abdomen. (I like how my first concern is about the food, though.) But I feel this is the right thing to do, and the right time to do it. I just hope my face doesn’t look like James Carville’s when all is said and done.