What was I thinking? Commit me now....

OK...so at it gets closer, I get more anxious, more fearful. What am I thinking?? I cannot do this. For Pete's sake, I am many things; loud, spirited, chatty, motivated, some would say obnoxious, funny...but the one thing I am NOT? A RUNNER! Why in the world did I think I was capable of RUNNING 5Ks this spring? Why did I think this was a good idea? Why is my first race only 1 week away??
 I have this image of me withered up on the side of the road panting and unable to even mumble the word 'water.' Yea, I know for most people jogging 3.1 miles is nothing. Seems completely doable and normal for many of m friends. Heck a lot of my friends run half and full marathons (never!!) But for me dear friends, it might as well be climbing Mt. Everest! The summer of 2011 when I started researching the surgery, my program asked me to write an essay, an explanation of sorts, about why I thought I was a good candidate for this surgery. What were my expectations were for the long term outcome? I recall writing many things that I never had allowed myself to dream of doing. Para-sailing, snorkeling, travelling to exotic destinations, shopping in normal stores...notice what I did not say?? RUNNING! Oh geez. Why did I sign up for these? Better yet, why did I pay MONEY to torture myself?? Can I do this? Can I actually run it and finish in a 'decent' time? Can I finish it at all??? Why did I think this was a good idea? 
What was the most exciting aspect of doing this? I'll tell you, and I warn you, it is totally selfish! I want to simply be able to say, "I did it." A year ago, walking up stairs was sweat inducing. I don't think I would have been able to run 50 feet, even if Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson was at the finish line waiting to give me a massage and a diamond. Now, I want my little race number that gets attached to my shirt so I can put it on my "dream board". I want the damn t-shirt that I can wear and secretly feel a little proud. I want a picture at the start line where the trepidation and fear is written across my face...then I want the picture at the finish line, drenched in sweat, tired, but with a smile as wide as my behind! Again, can I do this? Will I embarrass myself? Ohhh, Heather, what have you gotten yourself in to? Did you give yourself more credit than you deserve, to think you are actually ready to do this?? Ooh, 1 week and there will be answers to these questions. Until then, the fear of the unknown will steal many hours of sleep away from this old girl.

"Easy Way Out" My Ass...

Ok, so my attitude sucks today. I admit it. There are days where I can't get out of my own head and I allow my insecurities to control my life. So if this post offends anyone, I apologize, but I am being honest here because it is my blog and I am writing it because quite frankly, it is cheaper than therapy!
I am so sick of the negative attitude and opinions that have become some what of a stigma attached to gastric bypass. When someone tells me or word gets back around that people think I took the "easy way out" by having surgery my gut reaction is to punch them in their ignorant nose! Agh, it seriously makes me want to scream. Anyone who has been through this process or has known someone intimately who has, knows that this is not the "easy way out."
I didn't just wake up one morning, decide I wanted to be thin, had surgery and sat back watching soap operas and polishing my nails while the weight "melted off." Sure, there might be people out there who have, and unfortunately those are the ones who in the end, are probably the people who give gastric bypass patients a bad reputation because they eventually gain a lot, if not all of their weight back. This is not and will not be me. I have changed my ENTIRE life because of this surgery. I am diligent with my diet. I am somewhat obsessive with my exercise. I am an energetic person who is so grateful I had the opportunity to have this surgery. I started exercising about a month after surgery. What started out as simple walking has now turned into jogging, sprinting, training for 5ks, weight training, sit ups, squats, lunges, and daily exercise targeting different muscle groups. There are days (like today) that I feel so defeated because I have reached the point where there is not a whole lot more I can do on my own to change my appearance at this point. I feel like my body hates me. Yea, under clothes with enough Spanx & spandex, it doesn't look too bad. But when it is just me, unclothed in front of that horrendous bathroom mirror I feel like my excess skin stares at me and screams LOSER. Having this skin there to remind me every minute of every day, how many years I missed out on being me to my fullest is such an incredibly harsh reminder of what I allowed my weight to steal from me. I hate it. I hate my flabby arms. I hate my jiggly thighs. I hate my ocean waves stomach. No matter what I do at the gym, this crap isn't going to go away. 
So, where does this leave me? 1) Continue to be harsh on myself. Continue the negative self talk, you aren't good enough, you never will be no matter what criticism I heard constantly as a child? 2) Put on a happy face for the rest of the world to make them believe all is well with rainbows and unicorns? Pretend like there are not days that I despise myself and live in a dark world of shame and regret? 3) Stop allowing my weight issues of the past to continue to define my future and once and for all, learn to accept my damn self?? Why is this so hard??? Why do we judge ourselves so much harsher than anyone else? Why can't I see in myself what my husband says he sees when he looks at me? He says he sees the extra skin not as something to be ashamed of, but as something that deserves to be celebrated. Why in the hell can't I focus on the 125+ pounds I have lost instead of the 20 pounds I want to lose? Why can't I be proud of myself instead of thinking I am not good enough because the scale has not budged in almost 4 months? Why is this? Is this how we are designed to be? Are we designed to be our own worst critic? Or is this what society, maybe even Satan has instilled in us to make us feel unworthy to reach our full potential. 
I haven't talked about this in this kind of honesty with any of those that I know who have had this surgery, but I am pretty sure my fascination with the skin and feelings of inadequacy are more severe than most people. Is this because I lacked a single shred of self esteem as a child? Is it because I was never told I was beautiful? Is it because I never allowed any compliments of the sort because I was ashamed of my size from the very beginning? Is this going to go away? With time will this heal? Will I ever really be "ok" with Heather? If I am lucky enough to be able to have this skin removed, will it be the end of these issues, or will it then be replaced by another insecurity? Maybe it will be the scars? Or how many freckles I have? Or my pasty, unable to tan skin? Am I ever just going to be able to accept me? Will the judgement I feel from others ever really not  bother me? When I am sweating my behind off at the gym, are people really staring at my bat wings? If I wore a shirt that said "I have lost 125 pounds, stare at something else rather than my loose skin" make a difference. Do people really care??
Yea, so this is what some days are like living in the complicated head of Heather...tomorrow it will be back to the world of rainbows and unicorns...hopefully.

Where is all began...

So here we go...my first official entry of my new blog. Gonna begin with the reason I decided to start a blog in the first place. Here it goes:
August 2011;

Yep, that's me in the pink. 319 pounds. I thought I was happy. I didn't think my weight affected my daily life. I was (fairly) happily married, had 3 great kids, lots of friends, good social life & had perfected the art of denial after a lifetime of being morbidly obese. I was that kid who shopped in the women's department at 10 years old. I have a very vivid memory of going Christmas shopping for clothes at Montgomery Wards (hey, this was a LONG time ago) and buying a pair of cream colored jeans in a size 20. That's right, my waist size was double that of my actual age. I hated being a fat kid. Middle school was torture. Kids are cruel. It wasn't until about age 12 (7th grade) that I started to figure out the whole "if I make fun of myself first, no one else can hurt my feelings." So there it was, finally I had an identity. I was the funny fat girl. It made life easier, but those who knew me well, knew what torture and anguish I felt on the inside. However, my outside facade was amazing. I had a terrific 4 years of high school. Of course, I never went on a date, prom was out of the question and I had a lot of guy friends because their girlfriend's wouldn't be jealous if they talked to me. But I did make the most of those 4 years. I look back now and am proud of the friend and person I was. I wouldn't change a thing...except of course, the dreaded number on the scale. 

So after high school, I got accepted to my dream college, BYU (yes, I was delusional) and moved out west. Soon, I was no longer interested in a bachelor's degree, I was interested in an MRS. degree & graduated to be MRS. ROBERT FOLLETT in June 2001. Shopping for wedding dresses was torture. Apparently fat girls aren't supposed to get married. I had to settle for a sequined short sleeve hideous (in my opinion) off the rack dress because it was the only thing I could fit in and afford. But oh well, I got to marry my guy so who cares how gigantic I was, right?

I had my first baby 9 months & 8 days after I got married. (Hey when God said multiply and replenish the earth, us young virgin Mormons took it very literal!) After my little stud muffin was born I, like a lot of moms, packed on the pounds. I was around 300 lbs when I got pregnant with my second baby in the fall of 2003. I had a very high risk pregnancy because of all of the diseases I had related to my weight. My blood pressure was out of control, I was borderline diabetic at this point & had issues with spilling protein in my urine. The last 8 weeks of my pregnancy I had to go to the hospital twice a week to have fetal stress tests because they were concerned with her movement & growth. Thankfully my little spitfire was born the last day of June 2004, healthy and loud! (Colic is evil!!)

So, within the next couple years I was diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes, fatty liver & High Cholesterol, yet SOMEHOW I still lived a life of denial because "I felt fine."

By October 2005, I was at my heaviest 328 pounds. I hated that I sweat all of the time. I found it embarrassing that by just walking up the stairs at work to clock in left me winded & panting. So I decided to get serious about learning to manage my weight. I went to a weight loss seminar that month & learned about gastric bypass & banding. I left that seminar snubbing my nose towards those people who had to "resort to that." No way did I need to do something that drastic to lose weight. I wasn't going to give up my soda & be responsible for every single bite of food I consumed. I could do this "on my own." So I joined Curves & Weight Watchers & yes, I did lose about 30 pounds. But then it happened...I fell off the bandwagon when that number on the scale didn't change for a few consecutive weeks. I got discouraged & angry! How could I not be losing weight?? I was exercising for Pete's sake! Don't they say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over & expecting different results? So ha! Perfect excuse, I am not insane, so therefore I must stop exercising!

Yeah, ridiculous right?! The next couple of years were pretty unremarkable in the weight aspect. I got pregnant (at Disneyland, happiest place on earth!) the fall of 2008. My third pregnancy was terrible. I felt horrible, super sluggish, and I was on 5-8 different medications controlling all of my diseases. I was so high risk with this little guy. Looking back now, I am so grateful for good doctors that helped me at a time I was too foolish to help myself. My little man was born via c-section in July 2009. This, now, is chalked up as one of those "most embarrassing" moments. While being prepped for the unexpected c-section, I will never forget that my doctor was kind of "teaching" the doctor assisting him what he does in cases with "very obese moms." He actually taped my fat to get it out of the way. As in, used TAPE to lift my fat rolls & taped them to the drape to he could cut into my uterus. Wow. Wow. Wow. To be anxious & scared and to here the words "very obese" & hear the sound of "duct" tape being unrolled & attached to my fat was utterly terrifying. 

BUT! You know me, I am nothing if not resilient! So, I pretended that didn't happen. If no one I knew was there to hear it, it wasn't true, so I blocked it out & moved on & lived that euphoria of new-Mommyhood with my studly little prince & happy little family. I am good! Who cares that I had to take 7 medications to be "healthy?" Who cares that I was a size 24? Who cares that those size 24 jeans were getting really snug? Who cares? I am a good person. People loved me. I was popular. WHO CARES?

Well...the answer to that question came like a lightening bolt in July 2011. I got a call from my mom back in South Carolina. Her doctor had found a large tumor in her stomach & they were doing a biopsy but were certain it was that dreaded "C" word. What?? Wait!! She can't have cancer! I still have so much I need to work out with her. I have years to do this still. I wasn't quite 29 years old. She couldn't die...could she?!?

So within the week my 3 kids & I had boarded a flight to South Carolina. They next few weeks were spent rotating shifts at her bedside between my father and I. Many many nights were spent sleeping on the fold out cot at MUSC thinking & worrying. What if I was motherless at 29? How could she possibly die? What would I do? How would I get over my issues with her if she weren't there to get over them with? Then...KABOOM!!! Honestly like a freaking lightening bolt it hit me! What if, just what it, 20 years from now, my own little children were having this same conversation with themselves about me?? What if I didn't get my weight under control and by the time I was 50 I was on death's doorstep because the diabetes had put me there? Or I had a major stroke due to my blood pressure? Or massive heart attack as a result of years of high cholesterol? What if, by ignoring my fat, I was in fact, ignoring my children & their needs? I would hate me if I were them! If I knew there was something my mom could do to assure she had many more years to spend with me but instead chose to continue to stuff her face with unhealthy foods. And shun exercise for reruns of Law & Order. In Oprah's words...that right there was my 'Ah-Hah' moment. I had tried for numerous years to get my weight in check. Just gave up because it was too hard. I knew, I couldn't do this on my own. So, I jumped on the computer one night at the hospital & started looking at programs in Utah that specialized in bariatric surgery. I then contacted my insurance company to ask if this was a procedure they ever covered & what I needed to qualify? I made appointments with 2 local programs. The first appointment was September 2, 2011. That was the day I truly started my journey to Heather 5.0.