Stop saying when...

When am I going to stop sectioning my life off? When am I going to stop holding life off with phrases like..."I will do that...when...I get my excess skin removed." or "I will allow myself that joy...when...I lose my last 15 pounds." Or "I will finally be happy...when...I don't have this deformed looking body."
What is with the "when." Why am I allowing the "whens" to control my life. Why can't I just live every day for what it is, today? Why didn't I shed the self doubt and insecurities when I shed the 130 pounds? Curse you childhood filled with negativity and berating comments telling you you were less than. Does anyone else feel this way? I am so thrilled that I got the call two weeks ago...my insurance is covering my skin removal surgery. This is such a huge huge thing for me. My stomach is a reminder of nothing but bad. No accomplishments there...just regret, embarrassment and shame. I am terrified of the recovery. Terrified. These are going to be the most painful horrendous days of my life. I am afraid of getting depressed. I am afraid of being alone with my thoughts and not being able to get out of my head and possibly sinking back into the world of darkness and sadness I have experienced a few times in my life. I never understood "depression." In fact, when I was in high school I worked as a receptionist for a psychiatry office and had such a bad, dismissive attitude towards the patients who came in blubbering for hours. My thoughts...get over yourself. No one wants to hear about your pity parties. Yea, that was me.
Then after my last baby was born, me, Big Bad Heather, the brute, got hit in the face with a big piece of depression pie. I hit rock bottom. Had postpartum depression plus many issues that had arisen during my pregnancy that I had smothered during the time. Well, they all surfaced their ugly little heads and I fell deeper than I ever knew possible. I had anxiety attacks through the roof. I literally felt like I was coming out of my skin sometimes. It was an utter nightmare. Thankfully, I found a therapist who was amazing. And took anti-depressants for a while. And was finally able to regain my life. 
Then, last year after my gastric bypass I found it happening again. I felt so low. I physically felt like crap and now had no "coping mechanisms" to turn to. No 44oz mountain dew. No enormous bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats. (with almonds of course). No second helpings of dinner just because I wanted. I had never considered myself an emotional eater. I just loved to eat. Now I realized I was an emotional eater, just not in the ways most people were. Now here I was sad, alone, scared and in pain. The constant thought that kept overtaking my head..."So yes I was fat, but I was happy fat. What if I become thin and miserable?" Was this worth it? Now of course...a year out, I say ABSOLUTELY...this was worth every tear, every stitch, every complication. Will this be how I feel after having cosmetic surgery. I sure the hell hope so. I think I should probably start on an anti-depressant before the surgery. Because over the past year, instead of being an emotional eater, I have become an emotional exerciser. Now, when I am feeling stressed, anxious, sad, down, happy, energetic...whatever the emotion is, I hit the gym, sweat my saggy ass off and all is better. My head is clear, my body is strong. I feel powerful. But...after this surgery...I can't exercise for at least 8 WEEKS! 8 WEEKS! I am so afraid I am going to come unglued! I will now not only have food to turn to, but I won't have the gym either! How am I going to cope? Any suggestions???? I know this has to happen, for me to stop with the "whens" but I am terrified friends, simply terrified.

So...it has been a crazy hectic week. I have been dying all week to update my blog...but no time! So here we go. I did it!! I completed my first 5K!! Not only did I complete it, but I beat my goal. I told myself if I could finish in under 36 minutes, I would be happy. 34:43 was my official time! BAM! The feeling after crossing that finish line was unimaginable. I have never felt so accomplished in my life. I did something that for me, was physically grueling as well as mentally grueling. The first mile was the hardest. That is the mile where the "You can't do this" monster was sitting on my shoulder telling me I was crazy. Telling me that I was still the fat girl who got tired watching other people exercise. That damn monster controlled 30 years of my life. I will be damned if he gets another minute. So to shut him up I found things to focus on. Whether it was Ludacris in my ear, or the chick in the lime green shirt that I kept pace with, I found small things to distract myself and took it literally inch by inch. I hate running. Like hate it. I'd rather have an episiotomy again, than run. So why do I do this to myself? Why? Because I am learning that I can do anything I put my mind to. I can run a race, I can leg press 200lbs. I can fit in a size 10 jeans. I can say no to unhealthy foods. I can be a better wife, better mom. I can teach people through my mistakes. I can make mistakes yet not allow them to define who I am. I can accept the fact that I am loved, flaws and all. I can and will one day learn to accept myself, all of me.
And that is what I have discovered through running. I don't know if I will continue to run, or if I will find another form of exercise that fills this same need, without physically torturing me. which brings me to the next part of my blog...
I am a lunatic, I know, and this will prove it. When I woke up the day after my race my left foot was killing me. After hobbling around all morning and complaining, I decided to go to the clinic and have it checked out. The doctor said, and I quote: "It appears you have some strained tendons. It is a very common injury among runners." To this...I smiled hugely and said, "Did you just call me a runner??" HaHa! OH MY GOODNESS! I have a sports related injury!!! The only time I have ever incurred a sports related injury was in high school when I high fived my mom after my high school football team made it to the championship game and my acryllic nail ripped off my actual nail and hurt like a mother chucker! But this my friends, this is an athletic injury which by relation means, I am an athlete!!!! This is amazing! So, even though my foot still hurts, especially when I wear shoes, and I might miss my next race this weekend, I LOVE having pushed my body beyond it's normal ability and having my body say "Chick, you're over doing it, slow down." Where as the first 30 years my body was begging me to get off the couch and just do SOMETHING. So that my friend's is how this messed up brain of mine works. 
I am a changed woman. Sometimes I don't even recognize myself. And I am not just talking about my outward appearance...I am talking about the person on the inside. She has a different outlook on life. She sees so much more positive. She takes pride in her appearance and her accomplishments. She has accomplishments! There are so many more things I have to work on, and I have definitely made mistakes along the way, and am still making mistakes. But as the old saying goes, I am a work in progress. And now I am actually working to make that progress.

Best feeling ever

Best feeling in the world? So, we all have a different response for this, but for me, one of the absolute best feelings is knowing that you have made a difference in someone else's life. Last night was my monthly support group meeting down at the U. I love going to these because it is awesome being in a room filled with people that know your struggles, have walked along the same hard path & been down the road of failed diets & harsh criticism. I love hearing about other people's experiences. What they have learned, what helps them. I love sharing my opinions & struggles. I love the genuine smiles on the faces of people when I walk in. 
Last night after the meeting ended, a lady I met at a new patient seminar I spoke at in March came up to me to say hello. She has started the 6 month process to prepare for surgery. She was so excited to see me & told me that because of what I had said when I spoke at the seminar, she decided she did have the strength to go through with this and that she was so excited to change her life. She told me that she thinks of me often on days that she is scared and underestimates herself. Truly, what an honor. It makes me feel so good to hear words like that and to know that I am making a difference. This is my life's calling. I have never had a passion before. I always wanted to have one, something that drives you, picks you up, makes you feel empowered. But before now, nothing ever tickled my fancy. Now, I have a passion & am serious about wanting to work for my program. Become a patient advocate. On staff to answer questions and help those who need it along the way. It is the perfect calling for me. I have virtually pleaded and begged them to give me a job. I am not too proud to beg. I LOVE to talk and the idea of getting paid to do it makes me giddy with excitement. I gotta make this happen! Oprah says if you think about it and want something enough, you can make it happen. Come on Oprah logic...don't let this girl down! 

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.