I am SO sorry, my sweet friends and loved ones. I am NOT keeping up with this blog the way I thought I would!
But I'm here now, today, and have been working on this thing for a couple hours now trying to get all these thoughts in some kind of order.
First up. Let's talk about the job thing. It goes like this: I still ain't got one. I don't want to talk about it.
Now that we've gone through that, what's next?
WEIGHT LOSS UPDATE!!!
I am down 180 lbs at this point.
I am not losing as quickly as I was, but that is to be expected. Because if I was still losing weight at THAT alarming rate I'd be dead soon. Which was NOT a goal here. I'm past the 7 month mark where everything slows down. I knew this was coming and I'm not upset by it. I look and feel better than I have in a LONG time and I'm running with it.
I'm down, size wise, to the point where I can do things like go into a regular-sized-person-store and just buy stuff. Like a sports bra or a cute shirt.
What the actual fuck???!
You mean... I can just walk in, find my size, and BUY it? I don't have to order it online? I can pick it off the rack and try it on? There's no shipping? No waiting and HOPING it looks good? I can... know all that stuff ahead of time? And, if I'm looking for something specific I can go to a different store to try to find it? I don't have to just... get what's available where I'm at?
This is AWESOME! And surprisingly overwhelming. The last time I went to Old Navy I found myself wandering around with large eyes and fear in my heart. There are so many options! It was so chaotic! But, it was a HELLUVA lot cheaper than LB or Torrid and I actually found a couple really cute tops.
So... that's fucking bueno.
The weight loss is bringing about some side effects I wasn't actually prepared for. Mostly in the form of... uh... male attention?
Before my surgery I weighed 453 lbs. I was a BIG girl.
This didn't prevent me from finding at least one or two men who loved me. Who treated me like I was made of magic and satin. Who loved watching me running around in my undies and wanted to spend hours caressing my belly and gloriously bountiful ass. They're out there, but they're hard to find, and not what I'm gearing up to talk about.
The things I'm about to say may seem harsh, but, please understand
I'm striving for honesty and this blog is about me and my perspective.
I've spent 36 years in this body, watching the world through these eyes.
So... lets dig in.
In terms of male attention, prior to surgery, I was typically dropped into one of three categories.
1. friend/sister
2. totally unfuckable (and not worth time)
3. fetish
So now I'm in this really weird place. As I'm becoming more conventional/societal-y attractive I have been receiving more attention. I am so used to being friend-zoned, ignored, or not wanting the attention I was getting that I have NO IDEA what to do.
More doors are being held open when I walk in a building. More compliments come my way. The bartender gets to me faster. The store checkers are nicer. Guys, just generally, seem to touch me more. Elbows, arms, etc. Little things I didn't know I was missing until I started thinking it was disturbing that the men folks were paying attention to me. I LITERALLY had to have someone talk me out of thinking it was creepy as fuck that this guy was looking at me. No joke.
Oh, here's something else... turns out I'm completely oblivious to flirting. I literally don't even see it. I can't even tell you how many times people have told me someone was flirting with me and my reaction is "He WAS?!? How could you TELL?". But, according to feedback from those outside observers, it's happening more and more frequently.
I don't... I just don't know what to do. hahaha.
I feel like a high school-er trying to play a grown-up's game. I don't know the rules and, unfortunately, because I'm not ACTUALLY a high school-er, the other players THINK I do.
Also, let's be honest... I can't play games anyway. I just don't have it in me. I need blinking neon signs and no bullshit.
*sigh* In summation: I think this whole thing is fucking weird, I don't know what to do about it, and I'll probably stay single forever anyway because most guys don't actually carry around blinking neon signs that state that they are interested in me and... it's just fucking WEIRD.
I'm sure I'll talk about it more in upcoming blogs.
For now that's all I have to babble about.
I love you. I love your faces. You are the dreamiest!
Love,
Mamy.
Sunday, September 27, 2015
Monday, August 10, 2015
Post move thinky thoughts
Well hello again, you beautiful internet wonders!
I know most of you have been eagerly checking for a weight loss update and, I promise I will get back to those, but, recently, the event weighing most heavily on my mind (see what I did there?) has been this little move from Texas to Colorado.
Tim flew out to Texas and helped me pack stuff into boxes, boxes into truck, drive truck across Kansas. I honestly don't know that I would have been able to do that without his help.
He and I are such opposites. He was calm while I panicked. He was logical, sense-making, and forward moving while I ran around my half-packed, unorganized, chaotic apartment in my underwear moving piles from one corner to another. I can't tell you how many times he had to say, in his calmest and least exasperated voice "well... we're going to get it done either way, so stop freaking out."
His only request was that he not be forced to attend my going away party because he doesn't "do the crying thing well." I did not force him to attend the going away party. He was spared the true horror of my ugly cry.
The same cannot be said for my Texas Framily. Because I DEFINITELY cried. It was kind of inevitable and it was AB-SO-LUTELY the ugly cry. The hiccup-y sobbing, scrunchy faced, red-swollen-peepers kind of cry.
I tried SO hard to hold it together, then Josh gave a toast and fuckered the whole plan up.
Mark Goode (father to some of my most very favorite people, excellent photographer, and general all around great guy) captured the moment perfectly in the image I'll post below because, despite my sadness, it was a beautiful moment. AAAAAND, maybe also to prove I'm not afraid of my ugly cry.
I sent the picture to my mother who, as always, knew exactly what to say: "I'm so sorry your heart is breaking, but how lucky you are to have that kind of love".
I am lucky beyond words and blessed beyond measure to have found my Texas Framily in the wilds of the interwebs. They are truly brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews to me. They are some of the great loves of my life, a huge part of my soul and I know that, despite these renewed miles, they will be there missing and loving me as much as I miss and love them.
Which, incidentally, is a whole GD lot. One might even say a metric shit-ton.
I'm going to endeavor to blog more now that I'm settled, but, for now that's all I got.
I love you guys.
~ Mamy ~
I know most of you have been eagerly checking for a weight loss update and, I promise I will get back to those, but, recently, the event weighing most heavily on my mind (see what I did there?) has been this little move from Texas to Colorado.
Tim flew out to Texas and helped me pack stuff into boxes, boxes into truck, drive truck across Kansas. I honestly don't know that I would have been able to do that without his help.
He and I are such opposites. He was calm while I panicked. He was logical, sense-making, and forward moving while I ran around my half-packed, unorganized, chaotic apartment in my underwear moving piles from one corner to another. I can't tell you how many times he had to say, in his calmest and least exasperated voice "well... we're going to get it done either way, so stop freaking out."
His only request was that he not be forced to attend my going away party because he doesn't "do the crying thing well." I did not force him to attend the going away party. He was spared the true horror of my ugly cry.
The same cannot be said for my Texas Framily. Because I DEFINITELY cried. It was kind of inevitable and it was AB-SO-LUTELY the ugly cry. The hiccup-y sobbing, scrunchy faced, red-swollen-peepers kind of cry.
I tried SO hard to hold it together, then Josh gave a toast and fuckered the whole plan up.
Mark Goode (father to some of my most very favorite people, excellent photographer, and general all around great guy) captured the moment perfectly in the image I'll post below because, despite my sadness, it was a beautiful moment. AAAAAND, maybe also to prove I'm not afraid of my ugly cry.
I sent the picture to my mother who, as always, knew exactly what to say: "I'm so sorry your heart is breaking, but how lucky you are to have that kind of love".
I am lucky beyond words and blessed beyond measure to have found my Texas Framily in the wilds of the interwebs. They are truly brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews to me. They are some of the great loves of my life, a huge part of my soul and I know that, despite these renewed miles, they will be there missing and loving me as much as I miss and love them.
Which, incidentally, is a whole GD lot. One might even say a metric shit-ton.
I'm going to endeavor to blog more now that I'm settled, but, for now that's all I got.
I love you guys.
~ Mamy ~
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
3 weeks and counting
Well hello there, friends!
Today I'm blogging about my move.
Wait? You aren't going to talk about your weight loss journey today?
Nope. Nop-itty nope nope.
So I was recently gifted a marvelous 2015-2016 planner by a dear friend who OBVIOUSLY knows me well enough to know how much I prefer to put pen to paper when it comes to plotting out my days. This past weekend I went through and updated it and crafted the SHIT out of it and realized that I have 3 weeks left till my big move.
Egads.
I might have had a mini freak out.
3 weeks? Am I SHITTING me!?
I checked and rechecked the dates and, as it turns out, they did not change and I was right the first time. There are only 3 weeks left.
This realization has caused me to jump into hyper packing mode. Everything must go through a process with the intent of actually getting rid of MOST of my crap. Have I used it recently? Is it worth keeping? Will someone ELSE use it? Can I get any money for it?
This has worked remarkably well as most things have ended up in bags sent to Goodwill or other charities.
I've been donating most of my too-big clothing in the hopes that those items will find their way into the hands of someone who really needs them. Finding plus size clothing on a budget is damn near impossible and were I a more enterprising individual I'd try to find a way to rectify that situation on a larger scale. As I am not, I shall have to settle for just donating everything I can.
My apartment is about 50% packed, I'd say. I'm stuck with my superficial belongings already in boxes and the stuff I might need un-packable at this stage. I'll probably forge ahead and just hope I don't need to cook anything in the next three weeks.
MICROWAVE AND PAPER PLATES BITCHES!
I'll probably blather on about my emotional state in my next blog. Hint: Panic and sadness. Bet you can't wait to read THAT one!
Mildly amusing side story: I DID pack up my sort-of-secret drawer full of things that nobody talks about (but EVERYBODY has) and discovered several items that had passed their expiration date (condoms expire, people - pay attention to that shit) and a few things I have no desire to own any longer (don't ask). The garbage man will have an amusing day should my trash bag break on collection day.
I... really hope that doesn't happen.
Time to get back to sorting.
Love ya's,
Mamy
Today I'm blogging about my move.
Wait? You aren't going to talk about your weight loss journey today?
Nope. Nop-itty nope nope.
So I was recently gifted a marvelous 2015-2016 planner by a dear friend who OBVIOUSLY knows me well enough to know how much I prefer to put pen to paper when it comes to plotting out my days. This past weekend I went through and updated it and crafted the SHIT out of it and realized that I have 3 weeks left till my big move.
Egads.
I might have had a mini freak out.
3 weeks? Am I SHITTING me!?
I checked and rechecked the dates and, as it turns out, they did not change and I was right the first time. There are only 3 weeks left.
This realization has caused me to jump into hyper packing mode. Everything must go through a process with the intent of actually getting rid of MOST of my crap. Have I used it recently? Is it worth keeping? Will someone ELSE use it? Can I get any money for it?
This has worked remarkably well as most things have ended up in bags sent to Goodwill or other charities.
I've been donating most of my too-big clothing in the hopes that those items will find their way into the hands of someone who really needs them. Finding plus size clothing on a budget is damn near impossible and were I a more enterprising individual I'd try to find a way to rectify that situation on a larger scale. As I am not, I shall have to settle for just donating everything I can.
My apartment is about 50% packed, I'd say. I'm stuck with my superficial belongings already in boxes and the stuff I might need un-packable at this stage. I'll probably forge ahead and just hope I don't need to cook anything in the next three weeks.
MICROWAVE AND PAPER PLATES BITCHES!
I'll probably blather on about my emotional state in my next blog. Hint: Panic and sadness. Bet you can't wait to read THAT one!
Mildly amusing side story: I DID pack up my sort-of-secret drawer full of things that nobody talks about (but EVERYBODY has) and discovered several items that had passed their expiration date (condoms expire, people - pay attention to that shit) and a few things I have no desire to own any longer (don't ask). The garbage man will have an amusing day should my trash bag break on collection day.
I... really hope that doesn't happen.
Time to get back to sorting.
Love ya's,
Mamy
Thursday, June 18, 2015
The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.
Hello Loves,
It's been a while since I've talked about my post surgical adventures and I'm feeling bloggy so tonight I blog for you.
I decided to switch it up a bit because I always like to end with the good shit.
Let's get started, shall we??
THE BAD:
There isn't much to this list.
I still get sick pretty frequently. My pouch, he is a fickle fucker. Too much grease, too big a piece of food, any sort of bread and it's barf city. Not cool.
Um... new clothes! As awesome as it is to see my ass in skinny jeans that shit is expensive and my old clothes look like clown clothes on me now. I'm pretty sure Sara told me "MAMY! you have GOT to wear pants that fucking fit!" and Ellie's exact words were "No. No. We're getting you new pants immediately". So now I officially have 3 pairs of jeans that fit properly. God help me when they don't.
But that's about all that's on the bad list.
THE UGLY:
Me. Naked. In the mirror.
I know... it sounds so harsh when I say it that way. It's a trade I've made for a life that will be longer and fuller and I don't regret my decision, but, I started this blog with the intent of being brutally honest so honest is what I will be.
This is the part I THOUGHT I was prepared for. I THOUGHT I was ready for when I started to notice things. That I would be so happy with what I was losing I wouldn't even care about what I'd gained, but, that is DEFINITELY not the case.
I... don't know what to do with this body. It's alien and misshapen and feels like it doesn't belong to me.
My old body didn't fit social norms as something beautiful, but it was mine and I was used to it. My rolls were full and soft and so were my breasts but now I have weird wrinkles and floppy bits. Puckery scars, National Geographic tits and Jesus GOD what is happening to my thighs?!?! And... Oh god... my upper arms have always been something I disliked about myself but now I LOATHE them. They fill me with some strange feeling of honest to god horror.
My sweet friends sometimes bring up dating. That I should start dating or try to date or online date or swipe right or whatever the hell it is the youngsters do these days. I know it's because they believe I'm becoming more socially acceptably attractive with each pound lost, and they want me to be happy and in love, but the thought of showing naked me to anybody is some kind of nightmare. And naked happens after dating, right?
Maybe this is another blog for another time. I don't want to be Debbie Downer. The truth is I know this is all transition. That things will tone and I'll get used to the pieces that don't and if I don't? Well... better living through surgical intervention. It's how I got here, right?
I hate ending a blog on a downer note. It's not my style. Which is why I switched up the lists a bit. So on to the OH SO GOOD.
THE GOOD:
I have lost a total of 141 lbs since my pre-surgical weigh in which means, according to my handy dandy weight loss comparison chart, I've lost somewhere between the the amount of refined sugar an average American eats in a year and the average weight of a 5 foot 4 inch woman.
What the actual fuck? I've lost a whole short woman. Mind. Blown. Side note: did you guys know I'm NOT a short woman? I'm pretty sure my thinning in the middle is leading people to realize I'm actually a bit on the tallish side. I can't tell you how many people have commented on it lately. Hell, I'M surprised at how tall I seem now. Weird... but true.
Anyway, I'm able to feel this ENORMOUS loss in my joints and that is AMAZING. I'm not as afraid of standing up anymore. A surprisingly simple task for most people, but I was living a life where I honestly questioned whether I'd be able to stand again every time I sat down. That was sad. Sad for me.
I can move. I can bend and twist and turn and just ... move more easily.
These things mean I can see a future involving activities I once enjoyed.
STORY TIME!
Over the week of my birthday I spent some time in the beautiful state of Colorado. I spent a good chunk of it with my friend Courtney and her fairly-fucking-awesome group of friends. They play softball. Now, most of the time I go to their games and happily watch them play. Softball SuperFan! I enjoy it. It is one of two sports I used to play and the only one I ever felt I was any good at. Past tense. Days long gone by. This trip, with Court's constant encouragement, I decided to try my hand at some of the basics. We went to the batting cages and played catch. It was so great! I could feel my body moving and functioning. I was able to connect bat to ball and ball to glove! Not with ease, exactly, but I could do it!!! 141 lbs heavier me would not have even tried. It felt... liberating. I wouldn't say I was GOOD, but I could position my body and catch the damn ball. I wish... I wish there was a way I could adequately explain to you what this meant to me. That I could find the words that would give you the feeling of giddiness I had when it turned out I didn't suck as much as I thought I would.
My blood was carbonated and I was SO DAMN HAPPY!
In theory, I'll play actual games some day. Maybe I won't even suck. That would be pretty neat.
What other good stuff? Um... new clothes! On two lists, you say? Yes. Yes I do.
First pair of skinny jeans and they look fan-fucking-tastic on me.
Skinny jeans. Me. Whodathunk?
LOVE YOU GUYS!!
~ Mamy ~
It's been a while since I've talked about my post surgical adventures and I'm feeling bloggy so tonight I blog for you.
I decided to switch it up a bit because I always like to end with the good shit.
Let's get started, shall we??
THE BAD:
There isn't much to this list.
I still get sick pretty frequently. My pouch, he is a fickle fucker. Too much grease, too big a piece of food, any sort of bread and it's barf city. Not cool.
Um... new clothes! As awesome as it is to see my ass in skinny jeans that shit is expensive and my old clothes look like clown clothes on me now. I'm pretty sure Sara told me "MAMY! you have GOT to wear pants that fucking fit!" and Ellie's exact words were "No. No. We're getting you new pants immediately". So now I officially have 3 pairs of jeans that fit properly. God help me when they don't.
But that's about all that's on the bad list.
THE UGLY:
Me. Naked. In the mirror.
I know... it sounds so harsh when I say it that way. It's a trade I've made for a life that will be longer and fuller and I don't regret my decision, but, I started this blog with the intent of being brutally honest so honest is what I will be.
This is the part I THOUGHT I was prepared for. I THOUGHT I was ready for when I started to notice things. That I would be so happy with what I was losing I wouldn't even care about what I'd gained, but, that is DEFINITELY not the case.
I... don't know what to do with this body. It's alien and misshapen and feels like it doesn't belong to me.
My old body didn't fit social norms as something beautiful, but it was mine and I was used to it. My rolls were full and soft and so were my breasts but now I have weird wrinkles and floppy bits. Puckery scars, National Geographic tits and Jesus GOD what is happening to my thighs?!?! And... Oh god... my upper arms have always been something I disliked about myself but now I LOATHE them. They fill me with some strange feeling of honest to god horror.
My sweet friends sometimes bring up dating. That I should start dating or try to date or online date or swipe right or whatever the hell it is the youngsters do these days. I know it's because they believe I'm becoming more socially acceptably attractive with each pound lost, and they want me to be happy and in love, but the thought of showing naked me to anybody is some kind of nightmare. And naked happens after dating, right?
Maybe this is another blog for another time. I don't want to be Debbie Downer. The truth is I know this is all transition. That things will tone and I'll get used to the pieces that don't and if I don't? Well... better living through surgical intervention. It's how I got here, right?
I hate ending a blog on a downer note. It's not my style. Which is why I switched up the lists a bit. So on to the OH SO GOOD.
THE GOOD:
I have lost a total of 141 lbs since my pre-surgical weigh in which means, according to my handy dandy weight loss comparison chart, I've lost somewhere between the the amount of refined sugar an average American eats in a year and the average weight of a 5 foot 4 inch woman.
What the actual fuck? I've lost a whole short woman. Mind. Blown. Side note: did you guys know I'm NOT a short woman? I'm pretty sure my thinning in the middle is leading people to realize I'm actually a bit on the tallish side. I can't tell you how many people have commented on it lately. Hell, I'M surprised at how tall I seem now. Weird... but true.
Anyway, I'm able to feel this ENORMOUS loss in my joints and that is AMAZING. I'm not as afraid of standing up anymore. A surprisingly simple task for most people, but I was living a life where I honestly questioned whether I'd be able to stand again every time I sat down. That was sad. Sad for me.
I can move. I can bend and twist and turn and just ... move more easily.
These things mean I can see a future involving activities I once enjoyed.
STORY TIME!
Over the week of my birthday I spent some time in the beautiful state of Colorado. I spent a good chunk of it with my friend Courtney and her fairly-fucking-awesome group of friends. They play softball. Now, most of the time I go to their games and happily watch them play. Softball SuperFan! I enjoy it. It is one of two sports I used to play and the only one I ever felt I was any good at. Past tense. Days long gone by. This trip, with Court's constant encouragement, I decided to try my hand at some of the basics. We went to the batting cages and played catch. It was so great! I could feel my body moving and functioning. I was able to connect bat to ball and ball to glove! Not with ease, exactly, but I could do it!!! 141 lbs heavier me would not have even tried. It felt... liberating. I wouldn't say I was GOOD, but I could position my body and catch the damn ball. I wish... I wish there was a way I could adequately explain to you what this meant to me. That I could find the words that would give you the feeling of giddiness I had when it turned out I didn't suck as much as I thought I would.
My blood was carbonated and I was SO DAMN HAPPY!
In theory, I'll play actual games some day. Maybe I won't even suck. That would be pretty neat.
What other good stuff? Um... new clothes! On two lists, you say? Yes. Yes I do.
First pair of skinny jeans and they look fan-fucking-tastic on me.
Skinny jeans. Me. Whodathunk?
LOVE YOU GUYS!!
~ Mamy ~
Thursday, May 7, 2015
Life bomb #3 - I'm heading home.
Hello Friends,
It's time to write about something that has been brewing.
A move.
MY move.
Back home to Colorado.
As I type the words it's like I can feel the concrete setting around this little kernel of a plan.
I am... as with every decision I make EVER... totally terrified, but we'll get to that later. I'm thinking I'll type the terrors up in a list so that when I read this again in a year I can check off each one as TOTALLY NEUROTIC.
I've been trying to tell people individually. I didn't want to do a mass announcement, but, honestly, it's getting too stressful. I don't like seeing the faces of my loved ones when it sounds like I'm saying I'm abandoning them, so I'm taking the cowards route now and blogging about it instead.
I'm making this decision for purely emotional reasons. Lord knows moving to a state where the job market isn't tops and rent is through the roof isn't the smartest, most logical move. I just... I miss my family. I miss my babies. They aren't even babies anymore and I miss them every day. I don't want them to grow up without me. I need to be a tangible part of their lives. I miss my sister and my brother in law. I miss my mom. She doesn't live there, but she spends as much time as she CAN there and I'm missing out on that time. I miss my friends and, fuck, I miss Colorado.
Colorado is so beautiful. It's looking out a window and having Mother Nature tell you it'll be alright, on even your shittiest day. It's hikes with views that take your breath away even as you're begging your friends to go on without you. It's The Star at Christmas. It's gorgeous sunsets and cool nights and it generates a feeling of peace in the center of my being that my soul has been aching for.
I've been told it'll be easier to explain if I just tell everybody I'm moving back for the weed... maaan.
That's a falsehood... but one that people seem to accept with more ease.
I don't have a date yet. It'll be mid-July.
Mid-July. God, that's SO soon!
The excitement of moving back is tempered with a profound sadness at the thought of leaving the people I love here. I won't be ready to leave them in July. I know it. I'll be a heartbroken mess because soon it will be them I miss and their babies who grow up without me.
Can I handle missing framily dinners, late night backyard conversations and baby kisses? Hearing Carter tell everybody I'm his best friend? Or Edie telling me I'm beautiful in my dress and that she loves me?
Why is the screen all blurry and wibbly wobbly?
Shit.
I'm not good at emotion-ing.
*sigh*
The point of this post was to announce my plan and to say a little bit about why.
So I'll save my tears for later.
As always... I love you guys.
Mamy
It's time to write about something that has been brewing.
A move.
MY move.
Back home to Colorado.
As I type the words it's like I can feel the concrete setting around this little kernel of a plan.
I am... as with every decision I make EVER... totally terrified, but we'll get to that later. I'm thinking I'll type the terrors up in a list so that when I read this again in a year I can check off each one as TOTALLY NEUROTIC.
I've been trying to tell people individually. I didn't want to do a mass announcement, but, honestly, it's getting too stressful. I don't like seeing the faces of my loved ones when it sounds like I'm saying I'm abandoning them, so I'm taking the cowards route now and blogging about it instead.
I'm making this decision for purely emotional reasons. Lord knows moving to a state where the job market isn't tops and rent is through the roof isn't the smartest, most logical move. I just... I miss my family. I miss my babies. They aren't even babies anymore and I miss them every day. I don't want them to grow up without me. I need to be a tangible part of their lives. I miss my sister and my brother in law. I miss my mom. She doesn't live there, but she spends as much time as she CAN there and I'm missing out on that time. I miss my friends and, fuck, I miss Colorado.
Colorado is so beautiful. It's looking out a window and having Mother Nature tell you it'll be alright, on even your shittiest day. It's hikes with views that take your breath away even as you're begging your friends to go on without you. It's The Star at Christmas. It's gorgeous sunsets and cool nights and it generates a feeling of peace in the center of my being that my soul has been aching for.
I've been told it'll be easier to explain if I just tell everybody I'm moving back for the weed... maaan.
That's a falsehood... but one that people seem to accept with more ease.
I don't have a date yet. It'll be mid-July.
Mid-July. God, that's SO soon!
The excitement of moving back is tempered with a profound sadness at the thought of leaving the people I love here. I won't be ready to leave them in July. I know it. I'll be a heartbroken mess because soon it will be them I miss and their babies who grow up without me.
Can I handle missing framily dinners, late night backyard conversations and baby kisses? Hearing Carter tell everybody I'm his best friend? Or Edie telling me I'm beautiful in my dress and that she loves me?
Why is the screen all blurry and wibbly wobbly?
Shit.
I'm not good at emotion-ing.
*sigh*
The point of this post was to announce my plan and to say a little bit about why.
So I'll save my tears for later.
As always... I love you guys.
Mamy
Friday, April 17, 2015
Crying in the fitting room and other confessions from the 3 month mark
Hello All,
I've been contemplating what I wanted to write this afternoon and, since this blog is all about honesty and, HOPEFULLY will be helpful to someone somewhere I've decided to go big.
I'm just gonna jump in now.
I have, at this point, lost over 100 lbs. 3 months. 100 lbs. Mind fucking blown. According to this chart I have, that is the size of a 2 month old horse... I'm really looking forward to 118 when I'll have lost the weight of the complete Encyclopedia Britannica.
My highest weight was cataloged at my surgeon's office at 453 lbs. Yes. That. 453.
My last meeting with the scale in my bathroom registered 347. This is a big deal. I'm guessing, based on the reactions of my nearest and dearest, that I probably don't need to actually tell YOU guys it's a big deal, but, until recently, I needed the reminder myself.
This surgery thing has been... crazy. I feel contrary about it ALL the time. I feel like every conversation I have sounds loony and every blog I write is a babbling mess.
Sometimes it seems like I've done nothing and I don't deserve any praise for weight lost. Other times it is the hardest thing I've ever done in my life and I JUST want someone to hug me and tell me it was a good idea. Usually those moments are reserved for food cravings, depleted protein levels, dehydration, or when I look at myself naked in the mirror.
I do that a lot. STARE at myself. At my face and at my body. Not always naked.
It's... just... fucking weird.
It's... this THING. The surgery is this THING I've done. To repair the damage I've done to this body I live in. I know that it worked because eating has become a chore and the number on the scale is dropping, but, do I SEE it working?
Not really. Not in the good way I was expecting. I thought I'd be able to see it happening and be happy about it, but, mostly, I think what little I see looks weird. It's the strangest thing to go through. I wish I could adequately describe it, but, frankly, I'm not sure I have enough words, or you have the time to read it. Everything is... deflating. It's actually a bit horrifying.
My clothing is finally getting to the point where it's way too big and I need to start looking for interim items to get me through for a bit.
I've gone shopping a few times, but, struck out. REPEATEDLY. HOW could I be losing this much weight and NOT be down roughly eleventy billion sizes??? Or... at least ONE size??
Oh, right, because while I've been wearing a size 28 since Jr. High, toward the end of last year that size was getting so tight my pants would LITERALLY cut into my waist. By that I mean wounds with blood necessitating Neosporin. Why wear something so tight? Because 28 is the highest size you can purchase as a plus size woman without turning to the internet for help. So I wore what I could find that sort of fit and hoped I fooled everybody.
The only thing that has changed significantly was my bra size. My poor, sweet, lovely breasts. I'm so sorry I have betrayed you in such a fashion. You've been so good to me and now you are so sad. When I went into Lane Bryant the staff tried to tell me that they think I've moved from a solid D down to a B. I goggled at them and then told them I didn't have it in me to continue the conversation...I'll try THAT again at a later time.
Where was I going with this? OH YES! THIS AFTERNOON!!!!
This afternoon I decided to go to Torrid with my dear friend Vikisha because I had this coupon and my pants are getting a bit ridiculous.
Torrid carries sizes (in store) roughly 12-26 (they typically have them tagged at 0-4, but who are we kidding WE KNOW A 0 IS A 12 AND A 4 IS A 26!!!). I almost NEVER had success shopping there pre-surgery as I was over their size range, but, I love their clothes and thought I'd go for it. I gathered up the items I wanted to try on in my standard sizes: 4 for tops and dresses and 26 for pants. No real hope I'd fit into any of the items.
The first thing I tried on was this cute little dress. I walked out of the fitting room and Kisha noted that it seemed too big and suggested I get a smaller size.
This is a moment. One of those etched-in-your-brain-forever moments. I distinctly remember staring at her. I'm guessing there was a blank look on my face because my brain could NOT understand what she said. I... huh? I... wait... huh? If the 4 doesn't fit then I don't get the dress. That's how that works. I don't get to buy it because it doesn't fit. There are no more sizes.
Shockingly, it turns out there ARE more sizes.
Not actually in that SPECIFIC dress but she DID bring back a lovely white dress in a size 3.
I tried it on. It fit. I burst into tears. Crying in front of everybody in the back of the store about how I've never, in my adult life, been able to wear a size 3 before.
It was SO much more than a size. It was the first time I saw it. I saw my weight loss. I saw my struggles pay off. I saw a lovely dress that I got to wear because it fit me.
I've included two pictures of the event below. Neither one is particularly flattering, but, real moments in life aren't about that.
Oh hey! Turns out the pants I grabbed were too big also. I ended up leaving with a pair of jeans in a size 24. Hot fucking DAMN. A 24!!! I cannot believe it.
This journey wasn't started with an end number in mind. No weight or size a goal. It was started because I was running out of options and running out of choices and TODAY I finally saw those two things increasing.
So awesome.
Anyway, I've got to end this thing now, so I'm gonna leave you with some appropriate lyrics from one Mr. Ice Cube. Because, while I don't actually have an A.K. to use at any point, no matter HOW the day goes... "I got to say it was a good day."
Love you guys,
Mamy
I've been contemplating what I wanted to write this afternoon and, since this blog is all about honesty and, HOPEFULLY will be helpful to someone somewhere I've decided to go big.
I'm just gonna jump in now.
I have, at this point, lost over 100 lbs. 3 months. 100 lbs. Mind fucking blown. According to this chart I have, that is the size of a 2 month old horse... I'm really looking forward to 118 when I'll have lost the weight of the complete Encyclopedia Britannica.
My highest weight was cataloged at my surgeon's office at 453 lbs. Yes. That. 453.
My last meeting with the scale in my bathroom registered 347. This is a big deal. I'm guessing, based on the reactions of my nearest and dearest, that I probably don't need to actually tell YOU guys it's a big deal, but, until recently, I needed the reminder myself.
This surgery thing has been... crazy. I feel contrary about it ALL the time. I feel like every conversation I have sounds loony and every blog I write is a babbling mess.
Sometimes it seems like I've done nothing and I don't deserve any praise for weight lost. Other times it is the hardest thing I've ever done in my life and I JUST want someone to hug me and tell me it was a good idea. Usually those moments are reserved for food cravings, depleted protein levels, dehydration, or when I look at myself naked in the mirror.
I do that a lot. STARE at myself. At my face and at my body. Not always naked.
It's... just... fucking weird.
It's... this THING. The surgery is this THING I've done. To repair the damage I've done to this body I live in. I know that it worked because eating has become a chore and the number on the scale is dropping, but, do I SEE it working?
Not really. Not in the good way I was expecting. I thought I'd be able to see it happening and be happy about it, but, mostly, I think what little I see looks weird. It's the strangest thing to go through. I wish I could adequately describe it, but, frankly, I'm not sure I have enough words, or you have the time to read it. Everything is... deflating. It's actually a bit horrifying.
My clothing is finally getting to the point where it's way too big and I need to start looking for interim items to get me through for a bit.
I've gone shopping a few times, but, struck out. REPEATEDLY. HOW could I be losing this much weight and NOT be down roughly eleventy billion sizes??? Or... at least ONE size??
Oh, right, because while I've been wearing a size 28 since Jr. High, toward the end of last year that size was getting so tight my pants would LITERALLY cut into my waist. By that I mean wounds with blood necessitating Neosporin. Why wear something so tight? Because 28 is the highest size you can purchase as a plus size woman without turning to the internet for help. So I wore what I could find that sort of fit and hoped I fooled everybody.
The only thing that has changed significantly was my bra size. My poor, sweet, lovely breasts. I'm so sorry I have betrayed you in such a fashion. You've been so good to me and now you are so sad. When I went into Lane Bryant the staff tried to tell me that they think I've moved from a solid D down to a B. I goggled at them and then told them I didn't have it in me to continue the conversation...I'll try THAT again at a later time.
Where was I going with this? OH YES! THIS AFTERNOON!!!!
This afternoon I decided to go to Torrid with my dear friend Vikisha because I had this coupon and my pants are getting a bit ridiculous.
Torrid carries sizes (in store) roughly 12-26 (they typically have them tagged at 0-4, but who are we kidding WE KNOW A 0 IS A 12 AND A 4 IS A 26!!!). I almost NEVER had success shopping there pre-surgery as I was over their size range, but, I love their clothes and thought I'd go for it. I gathered up the items I wanted to try on in my standard sizes: 4 for tops and dresses and 26 for pants. No real hope I'd fit into any of the items.
The first thing I tried on was this cute little dress. I walked out of the fitting room and Kisha noted that it seemed too big and suggested I get a smaller size.
This is a moment. One of those etched-in-your-brain-forever moments. I distinctly remember staring at her. I'm guessing there was a blank look on my face because my brain could NOT understand what she said. I... huh? I... wait... huh? If the 4 doesn't fit then I don't get the dress. That's how that works. I don't get to buy it because it doesn't fit. There are no more sizes.
Shockingly, it turns out there ARE more sizes.
Not actually in that SPECIFIC dress but she DID bring back a lovely white dress in a size 3.
I tried it on. It fit. I burst into tears. Crying in front of everybody in the back of the store about how I've never, in my adult life, been able to wear a size 3 before.
It was SO much more than a size. It was the first time I saw it. I saw my weight loss. I saw my struggles pay off. I saw a lovely dress that I got to wear because it fit me.
I've included two pictures of the event below. Neither one is particularly flattering, but, real moments in life aren't about that.
Oh hey! Turns out the pants I grabbed were too big also. I ended up leaving with a pair of jeans in a size 24. Hot fucking DAMN. A 24!!! I cannot believe it.
This journey wasn't started with an end number in mind. No weight or size a goal. It was started because I was running out of options and running out of choices and TODAY I finally saw those two things increasing.
So awesome.
Anyway, I've got to end this thing now, so I'm gonna leave you with some appropriate lyrics from one Mr. Ice Cube. Because, while I don't actually have an A.K. to use at any point, no matter HOW the day goes... "I got to say it was a good day."
Love you guys,
Mamy
Sunday, March 22, 2015
Talkin' 'bout 'ginas.... kinda
Hello Friends,
It's been a while since I've blogged, but, the time has come for a new one. My last blog took a little bit out of me, and things have been a bit rough lately so, my apologies for the lack of updates.
What should I start with?
VAGINA.
I'm gonna talk about vaginas. Specifically mine. Just a little bit.
As I type this I am imagining my male friends trying to close the window as fast as they can, but, don't worry boys... it won't be that bad. I won't even post any pictures. Your manhood and dignity will remain intact.
We'll start out slow. I'll give you a warning before muff-talk starts.
I mentioned things have been rough. They have been. Way more difficult than I thought it would be.
Over the last month or so I've been relentlessly getting non-Oscar-related-sick.
It started with an eye infection right before my friend Evan came to visit. My routine "new glasses and contacts, please" doctor's appointment turned into an "oh my, you have a very serious infection of your cornea" visit instead and ended with a SUPER expensive set of eye drops. This was annoying, but not horrible.
Then Evan came to town! I was so happy to see him. We spent one glorious day running around and having fun before disaster struck.
Guys, this is where I start talking about my lady parts. I'm FAIRLY sure that reading about it won't cause your dudely-jumbly man-bits to whither and fall off, but I understand you may have fears and it's okay if you want to close the window.
Day 2 of Evan's visit started out mildly uncomfortably which flared into "Sweet Mary, mother of god, what in the fresh fucking hell is happening to me?!" by midday.
An emergency trip to Planned Parenthood informed me that, while completely STD free, I had managed to develop a sweet-ass case of Bacterial Vaginosis (BV) AND a yeast infection. Truly a powerhouse combo that can be linked to change in diet, or something. I have lived on this earth for 35 years and never had a single problem of this nature. Ever. And then? That entire week it felt like my va-jay-jay was on fire AND covered in fiberglass... and also maybe bees.
To fix the problem of the burning bush (see what I did there), I was given a 7 day course of an antibiotic called Flagyl. A giant pill I was to take twice daily with food. After I finished that med I was given another pill to get rid of my little yeasty friends (affectionately dubbed the Yeastie Boys by Ells). Poor, sweet Evan had to spend his vacation listening to me talk about my vagina and witnessing me live through one of the worst weeks I’ve had in a while. The Flagyl made me sick almost constantly. I could only take it if I broke it in two and even then it was lucky if it stayed down. I was exhausted from the two infections and distinctly remember falling asleep mid conversation with him on at least one occasion. Bless his sweet heart for taking care of me. He was a trooper, for sure.
I was able to kick the two infections (or so I thought) only to develop a UTI which involved another round of DIFFERENT antibiotics which was followed by another yeast infection and more BV. *sigh* That part of my life was beyond exhausting but seems to have passed. Let us all keep our fingers crossed that this is the last time I’ll have to discuss my vagina on my blog.
I’d say let’s hope I don’t have any further ailments, but it seems that JUST RECENTLY I have developed what I am about 99% sure is gout. Why? Because “of course I did” that’s why.
It runs in my family, it’s super common after weight loss surgery due to the high protein diet and difficulties getting water in. I’m not surprised to have this hitch in the road. What I AM surprised to discover is how freakishly fucking awfully bad it hurts.
Oh My GOD.
It’s been gathering force the last few days and this morning I was completely unable to sleep or walk. I couldn’t even bend any of my toes on my left foot. I had to call in reinforcements to bring me meds because the thought of going to the store to get drugs was enough to make me openly weep. I'm much better at this point, but this morning I would have told you it was worse than the surgery and I would have been telling you the truth. THANKFULLY After a full day of sitting with my foot propped up and iced I’m finally able to wiggle my piggies and hobble around my apartment.
Where was I going with this blog? A two page bitch fest? No… no no… I don’t think that was what I meant to do when I started, so let’s change it up.
THE GOOOOD STUFF!!!!!
At this point in my weight loss journey, I have successfully lost somewhere between 80-90 pounds. Which is... of course... an amazing success. It's been just a bit over 2 months since my surgery and I've lost almost 1/2 the weight I've wanted to lose to reach my initial goal.
I'm finally seeing it in my waist. EVIDENTLY the clothes I've been wearing for the past... however long it's been... have been WAY tighter than I thought they were.
I've been able to see it in my face for a while, but, lately something has changed. I've been feeling better about myself. I've been feeling... pretty. It's made me realize that it's been a really long time since I've felt that way and I have to admit I like it. I feel more open. More confident. I won't say that it's perfect, and I'm hoping for even more as I go, but it's a good start.
Boy oh boy, I've needed it. It's helped me to see that, despite my problems lately, I'm on the right path. This was the right thing to do.
In all honesty, in spite of my physical ailments, I have been feeling so blessed and lucky. Not because of the weight loss, but because I have such an amazing support system this has let me see it so clearly.
Wanna know what I see? I see so much love.
Everybody wants to know what's going on. They let me talk about everything ad nauseum and never stop asking me questions. Good questions. Questions filled with curiosity and respect that come from the heart.
I can see love in the faces of my friends as they make sure to plan meals I can eat and watch me like mother hens to make sure that whatever I'm eating sits well with me.
They cut my chicken into little bites and cheer for me when I can eat a full cup of soup or serving of the delicious lunch they made with me in mind. I get high fives for good food days and the knowledge that they have spent time finding the perfect juicing recipes for someone with gastric bypass surgery. They make sure to tell me how great I've been looking and that my new makeup is awesome. They see my changes and point out the best even when I can't see any of it myself.
It is beautiful and means the world to me.
If I were a poet, I'd write you all poems and shit.
Instead I'll just say this: I love you guys. I'd be lost without you.
Love,
Mamy
It's been a while since I've blogged, but, the time has come for a new one. My last blog took a little bit out of me, and things have been a bit rough lately so, my apologies for the lack of updates.
What should I start with?
VAGINA.
I'm gonna talk about vaginas. Specifically mine. Just a little bit.
As I type this I am imagining my male friends trying to close the window as fast as they can, but, don't worry boys... it won't be that bad. I won't even post any pictures. Your manhood and dignity will remain intact.
We'll start out slow. I'll give you a warning before muff-talk starts.
I mentioned things have been rough. They have been. Way more difficult than I thought it would be.
Over the last month or so I've been relentlessly getting non-Oscar-related-sick.
It started with an eye infection right before my friend Evan came to visit. My routine "new glasses and contacts, please" doctor's appointment turned into an "oh my, you have a very serious infection of your cornea" visit instead and ended with a SUPER expensive set of eye drops. This was annoying, but not horrible.
Then Evan came to town! I was so happy to see him. We spent one glorious day running around and having fun before disaster struck.
Guys, this is where I start talking about my lady parts. I'm FAIRLY sure that reading about it won't cause your dudely-jumbly man-bits to whither and fall off, but I understand you may have fears and it's okay if you want to close the window.
Day 2 of Evan's visit started out mildly uncomfortably which flared into "Sweet Mary, mother of god, what in the fresh fucking hell is happening to me?!" by midday.
An emergency trip to Planned Parenthood informed me that, while completely STD free, I had managed to develop a sweet-ass case of Bacterial Vaginosis (BV) AND a yeast infection. Truly a powerhouse combo that can be linked to change in diet, or something. I have lived on this earth for 35 years and never had a single problem of this nature. Ever. And then? That entire week it felt like my va-jay-jay was on fire AND covered in fiberglass... and also maybe bees.
To fix the problem of the burning bush (see what I did there), I was given a 7 day course of an antibiotic called Flagyl. A giant pill I was to take twice daily with food. After I finished that med I was given another pill to get rid of my little yeasty friends (affectionately dubbed the Yeastie Boys by Ells). Poor, sweet Evan had to spend his vacation listening to me talk about my vagina and witnessing me live through one of the worst weeks I’ve had in a while. The Flagyl made me sick almost constantly. I could only take it if I broke it in two and even then it was lucky if it stayed down. I was exhausted from the two infections and distinctly remember falling asleep mid conversation with him on at least one occasion. Bless his sweet heart for taking care of me. He was a trooper, for sure.
I was able to kick the two infections (or so I thought) only to develop a UTI which involved another round of DIFFERENT antibiotics which was followed by another yeast infection and more BV. *sigh* That part of my life was beyond exhausting but seems to have passed. Let us all keep our fingers crossed that this is the last time I’ll have to discuss my vagina on my blog.
I’d say let’s hope I don’t have any further ailments, but it seems that JUST RECENTLY I have developed what I am about 99% sure is gout. Why? Because “of course I did” that’s why.
It runs in my family, it’s super common after weight loss surgery due to the high protein diet and difficulties getting water in. I’m not surprised to have this hitch in the road. What I AM surprised to discover is how freakishly fucking awfully bad it hurts.
Oh My GOD.
It’s been gathering force the last few days and this morning I was completely unable to sleep or walk. I couldn’t even bend any of my toes on my left foot. I had to call in reinforcements to bring me meds because the thought of going to the store to get drugs was enough to make me openly weep. I'm much better at this point, but this morning I would have told you it was worse than the surgery and I would have been telling you the truth. THANKFULLY After a full day of sitting with my foot propped up and iced I’m finally able to wiggle my piggies and hobble around my apartment.
Where was I going with this blog? A two page bitch fest? No… no no… I don’t think that was what I meant to do when I started, so let’s change it up.
THE GOOOOD STUFF!!!!!
At this point in my weight loss journey, I have successfully lost somewhere between 80-90 pounds. Which is... of course... an amazing success. It's been just a bit over 2 months since my surgery and I've lost almost 1/2 the weight I've wanted to lose to reach my initial goal.
I'm finally seeing it in my waist. EVIDENTLY the clothes I've been wearing for the past... however long it's been... have been WAY tighter than I thought they were.
I've been able to see it in my face for a while, but, lately something has changed. I've been feeling better about myself. I've been feeling... pretty. It's made me realize that it's been a really long time since I've felt that way and I have to admit I like it. I feel more open. More confident. I won't say that it's perfect, and I'm hoping for even more as I go, but it's a good start.
Boy oh boy, I've needed it. It's helped me to see that, despite my problems lately, I'm on the right path. This was the right thing to do.
In all honesty, in spite of my physical ailments, I have been feeling so blessed and lucky. Not because of the weight loss, but because I have such an amazing support system this has let me see it so clearly.
Wanna know what I see? I see so much love.
Everybody wants to know what's going on. They let me talk about everything ad nauseum and never stop asking me questions. Good questions. Questions filled with curiosity and respect that come from the heart.
I can see love in the faces of my friends as they make sure to plan meals I can eat and watch me like mother hens to make sure that whatever I'm eating sits well with me.
They cut my chicken into little bites and cheer for me when I can eat a full cup of soup or serving of the delicious lunch they made with me in mind. I get high fives for good food days and the knowledge that they have spent time finding the perfect juicing recipes for someone with gastric bypass surgery. They make sure to tell me how great I've been looking and that my new makeup is awesome. They see my changes and point out the best even when I can't see any of it myself.
It is beautiful and means the world to me.
If I were a poet, I'd write you all poems and shit.
Instead I'll just say this: I love you guys. I'd be lost without you.
Love,
Mamy
Thursday, February 19, 2015
This one is not going to be a fun read
I know many of you read my blogs because they're fun and funny and I promise I'll get back to those at some point, but this one is not going be it.
This one is going to be dark. It's going to be heavy. It's going to be astoundingly personal. It is going to be hard for me to write, but, I'm going to do it anyway.
You don't have to read it. I will completely understand. It may actually be a relief if you don't.
I wrote it last night and had to sleep on it before posting it.
This one is going to be dark. It's going to be heavy. It's going to be astoundingly personal. It is going to be hard for me to write, but, I'm going to do it anyway.
You don't have to read it. I will completely understand. It may actually be a relief if you don't.
I wrote it last night and had to sleep on it before posting it.
Here goes...
Yesterday afternoon my mother called me to let me know my dad had died.
Now, before you rush to check in on me or express sympathy for my loss I'd like to clarify some very important things.
My mother left my father a long LONG time ago.
My father was an asshole.
I haven't suffered a great loss.
Or maybe I have, but it certainly wasn't the corporeal form of the man I grew up calling Dad.
I have been carrying such a weird weighted feeling since she told me. I just can't seem to sort out my emotions. I feel grief and a sadness that is unexpected.
Don Ira Hirsch was a bastard. He was mean. He was abusive. He was a master of the mind fuck and the subtle bruise.
He would say awful shit to me. Words I still hear in my head. "You're worthless. Completely worthless." "Why can't you do anything right, EVER? You can't even wash the damn dishes!" and my personal favorite. "Nobody will ever love you, you know. You're fat and stupid and nobody loves girls like that." Sometimes they would be stage whispered in my ear. Sometimes screamed in my face. Sometimes barked like an order while he made me suck in my stomach and push it out over and over again in some bizarre ritual that was supposed to help me lose weight while gaining shame.
Sometimes he would hit me. Sometimes he would grab my arms and shake me so hard he'd leave finger print bruises. His favorite weapon of choice, though, was his belt. Lord have mercy if you heard him undo his buckle or the "vvvvvvvwwwip" sound of it pulling through the belt loops.
As a kid, I didn't understand. I couldn't wrap my mind around the idea that this man who was SUPPOSED to love me just... didn't. I thought that someday he'd change and be my dad. Someday I'd be good enough to warrant it.
I remember the moment I realized that was never going to happen. A friends older brother hurt me. He had jammed my head between the mattress and the headboard of his parent's bed and the pressure had made me pass out. I told Don about it expecting... hoping... that he would be upset. This was it! A chance for him to dad-up and defend his little girl. I knew, I just KNEW in my heart that this was the moment where he'd knight-in-shining armor and scoop me somewhere safe and rush over to the kid's parent's and they'd talk and whatever it is grownups do. I'd have the dad that everybody on TV seemed to have.
Instead he asked me if I liked it and then smacked me when I sarcastically answered "Yeah, dad. It was great."
I was pretty disappointed in his response. But it was a lesson I needed to learn.
In retrospect, the worst was that he loved to try to make me hate my sister almost as much as he loved to make me hate myself. He would do everything in his power to separate us. To divide us. To let me know JUST how much he loved her and JUST how little he cared about me. He doted on her... she had a room, and dolls and books and a canopy bed (SO jelly). I had a dusty couch, whatever I brought with me from moms, and a couple of trinkets that he had been forced to purchase.
I don't know how much my sister remembers. She was so little and he hid his dark side from her. I've never asked her and, Dudie... if you are reading this... I never will. I don't want to compare notes. All that matters is that I'm sorry we had to go through that. I love you so much. You are amazing and beautiful and wonderful and my heart would be lost without you. He didn't win. We did. It took a while, but WE WON.
All of this is ancient history. I'm not even sure why I'm writing about it. I haven't spoken to the man since I was in high school. I carry his scars, but I've dealt with most of my anger. I haven't even really thought about him in forever.
Yet... YEEEEET here I am. Struggling with a case of the feels.
I think if I hadn't passed the angry phase maybe I'd just feel happy. Fuck him. He's dead. Burn and rot and piss on your grave and all that, you fucker.
But, I don't. I don't feel happy he's dead. I feel vaguely sad.
My friend suggested today that I was sad because a spark of hope was now extinguished. That I'd kept it locked up tight, but, now that it was taken away from me I was feeling its loss.
My friend is not without smarts.
The truth is there are many reasons I'm feeling weird about this. I haven't had a chance to analyze all of them yet, and maybe I won't ever be able to. But the one I can see clearly is this: I'm sad because I will never get a dad. Not a real one. Not the kind I deserved. I'm sad because it's really truly over. There will be no reunion. He won't tell me he was wrong and that I AM amazing. The little girl in me will never have the dad who hugs and protects and loves her.
It's done. It's really over now.
And... as I've been writing this I've started to realize that can be okay.
My past shaped me. I wouldn't be who I am without it and, frankly, my life today is full of amazing people that I wouldn't trade for the world. The healing strength of the people who don't have to love me, but do far outweighs the pain of a man who was supposed to, but didn't. I am so grateful for that.
Yesterday afternoon my mother called me to let me know my dad had died.
Now, before you rush to check in on me or express sympathy for my loss I'd like to clarify some very important things.
My mother left my father a long LONG time ago.
My father was an asshole.
I haven't suffered a great loss.
Or maybe I have, but it certainly wasn't the corporeal form of the man I grew up calling Dad.
I have been carrying such a weird weighted feeling since she told me. I just can't seem to sort out my emotions. I feel grief and a sadness that is unexpected.
Don Ira Hirsch was a bastard. He was mean. He was abusive. He was a master of the mind fuck and the subtle bruise.
He would say awful shit to me. Words I still hear in my head. "You're worthless. Completely worthless." "Why can't you do anything right, EVER? You can't even wash the damn dishes!" and my personal favorite. "Nobody will ever love you, you know. You're fat and stupid and nobody loves girls like that." Sometimes they would be stage whispered in my ear. Sometimes screamed in my face. Sometimes barked like an order while he made me suck in my stomach and push it out over and over again in some bizarre ritual that was supposed to help me lose weight while gaining shame.
Sometimes he would hit me. Sometimes he would grab my arms and shake me so hard he'd leave finger print bruises. His favorite weapon of choice, though, was his belt. Lord have mercy if you heard him undo his buckle or the "vvvvvvvwwwip" sound of it pulling through the belt loops.
As a kid, I didn't understand. I couldn't wrap my mind around the idea that this man who was SUPPOSED to love me just... didn't. I thought that someday he'd change and be my dad. Someday I'd be good enough to warrant it.
I remember the moment I realized that was never going to happen. A friends older brother hurt me. He had jammed my head between the mattress and the headboard of his parent's bed and the pressure had made me pass out. I told Don about it expecting... hoping... that he would be upset. This was it! A chance for him to dad-up and defend his little girl. I knew, I just KNEW in my heart that this was the moment where he'd knight-in-shining armor and scoop me somewhere safe and rush over to the kid's parent's and they'd talk and whatever it is grownups do. I'd have the dad that everybody on TV seemed to have.
Instead he asked me if I liked it and then smacked me when I sarcastically answered "Yeah, dad. It was great."
I was pretty disappointed in his response. But it was a lesson I needed to learn.
In retrospect, the worst was that he loved to try to make me hate my sister almost as much as he loved to make me hate myself. He would do everything in his power to separate us. To divide us. To let me know JUST how much he loved her and JUST how little he cared about me. He doted on her... she had a room, and dolls and books and a canopy bed (SO jelly). I had a dusty couch, whatever I brought with me from moms, and a couple of trinkets that he had been forced to purchase.
I don't know how much my sister remembers. She was so little and he hid his dark side from her. I've never asked her and, Dudie... if you are reading this... I never will. I don't want to compare notes. All that matters is that I'm sorry we had to go through that. I love you so much. You are amazing and beautiful and wonderful and my heart would be lost without you. He didn't win. We did. It took a while, but WE WON.
All of this is ancient history. I'm not even sure why I'm writing about it. I haven't spoken to the man since I was in high school. I carry his scars, but I've dealt with most of my anger. I haven't even really thought about him in forever.
Yet... YEEEEET here I am. Struggling with a case of the feels.
I think if I hadn't passed the angry phase maybe I'd just feel happy. Fuck him. He's dead. Burn and rot and piss on your grave and all that, you fucker.
But, I don't. I don't feel happy he's dead. I feel vaguely sad.
My friend suggested today that I was sad because a spark of hope was now extinguished. That I'd kept it locked up tight, but, now that it was taken away from me I was feeling its loss.
My friend is not without smarts.
The truth is there are many reasons I'm feeling weird about this. I haven't had a chance to analyze all of them yet, and maybe I won't ever be able to. But the one I can see clearly is this: I'm sad because I will never get a dad. Not a real one. Not the kind I deserved. I'm sad because it's really truly over. There will be no reunion. He won't tell me he was wrong and that I AM amazing. The little girl in me will never have the dad who hugs and protects and loves her.
It's done. It's really over now.
And... as I've been writing this I've started to realize that can be okay.
My past shaped me. I wouldn't be who I am without it and, frankly, my life today is full of amazing people that I wouldn't trade for the world. The healing strength of the people who don't have to love me, but do far outweighs the pain of a man who was supposed to, but didn't. I am so grateful for that.
So, it's time to work on letting it (and him) go.
Sing me out, Elsa...
Sing me out, Elsa...
Friday, February 13, 2015
It's been a long time... I shouldn't have left you... left you...
... without a dope beat to step to... step to... step to... step to... step to... step to.... fricky-fricky-fricky.
Whew. That totally had to happen. It started with the thought that "It's been a long time" as I looked at the date of my last blog and it just tumbled into Aaliyah lyrics that had to come out.
Like some kind of lyrical face hugger.
Friends, I'm not going to lie... I have no idea how to make tonight's blog have any sort of form or substance. I've been kind of all over the place lately and figure that's as authentic as it's gonna get, might as well write that shit down in whatever order it comes tumbling out.
And if at first I don't succeed...first I don't succeed... (in adequately explaining something), I'll just dust myself off and try again - try again (with another blog at a later time).
See what I did there? BAM! More Aaliyah.
Okay... back to business. What's been going on with the Mamers? I'm gonna start rambling and see where this goes.
I have been very busy doing almost nothing of any relevance.
I no longer have a job. I have not heard anything from the jobs I've applied for. I have no money because my previous company hasn't paid me out for, well, anything yet. I lack energy at pretty much any time of the day, yet my brain is buzzing constantly. I'm a bit sad, and a bit hopeless lately. I may or may not have cried for no reason this afternoon.
**Whoa, that... this is a bit of a darker tone. Didn't see it going here, but let's continue**
Folks, this feels an awful lot like a little bit of depression. I think I heard a rumor that it's pretty common after this surgery to have an encounter with it. In MY case, this is a feeling I am quite familiar with as I have battled this douchebag most, if not all, of my adult life.
Mamy you don't SEEM depressed. You're even making jokes in your blog! Right now!! This very second!
RIGHT YOU ARE!
It has always been the case with me that I can push it back and try for the smile. For years and years I've been able to do that. Because I honestly believe that the tiniest light chips away at it's roots and, man, isn't that the better option? I would rather feel that then give up. Also... my drug of choice has ALWAYS been people. So when I see you my smile is genuine, my heart is happy and my hug is so very real. You light up my life and chase away all the sad, bad, stupid shit. It is washed away in the glittering incandescence of you being you. If you ask, I'll probably tell you that I'm fine and, in that moment, I truly will be.
Kinda makes it hard for you, my sweet friends and loves, to figure out where I am when I say things like "I might be depressed". It's a big statement that has so much stigma and confusion around it, so I'll make you a promise. I solemnly swear to tell you if I need you. Cross my heart.
And, rest assured, I am fighting the urge to stop trying and just relax into it.
I'm mean... pretty sure I've heard from reliable sources that it hurts less if you just relax into it, but I'm not gonna do thaaa.... no... no wait... that's not what they were talking about... they were talking about anal. Totally different conversation. My bad. ;)
I'll be okay. I know I will. The blues haven't beat me yet. I just need to sort things out and come up with a game plan. Lists. I need lists. I need to write down the things I need to do to get the things done that need to be done. I'm no good without a game plan.
And good stuff IS happening!! Evan is coming to town! And I'm going to see Empire Records and Tyrone Wells! And I've lost about 60 lbs and I have you!
I never planned on writing this particular blog and have been back and forth about posting it, oh, you know, eleventy-billion times. I don't want it to seem like a whiny story or a cry for help or a guilt trip.
This blog is supposed to be an account of my year. It is supposed to be a creative outlet for me to work with what I'm good at. Just posting a highlight reel doesn't feel legit. Besides, so many people have told me that the thing they love about my blog is its honesty. I'd hate to lie through omission.
I love you guys.
~ Mamy ~
P.S. Aaliyah - Try Again. BAM!
Whew. That totally had to happen. It started with the thought that "It's been a long time" as I looked at the date of my last blog and it just tumbled into Aaliyah lyrics that had to come out.
Like some kind of lyrical face hugger.
Friends, I'm not going to lie... I have no idea how to make tonight's blog have any sort of form or substance. I've been kind of all over the place lately and figure that's as authentic as it's gonna get, might as well write that shit down in whatever order it comes tumbling out.
And if at first I don't succeed...first I don't succeed... (in adequately explaining something), I'll just dust myself off and try again - try again (with another blog at a later time).
See what I did there? BAM! More Aaliyah.
Okay... back to business. What's been going on with the Mamers? I'm gonna start rambling and see where this goes.
I have been very busy doing almost nothing of any relevance.
I no longer have a job. I have not heard anything from the jobs I've applied for. I have no money because my previous company hasn't paid me out for, well, anything yet. I lack energy at pretty much any time of the day, yet my brain is buzzing constantly. I'm a bit sad, and a bit hopeless lately. I may or may not have cried for no reason this afternoon.
**Whoa, that... this is a bit of a darker tone. Didn't see it going here, but let's continue**
Folks, this feels an awful lot like a little bit of depression. I think I heard a rumor that it's pretty common after this surgery to have an encounter with it. In MY case, this is a feeling I am quite familiar with as I have battled this douchebag most, if not all, of my adult life.
Mamy you don't SEEM depressed. You're even making jokes in your blog! Right now!! This very second!
RIGHT YOU ARE!
It has always been the case with me that I can push it back and try for the smile. For years and years I've been able to do that. Because I honestly believe that the tiniest light chips away at it's roots and, man, isn't that the better option? I would rather feel that then give up. Also... my drug of choice has ALWAYS been people. So when I see you my smile is genuine, my heart is happy and my hug is so very real. You light up my life and chase away all the sad, bad, stupid shit. It is washed away in the glittering incandescence of you being you. If you ask, I'll probably tell you that I'm fine and, in that moment, I truly will be.
Kinda makes it hard for you, my sweet friends and loves, to figure out where I am when I say things like "I might be depressed". It's a big statement that has so much stigma and confusion around it, so I'll make you a promise. I solemnly swear to tell you if I need you. Cross my heart.
And, rest assured, I am fighting the urge to stop trying and just relax into it.
I'm mean... pretty sure I've heard from reliable sources that it hurts less if you just relax into it, but I'm not gonna do thaaa.... no... no wait... that's not what they were talking about... they were talking about anal. Totally different conversation. My bad. ;)
I'll be okay. I know I will. The blues haven't beat me yet. I just need to sort things out and come up with a game plan. Lists. I need lists. I need to write down the things I need to do to get the things done that need to be done. I'm no good without a game plan.
And good stuff IS happening!! Evan is coming to town! And I'm going to see Empire Records and Tyrone Wells! And I've lost about 60 lbs and I have you!
I never planned on writing this particular blog and have been back and forth about posting it, oh, you know, eleventy-billion times. I don't want it to seem like a whiny story or a cry for help or a guilt trip.
This blog is supposed to be an account of my year. It is supposed to be a creative outlet for me to work with what I'm good at. Just posting a highlight reel doesn't feel legit. Besides, so many people have told me that the thing they love about my blog is its honesty. I'd hate to lie through omission.
I love you guys.
~ Mamy ~
P.S. Aaliyah - Try Again. BAM!
Monday, February 2, 2015
Life Bomb #2 - in which I volunteer for a lay off.
Hi Friends,
Today I'm gonna blog about something that's not related to my weight loss. I never intended this blog to be specifically about that journey anyway, it has just been my major source of bloggy inspiration of late.
I guess I should say it's been the major source that I've felt the most comfortable talking about. Which is a weird notion that probably deserves a blog of it's own at a later time. I'll just add that to my list of stuff to blog about... somewhere right after my blog about Pratt vs. Evans (Who makes a better Chris???).
Anyway... today I want to blog about work, or, more correctly, the fact that today was my last day.
You read that right. Today was my very last day with Northrop Grumman. I am no longer employed by them. Last November (I'm pretty sure it was the same day I found out I was approved for the surgery) I put in for a voluntary lay off.
That week was the start of the year of me as far as I am concerned. I did willfully and knowingly decide that I was going to blow my life apart at the start of this year. I had this notion that I wanted 2015 to be a fresh start. I wanted to burn everything to the ground because I truly felt like it was the only way I would rebuild a life the way I wanted it to be. Healthy. Happy. In all aspects of my life. I wanted to remove the stagnant and toxic and move forward.
It felt so right then. I remember pushing the "send" button on the email and being so excited it felt like my blood was carbonated. It still feels right now, but, along the way that feeling got mixed with this idea that I've done something very foolish.
This is, and always will be, one of my biggest weaknesses. I hear too many voices. My own voice gets lost in the cacophony of others and I doubt my decisions.
Fortunately (unfortunately??) my decision was made at the end of the year and after mid-December there was no going back. I was strapped into the lay-off train and we were heading out of the station.
This morning I signed the final paperwork. I said good-bye to some of the most lovely and wonderful people I have ever known. I was gifted BEAUTIFUL flowers and sweet words on a card and I cried when I hugged my 40-hour-a-week-friends* adieu.
So here I am. Sitting at my computer. Unemployed.** Terrified. Excited. Looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow and praying that the urge to leave the comfortable will lead to the good things I so hope it will.
Fingers crossed my voice was the right one to listen to.
Love you guys,
~ Mamy ~
* Please note: 40 hours a week is more than most people spend with their families.
** If anybody has any leads on great jobs for awesome people (coughMEcough) feel free to hit me up. I have resumes!! ;)
*** Cash has volunteered to start hunting for our food, should we need it. #gameplan
Today I'm gonna blog about something that's not related to my weight loss. I never intended this blog to be specifically about that journey anyway, it has just been my major source of bloggy inspiration of late.
I guess I should say it's been the major source that I've felt the most comfortable talking about. Which is a weird notion that probably deserves a blog of it's own at a later time. I'll just add that to my list of stuff to blog about... somewhere right after my blog about Pratt vs. Evans (Who makes a better Chris???).
Anyway... today I want to blog about work, or, more correctly, the fact that today was my last day.
You read that right. Today was my very last day with Northrop Grumman. I am no longer employed by them. Last November (I'm pretty sure it was the same day I found out I was approved for the surgery) I put in for a voluntary lay off.
That week was the start of the year of me as far as I am concerned. I did willfully and knowingly decide that I was going to blow my life apart at the start of this year. I had this notion that I wanted 2015 to be a fresh start. I wanted to burn everything to the ground because I truly felt like it was the only way I would rebuild a life the way I wanted it to be. Healthy. Happy. In all aspects of my life. I wanted to remove the stagnant and toxic and move forward.
It felt so right then. I remember pushing the "send" button on the email and being so excited it felt like my blood was carbonated. It still feels right now, but, along the way that feeling got mixed with this idea that I've done something very foolish.
This is, and always will be, one of my biggest weaknesses. I hear too many voices. My own voice gets lost in the cacophony of others and I doubt my decisions.
Fortunately (unfortunately??) my decision was made at the end of the year and after mid-December there was no going back. I was strapped into the lay-off train and we were heading out of the station.
This morning I signed the final paperwork. I said good-bye to some of the most lovely and wonderful people I have ever known. I was gifted BEAUTIFUL flowers and sweet words on a card and I cried when I hugged my 40-hour-a-week-friends* adieu.
So here I am. Sitting at my computer. Unemployed.** Terrified. Excited. Looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow and praying that the urge to leave the comfortable will lead to the good things I so hope it will.
Fingers crossed my voice was the right one to listen to.
Love you guys,
~ Mamy ~
* Please note: 40 hours a week is more than most people spend with their families.
** If anybody has any leads on great jobs for awesome people (coughMEcough) feel free to hit me up. I have resumes!! ;)
*** Cash has volunteered to start hunting for our food, should we need it. #gameplan
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Tuesday evening shower thoughts...
I can't believe I'm showering at 7:45. That seems way too early to get getting ready for bed. But, I have to take care of Big Bertha and I might as well get it out of the way.
Speaking of... I think I'll let some more water hit the bandaid before I try to take it off. Stupid Walgreens paper tape. I can't believe it ripped off that many layers of my skin. I suppose it's kind of neat that FrankenTummy is missing skin in a perfect 4x4 square frame-style shape. Maybe I'll make it a trend... like... yin yang tattoos.
Hot water on my sore shoulder is like a damn miracle EVERY stinkin time. Hallelujah!
Mmmm... man, I never get sick of the smell of this shampoo. The first and almost only smell Ellie and I have ever agreed on. And it goes so well with my new soap! I'm glad it was on sale at Target.
I should probably stop avoiding Big Bertha. EEK! I just. Don't. Want to. *sigh* Band-aid first. Slowly... slooooooowly.. more water! More water! Owie Owie! Slooooowly. Okay. Outer flexible fabric cover has been removed. Now for the gauze. This is so much easier than before. I'm doing such a good job! I'm not even crying *sings* toootally not crying, I'm so not crying. LALALA not cryi... I... no... I am doing a good job, here... god dammit... if you... just... COME OUT! ACK! MOTHER FUCKER! This is never going to be less awful. I wonder how long I'm going to have to do this. I bet it's going to be forever. Blagh. I'm going to call the doctor tomorrow and get an appointment. I'll feel better and worry less about what color drainage means what. I'm super glad I have Aunt Kathleen to call and talk about this stuff with, but, she's right... I shouldn't be worrying about that. I should be calm and know that orange-y yellow means... something not bad and any-doctor-but-Brewer will reassure me of that. Letting the soap and water wash over and in the wound... .oooover and ... back to the other thing... in... ick. Oooooover. Okay. Done with that.
I should probably exfoliate my face. It's a little rough feeling... but... what if some of the crunchies in my exfoliating facial cleanser somehow wash over and into Big Bertha?? I... think... I can probably wait a little longer. I mean... it's cool. I'll make this a trend too.
I haven't blogged in a couple days. Maybe I should blog tonight. Yeah. I'm gonna get out of the shower, do that other stuff I have to do and then BLOG! About STUFF. Maybe I'll give a BB update and talk about the GOOD things that have been happening lately so people don't think I'm totally miserable and dying alone in my apartment. I mean... she really only takes up, like, 2.5 hours of my day. Which leaves a whole... uh... 22, no... 21.5? Whatever hours left! DOOOOOIN' IIIIIT!
I use WAY less conditioner now that my hair is short. That's probably going to save me some money which will TOTALLY balance out how much I paid for it. And maybe let me afford highlights. It's worth it. I love this cut. I'm glad I went to Jesse. Jessey? Whatever. She's awesome. I'm gonna put that in the blog. I should link a picture. I... don't want to take one tonight, so I'll use that one from Sara.
Wonder what that bitch is up to? She better not be watching West Wing without me.
I'm really glad I can eat soft foods now. They're almost as good as real foods and they are TOTALLY a step in that direction!
I HAVE to get more protein in. And more water. I haven't consumed nearly enough. Not even a little bit. Time to crack down cuz I'm not gonna lose more if I don't eat more. I'm really lucky that I haven't had any problems eating or drinking things. It ALMOST makes Big Bertha worth it cuz it would fucking SUCK BALLS to feel sick like that all the time.
Is it weird that I hear Josh laughing every time I say or think something about protein? He's pretty much ruined my life with that. *sigh*
Okay. All washed up. Not-gonna-shave-because-who's-gonna-care. Am gonna exfoliate because it's not realistic to worry about that. One last rinse of BB and now it's time for the gauze stuffing, bandaging, and Heparen injection. Heeeey! I think I only have 3 more to go! 25 shots down, 3 to go. I am a total BAD-fucking-ASS.
God DAMN this fake hardwood floor is cold.
Speaking of... I think I'll let some more water hit the bandaid before I try to take it off. Stupid Walgreens paper tape. I can't believe it ripped off that many layers of my skin. I suppose it's kind of neat that FrankenTummy is missing skin in a perfect 4x4 square frame-style shape. Maybe I'll make it a trend... like... yin yang tattoos.
Hot water on my sore shoulder is like a damn miracle EVERY stinkin time. Hallelujah!
Mmmm... man, I never get sick of the smell of this shampoo. The first and almost only smell Ellie and I have ever agreed on. And it goes so well with my new soap! I'm glad it was on sale at Target.
I should probably stop avoiding Big Bertha. EEK! I just. Don't. Want to. *sigh* Band-aid first. Slowly... slooooooowly.. more water! More water! Owie Owie! Slooooowly. Okay. Outer flexible fabric cover has been removed. Now for the gauze. This is so much easier than before. I'm doing such a good job! I'm not even crying *sings* toootally not crying, I'm so not crying. LALALA not cryi... I... no... I am doing a good job, here... god dammit... if you... just... COME OUT! ACK! MOTHER FUCKER! This is never going to be less awful. I wonder how long I'm going to have to do this. I bet it's going to be forever. Blagh. I'm going to call the doctor tomorrow and get an appointment. I'll feel better and worry less about what color drainage means what. I'm super glad I have Aunt Kathleen to call and talk about this stuff with, but, she's right... I shouldn't be worrying about that. I should be calm and know that orange-y yellow means... something not bad and any-doctor-but-Brewer will reassure me of that. Letting the soap and water wash over and in the wound... .oooover and ... back to the other thing... in... ick. Oooooover. Okay. Done with that.
I should probably exfoliate my face. It's a little rough feeling... but... what if some of the crunchies in my exfoliating facial cleanser somehow wash over and into Big Bertha?? I... think... I can probably wait a little longer. I mean... it's cool. I'll make this a trend too.
I haven't blogged in a couple days. Maybe I should blog tonight. Yeah. I'm gonna get out of the shower, do that other stuff I have to do and then BLOG! About STUFF. Maybe I'll give a BB update and talk about the GOOD things that have been happening lately so people don't think I'm totally miserable and dying alone in my apartment. I mean... she really only takes up, like, 2.5 hours of my day. Which leaves a whole... uh... 22, no... 21.5? Whatever hours left! DOOOOOIN' IIIIIT!
I use WAY less conditioner now that my hair is short. That's probably going to save me some money which will TOTALLY balance out how much I paid for it. And maybe let me afford highlights. It's worth it. I love this cut. I'm glad I went to Jesse. Jessey? Whatever. She's awesome. I'm gonna put that in the blog. I should link a picture. I... don't want to take one tonight, so I'll use that one from Sara.
Wonder what that bitch is up to? She better not be watching West Wing without me.
I'm really glad I can eat soft foods now. They're almost as good as real foods and they are TOTALLY a step in that direction!
I HAVE to get more protein in. And more water. I haven't consumed nearly enough. Not even a little bit. Time to crack down cuz I'm not gonna lose more if I don't eat more. I'm really lucky that I haven't had any problems eating or drinking things. It ALMOST makes Big Bertha worth it cuz it would fucking SUCK BALLS to feel sick like that all the time.
Is it weird that I hear Josh laughing every time I say or think something about protein? He's pretty much ruined my life with that. *sigh*
Okay. All washed up. Not-gonna-shave-because-who's-gonna-care. Am gonna exfoliate because it's not realistic to worry about that. One last rinse of BB and now it's time for the gauze stuffing, bandaging, and Heparen injection. Heeeey! I think I only have 3 more to go! 25 shots down, 3 to go. I am a total BAD-fucking-ASS.
God DAMN this fake hardwood floor is cold.
Saturday, January 24, 2015
Hemato-WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?!?!?
Hello Loves,
Today I'm going to write about my traumatic doctor's appointment yesterday. It would be ill advised to continue to read if you do not want to hear the yucky and the gross involved.
So... I would stop reading now if it's gonna bother you. I promise, I won't mind. I'll even make note right before I get into the real grossies.
Yesterday morning I went in to have the last of my staples removed from the incision I have been affectionately referring to as "Big Bertha". Big Bertha is the largest of my incisions. She sits directly over where most of the action took place and guards many many internal sutures and general owwies.
I was able to get all the other staples removed from all the other incisions on Monday but Bertha was... well... she had been draining a bit and was SUPER sore so the doctor and I decided to leave them in until Friday.
On the night before my ill fated doctor's appointment (Thursday) I had been hanging out with Sara and commented that I still didn't feel like things were okay with Bertha. I mentioned that it was still really hard and swollen all around the staples... pretty far around them actually. I was concerned that maybe the internal sutures had torn or that things were just not healing at the incision site correctly and I was going to talk to the MD about it at my appointment.
Fast forward about 12 hours to Friday morning. My favorite nurse and I discussed my weight loss, she felt around the incision and determined that there wasn't any heat coming from it and let me know that some times there is just a lot of swelling with that particular incision but it should go down after the staples are removed.
Boy oh boy... she had no idea how accurate that statement was.
Extracting staples, as it turns out, is exceptionally easy. She popped out those 5 bad boys and turned to throw them away when all hell broke lose.
** This is the part where I start talking about gross things **
I looked down and shifted just enough to see the actual incision when all of a sudden a thick and heavy stream of blood started POURING out of it. I cupped a hand beneath Bertha, felt blood start to pool in it and exclaimed something profound like "OH MY GOD!". Leslie (my favorite nurse) turned from the sink and also said "OH MY GOD!" grabbed some gauze, pressed it to BB and then ran out to the hall to yell for Doctor Brewer. Her exact words (I'm not sure I'll ever forget) were "Doctor Brewer. Doctor BREWER! We need you in here. It's an emergency". Bless her heart. I'm sure she was trying to get his attention, but it scared the every living shit out of me.
Dr. Brewer came in with Cody, the PA, and they both gloved up and started grabbing gauze. I was on the verge of absolute blind panic and could feel myself giving that wild-eyed scared-animal look to Cody while I stammered out "What's happening?? WHAT'S HAPPENING? I don't understand... what's going on?!?!" He responded, quite UN-helpfully with "We don't know yet".
Now comes the interlude where I sit back and try to calm down while Cody and Doc B spend several minutes trying to soak up the blood that is still emptying from my body. I forced Dr Brewer to tell me REPEATEDLY that everything was okay and that I was going to be fine. Mostly because it didn't FEEL like that was the case. It felt like I was bleeding. A LOT. It felt scary and disorienting and painful. It felt like absolute terror mixed with a tinge of horror at the sheer amount of blood that was, just, escaping.
FINALLY he told me what was happening (Dr. Brewer, thy name is not synonymous with bed side manner). Evidently we just discovered that I had a hematoma (A localized swelling filled with blood resulting from a break in a blood vessel) the size of a softball leftover from my surgery. I wasn't ACTUALLY bleeding... it was the hematoma draining. Dr Brewer said, at one point after everything had calmed down, "I'm pretty sure we told you it would drain" and I responded with "I'm pretty sure you did NOT tell me the draining would look like ALL OF MY BLOOD WAS LEAVING MY BODY". It's possible that Dr. Brewer doesn't want to be my doctor anymore.
This whole process was disgusting and gory. They pushed on it and got all of the blood and clotting out. It made noise, there was more bleeding. It was a fucking horror movie.
But that's not even the worst part (for me). The WORST part is that after it was drained, I was informed that I would have to tuck a corner of a piece of gauze into my OPEN WOUND every night so it could drain further. Every night for... until it's healed. WHEN WILL THAT BE?!?!?!
Me. Tucking guaze. Into a wound. That is open. A deep incision that is just hanging out on MY FrankenTummy.
This sounds like maybe not a big deal. It certainly wasn't to Dr. Brewer. But to ME? This is a god damn nightmare. I'm not kidding you. I am borderline phobic about this. He told me to just take a shower and pull out the guaze he'd tucked in there and then let the water and soap wash in and over the wound.
I'm gagging and curling in on myself a little as I write this.
I had my first attempt last night. LATE last night. It was... omg... one of the lowest and most horrible moments of my life. I cried so hard in the shower I was afraid I was going to wake the neighbors. I was that crazy chick sobbing in the shower in that one movie where the crazy chick does that. Why, you ask? Because no matter how I tried I could not get the gauze out. I wiggled it and tugged on it and pulled gently. I, on the verge of hyperventilating, pulled firmly and rocked back and forth until it finally pulled out. It was the size of the top half of my pinkie finger.
I dry heaved. In my shower. Had there been food in my tummy I'm sure I would have just straight up vomited.
I was so tired and so freaked-the-fuck out that I couldn't even process putting a new piece back in. I had to call MY MOM to talk me into it. And by that I mean I had to babble incoherently while sobbing at her that I can't do it.
I started and stopped and started and stopped at least a half dozen times before I was finally able to get the job at least partially done.
I have no idea if I did it right. It doesn't FEEL like I did. It hurts more than when Dr Brewer did it. It's not draining as much. The whole area feel warm to the touch and I am TOTALLY messed up about the fact that I have to do it AGAIN TONIGHT.
If you've managed to read up until this point, I'm impressed.
I have no idea how I'm gonna manage to take care of this business this evening. It's just about that time and I'm just about boggled.
Guess I'll just find my way to the same point I got to last night.
On a good note, at least yesterday, the doctor said there was no sign of infection, so we're gonna keep on keeping it that way.
I am so SO thankful this happened at their office and not at home.
Anyway... Wish me luck. Send me good vibes as it is once more unto the breach I go.
Love ya,
Mamy
Today I'm going to write about my traumatic doctor's appointment yesterday. It would be ill advised to continue to read if you do not want to hear the yucky and the gross involved.
So... I would stop reading now if it's gonna bother you. I promise, I won't mind. I'll even make note right before I get into the real grossies.
Yesterday morning I went in to have the last of my staples removed from the incision I have been affectionately referring to as "Big Bertha". Big Bertha is the largest of my incisions. She sits directly over where most of the action took place and guards many many internal sutures and general owwies.
I was able to get all the other staples removed from all the other incisions on Monday but Bertha was... well... she had been draining a bit and was SUPER sore so the doctor and I decided to leave them in until Friday.
On the night before my ill fated doctor's appointment (Thursday) I had been hanging out with Sara and commented that I still didn't feel like things were okay with Bertha. I mentioned that it was still really hard and swollen all around the staples... pretty far around them actually. I was concerned that maybe the internal sutures had torn or that things were just not healing at the incision site correctly and I was going to talk to the MD about it at my appointment.
Fast forward about 12 hours to Friday morning. My favorite nurse and I discussed my weight loss, she felt around the incision and determined that there wasn't any heat coming from it and let me know that some times there is just a lot of swelling with that particular incision but it should go down after the staples are removed.
Boy oh boy... she had no idea how accurate that statement was.
Extracting staples, as it turns out, is exceptionally easy. She popped out those 5 bad boys and turned to throw them away when all hell broke lose.
** This is the part where I start talking about gross things **
I looked down and shifted just enough to see the actual incision when all of a sudden a thick and heavy stream of blood started POURING out of it. I cupped a hand beneath Bertha, felt blood start to pool in it and exclaimed something profound like "OH MY GOD!". Leslie (my favorite nurse) turned from the sink and also said "OH MY GOD!" grabbed some gauze, pressed it to BB and then ran out to the hall to yell for Doctor Brewer. Her exact words (I'm not sure I'll ever forget) were "Doctor Brewer. Doctor BREWER! We need you in here. It's an emergency". Bless her heart. I'm sure she was trying to get his attention, but it scared the every living shit out of me.
Dr. Brewer came in with Cody, the PA, and they both gloved up and started grabbing gauze. I was on the verge of absolute blind panic and could feel myself giving that wild-eyed scared-animal look to Cody while I stammered out "What's happening?? WHAT'S HAPPENING? I don't understand... what's going on?!?!" He responded, quite UN-helpfully with "We don't know yet".
Now comes the interlude where I sit back and try to calm down while Cody and Doc B spend several minutes trying to soak up the blood that is still emptying from my body. I forced Dr Brewer to tell me REPEATEDLY that everything was okay and that I was going to be fine. Mostly because it didn't FEEL like that was the case. It felt like I was bleeding. A LOT. It felt scary and disorienting and painful. It felt like absolute terror mixed with a tinge of horror at the sheer amount of blood that was, just, escaping.
FINALLY he told me what was happening (Dr. Brewer, thy name is not synonymous with bed side manner). Evidently we just discovered that I had a hematoma (A localized swelling filled with blood resulting from a break in a blood vessel) the size of a softball leftover from my surgery. I wasn't ACTUALLY bleeding... it was the hematoma draining. Dr Brewer said, at one point after everything had calmed down, "I'm pretty sure we told you it would drain" and I responded with "I'm pretty sure you did NOT tell me the draining would look like ALL OF MY BLOOD WAS LEAVING MY BODY". It's possible that Dr. Brewer doesn't want to be my doctor anymore.
This whole process was disgusting and gory. They pushed on it and got all of the blood and clotting out. It made noise, there was more bleeding. It was a fucking horror movie.
But that's not even the worst part (for me). The WORST part is that after it was drained, I was informed that I would have to tuck a corner of a piece of gauze into my OPEN WOUND every night so it could drain further. Every night for... until it's healed. WHEN WILL THAT BE?!?!?!
Me. Tucking guaze. Into a wound. That is open. A deep incision that is just hanging out on MY FrankenTummy.
This sounds like maybe not a big deal. It certainly wasn't to Dr. Brewer. But to ME? This is a god damn nightmare. I'm not kidding you. I am borderline phobic about this. He told me to just take a shower and pull out the guaze he'd tucked in there and then let the water and soap wash in and over the wound.
I'm gagging and curling in on myself a little as I write this.
I had my first attempt last night. LATE last night. It was... omg... one of the lowest and most horrible moments of my life. I cried so hard in the shower I was afraid I was going to wake the neighbors. I was that crazy chick sobbing in the shower in that one movie where the crazy chick does that. Why, you ask? Because no matter how I tried I could not get the gauze out. I wiggled it and tugged on it and pulled gently. I, on the verge of hyperventilating, pulled firmly and rocked back and forth until it finally pulled out. It was the size of the top half of my pinkie finger.
I dry heaved. In my shower. Had there been food in my tummy I'm sure I would have just straight up vomited.
I was so tired and so freaked-the-fuck out that I couldn't even process putting a new piece back in. I had to call MY MOM to talk me into it. And by that I mean I had to babble incoherently while sobbing at her that I can't do it.
I started and stopped and started and stopped at least a half dozen times before I was finally able to get the job at least partially done.
I have no idea if I did it right. It doesn't FEEL like I did. It hurts more than when Dr Brewer did it. It's not draining as much. The whole area feel warm to the touch and I am TOTALLY messed up about the fact that I have to do it AGAIN TONIGHT.
If you've managed to read up until this point, I'm impressed.
I have no idea how I'm gonna manage to take care of this business this evening. It's just about that time and I'm just about boggled.
Guess I'll just find my way to the same point I got to last night.
On a good note, at least yesterday, the doctor said there was no sign of infection, so we're gonna keep on keeping it that way.
I am so SO thankful this happened at their office and not at home.
Anyway... Wish me luck. Send me good vibes as it is once more unto the breach I go.
Love ya,
Mamy
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
My stay at the hospi-tel. Hospital + Hotel. See what I did there?
Hello Loves,
Sorry it has been so long since my last blog update but I have been very busy recovering from my surgery. To those who have been concerned, I just got back from my 1st post-surgical check up and I am doing super well!!!!
I really wanted to blog about my hospital stay. Why? Because it was SO nice.
My surgery was scheduled at Forest Park Medical Center in Dallas. The facility is AMAZEBALLS. I thought it was gorgeous a month ago when I went in for my EGD, but THIS time I had a room. Even better, the hospital fates smiled upon me and I ended up in a VIP room after my surgery.
If it were not for the rails on the bed and the IV stand I would swear I was in a 5 star. Now, I admit, I have not been a frequenter of fine hotels. I've been known to go for the cheap stay over the star count (Chris T, if you're reading this... remember that hotel in NoLA??) so I'll attach a bunch of pictures I took below. But be advised, I was really REALLY high on pain killers at the time sooo quality isn't really a thing with them.
Now that we've talked about the aesthetics, lets get to the nitty gritty. The staff.
I have absolutely nothing but brilliant things to say about them. My nurses and techs were the kindest people I have ever met. They literally took care of every single thing I could possibly need and anything my sweet friend (and non-medical care taker Sara) asked for. Frequently they thought of stuff I didn't. I will never EVER be able to thank them enough for their care. They gave me feel good medicine and took blood to make sure I was on the right path. They offered ice chips then water then apple juice and Isopure and when I became obsessed with apple juice they gave me 2 spare cups to take home with me. They helped me walk when I thought I wouldn't be able to stand and held my barf bag when I cried and retched. They smiled and laughed at my stupid jokes and made sure my bum was covered every time I walked the halls... which... they made me do a LOT. They fought for me when the insurance company didn't want to pay for my medicine and they gave me all the many MANY syringes I'd need when the pharmacy wanted to charge me extra.... it's possible that might get them in trouble, so don't go tellin... but it was a life saver when I was on a raggedy edge. They are amazing women. All of them. I can picture so many moments that helped me each in such small ways and I could write about them for hours, but the important part is that they have inspired me and I hope the universe smiles on them.
Whilst I was vacationing at Le Park de Forest 5 Star Hospi-tel, my friends gave me flowers. Beautiful bouquets that brought a smile to my face every time I saw them. I cannot TELL you how many times they were complimented by everybody who walked into my room.
This one was from The Hurst Family (with assistance from Sara):
I loved them so much. They were absolutely lovely.
And THESE were from Josh Goode and Sarah Sellers:
Sunshine in a vase. Made my heart smile so big.
Alright friends, The time has come for me to step away from the computer. Please feel free to peruse the swankiness I leave you below!!
Love,
Mamy
Le Park de Forest 5 Star Hospi-tel:
 |
| View when you first walked into the room. That chair is next to my bed. |
 |
| My messy sink and part of my messy bed. #notlazy |
 |
| The bed in all its glory |
When you first walked into the room, before you got to my bed, there were these mysterious sliding doors to the left. What, do you wonder, was behind those doors???!
A tiny little bedroom suite!!! PERFECT for Sara (who stayed with me through it all). I tried to panorama the whole room with my phone but I... was... way too incapable of understanding that process. So here's some pics!
 |
| With a sweet couch that transformed into a bed! |
 |
| With a little chair |
 |
| And a sink |
 | |
| AND its own TV!! |
Friday, January 16, 2015
The blog in which I reveal that I was woefully ill prepared for Monday's adventure.
Hello Friends,
It has been 5 days since I had my surgery and I have to confess, I had NO idea it was gonna hurt as much as it did.
SUUUURE I thought it was gonna hurt... but... I... no. I was not ready.
My surgery itself went off without a hitch, but, I was a bit delayed in recovering from the anesthesia, so, my drugged up groggy state prevented them from allowing me the bliss of narcotic pain relievers for several hours after the main event.
Let me see if I can think of a way to adequately describe that time in my life.
It went something like this:
OMG I'M DYING. Please, please... why does it hurt EVERYWHERE? *snore* is it supposed to hurt EVERYWHERE??? I can't even cry because every part of my body hurtssssssss. Why? *snore* Why does it hurt so much everywhere? My back! My back hurts, ohhh owwww it hurts so bad! Please just let me actually die. *snore* Sweet baby jesus I'm beg*snore*ging you to take me into your loving arms. OH my god I can't even move, it hurts. But not moving hurts too! This is not faaaaaair! It hurts so bad! I ... no... I don't want to walk, I want to DIE. *sob* *sob* *dry heave*
I distinctly remember that the only things that made me feel even remotely better were ice chips and when Sara would touch my forehead.
I can vaguely recall that my lovelies Sarah and Josh came to visit. I don't know what I said to them, or if I even could say anything at that point. My cotton mouth at that point was like something out of some kind of nightmare where your mouth is literally just full of sand and useless tongue. I remember trying to hold their hands because it was nice to have something else to focus on. I hope I didn't flash them any tit-tay as I ALSO vaguely recall having technical difficulties with my hospital gown at that point. (sorry guys).
They brought me flowers. Lovely sunshine-y flowers that, once I recovered enough to function (and get my magic pain button) made me smile. I also had sweet flowers from Ellie, Eric, Linky and Lily. It was so nice to see them when I opened my eyes.
I intend to post pictures of my swanky hospital room as well as pics of my flowers and further discuss my adventures in hospital living, however, it turns out that one of the side effects of major surgery is an inability to sit for long without falling asleep and I... really need the sleep.
Love to you all.
~ Mamy ~
It has been 5 days since I had my surgery and I have to confess, I had NO idea it was gonna hurt as much as it did.
SUUUURE I thought it was gonna hurt... but... I... no. I was not ready.
My surgery itself went off without a hitch, but, I was a bit delayed in recovering from the anesthesia, so, my drugged up groggy state prevented them from allowing me the bliss of narcotic pain relievers for several hours after the main event.
Let me see if I can think of a way to adequately describe that time in my life.
It went something like this:
OMG I'M DYING. Please, please... why does it hurt EVERYWHERE? *snore* is it supposed to hurt EVERYWHERE??? I can't even cry because every part of my body hurtssssssss. Why? *snore* Why does it hurt so much everywhere? My back! My back hurts, ohhh owwww it hurts so bad! Please just let me actually die. *snore* Sweet baby jesus I'm beg*snore*ging you to take me into your loving arms. OH my god I can't even move, it hurts. But not moving hurts too! This is not faaaaaair! It hurts so bad! I ... no... I don't want to walk, I want to DIE. *sob* *sob* *dry heave*
I distinctly remember that the only things that made me feel even remotely better were ice chips and when Sara would touch my forehead.
I can vaguely recall that my lovelies Sarah and Josh came to visit. I don't know what I said to them, or if I even could say anything at that point. My cotton mouth at that point was like something out of some kind of nightmare where your mouth is literally just full of sand and useless tongue. I remember trying to hold their hands because it was nice to have something else to focus on. I hope I didn't flash them any tit-tay as I ALSO vaguely recall having technical difficulties with my hospital gown at that point. (sorry guys).
They brought me flowers. Lovely sunshine-y flowers that, once I recovered enough to function (and get my magic pain button) made me smile. I also had sweet flowers from Ellie, Eric, Linky and Lily. It was so nice to see them when I opened my eyes.
I intend to post pictures of my swanky hospital room as well as pics of my flowers and further discuss my adventures in hospital living, however, it turns out that one of the side effects of major surgery is an inability to sit for long without falling asleep and I... really need the sleep.
Love to you all.
~ Mamy ~
Sunday, January 11, 2015
Catch you on the flip side.
Tonight I stand on a precipice.
My toes are curled on the edge. I'm not sure if they are doing that to provide better leverage and propulsion for my leap tomorrow or if they are trying as hard as little piggies can to grip tight to the comfortable and the safe.
Probably both.
I wish there was a way to project my emotions onto a screen so I could watch them. Analyzing is so much easier from a distance. I could see each thread and follow it back to the source. It would be brilliant.
Instead I blog. And worry. And fret. And... Pinterest?
It's the end of an era. It's the start of a new life.
Are we sure this is happening tomorrow? Like... SURE sure? Cuz... I mean... maybe it's not?
no... the paperwork says tomorrow.
I... am... so scared. But I think I'll be okay.
Today I stumbled on this quote and it resonated... so I shall leave you with it.
"When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be." ~ Lao Tzu ~
Love you,
Mamy
My toes are curled on the edge. I'm not sure if they are doing that to provide better leverage and propulsion for my leap tomorrow or if they are trying as hard as little piggies can to grip tight to the comfortable and the safe.
Probably both.
I wish there was a way to project my emotions onto a screen so I could watch them. Analyzing is so much easier from a distance. I could see each thread and follow it back to the source. It would be brilliant.
Instead I blog. And worry. And fret. And... Pinterest?
It's the end of an era. It's the start of a new life.
Are we sure this is happening tomorrow? Like... SURE sure? Cuz... I mean... maybe it's not?
no... the paperwork says tomorrow.
I... am... so scared. But I think I'll be okay.
Today I stumbled on this quote and it resonated... so I shall leave you with it.
"When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be." ~ Lao Tzu ~
Love you,
Mamy
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Broccoli cheese soup is weird without the broccoli.
Friends.
Today has been really tough. Whew.
I have been a hot damn mess all day.
I was up sick last night. Something I drank yesterday did NOT sit well and I was up all night long. Riddle me this, how is it possible that someone who has not consumed real food in 3 whole days can wake up soooooo many times in a night to run to the loo?* By the time I got into work today I was just done. I was so tired I was physically shuffling. I ate another smoothie with another kind of protein powder in it (ISO-1000. Vanilla. Meh.) and settled in just as miserable as humanly possible. Totally over everything. Freezing cold. Shaky. Falling asleep in microsecond bursts when my eyelids happened to touch each other.
The day did get better, but right this second I wanna discuss my evening.
I just had a MELTDOWN over a piece of bread. Technically, it was 2 pieces. Buuuuut that's like defensively arguing that two small children beat you up instead of just one.
Story time: In an effort to try to do something other than drink the same water based protein.... thing, I decided to treat myself to some of mysecond third favorite soup. Panera's broccoli cheese deliciousness. I would have to blend the broccoli in, but I was sure it would still be epically amazeballs. So to Panera I went. I ordered my soup, eagerly waited, practically snatched the to-go bag out of Lady Panera Worker's grasp and raced home. I had my soup! I grabbed my blender, set it up, opened the bag from Panera and PANICKED. Straight up fucking panicked. There, on top of my soup, was the bread. Mocking me with it's lightly browned, mouth-watering-ly crunchy exterior and warm, soft, sourdough center.
I had to call a lifeline. I literally couldn't even process what to do.
She talked me off the ledge, and I threw them in the trash. **
What the fresh, holy hell?! Is this real life? Almost defeated by 1/8 of a french baguette???
Not cool. So to combat that DEFCON 3 level of crazy I focus on things that make me smile and stuff I'm looking forward to. Allow me to give a few examples: being gifted the exact piece of furniture I want for my living room, playing video games with Evan (even though we are far apart), finding a good protein powder, eating mysecond third favorite soup in the entire world for dinner, hanging with some of the fram while watching the lovely Sarah Sellers sing tomorrow night, and the fact that this is only for 3 more days.
I am actually over the hump.
In closing; thank you guys for letting me whine and reminding me that I actually am doing a pretty good job. For giving me hugs when I am feeling super fra-gee-lay (it must be Italian) talking me off ledges, lying about what you are eating, and trying to keep your popcorn hidden.
I leave you with this picture of my bomb-ass soup in my bomb-ass Wonder Woman cup...
... and the hope that this finds you all having a great night.
Love,
Mamy
* I do not actually want an answer to this riddle.
** I smelled them first. Deep inhale style. And, it is possible I licked one... judge if you must.
Today has been really tough. Whew.
I have been a hot damn mess all day.
I was up sick last night. Something I drank yesterday did NOT sit well and I was up all night long. Riddle me this, how is it possible that someone who has not consumed real food in 3 whole days can wake up soooooo many times in a night to run to the loo?* By the time I got into work today I was just done. I was so tired I was physically shuffling. I ate another smoothie with another kind of protein powder in it (ISO-1000. Vanilla. Meh.) and settled in just as miserable as humanly possible. Totally over everything. Freezing cold. Shaky. Falling asleep in microsecond bursts when my eyelids happened to touch each other.
The day did get better, but right this second I wanna discuss my evening.
I just had a MELTDOWN over a piece of bread. Technically, it was 2 pieces. Buuuuut that's like defensively arguing that two small children beat you up instead of just one.
Story time: In an effort to try to do something other than drink the same water based protein.... thing, I decided to treat myself to some of my
I had to call a lifeline. I literally couldn't even process what to do.
She talked me off the ledge, and I threw them in the trash. **
What the fresh, holy hell?! Is this real life? Almost defeated by 1/8 of a french baguette???
Not cool. So to combat that DEFCON 3 level of crazy I focus on things that make me smile and stuff I'm looking forward to. Allow me to give a few examples: being gifted the exact piece of furniture I want for my living room, playing video games with Evan (even though we are far apart), finding a good protein powder, eating my
I am actually over the hump.
In closing; thank you guys for letting me whine and reminding me that I actually am doing a pretty good job. For giving me hugs when I am feeling super fra-gee-lay (it must be Italian) talking me off ledges, lying about what you are eating, and trying to keep your popcorn hidden.
I leave you with this picture of my bomb-ass soup in my bomb-ass Wonder Woman cup...
... and the hope that this finds you all having a great night.
Love,
Mamy
* I do not actually want an answer to this riddle.
** I smelled them first. Deep inhale style. And, it is possible I licked one... judge if you must.
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
We're liquids, People!!
I'm all liquids all the time for the next 4 weeks. Wait... does this paper... thing... really say 4?!! FOUR WEEKS?!
DAMMIT. *sigh*
I started yesterday and man is it a drag. A hostile, angry, rage-filled, probably-should-keep-her-away-from-public-venues DRAG. So, I am very VERY thankful my framily sent me out in style!! Sunday night we gathered at El Fenix for a feast of near epic (and definitely cheese-filled) proportions. Chips, salsa, chips, sweet tea, queso, chips, margaritas, sour cream sauce, chips mmmmm...definitely a great way to spend my last night eating solid foods.
I might be willing to kill for a few of those chips right now. If you got something that needs killing and a bag of El Fenix chips we MAY have some sort of barter. *whispers* hit me up in the comments.
I have heard a rumor that once I make it through tomorrow I will feel less stabby. I have my doubts about that, but endeavor to remain hopeful.
I have a whole bunch of new protein powders to try, so that helps! I plan to keep track of which ones are totally awful on my phone in an attempt to blackmail the protein powder industry giants into producing something amazing and naming it after me. As I understand it, these concoctions are going to be a way of life for me from now on and wouldn't it be better to buy something with my name on it? Yes... yes it would.
T-minus 5 days and counting?
Love you all,
Mamy
Chiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiips.
DAMMIT. *sigh*
I started yesterday and man is it a drag. A hostile, angry, rage-filled, probably-should-keep-her-away-from-public-venues DRAG. So, I am very VERY thankful my framily sent me out in style!! Sunday night we gathered at El Fenix for a feast of near epic (and definitely cheese-filled) proportions. Chips, salsa, chips, sweet tea, queso, chips, margaritas, sour cream sauce, chips mmmmm...definitely a great way to spend my last night eating solid foods.
I might be willing to kill for a few of those chips right now. If you got something that needs killing and a bag of El Fenix chips we MAY have some sort of barter. *whispers* hit me up in the comments.
I have heard a rumor that once I make it through tomorrow I will feel less stabby. I have my doubts about that, but endeavor to remain hopeful.
I have a whole bunch of new protein powders to try, so that helps! I plan to keep track of which ones are totally awful on my phone in an attempt to blackmail the protein powder industry giants into producing something amazing and naming it after me. As I understand it, these concoctions are going to be a way of life for me from now on and wouldn't it be better to buy something with my name on it? Yes... yes it would.
T-minus 5 days and counting?
Love you all,
Mamy
Chiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiips.
Sunday, January 4, 2015
BEGINNINGS
It all started with an awkward question from a loving friend.
"So... I mean... well... you used to talk about THE SURGERY but you haven't in a while... is that still an option for you orrrrrrr...?"
That question spawned a conversation, which sparked a mission and rallied troops to help me drop a major bomb (or two) into my life.
Now here I am... trying my hand at blogging and getting ready for some of the most serious and life changing stuff I've had to go through to date.
I hope you'll enjoy the blog and stick with me on my journey from awesome to AWESOMER!!!
"So... I mean... well... you used to talk about THE SURGERY but you haven't in a while... is that still an option for you orrrrrrr...?"
That question spawned a conversation, which sparked a mission and rallied troops to help me drop a major bomb (or two) into my life.
Now here I am... trying my hand at blogging and getting ready for some of the most serious and life changing stuff I've had to go through to date.
I hope you'll enjoy the blog and stick with me on my journey from awesome to AWESOMER!!!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)