Category Archives: Fat Rant

So what’s next? Preparing for Weight Loss Surgery

Posted on by

Oh goodness, my little Double Chin Diary. I think about you often, how I want to write, how I want to hang out and tweak your logos and colors and design, but then, a baby cries or a toddler whines or a cat pukes on the carpet — and suddenly the reality of the real world thrusts a bunch of other stuff onto my to-do list. Speaking of that to-do list, I’ve been “doing” for the past several months, having attended a class each month in preparation for my upcoming weight loss surgery! Woohoo! My insurance requires six months of “medically supervised nutrition courses”, so once a month, I go to the hospital where I will be poked open, and hear about what my life will entail pre-op, post-op and then some. I’ve actually really enjoyed the program because I’m surrounded by lots of like-minded people, and my nerdy planner-loving self gets to know what I can expect once my tummy is reduced in size.

The exciting news is that May is my last class! On June 1, I meet with the RD for a final appointment, and then, I will be submitted for final insurance approval, and assuming all is well, I’ll hopefully have a surgery date within the month of June. I was thinking about the adjustments I’ll need to make in life, and then pondering how many of us live our lives through a certain lens. For example, even if I lost all my excess weight, I think I’ll always live life through the lens of a heavy person. It’s going to be bizarre and wonderful to finally see efforts pay off; I’m so excited to think that for the first time in my life a “diet” will actually work for me. I’m oddly very excited to begin this process and get back to feeling like me, the me without the fat suit. I decided I’d answer a couple of the same questions that keep coming up, as I know I’ll want to refer to my thoughts on the surgery a few months after I’m actually post-op.

  1. Are you nervous?
    Of course, but maybe not as much as I should be? I think any surgery is risky, but the procedure itself is laproscopic, and a pretty simple procedure overall. I’ve been told I’ll be up and walking within an hour of awakening to help work out the gas used in the surgery, so I’m hoping recovery isn’t too intense. I have a pretty good pain tolerance and birthed two babies, so the actual procedure itself doesn’t worry me, it’s more just the thought of drastically changing the way I eat. (Which in itself is a good thing, and a learning opportunity I need to have.)
  2. How long will you stay in the hospital?
    Assuming I have no complications, it will be overnight. (Since I’m a new parent, I think it’s funny and sad at the same time that I’m looking forward to a night of sleep with no wakeups from baby or toddler!)
  3. What will your diet be like after?
    Small, and for the first several weeks, liquids and soft foods while my tummy heals. At the beginning, I’m told to expect to be able to eat only about two ounces at a time.
  4. How much weight do you have to lose?
    My surgeon and I have agreed 100 pounds will be great, 120 would be awesome, and 150 would be bananas.
  5. Will you have to exercise?
    Yes. The sleeve surgery isn’t magic, but it’s a super helpful tool. I actually like exercise once I get into the groove, so I’m hoping I can get back to feeling good and get back to boxing and yoga and of course, training for the 3-Day. 
  6. What are you most nervous about?
    I think my fear is that I’ll regret having it. My worst case scenario in my mind is that it causes some irreversible health problem and I’m left regretting that I didn’t just stay fat. Hopefully this does not happen!
  7. Do you have any rewards set for hitting certain goals?
    Yes! Horseback riding, going to Costa Rica and ziplining, going to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter, etc. I want to do some things that I maybe was too heavy for in the past.
  8. Are you sure you want to do something so drastic? Yup. “But, my cousin tried this new diet called…” NOPE.
    I think one great thing about modern medicine is we usually get to choose how we treat ourselves and our ailments. I’ve spent a long time thinking about this and have researched the hell out of it, so I’m extremely confident in my decision to move forward. I need the help of a tool to help me get out of my weight loss hole – and there’s no shame in my game. Rock on 🙂
  9. Why can’t you just be happy with yourself the way you are?
    I think that some people are 100% able to live their best lives at the size they are. I’ve been fortunate to live a life I’ve loved, whether it be at 180 pounds or 280 pounds. Has it always been easy? No. But I’ve traveled, I’ve had kids, I’ve worked an awesome career, and very seldom did size get in my way. But, sometimes, it did. And I want to feel like my best self and my best me, and I can’t live my best life with the sobering reality of the health risks of obesity lingering over me. So onwards, and upwards, and loving myself through it, and hoping you love yourself, too. (And if you don’t? Get on it. Life is too damn short for that crap.)
  10. What will you do when things get hard?
    The same things I always do. Seek help, talk to knowledgeable friends who won’t judge me, go to therapy if I need to, work closely with doctors, be grateful, be persistent. I’m lucky to have several friends who have had the sleeve, and they’re graciously an open book to me and my million questions.

So that’s that! I can’t wait to update y’all in a little bit with some official “before” surgery photos. I hope you’re doing wonderful out there, and wish me luck in these next few weeks as I tackle my two-week liquid diet before surgery, and do all the blood work, etc. I always appreciate you cheering me on!

 

Coming in July 2018: Vertical Sleeve Gastrectomy, “The Sleeve”

Posted on by

I’m getting weight loss surgery.

It feels freeing to type those words. It feels freeing to have a rapidly approaching helping hand, a tool in my toolbox to help me get to a healthier weight. It feels freeing to say, “I have done the research.” It feels freeing to know that this minimally-invasive surgery is safer than staying morbidly obese. It feels freeing to know that this body of mine, the body I have fought and broken and challenged for so many years will finally have a chance to be what I want it to be.

This decision has not come lightly. It has been the result of painful moments, of deep disappointment, of medical hurdles , of serious reflection and work. A few years back, surgery didn’t feel right for me. I was also about 50 pounds lighter back then. But babies and life and habits and hormones have taken their toll on this body and metabolism, and I find myself the heaviest I’ve ever been, ready to get to a point where I feel like ME in my skin, not a stranger in a heavy, stiff suit. For years I have tried to live between the dueling worlds of loving myself completely but being so uncomfortable in this skin. Now, I’m giving myself an exit strategy. It’s not the easy way out. In fact, I think making this decision to have an elective surgery that will seriously change my eating habits and life is pretty damn brave. But something needs to happen, and I’m ready. Let’s do this.

Am I scared? Of course. There are unknowns. There are possible side effects. Nothing is perfect, after all. But I am ready — and I’m ready to write the happy ending of the Double Chin Diary, the one where I walk happily into the sunset in a tankini, not self conscious about my stomach rolls, but instead, strutting with the positive satisfaction of a life well-lived and a body and mind that feel good. There will be bumps in this road, but it’s a road I’m excited to travel. My stomach will be reduced in size by about 80%, and the hormonal components that make weight loss very difficult for me will dissipate over time as my body produces less of the hunger hormone. I have an excellent support team — friends near and far that have had success with this same procedure, a loving husband and family. I’m ready.

For the next six months I’ll be working on changing my eating habits and getting back into fitness. Insurance requires that you diet for six months to prove that you’re serious about making this commitment. I have done the hard work of learning to love myself despite my weight. I live a happy life as a plus-sized woman. I honor my body, beautiful in its imperfection, amazing in its creation of two beautiful daughters, two legs that walk, two eyes that see, two hands that feel, a heart that beats that I wear on my sleeve. But, I want more. I want to shop in the women’s department, not the plus section. I want to sit on an airplane feeling less like a sardine. I want to hike the hills, to climb the mountains, to surf the waves, to hide and seek with toddlers, to fully live my life and come alive with physical energy and zeal. For somebody who’s fought this battle for 20 years, it feels good to know that the reinforcements are coming. It’s going to be hard. But it’s going to be worth it — and as usual, I’ll be right here, telling you all about it.

Thanks for reading <3

Weightless

Posted on by

Oh, Weight Watchers. If we were in a relationship, our Facebook status would be “It’s complicated.” But you lured me in with the offer of two months free if I lost 10 pounds in the first two months, so here I am. We’ve had a tumultuous start, you and I. The first few days I was in denial that we were back together, and ignored the illuminated WW tile on my phone. Even though I was paying good money on the plan, I was putting off tracking… putting off the idea, the concept, the fact that my free for all with food was over. I made fun of you and Oprah, wondering why the richest lady on earth needed to futz with smart points and meetings. If I was a billionaire, could I abandon my worries about my weight and health and just be? The answer of course, is no, because the human brain doesn’t work like that. Nothing is ever enough, nothing is ever done.

Once I got my game face on (encouraged by the weekly weigh in I keep with two of my Fitbloggin’ friends), we got along better. I started swapping my 2% Chobani mango for 0% plain with a sprinkle of powdered peanut butter. I ordered salad on the side, hold the dressing. I took the baby for a walk and diligently counted out 14 rice crackers. I tracked every BLT I ate… not bacon, lettuce, tomato, mind you, but bites, licks, and tastes. We were jiving, you and I, like two old high school friends who ran into each other at Dairy Queen. Then came time for weigh in. I stood on my own scale, hopeful, like I had been so many times before. The number surprised me, and it slapped me in the face with its usual sting of hurt. Up 3.7 pounds. I stepped off the scale, sad, but familiar with the disappointment. My body, doing what it wants. It wants to be fat. It wants to hold on to this layer of fleshy skin, to be held by sloping hills grown from years of rewards, of angst and joy, and more recently, the cozy home of a child.

I brushed off the rejection of the scale and went to my meeting anyways. I didn’t want to. It was 7 p.m. and I could think of every excuse why I shouldn’t. The husband didn’t get home until 6:45. The baby was sweetly cooing. I had been eating all day and it’s best to weigh in in the morning. I was tired. My back hurt. I didn’t shower. I could go tomorrow. But I went. I put the feet in the shoes and the body in the seat and the key in the engine and off I went. As I stood on the scale, the receptionist leaned towards me. A smile played at the corner of her lips. Was this a shared sadness, a “sorry, you didn’t lose this week” or a hint at celebration? She hugged me. “You’re down 3.7 pounds,” she said.

I sat in the chair at the meeting. I thought, and analyzed, and contemplated the strangeness of this journey. I felt motivated and encouraged, ready to defeat the demon in the scale, in me, in my appetite. I courageously tracked every morsel I consumed. Then the weekend came, and I got sick. I drank Dayquil instead of my morning tea. I ate a Cup O’ Noodles instead of a salad. I wanted comfort, and warmth, my bed, a lack of responsibilities. I let it go for just three days, and then those three days caught up with me. I skipped a meeting. I ate pizza for dinner. I mindlessly plucked hard-shelled Cadbury Eggs out of the candy dish when a spreadsheet at work was getting the best of me. How quickly it all changes and how quickly it all begins.

I don’t want to fight with me anymore. Eating healthy is not sexy. It’s not fun. It’s not the saucy gossip you whisper scandalously to the neighbors while the curtains are drawn. It’s boring, predictable, routine, and good. It is not naughty. It is a mindset, and as much as I hate the term, it is a life style. I need to stop looking at food like my vice and sin. It is fuel and nourishment, and sometimes, celebrations. And that’s okay.

I forgive you, self. I forgive you, friend. I will whisper to you quietly, “It’s okay”, until you realize the berating of your choices will get you nowhere. Instead of the disappointment and frustration, I say, be like the Phoenix and rise up. Leave the Cadbury and the skipped meeting, the tight jeans and the pizza in the ashes. You will rise, and you will fly. You may fly the wrong direction, but eventually turn around. You will reach your destination, and you will look down, and the old you will be there, as you always were.  And you will know that the work, the effort, the struggle, the disappointment, the eventual success was worth it all. You will have risen in the light, a lighter you. Weightless.

Screen Shot 2016-03-15 at 11.04.42 PM

 

 

 

I suck at losing weight, but I kick ass at gaining it.

Posted on by

It’s become crystal clear to me that I can’t succeed at everything, and apparently losing weight is just one of those things. But you know what I do succeed at? Gaining weight. I’m so damn good at gaining it, I felt like it was time to write a blog post in my honor.

So you can fit into your jeans from high school? So what, I can fit into my earrings from junior high.

Nobody Cares

You crossfit, you box, you yoga, you run, you swim. I creak.

Sloth

 

You made Paleo pecan crusted salmon for dinner with a side of lemon scented broccolini and washed it all down with cucumber verbena spa water. I mashed my finger into the corner of a chip bag and licked off the salt.

You’re so full you couldn’t possibly eat dessert. I ate all of mine… and the rest of yours, too.

You cried at your Weight Watchers check in when the scale was two pounds higher than usual because you were bloated. I thought, “Oh good, now I won’t really have to lose weight for next week.”

You beamed when you went from a size 14 to an 8. I beamed when my leggings with the threadbare thighs made it another day.

Cheese Fries

You were inspired when Oprah decided to rep Weight Watchers. I wanted her to stay fat.

You were repulsed by the Double Down. I wanted to try it.

You get your dressing on the side. I get my salad as a side.

Pizza

“It’s not a diet, it’s a lifestyle change,” you say. Nope, it’s a diet.

Bullshit

 

You have extra belt to spare when you buckle up. I suck it in and pray it clasps.

Have you checked your Vitamin D levels? Your B12? Your thyroid? All of those are fine, but apparently I’m super deficient in this thing called willpower.Food Delicious

You forgot to eat lunch today? I base my whole day around eating.

You can whistle with two fingers and your mouth? Well, I can do this.11808462_1464347487228092_159316067_n

You love it when your friends bring you wine. I love it when they bring me cupcakes.

Eats

 

Sure, a party sounds fun. *Heads right to the food table*

 

You’re in shape. I’m in shape, too. Round.

 

You breeze through turnstiles at the subway station. I do the hula.

 

So there you have it. You may rock at losing weight, but I’m awesome at gaining it.

 

April’s bikini day at the beach

Posted on by

I did it.

I finally wore a bikini at the beach.

I had done it before as a child, I’m sure.

But as an adult, my stomach had never once felt the cool sea air upon it.

bikinibeachI’ve always wanted to try wearing a bikini. If I just didn’t have that horrible fear of what everyone there would think, I bet I would have done it a lot sooner. However on this day, once my friend and I had successfully walked the farthest away we could from people, I decided to strip down just to the bikini I had worn there with fearful anticipation of actually showing it. My friend easily sensed my embarrassment as I peered around to see just how far away everyone was, standing with my hands in my shirt ready for lift off. Luckily, as the awesome guy my friend is, he knew to say all the right things to make me feel better. Compliments about me being hot and “no one caring” eased my anxieties enough to get me to take off my top and plop down with my hands/arms hiding my stomach. With a few more self-esteem boosting words, I let go of my stomach and realized I badly needed to just get over this deep-rooted fear I have about wearing a bikini.

Why is that I could go to Burning Man and walk around with no  top? Or go to an Oregon hot springs and do the same? Why didn’t I feel horrible shame there the way I do at the beach?

A suggested answer came from one of my close girl friends. She pointed out that at Burning Man and hot springs, so many people are naked and “letting it all hang out” that the societal pressure to look a certain way just isn’t there. Though at the beach and other public swimming places, it is almost expected that the only women you will see wearing bikinis are thin. I am grateful that these times are changing and more and more women are feeling more secure about rocking whatever they want to at the beach. Sadly, I still haven’t been able to JUST GET OVER IT. I think I’m getting better since I’m even willing to give it a try, but I hate knowing that the #1 reason I won’t wear a bikini to the beach is because of my fear of what complete strangers think of my body.

How freaking lame is that?

So, blog readers, does the fear of what other people think of your body ever hinder what you like to wear?  If it doesn’t, how did you get to that awesome place of complete self-security? I’d love to hear it!

Oh, and by the way, I’m totally down 20 pounds officially from the start of this year. YAY. Thank you 3-day training and food allergies! WOOO!

 

Lots of love,

AprilSignatur

 

 

 

 

bikiki

Proof (at a safe distance for my insecurities).

Fat Girl Fear Debunked: Being Naked at Korean Spa

Posted on by

As I thought about this post, I thought, “How do I write a post title that isn’t like, all about being naked at a Korean Spa, because it’s about so much more than being naked?” But then, let’s face it; the notable thing I want to tell you guys about IS being naked at a Korean Spa, cuz’ this blog explores the adventures of an adventurous plus-sized gal and her quest to live a full-life as a full-figured lady. My journey to health the past few years has gleefully invited pampering into my life. Massages? Love them. Acupuncture? Bring it on. Hot Springs? I’m there. Pedicures? Every month and a half. My paychecks may dwindle, but while I can get away with this pampering and relaxation, I fully intend to reward my hard-working self with non-food items. My awesome acupuncturist has been recommending that I visit a Korean Spa for several months, but I always had the same reaction “Don’t you have to be NAKED?”. My acupuncturist, who has the cool and calm European attitude about nudity that people should (i.e., it’s no big deal, there’s nothing sexual about a spa!), would shrug and casually say that’s not what it’s about. I mulled this around in my head for a while before ultimately deciding, that nope, while learning to navigate a newfound confidence with my body, going au naturale in front of others (willingly) just wasn’t for me.

…Until, I saw an awesome deal on a Groupon for a Women Only Korean Spa, and my friend Jenny mentioned it to me, wooing me by the description of bath tubs filled with tiny, heated, clay balls that you submerge yourself under. Bathtubs with hot clay balls? Steamy rooms filled with aromatic herbs? An oxygen room, rumored to be the cure for insomnia? An ICE room, like a walk in refrigerator, when it’s been 102 degrees? The heated Himalayan Salt room with burlap sacks sent me over the edge, and like that, my groupon was purchased, my anxiety was amping up, and I had a date for a Friday night Korean Spa adventure with Jenny. We discussed this very bold transition in our friendship; after all, few friends have seen my shockingly white birthday suit. Luckily, we laughed about it, decided our eyes would stay up, and chose to adopt the aforementioned European attitude. She soothed some of my fat girl fears like only a friend can; with rationale: Would I be the only overweight person at the spa? Probably not. Would somebody say something to me, like they had in Thailand, and make my self-confidence disappear? Probably not, and if they did, I could smack them with my towel. Would my body be pointed at and ridiculed? See #2.

Once we arrived at the spa, in true Alyssa fashion, I blurted out my insecurities to the woman at the front desk. She laughed, assured me I was not the only person nervous about being naked, and told me I would feel great. With a deep breath, we walked into the locker room, stripped down to our fashionable pink robe, and headed to the shower room, the place where the nakedness would go down. (At Korean Spas, the principal is that you need to be clean and free from chemicals that may be lurking in your swimsuit from pool chemicals or laundry detergents.) It was a large room, with multiple showers along each wall, a narrow bathtub with buckets for rinsing your feet, and a heated Himalayan salt tub. Upon first inspection I saw: butt cheeks. All of the naked women stood with their fronts facing the wall. I can handle some butts, I thought, after all, while varying in size, all butts look the same, pretty much. As I rinsed myself, I made a decision. I could either be coy and ashamed of my body, trying to hide it, or I could embrace this opportunity and own my body like an Amazonian queen. I chose the latter, got myself nice and clean, and moved into the wonderfully relaxing salt tub. The longer I sat naked, the more I saw, but here’s the thing. As is with most matters in the world, nobody is ever as focused on YOU as you are with you. The things we worry about, stress about, freak out about; these personal insecurities and vulnerabilities are personal in the sense that nobody is really giving it the mental real estate you might think it would occupy. I couldn’t care less about the bodies I saw, and did I pass judgement? No. There were bodies of all shapes and sizes, all colors and textures, but I wasn’t there to observe. I was there to relax.

After my hot tub dip, I put the robe back on, because all of the sauna rooms actually require you to be dressed so that you don’t flash your bits and shock someone out of a steam-induced zen. Once I was back into the false sense of security that clothing promises, my vulnerability was hidden again, tucked safely out of sight. Something strange happened then: I realized with the heat swirling around me, the steam gently clinging to my body, that being naked would make more sense. It wasn’t a sexual experience, it wasn’t about vanity. It was about relaxation and healing, free from the hindrance (and very real practicalities, like sweat), that clothes can provoke. I relaxed, took a few deep breaths, and was reminded in a very subtle way of the same lesson my body has been telling me for years: that this body of mine, while big, is perfect because it is strong. It is capable. It is mine.