The Me I Have Never Seen

I have talked myself into and out of doing this so many times I have lost count now. About the same number of times I have had a similar conversation regarding a bag of Roast Chicken chips. But here I am and I am going to do it.

Dear World,
I had have had a problem.

For the better part of my life, I have been an overeater. I have also been an underexerciser. Were these two issues reversed I would be a figure model or a long distance runner or a bikini wearer. But alas, they are not. And here I am.

In recent months I have taken control of this issue. I have had stern conversations with myself in grocery store aisles and check out lines. I have pulled into drive-thru lanes, only to pull back out again. I have, more unimaginably given up cream and sugar in my coffee and now drink it black. I have called on new and old friends when the going got rough, and I am forging out a new way of doing things.

When I initially thought of writing this, I called myself crazy and my brain did that movie type fast rewind to the high school assembly where as Student Council President someone Moo'd like a cow at me as walked to the stage to give a speech. I still remember the buzzing in my ears as I tried to block that out, and speak to the entire student body without crying. Back then, I thought I was fat. I didn't ever think I was worthless, or sad, or hopeless, but the little jerk who told me I was on a regular basis, wouldn't rest until I thought I was. I can't blame him though. There were others. Ironically, I look back now at photos from then and realize I wasn't fat at all. I wasn't a stick figure, I wasn't an athlete (something by which the worth of all high school students seems to be measured), but I also was not grotesque. Regrettably, I did choose to cut my hair off in a 'pixie' cut and dye it bright red, but I can't blame my waistline for all of my issues.  So, if any of you high school rock throwers happen to be reading, read on. I would love to sit down and have coffee with you. I would like to know what it was that made you so miserable that you felt compelled to try to tear me down. I really feel like you maybe needed to talk about your own misgivings, and didn't get a chance. And I forgive you for being hurtful.

I plan to use this Blog which I previously used to tell funny stories about the foolish things my loved ones do (by all means, read away at those!) to share my journey. At each 5 pound mark I have thought about it, and decided that I would do it at the next 5 pounds. But here I am, 46.6 pounds down from my original starting weight and I haven't done it yet. Just this morning I thought, 'There is no better time that to share than when I get to 50 pounds lost.' And then I thought again that there is no better time than right now. I have always been a talker, and I have always been an open book. I also never thought that it was possible for me to lose weight. I also know that other people in my life and people I meet think it isn't possible either. But it is, and it's worth it, and if me putting it out into the world means sharing too much about myself, then that's what it means.

So here is how it started:

After 7ish years of living away, my family finally had the opportunity to move home to Newfoundland. I ran a successful business as a wedding and portrait photographer in Alberta, and I moved the business back here. I was happier than I had been in most of my life, even if my whole world was in upheaval! We had been here roughly 3 weeks when my historically finicky gall bladder started acting up. I had been to the hospital many times with it in the past and every time I was dismissed because I was overweight and had a poor diet. It always went away.

While Jamie assembled furniture, I was of no help. My stomach was killing me to the point that I would get dizzy. Kneeling on the floor was beyond painful because at 268lbs, anything besides sitting and standing were. If you had asked me on November 20, 2012 if I was healthy, I would have insisted that I was. I just didn't like to kneel down, and put together furniture. I remember going to lay down because I felt so horrible. I blamed it on whatever I had eaten and was annoyed at myself that other people were moving my new things into my new home.

We were getting settled away nicely through the weekend. On Monday I volunteered to babysit my young niece, Ellie. Her and Bridget were playing together so well that I sat down to watch TV. I had a cup of coffee and the grocery store flyers, things were going really well. Then, suddenly, my mouth started to water uncontrollably. I couldn't swallow it all and I ran to the bathroom. From there I started to vomit uncontrollably and remember laying on the floor. I think I called my Mom, but it may have been then 4 year old Bridget. I remember putting Ellie in her playpen and then I remember the cold of the bathroom floor. I know that my stepdad drove me to the hospital because I remember the look of panic in his face as I threw up into a bag on the 30 minute drive. I remember him saying he should have called an ambulance. I remember that I didn't wait 10 seconds after walking into the hospital to be put into a bed. I don't know who told them my name.

The rest of it is a blur.

What happened then is that I was admitted to the hospital because I had an incarcerated hernia and needed emergency surgery. The lump in my stomach that I had been told on multiple occasions was a lump of fat, was in fact some body part trying to escape through my stomach wall from where I was cut for a c-section. My gallbladder was and is, in perfect working order. I just needed someone to look at me long enough to diagnose that something was wrong with my stomach.

I had surgery on December 1 and then fell ill with a massive, unrelenting infection. No one could isolate where it was, or what had caused it. I ate antibiotic after antibiotic and made daily trips to Public Health for them to tend the incision and try to treat the infection. On 3 separate occasions they trundled me off to the emergency room because it was getting worse instead of better. During those weeks, I was so sick and hopeless that I was actually scared for my life. I imagined my beautiful little girl without a mother and I was terrified.

When you have been overweight your entire adult life the idea that you can change things seems like an insurmountable task. But I decided I needed to do it, even it it took me the rest of my life. I was sick like an elderly person, at 31 years old. If I didn't start I would never get there.

I walked into Weight Watchers on Thursday, December 18 after I had been carefully watching every morsel of food I took in from the time of my surgery. I will never forget that it was freezing cold outside and I was wearing black capri yoga pants because my stomach was so sore from the infection that I couldn't wear normal pants. The lady behind the desk asked me 3 times if I was Ok, because in hindsight, I was sick and weak, though at the time, I was doing everything I could to be lively and funny.

When I stepped on the scale, I was pleasantly surprised. I weighed 14 pounds less than I had weighed when we left Alberta. There is something to be said for seeing results because that 14 pounds is what motivated me to know that I could do it. I have diligently been following the plan since I walked in that room, and I am steadfast in my course to follow it through. On January 3, 2013 I joined the gym. I will admit that I wanted to punch the enrolment guy when he called me a "Resolutioner". Without asking a single question about me besides my name, address and banking info, he had judged me as someone who would pay them for a year but would stop showing up within a few weeks. It infuriated me to know that could make that snap decision about me, but wouldn't dare do it to someone who was small. I might have been there 3 days post New Years, but I was already on my way to saving my life. He just didn't have the foresight to ask. I would like to inform him that I am a regular gym goer and my recent brief hiatus had less to do with me quitting, and more to do with my using the gym facilities of our hotel while we were on vacation.

I just read though and realized how many words are already in this post and I feel like I need to wrap it up. I have so much more to say and I intend to write all of it, because as much as you may not need to read it, I need to say it. I have never been a small person, and I don't remember shopping in 'normal sized stores'. I don't remember my collar bones, and I have trouble visualizing what I will look like when I get to my goal weight. Lots of people on a weight loss journey can visualize themselves as the original version of themselves. When I picture the last time I 'felt' small, I don't have that memory - so instead all that comes to mind is a photo of me in a white outfit, with a great tan, sitting on our neighbours step, when I was 7. My goal is to make it to 134 pounds. It is exactly half of my starting weight and it is within the 'healthy' range of weight according to your BMI. I hit that number on the way up and I don't remember it, so I have no idea what I will look like. Some days, I stand in the mirror and pull my cheeks back to try to picture myself. I don't know if it's truly accurate, but I suspect I will look like Joan Rivers.

Down 40lbs in March! 

Down 46 lbs in time for vacation in April!

Much Love,
Amy

P.S. If you are on a journey of your own, I would love to hear from you! I take so much from the fact that other people have done this successfully and others are forging along on a similar path. You can reach me at islandmistphotography@gmail.com