SDPoodleMom

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I so hate my body. I'm not just saying that because of the extra skin, deflated boobs and hanging bits. The Fibromyalgia is kicking my ass tonight / this morning.

Yesterday I ate sugar and crap carbs and that triggered a flare so that getting to sleep took until midnight and night sweats and pain have now woke me at 3AM. I have an extremely important important meeting in the morning at work. My alarm clock from hell goes off at 4AM so I can get to work by 6 every day.

I KNOW that clean eating helps to keep the flares down, yet again I succumbed to poison and now I have to pay the price.

I wouldn't trade having had my surgery for anything but I  to learn to keep away from poison foods. I have a

In a galaxy long ago and far, far away... 

Wait, that's not it.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...

Nope, that's not it either. 

‘It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.’...

Darn it!, that's not it!

Okay, here we go.

On December 6, 2012 I took back my life; so I thought.

That is the day I had my RnY surgery with Dr. Laura Machado.

I had spent the previous 4 years researching, thinking and going through therapy to get to that point.  I was lucky, my therapist had an RnY during our time together and knew the feelings, worries and hopes that I was expressing in our meetings.

By June 2013 I had lost 90 pounds and was continuing to lose steadily.  I stayed on my diet faithfully; one, because I was motivated and two, because I had no choice.  My new pouch was so sensitive that almost everything I consumed made me violently ill.  I could keep down chicken broth, a few protein shakes, finely ground turkey, low fat cottage cheese, yogurt and super mashed green beans.  Even then, I would eat a few tiny bites and feel sick and have to stop.  Plain water came back up immediately as most liquid.  I was in danger of being dehydrated most of the time (in fact I did get severely dehydrated about a month after surgery and ended up in the hospital for a week).

Fast forward to one year out, my weight continued to melt off (down 130 pounds), I was walking every day with my friends and wife, Samantha, and life was looking great.  We were planning a trip to Hawaii the coming summer, my pouch (Oscar) was getting under control and I had gone from a size 28 to a size 8/10.  I had never been that small since middle school (even though I was super athletic and active) and I was flying high.

In May of 2014, Samantha was given a choice by her Pulminologist, her asthma had progressed to dangerous levels and living in Sacramento was no longer an option for us.  We needed to move to a more temperate climate near the ocean for her health.  I was on board with this, her health mattered more than anything.  That is when the stress started in again.  My Fibromyalgia began to flare all the time, my exhaustion levels were off the charts and I had to find a way to transfer my position to the San Diego area were Samantha's family lived.  Now we both work for the government and I thought (silly me) that this would be a no brainer.  We have offices all over the place, but our HR department came out and told us, you want to move, you find and get your own positions without help from us.  Okay, I'm up for the challenge!  I ended up taking a step down in grade and pay to move to an area that was almost twice as expensive to live.  Samantha had it harder even because of her skill set there weren't that many positions open to her.  About that time, Samantha's mom died unexpectedly and threw all of us into a tail spin.

Fast forward, I found my position but Samantha hadn't yet but I moved anyway, taking our fur kids with me to San Diego to start my new position in September 2015.  Sam found a room to rent with a friend until she could find a position in San Diego. Depression set in.  My support base was 500 miles away, I hated my new job and I missed Sam dreadfully.  

November Sam had to have extensive surgery in San Francisco and I stayed a week with her while she recovered and then she went back to San Diego with me while she healed.  But she still hadn't found a position here yet.  We were doing all of this for her health and it was backfiring on us right and left.

So, I started to eat. Not just eat, but to eat thing I KNEW would make me sick.  Sugar, bread, cake, chips and candy.  I was alone, depressed and so very unhappy.  My size 8 jeans no longer fit, I was wearing Samantha's size 10s.  Now they are very tight.  My work clothes look like hell on me, my suits so proudly bought in a single digit size no longer fit.   Yet still I ate.

Until I got on the scale at the doctor's office last week.  189!  OH HELL NO!

So today, Monday, July 27 2015, I am taking back my life.

Weigh and measure all my food.

Bring no cash with me to use in the vending machines at work so that I can only eat what I bring with me.

Walk every, single day for 30 minutes at lunch and again another 30 minutes at night when I get home from work.

Absolutely no stopping at a fast food store on the way home at night.  I will make and measure my dinner every night.

I will not go back to the fat person I was before.