Will This be in the Blog?

Back when I wrote on my blog every day, sometimes multiple times in a day, one of my favorite/most annoying questions was, "Are you going to write about this? Will this be in the blog?" I would usually scoff, sigh and little bit, and reassure whoever asked that contrary to popular belief, I don't post a minute-by-minute detail of my life and my thoughts on the Internet.

Then I thought, well, that would be fun. Because I am a sick blogger. I just goaded my friend Dee into writing a blog post about her new baby because I'm sick. She told me to back off which I respected because the sickness has not yet spread to my conscious. I'm only mildly ill. Anyways, I digress.

Since I can't talk about my actual work interactions or the name of where I work or even that I am affiliated in anyway with this company that may or may not be in finance (because the Lord knows, when my Compliance officer googled me, I thanked a deep sigh of relief because: 1) I don't blog about work and 2) My blog did not come up on the google search). (As a second parenthetical aside, who google searches someone while they are on the phone with them? It was like being in a weird game show with the announcer droning on, "Ladies and gentleman, let's see how many sites Google will take us to NOOOWWW with our finance professional!! Of course, I googled myself simultaneously to their google, so at least I wasn't completely surprised).

Jeez, that was such a long aside that I had to go to a new paragraph to distance myself from it. I clearly can't go by minute by minute because that would take too long and have to include horrible minutes where I picked my nose or pulled my undies down. It would be unpleasant for all of us. Here is what an hour-by-hour look at what tomorrow holds for me, with some minutes thrown in to make it spicier:

11pm - 6:30am - Sleep!

6:30am - 6:45am - Shower

6:45am - 7:20am - "Zac, stop playing around. I'm serious. We are running late. Are your socks on? What do you mean you only have one sock on? Where did the other sock go? Your Nintendo DS is in your bag. Yes, I'm sure it is fully charged. Can you please put your other sock on before I lose my mind. Hurry!!! I see the bus up the street.

7:20am - 7:40am - Get ready for work

7:40am - 8am - "Commute" to work. It only takes 20 minutes because of all the stop lights and traffic. It could be under 10 if I had a straight shot to my building.

8am - 9am - Read online news, figure out who I'm going to be calling, figure out who I called yesterday, catch up on any administrative tasks that I didn't do the day before because I got tired.

9am - 11am - Call as many strangers "cold call" or semi-strangers "warm call" as I possibly can. That can range anywhere from 40 to 150 dials.

11am - Leave for lunch seminar. Begin freaking out that no one will come to said lunch seminar.

12pm - 1pm - lunch seminar

1:30pm - 2:30pm - Finish the on-site administrative paperwork for the seminar and drive back to my suburb.

3pm - 5pm - Call as many cold and warm strangers as I can. Return phone calls from while I was out of the office. Check e-mail.

5pm - 6pm - Meet with a prospective client

6:15pm - Leave for home

6:35pm - 8:30pm - Hang out with Zac, even if he would rather play computer games than talk to me.

9pm - Read

10pm - Read some more or catch up on my favorite blogs.

11pm - Sleep

I don't usually blog too much because I've become the most boring kind of workaholic imaginable and I can't even write about my work interactions or my feelings about work. I've officially used the words "blog" and "work" too many times in this post. I'm going to end it now before I start throwing around terms that google might pick up on. Good night!

Hair Today Gone Tomorrow

I got back in the car today after my Toastmasters meeting and looked in my rear view mirror. I had pinned up part of the sides of my hair because all the rain and humidity turn my once reasonably complaint, straight hair into a mass of fly aways and bad flips. My hair looks like Farah Faucett in her hey day, but without actually giving enough of a crap to go for the full out look.

Then I looked closer into the mirror. I remembered seeing a picture of myself in Seattle last week when I was in high school. The photo had the same straight, brown hair, but there was so much more of it. Then I realized I've lost most of my hair and almost started crying.

For the uninitiated, let me just say this as a disclaimer: hair is a fickle beast. There are many things that cause hair loss, including a radical change in diet, rapid weight loss, vitamin deficiencies, hormonal changes, and straight-up "I'm going bald". Unfortunately, gastric patients often experience hair loss for one, or many, of the reasons listed above. I just didn't feel like I fit that category. I knew that I was losing a lot of hair in the shower and wrapped around my volumizing brush, but I always kind of shrugged and knew deep down, "There is more where that came from".

Then one day I woke up and I can hold up all my hair with two small clips. I have a short, bob-length cut and now I realized that even when I wear all of my hair down, you can see my neck and chin when looking at my sideways. You know. Through my hair. Because there is nothing there but the strands that have decided to stick it out with me.

I have been in denial about this for a while I think. I feel like the 40 year-old man that goes to the store to buy Rogaine because one day he woke up and his forehead had tripled in size. Last time he remembered, he was swooping his hair sideways to stay out of his eyes. Only his hair loss was infinitesimally slower than mine. His took 15 years and mine has taken just 1, but I swear I sympathize so much more now. This whole year I've been fighting a losing battle to grow my hair out. It would get to a certain length and no matter how hard I tried to pretend that it was ok, it just looked horrible and I would cut it. Let's be honest, thin hair responds to a layered bob because all the layers add volume, particularly when blow-dried and moussed and tousled.

I called my doctor's nurse today and I'm hoping she returns my call tomorrow. I'm not sure how I'm going to put in words, "I've been losing hair for the past 12 months, but now my hair is all gone and do you think you can help me?" but I'm going to give it the ol' college try. After all, my follicles deserve another chance, right? If this doesn't work, I'll be reduced to a nightly chant to my scalp, shouting, "I think I can! I think I can!" to my scalp and no one really wants that.

Six cc's and full of vigor

After the drama of the last post, I have very little dramatic news to announce. Six cc's is...shockingly normal. Not "I can eat a bacon double cheeseburger with a large french fry" normal (and all of you with a stomach that can hold a full 6 cups of food, spend a little time tonight thanking the sweet Lord that you can enjoy not one, but TWO cheeseburgers simultaneously). I'm more like, "I just ate some sweet and sour soup and a couple of beef kabobs and I don't feel like I'm going to die". THAT kind of normal.

In other, perhaps more exciting news beyond my gastrointestinal track, I finally had my red dress photo shoot. I'm waiting on confirmation from my wonderful photographer to see if I can use her name here. Until then, if you are anywhere in the Houston area, I would highly recommend her. Just e-mail me or send me a message on Facebook and I'll send over her info. At the photo shoot, I ran out of steam before she did AND she brought a duffel bag full of props. I held things. I hid behind things. She had towels at the ready for when I had to sit down on slightly damp grass next to a river. The woman thought of everything. Then there's the part where she kept saying, "You look like a model" and murmuring to herself, "Beautiful". There's that part. There is also the part where she made Zac kiss me approximately 20 times while exclaiming, "That's so great! Keep doing that Zac!" so he did and we both giggled.

I'll write more about the experience when I get the photos in a couple of weeks.

Until then, I'm neck-deep in GLBT volunteering and I'm not sure I can see the white light at the end of the tunnel. Delegate you say? Why, I would if I knew where to start. Delegating might be new favorite word. Delegate. Delegate. Delegate. Yes, it does feel good.

Not quite as good as that egg roll I just ate, but you can't have everything.

Those are the brakes you feel

I love the Internet. If you want to avoid something at all costs, the worst thing you can do is post about it for all your friends and family to see. In my last post, I was so confident that I would lose the weight. Downright cocky when I said, "I don't know. Do you think 120lb is too skinny? What about 140?" Blah, blah, blah..I'm going to be a skinny bitch...blah, blah, blah. I'm a freaking idiot and I should know better than to tempt Internet fate.

While I was being so Polly Anna, I neglected to report some of the more negative parts of having a lap band. I was filled on February 10th and almost immediately I knew something was different. I went from puking every other day or so to regularly puking twice a day. Then there was the heart burn and upset stomach. Last time I felt like that, I was in my third trimester with Zac. I felt awful, every single night. In the morning though, I'd feel better and get up and go to work. Unfortunately, with all the stomach pain and reflux, I stopped drinking liquids. God that sounds stupid. Let's see? I was puking regularly and restricting fluids.

Want to guess where I went on Tuesday?

If you guessed the ER, you would be correct. I woke up Tuesday morning with a massive, intense headache, cramps in my calves, and a very upset stomach. I tried eating. I puked. I laid on the couch and called my surgeon. Then I waited....and waited...no one called me back. My friend, Mr. Grinch, told me that I could go to University General (yes, that is the real name of the hospital, even if it sounds like a soap opera) instead of Methodist. I didn't know what to do. My surgeon is at Methodist, but I wasn't sure if their ER could help me. So I went to University General, which has the smallest ER in Houston, hands down.

I only waited 5 minutes to go back to a room. I was moderately-severely dehydrated. A doctor came in and removed 7.8 cc's from my band (which is all but .2cc's of what was in there). I asked if they could only take out part of the fluid, but they took out almost everything. Then they gave me a full IV bag of saline with a side car of anti-nausea medication. I felt so much better.

The next day, it was like I was on vacation from my stomach. I had Mexican food for lunch and Chinese food (Chinese food! Do you know how long it's been since I've had that without puking? I couldn't even Chinese food in CHINA without puking). I can't even publicly admit what I had for lunch today. I texted Mr. Grinch and asked him how jealous he was. I told him it was like food porn. If you can't eat it yourself, you might as well listen to someone else eat it. That was my theory at least. I don't think the Grinch appreciated it very much.

I went to my surgeon's office today and the doc was furious, both at UGH for taking what a year of fluid in my band ("They were covering their own asses. They didn't have your best interest in mind") and his own staff for not calling me back. He put in 6cc's of fluid, which for your reference, is about six times as much as he's ever put in at once. I could feel the band inflate. Literally. I could feel an object bisect my stomach. My stomach hurts so much now that my back is hurting. In other good news, my bp was so low that I was deemed still dehydrated. Awesome.

This would be the not-so-pleasant side of bariatric surgery.

50/50

This Sunday was supposed to be my Red Dress photo shoot, but my photographer asked to reschedule because of the rain and flooding the night before and a death in her family. I had been consciously dieting to make sure I hit the 50lb mark with my weight loss. Right now, I'm 8lbs away from my pre-baby weight, which is spectacular in my opinion. I'm starting to see definition in my legs and calves and really just now starting to feel differently about my body. I was so tuned out of it that it's taken me losing 50lbs to even feel like myself again.

 I asked my gastric surgeon what my ideal weight should be. He asked how tall I was and I dutifully told him I'm 5'4 (and a half, don't forget the half, it's important). He thought for a nanosecond and then said authoritatively: 120lbs. I would have laughed out loud, but he was digging around for the port under my skin with needle, so I tried not to move too much. Let me just put this into perspective. The last time I was that weight I'm pretty sure I was in the 8th grade. When I graduated high school, after dancing and doing gymnastics almost year-round, I was 160lbs. Even after bicycling for nine months all throughout Oxford and only eating food that I could carry home from the grocery store on my back and my handlebars, I weighed 155lbs. I wish I could find the photo of myself from that time. I looked skinny.

Now the doc wants me to weigh 120lbs?!? I asked him if we could think about the 140-145lb range and he said that might work. That would mean that I'm only halfway through my weight loss journey. It's taken me a year to get here, but I feel like my weight loss is accelerating. While the doc was poking around under my skin, he put another cc of saline into my band. That puts me up to 8cc's of fill. According to the all-knowing Wikipedia, bands can hold up to 12cc's of fluid. I think at that point, your upper stomach is either so stretched out that you can eat whatever you want or you are putting all your food into a blender and drinking it through a straw. A very small straw.

I know that I'll adjust to my current restriction, but wow, it's intense. I'm actually afraid to eat in front of anyone in a social situation because of how little I can actually eat. The best surprise came when I sat down when my new friend (I'll call him Mr. Grinch, which I mean as a compliment). I told him that I had lap band surgery and he said he did as well. Then we proceeded to take two hours to finish lunch! It was fantastic. I had never shared a meal with someone that had the same level of restriction that I had. I can't say enough how great it was! I knew exactly what was going on when he stopped talking, stopped eating, and just sat there. I was like, "Oh yeah. You're trying not to puke! Wait...do you need me to slide out of the booth? Are you sure? For real, I'll move."

So...the question is, for anyone that knows me or maybe jumps on a scale themselves from time to time, does 140 seem like a good goal for me? Too skinny or not skinny enough?

Even More About the Red Dress

I realized after re-reading my original post that it made it seem like I would be wearing Jenny's original dress. That is not so. You see, so many women have been inspired by the story of the traveling red dress that women from all over the world started sending them to other women who needed to feel beautiful and powerful. They started a facebook page and women began meeting each other through the power of social media. I don't know how much information my dress owner wants me to share here, but I can tell you that she and I have never met, she seems like an amazing human being, and there are too many states for me to remember between Texas and Virginia.

And the dress! It's like nothing I would have ever purchased for myself, but I think that's the point of the project. It's red and glittery, almost like a red disco ball without mirrors. Here is a picture of the back:

 I'm pretty sure that scoop is too low for a bra, but I fixed the problem by buying a small, balero-type black cardigan. I'm also hoping that will help camouflage my giant arms. I can't tell you the last time a thin, strappy dress was on my body for just this reason.

Here is the front:

See? It's glittering and fabulous. The dress owner was also kind enough to send me a card, that somehow perfectly fit exactly what I was feeling when I opened the package:

Just in case you can't read it, it says, "Life is full of pain, misery,

Just in case you can't read it, it says, "Life is full of pain, misery, disaster, disease, sadness, tragedy, malevolent rabbits (I think that's what it says, I'll have to find the card again to double check), anger, violence, death....But this little owlie's awesomeness negates all that."

And so it did. I'm to the point in my life, my career, and my volunteerism, where it feels like everyone wants to take something from me or use something that I foolishly offer. I'm fostering a puppy (a puppy!) for Seven and, sure, the dog is cute, but wow, I had no idea how hard it would be to house train a 3 month-old puppy. She pees in her crate, she pees in my bedroom, she poops either two feet in front of the door or two feet outside the door, and she fights with Sam constantly. Dinner time for all three animals in the house makes me feel like I'm running an animal shelter. Everyone is crying and whining about me not getting them their food fast enough.

Then there is a problem with my meds. I have some medication that I don't take every day (mostly because I would be in a perpetual state of semi-consciousness haze that I don't enjoy on a regular basis). Sometimes my friends ask me for my extra meds. I never sell them because that's clearly illegal and giving them away is only, what? Partially illegal. I don't know. It's a grey area for me. The problem is when my friends start requesting meds that I take every day because I need them. One of them is a controlled substance that requires me to get a written prescription every month. Someone came over to my house and left the next morning. About twenty minutes after she had left, I got a text saying, "Oh, I forgot to get one of your XXXX. I guess you forgot to give it to me". I was floored. I don't give out that med and I in no way forgot to give one to her. I'm not a pharmacist. I'm not even a physician's assistant. I have what I have because I need it.

So I was feeling used in every way and then I got this wonderful package that was sent specifically for me, to make me feel better. I almost started crying. Someone, a stranger, was thinking about me when it felt like no one else in my life was. It was beautiful.

My Red Dress

Let me put this into context: I came home after the kind of day that made me want to crawl into bed, pull the covers up, and hide from the world. When I came into my bedroom, I found a box. Clicker must have picked it up from my front porch and brought it inside. As soon as I saw it, I knew. I knew that my traveling red dress had come. I almost cried.

If you haven't been following the Traveling Red Dress Project on the web, start with the link to The Bloggess. Then check out the follow-up to her original post. With the first red dress, Jenny (The Bloggess) wrote, "I want, just once, to wear a bright red, strapless ball gown with no apologies. I want to be shocking, and vivid and wear a dress as intensely amazing as the person I so want to be."

Then she got the strapless red ball gown and her friend photographed her in it. Then she sent the dress on a journey, from city to city, so other women could experience the unadulterated joy that she experienced. She asked women to tell her if they needed to celebrate, to feel beautiful, to mark a struggle through depression, cancer, or a divorce. I sent a note saying that I would like to celebrate losing 50 lbs after lap band surgery and a wonderful woman from Fairfax, Virginia said she would happily ship me out a dress.

My photography shoot is scheduled for Sunday, February 18th and I can't wait. More details to come...