Ruh Ro, Stomach Flu!

I am home sick today with stomach flu...which was a polite way to tell my employees that I'm violently defiling the bathroom right now.

Unfortunately for me, I'm only experiencing the intestinal distress. My appetite is entirely unaffected. Once the horrible stomach cramps started last night, I felt vaguely nauseated and was a little optimistic that I'd start throwing up along with everything else. But NOPE. I'm actually starving. I'm basically shackled to the toilet at this point, but I am not benefiting one ounce from the helpful vomiting that generally accompanies any stomach bug. I know I should definitely not WANT to throw up. I hate throwing up. Who actually likes vomiting? The problem is that we have a pack of Swiss Cake rolls in the pantry, and I would LOVE to eat them knowing that I would get sick and throw them up so I wouldn't have to count the Points.

Pretty twisted, huh?

I never had the courage for bulimia, nor the discipline for anorexia. I never had any real desire to become anorexic--I love food far too much--but I always thought I could solve all of my problems if I could really binge and purge. My old roommate attended bulimia support group therapy in hopes of picking up some tips and becoming bulimic herself (which, she reasoned, would be easier than, you know, eating right and and working out). It didn't work out for her. Like, at all. She and I both had the binge part down pat, but we just couldn't make ourselves purge.

She was messed up too.

So when I do get sick, as much as I hate it and it makes me cry because I'm a big baby when I'm sick (despite surviving multiple heart surgeries--dumb, right?), I also secretly enjoy being able to eat whatever I want. And sometimes eating delicious stuff and then throwing it up has a dual benefit: everything is out before I digest it, AND it looks so gross that I don't crave those treats for awhile.

Like I said, though, I only have the awful and painful diarrhea. No vomiting. Which means that I'm trapped here, hungry, in the house with Swiss Cake rolls, Smart Ones, hummus and pitas, colby cheese slices, fresh baked bread, crunchy peanut butter, jalapeno pepper jelly with crackers, and a bunch of other shit I'm trying to block out right now.

And I have ZERO weekly Weight Watchers points left for the week, thanks to an ill-advised margarita lunch at work on Friday and a really good queso and enchilada dinner on Saturday. 

I'm trying to keep my mind off of food by immersing myself in A Storm of Swords and cranking up the Fleetwood Mac on my record player, but I'm still making a mental inventory of everything in my kitchen. I can't help it. It's my fat girl mentality striking again.

Being at home alone has always been my time to binge, just like when I would get off the bus and have the house to myself for just long enough to gorge myself on secret Girl Scout cookie stashes or leftover candy hidden behind my bed. When I was in third grade, I would come home and if I was alone, I would immediately grab two cookies (sometimes chocolate chip or Magic Middle, sometimes oatmeal cream pies pulled apart) and cover one with a mound of Reddi-wip, and then make a cookie and whipped cream sandwich, which I would eat in two bites. Now when I'm home alone, I stick my finger in the peanut butter jar and then dip the peanut butter in the fat free whipped cream tub, because I reason that if I eat less than a half tablespoon of peanut butter I don't have to count the points.

So far today, besides the food I actually counted, I've had 5 maraschino cherries, three spoonfuls of fat free whipped cream, 3 Cheetos, half a Ritz cracker, 4 chili cheese Fritos, a lick of honey, 2 Baked Lays dipped in hummus, a pinch of shredded cheddar, 5 semi-sweet chocolate chips, and half a marshmallow. I feel like the queen of eating JUST enough that I don't feel like I should count it. Of course, if you add up all of that shit, it's like at least probably 6 or 7 Points.

But I'm sick so I have every right to stay in denial, right?

Maybe I'll get lucky and end up getting sicker and throw it all up anyway. Then I'd be home another day, though, and faced with the same temptations all over again.

Hopefully I'll just feel better, get back to work, and spend the next two days at my desk, which is stocked with NOTHING delicious. I say two days because...in three days, I go to Key West. For another all-inclusive work trip. Just like the Cancun trip last year. And I know I'm going to gain about 20 pounds in beach cocktails and buffet deserts.

After spending all this time in the bathroom while it's a wind chill of -10 out, though, I am SO ready to go, even if I do end up eating enough for five people!

Lost USPS Package: A Study In Impotent Rage

I am so mad.

Madder than mad.

I'm awash with anger. I'm seething with every fiber of my being. I'm so mad, I feel it in my toenails. I can barely breathe. I feel it in my hair follicles. Everything keeps turning red and I'm blind with the fury. My hands are shaking. I want to cry. I want to breathe fire. I want to turn myself around and around and become a rage tornado and tear through town. I want to hurl stones. I'm the kind of mad that turns your stomach and makes you weak, the kind where your ears ring and your mouth tastes like pennies. I'm trying to calm down but the whole world is red right now. I'm so furious I'm dizzy and hot and tingly. I can't concentrate. I can't speak. I am nothing but fire and fury. I'm getting heartburn. My head is pounding. My pulse is racing. Everything is blurry. I can't get a hold of myself.

The story is dumb and familiar to anyone who has dealt with lost postal packages. To make a long story short ("Too late!" Wow, two Clue references in one post!), the post office has my shit and I'm not getting it back.

**If you're interested in the full version: the post office was supposed to deliver two packages on Friday. One required a signature and the other didn't. They left two notices, one for each package, that I could sign and request redelivery. I checked the online tracking, though, and saw that one of the packages was marked as "Delivered" at 2:30pm and the other was marked as "Delivery Attempted." I called the post office and he said that both packages were right there--he walked to the shelf and looked at them to confirm. He didn't know why the carrier marked it as delivered, and he had no idea why the package that didn't require a signature wasn't delivered, but he said to sign the forms and the packages would be delivered on Saturday. I signed both 3849 forms, wrote to leave the packages on the porch, and put the forms in the mailbox with the flag up. On Saturday, I came home to find NO packages AND NO forms. The carrier took both 3849 forms AND failed to leave my packages. So I called the post office again and tried to explain what happened to help locate my package. Tara, who answered, cut me off and said, "Well, it was marked as delivered. SORRY. You can call back Monday." Listen, I worked in call centers for years and I know enough to be nice on the phone. I know the people on the other end are trying to help but are limited in what they can do. THIS BITCH Tara just did not give a FLYING FUCK. Like, not a SINGLE fuck was given. Why do people like this even have jobs? I tried to be polite and ask if there was anyone else I could talk to and bitch said NOPE. I asked if she could just look at the shelf to see if my package was there, as it had been the day before, and bitch said NOPE. I asked if she had an employee number so I could call her manager on Monday and bitch said NOPE. So I went off. I told her that her stupid ass is the reason the USPS is failing. She hung up on me, naturally. So I called back. She let it ring for a few minutes, then picked it up and pushed a button for a few minutes (the same trick I used to use when mean people were calling in to me). I knew she could hear me so I went off on a tirade that would make a sailor blush. She hung up. I called again and shouted at her while she pushed buttons. And again. And again. I don't think I'll be able to use the terms "flaming cunt rag" or "ignorant fucking twat" for a long time without thinking of Tara.**

But of course calling them didn't DO anything. Except maybe get me on Tara's personal "lets fuck up her mail" list. That's the problem with getting mad at the post office: you can't do SHIT about it. I can just be mad. Like, that's literally all I can do. I can seethe, and I can file a report for list mail (which I did, but the complaint didn't go through because the package was marked as Delivered, even though the manager confirmed Friday night that it was sitting right there in front of him...jesus). I can only be mad. So I AM being mad. Really mad. I am nothing but skin and hair and impotent rage. I don't want it to ruin my night or my weekend, but what else can I DO? I can't fight back, I can't threaten them (you know, federal laws and all). I can't march down there and snatch my shit off the shelf myself. I can only seethe.

I know lost packages are a SUPER INCREDIBLY MINOR thing to get all worked up about. It's not even the packages I'm so fucking pissed off about--I'm more pissed off at being so helpless. I'm completely at the mercy of this fucking idiot Tara who clearly doesn't give a shit about anything, and my mail carrier, who is obviously a fucking moron. I'm just so, so mad that there's nothing I can do about any of it. I hate being this mad, and I really hate not being able to soothe myself.

Before Weight Watchers, I would deal with this situation in one of two ways: I would either gorge myself on food, or get blind fucking drunk. Both of those things would set me back on my Points now, though, and it's just not worth it. I'm not going to let this one shitty fucking thing set me back a week or two or three at weigh-in. I won't.

So how's a girl supposed to deal?

I went so long, like so many fat girls, eating my feelings. If something made me sad, or mad, or stressed, or even happy, I would eat. If I had a bad day, I'd go get a Blizzard from Dairy Queen. If I was celebrating a promotion or a birthday, I'd go to a fondue restaurant and eat for four hours. If I was pissed off at someone, I'd go eat a Snickers bar and wash it down with some chocolate milk.

And when I didn't fill myself with food, I filled myself with alcohol. Vodka, rum, Mad Dog, it didn't matter. I have been open about my problems with alcohol. After my heart surgeries and now Weight Watchers, alcohol just isn't a very big part of my life. I can count on two hands the number of times I got really drunk in 2013, and even then I was counting my drinks so I could record the Points afterward.

So no food, no alcohol...I already took my prescribed Xanax and it didn't help. How do normal people cope?

It feels very strange to, at the age of 31, just now begin finding suitable coping mechanisms to deal with unpleasant situations. The escapism of my youth isn't cutting it. The college years coping was even worse--I can't very well go blow a few lines of coke now, or take some mushrooms and wander through the woods, or eat peyote and spend a few hours walking a labyrinth. I mean, I guess I could, but I should probably find some methods that don't involve illegal drugs. Besides, did I mention that I'm 31? If I went to hit up some of the bridge kids for ketamine or ecstasy now, they'd probably think I was a narc instead of just some loser looking to score drugs because she had a bad day.

I can't just start chugging Smirnoff or Boone's Farm--do you know how many Points are in a bottle of Hot Damn?! I can't start a Power Hour and get wasted...not if I plan to eat anything this week.

So I tried yoga. I started my Pilates dvd. I'm breathing deeply, drinking herbal stress-relieving tea, listening to The Dark Side Of The Moon on vinyl, smoking a joint (hey, I can't give up EVERYTHING, people, DON'T JUDGE ME!), thinking of things to be grateful for, hoping the rage subsides.

And really, really, really fucking hoping that my packages get here some day.

If they don't, I don't know what I'll do. Probably combust. I'll just be gone in a flash of light and smoke. My head will explode and my faulty heart will collapse on itself.

Xanax isn't helping. Pilates isn't helping. Chamomile and lavender isn't helping.

Seriously, please tell me: how do I cope without food or alcohol? How do normal people deal with shit? I have no fucking clue right now. It's not in my nature to just bend over and take it up the ass. If I want to continue getting my mail, though, I better get used to it.

Weight Gain For No Reason

Sometimes I go to my weekly Weight Watchers weigh-in fully expecting to lose weight, only to find out after stepping on the scale that I've inexplicably gained.

This is one of those weeks.

It's frustrating because I did EVERYTHING "right". I stayed within my points, I was relatively active, I drank a ton of water and ate fruit and veggies every day.

So why did I gain?

Well, after sticking with Weight Watchers for well over a year, I have learned that sometimes, it just happens. Sometimes you do everything you're supposed to do and you still fail. Sometimes you eat exactly what you're supposed to eat and you still gain weight.

The good news is that I'm not giving up--not even close. I'm going to keep going, keep tracking, and hope for a better number next week.

The bad news is that I'm still at the same weight that I was before Thanksgiving. After gaining .4 pounds this week, I'm back up to 210.8. Two months of sticking to Weight Watchers has netted me a total GAIN of 1.6 pounds. Okay, I didn't really "stick" to Weight Watchers because I went over my points almost every week for those two months. But I did track everything, and I was active, and I did show more restraint around food than I ever did before. So here I am, 1/22/14, and I weigh 1.6 pounds more than I did on 11/20/13.

However, I weighed 279.6 pounds the week before Thanksgiving in 2012. So I weigh 68.8 pounds less than I did on 11/20/12.

That's something at least!

Inch by Inch

Losing weight takes sooooooooooooo loooooooooooooooooong.

I feel like 9-year-old me on a long road trip, whining, "Are we there yet?" over and over. My sister and I made a song of it to the tune of Frere Jacques..."Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Please say yes! Please say yes! We're so very bored now, we just want to be there, are we there? Are we there?" It annoyed the hell out our parents, and now I'm annoying myself by singing it in my head.

Seriously, though...are we there yet?!

I've been on Weight Watchers since August of 2012. I've lost 94 pounds now, but I've been hovering around 94 pounds lost for what seems like forever. It doesn't feel like I've made any progress in months, and this journey is taking longer than Lord of the Rings (The books! not even the movies!).

It's been 17, almost 18 months of tracking every bite of food I eat, of weighing out my grated cheese and measuring my glasses of milk. I still, even after nearly 18 months, don't trust myself to pour an accurate 8 ounce drink, or eat one real ounce of potato chips.

That's exhausting.

And from one day to the next, I very rarely feel like I've made any difference. For every unexpected and awesome moment when I pass the mirror and think, "Wow, nice cheekbones!", there's another moment where I put my hand on my hip and think, "Oh man, I thought I had less pudge yesterday..."

Two steps forward, one step back, right?

But still, I keep reminding myself that I HAVE made progress. 94 pounds is still 94 pounds. Just taking a look back through photos from the past 18 months is enough to satisfy me that I am making myself healthier, one day at a time, even if it doesn't always feel like it.

Haribo Sugarless Gummy Bears: Mmm Laxatives!

I AM GROSS.

Okay?

I admit it. I do gross stuff. I eat gross things. And I really, really like to poop.

If that grosses you out, you should probably stop reading right here. 

I haven't always loved pooping. In fact, I never used to think about it at all. I would poop once, maybe twice a day, and go about my *ehrm* business. Never paid it much mind, as they say.

That was before the Great Constipation Event of 2013. You know, when I ate box after box of Fiber One Bars and completely stopped pooping. It was horrible. I never really wished for poop before then. I had never once hoped for a bowel movement. I reached a new low.

Then, I had heart surgery and things got a little weird in my intestines. I don't know if it was the pain killers or what, but I went from being a daily plopper to a cross-your-fingers-today-is-the-day gross old lady straining on the commode. Not at place I thought I'd be at 31 years of age. I started taking Milk of Magnesia once a week or so (okay, every Tuesday right before my weigh-in on Wednesday) to help clear out my system, but it never seemed to work that well. I still felt all bloated and blocked up.

Recently, I rediscovered what my friends used to call "Poo Poo Tea." It's this Super Dieter's Tea and I had tried it a few times back when we were doing a weight loss challenge at work. This was maybe 10 years ago, and I managed to go from 235 pounds down to 228 pounds. That was a big deal at the time. It didn't last long before I gained it right back, but the one additional thing that I gained from that experience was the knowledge that "Poo Poo Tea" will turn a normal person's gut into a boiling river of hot diarrhea lava. I never knew seemingly benign tea, something so weak and flavorless that I never drank in any version, let along shit-inducing varieties, could wreak such havoc on your digestive track. I had maybe two mugs full back then and never tried it again. Until two or so weeks ago, that is. I bought a box on Amazon, cleared my schedule for 24 hours, and prepared to be amazed at the volume of feces exiting my colon. Unfortunately, not much happened. A little gurgle, a little tummy cramping, and then a decent but solid stool the next day. Hardly the apocalyptic anal nightmare I was expecting. But I was still happy SOMETHING came out.

So when the reviews for the Haribo Sugarless Gummy Bears went viral (the Amazon reviews are here) I was crying and howling with laughter while also thinking, "Hmm...wonder if they really work...?" So while everyone else I know was sharing the hilarity of the comments and taking pity on the consumers, I was clicking "Buy Now!" and hoping the 2 day Prime shipping got them here before my next weigh-in.

They got here, indeed. And passed right through!

I ordered the one pound bag and carefully portioned out 12 bears. To me, they were indistinguishable from the regular Haribo bears. They were awesome. I LOVE gummy bears. I love all candy (except orange candy...or Tootsie Rolls...so obviously I picked out the orange ones). It was really hard to only eat 12 gummy bears. I don't think I've stopped at 12 bears in my whole life. I waited eagerly for the trumpeting gas, the "Niagara Falls through a straw" effect, the total colonic cleanse. Unfortunately, I got a couple gurgles and that was all.

Then my girlfriend started having major stomach pain (she did NOT have the gummy bears). I drove her to the hospital and we got checked in to the ER. That's when my stomach started feeling...well...I was just very aware of my digestive system. A little crampy, a little pressure, a few funny squishy noises. This was around three hours after eating the bears.

We were in the ER most of the night--it turns out she had a really bad kidney stone, which she's never had before. I kept going to the bathroom but not GOING to the bathroom. A little gas (some of it pretty loud) but that was it.

When we got home this morning, I ate another 12 bears. It was around 12 hours after the first handful. This time, I finally started to feel things moving along. I went to bed for a few hours and when I woke up I ate another 8 bears. Within the hour, I was in the bathroom, making progress for the first time in three days! It was great! Nothing loose as reported in the reviews (or, more accurately, no "chocolate rain" as they described it) but a respectable amount.

I weighed myself before and after my bathroom trip: two pounds down!

This afternoon, I'm still a little gassy and I actually feel like I might go again. Here's hoping--I have weigh-in tomorrow, so it would be really nice to empty out a little more of my intestines!

I was really hoping for a more dramatic effect, but I have to say that this is a MUCH more delicious way to get things moving. No more Milk of Magnesia--I just need some sugar free gummy bears and I'm golden! This might become my new pre-weigh-in ritual.

(I am sad that I am so excited about pooping. But I had to share.)

Pilonidal Cysts and My Little Ponies

As someone who has endured the pain of pilonidal cysts, I can tell you that I live in constant fear of having another flare-up.

You can read about my last cyst here, and the eventual resolution here.

This weekend was another cold, slushy, gray blur (the only bright point being my discovery of angel food cake made with a can of crushed pineapple, and the subsequent shame in realizing that I ate four full servings at once). I felt compelled to get out and DO something since, well, it's winter and gross outside but it actually wasn't freezing so I felt pressured to get out of the house and enjoy the relative heat wave of 40 degree weather.

Instead, however, I watched the documentary "Bronies" and then ended up watching the entire third season of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. Yes, I'm a dork. I have loved My Little Ponies since I was little, my 80's room (our guest bedroom) is filled with at least 80 original ponies, and this new cartoon has sucked me in despite the slightly slutty re-imagining of their figures. I had watched the first two seasons on Netflix and, after the documentary, discovered that they added the third season. So instead of getting outside and doing something active, I sat on my couch for approximately 48 straight hours.

If you are prone to pilonidal cysts, it is NOT advisable to sit on a couch for 48 hours.

Most of the times that I've had a flare-up have been after a long road trip, after riding roller coasters that hit my tailbone, after sitting for long periods of time in uncomfortable chairs, etc. When I feel like I'm sitting on my tailbone, I immediately try to shift around to take the pressure off. I start feeling like the pilonidal cyst is gathering power and is getting ready to make an appearance.

After this weekend, then, I am being really careful not to lean back in my chair. I am terrified that it's going to flare up again.

I had really hoped that losing weight would make my pilonidal cysts fewer and farther between. I always think of it as a 'fat person disease' and, right or wrong, I hope that once I get down to a healthy weight, I won't have to worry about getting another one.

Of course, a basic understanding of anatomy and biology tells me I'm wrong. I must have a pilonidal sinus and a cavity from past infections, so future infections are always possible.

Still, I can't help but feeling dirty and fat when I think about it. Maybe the pilonidal cyst is like my badge of dishonor--a relic I'll be forced to deal with for all of eternity, for the crime of spending most of my life as a fat person.

I just really, really hope it doesn't flare up this week. Next weekend I am going to try to get my ass off of the couch so I don't have to think about it!

Snowpocalypse

If you're like half the country right now, you've probably been snowed in for days. And if you're like me, you've spent the past few days alternating between gorging yourself on all the food in the house and desperately attempting to ignore all of the food in the house.

Although I've given in a few times (WHY did my girlfriend buy Nutty Bars?! They are so fucking deliciously irresistible!) I've managed to steer clear of the really bad shit and stuff my face with grapes, cherry tomatoes, wasabi peas, and lots and lots of tea.

My sweet tooth has been acting up, though, so I decided to recreate my childhood snow day favorite: snow ice cream! This time, I made it Weight Watchers-friendly and it was oh so good!

I sent my girlfriend out for a big bowl of snow (I was not about to go out in the -15 mess) and I mixed it with stevia, skim milk, and vanilla. I ended up putting in two tablespoons of granulated sugar to cover the slightly bitter aftertaste of the stevia, and it was SO FUCKING GOOD. Why can't they make something like this in the stores? I mean, that bowl made a really huge amount of snow ice cream, so when I divided the sugar by the amount of servings (around four, although there was a little extra that we didn't eat) I didn't even have to count it as a single point. Why isn't there zero point ice cream?! Someone should invent it. Please?

Anyway, I can't wait for it to warm back up a little so I can play in the snow. Last Saturday, after our first snowfall but before the dreaded 'polar vortex' and the 10 extra inches, we went sledding with my eight year old nephew. I haven't been able to sled since before my first heart surgery six years ago--I never ever would have made it back up the hill. This time, with my healthy new heart valve and 90 fewer pounds, I kept sledding and sledding! I even raced him up the hill a few times. I'm covered in bruises, it feels like I compacted my spine, my chest and neck are sore, and I think I almost got frostbite on my fingertips, but I had SO much fun! Plus, I was able to count it as 15 Activity Points! Turns out sledding is pretty fucking physical (well, sledding is one thing, but climbing the hill over and over is the hard part).

This is the first time in so long that I've been able to actually enjoy the snow, and it's awesome! Now I'm just waiting for 'normal' winter temps and I'll grab my sled and head back to the hill to burn some calories and earn some more bruises.