Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Only...only....only

I tend to hold onto things. I'm trying to figure out why. Here is my train of thought, have fun following it.
I'm an only child. My parents are only children. I wonder how rare that is? So I have no real cousins, no siblings, only people who share great-grandparents with me (their grandparents and mine were siblings). I spent a lot of my childhood, a lot of my life, alone. I played alone, and my games were solitary ones. I'm a writer, which is very solitary. I have no children, and right now I have no job, so I am home alone all day, every day, and on the weekends and nights when my husband's home, he does his own thing and I do mine, which is how it's always been. We maybe watch a movie or two together, have something to eat, and go our separate ways in the house.
So I'm not very good with people, and being emotionally attached to them, because growing up there just wasn't that many people for me to BE attached to.  Parents, 3 grandparents, and 2 great-grandparents I rarely saw.  That was it.  I've never had a lot of friends.
So I don't play well with others.  I'm not properly socialized.  I don't share my toys.  But at least I don't run with scissors.   But back up a step, to me not sharing my toys.  My things are mine.  Mine.  That's my bottle of Diet Pepsi.  That's my pink and purple flowered binder clip.  My laptop.  I never had to share anything and I have no idea how.   For instance, I went to a huge family reunion for my husband's family.  We stopped and got a few groceries (the whole selective eating disorder thing) and put them in the fridge.  And they all got eaten by other people.  I was completely flipping out.  They ate my food!  My husband said, "It's not your food.  Everything here is everybody's.  Eat something else."  I didn't want THEIR stuff, I wanted MY stuff.  To this day, I can't understand that thinking.  Unless someone said to me, "eat anything you want from the fridge" I would never just take food from someone else's stash.  Even then, I would say "I'm going to eat the (whatever) are you sure it's okay?"  Mine is mine, yours is yours.  Mi casa no es su casa.  
My car is being junked.  I love my car.  I love the color, I love everything about it.  I can't replace it because they don't make this model anymore.  I don't want to let my car go.  I'd keep it forever unregistered in the driveway if I could.  That's the hoarder in me, and how my house doesn't look like some of those on TV I couldn't tell you.
So somewhere in there, something relates to food, hoarding food, hoarding calories in my body, overeating, portion control.  I know I am guilty of tourist eating, even in places I eat at all the time....better eat it all, who knows when I'll come back?
 So my body is full of fat, extra calories being hoarded and right now it's refusing to let go of any more.  I am frustrated and hence my wandering train of thought, trying to find out what kind of highly defective thinking is going on in my fat head.
But knowing isn't enough.  How do I turn it off? 


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Tuesday, September 28, 2010

dead MP3 player

My underwater MP3 player has been acting up. It used to have a proper battery life, as advertised, of about 12-15 hours per AAA battery. (I know, how awesome is that?) Which mean every couple of weeks, the light went from amber to green and I swapped out the battery. Easy as pie.
And then I started having to swap it out every week. Then twice a week. Then almost every workout. Now I can't even get a battery to last 15 MINUTES.
It's the 2nd one of these I've bought. They seem to last about 3 years and cost about $50 which isn't terrible.
I just hate having to work out without it. I can't run as fast or as far. My mind is totally bored. I tried counting my steps this morning but I run faster than I can count, even in my head. (If you read my earlier post, I figured that I run 180-220 steps per minute.)
I did a dismal 35 minutes today (about a 5k in distance) since the damn MP3 player kicked on me about 15 minutes in.  Came home, logged right onto Amazon and they only have the 256K model (for the price I used to pay for the 512K model) and the 512K model is out of stock, maybe permanently.  So I went over to scuba.com, where I got my 2nd one because it was cheaper than Amazon, and all they had were sleeves and accessories for i-crap, no stand-alone players.
Intova, the brand that made my old MP3 H20 man, has a new version with a totally different design. It hangs over your ears onto the back of your neck.  Not crazy about that, but it's a brand I trust and I don't want to strart anew with some other one that might be a piece of crap.  This brand is the first, original, stand-alone underwater MP3 manufacturer.  They seem to know what they are doing.  And they are in Hawaii.
So I just ordered an Intova H20 Man Duo and I paid for speedy shipping. I'll have it Thursday to use Friday. I'll just have to muddle along with my stair machine at home until then.  I'm going to the Big E Thursday so there was no use paying to get it tomorrow.




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Saturday, September 18, 2010

phone therapy, and, I tried, I gave up

I had a great phone therapy session with the therapist I'm going to see in a month. She brought out some things about my grandma that I had almost forgotten about. She is basically going to treat me like I'm a PSTD patient and go at the bothersome memories that way.
Like my grandma cooking for me on a Sunday night and then complaining the next day to my mom that I ate what she cooked for me and what she cooked was unhealthy (yes, she complained against her own cooking). Or the faces she would make when I put food of any kind or any amount on my plate (including, again, what she CHOSE to cook for me). Or her taking my chocolate rabbit at Easter and reading the calories and fat out loud at the table and making a remark about me going home and eating the whole thing. (I was probably about 30 when this happened, not 5.)  I used to stay with her during the summer (until I was 16 and got a job) and she'd take me to a local restaurant and tell the waitress that I was only allowed the "child's portion" because I was so fat, when I was 14 or 15.  Or being passive-aggressive about being forced to take me to a fat kid's store for school shopping.  (She isn't dead, my grandma, but she rarely speaks to me anymore which is just fine with me.  And she hasn't cooked for me in years.)
If things like this are coming up in a phone conversation, I can't wait to see what gets dragged out of me in an in-personal, in depth, all-day therapy session.  


I was so inspired by our conversation that I printed out a coupon for a new food and went to the restaurant and ordered it.  Now to be clear, it wasn't something entirely new.  It wasn't like I was eating an artichoke or something. (Who decided those things are food, anyway? Because they clearly aren't.)  It was queso, but with meat (I've only had plain cheese queso, and I like it at 2 places and hate it at a third).  I know people rave about the queso at this place and how they order it as a meal and eat the whole bowl it's so delicious.  I didn't like it at all.   It was brown, not yellow, which was the first problem.  The lumps of meat looked like lumps of beans.  Supposedly it had no beans in it, but it tasted like refried beans smell.  And it was brown like refried beans.  It also had another weird taste that I think was sour cream.   I'm glad it was free.   I packed it up and brought it home for my hubby.
Today I decided to order a Southern homestyle cooking-type meal of chicken fried chicken with potatoes.  I told them no gravy. (I don't get the Southern thing of gravy.  My friend lived in Louisiana for a while and she said they didn't even warn you, just automatically poured gravy on just about everything but hamburgers--including french fries! )  I think the chicken's coating had rosemary in it, which I am allergic to, but the restaurant couldn't confirm or deny as they purchase the mix and don't actually make the coating there.  There was some kind of weird taste anyway, that I didn't like.  My friend tasted it and said she didn't think it was rosemary (although it had some pine needle things) or thyme (which can also set off the allergy) but she had no idea what it WAS.  It was a gorgeous piece of chicken breast, pounded thin and beautifully breaded.  if it had been just black pepper and flour it would have been perfect.  Took that home too, tried and failed again.

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Thursday, September 16, 2010

Habba Syndrome treatment/butt update

I went back to the butt doctor this week and my only hope was that he'd give me the prescription for the pills.
Of course, sometimes you get what you ask for, except that it isn't quite what you want.
The doctor said that he is fairly certain I probably have Habba Syndrome. (I get the feeling he thinks it's a made-up thing even though there is tons of information on the Net about it.) And he wants me to do one more test, some horrid breath thing where I have to drink disgusting liquids and breathe into a bag for 3 hours to see if I have bacteria in my intestines.  C'mon, this isn't a NEW thing with me, I've been reacting to food this way MY WHOLE LIFE.  Why do I need this test?  I argued with the doctor because I don't feel it's in any way necessary (and I am so sick of drinking nasty stuff) but I can't get out if it.
He had some samples of the drug he could give me along with a prescription.  And it's not a pill, although everywhere I look it's referenced as "a pill taken a half hour before eating".  It's a goddamn disgusting orange flavor powder that makes a concoction like rancid lumpy orange juice
What I wanted was a simple pill.  So if I'm out and about with friends, like at the Big E, or the mall, and I'm going to eat and then keep being out and about without finding a bathroom, I can discreetly and simply swallow said pill, go eat and then NOT have to go poop.  Having to stop and mix a packet of powder into a glass of water is not discreet nor is it simple.  That means I'll have to carry a bottle of water around with me, and mixing the powder in will ruin the bottle, so it's going to get expensive. I'm not happy at all.  It seems easier to just make everyone stand around waiting while I post-food poop, you know? 
I tried, for experiment one, half a packet of powder yesterday.  I managed to choke down half of that, so I got a quarter of a packet.  Then I ate a really greasy burger and fries (guaranteed to make me run for the toilet) and then, to test fate, went to the mall because my Palm Pre was misbehaving and needed to get disciplined by a technician.  The mall's in a different town from where I live and we not only went to the Verizon store, we also shopped for purses.  I came home and felt like I MIGHT have to go, but I tried to ignore it.  About an hour later, I had to pee really bad and when I did, a little poop snuck out.  But if I hadn't gone pee, it would have stayed nicely in me until later.  I think probably 1/3 of a packet will be the final dosage (going to try tonight--going car shopping after dinner). 
I hope this is helpful information and hopefully will be the last time I have to post an update on the status of my butt.

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Wednesday, September 15, 2010

the math of working out

Someone on Facebook was doubting the calorie count of my daily running in the pool. So I decided to try to figure out just how far I run.  I tried this before, when I got the water-resistant pedometer that doesn't actually WORK in the water. (it is only resistant to getting wet. Sigh.)
Today I counted my steps. Depending on the song, 3-4 steps per SECOND. That's 180-240 steps per minute. Let's say 200 average. My stride is about 32". So I am running 533 feet per minute, or just over 6 miles an hour (~10 minute mile). I usually run for over an hour, 70-80 minutes. Therefore, I am running 7-8 miles every morning to start my day. Is it believable that running that far, weighing nearly 300 lbs, might burn off over 1000 calories?
Sparkpeople says if I ran that fast on land I'd burn 1880 calories in 80 minutes. In the pool I'm only burning 1300 or so.
Are you fat & don't exercise?  Get off the couch.  Two years ago, in early 2008, I could barely walk between weighing almost 400 lbs and hurting my knee in a fall.  And I am terribly lazy. If I can get up and run that far in the pool at 7 a.m. every weekday, you can too.


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Tuesday, September 14, 2010

I am a supertaster, and Freaky Eating on TLC

I watched two episodes of Freaky Eating (one person who only ate pizza and another who only ate french fries) to see how relevant they were to my situation, which let's face it is not that dire.
The two "freaky eaters" were handled totally differently.  The pizza-eating guy was scared into not eating pizza anymore with a fake homeopathic blood test showing he couldn't eat dairy (they did not SAY it was fake, but those type are; I had them done a while ago and was conned into believing it was real too) and thus had to eat other foods that weren't pizza.  Now pizza at least has various food groups on it, although it does have a lot of fat.  The french fry woman (who hadn't eaten anything else for 20 years) wasn't treated with any kind of medical data (pseudo or otherwise).  She had some kind of weird genetic anomaly as far as her ability to taste things went. (How I'd love to get that test done, but they never said the name of it.)  To get her to eat new foods, first they made her eat fries that were dyed weird colors (and she was crying over eating blue fries--seems extreme but I get it).  Then they brought her to a place with hot oil fondue and had her dip various veggies into the hot oil and taste them.  They made her eat a carrot like that.  I wanted to gag. Who deep fries carrots?  (I like raw carrots.  Cooked carrots are mushy and nasty.)  They said at the end she had added 15 foods in a month, but not what those foods were.
Because I can't get my genetics tested, I went online and found a supertasters test and guess what? I am a supertaster.  Is anyone surprised? I"m not.  The test is super-easy, five questions, and then the results.  You don't have to sign up or give your email or anything like that.  My results:

You are a supertaster
Supertasters:
* Perceive all tastes as more intense than other taster types, particularly bitter tastes
* Tend to be fussy about their food and have strong food likes and dislikes
* Usually don't like coffee, grapefruit, cabbage, Brussels sprouts and spinach
* Have lots of papillae, the tiny bumps on the tongue that contain taste buds
* Around 25% of people are said to be supertasters
I'm doing all this in advance of my big week-long therapy session next month. The more background I can come armed with, hopefully the better the therapy can be aimed at my specific idiosyncrasies and help to fix or ameliorate them.
My next quest: to find out if there's any kind of test to see if I am a Nose.  A Nose is a person can work in the perfume, food additive and/or wine industry because s/he has a great sense of smell and can smell (and therefore taste) things others can't.  (My sense of smell is actually so strong that most perfume and wine revolt me so I wouldn't be a good candidate for such jobs.)


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Monday, September 13, 2010

gastric mind band on TV and coming to NYC...


I just got an email from my Gastric Mind Band therapist in Pennsylvania (the time is getting very close when I go get it done!) and she tells me this:
Exciting things are happening with Gastric mind Band. Martin and Marion, the creators of the program, will be on Good Morning America promoting their new book on Sept.22. They will also be on Inside Edition that evening, and featured in Self magazine and Psychology Today. They are also opening a clinic in New York.
Sure, only because I've already partially paid to go 4 hours to PA, and now they open one in NY, 2 hours away. But that's okay, I really like this lady and she is sure she can help me.
The book is called Shirrans' Solution: The Gastric mind Band ® and the description on Amazon says:
You want the benefits of Gastric Band Surgery - and more - without the risks and costs?........ Gastric mind Band therapy provides the answer to understanding and overturning your weight loss woes. No guilt, rules, rigid calorie counting, nothing banned. Just re-establishing a normal relationship with something you've got to face every day. Now read about the GmB phenomenon for yourself. Experience some of the many benefits without leaving home. The Shirrans are a breath of fresh air..... they ask 'Why shouldn't you be hungry? What's wrong with hunger? If your weight problem - and the global obesity epidemic - are to be overcome, hunger should be understood and embraced, not feared. This book will give you the relationship with food you always dreamed of plus more....... Learn: · To use the GmB mental Pause Button to freeze time and save you from yourself · About the dieting 'conspiracy' · How to have the level of motivation and control around food you've dreamed of · To harness the power of the subconscious mind "As a lifetime yo-yo dieter I was sceptical about GmB but came away very impressed. I no longer eat when I'm not hungry and have a much healthier relationship with food. " Claudia Connell - Daily Mail "When someone suggested being hypnotised instead of having a gastric band fitted, I thought they were mad. But what I expected to be a gimmick turned out to be a seriously thought through course of treatment for overweight people like me who need their approach to food and eating totally reprogrammed. Martin and Marion found a real gap in the market and developed a tried and tested product for it."
I'm getting pretty excited about going; it's about a month away.   I'm making hotel reservations soon (there's a handy nearby Best Western with a pool and WiFi!) and I've got to get a new car, because my old one can barely make it to the pool, much less to Pennsylvania. 
Follow up:  I taped both shows on 9/22 and the gastric mind band people weren't on.  So if you did the same, sorry, I don't know what happened. :( 

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Sunday, September 05, 2010

butt update

First off, obviously, I didn't die.
The worse thing about the colonoscopy was the day before.  Honestly.  I had to take a pill, big deal.  I couldn't eat anything solid. I was psyched to spend the day drinking Fanta orange (a secret vice, an addiction I picked up in Mexico a few years back) and Schweppes ginger ale.
I'm not used to all that sugar and I was flying after about 4 mugs of Fanta.  I was trying to drink a mug an hour (they wanted me super-hydrated).  I switched to ginger ale but that didn't help.  I also started to get really HUNGRY (ended up going about 38 hours without solid food) which made me crabby.
Then, 3 hours after the no-big-deal pill (it was large, but I've taken larger pills), I had to start drinking this absolutely foul stuff.  I used one of the flavor pouches which only made it smell nice.  I had to drink TWO LITERS of this hell-spawned horrible stuff. It was like salty, watered down snot in consistency and flavor (the "flavor" pouch was really a "smell" pouch).  I couldn't do it.  I was doing shots of it followed by spring water chasers because I couldn't drink it, not even with a straw.  The last few shots I puked back up.  It was nasty.
It was supposed to work immediately and explosively, if you know what I mean, and that cleansing was supposed to continue for an hour.  Well it took TWO hours to start working and then it was nothing.  Dribbles.  Stupid.   Just bile, that was all.  It never got clear like it was supposed to.
The morning of, I was up at 4 a.m. doing more shots of snot (that was when I puked).   I took my Valium like a good little girl and went to the hospital and had an IV put into my hand.  It hurt.  It hurt a lot.  My hand still hurts 2 days later and there's still a mark.  Then after they KNOW I'm loopy with Valium (I almost fell over trying to get to the bathroom) and my right arm is paralyzed from the IV and I haven't got my glasses on or my contacts in (and I had to take out all my piercings, even the irreverent ones, AND take off my toe rings.  WTF.  What do TOE RINGS have to do with my ASS?) they wanted me to read and sign something.  My husband ended up forging my signature per the nurse's request.
The anesthesiologist was complaining "someone gave her Valium"--yeah, idiot, the doctor who's about to crawl up my ass!--but shortly after that they knocked me out.
I woke up and everyone was talking about a "terminal ilium" and I thought I had cancer.  But apparently it's just part of the small intestine. 
I was loopy and farty for a few minutes, I kept taking off the finger cuff (I hate that damn thing) and someone kept putting it back on me.  Then my husband came in and he was watching the machine and my blood pressure went down to 39 over 17.  Not 139, 39.  He felt this was cause for concern, as did the machine which started sending out a strident alarm.  The cuff inflated again and said I had no blood pressure.  Usually that's a bad thing right? I was looking around and I felt fine.  They came in and took off the cuff.  Perhaps I broke it with my giant bingo wings.  My pulse was an excellent 66 (it used to be over 90).
I got to ride in a wheelchair. I went home and slept for an hour but I was HUNGRY and even though they said I had to stay on liquids I rent out to eat and felt happy.  Nothing hurt on me except where the IV was in my hand.  No aftereffects. 
Since I was loopy the doctor talked to my husband.  He said that he couldn't confirm or deny that I have Habba Syndrome but that I'm fine, except for some "pockets" which I guess is unusual in someone as young as me.  Not sure what they are but I guess he wasn't too concerned.  The blood work from the other day was all normal/negative/as it should be (no Crohns or celiac, which I already knew).  I have to go back this week and hopefully I'll get the pills and all will be well and all matter of things will be well.


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Thursday, September 02, 2010

anxiety, hospitals, things about my butt

Since I last wrote, I started on Wellbutrin, which is an anti-anxiety and anti-depressant drug. I did find, to my surprise, that I felt a lot better. I'd find myself singing along to the radio.  It was great.  My mind wasn't churning all the time down all sorts of bad roads.
Then I upped the dosage, per the doctor's instructions.  That was bad.  I was...hmmm....how to put it?  I was lethargic, apathetic, and narcoleptic.  I'd crawl out of bed, work out, go home and crawl back into bed. Wake up, eat something, crawl back into bed.  Wake up, have supper, play a video game or watch TV and then back to bed. It was horrid.  On my own I went back down to the original dosage but the lethargy is hanging on. I could go to sleep right now and I had a full 8 hours last night.  I told my doctor and she said it was okay to stay at the lower dose.
Shortly after I found out that Selective Eating Disorder existed and I'm not alone (even though some commenters disbelieve in the concepts of eating disorders), I was watching Medical Mysteries.  There was a lady who pooped a lot.  Like me.  Eat, poop immediately.  Repeat.  She was too shy or whatever to tell her boyfriend she needed the bathroom and so ended up pooping her pants on a bridge in Paris.  Well, that's pretty dumb.  I have no embarrassment at having to use a toilet. It's a natural function even if for me it is a very frequent one.  It's more annoying than anything, and I feel bad if I'm in a store and my friends are standing around waiting for me.  At home, I just go when I need to.  We have two toilets for two people so there's no conflict.
On the show, this lady goes from doctor to doctor trying to find out why she has to void immediately after every meal.  They tell her everything that's been told to me and been not true:  IBS, Crohn's, celiac, "it's all in your head".   She eventually washes up in New Jersey with a doctor who knows exactly what she has, because he discovered the syndrome and it's named after him.  Habba Syndrome.
I looked it up right away.  I have every symptom, a textbook case.  The cure?  A simple pill, taken right before a meal.
Wow.
My whole life I've been like this.  I can eat a piece of fruit or a slice of toast and I have to run to the bathroom 15 minutes later.  And a stupid pill can fix it?  
WANT.  Want the pill.
So Rosie heads to her friendly PCP armed with an article on Habba Syndrome, expecting a nod of agreement and a prescription.
Instead Rosie has to collect her poop in small jars like a crazy person, and is sent to a gastroenterologist.
And then it started to get ugly.
The doctor was a nice man.  He never heard of Habba Syndrome but he was willing to hear me out.  He agreed that I have many symptoms.  I told him I had already tested negative for celiac and crohns and that I don't have IBS because I have no pain or cramps.  Apparently my jars of poop were all fine too.
Step one, I had to be retested for all those things and more.  As in, blood drawn.  My nightmare.  I had to go home and get a ride back with a friend.
And for the first time in my life I didn't faint or get sick.  Could the Welbutrin be helping with that too?  I could have driven myself home no problem.
The end result is that I have to have a colonoscopy first before I can have the pill.  I have to have my butt excavated, in other words.  I'm not afraid of having things up my butt in a medical sense--I've had colonics (and when I told the doctor that he nearly had a fit and went off on a tangent rant against people who give colonics).  But apparently this goes ALL the way up. So they have to knock me out.  Cuz it hurts.
Well I don't like pain much.  Who does?
And then he asks my height and starts fiddling with a calculator. I say, "47" and he says "What?" and I say, "My BMI is 47."  He fiddles some more, sees that I'm right, and asks some more questions.  The end result was, this isn't a simple hose up the butt anymore.  Now it involves IVs, anesthesiologists, and a risk of death.
I just want a goddamn pill so I don't poop 6 times a day.
Then he's telling me I'm malabsorptive.   My counter?  Why am I not thin then?  The whole POINT of a gastric bypass is to induce malabsorption into the intestines. I've got it for free and I'm still almost 300 lbs?  WTF. 
So today I'm home all day.  I am on a clear liquid diet.  I thought, how fun, I can drink regular soda all day (and YES the doctor told me I could to that, that I"m not going for low-cal, just for clear).  But after a liter of Fanta orange, I'm ready to hurl.  I'm not used to all this sugar.  In a few mintutes I have to take a giant pill and then I have to start drinking poison (apparently) that is going to cause my bottom to explode as far as I can tell, from about 6 p.m. tonight until I go to the hospital tomorrow.
Oh yeah, hospital, full OR, the works.  Lookin' forward to that, I can tell you.  And I have to have an IV.  Me who faints getting a vial of blood taken.  They gave me some Valium to take tomorrow morning. But I'm dreading it, seriously.
And did I mention I could DIE. Die.  As in, dead.  As in, Rosie's husband comes and posts that she's dead and then erases her blog and her Facebook page and it's as if she never existed.  (Because after all, she doesn't.)
My intestines could get perforated and that could kill me or the surgery to repair that could do me in.  At any moment the anesthesia could also kill me, if it's not my sleep apea causing me to stop breathing and they can't get me started again. I could also have a seizure.  I could bleed to death later.  Or go into a coma.  The list is nearly endless.
I just want the little pill that fixes the Habba Syndrome.  Just a prescription for maybe 45 of them a month, I'm not greedy, I'll poop when I'm home but when I'm out the pill would be lovely to have.
The doctor promised me I can have the pills after he sticks a camera up my butt.  Fine, whatever, put a bicycle pump up my butt, inflate me and peer away.  Then give me my pills.  Damnit.  


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