New-old-new body

My body has been through the wringer.

Cancer treatment was brutal. Not only did I need double mastectomies, a node dissection, a port (and its removal) to do some incredibly nasty chemo (and I was allergic to chemo so went into anaphylactic shock!), some pretty intense surgical biopsies, and a salpingo oopharectomy, I also had countless reconstruction surgeries. When I did radiation, I got third degree burns and had to go into intensive wound management. I took drugs that nearly crippled me; in the morning when I attempted to stand, my legs would buckle until I caught myself; I couldn't chop a carrot or sign my name because my hands hurt so much.

Ugly.

But along with the ugliness, there was another ugly: from a combination of the chemo steroids and the carb cravings, I gained weight. By the time chemo was done, I needed to lose 40 pounds - and I did! I joined Weight Watchers fresh out of chemo, and by the time I was done with radiation and a few more surgeries, I had gone down to my lowest adult weight. I was wearing size 4 clothes for the first (only!) time in my life, and people actually said "you're too skinny!" In hindsight, they might have been right, but not by too much.

From about 2006-2015 I kept up my good habits of diet and exercise. I did yoga sometimes, and I ran and hiked and walked a lot. From 2015-2017 my weight crept up a bit, but still in my comfort range.

But when I started teaching, I was so tired and overwhelmed that I let my good habits completely fall to the wayside. I started eating all of the staff room treats, sharing the treats that I brought for the students, and eating too much take-out because I was too tired to cook. I stopped exercising.

This January, I went in for my annual blood work, and I was shocked when I stood on the scale: it registered a number that I hadn't witnessed since my third trimester of pregnancy! As if that wasn't shock enough, my blood work came back with high cholesterol. It stung: I fought so hard to get my health back from cancer, and now I had to worry about heart attacks or strokes?!

I should have known. When I looked in the mirror, I didn't recognize what I saw. I saw pictures of myself and thought "SURELY I'm not that big?" even though I was buying larger clothes and my old clothes didn't fit. Even though my knees creaked on stairs, even though I had no energy, even though my face had changed shape. I should have known.

I knew what I had to do, so I immediately re-joined Weight Watchers the same day I got the results. I told my doctor that is what I was doing, and she was pleased: it's a program known for its health benefits, relying on balance and reason rather than trends and deprivation.

I joined on 2/2, and today, almost three months later, I'm down exactly 21 pounds.

21 pounds in just under three months is two things:
1. Not that remarkable. People can lose weight a LOT faster: if you look at The Biggest Loser, they might lose that much in a week or two.
2. Extraordinary. My body is transformed...is transforming still.

I lost on average less than two pounds per week this whole time, and I couldn't be happier about that. Why? Well, while I'd clearly like to be my ideal weight (I'm not there yet) as fast as possible, what I really want is to be healthy, and to pick up a plan to be healthy for the rest of my (hopefully long) life. Last time I lost weight, I did so quickly, and I did it by obsessing over every bite, and by being hungry all the time. Well, I like food, and I hate being hungry, so I wasn't going to do that again. At the pace I'm going now, I'm still eating contraband like brownies, bread with butter, and coq au vin. I've had take out, burgers, and pizza. I can eat like this for the rest of my life because NO food is off limits, and I'm thrilled about that.

How am I losing weight, then? Well, though I have eaten all of the fattening foods on that list, I don't eat them all the time, and I eat them in moderation. What an unsexy thing! No "get skinny fast!" and no "instant results!" There is no pill that is doing the work for me, no magic food that melts the pounds away. There is, instead, a constant series of choices: if I have this now, I can't have that later. If I want that really fattening food, I'll have to pare back on this meal, and that one. I'm eating far more fruits and veggies, and I've switched from white rice to brown, from plain pasta to brown rice or whole wheat pasta. I've switched from chicken thighs to chicken breasts, from ground beef to ground chicken or turkey, from pork sausage to chicken sausage. I'm eating a lot of fruit for snacks. I eat a lot less cheese.

And I'm happy.

21 pounds is a LOT of weight. Picture a pound of butter, those four sticks in a box: I've lost 21 boxes worth. That's crazy! Every part of me is different: my face has changed feet, and (much to my surprise) I've lost a half size in my shoes! (My slip on shoes no longer fit. My lace up or buckle shoes have gone to tighter settings.) I pulled clothes out of the back of the closet that I haven't worn in years - and they fit again! Clothes that I wore all year to school are now in the donation bin. And the shorts from last summer that barely buttoned because they were so tight? I've had to give them away because they're too big! (Craziest yet, I'm not done. While my BMI is back in healthy range, my squishy stomach is letting me know there is still work to be done, and that's okay. I'm on it!)

My knees don't creak as much. I'm sleeping better.

I don't know if my cholesterol is falling, but statistically, just losing 5% of one's weight is enough to lower cholesterol, and I've lost 12% so far. I was supposed to go back to the doctor next month to have my bloodwork re-done, but since I fear the doctor's office due to sick patients, I cancelled until further notice. I already know it's going to be better: how could it not? I look forward to seeing the results.

But the thing that surprised me, although I don't know that it should have, is that I am enjoying feeling attractive again. I pride myself on not being too vain, valuing substance over style, and I'll be like that until my dying day....but it's not all or nothing. I walk with a little more bounce in my step now. I enjoy getting dressed (even though there's nowhere to go!). I feel - dare I say it? - pretty.

I like it.

I deserve to feel good, and I am SO TIRED OF FEELING BAD.

Life is messy and complicated. My father is ashamed of me, my mother incapable of speaking up for me, and I've recognized how much that is a part of me. I think I was beginning to accept that feeling bad was just part of the deal, and my weight might have been my way of embracing it. Just typing that sentence makes me feel so sad for myself, and for what I've lost, and for what could have been and isn't.

And then there is the world gone mad that is coronavirus, and working from home, and social isolating, and the uncertainty of it all.

But I am more excited for what is ahead than I am sad for what is behind.

My new body is still my old body: it is the one I was born with, and the one that has been through transformation after transformation. It is the body that grew a human and then, impossibly, gave birth on Pitocin and through pre-eclampsia without meds, and that body discovered the super-human strength within. It is the body that was maimed, poisoned, burned during chemo, but then rose up again to run half marathons. It is a body that has grown, and shrunk, and grown again - but it is still elastic, still capable of shrinking to a size more becoming.

I am not done becoming who I am meant to be.

I am fifty years old, but I feel that I learn lessons every five minutes, and often it strikes me that everyone else learned these lessons years before and that I'm the last one to arrive to them... but then I realize that no, we're all learning lessons, and I'm ahead on some and behind on others, and that is how it is for 99% of us.

Right now, I'm learning that I crave a beautiful body that is filled with strength, and that having such a body makes me feel confident and beautiful, and I deserve that. I'm learning that my appearance matters to me more than I thought it did. I'm learning that I can reshape myself, not only emotionally but also physically, again and again, and that sometimes my physical and emotional states are tied to one another. My layers of fat were not protective, as I'd hoped: they were a trap that held me still, prevented me from becoming who I want to be.

Now, for those fat-acceptance folks out there: you go, girls! I'm glad you're happy. But this isn't about that. This is about me not being healthy, and embracing health, and finding the joy that comes with that health.

And it's about feeling beautiful. Maybe others feel good at a high BMI, but here's the truth: I don't.

I am thrilled to get this body back, to re-inhabit my skin in this way.

I bought a bikini, and a paddle board. I intend to spend as much of the summer as humanly possible out on the water, gently gliding over the waves. Maybe sometimes I'll even picnic out there, or read a book out there. I'll explore the coastline of West Seattle, free and strong. I hope to backpack too - and anyone who has backpacked knows that you'd go to a great deal of trouble to avoid carrying an extra five pounds, so losing 21 pounds not out of my pack but off my body will make all the difference in the world. There is no feeling in the world like climbing to a beautiful place with an alpine lake, setting up a tent, and then diving into icy cold waters on a hot day. The water washes away the trail's dust, reinvigorates the soul, and fills me with a joy that is hard to come by on an ordinary day.

I want that again.

And, despite the fact that it's coronavirus quarantines and so I deleted my dating app (I'm not risking my life to meet a stranger!), I think I'm just that much closer to being ready for love. Having some confidence about my appearance is certainly helpful, but I honestly believe that there are changes happening within that are bigger than the changes on the outside.

I deserve to feel great. I'm willing to put in the work. I believe in myself and my ability to make progress, to change, to become a new person.

I believe that I'm still the little girl who was once filled with possibility and promise, before the world gave her messages about being enough, or being someone who would cause shame in a father.

I am going back to who I am, old and new, all at once. I believe in do-overs, I believe in fresh starts, and I believe in learning and growth. As my body continues to shrink to the size it is meant to be, I feel myself growing.

The best is yet to come.

Sick Day

I am really over being sick.

Being sick is not over me.

I came down with the flu (or something like it) on Friday, and I've been down for the count since then. I'm definitely on my way to getting better - my fever broke yesterday, but it's amazing how wiped out I am.

I've been watching Gilmore Girls (for the zillionth time), and lounging in bed with my dog, who must really understand how awful I feel, because he hasn't been pestering me to play, just snuggled up against my legs. It was sort of nice for a minute or two, but I'm bored and wanting to do something, but still lacking energy.

I've been thinking about my health a lot.

I've been on Weight Watchers for three weeks, and I'm down twelve pounds. I find this is slightly extraordinary - I've hated those twelve pounds (and their friends) for a long time, felt disconnected from my body for a long time, and somehow I was able to overcome them (and this is the crazy part) with ease.

I just decided that I was over feeling the way I felt, and I decided to do something about it, and then I did. I've done Weight Watchers before (I lost 40 pounds after cancer, and kept it off for years) and so I didn't even think about it, I just signed up. And then I started following the program, tracking my food, and making simple swaps (no sour cream, use fat free Greek yogurt instead; lots of chicken breasts, not so much beef; double or triple the number of fruits and veggies I'd been eating).

And - success.

It is really extraordinary to witness the changes in my body after 12 pounds gone. My body has a different shape, in addition to the size. My clothes fit differently. But most of all? I just feel different. I can't even describe it - I just know that I feel completely different than I did three weeks ago when I started.

And I'm just getting started.

I do not know how I'd worked myself up to this high weight, but I did. Well, I do know: I put my health on the back burner, worked out only sporadically, and I ate just about everything, without the slightest consideration, and in large quantities. It was a recipe for disaster, and a disaster occurred. My cholesterol shot up, my waistline ballooned, and I felt sluggish in all ways.

But no more.

At only three weeks, I've barely started my new habits - I know I'm nowhere near the safe zone. As a matter of fact, I know that there is no safe zone. I know that when I was my goal weight and kept there for a stretch, I thought I was safe forever - but it just doesn't work like that.

This time, I'm going through this knowing that when Weight Watchers says "Lifetime" it doesn't mean I'm done and I can celebrate, it means that I get the opportunity to spend the rest of my life working on that success. Lifetime means that there are no shortcuts, and that I'm going to have to spend the rest of my life managing my health.

I have another lipid panel scheduled for May. By then, I'd love to be 15-20 pounds down from where I am now, well within my healthy BMI range, and starting to wear the size 6s that I should never have taken for granted.

***

Being sick sucks. It really does. It's not vacation, it's not fun, it's boring and irritating. The past few days have gone by in a blur: my house is still a mess, the dog isn't getting enough exercise, I miss work.

So I'm going to work really hard at making sure that I don't get sick.

I'm losing weight, lowering my cholesterol, reducing my blood pressure. If I ever crawl out of bed (tomorrow, I hope!) I will get my exercise going in earnest. I'm eating healthy food that is actually quite delicious (although it is a shift in my palate - no question, I had some really bad habits). I'm still able to have treats, just in moderation.

And I'm ready to face a whole life ahead with this new philosophy. I'm going to lose a total of 30 pounds, and I'm going to be healthy. I'm going to keep my new eating habits for a lifetime. Because I'm ready. Because I'm worth it.

And because I felt really awful before, and it wasn't worth it.

So yes, I'm sick - but I'm getting healthy. It's time.

Detour

My plan for mid-winter break:
1. Rest
2. Go on great adventures
3. Work out
4. Catch up at work

I did okay with resting, and then my body said "Detour!" in a very loud voice: I got sick. Really sick. Fevers, chills, sneezing, coughing, body aches sick.

It is Monday morning and I'm at home, not at work. I think my fever broke last night (I got so sweaty I had to change my pajamas at two in the morning!), so maybe I'm on the mend, but I am definitely moving slowly (because that is all I can seem to do, and because when I get up and move I start coughing).

None of this is according to plan.

Most of my life has not been according to plan, actually. It is rare when something has gone as anticipated. I'm getting used to that idea, but I'm not bitter about it: I'm starting to figure out the peace in the detours.

This morning, I'm feeling gratitude, despite my illness.

My dog - so bouncy and wild - has calmly stayed by my side. He knows I'm sick, and he is here for me in an uncharacteristically calm way.

My work colleagues texted me to offer any support they could give. They told me they missed me, and then they made me feel appreciated, and they encouraged me to stay home and care for myself.

I have sick leave.

My teenage daughter went to the store to buy more ibuprofen, satsumas, tissues, throat lozenges, and chicken so that I can make chicken soup (tonight's dinner). She's brought me tea, and been self sufficient. (At 17 I still try to mom her, but it's nice to know she doesn't need me to do everything.)

So here I am, in my warm, comfortable house, with a cup of coffee in a favorite mug, sick and in bed. It's a detour I hadn't planned, but somehow, I'm okay.

I can get some work done. I can write. I can do some laundry. I can have a nap. I can drink tea.

***

After the really horrifying experience of witnessing domestic violence, I think I'm not surprised I got sick. I put myself in harm's way, and my body went into panic mode afterwards: I swear I could feel my blood pressure through the roof. I'm not surprised that my body said "Enough." Today is enforced down time; today I will move slowly, whether I want to or not.

***
I am determined to live my best life, detours and all. I have learned that sometimes the worst detours lead to some fantastic places: cancer taught me strength and the joy of being alive; divorce freed me to be happy. Looking back at my life, those detours were necessary for me to become who I am now, and I like myself better for how those experiences shaped me.

If my father had not revealed his truth, and shouted how ashamed he was of me, I would still be trapped in a relationship with him where I was constantly scrambling to stay safe as he questioned my worth.

The detours are horrible. In the moment, they are filled with pain, fear, anxiety, and hopelessness. At the moment when the detour announces itself, I have felt worthless.

It's what happens after that that matters, though.

I have come to realize that it's what we do with the detours that shapes us, not whether we get detours. EVERYONE gets detours! Some people seem blessed with fewer detours than others, but nobody gets through life unscathed. Whether it's health issues, family of origin issues, trauma such as rape or war, relationship issues, work issues, poverty issues, or equity issues (I do not forget my privilege as a white, middle class, cisgender, straight person), nobody gets through life without some detours. Some are easier to deal with than others, but having survived some, I know that I can survive others.

***

So, here I am, in required downtime. It's nearly 9am and I've managed to send in sub plans hours ago, and here I am writing, and the rest of the day stretches out before me. The trick will be to manage my time well, acknowledging that my body needs rest, but that even in rest there are ways to heal and ways to merely pass the time. How I manage my detour is up to me. This is my life, and I get to shape my path.

***

Weight Watchers follow up:

One of my detours has been my weight, and with it, my health. When I finished cancer treatment, I managed to lose 40 pounds, and I felt SO DAMN GOOD. I kept most of that weight off for almost a decade, but then it crept back up, and in my "new" job (2.5 years) I think I've gained 25 pounds. I say "I think" because my scale lives under the bathroom cabinet, and I hadn't pulled it out in years, so I have no idea how much I weighed when I started that job, but I do know that some of the clothes I could wear when I started no longer fit, and that my pant size went up from a 6 to a 10 since I started.

I am determined to reclaim my health again. This time, it's my cholesterol that has motivated me. I did not fight cancer for years only to die of a heart attack! Getting my cholesterol results was a definite detour, and it scared me.

But good things are coming from it.

I've lost 11.2 pounds in three weeks on Weight Watchers. I'm never hungry, because I can eat as much as I need. I've been snacking on fruit a lot more than usual - it isn't unusual for me to have a banana, an apple, and three satsumas in a day. I know there are folks out there who say "oh no fruit has too much sugar!" but I respond that nobody ever got fat eating fruit. I'm eating lots of fiber, I'm eating the rainbow, and more importantly I'm not eating processed junk or desserts because I'm filling up on healthy, whole foods. I know that this is how to take care of my health, and I'm thrilled with how I feel. When I've wanted a treat - chocolate, or, in one case, a burger - I've planned for it, tracked the points, and stayed on plan, and continued to lose weight. This is what healthy eating looks like to me: it's not about deprivation, it's about making thoughtful choices. According to the data, losing just 5% of one's weight can lower cholesterol, so in theory my cholesterol is already lower.

But it's more than that.

I want to date again. No, I don't: I want to fall in love. I want real, everlasting love with a man who finds me extraordinary. I want to look at him and think "How did I ever get this lucky?" and I want to feel safe, happy, and excited all at the same time.

I deserve that.

By working on my cholesterol, I'm also working on my physical appearance. I know that the right man for me will love me for my giant heart, my brave spirit, and my irrepressible optimism, but I also want him to think that I'm beautiful. What's more, I want to feel confident in my own skin. I don't want to sigh when I catch my reflection in a window. I want to go for runs where stretching my legs in that way makes me feel incredibly strong. I want to go for hikes where my focus is the lake, the smell of the forest, the feeling of the sun on my skin, because my body is strong and wants to soak up the miles.

I will be in a size 6 again by summer. I'm doing it for me, and if nobody noticed or cared it would still fill me with excitement to reclaim my body in this way. But I also think that I deserve to have a man think that I'm beautiful, and be drawn not only to my soul but to my physical self.

The cholesterol detour is going to pay off. I am absolutely sure that I am on the right track to get back my body, the one that is rightfully mine. I still have a ways to go - I want to lose at least 19 more pounds - but that's okay. I'm doing what it takes, committed to the process, and sure that it will work out. When I set my mind to something, nothing will stop me.

I know I'm unstoppable because I've had huge detours in the past, and I've found my way.

The next few months will be transformative for me. My body is changing, and with it, my mind is shifting. I will open myself up to dating again and - my intuition tells me - this time I'm ready, and the Universe has someone waiting for me who will be just as excited to find me as I am to find him.

***

So, I'm lying in bed, Chance at my feet, sniffling and sneezing with a tightness in my chest, but it's okay. It's okay, because I'm thinking about the life that I'm making, and I'm planning for my future, and I'm reflecting on how far I've come. I know that a chest cold/flu/whatever this is can derail, but only for so long. I'm not afraid of the detour, and I'm ready to come back stronger than ever. I also know that today is a day for naps, and I don't need to feel guilty about that.

Sometimes, detours have the best views.

Deserving

I keep thinking, over and over, about my experiences this weekend, and how that family does not "deserve" what happened to them, that I do not "deserve" to be sleepless and freaked out because I helped someone, that I do not know what the man "deserves" for his actions.

I've been thinking a lot about what I deserve - and, by proxy, what everyone deserves, because I don't have the viewpoint that I'm all that special. I'm a person, and I do believe that we are born with "certain inalienable rights" and that we should all have those rights protected... but the details are a little fuzzy, and messy.

I teach high school, and every day as I look out upon the sea of students that passes through my room daily, and all of the students in the halls that I do not know, and my daughter's friends and her high school community, I realize I have some clarity. Our young people deserve to feel safe, valued, and hopeful. They, and everyone, deserve to live their best lives. They deserve help, compassion, encouragement. They deserve opportunities. They deserve a chance to build their skills, to fulfill their potential.

They deserve protecting.

I've played a little trick on my own mind ever since I became a mom when I wonder what I deserve. I imagine that it is my daughter - whom I love more than I knew love was possible in the world - asking me, and then instead of advising myself, I advise her. While I'm tough on myself, and unsure, I always know what she deserves. She deserves goodness, joy, and so much more...and if she does, then don't I, also? Doesn't everyone?

***

About a week before "the incident" I joined Weight Watchers. I'd gone to the doctor for my annual blood draw, and I saw that my cholesterol levels had jumped into the "uh oh" range. I beat myself up for a minute - I know I've gained weight, that my eating habits have become sloppy, and that my exercise ranges from inconsistent to non-existent - but then I knew, with one hundred percent certainty, that I'd had enough, and that I was ready to do the work to fix it and regain my health. I knew I deserved better, and I was willing to fight for it.

I have been on Weight Watchers for a week and a half, and I've dropped seven pounds. I switched from white rice to brown; I've doubled my fruit and vegetable intake; I'm having one Dove chocolate per night instead of five; I'm skipping the sugary processed food so often available in our staff room. I'm not starving myself - most of the time I'm stuffed. Yesterday I couldn't manage cooking so I got Chinese, but instead of one of the noodle dishes I lean towards, I picked up cashew chicken with veggies and brown rice.

I deserve to feel good.

Up until I saw those cholesterol numbers, I thought "I deserve this brownie" and "I deserve to treat myself" and so on. I thought I was being kind to myself by slacking off on healthy habits.

But I wasn't.

I used to be a size 6 (less than five years ago, I'm not talking ancient history), and now my size 10s are straining against my muffin top. I used to work out a lot and have a ton of energy, and now I'm tired all the time. I used to feel confident when I got dressed each morning, and now I feel resigned. I used to relish ten mile hikes, and now they sound overwhelming (despite my absolute joy in picnics beside alpine lakes).

What I deserve - according to what I tell my daughter, my students, and (on my good days) myself - is to feel wonderful. I deserve to be healthy and fit, to feel attractive, to be filled with energy. I'd been telling myself a lie about what I deserved, and my body called out that lie. By saying "I deserve bagels and cream cheese" what I'd really been saying is "I don't deserve to feel my best."

I deserve to feel good. It's defining "good" that is the problem, of course. But losing seven pounds feels good, living my values feels good, taking care of my health feels good. Much better than before, that's for certain. The brownie felt good for about 30 seconds, and then bad for so much more.

***

I do not feel "good" about events on Saturday. I feel anxious, weirded out, and sleepless. I am filled with questions about what could have happened, about whether I did what was right for everyone (or whether I only got lucky).

But the alternative? The alternative is that I had minded my own business or let someone else manage it, and when I think about that, I feel much, much, much worse.

I feel good, even when I'm feeling bad, because I know I did the right thing.

***

I know that my grandparents must have acted out of self preservation. It's true that WWI had put Germany into a terrible position, and that Hitler was offering them a path to pride and prosperity. I also know that resisting what Hitler did put people into harm's way, in ways large and small. I also know that the shame after WWII must have been great - nobody talks about nice Nazis! - and I can see why my grandparents didn't want to broadcast what they had been a part of, in ways large and small, after they left.

But if they thought that pretending it hadn't happened, or hiding it, or refusing to acknowledge their part in the greater atrocities was a way of defending themselves, and of giving themselves what they deserved, then I think that they were very, very, very wrong. I believe that they paid the cost for their entire lives, and that they rotted themselves out from the insides by pretending that they had no shame.

My grandparents tried to get away with what they did, to lead a lovely and happy life afterwards, but I think that they approached it all backwards.

If I want to be fit and thin and sprint up the mountain so that I can dive into the alpine waters on a sunny day, washing the sweat from my body and delighting in every second... then I have to say no to the brownie today. I DESERVE to say no to the brownie.

If I want to go to sleep at night thinking "I'm someone who lives my values" then I need to go toward the screaming, even if I'm scared.

My grandparents wanted a happy life, like we all do, and they thought they could cheat the system by taking shortcuts, by giving themselves self-preservation at the cost of others. I'm convinced it didn't work, even when it looked like it did. I do not believe that they experienced peace and joy. Did they get what they deserved? Do I judge their wealth, or their long lives? Or do I judge their isolation, or the wake of anger they left behind them? Did they wrestle with their consciences? Did they measure themselves to find that they did not meet their own standards? What DID they deserve?

***

If I want to have the life I deserve, I'm going to have to fight for it.

I'm fighting for it. It's hard. I'm struggling. But I deserve to struggle valiantly, because I deserve the results of that struggle. There's beauty in the struggle, not just the victory - I'm prepared to wrestle with my beliefs, my values, my dreams. And the cost of giving up the struggle is far too high for me to accept - I realize that I can not always meet my goals, and that sometimes bad things happen, and that I can't control life's messiness. The only thing I can control is what I do to fight for the life I deserve, and the world that I want to create for myself and others.

And I deserve that.