by Band Back Together | Dec 12, 2015 | Anxiety, Body Acceptance, Body Image, Eating Disorders, Family, Fear, Feelings, How To Help With Low Self-Esteem, Obesity, Self Loathing, Self-Esteem, Shame |
So I have recently started this “lifestyle change.”
If I call it a “diet,” I will fail miserably as I have a thousand other times. I try really hard to watch what I eat. Most days I keep a nifty online journal that tells me how many calories I can have and how many I’ve consumed. It’s really been helpful. Tonight, I even walked two and a half miles, which is awesome for me. I’m still sitting here sweatin’ my balls off!
It’s HARD not to get discouraged. The last three weeks I have pretty much stuck to eating 1600 calories, which means that I should lose about two pounds a week. I have only lost two pounds altogether and depending on the time of day that I weigh myself, I haven’t even lost that.
I know everyone is different and all that jazz. I know I shouldn’t weigh myself all the time. I know I have been drinking almost a gallon of water a day to fight hunger. I know I should walk more. I know what I should know.
I know I will lose the weight. I know I need to. I have gained almost 100 pounds since high school and there’s no reason for that. Yes, I had three children, I have a stressful job and a hard marriage. Still, not a good excuse. I really think I’m more disappointed in myself for listening to all the excuses and letting my weight get so out of control.
I have a constant fight with my reasoning. If I eat just one more bite, it won’t hurt. I have to finish my whole plate or I will be wasting money.
My whole life I thought that I was fat because family always said I was. Once, I asked for a snack and my mom replied “and you wonder why you’re so fat.” I was only 10. But looking back at pictures, I see I wasn’t fat, I was beautiful. Maybe if my family and kids at school hadn’t been cruel, I would have cared about how I looked. Then maybe I wouldn’t have been so discouraged. Now that I have friends who encourage me, I know that I can do it. I can lose this weight.
It’s up to me now. I have to get myself out of this mess. It’s going to be a long, hard journey. I will probably fail – I usually do. I’m going to try really hard not to. I have awesome support group this time. I will exercise my self-control. This will be a journey of hits and misses. I cannot and will not get discouraged.
I really need to get hot for Aunt Becky’s cruise (ed note: WOO-HOO!). I need to be able to wear a swimsuit in the Bahamas and not look like a beached whale.
100 lbs. That’s all.
I cannot wait to know what it feels like 100 pounds lighter. That’s a whole person. Somewhere, I will find the willpower.
And I will do it!
by Band Back Together | Dec 3, 2015 | Cancer and Neoplasia, Coping With Cancer, Loss, Sadness, Stress, Trauma |
oh, how i miss the simplicity of our nursing days. life without breastfeeding is hard, and cancer certainly isn’t making it any easier. crying was limited to brief moments following boo-boos and over-tired minutes post car seat strap-ins. it was never part of naptime or bedtime.
a balanced diet was effortless.
i never knew the struggle of naptime. now i have to walk and rock nugget in my arms or in a peanut shell while she chews on a pacifier, maybe holds her blanket and always twiddles at least one nipple. at night we lather, rinse, repeat or if i’m really lucky we just lay down and she holds on to each boob, binky clenched between her teeth and drifts off, dreaming of nursing i imagine.
i never knew a picky toddler.
whenever nugget was hungry or thirsty the milk bar was always open. trying new and different foods was fun instead of stressful. nugget’s tummy was never upset. her favorite snack was always handy. we never had to pack a meal to go out.
i did at least have a few weeks and the foresight to work in the concept of “kisses make boo boos all better.” nugget still kisses my port and scars everyday. recently she’s added my breasts to her fix-it list and kisses and hugs them all day long.
she’s trying her best to make mommy all better with her kisses, because she knows that’s when she can have her nursies back.
by Band Back Together | Nov 28, 2015 | Cancer and Neoplasia, Coping With Cancer, Self-Esteem, Stress, Trauma |
i’m almost bald. i only shower every few days. as soon as the nausea ends the muscle pain starts. then comes the bone pain. after that subsides then it’s time to start all over again. i give nugget everything i have regardless of the overwhelming exhaustion.
this is the reality in our home. this is what my cancer looks like. this is how my daughter copes with my illness.
by Band Back Together | Nov 26, 2015 | Anger, Cancer and Neoplasia, Coping With Cancer, Depression, Feelings, Jealousy, Stress, Trauma |
don’t tell me i don’t have cancer anymore or that i “just have chemo now.”
don’t tell me to go outside and get some fresh air when i can’t be in the sun.
don’t tell me that taking a shower will make me feel better when my skin hurts too much to touch.
don’t tell me that i have the “good kind of cancer” unless you’ve had it and know how “good” it is.
don’t tell me how nicely shaped my bald head is.
don’t tell me how tired you are.
don’t tell me you’ll be there for me and then not follow through.
don’t tell me your medical opinion unless you’re my oncologist.
don’t tell me how to be me, because you aren’t.
by Band Back Together | Nov 24, 2015 | Cancer and Neoplasia, Compassion, Coping With Cancer, Faith, Fear, Happiness, Hope, Love |
a woman i used to work with emailed me this week. i read it yesterday and it absolutely made my day, which – i might add – was spectacularly craptastic until I got the email.
“i started working at magic kingdom back in 1997 and only partially knew who you were. you were always cool to me at town square and spectromagic and stuff, but we were only acquaintances. i happened upon your page through mikki and started reading your blog, “bits of myself,” and i cannot help being taken by how fucking amazing you are. sorry for the language from someone you do not know, but i can’t think of any other words. i don’t even remember where i started the “bits,” but i backed up to where you found out you had cancer. by the time i got to your final breastfeeding with nugget, there were uncontrollable tears streaming down my face at how you kept apologizing to her, for something that you did not ask for.i don’t know how much all of this means coming from someone you don’t know, but i just had to get this out. i was driving day parade floats when you were at magic kingdom with your baby girl, and i saw you two days in a row. knowing how painful it must be, there you stood in the sun, in a tank top, bald… smiling and waving.
i hope i didn’t weird you out with all this, but know that you have touched one more individual’s life. you are the strongest woman that i don’t know.”
i just needed to thank you for that and let you know that your kind words have touched my heart.
thank you for reading my blog.
and thank you to all of you who continue to do so.
i hope you’ll all stay tuned for the exciting conclusion to this chapter of my life.
by Band Back Together | Nov 22, 2015 | How To Help A Friend With Infertility, Infertility, Neurological, Nerve, and Spine Disorders |
I’m an ordinary person with (semi) ordinary desires. I was a skinny bitch before I got married, but six years later, I can’t even fit one leg into my old jeans. The youngest child of Bible-thumping Southern Baptists, I was an honors student, youth group member, and basically a good kid.
Until the boy next door.
Age 15, was determined to prove I was not the naive loser across the street, so I rebelled. I hated my life during high school. I hated the rules my family had – no one else’s family seemed so strict. I hated that I was different. I was diagnosed with a neurological disorder at eleven, I spent most of my teen years trying to be normal. I wanted to be like the other kids, not the freak who’d gained weight and slept too much thanks to her medicine. I managed to graduate from high school with honors, was accepted to an in-state, public university, and I was determined to help other freaks like myself.
Six months into college, I met my future husband. My husband wanted to start trying for kids immediately. I was an independent, stubborn college graduate who wanted a career before starting a family. But I’m only <insert age here>, and I’m just not ready for kids. I could have said that line in my sleep, I repeated it so often.
Finally (says my husband in the background – FINALLY!), I caved. Having been on various maintenance medications since adolescence, childbearing was not an overnight decision for me. Doctors had to be consulted, medications slowly eliminated from my bloodstream, alternative therapies considered.
After two months of planning, I threw away my birth control. My own little piece of feminine power was gone. After having had several pregnancy scares and supporting several friends through their unplanned pregnancies, I never dreamed it would be so hard.
31 cycles later, I’m still trying. Over two and a half years of sex on a schedule, peeing on sticks, and praying month after month after month. 26 months in, my husband finally agreed to be tested. The verdict? His swimmers are intact, mobile, and raring to go. Male ego still intact, he went with me for my tests. Blood tests, hormone levels, ovulation tests, all came back normal.
Until the HSG. One fallopian tube appears completely blocked. I have no idea why because my insurance won’t cover infertility testing and we can’t afford a specialist and exploratory testing. I have a few friends who know of and support our efforts, but no one really understands. How can they? Until you have faked a smile through baby showers and children’s birthday parties and yet another holiday during which Grandma asks when you will finally start a family, how would you know the constant emotional ache of an empty womb?
I’m scheduled for a consultation to see if an ovulation induction drug may help, but that’ll be out-of-pocket. I have no one who really understands what this feels like – the constant frustration and disappointment and guilt that I’m keeping my incredible, loving husband from being a father. In all fairness, my closest friends are wonderful and supportive, but I don’t want to be all whiney and “woe is me and my pitiful plight,” so I don’t really talk about it.
I feel the kick in the gut when yet another “guess who’s expecting!!!!!!!” post pops up on Facebook. I smile on the outside and congratulate the happy couple.
I ask myself why I didn’t start trying to have children earlier. I’m 28; he’s almost 31. If it was going to be this hard, I should’ve known somehow so I’d have more time to fight it. I should have known. Hell, I was on so many medications as a child, I’m surprised I haven’t sprouted gills. I didn’t get my period for two years as a side effect of one particularly difficult prescription.
I should have known.
The worst part is the fear that I somehow deserve this. I know intellectually I don’t, but what if this is God’s way of telling me that my genes don’t need to be passed on? Why should I force an innocent child to go through the hell I did as a kid? How fair is it to have kids, knowing there’s a 50% chance my child will be another “survivor” of my condition? What if this is punishment for being a rebellious teenager? I wasn’t a responsible kid; hell, most days I didn’t care if I got caught. What if I DO deserve infertility? What if I did this to myself? These words look so strange on the screen, but what if it’s true?
Yes, I’m asking the question that no couple struggling with infertility wants to ask and what no doctor says: what if this is my fault? How can I look my husband in the eye and tell him he picked a reproductive dud? How do I tell my parents who want a grandchild so badly?
And how do I go through the endless days in this haze of despair without someone who understands?
I didn’t know whether to post this here on Band Back Together. I know The Band is here for anything, but my life and my problems seem so…ordinary. I tell myself, you don’t have it so bad, you know. I don’t like to complain, and I don’t like to draw attention to my imperfections (hell, they do a good enough job on their own… no help needed, thank you very much).
But..I changed my life’s plans to have a family.
What if I gave up my dreams for nothing?
