Half of Me

A year ago I was lying in a hospital bed, having just had gastric bypass surgery. Over the last three hundred and sixty-five days I've lost half my body weight. Half. To be exact, one hundred forty pounds. Actually, I lost 40 lbs before the surgery, so technically I've lost 100 lbs since surgery. I can remember the first painful days following surgery. Having five incisions in your tummy is not fun. I distinctly remember, after an extremely painful attempt at getting out of bed in the middle of the night, making Ron check to make sure the largest incision hadn't burst open. Like a knife, it was.

I remember my first solid food. A few small bites of a scrambled egg. And then some cottage cheese. And refried beans. And water. Lots and lots of water. Those are distant memories, but ones I revisit from time to time to remind me how radically my body and mind have changed. I can now eat a wide variety of foods, although the portions are still pretty small. I still have to stay away from caffeine (soda, chocolate, coffee), and limit sugar and fat. We shop and cook differently, but it's still tasty. Ron's lost 30 lbs and has the body of a 35-year old (I'm not kidding). I didn't realize that my lifestyle changes would affect him, but we're both healthier and happier, so that's a good thing.

I won't lie to you. I got skin issues. Today at my one year check up I got a brochure about plastic surgery. I still haven't decided if I'm going to have any procedures. But in the back of my mind I keep thinking, "It's only gonna get worse!" So we'll see. I think we need to get Ty out of school before I think seriously about it. I do have some tailbone pain. As a beautiful young lady from Arkansas put it, "Honey, you ain't got no trunk in that Honda!" Never in a million years would I have ever thought that someone would say that about my behind! But it's kind of true. There's not a lot of padding left back there and if I sit too long, I get kinda fidgety.

Then there's the walking. I had started walking on the treadmill at home before surgery. I think I was doing about 30 minutes a day. A week after surgery I was back on the treadmill. Then, one day I decided to walk outside. The first day I did a mile and it probably took me 30 minutes. Now I'm up to six miles a day, five times a week. I LOVE it! I put my iPod on and hit the streets. I used to just walk on the track at Shawnee Mission North, but now I have three different routes that take me all the way to the farmer's market in Overland Park to Shawnee Mission East and 67th & Roe. I still do the track once a week, for old times' sake. I've left a lot of pounds around that track.

As I think back over the last year I can't help but be grateful to the Bariatric Center of Kansas City. They have a top-notch team and an equally impressive program. I had to meet with a nutritionist, cardiologist, pulmonologist and a psychologist to be cleared for the program. It took six months from the time I went to the initial informational meeting to my surgery date. The hospital staff at Shawnee Misison Medical Center were also tremendous. But my biggest thank you has to go to Ron, whose support has never wavered. He has encouraged and cheered me on every step of the way and I could not have been successful without him. Kate and Tyler have also been great supporters, as have my mom and dad (although they think I'm too thin!)

So, what's next? I have no idea. We'll just have to wait and see. Whatever it is, it will be fabulous.

A Weekend of Fun

Ron and I have become experts in the art of being home bodies. We just like hanging out at our house, Ron puttering in the yard, me - well, you don't need to know what I do (because it's SO boring). So, when we have three days in a row with planned events, it's kind of a phenomenon.

Friday night we went out to the "K" to see the Royal play the Cardinals. It was an outing sponsored by Ron's office and he says the only reason he wanted to go was to see the Cardinals (die hard fan, don't you know). So we went. We had to park in Egypt, and could have seen the Promised Land if we'd had binoculars. It was quite the trek. We passed loads of tailgaters - I have to admit that I didn't realize that tailgating was as big a deal with baseball. See? I don't get out much.

Ron had told me that I couldn't take my water in and I briefly considered citing a medical condition to make them bend the rules. But I just figured that I'd buy some inside. What I didn't figure on was the stupid price of FOUR DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS for a 20 ounce bottle of water. I was livid. But I caved and bought it anyway.

They did a very cool pre-game thing . . . a dozen or so new army recruits were given the oath of allegiance right there on the field, in front of thousands of people. It was quite moving. Regardless of how people feel about the war, it was apparent that there was unwavering support for the people who are in - or about to be in - the trenches.

The stadium is very nice, but highly distracting, what with all the people, fountains, pyrotechnics and media bombardment. I had to keep reminding myself that there was an actual game going on. Between every pitch there was a burst of musicality, to which the seasoned game goers would respond. I felt awkward not knowing which chant to chant.

We only stayed for a few innings. The Cardinals were whomping the Royals' behinds and Ron and I have found that since we've shed some pounds our butts don't take to hard surfaces too well. On the way out we got a pretzel . . . holy smokes. Ten bucks for a bottle of water and a pretzel. Being a sports fan could lead to bankruptcy.

As we started our long journey back to Egypt, Ron reminded me that we were in Section C11. We snaked our way back through the maze of cars - there are STILL too many SUV's on the road, folks - and ended up wandering around for - seriously - thirty minutes before we found our car. We lost each other a couple of times, which was kind of scary, actually. Ron was walking around with his hand in the air, pushing the panic button. I was trying to remember which cars we'd passed on the way in, which ended up being an effort in futility. Finally, finally we found our car, which was not unlike finding a lost child. I even kind of hugged the little thing.

On our way home we popped by Union Station and got out to watch the fountain. I could have stayed for hours. The sounds, the smells, the rhythm and variation - all spellbinding. It was a good end to the evening.

So, that's Day One of our Weekend of Fun. Stay tuned for Day Two . . .

Family Photo Shoot

Several weeks ago, Jessica Roark, owner and photographer extraordinare of epagaFOTO, did some family shots of us. Here are some of my favorites . . .

Happy Birthday to ME!

Take a look at my birthday shoes! They were designed and "painted" by Kate's roommate, Morghan. I keep telling her that she could be the next Kate Spade with these rockin' tennies. Unfortunately, they are EXTREMELY labor intensive so each pair would have to cost about $500. So, I'll just count myself privileged to have a pair of these ultra funky, highly original, very colorful shoes.

Now each of you can turn your own, favorite shade of "green with envy." Heh heh heh.

Little Bits

Oh, I'm such a sluggard for not posting more. I have nary an excuse as to my slothfulness. I'd love to say I've been so busy I haven't the time, but 'twould be a lie. Let's forget the past, shall we, and move on to the future . . .

I have to brag on Ron - for many things. First of all, since last fall he's dropped almost 35 pounds, thanks to a change in his eating habits and a healthy commitment to working out. I must say, he looks fabulous! He hasn't looked this good since college and I find myself stealing looks at his muscles - hee hee!

Second, the Habitat for Humanity playhouse that his company (Kiewit Power Engineers) sponsored - which he had a large part in designing and decorating - won the Judges' First Place award and sold for $1,000!

Finally, our yard is SO beautiful! He's been spending a lot (and I mean A LOT) of time outdoors, mowing, trimming, planting, redistributing and puttering and it's definitely showing. He also installed three rather large rain barrels and derives a great deal of satisfaction in being to recycle the water.

In other matters . . . have I ever posted about how much I ADORE dogwood trees? Specifically, pink dogwoods? We'll, I'm positively gaga about them. So much so that IF I ever got another tattoo, it would be of dogwood blooms. We've purchased multiple dogwoods in the past and they've all died, which broke my heart. So, when we saw them on sale (almost 1/2 off) at Family Tree this year, I was hesitant. But, Ron got the skinny on how to make them survive and hopefully the one we bought last week will live a long and healthy (and beautiful) life.

One last little bit . . . Tyler told me the other day he defriended Ashton Kutcher on Twitter, which I thought was hysterical. Apparently, Mr. Kutcher Twitters so much that his posts dominate the status page and no one else's Twitters are able to be viewed. Obviously, this young man needs to get a life . . . or a job.

Involuntary Wormslaughter

My all-time favorite Gary Larson "Far Side" cartoon goes something like this . . .

The scene: a worm cocktail party. A worm couple sitting on the couch, getting cozy. Two worms in the corner, surveying the room.

The caption (paraphrased): Hey, check it out. Vinnie's over there on the couch trying to put the moves on Zelda Schwartz, but he's talkin' to the wrong end.

Now, is that a riot or what?

Given my affinity to this particular cartoon might lead you to presume that that same affinity exists for the real, live worm species. In that presumption, dear reader, you would be mistaken. I HATE worms. HATE, HATE, HATE them. I'm sure part of this detestation is a direct result of a traumatic experience I had in junior high. I was waiting at the bus stop with a bunch of other junior highers one rainy morning when one of them (he knows who he is) threw a worm at me. Which was bad enough. But to make it even more icky gross, the darn thing went down my shirt! I ran screaming back to my house, fell into the bathroom and ripped off my shirt, sobbing uncontrollably, I'm sure. Oh, the scars, the scars.

Lately I've come in contact (although not so literally) with a whole army of worms. After a good spring rain they are thick as thieves on the track at SMNorth. Big ones, little ones, fat ones, thin ones. Worms of all kinds leave the shelter and safety of the grass to wriggle across the rough surface of the track. I try very hard to walk around them, because, you know, I don't want worm guts on my shoes. But on Monday I'm sure I committed wormslaughter. More than once. And, I'm sad to report, I witnessed a worm suicide. Tragic thing, it was. And it was a giant worm (fat, fat, fat and about five inches long). I'm sure it had a wife and wormettes at home. I was on my seventh lap when I noticed it. It was headed straight for the drainage strip the rings the track. Sure enough, on my eighth lap it was nowhere to be found. Sure, it could have been an accident and had I been a nicer (or completely insane) person I could have picked it up and moved it to safety. Ok, so I wasn't Kevorkian, but I didn't do anything to prevent it, either.

Is that karma? Or just plain old revenge? Whatever it is, I'm just glad I didn't have to look at the slimy thing on my ninth lap. I'm tellin' you. The scars are deeeeeeppppp.

Drumroll, Please . . . .

As of today, March 21, 8:00 a.m. CST, I have lost a total of ONE HUNDRED pounds! In seven months. Forty pounds pre-op, sixty post-op. I'm extremely excited and extremely terrified. Excited because, well, that's a lot of weight. Terrified because I don't want to become complacent (i.e. cocky, because that's what happened last time I lost a bunch of weight). I'm still about 25 pounds from my goal, although I keep changing it. Statistics say that most bariatric bypass patients lose the majority of their weight in the first six months, but may continue to lose for up to eighteen months. So I may change my goal again!

One drawback (if you can call it that) is that my clothes keep falling off. I bought a bunch of stuff from LL Bean a couple months ago and now it's almost all too big. And I've only worn it a couple of times! I feel like a baby, only in reverse. I need to find a resale shop and FAST!

This journey has been really amazing. I was watching a show on Discovery Health about a woman who was having gastric bypass and I realized that even though it's only been four months, the whole surgery and recovery is kind of a blur to me. I kind of remember the hard times and days when I questioned the wisdom of my decision, but those moments have been so few and far between that it's easy to forget them. I've settled into an easy routine that doesn't seem foreign or intrusive or sacrificial and that's such a blessing - a HUGE blessing.

Hallelujah!

A Lil Bit Loopy

I've got another cold. The second one in four weeks. I'm taking three multivitamins a day. And at this point I'm kind of wondering "why?" Tyler was home for a few days and he had a cold. He's fine now. He says he thinks he actually saw it leave his body and enter mine. Creepy.

I could tell it was coming on yesterday morning when I woke up. My chest just felt kind of full. By last night I was coughing a bit and today I've got the cough, runny nose, chills and itchy ears. Usually I take some Nyquil at bedtime and sleep pretty soundly. Last night, though, I took it and settled into my office chair to watch some telly. Not very comfortable, but I can put my feet up on my desk and lean back. About half an hour later I woke up. Yes, I had fallen asleep in my office chair! When I got up I was very wobbly and barely made it to bed. Today when I told Tyler about it he reminded me that Nyquil has 10 percent alcohol. And I'm not supposed to drink alcohol since my surgery. I can only imagine the state I'd be in if I had a glass of wine or some other adult beverage! It's a YouTube video waiting to happen.

Reality Bites

I'm five days away from my fiftieth birthday. And yes, I'm kind of freaked out about it. That's half a century! A hundred years ago 50 was probably pushing the life expectancy figures. Twenty years ago fifty seemed old. Together Ron and I have over a hundred years of life experience (so why aren't we any better at it?).

Tonight when we went to Hy-Vee for a few items I was watching the screen where all the purchases are listed. The total was seventeen bucks. Then I looked again. Now it was sixteen something. I thought that was odd since we hadn't brought in any of our canvas bags (we get five cents back for every bag we bring in). Then I saw the last item on the list: Senior Citizen discount . . . WHAT? I hadn't even whipped out my AARP card. I must LOOK old! Sigh.

I'm sure I'll enter into my sixth decade (that's right, isn't it? I tried to do the math) with grace and dignity. Seriously, I've been graceless and undignified for far too long. Time to turn over a new leaf and fly right. Ok, I'm STOKED!

Fire in the Hole

So last night the Ron-man and I were watching the second season of "The Tudors" (fabulous show - amazing costuming and set design, not to mention the crazy plot twists and turns) and also enjoying a wonderful fire in the fireplace. Because that's just how we roll.

I think it was shortly after a rather vigorous love scene (on the telly) that we begin hearing a quiet roar. I looked over at the fireplace and could see the little chain that's attached to the damper slowly lowering. The roaring got louder and louder and all of the sudden Ron leapt off the couch - nearly dumping me on the floor, I might add - and started yelling "We have a fire in the chimney! Call 911."

I just sat there.

Ron ran outside and apparently saw flames shooting out the top of the chimney, along with a multitude of sparks raining on the roof. He ran back inside, yelled at me to call 911 again. I calmly handed him the phone. He was now in full panic mode and I was a model of serenity. I think I'm adrenaline-deprived.

Ron told me to go get some water to put the fire in the fireplace out, so I got our purified water jug from the fridge and doused the fire. By this time there was quite a bit of smoke in the house and I could hear the fire engines approaching. They were really quick. The cops blocked our street off - it was quite the scene. I think there were two fire engines and about nine firefighters.

A word about the firefighters - very polite and thorough. And really big. Their uniforms and boots and hats - at one time there were three of them in the living room and they looked like giants.

They ended up spraying some kind of dry chemical down the chimney to put out the fire. Obviously we need to get the chimney swept. I wonder if Dick Van Dyke is available. He and his crew seemed to have such a good time up there on those London roofs in "Mary Poppins."

I know I'm downplaying the seriousness of the situation. We are extremely lucky. We live in a 70+ year old house and dramas like this often end up very differently. Had the sparks that were hitting the roof caught fire we could have lost the whole house. So I'm very grateful that we caught it in time, that we live about three blocks from the firehouse and that Ron knew immediately what was wrong.

Amen.

Life in the Fast Lane

A few days ago Kate was telling me about a race she and Morghan ran last year. Ok, Morghan ran and Kate walked. Kate was laughing that it took her twenty minutes to walk a mile. I told her that wasn't so bad - I do a twenty minute mile (actually, now it's about 17 minutes -woohoo). She then informed me that, at age 26, she should be able to walk faster than her decrepit mother. She really didn't use those terms, but that's how I heard it. Talk about getting the wind knocked out of your sails. My shoulders, which had previously been thrown back as I boasted my capabilities, were now slumped as reality set in.

Today, however, I have vindication. Kind of. As I was doing my six laps at the SMNorth track, I noticed another walker enter the track. She was about a half a lap ahead of me. And she wasn't going very fast. All of the sudden I transformed into a greyhound and she was the little fake rabbit they run around the racetrack. I picked up speed. Yep. I was gaining on her. I must tell you that I'm ALWAYS getting passed by people who are jogging on the track. I try not to let it dissuade me, but just once I wanted to pass someone. And here was my chance. "Catch the rabbit, catch the rabbit." Sure enough, after a lap of accelerated walking I PASSED HER! It was then that I noticed that she was about seventy. But I didn't care. As I was doing the victory dance in my head, I came to the realization that now that I'd passed her I had to keep ahead of her. It was AWESOME! This is what it feels like to win a race!

Not even kidding . . . about five seconds later I got passed by a chubby teenager. Scared the crap out of me - I thought it was granny running by me. I guess a kid who's at least thirty years younger than me should be able to pass me.

Ah, it was sweet while it lasted.

There's Wisdom in Menopause?

That's what Kate said when I told her I'd purchased a book with that title yesterday. I laughed and said, "Yes, there's more than just craziness." I'm not sure she's convinced.

Not that I'm in the throes of menopause. Perimenopause, yes. But so far the symptoms have been fairly benign. Knock on wood. But last week a discussion on Oprah (again, I must assert that I rarely watch her show, but the topic intrigued me) about hormone replacement introduced me to this MD who wrote the aforementioned book. I thought I'd be a smart consumer and health advocate so I bought it.

After the author's second reference to tarot cards (in the first chapter) and one reference to her reliance on psychics and astrologers I began to question whether this was wisdom I really needed. I decided "not" and asked Ron to return the book, which he did (thank you). I think I'll rely on old-fashioned conversations with my doctor and a few hours searching the internet for answers so I'll be ready if and when the time arises that I need my hormones adjusted.

Stay tuned . . . 'cause you know I'll keep you posted.

Pill Freak (and other Abnormalities)

As I write, I'm in the process of taking the last jigger of my daily cocktail of fifteen pills. And not a one of them is mind altering. I take six calcium pills a day. Three multivitamins. Two stool softeners (gross), one blood pressure, one cholesterol and one water pill. Back in the day I could have taken three or four at a time, but since the opening to my stomach is now only the size of an M&M I have to take them one at a time, wait a couple minutes and then pop another one. Between popping pills, drinking a half a gallon of water a day (not kidding), obsessively counting how many grams of protein I've been able to eat, I barely have time to watch all my dvr'd Cops and Judge Judy shows. My life used to be so carefree . . .

In between all the popping, gulping, counting and brain cell killing I generally find time to walk three miles a day. I walk to Shawnee Mission North, do a mile or so on the track and then head back home. At the entrance to the stadium there's a sign that says something like: "Please do not bring the following into the stadium - Gum, tobacco products or sunflower seeds."

Sunflower seeds? My first thought was "How un-Kansan is that?" I mean, it's our state flower, right? Do they think random seeds will sprout and cover the blessed football field? I think that would be really pretty. I mentioned this to Tyler and he said, "Mom, those seeds are really hard." Could they be fashioned into weapons, maybe?

Turns out the sign is pretty ineffective. There's all sorts of gum globbed on the track. Different colored hues and shapes create a lovely mosaic. I have to force myself not to look down lest I get caught up in a psychedelic rush. I haven't seen any evidence of tobacco products, but I'm keeping an eye out. I did, however, spy a lone sunflower shell the other day.

I stashed it in my sock. Just in case.