The Further Adventures of Deluzy

OMG, I joined a gym!

I did it -- this afternoon, after therapy. GULP!

Well, really, I joined the YMCA, but this one is as good as or better than most gyms, and friendlier as well. It's in an upscale neighborhood a short drive from me, probably somewhat less expensive than mainstream gyms but exceedingly well-equipped, and I opted for a "family membership" for me and my husband. It's got flexible hours, an inside and outside pool, lots of different kinds of exercise classes, wonderful machines, newly renovated locker rooms, the whole nine yards

I'm going to go to my first exercise class on Saturday morning: "Water exercise with light aerobics" for beginners and intermediates. I hope to God it's full of old ladies because they're probably ahead of me but will at least be inspiring (rather than intimidating) to me. I saw bodies of all ages, shapes, colors, and conditions, so I'm thinking I'll feel as little discomfort there as I'm likely to feel anywhere, and it's time to just dive right in -- no pun intended,

I promised myself when I got below 200 I'd start kick-boxing, a long-time fantasy of mine -- but I'm not so sure that's a wonderful idea for me at the moment, given that I'm totally out of shape and nursing a hernia that I hope never to have to have surgery on (one can dream). So I ratcheted things down a notch and figure I'll start with some basics.

Makes me nervous, for some reason, but it's time. I'm 196.8 --> 3.1 pounds late to the gym!

Labels: Exercise

Madagascar?!

Good lord. My beloved niece, who's just graduated from Barnard College, is going to be posted to Madagascar for two years in the Peace Corps. She'll be doing health promotion, which is a good thing and what she wanted, as she's done a double major (music and pre-med), worked internships in college that would allow her to get a health-care related assignment in the Peace Corps, and is currently studying for the MCAT exams -- she's planning on medical school when she returns. I'm very happy for her and proud of her, and god knows she's more than equal to the task -- but of course I'm going to worry about her being half a world away geographically (and light-years away culturally). No running water where she's headed, lots of poverty, lots of suffering ...

Wow.

Well, the the experience will certainly change her life, and maybe, in the process, she can do some good for others as well. This is one young woman whose life as a whole will make a difference, and that's pretty amazing.

My three siblings went into VISTA (Volunteers in Service to America), the domestic Peace Corps which has been largely supplanted by AmeriCorps these days. I never did, though as I get older, I become more interested rather than less. I'm not up for an international assignment, but there's plenty of need for domestic service, and I'd like to retire early enough to consider that as an option.

(Says the just-recently-hired Assistant Professor who can't consider doing anything else until she gets tenure!)

Labels: Family

What's the deal with 80 pounds?

I grabbed the image to the right off the web -- apparently it's a before-and-after composite shot of a man who's lost 80 pounds, which is just about where I'm at now. I'm looking at it, and while I certainly see that he's lost weight, it's not that dramatic.Why, then, am I suddenly getting a lot of remarks on my similar weight loss of just over 80 pounds?

I'm just a hair under 200 pounds at the moment, and suddenly folks are noticing I've lost weight. What's up with that? Why now, as opposed to five pounds ago, or 10 pounds ago? Obviously some people have noticed a loss before now, but there's a distinct pick-up in the number of comments I'm getting these days, and I don't get it. No, it's not that I'm suddenly wearing clothes that fit or clothes that are a different style: I've never let anything get particularly large on me without switching down a size. So what is it?

Is it that, as a size 14/16, I've now joined the ranks of the average American woman (not the ideal, mind you, but the average) and no longer stand out -- and so in not standing out, ironically, people have begun to notice me? (People avert their eyes from obesity the way they politely look away when someone drops food all over herself, as if it's somehow a lapse in good taste or etiquette.)

Anyway, I'm finding it odd. Not good, not bad, but definitely culturally odd.

Labels: Head-trips, Scale

ASBS: San Francisco reception and dinner

The American Society for Bariatric Surgery had its 23rd annual meeting in San Francisco this week, and there was a reception for DS surgeons, surgeons-in-the-making, and DS patients at the University Club yesterday afternoon, followed by a Chinese dinner with DS patients at the nearby historic Hang Ah's Tea Room.

I took BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) into San Francisco from the south bay to avoid the traffic and parking hassles that the city is famous for, arriving at Powell Street station just south of Union Square around 5:30 p.m. Feeling very moral and healthy, I hoofed it eight blocks up hill (the last two were STEEP ones, too!) to the site of the reception at the University Club. It was good timing on my part, as the DS surgeons were just arriving -- in fact, I bumped smack into my own surgeon, Dr. Keshishian, in the lobby.

The reception was open bar (easy, since most of the patients weren't drinking alcohol!) with protein-rich appetizers (yay, Diana Hamlet-Cox, who picked them!) and well-attended by the time I made it there. Diana gave an introductory speech, explaining why DS patients and the DS Institute had decided to organize the reception and invite DS surgeons and surgeons-in-training (i.e., to educate folks about the DS, show DS eating and drinking in action), and encouraging surgeons to talk not with each other so much as with the patients in the room -- which they actually did.

I felt like a rare-bird spotter, identifying DS surgeons whom I'd only read of online by their name tags and then chatting with some of them -- including but not limited to the Rabkins, Crookes, Anthone, Peters, Baltasar. Hess, Maynard, Welker, and of course Dr. K. VERY interesting to check out everyone's personal style: some were personable, some not so much, but all seemed dedicated and interested, which is what one would hope.

The surgeons had a meeting at 7 p.m., at which point the reception broke up and about 25 DSers made our way down a VERY steep hill to an inexpensive, tasty Chinese restaurant, where we sat at tables arranged in a large U shape and ordered in groups of 4 or so. I sat with Roz, Diana, and Jill N, and we had plenty o' protein: barbecued pork, shrimp, a chicken dish, and a beef curry. Oh, and soup. Other tables ordered other things, and since none of us could finish everything, eventually we all began swapping dishes across tables to share.

It was a very festive affair, even with one very newly switched Rabkin patient who was only 5 days out attending both the reception and the dinner -- I told Dr. Rabkin (who's a charmer) that she was the best ad there for his services. Some significant others, spouses and children came to the dinner -- all in all, it was a great time, very well-organized (THANKS, DIANA!). Melanie Magruder from the Duodenal Switch Information Zone was taking photos, so some may appear online over at that site eventually, if you're interested.

The dinner broke up around 9 p.m., at which point I took an indirect route back to BART (all downhill, thank god in heaven) at a brisk pace to walk off a little of the meal and was home by 10:30 p.m.

Good job all round.

Labels: DS get-togethers

Accidents will happen

Warning: if you are a DS patient who is 6+ months out from surgery, eat more than 50% of your calories in fat in one day, and some of those fat calories are from Fritos corn chips ... you may Have a Bad Accident. In bed. At 3:30 a.m. You may spring up from said bed, realize to your horror that it's already a little too late, make a mad dash for the bathroom, and take care of business where you're supposed to -- but then you may have to return to the bed, contemplate waking your still-sleeping husband to tell him what's happened and to change the sheets, and then just not be able to face it. You may opt, instead, to wipe up the small mess as best you can, put down a clean towel over the stain, hope to god the smell of shit will dissipate by the time you and your husband wake up in the morning, and fall into an uneasy slumber until dawn.

Yuck.

The bed is stripped, the sheets are now washed and in the dryer, and my husband regarded me with sympathy after seeing the bare bed and realizing that I'd spent about an hour shitting my guts out (again) first thing after getting up. (It was definitely too much fat!). Fortunately, that was his first inkling of my intestinal distress; I just hated the idea of waking him up in the middle of the night and saying, "Sorry, dear, I just shat the bed. One moment and I'll have it cleaned up in a jiffy!"

This has only happened twice: I had a similar, though more borderline, experience recently the only other time I ate Fritos, and so they have now gone directly into the trash as of this morning. I don't know what it is about them, but I can't tolerate them at all, not even in small amounts, and of course that's just as well. It's totally avoidable, and it never has to happen again. Fritos are now banned from the house.

Labels: DS frightmares

Dateline: No Man's Land

Argh ... I'm about to enter that no-man's land between plus sized and regular sized clothing, and I haven't been there since I was an adolescent (I'm now 45) --> it's The Land Where Nothing Fits, and it suddenly flashes me back to being 14, an age I hated.

I'm okay for now on the bottom -- I just dropped down to size 16 jeans (from 18) at Avenue today -- but because I'm pear-shaped, I'm smaller up top and tops are a more difficult matter for me currently. 14/16s at Avenue and Lane Bryant are getting a little roomy (I have no boobs to speak of, thanks very much, though I can create a balanced illusion [when clothed] with the right bra). However, I'm pretty sure I can't fit into a regular 14 yet (I do have one regular shirt in a normal 14, but the majority of tops in that size will still be too small), and the few times I've walked into regular stores that carry larger sizes that aren't plus sizes (e.g., Ann Taylor Loft, Nordstrom), I get overwhelmed instantly. Anyway, Ann Taylor and Nordstrom are okay but a little boring, in my view, at least in terms of what they have to offer in my size. My tastes have no doubt been shaped from spending years in a film/theatre department where folks dress creatively, to put it mildly. Not to mention the Ann Taylors and Nordstroms of the world are too damn expensive for transitional clothing that's going to work for only a few months.

Inspired today by BT's account of successful shopping, I did check out Ross first (lovingly dubbed by a Czech friend as "Ross Dross for Loss" many years ago -- okay, it's funnier when she says it in her thick central European accent), but man, our local Ross is an absolute disaster: badly sorted according to size, poor quality clothing, etc. Once in a while I've found something good there, but I always have to spend a lot of time sifting through everything, and by the time I do, I'm overwhelmed and usually walk out without trying anything on.

Fortunately I'm entering this weird size zone over the summer: because I'm a college professor (for real now!) and am not teaching summer school, I can take it easy with clothes and make do with what I've got until fall without having to worry too much about looking schlubby --> it doesn't really matter. Hopefully I'll have navigated my way through No Man's Land into regular large sizes by the end of summer.

It's both fun and sort of irritating to think so much about clothing and appearance these days. Periodically I have and do, but I'm forced to think about them more than I'd like to right now because after an 80-pound loss, I'm finally beginning to get all manner of comments on my looks. It doesn't irritate me, as it might have when I was younger, nor does it make me giddy and happy (again, as it would have when I was younger); it just is a fact of life right now, and I take the remarks in whatever spirit they're generally intended. But it does make one think ...

I had coffee this morning at Starbucks while I waited for Ross to open, and I was sitting outside enjoying an iced coffee and reading my book (Bill Bryson's Neither Here nor There: Travels in Europe) when a woman in her 30s emerged from the store and elicited a few comments from a couple of middle-aged men who were sitting near by. She was attractive in a constructed kind of way: a chic short hair cut, expensively highlighted; a tall, slender body and breasts of some size, though all that was revealed through a carefully tailored (though casual) shirt and trousers. Long legs were shown off to advantage in high (though not slutty) heels, and her make-up was certainly obvious but tasteful. She looked good -- technically. But there was something a little off about her, and I realized that the men called it right when I heard one of them say (not nastily, as women might, but with good humor), "That took work!" They looked after her as she walked away, and the other guy responded, "Yeah -- that's high maintenance." They grinned when they noticed that I'd overheard them and smiled at me: "Too much trouble!" one of them said, shaking his head. "Don't you think?" the other asked me.

I shrugged, unwilling to be catty about another woman to men but also wanting to be truthful. "Well, it's not my style," I replied wryly, "but she does look good on some level, you have to admit." They shook their heads ruefully, and we went back to our own worlds.

The men had nailed it, of course: the woman looked good, but she also looked as if her appearance is where all her time and energy went, and as if there weren't any there there, to paraphrase Gertrude Stein. It doesn't mean that that's true, and it's not that she looked like a bimbo -- she was too put-together for that -- but she created an impression of effort and work, rather than an aura of attractiveness, and I'm pretty sure she was going for the latter.

Now, of course, her target audience was probably men a good 10 years younger than the ones who made the remarks, and God knows it certainly wasn't me; furthermore, 30-something men may find her hot and want to bed her or marry her or both. And let's face it, it's pretty ironic when men comment on how much work a woman may have put into her appearance because, when it's done with greater finesse, they generally haven't a clue and simply think women look that way naturally. But it was still really interesting to me to watch 1) a woman who deliberately codes herself to be looked at; 2) the way in which a couple of men "decoded" her, probably not entirely along the lines she intended.

I half-suspect that if she'd been on stage or in a magazine -- or in their beds -- even these men would have found her sexy and happily bonked her -- but somehow they found her a little de trop for real, three-dimensional life.

(It's amazing that heterosexuality ever works!)

Labels: Fashion, Head-trips

Breaking up is hard to do

I'm really struck by the number of dissolving marriages in the first year(s) following WLS. While I was aware of the statistics (1 out of 2 marriages bite the dust after surgery --> though of course that's right there with the general divorce rate), it fills me with sadness to watch these women -- usually but not always in their 30s -- struggling with previously neglected issues that surface when their weight disappears. They're in so much pain, feeling so much confusion ...

Copied from a post I made today in response to the news of another break-up of a marriage on the DS boards:

I'm only 6 months out from surgery, but my experience is that the most difficult period for me and my marriage so far was my quest for the surgery and my immediate recovery: my husband was not used to the single-minded focus I displayed toward obtaining and getting through the surgery, and he felt as if I were self-absorbed and insensitive to his needs during the process. He was right, I was. And I had to be. And that took its toll. We had a very, very difficult year last year, from spring through mid-fall, and then again right after my DS.

Since my recovery, however (which was pretty uneventful but still difficult), I'd say our marriage is stronger -- but only time will tell. However, I am older than you (45), and I also spent 8 years in therapy in my 30s when I was deeply unhappy -- but not because of my weight --> it was simply a symptom of the unhappiness, in part -- and I worked out a lot of stuff during that time. It was hell going through that when other friends my age were getting married, having families, settling down -- instead, I was breaking down. However, I've been profoundly grateful since my DS that I had that experience because I discovered who I was in the process, and so I feel as if I knew who I was when I met my husband six years ago and married him four years ago. In other words, I was able to see past my obesity even when I was obese, and that was a gift. I both mourn the fact that I married late and didn't have children and was obese for so long -- but I couldn't have handled being married earlier or losing my weight before this point in my life. Everything is a trade off.

Which isn't to say that my husband and I don't encounter our bumps along the way. We're about to navigate a major transition during which I will start my (belated) career as an assistant professor and my husband will retire and be at home -- and frankly, I think that's going to be as challenging as the DS. It will, however, be a change that happens to both of us, and perhaps that will help. Perhaps. Major changes of any kind can be frightening.

When I mourn the fact that I'll never be thin and young at the same time, I need to remind myself of the hard-earned wisdom that both my years and my obesity have brought me. Above everything else these days, I'm so grateful that I felt comfortable in my own skin before I had this surgery and that, in the words of Olympia Dukakis in Moonstruck, "I know who I am."

Labels: Family, Gratitude, Head-trips

Post-trip debrief

It's my second day back from Los Angeles, and I'm still playing catch-up from the trip. Well, not the trip so much as the end of the academic year, the job offer and negotiations, and the immediate departure for Los Angeles following those events. My study looks as if a small hurricane hit it, I have several hours' worth of organizing and filing to do, and I haven't even looked at the mail that came while I was away. I'm giving myself until the end of this month to get things in shape for what needs to be a summer of productive work, and I'm doing a little each day and endeavoring not to feel overwhelmed by the various tasks I've set for myself.

I realized upon my return from the trip that I was feeling stressed out by having accepted the job offer. Now, I wanted and needed that job, so what was that about? Upon reflection, I realized it was due to my sense that I was locking myself into a decades-long career path that I might not want to follow. Or more specifically, that I wasn't sure I wanted to follow for that long at that particular university. In general, folks who accept offers there don't choose to move on elsewhere, and departmental bulletins regarding the search reflected that: "The selection of a faculty member can have a 30-year impact upon the department ..." or words to that effect. Gulp. What if I don't want to be there for 30 years?!

I felt vaguely sick to my stomach in the days following my acceptance of their offer and realized only toward the end of my trip to Los Angeles that, in fact, I need to reframe this issue for myself. They may have a decades-long master plan in mind for me, but that doesn't lock me into it. Yesterday my husband and I discussed the matter, and I felt better: what I've got now is a 5-Year Plan (hopefully a less bloody one than Stalin's), in which I publish as much as possible, earn tenure at the end of five years, and then reassess. If I'm not happy where I am at the end of that period, I'll search for a senior position at another university, and I'll use the next five years to be as productive as I can be and to generate as many options for myself as possible. After all, the last five years were pretty productive: I left the high-tech world, finished my Ph.D., re-entered academia, and got a tenure-track position, all in middle-age. If I can do that 5-year plan, I can do this one.

And, having realized that, I felt much more able to shape my own future (not to determine it, mind you, but to shape it), and to take my own wishes, desires, and goals for my life into account.

As for the trip to Los Angeles itself, it was mostly good. I was very happy to see my friend David graduate with his Ph.D., to meet his family, to see and spend time with old friends, and even to be in Los Angeles again. It was the scene of my darkest days of depression and suicidality, so it's always something of a mixed bag for me, but mostly the shadows are gone now and I enjoy myself when I'm there. I realize I miss the conviviality of a group of peers in which we hang out together until the wee hours, talking about people and films and issues that matter to us, as we did this weekend. I don't have that in my regular day-to-day life -- I don't think many of us do these days, as it's an experience that's typical of youth and graduate school rather than one's later working life -- and so I think several of us were especially happy to be reunited for this brief weekend.

I was glad to be able to see Charles, my ex-therapist, as well. Things are definitely shifting between us, and while I miss our therapeutic relationship a bit, the transition into friendship is rewarding in its own way. We spoke equally about our respective lives, and I sensed he's undergoing transitions of his own: he has a girlfriend of several years, a relationship which he seems to enjoy but which may not be everything he'd like it to be -- and of course what relationship is? One weighs and considers and balances and in the end figures out if a relationship is worth the work or not -- for now, his seems to be worth it to him. His kids are clearly the most important thing in his life, but they're getting older and he's wondering what the point of the rest of his life will be. Nostalgia for the east coast where he grew up, a sense of rootlessness ... that's all kicking in for him. I think one's 40s and 50s are all about transition, and we talked about that, too. It's a little eerie how similarly he and I seem to think about some things (though certainly not all!) -- or maybe it's not and maybe that's how we were able to work together for eight years.

For the first time in our history together I didn't hand Charles a check when we parted; for the first time he gave me his home address, and while we met in his office, that was more of a practical issue of logistics and time rather than a reflection of our experience together. Who knows where this is headed? If he ends up moving to the east coast one day -- or for that matter, to the moon or wherever -- I know we'll still see each other. I told him as much the last time I saw him, and I remember that he thanked me. He, too, feels as if his community of friends is diminishing over time and misses a sense of connection with folks, and we share that as well. I've talked about that experience with so many people in recent years, and I think it's a common one as people get older and more firmly settled into their respective lives.

Enough ruminating for now. It's blazingly hot here today and I have to figure out what I have in my closet that fits and is weather-appropriate.

That could be a challenge.

Labels: Academia, Head-trips, Travel

Snapshots of a Ph.D. graduation

Several of us who had gone through the Ph.D. program in film at UCLA during roughly the same period (or at least overlapped with each other) congregated in Los Angeles for our friend David's Ph.D. hooding. Ed recorded the events surrounding the ceremony, and here are a few of the shots he took (you can click on the images to get a closer view):

And here are a couple of (dark) photos I took that include Ed. (Gee, who's the professional photographer, me or Ed?!)

There are many more photos, but these give the flavor of the event. It felt really good to be there for David and to be among old friends.

Labels: Photos, Travel

198.8

Yes, I'm back from Los Angeles and I'll blog about my trip separately, but my first news is that somehow, while there, I crossed over into what's known as Onederland in various weight-loss communities -- the land of triple-digit weights that begin with a 1 instead of a 2.

I suspected I'd made it into Onederland because I'd stepped on a scale at a house where I was staying, but of course it wasn't my scale, and it also wasn't digital, so I didn't entirely trust the results. But sure enough, when I stepped on my own Tanita scale yesterday morning, I saw the new number, and it was official.

My reaction was different than I'd anticipated: I thought I'd be incredibly excited and pumped up: being under 200 pounds is a major thing for a woman who's been morbidly obese since her teens. Instead, however, I simply felt a sense of profound gratitude and satisfaction: the DS continues to work, and I'm so very lucky to have fought for it and come through it with virtually no complications. No giddy excitement, no "high," so to speak -- just a greater sense of peace and a further conviction that I've chosen the right path for me.

Labels: Gratitude, Photos, Scale, Triumphs