Do you think it's a good thing or a bad thing that my scale only weighs in 1 pound increments? Right now, I don't know. Ok, if you have vehement opinions about NOT weighing yourself, please go away now, because my mind's made up. I weigh myself ONCE a day, every day, in the morning, after the daily "evacuation," and usually near-nekkid (undies only). I think it is a good almanac of how my weight is comparing to the activity and food I journal every day, as well as help me realize that I am trending down, even if the scale doesn't move every day. I know Aunt Flo (that rhymes!) is just around the corner and we've had two or three sweltering DC swamp days (100+ temp, with 100% humidity), so I'm sure I'm also retaining water. So far, I have weighed 275 for four days running. I'm not complaining (exactly), my brain knows that four days does not = plateau, and that my body needs time to adjust and la-la-la... I am just impatient to see the weight come off. I mean, I bought those size 22 pants on SUNDAY. Why can't I fit into them already??

I think all this internal whining really has to do with the fact that I'm going home to visit family on Friday for the weekend for the first time since Christmas. Even though I weighed MORE at Christmas time, I didn't weigh my mostest until a few months after Christmas, and then had my surgery a few months after that. So, I've gained and lost a chunk of weight, but to them I'll still be big, massively, overweight Jem (that's NOT what they'll say, I promise..my family are all gems (pun intended!) and will be super cheerleadery about the whole thing even if they secretly wonder how long it will take me to stop being so absurdly massive, which THEY don't. I swear!). My BF was telling me today that she is So Impressed With My Quick Weightloss and I am Crazy For Thinking That Over Fifty Pounds Is Not A Lot, but my BF has, on the OUTSIDE, 50 pounds to lose--and that's if she wants to go from post-college-married-for-a-bit-let-yourself-go-chubby-yet-still-cute-and -can-do-strenous-exercise-like-kayaking-with-teenagers-at-the-drop-of-a-hat to omg-are-you-anorexic-you-are-skinnier-than-a-supermodel! So losing 50+ pounds to her is like the whole kit and kaboodle. To me, it's less than 1/3 of the way there (really close to 1/3, but still less!).

Also, for some reason, I can't wrap my head around getting healthier and weighing less until I hit those sizes that I've never been for more than a minute and a half. I remember going from girls directly to size 9 in middle school, and rapid fire working my way into the "junior plus" section of fashion bug by 10th grade. I've been a size 24 OR LARGER since I was 16. So, when I start fitting into 1X or size 18 clothes, I'll know this is for real. The 2X and size 20-22's will be nice, but that is WW weight loss--40 pounds that'll probably come back on if I just give it a little bit.

I guess what I am trying to say is that I am neurotic too. And I'll keep being that way until I've lost another 50 or more pounds. So, even if my scale did weight in halfs or tenths of a pound, it probably wouldn't help, because then I'd be whining about being UP a tenth a pound from yesterday or only losing four tenths from the day before. Well, I would! Happy Wednesday, everyone!

Yesterday, I went to the mall to see if I could pick up a few summer sale items before all the fall clothes start (continue) to come in. I know that I don't really need to buy more clothes, but if they are on sale, it's ok, right? (Nod your heads with me people!)

So, I went to LB and there wasn't a STITCH of clothing on sale there. Not a rack, nothing. I was sooo disappointed. This mall (Pentagon City) only has one plus size store, so if LB doesn't work, you are out of luck.

BUT, then I remembered that there was a plus size section of Macy's. I haven't been in there in forever because most department store's Women's sections only go to size 22 or 24, and I wasn't wearing that size. So, I pop into Macy's and the entire section is like a fire sale--75% off, 65% off, 50% off...there were just a few racks of clothes that WEREN'T on sale! I literally grabbed about 40 items off the racks and went into the dressing room.

Once I had everything hung up, I gave myself a quick chat. "Jem, this is not forever. You've lost FIFTY pounds. If this stuff doesn't fit, it doesn't mean that you suck. It just means that the item didn't fit. You are awesome!!" With that pep talk, I was able to begin. I'd brought in clothes from size 18 - 24, just to see what was working and what wasn't.

I walked away with a halter style sleeveless sweater (2X), two sleeveless t-shirts for working out (both 2X), a pair of Anne Klein pants (22), a pair of capris (22), and a jean skirt (20). Not everything I bought looked AMAZING on me, but I could tell with just a few more pounds (the skirt, for example), would be sooo cute. And it's fun to have something to shrink into. And, extra bonus, the whole thing only cost me $116!! Not bad, eh?

On the "Jem keeps it real" side, I succumbed to Taco Bell while at the mall. Even though I'd just (within 2 hours) eaten a healthy lunch of salad and a baked potato with cheese, I really wanted a burrito. So, I got it. And, I tried to scarf it down. And, I puked in the mall bathroom shortly thereafter. I'm really trying not to focus on this incident and stay really negative but just treat it as a good learning experience. My body does not play well with binging (and AMEN to that!!).

Also, I finally bought my minus fifty reward at the mall. I had picked out a pair of sapphire earrings online(Blue is my favorite color, so most of my jewelry is sapphire or blue topaz, or turquoise...). The were trillian cut lab created sapphire studs with white gold (I don't like yellow gold). But, when I got to the jewelry store, they were so small and lame looking. I have about 100 rings in my collection and I wasn't going to buy another ring because I wanted my reward to be usable even when I lost another 100 pounds and I figured a ring would have to be sized. Fate had other things in mind. There was a perfect ring in the display case ON SALE! It is emerald cut blue sapphire with white sapphire side stones. Well, just look:

I know, super cute, right? :)

Biking update: Still biking to work, and today was much easier--my tush didn't hurt as bad and I was riding faster than before. Biking has really increased by aerobic/cardiacal/breathing/lung capacity/heart pumping situation. You know what I mean. Biking = good for me. And on that note, have a great day, ya'll.

Just got back from biking! I feel like a "real" person--one that isn't afraid to exert themselves, who is willing to try new things, and especially one who able to fully enjoy a gorgeous day off! I biked about 7 miles from my apartment to the Lincoln Memorial. I did wimp out and take the metro home, but all in due time, right? I am SO happy that I got this surgery! :)

Before I had WLS, I heard everyone talking about how it "isn't a magic pill, it's a tool." And as much as I understood the "there is no easy way" sentiment, it wasn't until I had the surgery that I was fully able to understand what folks meant. (Or at least my interpretation of what they meant!)

WLS is a tool like this: Before surgery, I'd tried 8 million ways to lose weight--medical supervision, WW (3-4 times), Michael Thurmond (those informercials will get me every time!!), Walking off the Pounds, Lindora, and any other weirdo way I could think of. The point being-- I KNOW how to lose weight. We all do. Eat less, exercise more. The problem was, there wasn't enough will power in the universe to keep me from jumping off the wagon when things weren't going my way. Also, for me, I spend YEARS at WW. Every time, I lost 40-45 pounds and then couldn't get anymore weight off. And that 40 pounds took a year to get off. So after working sooo hard and doing all the right things on those other programs and STILL be a size 20 or 22 was just more than I could handle. And so, I'd start eating again and before you know it, I've gained it all back and those pounds had brought friends with them!

Now, with WLS, I CANNOT overeat. Yesterday, I went out to dinner with some friends and I was sooo hungry, I couldn't wait for the food to arrive. I wanted to order one of everything on the menu. I've eaten at this same restaurant before surgery, and my order was something like this: Chili Cheese Fries, Burger + Cheese, Chocolate Shake, and a Soda. I can tell you, walking back into the restaurant, that is EXACTLY what I wanted again! But, when my food came, I was able to eat half a veggie burger (no bun), my tomato + pickle and a few french fries (plain). And then, I was almost too full. Although my mind wanted all this crap, my body was able to stop me, and I left the restaurant SATISFIED, not longing for more.

Second, because with WLS, the weight comes off quickly, I've already past my "best" WW weight loss (in pounds, at least--I've a ways to go to get to my lowest "after" weight) in just 2 months! So, exercising is way easier to do than if I was losing a 1/2 pound or a pound a week. After dinner yesterday, we all went and watched a movie (The Island: it was good, but the product placement was cheesy!!) After, we have to walk up a large hill to catch the bus. I've always dreaded this part of watching a movie because it was so hard to get back up the hill. I've even had to stop before and catch my breath (while pretending to look at the window of some silly store). Yesterday, however, I powered up the hill. All of a sudden, I noticed that I wasn't breathing hard. I began walking even faster. Still normal. I got to the top of the hill and I just couldn't believe how much more in shape I was--it was like I'd been walking down the street!

What a difference 2 months makes! I look forward to the next two months and will totally enjoy seeing what new things I can accomplish then!

-50.5!!!!!

So, I've been biking to work and back since Wednesday, even though my butt is EXTREMELY saddle sore. Yesterday, I decided to go to Curves after work and then bike home. Omigoodness. I do not recommend this! I was so tired, I had to walk up every hill and my legs were like jelly. I know that the more weight I lose and the better shape my muscles are in, the easier biking is going to get, but as my front desk lady said when I walked in the door looking like a refugee just in from the desert, "Rome wasn't built in a day, you know!"

What's really awesome though, is that I can already feel real muscle through the flab--my arms and legs are tighter, and it seems like my abdomen stays sucked in more, which is nice.

Also, yesterday, I fit into a brand new pair of size 24 khakis I bought at LB aaaages ago to help motivate me to lose weight (it didn't work then, but it was sure motivating yesterday!). I've been a little 'eh' about my weight loss so far because even though the scale was moving, it didn't seem like my clothes were fitting so differently.

But, let's be honest.

After taking off about 40 pounds on WW in 2002-2003, I slowly crept up to my original 24s and then kept creeping. By the time I faced the fact that there was no way I could continue going to work in t-shirts and yoga pants and bought new clothes, I had skipped right into the 28s.

And just a few months after that, I was really stress-testing every outfit I wore (all 4x and size 28-30). I mean, if those sweatshop seamstresses weren't so dang good at their jobs, I'd have been popping out of my clothes all day long. And, because 28s are like the tippy-tip-top of the plus size mall stores, I was not about to start mail ordering clothes. (And, why is it that some people can have their a-ha! moment when they hit double-digit sizes or when they top out of "regular" clothing stores? Why did mine have to come when I was forced to either have surgery to lose this weight permanently, or convert to being a Muslim for the high fashion burkas?)

So, realistically, this 50 pounds has probably dropped me three or four sizes from a 30/32 to a 24. Whoo-hoo!

I think that the next fifty pounds will probably be the most fun to lose, because it'll be that fifty that will take me from "ew-did you see that COW over there--I would not leave my house if I were that fat!" to "Hey, you wanna go out for coffee sometime?" At 226, for my height, I'll look like a heavy normal--probably even fit into clothes at Old Navy and the Gap! And, seriously, a little more action in the dating category won't be all bad, either!

Happy Friday, ya'll!! :)

Almost 50 pounds gone! And, I bought a bike last weekend and began riding it 1.5 miles to work (in addition to attending Curves 4x a week). I feel great!!

I'm on the other side, with about 40 pounds lost in the last 6 weeks! Since I've been lax in updating, I thought I start with my hospital experience and work my way to the present.

So, about those gunshots...

On May 24, 2005 I did a big thing. A big thing to make me small(er). I got Gastric bypass surgery. I've been thinking about it for at least 5 years. It might've been the ass-wiping that was the final straw, but really it had been building up for a while. I mean, I've been overweight (and I mean over.weight.) for a long time now and have just dealt with it. But this past year, it was just hard. I had trouble finding clothes for work. My legs started swelling. I had trouble breathing while laying down. For an almost 30 year old, that is just LAME. I mean, really. I should be in the best shape of my life, not competing with my Grandma for the store wheelchair (and, thank god, it never got to that).

So, I did it. At first, I wasn't going to tell anyone. And not because I cared what they thought, because I've followed my own path since I was a teenager (my Mom still recalls when she allowed me to redecorate my bedroom when I was 11 and I asked for furniture that I thought I would like when I moved into 'my own apartment.' My Mom deserves a medal for dealing with that shit.). I spend 97% of my life pretending I don't have a weight problem and 3% of my life hating-hating-hating every awkward moment that my weight problem has caused. So, to share with anyone that I was getting weight-loss surgery necessarily implies that I am in need of weight loss. (I know, I got an A in my Logic class in college.) Which, duh, I get that it's not like I can hide my fat like ya'll heroin addicts hide your trackmarks, but still.

Fortunately, when I told my parents and closest friends, they were all "yeah" and "yippee", so I didn't have to deal with the bullshit of some wanker trying to tell me what to do with my own life. My mom even volunteered to come spend the week with me during and after surgery.

So, on May 24, I went to the hospital at 0600 hours (when it's that early, you must use military time). I've never had so much as a broken bone before, so an operation was well beyond the scope of my medical experience, which made things just a little more nervewracking. I checked in, I got my bracelet and was escorted to a little curtained area. There they gave me gowns (a front and a back -- I mean no one needs to see more of my plentiful ass than necessary, right?) and footies and compression socks and a shower-cap thingy. They took my temperature and blood pressure and started an IV. Then, sooner than I thought, they walked me into the operating room. My first thought was, "this is smaller than the rooms on ER." And my second, "Don't I need to scrub in first?" Then the nurse was helping my onto the bed sans the 'back' gown (sorry 'bout that nurse, but listen, you took the job, not me). It felt like all of a sudden, everyone was moving really quickly, like ants on a new crumb of cheese. I guess it was the number of people all doing things at once. One nurse covering me in a warm blanket. One slipping my arm out the sleeve to attach some such sticky things for a beeping machine. Another asking me to spread my arms out to the side on the boards. Then the anesthesiologist putting a "just oxygen" mask on me. Which, I have to say, didn't really breathe like "just oxygen." He's saying, deep breaths, take deep breaths. So I do, even though I really feel like that stuff is hard to breath, and I realize this is the part in the story where I go night-night. And then I'm still there, deep breathing. He keeps repeating "deep breaths" and I AM already, and then I'm kind of panicking that the anesthesia isn't going to work on me--and I'm the only person in the world who is IMMUNE to anesthesia and omigod how are they going to do the surger...and I'm gone.

apparently, while I'm snoozing (and do you snore when you are under anesthesia? I don't think they've addressed that on ER. I would be ashamed, but those Doctors and Nurses saw things wildy worse than my snoring as they waded through layers of fat to reach vital organs, so I think snoring can't be that bad) they rewired some things. Removed a small piece of my stomach to serve as my new stomach, and reattached some intestines here and some there so that the whole network fit together again.

BAM! And I'm awake, like they had just turned on the "Jem" switch and whoop, there she was. And ow. I mean OW! OW! I think the first thing I said was "pain medication." Meanwhile, Sally McSmilyNurse is all, "Good Morning Sunshine and let's just move you onto this other bed and how about a new blanket and we're going to head right on up to your room now." Me, I'm still with the OW. And the shut. up. woman. and. give. me. the. drugs. And Sally Sadistic is all, "We're in the recovery room and if we give you medication here, you'll have to wait here another 1/2 hour before you can be moved, so let's go up to your room and then the nurse will get you something for the pain." I'm thinking, as much as is possible to think through the raw pain of waking up just after someone has scrambled your insides, I'm thinking, "Woman? If you think for a minute I give a shit WHERE I am when I get the pain medication, you are talking to the wrong Hilton sister. This one here, she--she just wants the drugs. In recovery, with a fox, in a box, here or there, she will take drugs ANYWHERE!" But, and this is where they really get you, right? You are weak. And in pain. And you are at their mercy. So when they want to move you to your room first, you are really in no position to argue, but certainly that did not prevent me from bitching the whole ride there. With a small side of dry heaving.

And we're in my room. My private room (which was awesome, but I couldn't care less about at the moment). And they help me scoot into my D-Lux hospital issue bed and plump the pillows and arrange the blankets and then everyone suddenly makes a bum rush for the door. My mom, who has trailed behind the travel team, is now the sole able-bodied person left in the room. And my mom, she doesn't have the drugs, so who really cares about what she is doing there. She starts chattering, "Ok, everything went great, the Doctor came and spoke to me. I'm going to start calling the folks you put on your list to receive calls." And proceeds to pull out her cell phone and a small piece of paper and begins to dial a number. I? Am OUTRAGED! "Hellooo?!? Over here? With the PAIN???" I mean what? I sputtered,"MOM. Shut the phone off NOW and GO FIND A NURSE. For THE DRUGS. NOW!" At this point, she is certain that all biblical references to demonic possession are true and is holding the phone mid-dial, trying to imagine how to respond to the spawn of Satan who has taken over her daughter's body. "Honey, I think it'll just take them a minute to get organized. Let's just wait a few minutes for them to come back in." A MINUTE? A FEW MINUTES? Are you freaking kidding me? Are you on crack? Do you have any more? As I start to froth at the month while blubbering about nurses and time and drugs, A nurse comes in with a bag of YUM. I mean Morphine. I'm still upset though. As she's plugging me into the bag (several, several minutes too late), I bark at her, "How long does this take to kick in??" And, she, obviously not sensing the demon within me nonchalantly replies, "About a half hour." WHAT? Is there no one in this hospital who knows ANYTHING about pain management? A half hour? I will be dead in a half hour, and gladly. Because I. AM. NOT. HAPPY. NOW. As I'm sputtering, she finishes hooking me up and leaves, like ignoring crazytalk is her job (and, it probably is, in hindsight). My mom, warily steps closer to the bed in hopes of scoring the bedside chair, but not the expense of a limb. Because she can see it is useless to try and talk with me now, she sits down and begins dialing the first number.

"Hi! It's me. Jem's out of surgery. Uh-huh, It went great. Well, she's in a little bit of pain now..."

"A LOT OF PAIN. A LOT. AND I HATE YOU."

"No, no, she s fine. I'm sure it'll be fine."

"I'M GLAD ONE OF US IS SURE, BECAUSE THE OTHER ONE, SHE IS FULL OF HATE!"

"Ok, well, I guess I should keep calling folks, so I'll talk to you later. Yes, I'll tell her. I'm sure she loves you too."

"NO, NO, I DON'T! I HA....."

And I'm out.

Why would the nurse say a half hour if the YUM only takes 5 minutes to kick in? Does she hate me? I don't know, but the YUM, it was good. When I next woke up, I could still tell my insides had been scrambled, but I didn't care nearly as much. And as long as the YUM kept coming (every two hours, and believe me, I timed it!), everything was great. My mom stayed the whole day, cabbing it back to her hotel in time for dinner.

Other than one small instance where the nurse took an extra HOUR to bring on the YUM, the night went well. Or, as well as can been expected when someone has opened 6 small holes in your abdomen, stuck a bunch of instruments through the holes and whing-whangled about your stomach and intestines. And the hospital, not so much like a spa. Or a Marriott, for that matter. I mean, hotels, they knock first..."Housekeeping...Housekeeping...can I get you another towel?" Hospitals, every hour it's something else. Take my temperature, get my blood pressure, check my compression socks, restock the YUM. And, every single blessed one of them needs the light on. The one right over my bed. It must be on. For them to see! Did the miners and tunnel workers not event the skullcap light for a reason people?? I mean, honestly!

Really, though, other than the constant interruptions, the night went really smoothly--a minimum of pain, and a lot of napping. The next morning was all about the jello and water (graduating from a part of a popsicle and ice chips). After a few measly bites, the doctor came in, declared me fit to leave and then we (Mom was back for round two) began the process of checking out. Which took about 4 hours, owing to the fact that the nurse ordered me the "big" wheelchair and apparently, in a hospital that does 982341293873746 bariatric surgeries a year, they only have ONE of those. Finally, we were able to wheel the hell out of there and I was whisked in a cab and it was back to the apartment.

Obviously, this is not where it ends, but it is my bedtime, so I'm going to save the rest for later. But, just so you don't get the wrong impression, let me wrap up my experience, Olympic Style:

Surgeon: 10/10
Hospital: 8/10
Nursing Staff: 7/10
Pain Management: 7/10
Overall Experience: 8/10

And, just so you know, I would do it ALL (even the PAIN) in a heartbeat. Thu-thump. A heart.beat.