You’d think I’d be super-fantastic-happy-hooray-go-me about clothes shopping due to my uber weight loss. Tssk, silly, don’t you know twenty pounds of sagging skin is no reason to party? Mmm, yep, since the skin pools in odd places, reducing some areas and increasing others, I have “special needs” when it comes to clothes, and shopping for them is about as much fun as bathing in bleach.

It’s depressing as hell to know underneath all that wrinkly flesh is a size ten, but because of the layers of origami-style flab wrapping, I’m a size sixteen. Yes, I said it. A size 16. Last year I thought I’d be a size twelve, what with the weight loss and the fact I was wearing a size ten top. Ha, noooooos! I went up! Up to a size fourteen!!! And this year, not to be outdone, the ‘ol skin has sagged and pooled so much that even though my upper body is slim and built, (oolala!) the lower body looks like I dropped my skin pants.

Let’s discuss how this phenomena occurs. When the fat evaporates, the skin sags since nothing is there to hold it up. The body can only reabsorb so much of that stretched out flesh before the skin succumbs to gravity and falls down. And down, and down. Now, the skin has reached my knees and is literally layered around my joints. Oh, v-o-m-i-t. Like I need more pressure on my knees.

I was told I needed to lose weight or the arthritis which is lurking in my joints (hips and knees) will get slowly worse. Screw that. I’ve lost all I can. I’m going to talk to my orthopaedists and ask them to advocate for me to the insurance company to get the skin removed. I’ll be damned if I work this hard on my knee injury and hip impingement only to have it mean nothing because twenty pounds I couldn’t ever shed dragged me down the road of arthritis.

This is the last summer I’ll be wearing my skin pants around my knees. Mark my words. Angry ex-fat girls are a force to be reckoned with.

So what’s it all for? The physical therapy, which is draining time and money, the home exercises, which hurt like hell and also consume my hours. What’s it all for? I still ache, I still have limited range of motion, even after six weeks.

I came home from the doctor’s office Monday and felt more depressed than I have in months. He said he might have to “’scope” me. Meaning cut me open to see why I have so much pain. But if there isn’t anything there to cause the pain, the surgery could leave me worse off than before. Greeeaat. How about we don’t do that.

My only other option is to keep pouring time, pain and money into the ever growing pit which is my knee. I don’t like that option, but it’s the only one I have. It’s not even an option. It’s either do the physical therapy or become truly cripple, unable to exercise or enjoy life. Kinda like now. Damn.

Every single day I did my PT, sometimes once, sometimes two or even three times. I even started doing my therapy with weights. I went to physical therapy twice a week which sucked another hour outta my day. There wasn’t much time to write during the day, what with driving to and from PT, doing PT, going to doctor’s and such, so I had to work through dinner and into the evening, which cut me off from all sorts of activities.

I improved some, but when I went back to the doctor on Monday, he checked me out and declared, “There’s still no muscle tone.” Huh? Excuse me, but I do my PT, I don’t shirk it even though it hurts like a mofo. Apparently, the physical therapy script he wrote wasn’t tough enough and combined with my atrophied muscles, it didn’t do diddly. I was po’ed, massively, po’ed.

Anyone who knows me, knows I work my butt off in whatever needs to be done. It’s an attitude which became pretty adamant during my weight loss: If it needs to get done, just do it, sans complaining and whining. Who cares if it hurts? Just do it, get it done with and move on. But I did do it, and went the extra mile with it but it still wasn’t enough. I feel as though I flushed X amount of hours and cash down the drain. This wretched knee problem has caused everything in my life to hover in a holding pattern of suck, including my weight loss, which irritates me beyond words.

So now the folks at the PT office have devised a new way to torture Leftie. They strap electrodes to my atrophied muscle and run a strong current to the quad which isn’t firing, enough to make it contract on its own. Then I go through all my exercises, which are much tougher now, with my muscle contracted. It feels like crap. It feels like some phantom has reached its corpsey fingers into my leg and is yanking my muscle.

I get to do this fun exercise for three more frick’n weeks. I hope to god this pays off, because frankly, I can’t afford any more wasted days and money. Either this works and the knee problem “lands” safely, or it runs outta gas and takes a header into the sea of crappiness it’s been flying over the past eight months.

I’ve been having many piggy moments lately, some of which have been indulged. The entire plate of shrimp lo mein plus a bowl of egg drop soup and two spring rolls was most assuredly a piggy moment. Two buttered slices of Irish soda bread, two eggs and two pieces of toast, ouch, piggy moment. I always have to step back when I’m getting hit hard by piggy moments and take stock of why I’m having them. Am I really that hungry? Am I bored? Stressed? Depressed? Am I satisfying an addiction? Which one? What am I getting out of eating so much food? Can I get the same feelings from something less destructive?

Yeah, it’s work to step back and admit there’s something not right with the way I’m living or eating. Taking mental notes of good habits and bad habits is uncomfortable at best. I’m still going to the gym, still exercising, which is probably my only saving grace right now. If I wasn’t lifting or doing my interval training, I imagine I’d be really putting on the fat. As it is, there’s a hint of out of control-ness, a bit of, “My, that escalated quickly”, that has me scared I might take a turn for the fatter if I don’t find out what’s going wrong, now.

Personally, I think what’s happening with the food is a bit of sugar addiction, self rewarding, boredom and stress eating. Admitting the problems, sadly, doesn’t make them automatically disappear. There’s more work to be done, more re-education, more switching of one bad habit for a better one. It’s a constant battle to overcome bad habits which resurge if not monitored on a regular basis. Whenever I think I have my weight problem fixed forever, I realize I’ll need to keep learning, keep doing better, keep moving forward, in essence, keep trying.

I had gone to an orthopedist last week and finally had an MRI done on my knee. When I went back to the doc on Monday, he read my MRI and told me I did indeed have a small meniscus tear. He also explained that with physical therapy I could lead a normal life, i.e. walking and going up stairs, but not much beyond that. Uh, in whose world is that normal? Cause it sure as hell isn’t mine.

The doc says it’s not a bad tear, that I have a few good years still ahead of me even with it injured, but I might not be able to return to the things I did before without a successful surgery. Say again?

Does this guy know I’m only 31? A few good years? I think I have a few good decades.No one is going to take away my rides through Forest Park. Nobody has the right to say my hikes are no longer an option. And no one, no one but no one, says I can’t do taijutsu anymore.

I asked him if the tear couldn’t heal on its own. No, meniscus tears never heal on their own. I beg to differ, some do. Why is it feeling better then? But no, he says, they never heal. I didn’t even see the MRI. Where was the tear, what kind of tear was it? Some meniscus tears, if near a blood supply, aka blood vessels and veins, will slowly, slowly mind you, heal on their own. Could mine be that variety of tear? No, they n-e-v-e-r heal on their own.

I then asked him, can you guarantee that after physical therapy I can get back on the mat and do what I did before, without crippling myself further? He didn’t say a word for some time, then he said no. I could make it worse if it wasn’t fixed. The doctor then said he’d pencil me in for March for arthroscopic surgery.

Errr, something doesn’t feel right. I know doctor’s can’t make lofty promises, and they should usually err on the side of caution with news, but c’mon, why can’t he tell me why this bastard won’t heal on its own? Not just that, but why did he cave in to my surgery request? I really want to see the MRI. I hate getting MRI’s done but I did get it done, I paid for it, I wanna see it and I want it explained to me in language that’s not too clinical nor condescending.

So now I’m looking for a second opinion. Someone who will tell me what the MRI says and whether or not I can get this thing healed up by itself over time. I don’t want surgery, but if that’s what it takes to be active again; cut away. But don’t put me out to pasture before my time and don’t take for granted that I’m not in charge of my own health. That’s right, I’m in charge. I can walk away from any doctor I don’t feel fully comfortable with. I’ve got too many unanswered questions for the orthopedist I’m dealing with now. After coming so far and losing so much weight, this is my life and my time, and it’s time to find a new orthopedist.

That sucks. I’m starting to get a bit depressed and I keep imagining my waistline is exploding into infinity for lack of movement. I keep poking David and asking “Am I getting fat?” Or I think every morsel I sneak past my lips has twice as many calories since I’m not exercising. The walls are closing in, the elliptical is mocking me from afar and all the bad foods are trying to climb down my gullet against my will!

Since I began to lose weight three years ago, exercise has become my Prozac, my Zoloft and my lifeline to sanity. I need it like an addict needs their fix. I literally can’t be happy without at least three to four days a week of crazy cardio.

I first discovered how much exercise really did for me about two years back when I was unable to get to the gym for two weeks. I was cranky and unbearable to be around after seven days of no exercise. After day eleven I was weepy and in no mood to be with people. Getting back to the gym just once after that time, switched my attitude and general outlook back to happy and life-affirming.

How can this be? Studies have shown people who exercise regularly have fewer instances of depression, have more energy and are generally more emotionally fit than people who don’t have a set exercise routine.

I sleep better when I get my cardio in and am more creative to boot. If I concentrate on a few problems before I exercise, I seem to come up with a slew of solutions and alternatives during my workout. All the oxygen getting to the brain during a rigorous workout helps the ol’ noggin function at a higher rate.

Being overweight tends to drag the mind and spirit down, but even thirty minutes of moderate exercise (a leisurely stroll is not moderate exercise FYI) a day will brighten your spirits. Exercising does more than trim your waistline; it imparts a positive attitude you need to succeed with your weight loss goals. Even if you can only start with fifteen minutes a day (which is what I did) I say go for it. You’ll see in two weeks your fifteen minutes morph into twenty, then thirty, then you’ll be adding on the wights, and the ab exercises. You’ll get hooked and never want to be away from a place you can get your workout in, be it a gym or an outdoor track.

Which is why I’m up on my second story balcony, pining for my Life Fitness trainer like Juliet for that knucklehead Romeo: Elliptical, elliptical I know exactly where thou art; being used and abused at the local Y! Damn it! I thought I was the only one!

Oh well, I’ll get back soon…and make that two-timing piece of hardware pay!

I’m guessing Leftie wanted to be heard, since last night, he started banging around and woke me up and kept me up. I’d like to say I woke up to screaming pain, but I’m not much of a screamer. I’ll say I was in whining and whimpering pain, since that was what I did when I woke up; whine and sniffle.

Whatever you call it, I hurt in a baaaaad way. I haven’t felt so crappy since September. I think the new interval training got Leftie all hot and bothered. I waited four hours before crawling out of my nice warm bed to pop a Vicodin leftover from July.

This was a big deal. I hate pills. I loathe them all, but I especially dislike high power pain killers, such as Vicodin or Codeine. I don’t like the numb, knocked out feeling that seeps through my body as my pain, and everything else, is temporarily blacked out. It sucks to be me though, since all I got were my lights turned off, not the pain. Uh-oh. Is this bad? Is my knee backsliding? Can I still workout?! WTF!!?

Wow, I’m not even thinking about how this injury will affect me beyond hampering my cardio. I wonder if my priorities are mixed up or if that’s the painkiller…

I’m thinking about calling around to doctors today to see if anyone has a cancellation. It’s snowing like mad outside so someone is bound to say “screw it” about their appointment. Then Rae’ll be there to get that time slot. Aww right!

It’ll be a Catch 22 if I do get a time slot today, though. I drive a stick shift. I shift with my left knee. Leftie is my left knee. If I don’t pop another Vicodin I’ll be cursing the whole way. But if I do take some more painkiller, I don’t think a busted left knee will be my worst complaint if I fall asleep behind the wheel. Decisions, decisions.

It doesn’t seem like that long of a wait, three days, but anyone who’s ever made an appointment for any specialist will tell you time is of the essence. If you want to get seen quick, every day, nay every hour counts. Not only can I not make an appointment now, I need to get a frick’n referral from my primary doctor. What primary doctor? I haven’t had health insurance for three and a half years, and the insurance I have now is catastrophic. I couldn’t make an appointment with a primary doctor even if I wanted to; no insurance number. Balls.

I was so close to having actual hope that my left knee would get fixed and it was cruelly taken away. Now I have to stew and wait and work and stew some more. This bastard meniscus has been nothing but trouble for six months. I can still workout, but not as hard as I used to, nor can I go down steep stairs, practice taijutsu, ride a bike, run, hike, jump, dance, or you know, live.

Leftie is actually a chronic offender, as it’s been torn before, back when I was morbidly obese. That time, I fell on the ice and the two hundred plus pounds tore the cartilage like a banker tears up a bad check; horribly and beyond self-repair. I had to get arthroscopic surgery and it healed up okay afterwards. I was back to wobbling my lard around after three weeks of lounging around. Since exercise and I weren’t to meet for another three years, I didn’t mind the bed rest.

Rightie felt left out however, and got ripped up pretty badly on the Stairmaster. It’s funny, when that happened, I had begun going to the gym, but I still wasn’t at my fattest. I was unable to exercise for six months, and Rightie healed up on its own (poorly and slowly, BTW), but I had gained another forty pounds because of it.

When Leftie II: Revenge of the Meniscus occurred, I was practicing taijutsu in the park with my senpai. It was my fault. And it wasn’t even a spectacular move. Taijutsu doesn’t have flashy high kicks or super sonic moves. I liken it to tai chi with attitude.

It was one bad move, one misplaced foot and not enough hip movement, but it was all SNAP! After it happened, I knew. I knew. I knew what pain awaited me, I knew I didn’t have the cash to fix it, but I didn’t know if I ever be able to get back on my feet after a second tear.

Hells yeah to stupidity and stubbornness, aka, perseverance!! I was too dumb not to stay in bed for six months and too stubborn to accept I’d been laid out. I tried to go back to taijutsu but, oh, no, believe me, practicing was a sweaty, painful bitch. I did go back to exercising. I did do that. Just not as hardcore as before.

Leftie still acts up, its still a pain, but I think it’s healing. I might not need surgery, but I’d like a professional’s opinion. I believe in my heart of hearts, Leftie knows its time has come, and the countdown has begun for its demise…3.2.1. Insurance!!

Perhaps, like I thought, you believe you’ve mastered your weight issues. Perhaps you think, as I did, you have everything under control. And perhaps, unlike me, you can walk away from a significant weight gain unscathed. If you’re fifty or more pounds overweight, the longer you stay at that weight, as I did, the worse you’re troubles will be down the road.

The biggest issue facing anyone who’s lost massive amounts of weight is the loose skin hanging off the now lithe frame. For me, the skin issue has become the biggest problem facing me now, both emotionally and physically.

It affects me physically and emotionally by raising my pant size, despite my weight loss. Imagine dropping twenty pounds, and expecting to be able to slide a pair of size 10s on with ease. Then imagine realizing you actually went up a pant size. Then imagine breaking down in the store when your best friend solves this conundrum for you be stating, “Gravity’s a bitch.“, i.e. all the loose skin is falling down and collecting at the belly and thighs.

The gross bits are how the skin gets easily irritated and itches like hell. Or how it gets caught in a zipper. Or how I have to shove my tricep skin through the armholes of a shirt, not unlike stuffing meat into a sausage casing. Sounds putrid and nasty doesn’t it? It is, and it makes me feel all the work I’ve done is for nothing.

The problem isn’t the fat any more, it’s the skin. The skin makes me look like I’m wearing deflated inner tubes around my ass, belly and thighs. I have no idea if I can even lose any more weight or if what I think is weight is merely skin masquerading as pounds.

I can no longer gage my progress by the traditional means of scales, tape measures, body fat meters, and pant sizes; all have been massively skewed by the skin. One day, the scale shot up ten pounds, but my face and upper body were actually much, much thinner. WTF?!! Then, my pant size went up to a 14 when I was a 12, but my top size went down to a 6. All the while, my upper body dwindled and grew thinner. My calves and and triceps became more defined and I could see my ribs when I lay down and the skin flowed to the side.

The solution to this wholly damaging problem is surgery. Body contouring surgery to be exact.

In an eerie twist, a reader posted a comment about this very subject, which I was having an incredibly tough time with yesterday. I was researching surgery options yesterday and became upset with what I found. I’ll post my findings in a second part sometime this week. I’m having a really emotional time right now, what with feeling like a pile of overstretched balloons. I’m allowed to have a “fat” day; I’m calling in my “fat” day right now…

According to what I’ve been told my whole life, “everything in moderation” means I can smoke a cigarette a day (it’s only one cigarette, c’mon), I can eat fried chicken once a week, I can drink one soda per day and three beers in one go really aren’t that many. Yeah, about that, can I smack the first person who ever uttered that statement to me? If I only do it once, it’s done in moderation.

The reason I have this hateful attitude towards such a seemingly benign phrase is the way it can undermine a person. It lays in wait as you figure, “This Whooper™ is something I eat only once every two weeks. It can’t hurt. Everything in moderation.” You know what happens in reality? That Whopper™ gets eaten once a week. Then twice a week, then every other day. I would tell myself, it’s only once a _(insert time period here)__, when the sad fact was it wasn’t __(insert time period here)___ but much, much more often.

There really are some people who do partake of unhealthy foods only once in a great, great while. However, I challenge anyone to find a handful of people who strictly adhere to “Everything in moderation.” I bet folks will be hard pressed to gather concrete proof that such a practice is adhered to regularly by those who claim to do it. Saying, “I know someone who only does blah blah blah once in a great while,” doesn’t count. Talk is cheap.

This is why I started writing down everything I ate. Everything in moderation became a joke after I reviewed my eating habits.

If it’s one thing I’ve learned these past three years it’s: “Most things in moderation, many things seldom and some things never“. What are most things?

• Dairy (I’m lactose intolerant so this is a biggie for me)
• Eggs
• Grains which aren’t whole, including white rice

What’re seldom things?

• Fried foods (I eat fried foods twice a year; I’m bad that way)
• Sugar
• Wheat products
• Added oils

Never is a long list for me:

• Alcohol
• Processed meals, i.e., TV dinners
• Trans fats (even if the packaging does say 0%, if I see “Partially hydrogenated oil” it doesn’t get bought)
• Sulfates
• Nitrates
• Corn syrup
• Mammal and poultry meat
• Anything with an ingredient list done in 4 point font so it fits on the label

To this day, I’m still struggling with a few of these self-imposed no-nos. My main ones are wheat products, sugar and corn syrup. In other words, snacks. I’m hoping that over time I’ll break my subtle addiction to crackers, cookies and candy, all of which usually have at least two of the above.

Traditional Japanese desserts have become an alternate addiction to most snack foods. Since they’re made with beans, seaweed, chestnuts, fruit, sweet potatoes and rice flour instead of chocolate, cream, gelatin, butter, shortening, and bleached wheat flour, I don’t feel as guilty about being hooked on them then I would if I were hooked on Twinkies™. Japanese desserts do contain sugar, make no mistake about that, but if they’re made at home, the amount of sugar used can be controlled without loss of flavor or texture.

What I did was to slowly switch one unhealthy addiction to a slightly more healthy one, and then switch again later, and then again and again. Finally, I saw I’d given up more than I realized and had gained healthier habits.

Moderation for me began with changing how I perceived food. Then I changed what foods I ate. Beans for dessert is where it’s at! Screw chocolate! Anko forever!!!