Eff The Scale


I’ve come to the conclusion that the scale is a big fat bully. This stupid, glass, square shaped ass looks at me every time I pee and just wants me to stand on it and upset me.  Donald bought this super fancy one that tells you you’re fat, tells you how much oxygen you have, and then sends a notification to your phone reminding you how fat you are. First of all, once I get on the scale, that’s enough, I don’t need to get a little reminder with that number on my phone! How rude… Oxygen? Really?…I’m fine! 

 

So, I started this new thing and I’ve been doing it for about a week and it’s magical! I’ve started to measure my weight loss in the form of compliments rather than in the form of a stupid number. This past week, I have had one person say “I can’t believe what you look like today compared to what you used to look like“, ( I mean, I know I look a lot better, but I was never so hideous you couldn’t look at me!) for that compliment, I will take off 2.1 pounds. Then two days later, someone else said how thin my face got- another pound there! Measurements in compliments is way more effective than getting on some stupid box. By the way scale making people, perhaps you should make a scale that gives you compliments like; ” Good Morning Beautiful” or “You Look Nice Today”, what’s the point of these mean numbers anyway?

So from now on, I will keep eating my vegetables, and all you nice friendly people around me can keep the nice comments coming… I’m listening!!

Advertisements

Happy Surgaversary To Me!


One year ago today, at this very moment, my life changed forever. I distinctly remember driving to the hospital, worrying why I wasn’t worried. I was hungry as I hadn’t eaten any solid food two weeks prior; maybe that’s why my stomach was rumbling. The admitting department at the hospital took me in so quickly, I didn’t even have enough time to hug Donald or my Mama Ronnie Ginger. The next thing I know, I’m sitting in some room with a man telling me I’m not fat and I don’t need this surgery. He also told me to get undressed into a robe and throw all my clothes into a garbage bag, how demanding, I’m not that easy– I momentarily thought I was in prison. After getting undressed, sitting on a hospital chair half naked, and waiting in a  waiting room with terrible magazines, for what felt like an eternity. The friendly nurse in a Caribbean accent yelled my name and told me to follow her. I was so excited because it was finally happening, my life was about to change. I was so eager to wear my shower cap and slippers, but truthfully, I just wanted to hug my mommy. I was sitting in a hallway, waiting and waiting for someone to tell me what was going to happen next. All of a sudden, an overweight man gets wheeled out of the room I was about to go into. I immediately hopped out of the bed they had placed me in, and began to have second thoughts about what I was doing. Just as I was ready to leave the bed, Dr. McDreamy came over, and told me I had nothing to worry about and that he was going to go eat something; I would have offered to join him, but given my current situation, I guess it’s best I didn’t invite myself.

So I get wheeled into the room, and all I see are these big huge lights everywhere, and TV monitors, and I really felt like I was on a terrible episode of some Hospital TV Drama. Some dude out of nowhere pops his head up, and I hear him say “ready for the Propofol now…”, I respond with “Isn’t that how Michael Jackson died?”…and then I woke up. Apparently after they injected me with this marvelous sleeping aid, I fell asleep for what felt like five minutes, and they removed my beloved stomach. Well they left me with 25% of it. The only thing I remember after that is being so thirsty and wanting to burp. I asked everyone around me to burp me because I couldn’t breathe. I was the worst patient ever, and to this day I can’t believe I acted like a wild rabid goose. Fun fact, when I got wheeled into my gorgeous studio hospital suite, I was greeted by my lovely mother videotaping the entire grand entrance. Since I was too incompetent to speak a full sentence, I just yelled at her like a fat horse and told her to stop it. She then told me I act like my grandmother, and I then politely made her leave my room. How rude.

Fastforward one year, and this has been the craziest, most extreme life change I have ever gone through. I have become a different person both physically and emotionally. I’ve found a new found confidence in myself, and I’ve also found a voice for myself. I never thought the day would come when I would say that I love myself and that I’m so proud of what I’ve accomplished. While I’m only halfway there, I’m still proud of myself that I was able to get here. I still have another forty more pounds to go, and I am proud of myself. I don’t compare myself to others in my situation, because everyone is different. I’ve learned to not let the little things people say get to me, and I’m really happy with that. Letting people out of my life has been a breeze, and I don’t hold on to the little things anymore. Of course I have my bad days, and I slip up, but I know that my journey isn’t done. While some people might say that I haven’t lost enough, or I’m not where I should be compared to other people, every persons body is different, and reacts to the surgery differently. Also, just another fun fact, losing the weight slower will help me in keeping it off for good. If I lost it all in five months, I know it’s easier to gain them back after, so thanks k bye. It’s really hard to say goodbye to something you love, in this case, I had to say goodbye to food. Food was just something that was always there, and always able to keep me company, and not something that ever did any good for me.

I’m eating to live now, not living to eat.

My weight loss struggle/story/battle/life is not over, and it never will be. I’m proud of who I am, and how far I have come. I know I have a lot more to go, but with the encouragement of my friends and family, and the pretty girl I see in the mirror, I know I can accomplish anything.

Image

 

Let’s Talk About Poop, Baby!


 

 

If you don’t like to poop, talk about poop, hear about poop or poop is just not your topic, then I suggest look away, and ignore this post. I’m going to talk a lot about poop in this post. Regular people poops, my poops. Just poops. Poop. Poop is something that is near and dear to my heart and something that I have learned to love. Poop is something that is very important to me. Not that I’m like a wild behemoth when it comes to going to the bathroom, but since my surgery, it’s something that has become an integral part of my life.  While most girls say they don’t poop, I beg to differ. You’re all a bunch of liars, and I know that most girls, not including myself, are probably animals in the bathroom compared to men. Donald Cho has been my boyfriend for two and a half years, and we’ve been living together for three months, and he has never witnessed or smelled a poopie from me. Unless he has, and he’s just very quiet about it. But I doubt it.  I I have learned the hard way that if you don’t drink a lot of water, or if you don’t drink enough water, then your pleasant behind will not be so pleasant to you. 

Me and my newest sleeve sister Taylor Barnaby were recently discussing what it’s like to be affected by the poopie monster:

TB: What pills are you on post surgery?

HC: Colace, because I have bathroom problems 

TB: Constipation problems? It’s hard to drink enough fluids, seriously, I’m lucky if I get 48 oz. in. 

HC. Life is hard. Pooping sucks

TB: But it’s the best when it’s out…. FREEDOM. The worst is when you know you gotta poop and every time you sit, it’s like someone is poking you in your butthole… too much?

HC: I feel like there’s a monster living inside my bum who doesn’t want to leave. In my mind, it would resemble a sock monkey. 

TB: When I waddle, that’s the worst feeling 

Anyway, I shouldn’t get too graphic, but it is real life, and if you don’t drink enough fluids, then your poopie monster will come out and bite you in the ass (haha, see what I did there?). The poopie-monster does bite, and hurts you and it’s not worth it. So just drink your stupid water and get it over with. Again with the whole water thing. I mean, I’m not a perfect person and I don’t drink my two liters a day.The main reason for me; I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again- is because water is boring. It just tastes like wet air. I’m a very crazy person, and I live a very unboring life. If I don’t drink alcohol, then I at least want to consume a drink which is a little bit fun, and instead I’m stuck with the wet air drink. Crystal Light and all that crap tastes good, but I’m sure it’s not great for you… especially the way I use it. I like it really sweet! 

 

Anyway, I’m pooped.. 

 

Get Me To ONEDERLAND!


It’s been one year since I walked into my doctors office and picked up my nasty two week liquid diet. I was the unhappiest, grouchiest fat girl, and all I wanted was a double bacon cheeseburger. Those were possibly the worst two weeks of my life, because I have never depended on food. Fat Girl Problems, I guess?  I’ve been a little absent this 2014. Truthfully it’s because I’m in a deep deep state of depression. I get that I am pretty, and god only made me fat so that I wouldn’t have it all and make the skinnies jealous. No one can have it all… I’ve been the same weight for the last 5 months and can’t seem to move the scale into onederland. (Onederland is when an overweight person gets out of the ungodly 200 pounds and into the 100’s).

I have never felt more pretty, or better about myself. I fit into a size 31 jeans, I like to look in the mirror and I am comfortable in tight shirts. I’ve given up on leggings and I actually wear things that have zippers and are form fitting. But the scale is my enemy, and I say it everyday. It’s like the number 2 wants to marry me and won’t go away. Doesn’t it understand that nobody likes that number? If I just saw that 1, I know that it would be totally different and I would be motivated to loose the rest of it. I look at old pictures, and I think to myself how did I let myself get that big, I was so unhappy. When I look at the scale, and nothing happens, I get depressed and just feel like I’m going back to that bad bad place- I don’t know what’s going on!

If anyone wants to say nice things to me now to motivate me, now would be the time.

Xo,

200 pounds.

Image

It’s 10:00 AM And I Finished All My Snacks


Image

 

Anyone who knows me, knows that I like snacks. I am a snack queen, and I can snack all day. Some may diagnose me with grazing disorder, but I just think of myself as a hungry horse. Kidding, now is not the time to make fun of me, but I do like snacks.

Snacks come in all shapes, forms, tastes, colors and sizes. Due to the fact that my stomach is the size of a banana, large snacks don’t quite do it for me anymore. I have found that apples are not my friend, because they burn going down, and then just sit in my stomach like an unborn apple baby. Carrots aren’t good with me either. I’m mostly good with almonds and cheeses. I love cheese, don’t get me started on cheese. I like all cheese except for the stinky ones. Once it gets too smelly or mushy, it makes me really uncomfortable and I’m just off wanting cheese.

Enough about cheese, and more about me. I don’t know what’s happened, or why it’s happened. If I am bored at work, or if I am just bored in my brain, but when it comes to the morning, I need a snack every 30 minutes. I am always hungry. Of course, once I eat, the feeling goes away… I know all the doctors and nutitionists say that drinking water will make you feel less hungry. Can someone make water taste less boring? For all you nature people who are about to tell me how great water is for you, and all the nutirents blah blah, I already know these things. I’ve been home sick many times this year, and Dr. OZ has told me all about it. Water bores me. It tastes like wet air. When someone forces me to do something, I’ll do the exact opposite. I still haven’t gone back to Diet Pepsi which is my ex bff, but whatever.

Anyway, it’s early, I’m out of snacks, and now I have to deal with it. The vending machine man won’t be back today to feed me treats. I definitely don’t need any more of those.

 

Hefty Helga Goes For A Run


Image

 

Yesterday, I decided to play a sick April Fools joke on myself, and start exercising for the first time since last year. I thought it would be a good idea to get my lazy boney butt off the couch and get ready for a serious workout. Before I continue, I must reiterate that my last workout was in November of 2012. So I get my cool super tight pants on, a loose shirt and a headband to make me look ultra sporty. I grab my gym membership and RUN out the door to get to the gym. When I get to the gym, my fat, sweaty hand touches the door handle to walk in to the 7:00pm Zumba class, and I’m having a really hard time opening the door. “Helga, you idiot” I say to myself, the gym is closed! Now, Helga would have normally taken this opportunity to stop at every fast food joint on the way home to get a little taste test of everything going on in the city. But Healthier me said, let’s go for a run! I started running, and really struggling, but I kept going, and when the streets staring going uphill, I  promised myself that I wouldn’t stop. I kept running, and running, and thirty minutes later, I reached my house.

I don’t care who saw me, or how bad I looked. All I know is that I got a great workout. My arms were flailing everywhere, my shirt kept lifting up and everyone was able to see my tire, and I probably sounded like a dying seal with every loud thumping sprint I made, but either way, I was still proud.

I got home, and had to take a breather. Literally, I needed to breathe, because I was having an asthma attack. I called Ronnie, she just laughed and told me she was proud of me for running and that I would be fine. I tried to call Donald, but he was out with Mr and Mrs. Cho Sr. for dinner, probably eating some yummy food that I was probably upset I didn’t get to have. I started wheezing and tried to make music with it. Literally, I sang row row row your boat with my wheezes, it was very instrumental and a moving piece.  I thought ice cream might help, but it didn’t, and then a shower, but that didn’t help either. I was all out of asthma pumps, and I was lying in bed like a lonely soul making seal sounds with my failing lungs.

I’m all better now, and I have this crazy burst of energy to go out and do something fun! Gym only opens tomorrow, so I guess it’s another Richard Simmons night for me tonight!

Confessions and Changes


I think its time to come clean and tell the world that I have a problem. My closet in my bedroom doesn’t close. I can’t see the floor and I have so many clothes hanging and sitting all over my room that don’t fit me. I’m a hoarder. I like to keep everything. I collect clothes, newspapers, little bits of string, dolls, purses, anything! But mostly clothes that don’t fit me. I have old clothes from grade 6 that I hoped I could fit into one day. Last night, I tried on my vest from my awful grade eleven ski trip. It zipped up,but oh boy did I deserve to be called Pillsburgy Dough Girl!

Everything has sentimental value to me, and I can think of a zillion reasons why I shouldn’t throw things away – like “oh I bought that dress because that day the nice boy texted me and told me I was pretty, so now I need that dress and I never want to throw it away, because it brings me good look” or something like ” I looked so good when I was twelve and wearing it maybe it will look good on me again” or like ” my mom bought me this dress and so I never want to throw it away”. Throwing things away just makes me feel so sad, because like maybe one day I might want that dress back, and start looking all over for it, and then yell at myself because I shouldn’t have given that now-vintage dress away.

Now, I’ve organized my closet. One side has clothes with tags on them of items that do not yet fit me (but will very soon). The other side has all my purses and shoes because I love shoes, and come on –  all purses and all shoes fit fat girls. The last corner of my closet is filled with my yucky behemoth clothes and shleppy sweater capes that really don’t do anything for me anymore.

I need to donate baggy clothes and maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll consider giving away some purses. (Only the fakes though) Anyone interested?