gone

She's gone now. Margie now knows what happens after you die. And I know that I can survive around 6 hours and 42 minutes without her on the planet.
Though I did eat Chinese food: deep fried flour with red dye sugar syrup and a fortune cookie or two. Guess what my fortune is: You will receive good news today.
OK.
A sugar binge is on the way, lurching through the darkness with a promise of oblivion followed by enough self loathing to effectively distract me from the hurt in my heart.
I am bewildered. I am angry. I am afraid of how powerful this feels. Last night I had dreams that huge crocodiles with red eyes were bursting through the floor boards of my house on the water. I had a pitch fork and was fighting them off one at a time.

changes

Here is the thing about not compulsively overeating: certain things have to change. My friend is dying more quickly than anyone had expected. She's at home now for hospice care and positioned facing the lake outside her living room window like she wanted. She's in and out of consciousness. I called her husband and asked him to tell her that she doesn't need to spend one moment worrying about me, that I'll be just fine, and that I love her. He said that he would whisper that in her ear as soon as he got off the phone. He said that he was so sorry I didn't get a chance to see her. I said it was OK. Then I got off the phone and cried on and off for the rest of the night.
Another thing that happened: I realized that I'm absolutely done with being spoken to angrily. Now I don't mean that people can occasionally take issue with me or that I won't tolerate any arguments or disagreements from anyone, but I'm finished with the irritated stream of crap from a certain family member. So I told him. I told him I was done. And I told him he could make up his mind and let me know if he needed to move out or if he was willing to stay with these new limits. I actually said that as far as I was concerned, our relationship was over, but I was open to starting again on a new footing and seeing if there was actually anything there. We both knew that I meant every word.

I am also done with a couple of my "friends". Because if I can lose Margie, then I can lose the crap that I've been accepting from certain people.

prayed

This afternoon I was trying to nap when I got a call from my sick friend's husband. He needed to cancel an appointment with my spouse because they were still in the hospital. As we said goodbye, he said, "Keep praying." And I think because my rational mind was still napping, I got this idea to pray for a miracle. So I prayed, "God, please heal M. If anyone deserves it, she does. Please heal her. Please." And I felt a twinge of faith. What if it could actually be? People heal. Spontaneous remission.
All I'm saying is, it's not over until it's over.

And at the same time, I have been stuffing my face with dairy and gluten free cupcakes which don't have wheat but have evaporated cane juice. Yes. It's pretty much sugar. Not quite the heroin that is white sugar, but close enough for government work.
So again, I begin. I need to be more careful about what I put in my mouth because it is a slippery slope. I find that I am right on the line between obsession and clarity.

death

The woman who showed me and taught me how to pretty much live a strong and good life is dying. Just before Thanksgiving, she had a cough and got it checked out. I remember so clearly that she told me, "Let's talk again in a couple of days. I am sure I'm going to feel better by tomorrow." It turned out to be lung cancer. So she changed her diet and was about to start chemo when the next scan revealed that the cancer had spread throughout her lungs. She had one or two chemo sessions and got pneumonia. That was last week. She's in the hospital now and tomorrow she'll go home. No more treatment. The cancer is too far gone. She has very little time left.
She did a massive amount of my laundry when I was overwhelmed with my first baby. We lived on the top floor of their home then. I was embarrassed by my inability to deal with laundry and taking out the garbage so I kept saying, "Oh, no. I'll get that. Don't worry about it." And she'd say, "I'm heading downstairs anyway. Why don't I just take it." And she'd take our garbage bag down the stairs to the bin. I wanted to be able to show her I'm OK now. For longer. Because of her, and her advice to listen to the doctors who told me I needed medication for my depression, I was able to start keeping up with chores. I have been at the point where I am about ready to actively pursue other interests, instead of just swatting at the balls hurtling in my direction.
When I had pneumonia, she came up to our place, told my spouse to get the pills I was supposed to take, gave them to me, and then dipped a corn chip in guacamole and fed it to me. She later said she was sorry but that she gets bossy when she's scared. I was so sick that I didn't know how sick I was. She told me that too.
What I'm going to tell her is that I love her and I am so grateful for everything she taught me. I am going to reassure her that I will be just fine, and I'll continue to put to use everything I've learned. I'll do everything I know how to do to let her know that I am OK and she doesn't have to spend one second worrying about me, my husband, or my kids.
Then I'll stand up and step forward. Because the world will have lost a brilliant soul, and there will be a lot of work to do.

The hardest part of this thing is that the pay off is so far away. And the relief offered by slamming junk down my gullet is immediate. So I sit as darkness looms and wait for the next day when I can eat again (because I don't want to eat at night after dinner) and I can't wait because I feel shaky and alone. Like I'm hanging on a rope ladder from a helicopter.

Time to set a goal.
Setting goals and working toward them is supposed to be good for self esteem.
Here's a goal:
Walk for 20 minutes tomorrow.
Keep going with the wheat free, sugar free food plan. And let go of dairy again.
Yeah! You go girl!!!

I have been wanting someone to intercede on my behalf for my whole life. Against those who I knew weren't treating me right. I couldn't stand up for myself, I realized after years of trying and failing to make a difference in my situation. The power must lie outside of myself, I concluded. And I set about trying to find the one who would protect me. One situation after another came and went, and still no savior. Like a greased pig, the idea kept eluding the grasp of logic as it transitioned from person to person as they morphed from protector to jerk. "Someone protect me from my erstwhile protector!" I wailed as I set about finding another one.

OK.
I get it.
No one is going to intercede. No one is going to make anyone see things the way I do. There is no outside force. There is only me.
To keep speaking up and see what happens. And if nothing changes...

long haul

Baby has pneumonia and an ear infection. Daughter is on the mend. Spouse is slowly recovering. Baby was diagnosed yesterday and has another appointment this Friday. We were sent home with the inhaler and antibiotics. I made a chart to keep track. I am amazed at my ability to keep on my feet through all of this, while sick. I chalk it up to the super-human qualities bestowed on those who become mothers. I can also tell if someone has a fever by feeling their forehead -- which is new. Now I'm just sad and resentful. I don't know if another partner would be more helpful or if this is a universal phenomenon in couples with kids. But it feels like it's been almost all me all week all day and all night because he couldn't move. And he did do things like daughter's eye drops and ... watching the kids while I got some sleep the other morning.
I just don't want to clean the kitchen again and again and again while I'm feeling so lousy. The amazing thing is that I haven't had wheat or sugar since day one of this blog. I have had a little dairy since my dairy back slide on Friday but will let that go again.
OK Here goes: I got weighed at the doctor on Friday and I'm 234 pounds. Here's where I got to by eating the things that hurt me to excess for years. I guess I'm lucky that I'm stopping now, because there's no limit to weight gain as we all know from watching TLC and spying on morbidly obese.
And now that I have this blog and I've made the commitment to report honestly as I go through this process, I am able to see the insanity of "Key Lime Pie! It's the perfect solution!"

Only it's not 'whatever' because this is my life and I'm beginning to remember what it was like to take care of myself. I know it's soooo Stuart Smally, but it's true. I used to feel really uncomfortable being high maintenance in restaurants or over at others' houses for meals. When you factor in my growing discomfort with the life that was happening around me without knowing what to do about it (relationship issues), that's a lot of discomfort to walk around with. Here's the crazy segue. So I thought that I needed to start eating "normally" again. I thought that eating everything that over people ate was the route to being healthy. I was so wrong. As I began adding the foods back into my diet that I can't tolerate, I began having all of the side effects: both physical and emotional. I got into the obsession that food would fix it. As my weight skyrocketed and I continued to stop for donuts on the way... I'll be honest: the donuts were not on the way; they were the destination.
And order in pizza. And make late night cake runs. And demand a Costco cake for Mother's Day when we had one guest for lunch. The cake that I got myself and ate mostly myself. Yes. I needed to eat sugar, dairy and wheat. My problem was that I had been depriving myself and I needed to stop.
So now I am remembering that I feel better not only physically but emotionally when I am eating the way I need to eat. Like I'm worth the trouble. And maybe that's one insidious root of this thing: I'm just not worth it. Sorry everyone. I should just shut up and accommodate. I'm all cringy when I decline dessert, like I'm "that chick." Oh. I can't have the quiche? How unutterably rude of me!
It feels like slipping into those soft button up jeans to say "I'm actually allergic..." Jeans that I have not been able to wear for almost a decade.

I am not sure that it's totally obvious but I am in some sort of fugue state as I have not really slept since Thursday night, what with listening for baby's breathing and comforting 3 year old all night and the fact that I can't lie down without coughing up my lungs so the sleep I do get is gotten sitting up. I didn't think it was possible when I first read of such a thing in "Gone With the Wind" (the ladies sleeping sitting up because of their hair), but I realize that it is. I think I was dreaming I was a news anchor at one point.

So, to wrap it up: dairy - yes I had it. Thrice.
But no wheat or sugar and I am not done. Not by a long shot. Buddy.

So I go to the dr. on Friday to make sure this hasn't turned into anything worse and find out I have the flu. Swine flu? They didn't know and I had been sick too long to be given tamiflu (sp?) So then I think 'my baby!' and the dr. says to bring him in if I'm worried. I bring him in for a 2:30 appt. and they want him to go to Children's Hospital by nurse transport. His oxygen is 85% and he's dehydrated and lethargic. They give him iv fluids and tylenol and steroids and albuterol and the paramedics arrive and then the nurses arrive with their rig. I'm just answering the questions and staying out of the way but close enough to baby. He's stabilized and taken to the stretcher: little baby, big stretcher. He's wheeled out through the medical building lobby like a movie star and we go together to the hospital where we stay for 5 hours to make sure he stays ok after meds wear off, which he does. They clear us to leave. By now spouse and daughter have arrived and we drive home together. My car is still in the Medical center parking lot.
Spouse informs me that he ordered my dinner for me: low carb eggplant and chicken dish. I thank him because aside from a Myoplex shake on the way to my dr's appt. and the beef broth, apple juice and apple slices the nurses at the hospital provided, I haven't eaten.
And I say thank you, knowing the meal has dairy in it. Lots of melted cheese. And you know what?
Yes, you do.

The thing is that now I think, whatever.

All day feeling sick was the excuse to just have some dairy, or sugar, or wheat... it's not a problem. "You're sick" the voice croons, "It's fine. Go ahead. Ok then; eat it really fast. Then it'll be like it didn't really happen." But I thought, 'do I want to write a blog about a woman who resolves to stop eating the crap that is destroying her or do I want to write about constant giving in to craziness?'
The latter would get boring, and I would never find out what's underneath all this fat. Neither would you.
So tonight daughter is on the mend and baby boy is keening in his playpen because he feels so awful and if I were a baby I would be doing the same thing.
... back now from holding him and comforting him and now he's asleep in his pack and play by the couch which is where I am going to be spending the night.
I love my children. It's a pity I get so upset with my choice of spouse when he is ill mannered and out of sorts. He's upstairs sleeping in our room now, and I'll leave him to it.
But I don't feel alone now, now that I am writing my thoughts down and sending them out into the vast series of tubes that compose our internets ;).

new day

I keep hearing Morgan Freeman's voice in my head, chuckling as he narrates: "It was going to get a whole lot worse before it got any better..."
I've been thrown up on twice by the baby who is now going to get pedialyte after we wait a bit. my husband is currently asleep with his mouth open on the recliner and our 3 year old is taking pictures of the commercials on Nick Jr. with her Diego digital camera.
I was up all night coughing with brief welcome respites of sleep, and spouse went downhill at 3 am, shivering and moaning. He apologized for the times he's been mean to me when I was sick. I said, "uh huh." Then, as the baby is in his portable crib in our room, I had to say "Please moan more softly. I don't want the baby to wake up."

first night

fear. i have a 3 year old and a 10 month old and both of them are sick and coughing, and i am sick and my husband is sick. i keep forgetting that it's not the 18th century and that we have medical care to deal with coughs and that ilk. fear that my husband is a first rate cretin after we have a nasty whispered fight -- i've lost my voice -- when i told him he was so damaged on the inside that he makes me want to throw up. and he accused me of amping up my illness for dramatic effect and made a reference to me sitting on the couch surfing the net and eating while he hadn't had anything but a sandwich because he wasn't hungry. which as we all know, was a dig on two levels 1) i'm fat and lazy 2) the fact that i was eating means i'm not really sick. that's about when i told him he was damaged. i am coughing so hard that i pee. not good. certainly not something i would choose to amp up for dramatic effect.
so. fear and anger.
welcome to night time without snacks.

the bust stops here

I've outgrown all my clothes, even my 9 months pregnant clothes. I weigh more than I weighed the day I gave birth to my 2nd child. I can't blame that on pregnancy. I can't blame the fact that my 2X stretchy shirts are stretched to their limit on the dryer. What I do know is this: my friends and family love me right now at my heaviest. I have proven to my inner fifteen year old that I am loved for who I am on the inside. So. Now it's about me. I feel heavy and sore. My feet hurt. My breasts are huge and not in a sexy way. My whole body is lumbering and hard to drag around with me. I can't wear my wedding ring anymore. I have become what I feared becoming. And the main problem isn't that I'm not lovable because I'm fat; that's simply not true. The main problem is that I can no longer do what I want to do. I actually fall into the category where I can't take for granted that the roller coaster bar will fit over me. I get out of breath walking up the stairs because I'm carrying an extra 90 pounds -- maybe 100.

So... I am stopping eating the things that I know hurt my body as of right now: sugar, dairy and wheat. I already know that when I eat these things, I have allergic and/or intolerant reactions. Dairy gives me cramps and brown spots on my skin. Wheat gives me flaky scalp and then I can't breath well if I have it often. Also, my face and hands swell up. And as for sugar, I don't care about any of the above when I'm eating it -- and who knows why. Crap. I knew all this and then started eating these things anyway, slowly and over time, because I did not want to be deprived. Now I'm deprived of a well functioning body. And probably a long life.

Welcome to my addictive brain. Let's see what happens when I stop feeding the addiction.

So far today, no sugar, no dairy, no wheat.