Try, Try Again. Sleep Study #2

Apparently I have mild sleep apnea. I am told there were 90 awakenings during my first sleep study. When the clinician shared this info with me, my immediate response was, "Well no wonder I am so tired and cranky all the time!"  And all this time I just thought it was the three kids.

So I went back in last night for another test. This time with the CPAP. So I had all the wires, bells and whistles as the last time but last night I wore a deep sea diving mask too.

See for yourself...

Now tell me that doesn't look fun. The mask made me feel like I was smothering or drowning. I had to talk myself  'down off the ledge' for the first thirty minutes and I survived. I kept telling myself if my special needs daughter could do this when she was 12, I could do it now. And I did.

All those wires coming out of that blue box on the left are attached to my person somewhere. Most in my hair, thus the tornado-esque styling. There there are a couple on my face, chest and legs. And those were the easy part.

So in a few minutes here, I am going to go to sleep in my own bed and try the CPAP there. I'll let you know how it goes and if I am sent to sleep on the couch.

Well That Was Fun!

My Sleep Study, that is. Actually, it wasn't that bad. I have been with my young daughter for four previous studies so I knew exactly what to expect.  It is harder to fall asleep with all the wires, belts and cables hooked up to you - but I finally did. And then I was awakened very early so I could get home before The Husband had to go to work. With this lack of sleep, I was quite Slap Happy most of yesterday.  If I had it to do all over again, I would have taken off half day - in the morning - so I could catch up on my Beauty Sleep

As you can tell from this photo, I need lots of Beauty Sleep.  I look like Rosanna Rosanna Danna preparing to be an astronaut.  Vanity has no place in a sleep study. No lotions, hair products or makeup. But totally worth it to get to the end game! Bariatric Surgery - I AM READY!!

Just Another Day In Paradise

An old friend used to say that to me. Whatever in the hell that means...

So here I am. Mother to three.
In the next two months, they turn 7, 2 and 5 - in that order.
I turn 38 in between the 2 and the 5.

Being a mother and a wife makes me miss the days when I was just me. An entity unto myself. Yes, I feel selfish hearing that come from me. And the irony of it is I can't even remember what that felt like - being my own person. Yes, I have memories of my past. Of course I do. But from the moment my first child was born, I ceased to remember what it felt like to not be a mother. The part of me that existed in the singular was gone. My whole inner compass shifted. And this is not a bad thing. Not at all; Just how it is - for me.

There was a picture taken of me right after Samantha was born. Very few people have ever seen this photo. It is so personal and intimate; I actually find it difficult to share it with anyone. And for me to not share something about myself, that's pretty unusual. It was taken by my mother in the delivery room. My husband had just placed our daughter in my arms for the first time. I am sobbing as I cradle my precious baby girl. That’s it - just a mother holding a swaddled newborn. And crying.

But when I look at that picture, I can still feel that exact raw emotion in my soul. The awe at the birth I had just participated in. the admiration of this new creature. The relief at ten fingers and ten toes. The gratitude. The joy. The unbelievable love and that fierce sense of protection mother bears have for their cubs.
It’s the first picture of the new me. The mother me.

So every now and then I go searching for the woman I think I am now. Or more accurately, the woman I think I should be.
And am I really a woman?
Already?
I feel more like a girl.
I inadvertently deceive myself into believing I can separate the different personas that inhabit this body.

~ woman ~ daughter ~ sister ~ wife ~ mother ~ girlfriend ~ woman ~

I attempt to compartmentalize the roles I play. Then I try to define myself. Most often I lose myself in the ebb and flow of everyday banalities.

And then I feel adrift. As I do now. Trying to make sense of the mundane details.

I do not think myself special or unique in this dissection of self. I think all women do battle with expectations, dreams, labels, responsibilities, fantasies, reality...

perhaps men have the same battles.
I can only speak to what I know is true for me as a woman.

So what are my truths? Where does my reality lie? How do I define myself?

I am conviction. I am indecision.
I am strength. I am fragile.
I am perfect. I am fallible.
I am coarse. I am feminine.
I am intellect. I am emotion.

I am a woman

I am indefinable

FASTER! FASTER! FASTER!

Got my stress test out of the way last week. CHECK! 

If you can breath and pedal, you can do this!

For many years, my mantra for pushing myself when exercising has been 
"Skinny Butt! Skinny Butt! Skinny Butt!
And today was no different...

Next - on to the sleep study.  I hope they don't count off for talking in your sleep.

Confessions of a Fat Girl

I am not sure I want to write this entry. Been thinking about it for almost a week. But even if I don't want to write it, I feel compelled to.

So here goes....

I am writing this for those of you who know exactly where I am coming from - you've been there - done that. But this is also for those of you that have never been fat a day in your life. And it's for those of you with the bumper sticker "NO FAT CHICKS ALLOWED" on your rigs. (You know who you are)

but most of all, I write this for me. To let my inner voice be heard

I am fat.

Have been for the vast majority of my life. I have dieted, fasted, starved, binged, purged, exercised, prayed, begged and cried for this to change.

I take ownership of my body and my issues. The shape I am in is no one's responsibility but my own. There is no blame game here. But please note –I am not lazy. Nor am I out of control. I do not eat cookies and ice cream every day of my life. I know what a proper serving from every food group consists of. I can tell you how many servings of each - for my height, age and weight –I should have every day.

But in plain English –I eat too much and do not exercise enough. It’s a simple formula. I am an intelligent woman. I do the math on this formula every single day. And slowly, the weight has been coming off. Very slowly.


My weight issue began during puberty. 'Baby fat' my aunt used to call it. "You'll outgrow it and all the boys will see how beautiful you are."

But you know –I never did - outgrow it.

Almost every relationship I have ever had my entire life has been affected by this physical attribute of my person - my weight. Friendships, boyfriends, parents, husband, children, siblings, grandparents, teachers, crushes, co-workers - the list is endless.

So not only am I fat –I am (and always have been) loud, opinionated and out-spoken. This is a lethal combination if you do not wish to be a target.

I am not in short supply of fat stories to share with you. I could write for the rest of my life and not get them all out of my head. but the following incidents really sum it all up for me...

when I was a kid - somewhere around 4 or 5 years old, I had a playmate. Scott. His family lived in another town but came to visit several times a year. his mom and my mom were friends so when they'd get together to visit, Scott and I would play. I adored him - as young friends do. Innocently and sweetly. His mom was Filipino and my friend had darker skin than I. he was also a chubby kid – though I never noticed - until someone pointed it out to me.

One day I invited Scott to my pre-k class with me. We had a great time. Until some of the kids in my class started calling my friend Fat Albert. I clearly remember being completely undone. I stuck up for him - prolly socked one of the name-callers in the nose. And while my recollection of the exact events is fuzzy - my memory of the emotion evoked is crystal clear. I was hurt and indignant on behalf of my friend and I did not tolerate this behavior from my classmates.

Fast forward to high school. 15 or 16 years old. summer. Band camp. Out behind the band hall after practice. Scott is there - with some of his friends – guys I actually went to school and church with. One of these guys is making fun of me. Saying really mean things. hateful. I am embarrassed. Humiliated. Hurt.

Scott says nothing. He laughs at his friends comments. At me.

A few nights later, I awake in my bed. Crying. Hot burning tears. Cannot go back to sleep. Tossing and turning. I am still hurt from the incident behind the band hall. Couldn’t figure it out - stuff like this happened all the time. by this time, I was almost used to be teased and picked on. Why was this waking me from a sound sleep?!

Then it hit me. As a small child, I knew what it was to be a friend. to not tolerate injustice of any kind. Especially when directed toward my dear, sweet friend. and then Scott, as a young man - someone that had remained my friend through the years - let me down.
His silence and his laughter hurt worse than any mean-spirited comment I’d ever received.

Fast forward again. University; Jr Year. I had lost a ton of weight. Fasted 15 weeks on that optifast protein shake thing.  Remember Oprah pulling out that wagon of fat?  Yes, that diet.
And if I say so myself, (and you know I will) I was One Red Hot Momma. I was home visiting my family and ran into Scott. He was older and quite gorgeous himself. And HE was into ME. He and some friends were going to New Orleans for the weekend and he INSISTED I go with them. And I wanted to go sooooooo bad. I ran home to pack my bag and tell my mom my plans. For the first time in many years, she put her foot down and said ‘Absolutely Not!’ I could not go. Something about over her dead body.
How dare she?!!!!
Heated argument ensued and I was reminded - by her - of everything I have just shared with you.
She won.
I didn't go.
She was right. (Yes, Mother, I said you were right.)

What’s the lesson here, you ask? It’s not about the kind of person Scott is or was. The lesson here has little to do with my hurt feelings in high school. And as I sit here, I even consider that there is no moral message to this tale. Simply a demonstration of how wacked out my thought process was/is as I was willing to sacrifice my dignity - sell my soul even - to be accepted by someone I had known and adored my whole life - even after this person had treated me poorly because of my outer appearance and was now treating me lustfully because of the same outer appearance. (How’s that for a run-on sentence???)

I had no respect for myself when I was heavy. I had even less respect for myself when thin. In every rejection - of any kind - my first thought was always that it was about me being fat.
If I liked a boy - and he didn't like me, it was because I was fat.
If I didn't make an audition, it was because I was fat.
If I had a job interview and was turned down, 'cause I was fat.
FAT was a crutch my whole life. I knew it at the time –I was using it as such. I knew it was possible the boy didn't like me because I was too bossy or loud-mouthed or simply wasn't his type. I also knew when I didn't make the audition cut it could be because I wasn't the most talented one. Or the most qualified in a job interview. But invariably, I ALWAYS went to the fat excuse first.
For the most part, I don't do that now. Blame the fat first.

Time, experience, maturity and a nearly unshakeable sense of self have allowed me the luxury and pleasures of living my life without many of the uncertainties of my youth.

But I’d be lying if I told you fat is no longer an issue in my life. We wouldn't be here talking

about this if I was completely 'over it.'


when I started this blog, I decided up front to put my picture on it. I actually like my profile picture. I think my brother in law - the photographer - is brilliant. But I put this photo out there not so much out of vanity but primarily so when people read this log, they know exactly who they were dealing with.

A fat girl.

In one of my very first entries, there is a full length photo of me and hubby from this summer in Moab, Utah. It’s a great photo - we are on vacation and the scenery is breathtaking from the top of Lion's Back.

But again, my underlying motivation –I want people (you) to know who I am, warts and all. no surprises. So if you read my blog. If you make comments. If we become 'blog' friends. I know that you know who I am. What I am. And that you accept me - straight out of the box - no modifications required.

And maybe that's crazy too. We don't know what most people look like or who they are in this great giant blogosphere. I never once claimed sanity as an attribute.

Bottom line –I still have a few minor hang-ups on this fat thing.
I still want to be fit. Healthy. But now, it's not so much about me. I want to be a good example for the two daughters and one son I am raising. I want to be able to run and jump and play with them. And snow ski, water ski, dance and ride horses with them. I want them to have a mommy that doesn't embarrass them because she's the fat mommy. I want them to learn to value their bodies. And how to properly take care of and nurture themselves.

It took me a long time, but I’m comfortable in my own skin. I flat-out like me.

And if you don't, your loss..