Flabby Goes To The Hospital

Ok, so some of you have already read about my very long week.

Tuesday night (or Wednesday morning?) I went to bed at 5am. I couldn't sleep - I've been hacking up a lung. Not a pleasant experience. My brother wakes me up at 7:30 and tells me he has to go to the hospital. Now, my brother would never wake me up unless he's next to dying in pain, so I got up and we went to the ER.

Everyone was awesome. Almost unbelievable, I know, but the nurses got me coffee, they talked to us, the doctors were actually friendly, and they were kind to both of us. I was very impressed. They admitted my brother, he was passing a kidney stone - one from each kidney. So I spent the night with him. Now, I had thrown on my nasty, dirty gym clothes that I hadn't washed - so I ended up spending the day in them. By that evening - I had broken out in a skin rash (I guess I have sensitive skin) and was miserable. I had also gotten my period that morning while waiting in the ER. Great day.

I'm in pain, itching, dirty and starving - and I finally managed to fall asleep at 3AM. My brother had been passed out - thanks to the morphine they gave him - and I had been tiptoeing around all night, trying to be quiet while scratching myself to death. Of course the nurses had to check vitals at 5 AM, so that was all the sleep I got. I decided to go home and shower and change and then go back to the hospital - my brother was going to have to have surgery to remove the stones. I pried my eyelids open and drove home - and sure enough, as I walk in the door, my brother calls me and tells me he passes one of the stones and they were releasing him. No surgery. That was actually good news, so I threw on some clean clothes (minus the shower) and went back. We then proceeded to wait for 2 hours before he was finally released. I could have had my shower after all.

Later that evening, after a shower and a nap, I got Cramps From Hell. Literally. I was hollering and moaning and groaning. So I took almost 2 Vicodin and passed out. The same thing happened Saturday afternoon, so I finally went to the ER myself. Yeah, they recognized me but I was yelling so much I didn't care.

Here's where the story gets real good.

They put me in fast track, because I guess cramps aren't enough for them to really be worried about. I was alright with that, I just wanted the pain to stop. So they come in, ask me what I'm allergic to (compazine) and start an IV. They tried my hands first, because my veins are always deep, and they hit a valve.

I don't know if that has ever happened to you - but let me tell you, that's a pain you don't want. Someone shoving a needle around in your hand, hitting nerves that aren't supposed to be hit, making your feet fly off the bed and making you yell like a dying cow. Pain. PAIN. I started crying and bawling like a baby. I have a slight fear of needles to begin with, and my worst fear had just come true. I wanted to kill someone.

With my hubby holding my hand and trying to soothe me, they try my other arm, this time in the arm, not the hand. They fiddle around in there for a bit and get the IV in. The nurse comes in with pain medication and my anti-nausea medicine.

Now, I'm allergic to compazine, it gives me - in short - anxiety attacks. SO the nurse comes in, and because by now I'm terrified of anything this woman is going to do, I ask her if she has the right medicine. She says, yeah - it's compazine.

WHAT? I was only one short nanosecond away from ripping the needle out of her hand and kicking her in the nuts. If she had 'em. Then she laughs and says she's kidding. Um, ok. Do you see me laughing? I'm crying and hyperventilating and you want to crack jokes about a medicine I'm allergic to? I almost killed her. With my bare hands.

The rest of the visit was ok. I guess. I was still in some pain, and the nurse comes back in and asks me if I'm in pain, and I say yes - to which she replies, "You'll be in some pain, it doesn't all go away", and I'm like what the HELL?!?!? Why did you ask me to begin with - and I was under the impression that I had a right to pain management. Get me out of here, I'll go overdose on aspirin or something.

Then they send me to ultrasound, stick what looks like a very long dildo up my hoo-ha and ram it into all my innards. Fun, fun, fun. Then we go back and I get a pelvic exam, hoo boy howdy. I was all kinds of excited by then. Finally they tell me everything's normal, it's just hormones and I get to go home.

The doctor then proceeds to tell me to take Ibuprofen. I was like, come again? I came in here on heavy duty narcotics and you want me to go home with over the counter ibuprofen? Did you even go to medical school or did you get one of them there online degrees? Why do all the doctors want to give you ibuprofen?

Having a baby?

Take some Ibuprofen!

Broke an  arm?

Take some Ibuprofen!

Toothache?

Take some Ibuprofen!

I hate Ibuprofen. So we just left. And of course I was in pain agian last night, and did the Ibuprofen do anything? Nope. I guess I should be the doctor. Anyway, I'm home now - still coughing, still having pain, but I have my trusty Ibuprofen. I guess it's a good thing I have some Vicodin left over form last time. We'll see.

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You Know What I Hate?

1. Wal-Mart and their parking lots. If I don't get killed trying to park, then I get run over by the the big fat woman glaring at you because you're taking to long to look at shampoo. Then you get to stand in line, wait for the pimply faced teenager to throw your eggs in the bag, whine if you ask him to bag your gallon of milk, and listen to him sigh when you ask him to come and scan the ginormous packs of bottled water in the bottom of your cart.

After all that, you get to try and cross the walkway while avoiding all the old people who don't know what a stop sign is, get your groceries stuffed in the car, and try back out of your spot without getting clipped by the redneck who thinks Wal-Mart is a race track. Oh, the fun.

Wal Mart is evil.

2. Hypocrites. I"m talking about the ones who are all nicey-nice to your face and talk crap behind your back. I thought I had cleaned those people out of my life - but they just keep popping back up like pimples on your butt. Both of those things - hypocrites and butt pimples - need to be popped. End of story.

3. All You Can Eat Buffets. Those things were built to make you feel like crap. If you're fat - then it's a black hole of stuff-your-face that never ends, unless you can't fit in the booth. If you're trying to lose weight - then it's still a black hole of stuff-your-face, only now you feel guilty about it. And if you're skinny - then you just paid fifteen bucks for lemon flavored lettuce and water. yay. I can do that for fifty cents at home.

4. Thank You cards. Since when did saying "thank you" become not enough? I opened the present, said thank you ,gushed a little, and moved on. Now I have to buy cards, write them all out, figure out all the addresses and who gave me what, and then I have to pay to say thank you? Uh, No Thanks.

5. And while we're on the subject, I hate Christmas cards. Not getting them, or even sending them out - that's not too hideous. I'm talking about the obligatory "my family is better than your family" yearly family letter. This is what I'm gonna write this year:

Dear People I Barely Know,

This year was ok. I got married last year, (by the way - thanks for the gifts) and it's been pretty good. I ate a lot of cake, got real fat, hate housework. I don't do my dishes often, and I wear the same shirt until it stinks or I spill kool-aid on it. I'm dealing with my in-laws a little better - but maybe it's because I don't feel like peeling my butt off of the couch to go and actually talk to them much. My family is fine, my kid sister got knocked up by some pissant little peckerwood that I can't stand. I may sic my husband on him - if the hubby can be convinced to put down the Xbox 360 Controller. We sit around all day, eating cheese and collecting food stamps. I was going to trade them for money - but my mom doesn't have any. We're all broke, but no one cares much because no one moves very much. We can sit around at home just as easily with money as without it. My kid is doing ok with school, and looks like a leftover hippie because he refuses to get his hair cut. I'm waiting until he gets lice so I can shave his head and be done with it. So, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Until next Christmas, LK and fam.

That would be funny. I exaggerate (I think) - but you get the point.

6. Humidity. As if I didn't feel fat and sweaty enough - I walk outside and there's already a layer of moisture in the air. Makes me want to stay inside and write thank you cards. Kinda.

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I Need Some Cheese For This Whine....

I got this from Karen @ muffin fixation, who got it  from I go through life in inches and pounds. (Whom I didn't know - until now) And because I'm still getting over being sick, haven't been to the gym in a week and am scared to weigh myself. I'm going to repost this.

Ok, it's because I'm lazy today just lazy. I'm human, sue me.

Some great quotes from Jewel in the July 2010 Shape Magazine cover story:

On being called "the chubby Renee Zellweger" in the media years ago:

"My feelings were so hurt by that story, I ended up binging on an entire cake. Afterward, I actually tried to throw it all up, but thankfully I couldn't do it. It made me think, 'I can't go down this road.' I had seen so many performers develop eating disorders or try to control their weight with drugs, and I decided I would do no harm to my body."

Her advice to women:
"We should be more like men, God bless 'em. They can take their shirts off and show their man boobs, and they don't give a hoot. But women are so critical of themselves. We can be gorgeous and hot and still be embarrassed to wear a tank top. So if you can't stop looking in the mirror, at least try to not think badly about yourself when you do."

So let's all promise two things to ourselves today...

1.  I will do no harm to my body.

2. I will not think badly about myself when I look in the mirror.
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Of course, when I was done reading - I went to the original article and found Jewel looking like this:

And I was like...pfft. Yeah. I'd be all "women shouldn't care about their bodies and be proud to show it off" if I looked like that. Heck. I'd be happy to be called the "chubby Renee Zellweger - because that would mean I weighed.....what? 122 pounds instead of 115. Whatever.

I'm not bashing the ladies that posted this, I'm just looking at the article through crap colored glasses. It's just who I am.

Just a little bit of my cynicism breaking through. It's still a good message, but for me - it just doesn't have the oomph it did before I saw the picture. Just sayin.

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I Refuse To Blog About Houseplants

Once again, I was inspired. I don't know what I'm going to do when I run out of inspiration. Probably spend my days posting about how well my houseplants are doing.

"and today...my windowsill houseplant had 2 brown leaves. Oh no! Whatever shall I do? I've watered, and watered..but it's not exactly my fault that it's been raining for a week straight, and there's no sun. Do I have to import artificial sunlight....because..."

Yeah. No. Good thing you all inspire me. Today's inspiration comes from my real life best friend, Crystal @ The Purpose Driven Journey. She wrote a post called 7 Things I Don't Have. At first I thought....'ok, that's rather negative..", but then I read on.

You'll see - here's my 7 things:

1. I don't have 13 extra pounds. Cuz they're gone now!

2. I don't have smallpox. For which I am very grateful.

3. I don't have a cardboard box for a house. Good thing, because cardboard boxes don't have Internet hookups.

4. I don't have a selfish husband. Or a cheating one. Or one that hits me.

5. I don't have mountains of debt. I have some, but it's like a small hill of debt, not a mountain.

6. I don't have a migraine. Not today, Thank God.

7. I don't have bedbugs. Not anymore.

See? It's like being positive in reverse. Rather interesting to think that way. Especially because I've been sick for a week straight, and am coughing like crazy. But I still have a lot of good in my life. I do need to get back to the gym soon, but all in good time. I need to get better first. And I've been eating well, so that's one thing I can do at the moment!

Well, I'll leave you all with a thought -What 7 things don't you have?

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Unsexy?

I just read a great blog post over at Journey Beyond Survival. And it got me thinking -

I feel so unsexy. Most of the time, I feel lumpy and unattractive. I wander around the house in pj's, t-shirts, and stretch pants. I don't wear make-up. Not even to go out. I don't wear heels or fancy shoes of any kind, and I've even lost interest in switching purses to match my outfits. (gasp!)

Now, I used to be a sexy beast. Really - I was. I went from 305 pounds to 220 in one year. I felt amazing, looked amazing and knew it. I was a sexy beast. Rawr.

What happened to her? Well, she gained all that weight back, plus a few pounds. Gradually, over the last 2-3 years, I have packed on the pounds, and lost my interest in being good looking. I don't put lotion on my dry skin, don't wash my face, and I can barely muster up the strength to shave my legs. I'm beginning to think that I think that I don't deserve to be sexy. That fat must not be beautiful. That overweight people don't deserve to look good.

Screw that. I'm still hot. I still have an amazing rack, gorgeous eyes, and a beautiful face. My husband still wants to make love to me - so he must think I'm still good looking. Screw the world and their preconceived notions of what beauty is. I'm so sorry I don't have the body of an anorexic 12 year old - and I truly hope I never do. Bite me, Mary Kate Olsen.

I'm going on a date tonight. I'm dressing up. I'm shaving my legs and wearing the red lipstick my husband likes me to wear. And I'm gonna shake it like jello. You don't like it - close your eyes.

I'm back.

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Who Cares?

I've been thinking a lot lately. 

I've realized that I think too much about what other people think. I'm learning not to - but I still freak out about what others think. Here's some of my thought processes:

If I wear high heels I think - "Are people going to think I'm stupid for wearing heels? Am I too fat to wear heels?"

If I put candy in my grocery cart I think - "Who's watching? Are they laughing?"

If I run I think - "Who's waiting for me to get a black eye? Are they watching?"

If I play in the park with my son I think - "Who's waiting for the swings to break?"

So I got to thinking about what everyone else thinks. And I see that I need to not care. (still following me?) There have been a lot of people who don't care what people think. 

Like this:

What if Michael Jackson was too afraid to introduce the idea of a concept music video?

 We wouldn't have Thriller.

What if George Lucas was unsure of his intergalactic space stories?

No Star Wars.

What if John Lennon hadn't been confident enough to start a band?

There would have been no Beatles.

These people changed our worlds. Our Music. Our Movies. We wouldn't be who we are today if it wasn't for them. So I have to ask myself - what can I change simply by being who I really am? Lady GaGa is dresses like an escaped lunatic, Marilyn Monroe looked like a floozy most of the time, and Elvis wore white jumpsuits and curled his lip. 

They didn't care. Why should I?

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Welcome, Brunhilda

So, by now everyone's pretty much figured out that I had a bad day yesterday.

Flabby McGee's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

Except that the end of it turned out quite well. I ate great yesterday, Turkey sandwiches, yogurt, strawberries, cucumbers...Yum. I'm getting hungry thinking about it. Anyway - I was proud of myself for getting back on track there.
Then my gym buddy told me she couldn't go to the gym. (she has 5 children- 'nuff said.) I was disappointed, and started getting depressed.

Then I told myself to knock it the heck off. So I got up, and went to the gym.

All by myself.

So, I'm proud of me. I am petrified of gyms, and I'm scared of what others might say. It's hard enough for me to get to the gym with my best friend, much less alone. But I realized yesterday that I need to be there, probably more so than anyone else. I realized that that makes me stronger than most - to admit what I need to fix, and fix it. I also realized that no one knows who I am or why I'm there.

For all they know -

I could be Brunhilda, the heavyweight division wrestling champion of Germany.

I could be making $100 an hour testing gyms to see if they're good enough for fat people.

I could be undergoing a sex change operation and bulking up for the future.

I could be a detective staking out a drug running ring at my local gym.

I could be a famous actor in a fat suit trying to do research for my latest film.

I could be a Biggest Loser candidate, getting ready to work out 8 hours a day.

I realized that they don't know me, they don't know who I am, and they especially don't know what I've achieved.

They see a fat girl on a treadmill,

I see a girl who's lost 13 pounds.
I see a girl who couldn't walk up the stairs, but now can go 2 miles on an elliptical.
I see a girl who's conquered her eating problems.
I see a girl who is brutally honest with herself.
I see a girl who is strong - inside and out.

I felt awesome. So, I guess it wasn't a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day after all.

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I'm Tired

I'm so tired.

Tired of not eating cake.

So I ate some.

Tired of not eating chocolate.

So I ate some.

Tired of not drinking soda.

So I drank some.

Tired of getting up and going to the gym.

So I didn't go.

Tired of worrying about what I eat.

So I ate everything I could.

And now I'm sick. And tired. Now I'm tired of being lazy. And I'm tired of not focusing, and I'm tired of not having any self control. I'm tired of being a bum. And I'm tired of being fat.

My mother always told me - Change only comes when the pain of staying the same is more then the pain of change. Looks like she was right.

Yeah, I'm tired of that too.

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What If They Were Fat?

I know it's a little late, but head over to Fight Fat Phobia for an AWESOME giveaway. That ends tonight, but you still have time!



Movie Stars. We all want to be them. Or date one.

They're perfect, beautiful...and thin. But what if they weighed what we weighed? How beautiful would they be if they were fat...like us? Would they still be gorgeous, or would they look like regular people? Let's take a look...

Paris Hilton -

This is my favorite. Not only does she look normal, she looks downright ugly. Oh wait, she's always ugly.

Jessica Alba - without the smokin bod, she's just another pretty face.

Justin Timberlake - I picture this face belonging to someone named Billy Bob Joe Jack, sitting in his battered lawn chair on his trailer porch add-on, letting beer dribble down his chin - with a tin can of cigarettes and his trusty shotgun by his side.

Megan Fox - This picture gave me a weird thrill. I can't stand Megan Fox, and to see her looking like an overweight 2 dollar hooker....made me very happy.

Well, that's it for now. I think I may run this segment again in the future. I'm not saying that weight makes you ugly - I'm trying to say that all the people I am jealous of or aspire to be - well, they look just like everyday people without the personal trainers and dietitians. I choose to look at it like this, What am I going to look like when I lose all my weight?

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Things That I Have Learned

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