Friday, May 13, 2011
Picking myself up again.
Somehow my mind kept me from seeing what I truly looked like. How is this possible, I knew how much I weight and looked into mirrors, but my mind did not connect these things. How could I have eaten myself into such a shape. I have been fighting weight for 38 years, I have done almost everything to lose weight. I even went to the extent of have Lap Band surgery. That went well until I nearly died from Peritonitis. The band was gone and the weight returned along with a defeated feeling that I ate to cover.
The therapist thought that I was doing well enough before the trip to Honduras that I went 2 weeks with out seeing her. The next visit was tough as I faced my feelings of failure, guilt, and the feeling of never being good enough. I felt overwhelmed with failure with weight loss, not following up on my painting, drawing. As bad as I felt earlier in the year this was worst. I was aware of everything it seemed. Earlier I felt drugged, sleep, not really aware of things going on around me but now I was super sensitive. All this came out and was discussed, I bearly remember what was said except when she told me "It is not time for you to try to lose weight". That one statement lifted me back up. She gave me work to do but not painting or dieting. The next week was work adjusting to the new me I kept seeing in everyone's pictures from Honduras. With each new picture I became more aware of how much I ate and just normally started to cut back some. I had lost 3 pounds while in Honduras and that was eating the same, just working harder and moving more. I had to find some way to move more. I knew now I was strong enough to exercise I couldn't deny that. I just needed to find something I enjoyed and could stay with.
Mission Trip
My first therapy visit after retreat I was still flying high. I felt like I could accomplish anything, except I still seemed not to have the desire I thought I should have. I was still not getting as much done as I wanted to do. Naps had become far apart and I had the desire to plan things but not to follow through. I still felt I didn't want anyone to know that I could become depressed. I was ashamed! I learned this in therapy, shame shaped my whole life. So I told a few people that I could trust with my shame.
The mission trip to Honduras was fast approaching and I stayed busy packing and unpacking. I would have to manage my own bags through airports and every where we went. I still took too much. My cargo bag weighted less than 50 lbs. My carry ons consisted of a purse/small carry on bag, a backpack with a change of clothes and bath supplies and my Cpap machine bag. I was starting out handicapped with my weight but baggage was another 75 lb to move around. I knew I could do anything after climbing that pole.
My medicine was helping with the chemical side of my depression and the talk therapy was helping with the emotional side. By the time of the trip I was feeling pretty good. Honduras is beautiful so is the people. Sleeping in a cabin without air condition, showering with cold water, not being able to drink anything but bottled water were not a problem to me. The first day we traveled, the second day we hiked up Ambassador Mountain (yes mountain). Almost to the top I told someone I felt like I was on the first day of biggest loser. Coming down the mountain was just as hard on loose gravel. I slept good.
I worked on a team building a home for a very poor woman and her son. I helped with measuring and cutting boards. We were finished in two days. All that was left was window screens and screen doors that were finished up by the guys the next day. I went with all the women to work with the children, it was well worth it.
I have accomplished many things and this rates right up there with all of them. I am glad I went. I don't think the age made things harder on me but the weight did. When I got home I had lost 3 lbs a good start. I started thinking about what I ate. It wasn't till all the photos taken of me in Honduras began showing up. Who was this FAT, 2 chinned, all belly and boobs old woman I was looking at??? Two weeks after the trip I crashed again. Depression again!
The mission trip to Honduras was fast approaching and I stayed busy packing and unpacking. I would have to manage my own bags through airports and every where we went. I still took too much. My cargo bag weighted less than 50 lbs. My carry ons consisted of a purse/small carry on bag, a backpack with a change of clothes and bath supplies and my Cpap machine bag. I was starting out handicapped with my weight but baggage was another 75 lb to move around. I knew I could do anything after climbing that pole.
My medicine was helping with the chemical side of my depression and the talk therapy was helping with the emotional side. By the time of the trip I was feeling pretty good. Honduras is beautiful so is the people. Sleeping in a cabin without air condition, showering with cold water, not being able to drink anything but bottled water were not a problem to me. The first day we traveled, the second day we hiked up Ambassador Mountain (yes mountain). Almost to the top I told someone I felt like I was on the first day of biggest loser. Coming down the mountain was just as hard on loose gravel. I slept good.
I worked on a team building a home for a very poor woman and her son. I helped with measuring and cutting boards. We were finished in two days. All that was left was window screens and screen doors that were finished up by the guys the next day. I went with all the women to work with the children, it was well worth it.
I have accomplished many things and this rates right up there with all of them. I am glad I went. I don't think the age made things harder on me but the weight did. When I got home I had lost 3 lbs a good start. I started thinking about what I ate. It wasn't till all the photos taken of me in Honduras began showing up. Who was this FAT, 2 chinned, all belly and boobs old woman I was looking at??? Two weeks after the trip I crashed again. Depression again!
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Stronger than I think !
Sometime after my hitting bottom I finally gave in to seeing a Orthopedic Doctor for my achellies tendon. It had been bothering me for months and I had been limping around on it. I had been to an Orthopedic for my right hand in October and had surgery to unlock 2 fingers. My hand was not 100% yet but I went. I had a bone spur on my heel and tiny tears in the tendon. He put me in a cast boot for six weeks. Relief from the pain was immediate. I even wore a boot to bed at night. But once I took the boot off the pain was back. So it didn't take much to keep me in the boot for six weeks.
After 2 weeks of the increased Lexapro, I finally began to feel better. Not enough to get out of the house but better. Still sleepy and ready to nap. I started therapy sessions and was able to talk to someone who would listen with the intent to help.
After a whole month on the changed prescription I returned to the psychiatrist. After she had gotten a copy of my blood results from my GP she upped my Lexapro again to 40 mg daily. By the end of the next two weeks, with the increased medicine and the weekly therapy sessions, I was beginning to climb out of the pit. I was beginning to function again. I still didn't have a real desire to do anything.
The end of Feb. brought the Womens Retreat at Camp NaCoMe. The Orthopedic gave me the go to take off the cast as I saw fit. So I wore it off and on until retreat. I even carried it with me to wear when the foot hurt.
Retreat is usually uplifting under normal conditions but I was not in normal condition. To be very honest, I went because I was supposed to. I went through the motions, there were moments of fun and laughter but I was unconnected. On Saturday afternoon they offered the Zip Line for everyone that wanted to try it. Here I must explain why I said yes! The year before I had signed up to go on a Mission Trip with a church group. They have been several years before and had built homes. I signed up knowing this. Also knowing how strong I was. No one needs to tell me I am 75 lbs overweight or that I am 63 years old. So when it was announced that WE could do bible school for the children, I took it to mean ME. So of course I said YES, I was going to show everyone that I was stronger than I look.
So Saturday afternoon I hiked up a steep hillside to the site of the Zip line. It was about 50 yards long, ending further up the hillside. To attach to the zip line you had to climb a 50 ft pole, very much like a telephone pole. There were metal handle/steps attached but to get to them you had to climb a ladder. After hiking that far I was winded and my legs were weak. There were several that went in front of me so I had time to recover but my determination never wavered. I put on the harness and helmet and watch the taller younger women climb without fear. My turn came and I climb the ladder without a second thought. There was no thought of my heel or the pain this could cause. I reached up an grabbed the first handle, pulling with my right hand and pushing with my foot. I didn't even think about my still healing palm. I just kept moving until I reached the halfway mark. I failed to tell you I am 5'2" and the metal hooks had been a stretch for me, but the next handle was just out of reach of my right foot with the bad heel. I had to stop and think, I was not coming down! My leg was just too short and I had too much fat between me and the pole. I adjusted my stance leaning to the far, far left and pulled hard with my left hand and my foot made contact. I was off again until I had to make the transition to the platform. My arms and legs were limp and felt like noodles. It took all I had for the last pull and push to stand on the platform.
I can't describe how it felt to stand that high after doing the same thing the others had done only with 75 extra pounds and about 20 year more than the rest. I was literally so high that I don't really remember the ride on the Zip. Things in my life turned around with that climb. I knew I was stronger than even I knew.
After 2 weeks of the increased Lexapro, I finally began to feel better. Not enough to get out of the house but better. Still sleepy and ready to nap. I started therapy sessions and was able to talk to someone who would listen with the intent to help.
After a whole month on the changed prescription I returned to the psychiatrist. After she had gotten a copy of my blood results from my GP she upped my Lexapro again to 40 mg daily. By the end of the next two weeks, with the increased medicine and the weekly therapy sessions, I was beginning to climb out of the pit. I was beginning to function again. I still didn't have a real desire to do anything.
The end of Feb. brought the Womens Retreat at Camp NaCoMe. The Orthopedic gave me the go to take off the cast as I saw fit. So I wore it off and on until retreat. I even carried it with me to wear when the foot hurt.
Retreat is usually uplifting under normal conditions but I was not in normal condition. To be very honest, I went because I was supposed to. I went through the motions, there were moments of fun and laughter but I was unconnected. On Saturday afternoon they offered the Zip Line for everyone that wanted to try it. Here I must explain why I said yes! The year before I had signed up to go on a Mission Trip with a church group. They have been several years before and had built homes. I signed up knowing this. Also knowing how strong I was. No one needs to tell me I am 75 lbs overweight or that I am 63 years old. So when it was announced that WE could do bible school for the children, I took it to mean ME. So of course I said YES, I was going to show everyone that I was stronger than I look.
So Saturday afternoon I hiked up a steep hillside to the site of the Zip line. It was about 50 yards long, ending further up the hillside. To attach to the zip line you had to climb a 50 ft pole, very much like a telephone pole. There were metal handle/steps attached but to get to them you had to climb a ladder. After hiking that far I was winded and my legs were weak. There were several that went in front of me so I had time to recover but my determination never wavered. I put on the harness and helmet and watch the taller younger women climb without fear. My turn came and I climb the ladder without a second thought. There was no thought of my heel or the pain this could cause. I reached up an grabbed the first handle, pulling with my right hand and pushing with my foot. I didn't even think about my still healing palm. I just kept moving until I reached the halfway mark. I failed to tell you I am 5'2" and the metal hooks had been a stretch for me, but the next handle was just out of reach of my right foot with the bad heel. I had to stop and think, I was not coming down! My leg was just too short and I had too much fat between me and the pole. I adjusted my stance leaning to the far, far left and pulled hard with my left hand and my foot made contact. I was off again until I had to make the transition to the platform. My arms and legs were limp and felt like noodles. It took all I had for the last pull and push to stand on the platform.
I can't describe how it felt to stand that high after doing the same thing the others had done only with 75 extra pounds and about 20 year more than the rest. I was literally so high that I don't really remember the ride on the Zip. Things in my life turned around with that climb. I knew I was stronger than even I knew.
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