A Funny Day

And not just because tomorrow is April Fool's. It was funny wierd. Yesterday I did lots of good writing, thinking and reading, but today I was pretty sluggy. I did do some writing yesterday on my sadness over some old stuff with my parents, and I think that today my brain was doing everything it could to not think about it. I think it needs some more writing and then a talk with my sponsor, but maybe not today.

I did get a short walk in before it started to pour, and I cooked a tasty nutritious supper, when what I really craved was a big old F-It-It's-Friday pizza. I held off on the pizza because I had a burger and fries Wednesday, and tomorrow I'm going out for lunch. The lunch is at a restaurant I'm not overly fond of; it's one of those big middle of the road chain restaurants. You know, it does nothing really well, but a lot of stuff ok. It's convenient for a bunch of us after my OA meeting tomorrow, and I know I can get a reasonable entree and a salad while enjoying the company of my friends.

Tomorrow is my "official" OA 1st year celebration and a member who has a lot of experience in OA is the guest speaker. She's a smart, thoughtful woman, and I'm looking forward to hearing it, and hopefully I won't be too nervous to listen and be present. Wow. I can't believe I have gone for a whole year without any binge eating - wait, 15 months, my year passed in January.

Thanks to Tiffany I've been on the lookout for hyacinths on sale and bought four a few days ago. Two blue and two white, and they smell wonderful! Maybe today hasn't been so bad.

I'm enjoying the writing of Jonathan at Skinnydailypost.com. He comes up with some pretty good thoughts about his/our struggle with food.

More Ammo for Naps!

Always on top of the pulse of the planet, I just now found this in today's Toronto Globe & Mail:

Want Your Children to Lose Weight? Send them to Bed

SCOTT DEVEAU

Globe and Mail Update

Hitting the hay may be just as good as hitting the gym in the fight against childhood obesity, a new study suggests.

The risk of becoming overweight is 3.5 times higher in children who get less sleep than in those who sleep a lot, according to the research.

“It's ironic that part of the solution to obesity might lie in sleep, the most sedentary of all human activities,” according to Angelo Tremblay, one of three co-authors of the study, which is published in the March issue of the International Journal of Obesity.

Researchers from the Université Laval's Faculty of Medicine measured the weight, height, and waist size of 422 children aged 5 to 10. After taking body mass index readings, they found that those children who slept less than 10 hours a night were 3.5 times more at risk of being overweight than those who slept for more than 12 hours.

“No other factor analyzed in the study — parental obesity, parents' level of education, family income, time spent in front of the TV or computer, regular physical activity — had as much of an impact on obesity than time spent sleeping,” according to the report.

The researchers speculate that hormones produced during sleep, or those produced when the children are deprived of it, are responsible for the differences in weight, Mr. Tremblay said.

“Lack of sleep lowers the level of leptin, a hormone that stimulates metabolism and decreases hunger. In addition, short nights of sleep boost the concentration of ghrelin, a hormone that increases hunger,” Mr. Tremblay said in a statement.

Mr. Tremblay speculates that the relationship between a general loss of sleep and increased rates of obesity in society have broader implications than in just young children.

Between 1960 and 2000, the prevalence of obesity doubled in the population while the average night of sleep lost one to two hours. During the same period, the percentage of young adults who slept less than seven hours went from 16 per cent to 37 per cent, according to the report.

“In light of this study's results, my best prescription against obesity in children would be to encourage them to move more and to make sure they get enough sleep,” Mr. Tremblay said.

And to think I was feeling guilty about schlepping around in my hoodie and flannel pants... That's it, I'm NEVER getting dressed! PJ pants rule!

Is it Just Me, or Is That Pillow Looking Damn Tasty?

I checked in with my family doctor on Tuesday to see how my abdomen was recovering from the hysterectomy, now about 7 weeks post-op. She liked the look of my incision, poked and prodded my belly a lot and then said that due to the fact I had developed 3 hematomas post-op (internal bleeds), I should take it easy for another month. That means no heavy lifting or anything to stress the abdomen much, and she specifically mentioned sit-ups or running, and suggested swimming instead.

Rats. I'm not very good at swimming, and I hate changing my exercise habits. I hate change period. Sigh. Well, tomorrow I'll give it a try. Another F***ing Growth Opportunity (AFGO), how I hate them.

Life slowwwly returns to normal. Because I've had a lot of appointments and meetings this week in the city about 40 minutes drive from here, I've been getting up and going in with Fuzz when he goes to work there, and thereby saving on the gas of running both cars. But I've been sleep deprived because of this: I'm a night owl and he has to get up at 6.

For three days I noticed I was REALLY hungry. Lunch seemed like nothing, I wanted brownies and cookies. Then I realized: of course, I'm tired, and when I'm tired, I get hungry. Then I happened on this 2 year old article at Web MD about studies linking lack of sleep to obesity.

Hm. Yup. It fits. So, the last couple of days my schedule has been more open, and I'm still on sick leave. I'm sleeping like a mad fool, and the cravings are much, MUCH quieter. Being on sick leave, I'm starting to realize that I have to be more conscious of my recovery in that other area, recovering from the chronic disease that threatens to kill me, my eating disorder.

I recommend naps highly, I think they are much more important to my state of mind than a clean ________ (fill in whatever household area looks like it should take presidence over a good nap). Bon Nappetite!

My New Pet

I made this up for a scrapbook they're putting together for my doctor, Raju Hajela, who's leaving town in April. He specializes in addiction medicine, mostly therapy for people who are dealing with addictions, and that's how he views my eating disorder --- as an addiction. In his view, when people are using substances ---the usual suspects, drugs, alcohol, but also food--- or behaviours, like excessive gambling, sex, or shopping oneself into big debt, they are in the grips of a disease. He sees the roots of the disease as a pervasive sense of shame and the sufferers attempt to supress the pain by controlling their environment --- externally as well as internally.

He repeats this so often in private sessions and group therapy sessions that one day I said to him, "I swear Raju, when you leave, I'm going to get a parrot and teach him how to say it to me!" He laughed, having a healthy ego and a good sense of humour.

Before I ever met this man or considered joining Overeaters Anonymous I had the realization that I was using food just like my father had used alcohol: as a "secret" coping technique. He was a closet drunk, I was a closet eater. Or, I would strictly control my food in serial diets. Now I see how I often use isolation to keep me in a 'safe' place.

Turns out I don't have to buy that parrot, I've got it in my head, and it's amazing how often the pesky critter squawks in my brain. I am starting to recognize just how pervasive the shame is from the moment I wake. I hear my shame echoed in the voices of the people I meet in my 12 step groups. So many of them are smart and funny and talented, but you can hear the sadness and how hobbled they have been by their diseases. It's both daunting and inspiring: the seriousness and depth of the affliction (who needs locusts?) and the incredible strength I get from sharing my struggles with such an inspiring group of fellow fighters.

Thanks - Wow, There's a Lot!

Usually on Monday morning it's hard for me to remember exactly why I wanted to be up this early, there is some amount of dread I have for the beginning of the week, and I think it also colors my enjoyment, or lack thereof, of Sunday. Today we have a business meeting after my OA meeting, and as secretary of that group, I'm not looking forward to it. There's a contentious issue on the table, and honestly, having grown up as the peacemaker in a family of drunks, I'm really dreading it. I just wish that all those bothersome people would go away and stop rocking my boat!

So, maybe it would be helpful for me to make a gratitude list, a common enough assignment people tend to get from their sponsors in 12 step programs when the world feels like a rotten place. I'm just going to spiel off whatever floats into my sleepy brain.

So what am I grateful for? I won't be insulted if you barely skim this...

1. That incredible orchid a friend gave me when I got out of hospital about 6 weeks ago. As you can see by the picture I took on Saturday, it's still going strong! It's amazing, I've never had one before. Hey, in the background you can see the Hula Girl Cameron (he's from Hawaii) gave me 4 years ago!

2. The sun and relative warmth of the last couple of days.

3. How happy Fuzz seems to be in his new teaching position at a different school and how renewed he's been since he finished his master's and started doing the extra work for the university and the provincial government. For a long time I've felt guilty because I haven't been contributing much financially, but I think I've been a good support to him in other ways.

4. The warmth of friends, and OA friends. My sponsor who I call once in a blue moon but she hasn't given up on me and just last night told me how far I have come. Laughter with them.

5. No hot flashes for the last 5 days! And my abdomen is hardly bloated or sore even though I went for a 20 minute walk yesterday --- the longest one since my operation! I am feeling less like a recuperating patient and more and more like a well person.

6. As ever, my kitty Ms Boo Boo Deluxe. She shreds my furniture, sheds on my clothes and hides whenever people visit, but I still love the wee wild beastie.

7. My country. Relative freedom, peace, abundance, and space. I don't have some man threatening me if I don't cover my head.

8. Starbucks decaf Sumatra, a comfy chair and wi-fi.

9. Mark's Work Warehouse spandex jeans with tummy control panel to help with the post op swelling.

10. My creativity is started to re-emerge because I'm not pushing it and feeling less self imposed pressure. The studio is looking less and less intimidating.

11. This blog --- my writing is so much more regular now.

12. My job and good friends waiting for my return in a couple of weeks. (If it weren't for the latter there I might ditch the job - they make it worthwhile).

13. Feeling less scared just enough to consider soon selling our house and moving closer to where we want to be --- closer to friends, family, and things that interest us.

14. Being able to voice uncomfortable feelings more than before.

15. Imperfectly allowing myself imperfections.

16. My pen tablet.

17. Not having a binge since January 16, 2005.

18. My diabetes and hypertension are gone, gone, gone.

19. People are willing to say nice things about me at my one year celebration of gratitude #17 on Saturday.

20. A good family doctor and ob-gyn.

21. 2 excellent therapists

22. The tenacity to keep working with one of #21 even though it's over the phone to NYC, and the faith that I will survive the other one leaving his practice here to work in Calgary.

23. Flexibility and faith that I can survive changing my eating habits: learning to enjoy vegetables and smaller portions, rich foods as a treat not a daily entitlement, I can survive eating a little less while laid up post-operation, and surprise surprise, I have thrived for 4 months without eating a single potato chip. I feel free of the craziness that I get after having a few chips (because I want to eat so many, many more), not deprived.

24. I have a good brain that I'm starting to allow myself to put to good use.

25. If this is being middle aged, it's pretty damn kewl!

26. Learning that if I can open up a little bit about my struggle with my food and depression with Fuzz's parents, they can be quite understanding.

27. My jogging buds who are waiting for my return.

28. Fuzz cleaned up the junk around the woodpile and shed yesterday. It looks great!

29. Lindt 70% chocolate bars in 35 g sizes -- just enough.

30. OA has no prescribed plan of eating - it's up to me.

31. Finding a good registered dietician to help me tweak how I work the Canada Food Guide so I'm not ravenous by evening.

32. Discovering that I can still be Catholic even if we've left "The" church.

33. 6 weeks of recuperation to make me appreciate health, consider whether I am exercising too much, and being able to poop without pain!

34. I have enough money. Not a lot, but Enough. What a concept.

35. I can choose to work part time.

36. I am discovering how much choice I have.

A post script: The meeting was fine. In fact, although strong emotions did come out (a number of people were in tears), it was one of the most honest and heartfelt meetings I've been at in a long time. I'm actually now grateful I went through that. Incredible. Guess that makes this number 37.

Smell Something Burning?

I think I may need to check my blood pressure --- my head is spinning and I've got this headache that comes and goes. Yesterday I thought it was due to the stress of my final appt with the addictions doc, but it's back now. It could be emotions, fluctuating hormones in the wake of the hysterectomy, or the latest virus making its rounds as the Canadian winter mercifully retreats.

I also could be overstimulated from the OA meeting I just came from. It was a 3rd anniversary celebration and there were a number of speakers. I'm a little freaked because I'm officially celebrating a year of abstinence a week from today, and I've got party anxiety. At least I scheduled it for April 1st --- that lightens it up a bit!

To make my state of mind worse, right after the meeting I went to meet Fuzz and seated with him was someone from my group whom I like but who is, as another friend said, like a big puppy: You love and admire all her energy and enthusiasm, but after a short while you're exhausted, have a strong urge to kick her, and ya just need a rest! What I wish I could have said was, "Hon, I'm worn out and I need a quiet lunch with Fuzz" But I didn't and afterwards I think I compounded the buzzing by browsing the housing listings in the paper making me more anxious (oh how the hell are we going to clean and sell and buy and move and oh my) and voila, a seething case of busybrain!

So Fuzz has left me at the Starbucks and gone for a run. I could have gone for a walk, but writing this, I find this is giving me vent for the "should"s floating around behind the fevered brow. That's why this is a blog and not a column: it's more therapy than journalism! Time for more writing, but the freeform stuff best done offline with no inhibitions... Contrary to appearances, I do edit here! If I discover anything interesting I'll let you know.

Nerves

I'm a bit keyed up because I've got my last appointment with my addictions doc before he leaves town next month. A bit??? More than a bit; my head is humming like I've had 5 cups of coffee and I've only had one.

I'll still see him in 2 more recovery group sessions (dammit) which are only slightly less enjoyable than having a tooth filled. These people really drive me nuts, push my buttons, raise my defensive hackles, make me want to scream and I've often left the sessions in tears. They make me crazy like my parents only used to, or is it they show me just how crazy I can get? Next to them, an OA meeting is a stroll in the park.

I'll be glad to see the back end o' him, but I have to admit I'm scared too. My abstinence date from binge eating/purging is from one day before I started working with him/them and I'm not sure it's a complete coincidence.

But,
I've been told many times by the Doc and my friends in recovery, if I live the 12 steps of OA, I will place my faith in a higher power (that I do not necessarily always call God) that given me staying open to a healthy voice in meditation and prayer to whatever that force in the universe is that wants me to be healthy, will lead me to the next step I need to take in regaining emotional, spiritual and physical health.

It's a simple answer, but that doesn't mean it's easy.

But what choice do I have?

Saved by the Routine

As I've gone through this firestorm in my head the last couple of weeks, and my recuperation from my surgery, I've been amazed that my food has been ok. As non functional as I have felt, I have to be grateful that a lot has changed in my life over the last 3 years I've been in recovery from my disease.

Yes, it's a disease. My sick relationship with food is a disease, not a character defect. Not even I believe this all the time, but I've noticed that when I do treat myself as someone who is recovering from a life threatening disease, my overall physical and mental well-being improve.

I've got a lot of stuff going for me now that wasn't in place before: people I can talk to about the embarassing aspects of my crazy behaviour with food, who can laugh with me, not mock me, and I can also talk with these people about the darkest moments in my life that have lead me to this point, in an atmosphere that is remarkably free of judgement. It's not perfect, we're all human, but it is amazingly good.

But continually, I have been able to fall back on my daily plan of eating. OA doesn't give you a plan of eating, you have the right to eat what you think is right for you, but the literature encourages members to get advice from health professionals. I have managed to craft with the help of the Canada Food Guide (our version of the USDA food pyramid) others, reading from reputable sources, and even nutrition ideas I brought with me from my previous membership in an international weight loss club (Club is a misnomer. It's a business, "a leading global branded consumer company" ---that's lifted verbatim from their corporate website, separate from the members website, by the way --- that trades on the New York Stock Exchange). I also ran my plan by my family doctor, and got her to refer me to a registered dietician over a year ago, and she tweaked it a bit.

How did I know I wasn't eating enough? One day I realized that the thought of being this hungry for the rest of my life was a daunting possibility. It had been enough when I started on this journey but I hadn't counted on one significant change in my lifestyle: I was going from someone who got winded when walking a few blocks, to one who slowly started to discover, and actually enjoy physical activity. No wonder I got extreme cravings in the late afternoon, I needed more protein early in the day!

Now, I still get cravings, usually when I'm under stress (Hello winter, surgery, moving!), but they are so much more manageable and quickly subside.

I was grocery shopping after a particularly stressful day last week. Yes, that was a mistake! I was in, sigh, Costco, and briefly my childhood fantasy of buying a whole box of chocolate bars popped into my head. It was perfect, I was alone, and had a half hour drive ahead of me to get home. Who would know? Of course everyone would soon know, because I soon would be back into reclusive food addict behaviour. In the nightgown, on the couch, covered in crumbs with wrappers hidden under the cushions or in a drawer... It's good that the fantasy now works both ways. I visualize how very bad it could get and how very quickly.

Then I reminded myself that I had a planned balanced meal waiting at home for me that I had told Fuzz we were having. The fantasy came back once more before I got home, but I just kept driving. For that, I'm grateful.

Who am I Living For?

“What about your own life?....Just wait ‘till I die, and you’ll have to think of your self. How ya gonna like that?”

---Richard Brown (Ed Harris) in The Hours

I’ve got The Hours on the VCR, Fuzz’s mom picked up the tape cheap somewhere... I saw it in a theatre when it came out, and just finished the novel last night. I don’t know why it’s buzzing around in my head so. Maybe it’s because I understand Laura Brown’s feeling of being trapped in what is supposed to be a dream life, and a little of the mental torture of Virginia Woolfe.

Maybe it’s a sense of the futility of life. Maybe that feeling of futility is the essential nature of being a woman that Woolf captured and Michael Cunningham relayed into the mid and last of the 20th century. Whaddyaknow, I’m a woman, and I feel death and life and madness so intermingled with everyday common chores, like buying flowers and making birthday cakes. Especially in birthday cakes. I haven't a clue as to what to say to my mother-in-law, but I made them a hell of a 50th anniversary cake!

Something I noticed about myself long ago is how easy it is for me to start living in someone else's brain, just as Cunningham's Clarissa did for years, loving and then caring for the dying Richard. He was the tortured genius whom she felt mocked by, trivialized. Often the woman's job, taking care of the trivial stuff so genius' could do the genius work, or in other words, taking care of life for them. I never wanted to do that, be the helpmaid, as my mother seemed to do, but I'm not sure I know how to be the artist either.

Somehow, despite me knowing it, I learned that my job was to fix the others in my life, make them happy, and subjugate my feelings so deeply that I often haven't got any clue as to just how I feel. But ask me what X, Y, or Z needs to do to fix their life, and I've got 42 suggestions for each. I stay up at night thinking of advice to give my family and friends on how to better live their lives. I rage in my head, I lie in bed silently yelling, but when it comes to what I want, all that seems to come out is a fog of confusion, pressure behind my eyes, reducing me to fevered tears. I don't know how I feel, I don't know what I want.

I was lying in bed some morning last week, and like most of the mornings of that week I didn’t want to wake up. Feeling tortured as usual. Then it hits me, hey, I really AM a tortured artist. Just like Virginia Woolf. I am tortured. I torture myself. I am an artist. I can’t be the artist I want to be because I so torture myself. I want I want I want... what is it again that I want?

It was some comfort to think that at least I was fitting in somewhere!

Get Away from Me With That Scalpel!

Here's another quote from William Leith in that NY Times article I linked to yesterday:

"I heard an item on the radio the other day," Leith recalls, "in which an obesity expert was asked, 'If the government could do one thing to stop the obesity crisis, what would it be?'

The man paused, and said, 'That's the trouble. There is no one thing you can do. You have to do ... everything."'

Is that depressing to someone who has tried and tried to lose weight and never managed to keep it off? Of course! No wonder so many desperate morbidly obese people look at bariatric (weight loss) surgery with hope. The problem seems overwhelming, and the operation can give some the "leg up" they feel they need to combat the disease. Been there, felt that way, but luckily, I didn’t have the surgery because my therapist shoved me in the direction of OA first.

I’m not sure if I would have survived it anyway. Hell, I’m just coming out of a slow five week recovery from major abdominal surgery (hysterectomy), and I was physically fit and healthy going in to it. How might I have fared if I had still been 300 pounds with hypertension and Type 2 diabetes? Things could have been much dicier.

I'm not a big fan of bariatric surgery, having met someone who had a gastric bypass at around 400 pounds and then just about died from a post operative infection. She did survive, but only after weeks of misery in a hospital, and a few years later, she still suffers from nutrition absorption problems and hypoglycemia. The surgery allowed her to initially lose about 200 pounds, but her stomach stretched again and she has gained back about half that. She is now in Overeaters Anonymous to try to deal with her food issues.

Our government-funded health system has settled on bariatric surgery as a viable alternative to a life shortened or made unlivable by morbid obesity. Yet the problem is just so much larger than losing weight. If it were, I would have licked it one of those first 3 times during my life that I lost sizeable amounts of weight of 80 to 100 pounds...

By no means is bariatric surgery an “easy way out” for those who have to endure it and its long term complications. But I do think that certain medical bureaucrats have latched on it as a simple fix for very ill obese people. Sure, the surgery seems to be a straightforward option, but at a conservative estimate of $20,000 to $35,000 US for one operation without complications, does it even make economic sense? What would the success rate be if a portion of this money was put into treatment programmes for the obese, similar to those that you now see for addicts, anorexics and bulimics?

Thin, With Problems

William Leith, author of "The Hungry Years" in an article by Holly Brubach in The New York Times, Feb 26/06

As Leith observes, "If it's successful, a diet merely makes you temporarily look like a person who doesn't have your problems." In a society overrun with images of movie stars and supermodels, that's enough for most people.

Until, of course, it's not.

This is one of the things I have found over and over in my life, and I hear it so many times in OA meetings, "I thought that once I was thin, my life would be perfect". Of course, life doesn't happen that way. It's amazing how so many of us get caught in that simplistic idea. You would have thought that I would have learned that when I was thin, temporarily, at 15, at 24, and now at 44. I think that one of the reasons I have managed to stay at a healthy weight for as long as I have this time around my foray to the planet of the non-obese is, I recognize how much deeper than my size my problems run. Sorry, but the weight is only the tip of the iceberg.

This week the firestorm in my head has been miserable, and I know it's been reflected in my posts, or lack thereof. But my food has been fine. I am a thin, not model thin, person with problems. I don't feel normal, but I think I am actually moreso than I have ever admitted.

Better

Today is better, thankfully. My brain is still full of junk, old tapes playing, I think, but I'm remembering that someone in that %$#@ recovery group saying that it usually took her a full day just to recover from that session, so I need to take it easy on myself.

So I am. My abdomen hurts too so I'm staying in bed as much as possible. Almost 5 weeks after the surgery and it's one or two good days and then the body says, not quite yet, chickie. The progress is miniscule but definitely measurable.

And what better way to nurture myself but with FOOD! The irony is exquisite, isn't it? At least this is through cooking something healthy rather than bingeing.

I made a big pot of chicken stock on Sunday and today a good pot of vegetable soup for me and Fuzz. A British friend calls it (ok, imagine a plummy London accent here) "Fridge Bottom Soup" because that's what it is --- a bit of everything from the veg crispers: celery, carrot, rutabaga, mushrooms, spinach, and garlic, of course. I had some leftover macaroni with stewed tomatoes and I threw that in too. It still lacked a little something so I tried some smoked paprika, some ancho chile, oregano, and fresh thyme from the pot in the window... hmmm... still not quite there. A flash of inspiration: a couple of lumps of pesto frozen from September. Ahhh... finally it isn't just a pot of vegetables floating in broth, but soup.

I'm still resisting meditation and any more journaling than you see here. I guess I have to get more miserable first, perhaps.

OK, I've got to get dressed. Fuzz is going running with our running group tonight and I'm going to hit an OA meeting because, hopefully, and it's a strong likelihood that it will help me feel better.

Gnawingly Crazy

Fuzz is eating peanut butter. He doesn't want a peanut butter sandwich, but just plain peanut butter. We have no junk food in the house. Fuzz has been reduced to eating a soup spoon full of peanut butter (all natural of course --- begone Satan trans fats!) when he wants a snack during Letterman.

I feel insane. I am amazed at how angry I am today. Oh boy, it's rough. This is the problem about being off the food, I guess, I get swamped by these really strong emotions.

I got set off around the buffet at the farewell party next month for the addictions doctor and am nursing a big fat resentment over how not even other addicts get my food addiction. It's not as if I'm not used to coping with food served at events, jeez it's every where I turn, I used to go to AA meetings for a while but most of them end with cake! I get damn tired of it and I got no sympathy from that bunch in my therapy group today. The three organizers of the event are even in OA, for fuck's sake! But then my defensive anger tells me "well, they obviously don't have a real food problem", not as bad as me, the girl who was the poster child for the food addict equivalent of the gutter drunk... Are you getting the sense that I am raving mad here?

Part of it may be because the therapist is leaving town, I'm feeling really frightened that when I don't see him any more, my healing is going to halt. This may be perfectly illogical, I know. But the fear is there.

Then it seems as if everyone in my groups is bugging me. I honestly don't know who is bugging me more, the ones that I perceive as being "sicker" than me or the ones that I perceive as more "healed" than I am and I think they are smug, patronizing or criticizing me. Of course they aren't but I seem to need such external validation to feel safe. There I go comparing myself to others again, and I don't want to be, but I am frightened of others and angry. It makes me just want to pull my head back into my shell. And eat. Oh boy, could I use a tray of fudge brownies right now, followed by...oh forget it. I can't even go there with the fantasies. I've been chased around by them all day.

I'm just clearing some of this evilness out of my craw, and this anger will probably pass. I am deeply ashamed of feeling this way, I think I was trained to be ashamed. I am feeling so prickly around this issue I really don't want feedback around it, thanks. I am also having a number of hot flashes today, so all this grief may be a case of screwed up hormones. Really, I utterly crave gnawing on something, like a dog on a stick (mmm Pogo), which if they didn't have splinters I might be looking at one of the branches off the apple tree out back. Why don't dogs get splinters? I just pick up a piece of firewood without gloves and I get one.

I wish I could buy a chocolate flavoured estrogen injected rawhide bone. And throw a peanut butter one to Fuzz. Grrr gnash gnash gnash

The Truth Behind the Euphemism of "Julie's Story"

I don't know if they are airing where you live, but recently I've been intrigued by a slick tv ad promoting "medical solutions" to weight problems, and encouraging you to ask your doctor about "Julie's Story". Another euphemism for bariatric surgery? No, as I found out when I Googled it. It's a drug called Xenical, which basically changes the fat you eat into something that sounds suspiciously like Olestra, that fake fat your body can't absorb. Remember that? Actually, Canadians might not because I don't think Olestra was ever approved for use in food here.

When I was living in New York, I tried the potato chips they were making with Olestra. They were, ok, and I didn't suffer the distressing side effects that some people did (a hint: you wouldn't want to be too far from a bathroom after eating more than a small bag of 'em). However, it couldn't solve my eating woes either, because dietary fat was/is only a part of my eating problem. I can chow down just as easily on the mega bag of low fat whole grain oat bran flax seed omega three enhanced pretzels as anything.

Don't even get me started on all the fat soluable vitamins you might also be rinsing out of your body... for more information on this stuff than I even want to think about, check out what I found at the Canadian Women's Health Network:

"Julie's Story"
From fat to farts: what's stinky about these ads...

According to the Globe and Mail (02/24/05) the "Julie's Story" ad campaign is being funded by Hoffman-LaRoche to promote sales of their pharmaceutical, Xenical (also known as Orlistat). Xenical is no magic pill that simply melts the pounds away for those of us wanting to lose a few, as the ads may suggest, but a prescription medication approved only for the treatment of obesity.

What Xenical does to your body
Xenical works by preventing the absorption of dietary fats from the foods you eat, with undigested fat removed through bowel movements. In the process, the absorption of some important fat-soluble vitamins and beta-carotene in the diet are blocked. So those taking Xenical must also take vitamin supplements to get the essential nutrients they are no longer able to absorb from the foods that they eat.

The most common side-effects of Xenical are the following:

• Oily or fatty bowel movements (stools)
• Increased number of bowel movements
• Urgent need and/or inability to control bowel movement
• Bowel movements that are orange or brown in colour
• Gas with discharge
• Oily discharge
• Stomach pain
• Irregular menstrual periods.

Xenical is also not recommended for those who are pregnant, planning to get pregnant, breastfeeding, or who suffer from chronic malabsorption syndrome or cholestasis.

Does "Julie's Story" still sound sexy to you?

For other health complications associated with Xenical, visit:

• Complete Product Information: Xenical - Hoffman-LaRoche
• Xenical Consumer Information - Food and Drug Administration (US)

My Multiple Personalities

Sometimes I just have to shake my head at this divided brain I have.

After a couple of years in Overeaters Anonymous I started working with a local MD who specializes in treating people who struggle with addictions. As a compulsive overeater and the daughter of an alcoholic, I was ready to start addressing some issues. Now, he's leaving town to take a position at a university in western Canada, and some of his other patients have organized a goodbye evening for him at a local library. They're selling tickets to cover the cost of room rental, and he's going to give a parting speech. What got me thinking was the fact that they are asking people to bring food for a finger food buffet for after.

At first, I was miffed. "Hmph! Why don't they just ask his alcoholic patients to provide wine?" I sniffed. However, that was quickly followed by this thought: "Hey, maybe I can make those cute chocolate cupcakes I found that recipe for!"

I don't know what I'm actually going to do. I don't know if this is a healthy or food obsessed response, but often times over the last couple of years I have made a fancy dessert for an event, and that way I can have a piece and have others eat the leftovers so I won't fall into my old pattern of eating the whole thing. On the other hand, my choir has social evenings a few times a year and if I don't feel like making something special I take nothing at all and then actually don't approach the food table and just have some tea or coffee, which also works for me.

I don't think there's any one right approach for someone who has an eating disorder, because, unlike an alcoholic, we have to eat to live and I'm determined that the eating I do is pretty healthy and tasty, and sometimes a little something decadent or greasy just feels right. But then it may feel as if I've just fed my dragon a little too much and he's gotten fired up enough he's going to be difficult to stuff back in his cage. You know my dragon, he's the one my sponsor says we are obliged to take out of its cage for a walk at least 3 times a day!

Back, Well Sort Of, Maybe, Kinda...

Day 28 post hysterectomy! Are you tired of hearing about this? Well, I don't blame you, I'm pretty tired of it myself. I hadn't planned on it taking up this much brain space, or bandwidth.

I do use the h-word every time I talk about the surgery because I don't want to give anyone the idea I had had a gastric bypass or a similar procedure. And well, I'm sorry, but recovering from this thing has been a long, long, strange journey. A lot less pain, but a lot more patience has been required with the fatigue and just a very slow healing process. And yet, all the guideposts, medical advice and websites tell me I am experiencing a very average recovery, and I should expect another two weeks to a month of this, gradually easing back into life.

This weekend I had lots of flashes of normalcy followed by hitting the fatigue wall and taking incredibly deep naps. After decades of not being a good day sleeper, I've never been such a champion napper!

I can drive again (albeit with a cushion between myself and the seatbelt, kind of looks like I'm practicing for pregnancy!) which really helps with the invalid-itis, and then yesterday I'm standing in the cash line at a store and realized, uh oh, do I ever need to lie down. I had done too much by carrying my laptop and messenger bag 2 blocks. I bought my few purchases and almost shuffled back to the car, bent over like an old lady, trying to take the pressure off my humming tum, wondering if I could trust a fellow pedestrian with my laptop as far as the car.

Today, I'm damned if I am going to spend more than 15 minutes vertical before the evening! Excuse me, but I've got a date with some mindless tv... ahhhhhhhzzzzzz...

Distracted by the Lips, Temporarily

As much as I try to maintain the image of being above it all, I was delayed from starting this post for at least 10 minutes while checking out the Blogger pick of the day, awfulplasticsurgery.com. It's hypnotic. I've spent enough time in NYC to start being able to pick out who's had too much facial augmentation --- particularly those wierd eyes and scary sharp cheekbones with the leetle skinny Mikey Jackson nose... I guess I'm developing a sense like Gaydar, maybe you could call it Plastdar? All those people start looking as if they're related, like Prisilla Presley is Joan River's sister...Haven't noticed so much over collagened lips in the east, maybe that's more of a west coast/LA thing.

Ok, try to get out of the totally shallow end of the pool, but then so much of this blog is about body image. And then there is my own not-terribly-serious consideration of abdominal plastic surgery to take up the slack left from my weight loss. As I warned you, having my hysterectomy has brought my focus so strongly back to my tum, but I've been leery to get into discussions of it because, well, it's a very personal area. And I haven't got a lot of time today, I'm hopefully off to an OA retreat for the weekend as soon as Fuzz can pick me up.

But it's so interesting to me! Guess this is literally navel gazing. I'm still pretty swollen in the lower abdomen, making an area I've been always too aware of more prominent. One of the last things to go is the swelling after the operation. After 3 weeks of flannel pj pants, I tried on a pair of my jeans, not my smallest ones, this morning and they fit, but they looked pretty strange over the bulge. And then I realized that they also were uncomfortable. So back into the pj's and I have some nice loose palazzo pants for the weekend.

But I've got this skin, you see. It makes a flap (feels like a big one right now) at the bottom of my abdomen. Some people who lose a lot of weight have such a big one it causes problems with walking or chafes, so they have actual reason to have it surgically altered. I don't have those problems so it would be strictly vanity, unless, and this is unlikely, it interferes with the healing of the incision from my recent operation. Besides, if I did change that bit, then wouldn't I be tempted to take on other formerly fat but now deflated, saggy bits of my body? At my age, that could be unending, and then, voila, Joan Rivers! On my better days, I try to view the sags as battle scars from my war with a life threatening disease, which is entirely true. But oh God, it's not always easy to keep my head up high with those young perky 20 somethings in the change room at the gym!

Right now I just hope the swelling goes down and I get back into my pants comfortably some day. Patience. Crap.

In another surreal turn of events, my 68 year old mother-in-law has developed a passion for digital photography to go along with the computer we bought her a few years back. That she went from luddite to websurfer at her age is cool, but now she has learned how to airbrush her photos. Last month she gave me a picture of our 16 year old nephew, and then pointed out how she airbrushed out some of his blemishes, and more strangely, his fledgling teenager moustache, of which she disproves. Now his upper lip is looking like a baby's bottom. Et tu, Maxine!!!

Diet Books Make me Crazy

My name is Maggie and I used to be hooked on diet books. I haven’t actually bought one in years, which is good because I would be much poorer than I already am. Have you seen how huge the diet section is in bookstores now? Or maybe they call it “Eating for Wellness” “Healthy Lifestyles” or some such other euphemism except for what it is, the same old thing it was in the 1980's, the first time Atkins went around the dog track: “Promises of Magic Cures for Your Food”. Still, from time to time I lapse and wander through the section, café americano in hand, and scan the shelves.

More and more I get irritated after a few minutes and move on. One of the books that has been ticking me off is French Women Don’t Get Fat by Mireille Guiliano. That title is such a load of, well, merde de taureau. I loved the New Yorker cartoon last spring that showed gendarmes in Paris loading fat women into a paddywagon in the predawn hours. I’m not arguing that the rate of obesity among the french may be lower than in the country of the drive-thru, but no fat women? I don’t think so, and neither does the French government, as is evidenced by this poster:









The large print can be roughly translated as “Obesity kills, do you always find this really funny? Obesity is a serious illness that kills 55,000 people each year. It is not a fault or a flaw, much less a joke.”








You may not see many obese women strolling in the 16me arrondissement in Paris, but then I don’t remember seeing many while walking around the chi chi poo poo upper east side of New York, unless I counted myself. On Fulton Street in Brooklyn, it was a different matter. Issues of class and obesity aside, obese people are often very skilled in hiding.