I believe I've been abducted by aliens.

Perhaps!

I got to bed almost by 3 a.m., so you'd think I'd be a bit "out of it" all things considered.

For the first time in hmmm, almost three years (it'll be 3 years in July-August), I woke up, and got out of bed before 8 a.m. (actually by 7:45, which is UNHEARD OF for me). Had a leisurely cup of coffee, packed up my lunch bag, and even managed to shampoo today and got the husband off to the train station pretty damned close to "on time."

Productive. Alert. A little ranty and rambling, but, I think I'm doing LIGHT YEARS better than I was on "the junk." I even *GASP!* stayed on my exercise bike about 40 minutes last night. WHO THE HELL AM I? :)

146.5 hours since my last dose of Effexor, and so far so good. Still cold turkey.

Epilogue to Last Night's Rant

Found the missing container in question.

It was in the freezer.

120 Hours Sans Effexor

Please don't preach to me. I went off it cold turkey, and so far I haven't looked back.

So right about now, I'm shall we say, EDGY. I can't stand being touched, and there's no reasoning with me at the moment. Work tomorrow is going to be a true joy. NOT!

I need to get to some specialist, which one? I haven't a clue at the moment, to get a handle on defining, with certainty, WHAT EXACTLY DO I HAVE (bipolar? who knows), because psychotherapy, I do not believe is helping me. And medication isn't helping me at all. Each have run their course, and I have hit the proverbial wall.

I have all this good stuff happening in other aspects of my life as it pertains to my weight loss: the weight loss itself, improved health (allegedly), and this one's more for others (I think I'm cure as is), but folks tell me it makes me more attractive. WHATEVER. I just want to get the fuck off medications.

My reproductive endocrinologist had alluded to me that he might put me back on metformin for my PCOS (my A1C and fasting glucose are (and have been) within normal parameters for a while). This distresses me. Every pill I pop, I worry about what it's doing to my liver.

Oh, I'm rambling. Get used to it.

I got tired of being a zombie. A foggy-headed zombie. I had zero focus (hence my inability to follow a relatively simple crocheted sock pattern, frogging the toe FOUR FUCKING TIMES). Paranoid, fatigued, even more depressed than I was to begin with, mysterious intense aches and pains, unable to take my tramadol for my arthritis since it would interfere with my effexor (contraindicated: SEIZURES allegedly will result). Additionally, I got tired of waking up thinking to myself, "Fuck, I didn't die in my sleep" and be genuinely disappointed! No one seems to give a shit about this. Got tired of the lethargy. Got tired of fighting with the husband in the a.m. Got tired of constantly making him late due to my lethargy and my befuddled disorganization in the morning. And the bottom line is. Let me lose my job, not him.

So there you have it. In a lot of aspects of my life the effexor was simply not helping. It helped to a point (i.e. got my grief stricken crying jags to taper off--dad passed in 2008, and I didn't stop crying until roughly 2009 when I switched off my Celexa to Effexor), but, so too, did Zoloft and Celexa in the 1990s; and Celexa and Lexapro from 1998-2008. Hell, I even went on the anti-seizure medication Topamax, because my endocrinologist* said it could help my migraines and have a magical effect on my weight. Nothing magical happened. The first week or so, I was fine, and just didn't give a shit about anything. Then the second and third weeks I titrated up, and things got a bit hairy. Very (inwardly) hostile and paranoid. That's no way to live.

*Endo recommended it; however, I did go to a neurologist who was the one who examined me and prescribed the Rx.

Ultimately, I'd like to get off every medication I currently am on. None of it is worth a god damn, imho. I'm tired of "robbing Peter to pay Paul" and trading off one or two sets of symptoms for an equally loathesome set of side effects.

*Popping 50 mcg of melatonin*
*Continuing with tonight's prattle*

Ever see the movie Airplane! ? Remember the scene where Lloyd Bridges' character does that bit about, "I picked the wrong week to give up.... (fill in the blank: cigarettes, cocaine, sniffing glue)" ? Well that's a fair assessment of how I feel right this moment. I'm about one day away from the Gates of Almighty Hell opening up and flowing out my uterus, we're going on vacay sometime very soonish, and yeah, I picked the wrong week to get my fucking fat ass off Effexor. BRILLIANT! JUST BRILLIANT!!!

*Now for tonight's scheduled downward spiral.*

So anyway, the thing which precipitated me prattling all this off here? Oh yes, I'm packing my lunch for tomorrow. I'm a bit obsessive about my lunch bag and bento box and all my little accoutrements/amenities to make my lunchtime BEARABLE, and to ensure that I remain in the habit of packing healthy lunches to remain "compliant" in my post-op lifestyle change.

Well, I'm totally undone. So undone I had to "self-medicate" with a sugar free pudding and a hot cup of tea to "regroup."

I have a box. One of those Fit and Fresh lunch box systems, where there's a larger box, which is large enough to put stuff in the bottom (like a sammy), then there's an ice pack insert, then there's two smaller self contained boxes to sit atop, and a lid to keep it all together. I am a creature of motherfucking habit. I eat. I clean the box. I put it back in my bag. It's a no brainer. Unless, I didn't clean it, in which case, the self contained insert boxes went thru the dish washer.

I looked in the dishwasher.
I looked in the cupboard.
I looked in my project bag for my crochet.
I tore apart the fridge.
I looked in the basket where I keep all my smaller bento box items when not in use.
I looked IN my lunch bag.

This particularly sized insert box is now missing. Which pisses me off to no end. Seriously. My household has only two people in it. Where the fuck could this thing have gone?* I'm furious on a lot of levels.

*We're now suspecting it fell off the counter and into the plastics recycling bag, which, of course, as fate would have it, was taken out to the dumpster DAYS AGO. BRILLIANT! FUCKING BRILLIANT!!!

Some folks may think I might be frivolous about some things, or even possibly come off as I don't know, perhaps well-to-do? I don't know. But I don't mind spending some cash for quality things (i.e. good work horse clothing which will wear like iron for YEARS, good shoes which don't hurt my feet, good natural fiber yarn to crochet with, and lastly, good food); however, it sticks up my ass sideways (WITH BURRS ON IT!!!) when I have to continually replace items because I cannot find the shit I am looking for. It's this very phenomenon which causes me to have:

10 Hair brushes
Dozens of hair clips and pony tail holders (apparently the husband had been tossing my pony tail holders in the trash when he'd find them, and not know what they were)
3 pairs of flip flops
10 umbrellas
COUNTLESS totes and shopping bags
More looseleaf tea I could shake a stick at.

I worry that when I finally do die, and folks are going thru my possessions, they're going to think I'm OCD or something, or a hoarder, when the reality is, I live with Felix Unger, who insists on putting shit away in such a manner where I cannot find MOTHERFUCKING JACK SHIT when I need it.

Note to those who will go thru my possessions, post-mortem: The only thing you will find that is eccentric which was intentional, will be a box of hair. January 2012, I will be collecting my hair I shed, so I can document how much I lose on average, annually. Just because I'm curious. Afterwards? I don't have a plan for it. Perhaps a needle felting project. I don't know.

And mind you, those are just things that I can think of off the top of my head which I *KNOW* I have replaced. I absolutely LOATHE having to make unnecessary purchases.

SO yes. I go to Amazon, ISO replacement cups for my Fit and Fresh lunch box system thingy. Can't find them, but find some 2 cup capacity thing marketed for kids, which isn't what I need. SO I go to the Fit and Fresh website, thinking the manufacturer surely has the option to buy replacement "parts." Well, apparently, Fit and Fresh defines "replacement parts" as the ice pack inserts, because with ONE exception, every replacement part on their replacement parts page are... you guessed it... ICE PACKS.

So, if you're still with me here, and didn't bail out in paragraph oh... I don't know... TWO? The only option I have now to get ONE REPLACEMENT ONE CUP CAPACITY CONTAINER is to buy an entire lunch box system, which I don't need.

Oh this reminds me of my 32 oz capacity Assam pot by Bodum. The plunger broke. They don't sell replacement plungers. WTF. So They sent me a replacement pot. Lovely, right? Well the fucking pot they sent me wasn't the 32 oz pot, it was a "tea for one" individual pot. I didn't even bother sending it back to get the correct pot, because that's too much fucking effort invested already... when all I needed was a fucking replacement plunger.

Perhaps I've said too much.
Perhaps I've lost my audience with this rant.

Fuck ya's. I'm going to bed.

My Tracker So Far

Four Month Surgiversary

Not much to report! Or is there? You be the judge.

50 lbs lost thus far. AND HOLDING. Currently in a plateau.

The impaction issue seems to be abating somewhat. Turns out edamame was the key to unlock that problem, tho I am still taking 2 Dulcolax daily until I feel confident that the impaction issue has passed (excuse the pun) entirely. Nearly 4 weeks since the last impaction episode.

33 Hours since my last dose of Effexor. I've decided to go cold turkey off the junk. I felt like I hit a brick wall as far as it being effective for me, and if anything, I felt paranoid, depressed to the point of barely functioning, and felt *DULL*.

Something had to give, as it were, and I just can't function anymore. If this means that the crying jags come back in full force, so be it. Because I know if the crying jags come back in full force, that also means my productivity and creativity will be back in full force, too. I thought I would be headachey and irritable without the Effexor. But so far, so good.

Once I actually start to feel better and BELIEVE I FEEL BETTER, then I might be able to muster up the strength and "give a fuck" to make other necessary changes in my life (such as quit my fucking miserable job).

My weight loss has brought good things: the loss of the weight, increased good health, improving my appearance (so superficial to even mention it), as well as increased stamina for walking and endurance. It's even brought my husband and I closer together, as he's a willing and capable participant in my new lifestyle. Funny thing is, he's 135-145 lbs. The man doesn't NEED to lose weight, and ... well, he's losing weight vicariously through my weight loss surgery.

So many good things happening, and yet my depression has gotten the better of me, to the point where I barely have the energy or motivation to get out of bed in the a.m., with my major daily accomplishment being: Getting up. Getting washed. Getting dressed. Dragging my ass to work. Only to come to work, be miserable, foggy-headed, unfocused, miserable, unproductive, miserable, alienated, strung out, miserable... are you sensing a theme here?

So I'm hoping getting off the junk will help at least clear the fog out, make me more productive, and give me some modicum of a sense that I've accomplished more than being a bump on a log with a pulse. Besides, I've got shit I need to do at work (i.e. WORK!!!), which, sadly, I've been great at masquerading and appearing productive and busy, but not really accomplishing anything. I'm so distracted and alienated at work, coupled up with my depression and fog from the medication, that I can't stay on track to finish anything. So this is another level of dread I have about the work place, above and beyond the lack of professionalism (to the point of it being a hostile work environment, IMHO).

Once I clear my head, I need to tackle this problem head on. The resume has been dusted off and emailed out, and I've put out feelers to some folks to keep their eyes open for anything that they think might be suitable for someone with my particular talents.

I also hope to get more active. But this will necessitate two things: 1. The motivation factor (see paragraph devoted to me getting off Effexor); and 2. Getting a handle on my pain (can't take Tramadol if I'm on my effexor, which leaves me few options to help with my pain, since NSAIDs are verbotten post-op). But every once in a while (subtext: every other day or so) the husband is successful in getting me to get on the recumbent bike, and I pedal for about a half hour.

This weekend, he introduced me to Tamilee Webb, and got me to do her 10 minute arms on Saturday and Sunday. I wouldn't mind doing THAT every day! I felt good and tender after (days after, not immediately after doing it), and thought to myself I could manage exercise in 10 minute increments. I mean, I'm not THAT lazy that I can't manage it. So pain notwithstanding, I hope to get addicted to Tamilee Webb like my husband is.

Also worth mentioning, I got my first bag of Caramel calcium chews from Bariatric Advantage, and they are very tasty! I don't do chewables for all my calcium needs. For me, I like to have something sweet with a hot cup of tea and I take my chewy chews then. It's a nice change of pace from my other supplements I use.

Impaction Chronicles: A Soliloquy For My Ass

To prune or not to prune

that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous impaction,

Or to take arms against a sea of TP,

And by opposing end them? To flush, to poop

No more; and by a poop to say we end

The fart-ache, and the thousand farty after shocks

No fresh air to: 'tis a flatulation

Devoutly to be wished. To flush, to poop;

To poop, perchance to dream – ay, there's the rub:

For in that flush of poop what dreams may come,

When we have extruded out the mighty coil,

Must give us pause – there's the respect

That makes calamity of no poop, strife.

For who would bear down the whips and scorns of time,

The impactor's wrong, the proud man's epic continence,

The pangs of despised assblood, the log's delay,

The insolence of orifice, ASS! it burns,

That patient merit of the unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bottom? Who would flatus bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary strife,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscovered country from whose bourn

No turtlehead returns, puzzles the will,

And makes us rather bear down ills we have

And fly to other stalls we know not of?

Thus manual-disimpaction doth make cowards of us all,

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprises of great pitch and moment,

With this regard their currents turn awry,

And lose the name of impaction. Soft stool now,

The fair Orifice! Nymph, in thy nether regions

Be all my sins remembered.

*FLUSH!*

(C) 4/25/11 "Maven"

Poo in Review

Held hostage today in the handicapped restroom.

Had to manually disimpact to free myself from my captor's clutches.

Note to self: get disposable rubber gloves and keep in desk at work.

PS: Also get stool softener, and stop living in denial that you need it.

2 Days W/out Movement

So yes, another poo related post. I want to illustrate the divergent differences between my pre-op and post-op poo procedures.

Pre-Op:

I get the urge.
Go to bathroom.
Sit down.
Evacuate the soft-serve.
Leave bathroom within 5 minutes.

Post-Op:

I get the urge.
Go to bathroom.
Sit down.
Bear down hard.
Take a breather.
Rub knees.
Bear down a bit more.
Take a breather.
Give self a pep talk.
Press pressure point on hand which is supposed to magically release the Krakken.
Bear down some more.
Do toilet yoga, bending and contorting this way and that, hoping to leverage the fecal leviathan out.
Take a breather.
Pinch a few times.
Take a few deep breaths.
Wipe.
Thank the universe.
Leave bathroom.
Estimated time held hostage by my feces: Half hour (+/-).

Today: 248.5

Things I'm Tolerating Thus Far (5 Weeks Out)

All meats & fish (except for whole cuts of meat; haven't tried steaks yet);
Grapes (w/skins)
Apples (w/out skins)
Bread
Butter
Crackers
Almonds

Eggs, however, sit in my pouch like a lead ball.

The Poop Report

This is my last Poop Report until such time it changes:

It's not a fluke. I REPEAT. It's not a fluke. It's a trend. I'm regular again. Maven: 1; Impaction: 0.

Here endeth the Poop Report.
#itonlytookfiveweeks

Open Letter to My Colon

Open Letter to My Bung:

Wait a cotton pickin’ minute. Srsly.

A BM yesterday? A BM today? Doesn’t take much to please me these days. Pls don’t lead me on and let me down tomorrow. I’d rather cut off a pinky toe (with polish!) rather than go one more week of unpreditable, paining, straining ahem “activity.”

Colo-rectally yours,
Maven
________________

Today was the 5 week post-op visit w/the surgeon. All went well. Only a miserable .5# lost since the 3 week visit. He told me not to get hung up on it, and that plateaus happen. Next visit: April 19th.

Lunch Today

Nutritional content of this serving suggestion
Cals: 171.35/Protein: 10.95/Carbs: 10.813

My home made chicken liver pate stuffed in a mushroom cap, multigrain crackers, sugar free gerkins and 1/2 a hard boiled egg w/Old Bay seasoning on it.

NOM.

Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures

Dear Colon,

It's not me, it's you. Something's gotta give, and by "something," I really mean YOU, and by "give," I mean a regularly occurring bowel movement which involves neither strain nor pain, and doesn't leave me wondering if I need to go to the ER.

It was fun while it lasted, (FOUR WHOLE WEEKS)but really, your behavior is just "asking" for it.

Yours in firey rectal revenge,
Me.

Things I'm Tolerating Thus Far (3 Weeks Out)

Omlettes/eggs
Meatballs
Peanuts
Turkey Jerky
Cheddar Cheese (regular, not low-fat)
Dim Sum
Clam Chowder
Bread (w/butter)
Coffee
Sushi
Seaweed salad
Steamed, chilled shrimp
Grilled chicken on a stick
Salad greens

Three Week Post-Op Follow Up

Alrighty, I've been a bit remiss about posting how my three-week (which really should have been my two-week) follow-up with the surgeon went.

For starters, it's a huge-o-la PITA to get to his office. My choices aren't great: MetroNorth to (East) 125th, then either find a cab or a cross town bus to (West) 125th to take the #1 all the way up to 168th. But really? I don't feel *safe* at East 125th. So I took the most convoluted route, because my other option would have been to drive into NYC, and well, that's just something I. DO. NOT. DO. (or at least something I do not do AT THE MOMENT) So the route was MetroNorth to Grand Central, passing 125th en route, Grand Central to Times Square via Shuttle, #1 all the way back up town to 168th, passing 125th a second time, then walk to 165th for the appointment. I was exhausted before I even got there.

Considering my "impaction" issues I've been having lately, I grabbed the smallest cup of coffee I could from a street vendor, thinking it would help loosen things up a bit so I could purge more before my weigh in. But no such luck.

First up, they made an appointment for me with "their" nutritionist. I have to say I am glad I went with my first impression ("Blink" really made my life a lot easier by going with my gut instinct instead of thinking too long or hard about things). Her personality (such as it is) is dry, I did not come out of the appointment with any further information than I already had (or anything else that MY nutritionist did not provide on Tuesday), suggested I take in Benefiber 3x a day, and then admonished me for being "non-compliant" when I said I was already integrating soft foods into my diet, a few days before being officially transitioned. WTF.

Then I met with the surgeon and a "fellow" (who assisted with my procedure), who is in training to learn how to do bariatric surgery. The consultation went very well. I'm healing nicely. The time with the doctors was very positive and uplifting.

Talk ranged from concerns about my arthritis (and yes, I can take children's liquid motrin now if the pain gets THAT BAD, provided I take a prilosec first), my impaction, my energy levels, and yes, I came clean on the fact that I was already integrating food into my daily intake. Surgeon seemed actually jazzed about this, and didn't blink or react negatively when I said I was eating things like peanuts or turkey jerky. If anything, he seemed pleased that the things I was eating were protein intensive.

The surgeon progressed me to where I can take my medications uncrushed (yay), provided they are no bigger than the diameter of a pencil eraser. So another benchmark for me. Great!

The overall vibe of the meeting was good, supportive, friendly, "light," and the surgeon obliged and removed the last two steri-strips which I was afraid to just yank off. Suture sites have all but healed up at this point.

Had lunch at Nice Matin. Appt w/the surgeon was great, and I was invigorated, and felt I owed it to myself to celebrate. So I treated myself to "brunch." Had their veggie/sausage frittata and coffee. Sipped coffee until right before my meal arrived. Then I took my time, sitting in the sunny window, people watching then reading my book. Sitting there with my "Jackie O" styled sunglasses, trying to get into a "South of France" mindset (afterall, I *have* visited NICE, FRANCE in 2008). Envisioned myself a french woman, and took small bites, savoring my food. And I'd say maybe I ate 1/3 of that frittata, maybe 1/4. But it's not like I had a scale on hand. I eyeballed it. I also had some of the soft part of a piece of multigrain bread (and YES I put butter on it). Took my time. Eventually had the waiter pack it up for home, then asked for a container of the soup du jour for home. Continued to sit there long enough until I could sip a little more of my coffee. Really enjoyed this.

Also, while there, I found out about the "Stinky Cheese Festival" which is coming up. I hope to go back to Nice Matin for lunch. I've already picked out what I want to eat: "Limberger Steak Hache." I can't wait. I can get maybe 3 meals out of that burger. This new lifestyle of mine is really appealing to my sense of thrift. Rather than snarfing down one meal and not be satisfied, now I'm eating considerably less, enjoying it more, and have enough leftovers for 2-3 meals. WIN WIN WIN.

Oh? And FWIW? I ate four mini-meals from that frittata I ordered. I have to say that this really appeals to my thrifty nature!

After lunch, I yarn shopped, and went to the drug store, and ran some smaller errands, all the while I could feel my custom orthodic shift in my boot, causing a sore spot on my heel (left foot is smaller than the right). Going to have to get some moleskin to snug it up in the boot.

So I continued the subway route in reverse, and while on the Times Square shuttle back to Grand Central, the car was full of high school kids, acting very ghetto and foolish. At first words were said back and forth (the most ridiculous and low class was a girl saying "Suck my dick" and dropping the F-bomb repeatedly), which then progressed to a shoving match between the two groups of teens. Mind you, I'm sitting dead center between the two groups. At first I thought it was just horseplay, but once out onto the platform fisticuffs broke out, with the two groups of teens totally unaware that the rest of the world was trying to get the hell out of their way.

Lunch!

2 oz steamed shrimp w/old bay

1 oz wakame seaweed salad

The Poop Report

Rather than go into the particulars of today's *ahem* movement, I've decided it best to share what I call "hai-poos," which is to say, haiku about POO.

*AHEM*

Oh puckered o-ring
Bearing down, extrude! extrude!
Won’t you stop throbbing?

Throb, throb, throb, throb, throb
Flames, shooting out my ass, still
Still throb, 9 to 6.

A total standstill
My G.I. tract a dead end
Did I eat concrete?

Strong Firey Krakken!
I once knew your name very well!
My ass has grown mute.

DEMON DOWN BELOW!
Breach birth’d anal alien
Tear me limb from limb.

Such a cosmic joke
Anal. Hellfire. Damnation.
Won’t sit right for days.

On every third day
I have to birth a demon
It holds me hostage.

Note To New Readers

If you haven't dug thru my archives, here's a tidbit of what I've been dealing with in regards to my PCOS. My testimonial is about five years old at this point, but gives insight into how I eventually decided on my WLS.