What’s the moment when you know that you are too fat? The photo above is not actually me but it could definitely be my before and after photos..only I was thinner and now, I may be slightly fatter. Either way, I don’t like where I am at or where I am headed if I don’t do something this moment.
I felt my stomach on my lap! That’s when I knew. I didn’t want to admit it and I certainly didn’t want to write it for the entire internet to read but it’s true and being me, I can’t pick and choose where I’m transparent and where I’m not. It’s all transparency; all the time, even when it hurts like a damn open wound with salt in it. But it’s more than just feeling my belly in my lap it was the moment that I said no more. It was my line in the sand. I think anyone who has ever gained and lost weight knows exactly what I am talking about. That moment when you have to face the fact that you are, in fact, despite any tucking and pulling and pushing, overweight.
I’m ashamed. Ashamed that I let it get this out if control and those old feelings have been sneaking back into my head so I’ve decided to get help. I’m typing this from my first weight watchers meeting in 4 years. I’ve tried doing it alone online but that doesn’t work for me. I’ve tried everything but I need human contact. I need support from other women who know the shock and shame of their stomach resting in their lap. I can’t believe this is where I am. It’s yet another club that I wish I never knew anything about. Oh and I am taking the Big Guy along for the ride. This will only work if we do it together.
But here I am, sitting among the kind, understanding, compassionate faces of other women who’ve been here (the bottom) and it’s inspiring me. It takes a baby step followed by another, motivated by the sincere want and desire and dedication to changing your life. I am ready for me. I got up this morning and went to a meeting and faced the scale. It felt like someone punched my in my low lying, overindulgent belly.
Over the past year, I’ve learned (finally) to step back and ask myself why? To stop and pay attention, even when I don’t have a free moment. 2013 was wonderful in many ways. I grew up in a lot of ways. I am finally able to see myself more clearly without judgment or through fat goggles.I had a lot of firsts and I have begun to spread my wings and fly but this is the next step. No more stomach resting in my lap, no more flapping arms and saggy ass. But it’s not just about my belly, my belly is just a symptom of my procrastination and never putting myself first. I have to put myself to make myself feel and be better for me before I can be better for the girls or the Big Guy. I am ready to be happy. I deserve it. I’ve waited my entire life for this moment of clarity and motivation to meet. There will be no magic pills, no cheating or gimmicks, just a whole lot of hard work and follow through.
I’m not waiting for the New Year or tomorrow anymore because the beginning is always today! (Mary Shelley) THE BEGINNING IS ALWAYS TODAY…no matter what your challenge is in life….TODAY IS THE BEGINNING!
Disclosure: This post is sponsored by Aguacates Frescos – Saborea Uno Hoy® but all opinions and love for the avocado are my own.
Have you ever eaten something and thought to yourself, this is amazing? This is how I have always felt about the avocado. I grew up with them in my kitchen constantly ripening, like most of you grew up with bananas. In a Mexican household, it is a staple.
I know the avocado fruit has gone mainstream lately with the rise in popularity of avocado toast and I get it.
I had never had avocado toast until the last couple of years. I’ve eaten it in guacamole, on tacos, out of the skin, in salads, with my eggs and on the side of just about everything but never on toast. Once I did, I questioned how I had gotten this far in life without putting my favorite fruit on sugar-free toast. Who needs jam?
According to experts like Carolina Cardiology Associates, while heart disease is the #1 killer for all Americans, Hispanics are typically at higher risk (according to the National Institutes of Health) because they are more likely to have risk factors such as high blood pressure, high blood cholesterol, obesity, lack of physical activity, smoking and diabetes.
But just because we are predisposed to some of these risk factors that doesn’t mean we are destined to that fate. It means that we need to consult our doctors and be more diligent and aware of what we put into our bodies. Our dietary choices (what we choose to serve our family for breakfast, lunch and dinner every day) can help manage blood pressure and blood cholesterol and prevent type 2 diabetes. And if we reduce these risk factors, we help reduce the chances of developing heart disease for ourselves and our family.
Many Americans struggle with being overweight. It’s just the super-sized portion society we live in. But as we are all learning, sometimes less is more. When it comes to tackling obesity; good sources of dietary fiber like fresh avocados add bulk to the diet and can help you feel fuller faster, which can increase satiety (satisfaction) and help manage weight, reducing the need to eat bigger portions to feel full.
When it comes to tackling high blood pressure: sodium can increase blood pressure and so it is recommended that we limit intake. Lucky for us, avocados are sodium free and can be paired with just about any other nutritious food.
Like many of you, I believed for a very long time that all fat was bad. I was guilty of eating all the fat-free food but I was misinformed. Let go of outdated thinking that all fat is bad for you. The truth is there are two types of fats: saturated and unsaturated. The saturated “bad” fats should be avoided because eating saturated foods can cause cardiovascular disease whereas unsaturated “good” fats can have heart-healthy benefits. Avocados contribute naturally good fats to our diet, are a great substitute for foods high in bad fats and do not raise cholesterol levels.
Visit the Saborea Uno Hoy website for more information about the heart health benefits of fresh avocados. Avocados are such a versatile fruit. There is surely a recipe for everyone. Plus, I recommend checking out R.D. and Saborea Uno Hoy spokesperson Sylvia Meléndez Klinger’s 4 tips that will help keep your heart healthy, click here to read more!
One of my favorite recipes from the Saborea Uno Hoy site is Heart-Healthy Frozen Avocado Banana Paletas. My girls love ice cream and this frozen avocado banana paleta is not only creamy and delicious, it’s very kid-friendly. Adults love them too. I know I do. They’re so tasty and you can feel good about feeding them to your family.
What’s your favorite way to enjoy aguacates frescos / fresh avocado in your home?
Disclosure: This is a sponsored post written in partnership with the Anthem Foundation, however, all opinions and tips to keep your kids healthy are my own.
Ever wonder if you are keeping your kids in their best health? I think that is something all parents worry about at some point or other. I have girls and I have always been very aware of the importance of teaching my girls good healthy habits while they are young, so later in life, they are not having to relearn how to eat, move and control their portions. Then it becomes work.
Eating shouldn’t be work. Being healthy shouldn’t feel like a punishment. And, for me, kids shouldn’t have to worry about any of it. It’s my job as a parent to keep my girls healthy by teaching them not telling them. More fruits, vegetables, and exercise. Sounds simple but it’s easier said than done, right?
Did you know that nearly 1 in 3 young people and 41% of Hispanic youth are considered overweight or obese? It’s scary but true. I don’t want my daughters to be another statistic. To avoid that, you can consult with a pediatrician at www.northraleighpediatrics.com/services/.
I’m lucky, I’m afforded the luxury of being able to spend the time and money to research and buy healthy products. I’ve always made exercise a daily part of my children’s lives by putting them in physical activities like dance, gymnastics, cheer and other extracurricular activities that gets them moving. I’m not naïve, I know this is a luxury because not everyone can afford to do this.
Unhealthy food is usually less expensive than organic, healthy food. It’s faster, it’s more convenient (especially for families on the go like most of us are these days) and you definitely get more for your money. However, more is not always better. I try to shop my circulars and buy what is in season and on sale so that I can get the most healthy food for my family at the best prices.
Joining organized club sports, dance, cheer or any other kind of extra-curricular activities cost money and, in some instances, a lot of money. It’s almost impossible to be able to give our kids everything that we want and they deserve on a modest budget. Sometimes I feel as if I need to be a millionaire just to afford for my kids to be healthy. Most of us don’t fall into the category of millionaires. But, most sports and activities do offer scholarships and financial aid, you just have to apply. It might not cover all of it but every bit helps.
This month is Hispanic Heritage month and I’ve been thinking a lot about how we take care of our children’s health as a community and trying to figure out how we can do better by our children and their health. Anthem Foundation in an effort to create a healthier generation of Americans supports the Boys & Girls Clubs of America’s Triple Play youth wellness program. Triple Play is Boys & Girls Clubs of America’s premier healthy lifestyles program, focused on improving the mind, body and soul of our nation’s kids and teens.
Programs like Triple Play are critical to educating kids and teens on positive health and wellness. Anthem Foundation partnered with the Boys & Girls Clubs of America because they share the passion for and commitment to healthy, active lifestyles and to reducing childhood obesity. 23% of Club kids are Hispanic or Latino.
Anthem believes the best place to demonstrate its efforts is by making a difference in people’s lives and helping residents in the communities it serves to be actively engaged in leading healthier lifestyles.
Have you ever watched a movie or seen a show and thought to yourself, “Damn, that’s me! That’s my life!” I know it happens all the time because the human condition is a shared one. We don’t live in a vacuum and life is just a series of conditions, right?
The other day, I watched a movie and I saw me, exactly who I once was and it scared me because, by the way it was written, it was someone else too. Someone else had been where I had been and that made me think again about whether or not my girls might some day go down that same path. It was the Netflix Original To the Bone.
I see me, or rather, who I used to be. The anorexic girl. The one with the conflicted home life. The Unpresent dad, the checked out Mom who tried to help in her own way, while at the same time refusing to admit that there’s a problem at all.
Denial. It where we thrived. My job was to keep my dirty secret. Their job was to pretend it wasn’t happening. I fell through the cracks of a childhood held together by rubber bands and chewing gum.
I was alone, so very alone with my disease. People don’t really want to know when these sorts of things are happening, even if they suspect or even glimpse it with their own eyes, it’s too uncomfortable to discuss; to face head on. So we all pretend it’s not happening. Meanwhile, a child is dying.
It won’t go away. It doesn’t just stop. Sometimes, the darkness is so enveloping and the loneliness so crippling that you hope they don’t notice. You’d rather just disappear into the abyss without any fanfare or long, drawn out goodbyes. You want to cease to exist and other people’s concern only serves to prolong your agony.
The worst part for me was realizing that I was so good at it. Worse, I was so good at hiding it and it turned me into someone I despised because the only way to survive is to lie. Soon, you’re lying about everything to keep the one secret that you hold dearest to your heart.
There are never good days. It’s just a series of days you control better than others. You are being held at gun point in a prison of your own making; your head. There is no escape. There is no chance for parole. There is just a life sentence and, if you’re lucky, a life lived in daily recovery. Every day, for the rest of your life, you have to choose life because the alternative is that you die. You will literally die.
Though it may seem soothing and tempting, the thought of no longer having to endure; but the fucking guilt of it all is unbearable so every day, you get up, and you make the choice to live or to die.
For 8 years, I restricted and threw up every single day. Every single thing I ate. I threw up. I never binged, unless it was on alcohol and that was more to forget the world of shit I was living in, the complete loss of control and the fact that I was really hungry. I was starving in every sense of the word.
Five years before that, I began dieting. It was my gateway drug to starvation. I was 12-years-old when my journey started. 12, the magical age of awkward bodies caught between a child and a woman. My dad suggested that maybe I needed to “run more”. That was enough especially at that time in adolescence when you gain weight, right before you begin to develop and everything goes to the right place. You know, the exact same age as my daughter is today.
I’ve spent my entire motherhood tenure doing everything I can to not repeat this cycle. Here we are. This precipice that silently scares me to death. I’m constantly looking for all the signs. But I’ve done a good job. She thinks she’s perfect. She loves herself and her body. Then, it happened, beyond my control.
As we were leaving the pediatricians office after her well visit last week, our dr was telling the girls where they rank on the charts. My 12-year-old has consistently ranked around the 98th percentile since birth. But this time, the new dr ( a female and girl Mom) told her “your BMI is a little high, so technically you are overweight.”
I shot her a death stare as I wanted to murder her on the spot but didn’t want to make a big deal of it in front of the girls. She continued, but that’s to be expected in a girl your age because most girls put on a little weight during puberty before everything goes where it’s supposed to go.
I saw the gut punch on my daughters face. I felt the humiliation of being told that you’re not perfect. Then, I saw her second guess what she’s always known about herself … we she good enough?
I spent the ride home assuring her that the doctor said this was normal at this age. I assured her that she eats right and is very active and an athlete. She trusts me because I’m her mother. She accepted my words. But I know that now, forever, the seed of doubt has been planted and that crushes me.
Words have weight. Thoughts sometimes should be kept inside your head. Actions are forever.
I know there has been some controversy about the movie To the Bone. But coming from someone who knows, I think it was far from making anorexia seem desirable, or acting as if it stems from a desire to “look skinny.” The writing is sensitive but unsparingly real because it comes from personal experience. There were lines in there that only someone who has suffered from eating disorders would say or know. An anorexic can spot another anorexic from a mile away.
It’s the directorial film debut of Marti Noxon, a writer and executive producer on such shows as UnREAL and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and to write To the Bone she drew on her own battle with anorexia. (The film’s credits note that it is based on actual events.) I wouldn’t recommend you show it to your teen daughter but as a parent of a teen girl, or someone who loves someone living with this disorder or even for the girl surviving it…this movie, in my opinion, is a must see.
Have you seen To the Bone and what were your thoughts?
Disclosure: I am a member of the Netflix Stream Team, so I binge a lot of Netflix, but my opinion about To the Bone and my personal experience with eating disorders are all my own.
Have you ever wondered are eating disorders genetic? I have since the day I gave birth to my first daughter because the last thing I wanted to pass down to my girls were eating disorders. Many of you know that I have been in recovery from bulimia and anorexia for nearly 20 years, with very few slip-ups. But eating disorders don’t just magically leave, they plague you for life. It’s impossible to unlearn those behaviors and almost as hard not to act upon your instinct. I know that’s not what anyone wants to hear but it is my truth.
Today, it finally happened. A day I’ve been dreading since she was born. The day she compared herself to me. One in which I had to really consider …
Are eating disorders genetic?
Unfortunately, my research says, yes, eating disorders are, in fact, genetic just like Bipolar disorder, depression and so many other mental illnesses. We like to think we can protect our children from illnesses but what do we do when we are the very people who gave them the genes to develop the disorder? It’s through no fault of our own. We can do everything right and still not be able to protect them from these kinds of things. I’ve tried my best to do everything right and I am super aware of the behaviors because of my own experience but what if none of that can stop any of it?
For me, there is no competition. She is better than me in every single way. She is a tall, leggy blonde with blue eyes that smile, a sweet voice and the perfect peaches and cream complexion. Bella is everything I hoped to be as a young girl. Smarter, more graceful and stronger than I was at her age. She is independent, cultured and not afraid to stand up for herself and for what’s right. She is my idea of perfection.
In many ways, we are alike. That strong, independent bossy streak that runs deep in her, is all me. Her smile, me too. The intelligence, well she got that from both of us and the culture is something I have been instilling from birth. However, the tall, graceful leggy blonde is not me at all.
I have always been average to tall, 5’7”, dark hair, hazel ish-brown eyes and small-boned. My parents are not big people. My mom is 5’3” and my dad is probably around 5’10”. So, I was always the youngest and often one of the smaller kids in the class.
Today, as I was cleaning out my attic to prepare for the yearly garage sale, I was pretty excited because I have a bunch of “vintage” clothing that my newly 12-year-old can rock. These are pieces I loved but just will never look right on me again. I’m not 21 anymore and I’ve birthed 2 children; half tops and low-rise flared jeans are just not appropriate for me in my current situation. Read; an adult with some junk in the trunk and a tiny spare tire.
Anyways, as we sifted through the tubs, I got very excited because I was excited to pass these pieces on. Then it hit me, she is bigger than me now then I was at 21 ( because I was 3 years deep into my eating disorders; I was anorexic.) I knew this might happen, I’d planned to adjust for it but I forgot.
You see, a few months back, I told my oldest about my eating disorders as a preemptive strike. Now, I really struggled with whether or not I should tell the girls because I don’t want them to think less of me, think it’s ok or, worse still, be responsible for planting that seed in their brain. She’s almost taller than me now.
Her feet are passing me by and I noticed that when I tried to give her a pair of my shoes, she compared her feet to mine. Firstly, we have different builds. Secondly, she is a ballet dancer who dances in pointe; wide feet are a by-product. But none of that matters because she was comparing herself to me and I was the bar by which she was measuring herself. She judged her difference as a deficit. I assured her that different does not mean less than, it only means not the same.
Today, as we sifted again through the bins, she began trying things on. Things she knew I wore to my bridal shower and on our honeymoon and I could see her judging herself. It broke my heart. I had to jump in and explain that we have different builds and that I was not healthy when I was that size, the size that is smaller than a 12-year-old child. In all honesty, my 9-year-old happily accepted and fits into one of my favorite outfits from when I was 25. I was sick. Death was very possibile and none of that is ok.
I try to explain that I had already gone through puberty and my shape was different than hers is now. I also explained how I had no boobs and hairy legs when I was her age; to give her some perspective. Still, I saw the defeat in her eyes when she tried on one of my favorite skirts from the 90’s and she couldn’t fasten it.
The feeling is familiar. I wasn’t a fat teenager but I felt huge compared to my mom. My mom’s clothese got too small for me around the same time. This was also the same time; I began my lifelong battle with body dysmorphic disorder so all of this is scaring the shit out of me. Like, I am literally lying awake at night wondering how this is all going to play out and praying that eating disorders are not genetic because they never go away. There is no cure. You are just in a constant state of recovery for the rest of your life. I don’t want that for my girls.
To this day, I follow girls in recovery on Instagram. I’m invested in their recovery from eating disorders. Part of it is because I miss being in control like that and part of it is to cheer them on in their recovery. I want them to get better; to survive and have a life and a family and be able to eat food without mental anguish; cruelty-free without torture. But then I get this thought in my head, what if I’m cheering them on and they see me, overweight now, and relapse?
I’m terrified that the size of my clothes are going to push my daughter in that direction. She is almost as tall as me and she is going to be much taller. She is more athletica than I ever was. Her father is bigger than my father. She is buying S/M in clothes and I am L/XL and I am afraid she is going to see the gap narrowing too much and see herself as bigger than she is. So, I have to get healthier so I don’t negatively affect the way she sees herself.
Believe me, I know this might sound crazy to many of you, especially if you’ve never had eating disorders but if you have, you know what I am talking about. If the universe demands one of us be sick or feel bad or unhappy.Let it be me.
I may not be able to change her genetic makeup and predispositions but I can certainly be aware and be present and try my hardest to not let genetics outrank my nurturing. Maybe the answer to the question, “are eating disorders genetic?” might be yes but the outcome doesn’t have to be the same as it was for me.
French Government bans beauty pageants. Looks like I might be moving to France! Don’t fret. I’m raising girls and trying to raise them to value themselves on more than just what they look like and the size of their asses so a move may be inevitable. The French Senate voted early Wednesday to ban beauty pageants for children under 16 years old and to impose up to two years in prison and steep fines of up to $30,000 euros for adults who try to enter children into such a contest or run illegal/underground pageants. You all know how I despise toddlers in tiaras. Well, I hate the misogyny it represents.
One pageant owner, Le Parmentier, has already said that if the law is passed, he might move his pageant to Belgium but close to the French border, to accommodate French contestants who want to compete without having to worry about legal consequences. Come on. We’ve all seen those crazy pageant moms on Toddlers and Tiara’s, there’s not much they won’t do to pit their child against someone else’s. It’s like dogfights with pretty little girls made up like clowns.
I’ve never been a fan of beauty pageants, especially for children. I understand competing as a teen for scholarships but there has to be more to it than just the way you look. Give me a nerd bowl any day. What are we trying to teach our little girls? There is nothing anyone can say to convince me that there is any reason ever to dress 4-year-olds up in spray tans, partial dental pieces, and more make-up than Tammy Faye Baker. They pluck their eyebrows and use breast inserts and then parade them around in $2500+ dresses and make them perform like dancing monkeys high on Mountain Dew and Pixie Stix all while their overweight moms yell at them because they themselves suck at life!
Honestly, if you give me the “it teaches them self-confidence” speech, I might have to smack you. How are you helping self-esteem by teaching them that they have to look a certain way, be held to a certain standard of beauty to even count? What I want to know is when is the U.S. going to follow suit? Way to keep women down.
The amendment is part of a broader bill on women’s rights, which will now proceed to the National Assembly, French Parliament’s lower house, for debate and another vote.
The senators who voted in favour of the measure argue that it will protect children from being prematurely “sexualised” through the use of heavy make-up and often-provocative attire.
The amendment was prompted by a a parliamentary report entitled “Against Hyper-Sexualisation: A New Fight For Equality”, which, in addition to calling for an end to the pageants, encouraged a ban on adult-style clothing for children, including padded bras and high-heeled shoes.
“Let us not make our girls believe from a very young age that their worth is based only on their appearance,” the author of the report, former sports minister and current senator Chantal Jouanno, said in an interview with free French daily “20 Minutes” last year.
Controversy surrounding the issue peaked in December 2010, when French Vogue published a photo spread featuring images of a 10-year-old French girl, Thylane Loubry Blondeau, decked out in a tight dress, jewellery, high heels and make-up. Not surprising the photos sparked international outrage. Not unlike the Jours après lune lingerie campaign for little girls. WTF?
The magazine argued that the photos were meant to capture a classic fantasy of young girls – to dress up like their mother. That only holds water if their mothers were seductresses or worked in the sex industry. Which reminds me, yesterday I caught an episode of Toddlers & Tiaras (purely for research) in which the parents financed their pageant addiction with the money they earned from their stripper-to-your-home business. Well, it was Vegas so I guess it is to be expected. Of course, I thought it was in very poor taste to have the strippers, half-naked, cheering from the audience. I guess the bright side is at least they weren’t completely naked.
If the bill is signed into law, as expected, pageants like the annual “Mini-Miss” contest in Paris will no longer take place. Now, if we can just get the same thing to happen here in the United States. Maybe we should make a law about parents not being allowed to live vicariously through their children? That should solve it all.
Needless to say the pageant Queens of the world and their crazy mothers won’t go down without a fight, expect lots of Tammy Faye Baker make-up, tulle and 14-foot trophies and hair to match coming at you in protest. Me, I hope beauty pageants go the way of the dinosaur. Extinct.
Moms, stop sexualizing your little girls and making it easy for the pedophiles. No toddler needs to be on stage wearing a skimpy two-piece bikini, pouting her lips and shaking her little ass. Stop encouraging her. Stop teaching her that to be of value she has to be beautiful and little kid beautiful is not good enough, she has to look like a grown woman. We wonder why teens are getting pregnant and having sex at younger ages, maybe it’s because they are being taught to be sexy when they are 2 by their own parents. Little girls are being taken, raped and murdered at an alarming rate, don’t give pedophiles an invitation to oogle your little girl. Protect your daughters.
If we don’t stop this toddlers and tiaras madness, this is the next stop.
What do you think of little girls in beauty pageants? Is it harmless fun or early sexualization of our little girls?
Life without butter is not something I ever thought I’d agree to. Those are words that I never thought I’d be saying of course I never expected gallbladder issues either. I’ve always been the kind of person who would much rather work out for 3 hours or simply deprive myself of all other foods, so that I could eat what I wanted. I was cool with 400 calories a day, as long as those 400 calories could be foods of my choice; usually, something deep fried, consisting of carbs and usually of the white flour or potato variety. Somehow grease and fat had become their own food group. However, that has changed.
Luckily, it didn’t take a heart attack or stroke to stop me. Then again, obesity wasn’t enough for me to stop either. I’ve realized that I care about my health but only so much as the threat is imminent. It’s that f*cking procrastinator that lives within me, the one that spent so much time browsing the internet that I accidentally discovered foot fetish pics. Did I mention I hate feet? Yep, that’s one tab I wish I never opened. I’m a hardhead and have to learn everything the hard way.
You wouldn’t think it would be so difficult for someone who thrived at anorexia and was a vegetarian for 10 years to live a life without butter.
You’d think I knew how to be healthy and maybe I did but I just didn’t act on it. That is until I found myself in the ER twice last month in excruciating pain. THAT’S what motivates me to stop unhealthy behaviors. If it hurts me physically, I want no part of it. I’m a giant p*ssy in that way.
The thing is once you find yourself in that kind of pain, you know for certain that you never want to feel it again and when you experience it again, 1000x worse, you know that you need to get your shit together so I stopped hurting myself because I was the only one who could.
I think I’ve always felt like I’ve deserved punishment for being weak, where food was concerned. It’s leftover brain malfunction from the years of disordered eating. Since having anorexia, I’ve always looked at those who are overweight as weak. I know, it sounds so awful when you say it out loud but I felt like, if I could restrict myself and work out to such a degree….well, why couldn’t these people get control of their eating habits? It was a sense of superiority. Even though I knew that I was starving myself and completely unhealthy and unhappy but it didn’t matter because I had control, not like those out-of-control losers.
But when I started having gallbladder attacks, I knew what I had to do. I didn’t want to have another one, so I had to be strong and eliminate all of those foods that could cause me to have another attack. Of course, those foods were everything I love; cholesterol, full fat, greasy, red meat, white flour and refined sugars. It was everything that tasted good. My body had enough of my bad behavior and it mutinied. Let me tell you when your body starts to attack you, you can’t win. You have to concede and admit defeat or you will kill yourself. I don’t know about you but French fries and butter are not worth dying to me.
So began my 6 weeks, so far, of no red meat, no butter, no full-fat dairy, low cholesterol, low fat and low carb eating. It’s been a hard adjustment. I’ve been eating a lot of vegan foods, switched to coconut milk and almond milk and have had to read every label on all food that goes into my mouth. You’d think such a change would be nearly impossible but turns out, not so much when the alternative is excruciating pain. Yep, turns out that I’m fearless in the face of abstract death but imminent pain scares the shit out of me.
The gallbladder has come out and many people are telling me this is the reason for the celebration because now I can eat without the worry of a gallbladder attack. However, I’m concerned that if my eating habits were so terrible that it caused my body to rebel and now the gallbladder is gone, what happens with all that bad stuff? Gallbladder stones are made of cholesterol and I had such a huge one in my gallbladder that the surgeon had to destroy my belly button to remove it from my body. That was the bad stuff depository so where the hell is it going now? Personally, I don’t want to find out.
I hate to admit it but this gallbladder situation may have been the best thing to ever happen to me. It may have saved my life. I’ll gladly read all the labels and limit my red meat, cholesterol and fat intake if I never have to hear the words, “Your biopsy” again. I didn’t even know that cancer was a consideration until I had to make an unexpected stop at the surgeon’s office when I realized my belly button did.not.look.right.
Anyways, onwards and upwards. Who needs butter anyways, right? On the plus side, all of my pants are getting too big.
What would it take to make you live your life without “butter”?
Ever been afraid that maybe you were having a heart attack? Seriously. I’m not trying to be funny but I’m overweight and out of shape. A heart attack is a real possibility. I’m a fat woman. I have a BMI of 33 and I recently spent 4 months sitting on my butt. Honestly, you can look healthy and still have a heart attack. They don’t call it the silent killer in women for nothing.
I’ve seen the commercials citing that 1 out of 3 women will have a heart attack our symptoms are different than men. In fact, I know a friend who had a heart attack and didn’t even realize it until afterwards. I also have a great Aunt who spent the day with us touring the Biltmore Estate and had a heart attack. None of us knew until she told her doctor and he checked her, a week later. Ladies, that scares the ish out of me. I don’t want to die of a heart attack. I want to live to be 103. That’s my expiration date. It’s non-negotiable.
Anyways, last Friday morning; I woke up at 5 a.m. with a ridiculous pain in my actual stomach (not my intestines) and it would not go away. It woke me from my sleep and the little voice in my head, recited the commercial about the mom who thought she had indigestion but instead ended up dead because she was actually having a heart attack and TUMS ain’t got nothing on that.
I got up and took some Mylanta (because I always have it on hand since the first and only stomach ache I’ve ever had). It didn’t work. Then I took some TUMS. They didn’t work. Then I took a Xanax because I’m under a shiton of stress and maybe I was having a panic attack. Nothing. I waited half an hour. Still horrific pain. Now it was from my stomach to my right side of my rib cage.
Were these the symptoms of a heart attack?
You always hear of women thinking they had heartburn and it was something else; something more. I took my blood pressure with my portable Bluetooth QardioArm blood pressure monitor and checked it right there in the app on my phone and saved it to show the hospital. As moms, we are so focused on everyone else, we neglect ourselves. Don’t do that. It could mean the difference between life and death.
SHIT! I’m having a heart attack, so I took an aspirin because blood clots and strokes. At 6:30 a.m. when everyone else woke up, I texted my husband that I needed to go to the hospital. He assured me that it was heartburn from the Mexican food at Bella’s birthday dinner from the previous night.
Firstly, I’ve only had heartburn once in my life and this wasn’t it. Secondly, it felt like acid and a severe, prolonged heart cramp. I just knew I was dying but I kept it cool for my kids. We dropped them at school where I gave them extra long goodbye hugs and kisses, without divulging anything to them, and then we proceeded on to the Emergency room. I hate the emergency room.
Long story short, after 5 hours in the Emergency room, an EKG, an ultrasound (twice in one week, lucky me!), several blood tests and worrying myself into an absolute tizzy. We found out that no, I did not in fact have a heart attack but the doctor was glad that I had come in rather than ignore my symptoms. We found out that I have gallstones, 2 of them (they go perfectly with the 3 fibroids they found last Wednesday) and upon further questioning they found out that from the prolonged ibuprofen usage for the swelling in my broken leg, I have actually made the lining of my stomach sensitive.
The sensitive stomach and high cholesterol, high fat, highly greasy Mexican food did not enjoy one another’s company. My stomach became irritated which in effect affected my gallbladder (with it’s two stones). I had a gallbladder attack. It was not pleasant and I don’t recommend it.
They intravenously administered an antacid for my stomach, some Zofran so I wouldn’t throw up and a dose of happy, I mean morphine, for the pain. They gave me strict instructions to take Zantac, especially if I planned on continuing on with the ibuprofen regimen (which I have not) and to stay away from high cholesterol meals. I quit Ibuprofen cold turkey and have been reading labels because 103-years-old, people. My expiration date is 2075, not 2016.
The moral of the story is that when you think you might have something seriously wrong with you; trust your gut (pun intended). Maybe I wasn’t having an actual heart attack (but I could have been) but I did have something wrong with me and it needed medical attention STAT. I’m not sure that would have happened if I suffered through it at home or went to a walk-in clinic. I needed tests, not a Band-Aid.
May has been hell, to say the least and there’s still a few days left. It started on May 1st and only 5 days later, it went from bad to worse. Our dog died. Yep, it sucked even more than you can probably imagine. I’ve lost pets before but out Lola, she hit different because she was the first dog the four of us got together. Not to mention she came into our lives at a crucial time.
My parents never warned me that the price of getting to really and completely love someone or something is unfathomable heartbreak you have to endure when they are no longer here. That’s a shitty lesson that I’ve had to learn all on my own over the years.
I’ve lost people and I’ve lost pets but what we’re going through right now feels heavier and more devastating than almost anything I’ve ever experienced previous. This one, it hit different. On Saturday, May 6th, we lost our beloved Lola. It was more than just losing a pet, she was a decade of our lives. She was my children’s childhood. She was glue and we absolutely adored everything about her and every second we got to spend with her.
Like a furry little angel, Lola came to us when we needed her most. 2012 was a really hard year for our family. It was marked by transition and loss. We relocated and left behind all of our friends in South Bend and that spring we lost our third baby and a couple months later, our beloved Saffaron (Brindle boxer, our first fur baby) who we adopted right after we were married. As a family, we were devastated and feeling a huge void from two great losses. It felt as if there was no way we could weather the storm of our life.
But on December 14, 2012, we met Lola. The most beautiful, sweet, kind, caring, funny, loving and quirky Victorian Bulldog. It was love at first sight. She even came to us on a day when our hearts were filled with sadness and she made us smile through our tears. That is what our Lola did. She was redemption and hope all wrapped up in fur and a big pink bow.
All of us loved her just as much as we would any child in our family. I know some of you are scoffing at the fact that I just compared my dog to your child but it’s the truth. I’ve had dogs and I’ve had human children and Lola was closer to human than not. All the love we had to give, to our Saff and our third baby, was poured into our Lola and she reciprocated every single bit of it. If you were sad, she would sense it and come sit by you, snuggle in and fill you up without fail. If anything, we loved her too much and now, the hole is too deep to fill. There will never be another Lola.
In 2015, when I broke my leg, shattering bones and dislocating ankles, and could not walk for 3 months, Lola was my constant companion. She never left my side. At a time when I felt my most depressed and vulnerable, she was there for me. She was dedicated and loyal to the very end. On her last day, I returned the favor and she died in my arms.
She’d been sick for months. Late last summer, she was diagnosed with Cushing’s disease right before her 10th birthday. She would have been 11 this upcoming September 6th. She had suddenly started gaining a lot of weight and was very thirsty. We thought maybe she was diabetic. But a series of blood tests determined that it was Cushings.
We didn’t know much about the disease other than it was an overproduction of cortisol. We followed the doctor’s orders and gave her the medication they prescribed and hoped to prolong her quality of life for as long as we could. However, soon instead of being overweight she was severely underweight. She lost almost 20 pounds in just a few months and looked emaciated despite the fact that we were taking her in every 2-3 months for level checks and giving her medication daily for the disease.
At some point the medication overworked and our Lola had no cortisol. She became weak and would hardly eat. Some, most, days I had to sit on the floor and hold her while I hand fed her chicken, fruit, pumpkin and water. I didn’t care, as long as she wasn’t in pain, this was the least I could do. The vet said she wasn’t but we could see and feel her declining. I won’t go into all the details because this wound is still too fresh and I may never stop sobbing if I go down that path.
Long story short, no matter how much you expect it or reconcile yourself to the fact that someone or something you love is dying, when the time comes, it is excruciatingly painful. No amount of preparedness can ready your heart for the monumentally gaping hole that will be left by losing someone you love. Yes, even a dog.
Honestly, losing our Lola may have been more painful than some of the human losses we’ve recently suffered. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to demean any loss. I am only saying that our Lola was more than a dog to our family. She was a sister, a daughter and a friend and she is irreplaceable in our hearts. I spent almost every day of the last 11 years with her at my side, at my feet and in my arms.
On morning that she left us, she woke up and could not steady herself. When she went outside to potty, she vomited. She never vomits. Weakly, she continued to stumble around the yard like a wobbly newborn calf and I knew something wasn’t right. She headed toward me and locked her eyes on mine. Something wasn’t right. As I was holding her, she relieved herself all over me and went limp. My heart broke, I thought she’d died.
Then, she moved. I cleaned myself up as the Big Guy and the girls cleaned up Lola. In my heart, I knew, that this was our last day with our sweet Lola. I was terrified but on the other hand I was ready to help her peacefully transition. She’s been sick for almost a year and, as much as we wanted her here with us, we could not bear to watch her suffer. I promised myself that when the time came, I would sit with her in our favorite chair and hold her until the end.
We all surrounded her and loved on her. Through our sobs we held her and told her we loved her and how good she was. We could not change the inevitable but we knew we could give her a peaceful and loving goodbye, no matter how much it broke our hearts. It’s the least she deserved after being our faithful and loving companion for the past decade. I administered one of her pain pills just to make sure she was comfortable.
I sat in the big brown, leather, oversized recliner (where the two of us sat together countless times over the years) and I put her in my lap, wrapped in her favorite blanket (she was rail thin and always cold lately), she placed her tiny head on my heart and she slept there for hours. Only rousing ever so often to gently raise her head and look at me and then drift back off to sleep much like a milk drunk newborn.
Later in the day, her breathing became labored and shallow. She was no longer conscious and was no longer lifting her head. I placed my hand on her tiny heart and I could feel it racing beneath my hand like a thousand wild mustangs running across the plains. And then suddenly, it slowed down to what felt like 1 lone baby mustang and then it felt as if she disappeared right beneath my fingers.
Her heart was beating so faintly beneath my fingertips that it was almost undetectable. But still, she was very faintly breathing. We couldn’t take it anymore. I’d spent the entire day holding her so that she could pass peacefully in my arms but even when it’s what’s best for the one dying, it is almost impossible to survive for the loved ones watching them fade away. We decided to rush her to the emergency room. Not to be saved but just to make sure that she didn’t linger in between life and death.
We walked into the emergency room sobbing, holding the limp, seemingly lifeless body of our beloved and loyal Lola knowing that this was the last time we would ever see or hug her again. Knowing that this was the last time that we would ever get to rub her neck or kiss her forehead, knowing all of our days with her, were behind us now. We were there when she took her final breath, loving her until the very end. Ushering her to the other side with an abundance of gratitude and love.
We cried all day that Saturday. We’re still crying today, 3 weeks later. I feel like we might cry forever over our Lola. It was one of the worst things we’ve gone through recently. This morning I woke up and saw that my husband had emptied her food bowl (probably to prevent me from having to do it) and I started sobbing. Last night, I slept restlessly. I woke up reaching out for her. My heart can’t get used to her little head not being on the pillow next to mine. I see her in her bed, in the corners, under the chairs and couches, around every corner. I’ve cried for days over this loss. I don’t know how we’ll ever return to normal after losing the tiny angel who saved my family from more loss than our hearts could handle in 2012.
Lola we’ll love you forever. You are, were and will always be the best girl, our sweet Floki Moki.
This throat punch Thursday is astounding to me. When I watched the video and read the article, I literally was speechless, can honestly say that I wanted to throw up a little bit and I certainly lost a good sense of humanity in people. Or rather I should say, I lost my faith in humanity. Once again, disappointed by the lack of scruples and regard for human life. Are you familiar with this story? Here is the video clip. Judge for yourself.
Seems in Douai , France the men are a little more oblivious than they are in the United States. Apparently, this woman, Dominique Cottrez, a nurse, has been married to Pierre-Marie Cottrez for approximately 20 + years . They have 2 grown daughters but she has a little secret. She has given birth 10 times, yet there are only 2 daughters. The math doesn’t add up. And her husband has absolutely no knowledge of her ever being pregnant other than the first 2 times. How oblivious must a man be to not notice a pregnant wife. He said she was overweight so it was easy to conceal. I’m gonna have to call bullshit on that one. Maybe once he could use that excuse or if they had never had a pregnancy together, but 2 daughters and 8 pregnancies later. If he didn’t see, it was because he turned a blind eye. No man is that stupid. The secret would have never come to light had the couple not sold their house. Can you imagine the poor new owners, minding their own business randomly finding baby carcasses in Ziploc baggies while tending the garden. Well, at least that explains all the phantom newborn crying they kept hearing. Seriously, this is not funny, this is sad and disgusting. They are trying to say the woman suffered from a first pregnancy that was “traumatic”. I understand PPD is horrible but to repeat the offense 8 times after giving birth to a second child..what was the difference between #2 and #3? The babies were born between 1989 and 2006, but their exact birth dates aren’t known.She knew she was pregnant each time, she admitted to it and has said her husband had no knowledge of the pregnancies, births, or the deaths. After the new owners of the house found the babies in the garden, per policy, the police questioned the previous owners and Dominique readily admitted to her gruesome part in the worst recorded case of infanticide in France in recent history. Furthermore, she led them to the remaining 6 bodies buried in the garage. This weeks throat punch with a Ziploc baggie on top goes to this out of her mind nurse who killed 8 of her 10 children. I seriously think that this woman is insane and most likely dying from the intense guilt, which is probably why she confessed so readily. She was already a mother to 2 children when she started doing this craziness.I can’t imagine what her children are feeling. They must be terrified. The throat punch also goes to her husband, who I believe, has no excuse for letting this happen and in my eyes is a liar. He had to know. There is no way he did not know. Maybe a hard punch to the throat will get his eyes and common sense back into working order. I don’t know what else to say but that I hope karma comes around and gives them exactly what they deserve.
