Scales have been my nemesis for....oh...40 years now. Yes...you read that right -- 40 years. My love/hate relationship began with them about the time I was 14 and I was tagged with the nickname of "Moose" by my Dad and brothers. I won't go in to all the damage that did to my fragile psyche for years but suffice it to say I know it certainly didn't do much for my developing body image. Ironically enough I wasn't even that heavy at that stage in my life. Actually, it was mostly pubescent flesh that was having a hard time deciding where it was going to settle...on my chest or on my hips or both. I am relatively tall, at least for girls of my generation -- 5'7" by the time I was 12 and also blessed with the bigger-boned frame of my Swedish ancestors. Anyway, I've blogged before about my issues with eating, bulimia, and laxative abuse that occurred mostly in my later after-two-babies years, when the kids were young toddlers and I couldn't really use the excuse of 'baby fat' any more. And the day a woman I know came up and asked me, "Are you pregnant again or just still heavy from your last pregnancy?" was one of those stellar moments in a person's life where you wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole. Thus started several years of yo-yo dieting, ranging from my all-time high twice of 221 pounds to a low of 133 that made me so skinny my mom kept asking me, "Are you sure you aren't anorexic?!" I could honestly say no but I sure am thankful she didn't ask about bulimia or about scarfing down 5 or 6 ExLax at a time. All the years of abuse took its toll on my health big time, and I found myself hospitalized in 1999 with a very serious case of erosive esophagitis that has plagued me with esophageal spasms ever since, burned my taste buds forever, and forced me to change my diet completely.
Sort of completely.
What I could eat was altered forever. But I could still eat enough of some not-so-healthy foods that packed pounds on. Since the onset of all my midlife female problems almost 3 years ago I've kinda/sorta played around with losing some weight. But when I went in to have my hysterectomy I'd let my weight slowly work its way back up to 194.
Ouch. I can't tell you how I cringe sharing that number with you.
That was back on April 7th. Today I stepped on the scales and I weighed 164. Ten pounds away from what used to be my Weight Watcher goal. For the first time in more years than I can remember
These have not been easily-lost pounds. They've come from illness and antibiotics and lack of appetite. But they're a good beginning to getting settled into a healthy eating style. I think I've finally learned my lesson and I have no desire to try and be 'sneaky' any more. It's just not worth it. I never realized how good it felt to feel well and healthy until that was taken away from me. All my abuse has had that egg-sized gall stone forming for years, I'm sure...you don't 'grow' something like that overnite. Just before I left the hospital last Friday my surgeon told me that outside of the hysterectomy and having my gall bladder removed I'm actually in very good health according to my blood work and labs. He said I should finally be heading back to feeling well again. I certainly pray so. I have two darling little grandbabies depending on me and hopefully many more years to live. And I want to do it right from now on. I will do it right.
You just watch me!