The Battle of the Bulge

I will admit it. I will confess to scoffing at people who say they didn’t realize how big they were getting. Did they not have mirrors in their homes? Did they not find their clothes getting uncomfortably tight on them? Yes, indeed, I scoffed…until I became one of those very people.

Of course I noticed that I’d put on “a few pounds.” But I was operating under the delusion (not illusion) that it was mostly water weight gain since I was menopausal and my system had gone completely haywire. So, apparently, had my mind. It wasn’t until I saw this photo, taken at the New York Auto Show in April 2017, that I realized something had gone terribly wrong.

I should preface this next bit with this: I rarely allowed myself to be photographed full body (unless I was posing with someone I could sidle up to and therefore hide a bit) because I knew I looked huge in photos, but I love Dodge Challengers and I really wanted my picture taken next to one. (Also, I don’t own a full length mirror. Small wonder why.) It wasn’t until the next day, when I was looking through all the pictures my son and I had taken at the show, that I realized my legs looked like cottage cheese stuffed into sausage casings. I was horrified. There are full length mirrors in the lobby of my building but I’d gotten in the habit of simply glancing at them quickly as I walked out the door. So, no, I didn’t know how big I’d gotten. A couple of weeks later, I tried to put on a pair of dress pants that had always fitted well…and they were now too tight. This wasn’t water weight. This was the real deal. I made a half-hearted attempt at cutting back on my food but that went nowhere fast.

Between January and June of 2017, I found myself having a lot of trouble breathing. It was hard to walk the dog, it was hard to just walk up and down the aisles at BJ’s when we went food shopping. I do have asthma but it is controlled with inhalers. My inhalers were suddenly useless. My primary physician finally decided to send me to a cardiologist to have some tests done, “just to be safe.” In July, that cardiologist gave me the news: I had pulmonary hypertension, it is incurable, and if I didn’t lose a significant amount of weight, I was greatly shortening my lifespan. In other words, lose weight or die. Two weeks later, I heard the same thing from my pulmonologist. I went home, got on the scale and found I’d ballooned up to 343.5 pounds. I didn’t last two minutes on the treadmill during my stress test at the cardiologist’s. This was the medical equivalent of an episode of “Scared Straight.” I started cutting back on my food again and lost ten pounds. I then joined Weight Watchers and have since lost almost 42 pounds on that.

By mid-September, I’d gone from cottage cheese in sausage casing legs to this:

(Please excuse my horrible “selfie face.” I always look like I’m passing a kidney stone or something.)

I was so proud of the noticeable difference in my legs. My pant legs were loose enough to cover the tops of my shoes. I no longer wear those sweats because they’re so big now, they slip down past my waist (I hate that!). Unfortunately, once coat weather began, I stopped taking full length selfies in the mirrors in the lobby because I’m terrified I’m going to get caught doing it by one of the neighbors. My exhibitionism has its limits, people.

I no longer scoff at people’s stories of how they didn’t realize they’d gained so much weight. It happened to me, and it was hard to live it down.

Yay for plain speaking doctors who are not afraid to scare the living shit out of their patients. It makes an impression; it sure got me off my ample ass.

Huzzah for Weight Watchers for offering a program that is really easy to follow and that teaches you how to control yourself and eat in moderation. Nothing’s off limits, but you have to learn to bargain with yourself in order to stay within your points. That little exercise is both eye-opening and educational. I mean, seriously, how much do you really need that triple burger with everything and a side of cheese fries?

And good for me for finally waking the hell up, deciding I’m still important enough to make a lifestyle change – not go on a diet – and hitting the reset button. I’m doing something that will last for what’s left of my life and allow me to enjoy my time here on this big blue marble.

Until next time, remember: every day is a chance to hit that reset button…