Autobiographical Slice

My bottom hurts.

I rode my new bike for the second day in a row, about 2 1/2 miles.  And my bum hurts. I think if my poor bike was animated it would wail like a brokenhearted banshee.

I've had problems with my weight most of my life.  From very early on when I discovered books, reading became my obsession. I would read all the time - in the bathroom, in the car, at the doctor's office.  My mother would send me outside to 'get some fresh air', and I would go sit on a boulder with my book and read. I ate and read.  Exercise, for the sake of exercise, was not on my schedule.

By the time I was thirteen, it was obvious I had inherited my Great Aunt Vivian's stature. At 6'2" and big boned, she was no fragile daisy.  In fact, she had leveraged her size to intimidate many people in the military, and was rumored to have even backed a former mafia don into a corner. One evening she had been walking into a restaurant on the boardwalk in New Jersey, and felt a twist in her ankle.  She went in to dinner, and their waiter asked if she was okay, as she was bleeding on the floor. Turns out, she had been shot by a roving bullet in a drive-by shooting. She was tough as nails!  I both envied and feared her; she had become an old maid after all.

As I entered my teenage years, I was 5'8" and 160 pounds.  My mother was on me constantly about watching what I ate. I knew I was a disappointment - I wasn't that adorable, perky little pixie girl like my youngest sister.  I was the awkward, bumbling bookworm who hadn't lost any baby fat and was now getting acne on top of everything else.  Awesome.

In 1982, I was on the basketball team at Mahoney Middle School.  I liked basketball enough, but I liked how it made my father proud more.  (Except when someone screwed up and he yelled really, really loud.  Yeah - he was THAT dad). For the first time that I could remember, he bragged about me to other people, and that made up for any embarrassing hullabaloo at my games. .  My mother liked that I was getting exercise every day, but was still on me all the time about how much I ate.  I would come home from a 2 1/2 hour practice absolutely ravenous, and she would give me a hard time about eating.  Looking back now, I realize it wasn't how much I was eating.  In truth, I wasn't eating enough - no breakfast or lunch, a snack when I got home, then dinner and maybe a snack later. I know know it was what I was eating that was the problem - processed and junk foods.

In 1984, I was doe-eyed, acne-faced freshman, at 5'11" and 180 pounds. My mother had gotten so fed up with  me, she had decided to stop grocery shopping altogether.  She purchased what was needed for dinner daily - nothing else.  Our cupboards were bare most of the time. I felt like I was starving, and hated myself for it.

Flash forward twenty years.  By the age of 35, I was desperate.  I had just had my second child (by caesarean section), and couldn't seem to lose the weight.  It had been a difficult pregnancy, and I had become anemic, pre-eclamptic and pre-diabetic. A year later, I was still anemic and pre-diabetic, but also had developed thyroid issues, high blood pressure and heart arrhythmias.  My doctor finally agreed to a referral for Lap-band surgery.

A laproscopic band is like one of those short, thick elastics we used to love to shoot at each other when we were kids (or last week in the office). It's a medical grade plastic tire, about the size of a fifty cent piece.  It has an inner tube that can be 'inflated' with saline, to loosen or tighten the band.  It's installed via laproscopic surgery (hence the name). It took two and a half hours. After the surgery I was in the hospital for 2 days  and then on a completely liquid diet for the first two weeks.  I lost twelve pounds.

As the first year progressed, I lost sixty pounds.  I was elated!  I danced around my living room, I was walking and hiking, I was outside playing with my kids.  I looked good; I felt great. I was beginning to feel better about myself.  I wore shorter skirts and lower cut blouses.  My sons asked my husband what was wrong with me.  I was proud of my new body.

By year three, I was down from an original 263 pounds at the time of surgery, to 155 pounds and a size six.  In addition to the surgery, I had been required to attend meetings with a nutritionist and support group meetings. I learned about making healthier choices, and portion size from a really annoying Barbie-look alike that I was quite sure had never had a weight problem in her life. I learned I wasn't alone. I discovered, after all that pressure, fighting, starving, binging when I was a kid - that 155 is my 'perfect' number for my height.   My 'sweet spot', as my internist put it.

That would've been handy information twenty years ago.

I have had my ups and downs since then.  Currently I am on a 'down' period again, where I am unhappy with my weight.  I lost my insurance with  my job almost three years ago, and have not had the funds to go to my internist for band adjustments. I'm too proud and stubborn to sign up for MaineCare, and I won't voluntarily go without the funds.

My daughter and I started biking together yesterday, as a means of exercise and entertainment.  I recognize that this will be a lifelong battle for me. We've been working on being healthy - not dieting. I'm pretty cognizant of inflicting the same weight-conscious attitude on her, and therefore I work on being an example as best I can. I think the key is to find balance in your life. There will always be ups and downs, highs and lows, size sixes and more 'fluffy' sizes.  The trick is to be okay and secure in that knowledge, and to keep moving. No matter how much your bottom hurts.