I will have the same joints thin as I do fat.
When osteoarthritis stakes its claim in your joints, you know it its there. It’s your uninvited daily companion, squatting on prime real estate. It is annoying, sometimes menacing. You cannot evict arthritis, but you can temper it with movement and use of anti-inflammatories: aspirin, ibuprofen, naproxen, and prescriptions like Celebrex or Diclofenac.
Anyone treating for arthritis is likely informed on possible negative effects on the stomach. There are companion drugs that can be described to address the stomach issue, although I’m not sure if the risks for ulcers can be eliminated. Use of anti-inflammatory meds after bariatric surgery is my concern as I am a gastric sleeve candidate. Until I meet with my surgeon I will not know whether I should go ahead with this procedure. I’m worried that I will not be able to safely use anti-inflammatory drugs following the surgery. Quality of life is at issue. My research tells me that losing a lot of weight will relieve some of the burden on my joints, but I will have the same joints thinner as I do fatter. It’s just the reality of arthritis.
Otherwise, I’m sold on the positives that bariatric surgery can bring to my health (remission of Type 2 diabetes, weight loss, reducing hypertension, increased movement and participation in life). Can I live a good quality of life without using anti-inflammatory drugs? I’m skeptical. Or, will I find out that I can continue using them without risking a high likelihood of ulcers? I am anxious to find the answer!
Blogging and privacy seem counterintuitive, but beyond the context of blogging, privacy is a closely guarded commodity. I crave it; doesn’t everybody?
Unwelcome prying into our carefully-guarded nooks and crannies is quite threatening. Fundamentally the ego holds that privacy is protected fiercely and not breached. Technology endangers our privacy, as do people. Arguably, both are inevitable in this modern life, while each poses a threat to our privacy. Due diligence to protect our privacy is incumbent on each of us, yet we are human and fallible. As such, each compromise of our privacy leaves its scar. We need to be vigilant in supporting public policies that hold our privacy in highest regard.
I have always rooted for the underdogs. Who doesn’t, right? And what better way to elevate the plight of the underdog than with a superhero. Someone who flies in, kicks trouble in the ass, and lifts the underdog away from danger. Therein lies my problem: I want to be rescued. I want it to be easy. The underdog cannot win without a drastic change of circumstances. Enter the hero, the equalizer. Maybe it’s a caped crusader, a winning lottery ticket, a life-changing job offer, or money inherited from a mysterious long lost relative. What else can I say? Being rescued would be a heck of a lot easier than flailing as the underdog! And I like easy things.
It just hit me. I have secretly held out for rescue from my weight problem. Hhhmmm. I’ve waited (and weighted) for a superhero. Oh, I’ve climbed out of my circumstances for short bursts, like just about all obese folks. Yet my circumstances (genetics, lifestyle, etc.) always find me again. Every single time.
Damn it! Do I have to be my own superhero??? That sounds hard!!!
Yeah. Well it sucks. Big time. But wallowing in my own self pity won’t get me anywhere. Why can’t I eat what I want to eat? Why don’t I have a “hollow leg” like some people? Why do we have diabetes in my family? Why does food have to taste so good? And the delicious smells of food, why do they make me so darned hungry? Well, you know, the list goes on.
And it’s time for me to stop looking “up” for a rescue, but rather dig in for the fight of my life. I need to think of my research, blogging, reading and listening as muscle building exercises for my own superhero persona. Visualize my own rescue. Swoop in and save myself. Flex my muscles when duty calls. I like that. Perhaps this visualization technique just might work for me!
I got cocky. After really making progress in self-examination and realistic accountability, I tricked myself into believing that I could have candy and cookies within my reach. I even bragged to my hubs that I was so comfortable with my progress, so over fixating on sweets, that I could exercise reason. I convinced myself that I was over disordered eating.
Well, I was wrong. So goes my attempt to justify keeping sweets around me as I prepare for bariatric surgery. Truth is, I’m no where near fixed on that account. Today I reached out to my hubs for his feedback on this topic. Oh yes, it was uncomfortable to hear what he had to say. He tipped his hand a few days ago when I confessed to polishing off the lemon bars I put in the freezer for his dad. His look was one of genuine surprise. Why surprise? My performance of “Oh, I’m doing so well that I can eat *&#% and not obsess over it” was convincing enough that he bought it. After 34 years of marriage and witnessing my addictive behavior with certain foods, he believed that I was on my way. I took no pleasure in my deception.
My husband is not my accountability broker. I asked for his thoughts. We were in the car headed out for lunch. I knew that today was the day to put on my “big girl panties” as the saying goes, and toughen up. I did it. I steered away from choices that would perpetuate the damned carb cravings that I’m stuck with as a result of my dalliance with danger. I ate the soup and grazed on salad. It didn’t kill me.
The game is, once again, afoot!