HCG and crock pots, my mortal enemy

There comes a time in everyone’s life, where a simple solution to an infuriating problem comes along. For some, it was the wheel, others, the internet, and, for a select few, penicillin. For me, it was HCG. I heard about this method for weight loss through my best friend. She had used it and was successful. I was sceptical myself, and a bit worried. With my health issues, I wasn’t sure how I would react to it, or if it was even safe. And the internet, being what it was, was vague and unhelpful. I finally had an appointment with a gynaecologist who happened to have a clinic for HCG. After several months and cancelled appointments, I was finally in. I learned later that this was one of the best gynaecologists in the province, maybe even the country. He told me many things that stuck with me, like, if you have poly cystic ovary syndrome, which I do, carbs are your worst enemy. Like, Batman vs Joker AND Lex Luthor (series cross referencing is serious business). He also agreed with me on a point that I was happy to hear a medical professional say. Like, if this clinic I was in could have people lose weight without surgery, why wouldn’t they do it? I was so relieved, there was another option. And I already had the tools to carry my healthy life style forward so I (hopefully) wouldn’t gain all the weight back. He told me I needed to talk to someone at an HCG clinic. He didn’t care which one, ‘just go’, he said. I was walking on air AND sunshine when I left that clinic. Things continued to look up, and I was happy.

I went to the clinic he ran and got the run down, it was the same as all the stuff I read online. This time it was coming from a real person who had a medical license, not a faceless whozit hiding behind the internet. I could trust this person to tell me how my sugars would react, and my blood pressure, and my ovaries. She explained how the hormone works. Essentially, you eat 500 calories a day, and instead of your body burning muscle for nutrients, it burns stored fat. That ugly stored fat on your hips, thighs, and back that is so hard to get rid of. They warned me about buying on the internet, as some had no hcg hormone in it at all, then I saw their prices. They recommended several treatments at 6 weeks each, due to the amount of weight I had to lose. $1300 per treatment. I nearly lost my shit. I already planned on getting the brand my friend was on, as she had done a ton of research and found this one had the actual hormone in it. But I didn’t expect it to be that much. I was floored and really glad I had a back up supply plan. This may be affordable for some, but certainly not for me. I collected the information and trundled off home with my new confidence and swagger (yes, when you lose weight and don’t waddle anymore, you swagger, it’s hot), and hit the interweb.

The package showed up in a few days and I nearly had a meltdown. The box had a disclaimer in it claiming it was no longer authorized to put the actual hormone in the drops, but was full of a ‘carefully formulated and tested synthetic.’ I lost it. I thought this was my last chance and now it won’t work. I double checked the website and emailed the company. Nowhere did it say it was synthetic. I was angry and near tears. But, as I usually do a crisis situation, I texted my bestie (best bestie ever!) and she helped calm me down. She knew some other people who used the new, synthetic, drops and they lost weight. All I needed was a reality check and some calming words of reason (I tend to overact, my head blows up and spins around while I blow steam out my nose my brain turns to lava and runs out my ears, no biggie). Almost instantly, things were good again. If my best friend had a slogan, it would be ‘instant calming effect, just add hysterical Erica’.

 

Chicken stew

Chicken stew is one of my all time favourites. I love beef stew, but I can never get it right, so I leave that to my mom. It’s hearty, warm, and low fat and low carb if you omit dumplings and oil. I discovered a trick about cooking onions (or any vegetable for that matter). You don’t need oil or butter to brown them, just a little water occasionally to keep them from sticking to the pan. Seriously, try it, what’s the worst that will happen? You will be out an onion, it costs 15 cents. This will serve about 4 people.

2 chicken breasts

1 med onion, chopped into ½” pieces

3 med carrots, chopped into ½” pieces

4 stalks of celery, chopped into ½” pieces

3 med potatoes, chopped into ½” pieces

1 cup frozen peas

Seriously, any other vegetable you like with chicken can go in here

2 litres chicken stock

 

Seasoning – this is all about preference, this is what I use, start with about a teaspoon of each and add more if you need it. If using the poultry seasoning, start with 2 teaspoons

Salt and pepper to taste

Mrs dash, table blend (seriously, I love this stuff)

Poultry seasoning

OR

Rosemary

Thyme

Basil

Sage

 

Cut the chicken into 1 inch pieces and season with salt and mrs dash. Brown in a non stick pan until mostly cooked, it should still be pink inside. Put it in a bowl and put aside. I like to use the large, non stick wok I have to cook the whole thing, then, you don’t lose any chickeny goodness from the pan.

The important part of keeping the chicken juicy is to not cook it for too long. If you leave it with the other ingredients to ‘stew’ it will get dry. No, cooking lean meat in liquid does not keep it juicy, it’s still hot and it dries out, especially when there is no fat in the meat. We will add this to back to the stew at the end to finish cooking. Trust me.

Add the onions, celery, carrot and potato to the pot. This is where the flavour building starts. Stir them and add a touch of water or chicken stock to keep them from sticking if needed. You want to have a mostly dry pan for the next part.

 

Add the spices and toss them around in your pan with the veggies. This will help toast them and bring that next level of flavour. Once your veggies have got a bit of colour, add 1 ½ litres of chicken stock, and let it come to the boil. Then, turn the heat to a low simmer and cover. Stir occasionally.

 

You need to cook this down until it gets thick and the veggies are cooked, usually about 30 min to an hour. But keep an eye on it, stir occasionally, taste it, and adjust the seasonings as necessary. You may also need to add more chicken stock if it cooks down too much. The potatoes help thicken the broth, but, if the veggies are almost done and it’s not thick yet you can add a bit of cornstarch and water at the end. When you reach the desired, stewy, thickness of broth, add your chicken back in and the peas, with about half a cup of broth. Cook for another 5 minutes or so until the chicken is cooked through and the peas are done.

 

Variations – crock pot chicken stew.

 

Bwahahahaha! Crock pots and I are not friends. My mom can make a mean beef stew in a crock pot (among other things), and my friends are good with them as well. My mom had this crock pot that had a chip in the glass lid that she ‘fixed’ with piece of tinfoil to help it seal. When the damn thing wasn’t cutting me when I tried to wash it, it was leaking out steam and burning the underside of my arm while I tried to get things out of the cupboard. I hated that thing.  I tried a crock pot again in my adult life. I got it from a friend of mine and it sat for a while until we tried to make soup with it. The soup boiled over and made a burny mess all over the element and we threw it out rather than attempting to clean it. If you want to cook this in a crock pot, call your mother.

 

 

 

You want me to do what?!?!

Note: sorry to all my wonderful followers, I know it's been a while since I posted. It has been a rough couple months, but life is back on track now and so am I. I will be posting more frequently again. Thanks for your patience and support!

Have you ever waited a reeealllyy long time for something, and find out it's not as wonderful as it seemed? This happened to me when I finally got into the clinic. I filled out some paperwork they sent me. The very same paperwork asking the very same questions as when I first started my journey with my doctors office. I brought it with me and I talked about it with my new nurse, who is not nearly as fantastic as the other one. She made some notes, asked me some questions, and said the phrase 'fair enough' more times than I can count. It's to the point now, where if someone says 'fair enough,' I want to throw myself out the nearest window. This place can be very helpful for certain people. For me, it extended to the psychologist and the physiotherapist. There were months of all day appointments and blood tests and bone scans and I continued my hard work. I lost 25 pounds before I even entered the clinic, which was almost my plateau, but, as the months went on, they started to forget that and chide me for 'only losing 5 pounds since you've been here.' My inner, intolerant, Erica would exhale loudly and roll her eyes. But the Erica you all know and love, gently reminded them of how much I lost before I got there. 'Oh, right...forgot about that.' What's the damn point of all the work I did before (which is required before they even send your application to the clinic), if they aren't going to acknowledge it? I ended up plateauing at 310 pounds, which, at 30 pound weight loss, was fantastic. But it wasn't enough. My ovaries still weren't working right, my blood pressure was still high, and I still had to manage my blood sugars with medication. Don't get me wrong, I felt great, I looked better and I was on the right track. Plus, I had smaller pants and was drilling new holes in my belt. I could do things easier, move around better, and wasn't so tired all the time. I also met the most amazing group of women in a group for emotional eating.

These 4 ladies were there for the same reason I was. When they were sad, or stressed, or happy, they would make bad food decisions. I mean, seriously, who says 'I'm sad, imma eat this pepper cucumber salad (recipe to follow)'? No one, that's who. We all needed help with our self control and a very wonderful psychologist helped us with that. We all talked about our demons and how we got them. We learned tips and tricks from each other, and in the end, I had four wonderful new friends and some great tools to deal with my cravings. I was easier to avoid the drive thru, and if I did falter, I wouldn't get the volume of food I was before. See, I had this issue with food that I wasn't supposed to eat. 'Well, you aren't supposed to have this, so mind as well have everything you like because we will never be coming back here again...EVER!' I inevitably did return, and the whole ugly process would repeat itself. My group taught me that it's okay to have food like that once in a while, but keep it small and there is no shame. You can easily set boundaries for yourself. I call them shame boundaries.

For example, once in a while, if you want to have a chicken sandwich from the local fast food joint, okay, no shame. But my shame meter goes through the roof if you get a chicken sandwich, nuggets, hamburgers, and apple pie....more than once in a while (or at all for that matter). Most people who know me, know that one of my motto's is 'I have no shame.' But I do, deep down, covered in chicken sauce and pickles, is my shame. I had to find it, dig it out, and start using it. And it worked. My forays into the forbidden land of fast food were few and far between. I felt freer of my problems and ready to take on the world! (the world actually means my waistline. The world? Ain't nobody got time for that...) And I couldn't have discovered this without the wonderful psychologist leading our group, and the even more wonderful ladies who I shared it with. Thank you.

As I worked through my calorie reduced diet and more exercise, I kept asking myself if bariatric surgery was the right option for me, as this was what this clinic was for. I asked about hcg at this clinic, and they told me, if I wanted to do hcg, I would have to leave this clinic. I was scared this was my only option, and I was waiting for the appointment my doctor recommended with the gynaecologist who would know about these things. So I trudged through. I asked all the right questions, mostly about pregnancy. They all came back to the same answer. If I got pregnant at my current weight, I would be a high risk pregnancy, due to all my medical issues. But, if I got pregnant after the surgery, I would have a high risk pregnancy as well. This would be due to the baby not getting enough nutrients to grow properly. So I asked the other important question. 'If I am ready to get pregnant, can I have the surgery reversed'. 'We don't so surgery reversals if you are pregnant'. I played the answer over in my head while giving her a blank stare and asked the same question again. Guess what? I got the same answer! I knew at that point, either she was too dumb and any doctor who hires a nurse this stupid is not the kind of doctor I want operating on me, or they don't encourage this type of thing and it's not right for me. As I was mulling over my decision over the next week, I got the call from the gynaecologists office about my appointment. I was very excited, I hoped he could give me another option to get rid of this extra poundage that didn't involve hurting me or my unborn children. I just hoped this wasn't as disappointing as the long wait for the clinic, I guess I would just have to go and find out.

Pepper Cucumber salad

serves 2

We make this quite often, it is simple, fresh, has 2 different vegetables, and is delicious. You will need to sharpen your knife skills, as I cut the veggies quite small. You could cut them bigger if you want, but do what you are comfortable with.

4 Persian or 1 old English cucumbers

2 peppers (I like orange and yellow)

1/4 cup of fresh herbs (cilantro, basil or dill work well)

OR

2 tbsp dried herbs

juice of 1-2 lemons (to taste)

2-3 tbsp oil (optional)

salt and pepper (to taste)

Chop the cucumbers and peppers into 1/4” pieces, and place in a bowl. If you are using the large cucumbers, you will have to adjust to about 1/2”, or, if you cook how I cook, just do what feels right. I just cut them into strips and then into little cubes. Rough chop the herbs, add to the veggies.

At this point, you can make a vinaigrette if you add the optional oil, or, to keep this ultra healthy and fat free, I just omit the oil. To make a vinaigrette, mix the oil and lemon juice in a separate bowl and whisk together with the salt and pepper. Then dress the salad with it. If you don't, just squeeze the lemon juice over the salad, add salt and pepper, toss, and enjoy.

Poo-cano, and how I was almost courted by Sasquatch

WARNING! This blog post contains a graphic and hilarious story about an emergency, outdoor bowel movement. Read with caution.

Right after I was accepted into the clinic, I started experiencing some discomfort. Underneath my last few ribs on my right side, around where my liver sits. It was on again off again, keeping up at night with mild pain and I had burps that tasted like farts. Seriously. It was kind of advantageous during the ongoing fart wars in my house that included the dog. And I had the runs, all the time. I did some research on the google machine and diagnosed myself with gall stones. Armed with this information, I went to the doctor. I tend to have bad luck with doctors. When I have a big problem, she tends to be out of town, and, people who don't know me, think I'm making things up. I told her (the replacement doctor) my symptoms and what I thought I had. She didn't believe it was gallstones, said I probably had a viral infection, and sent me on my way. A week, and many missed work hours later, I was at the walk in clinic down the street. I explained my situation and my self diagnosis. I explained that if it was an infection, how did my boyfriend not contract it? 'Maybe you are just really good at washing your hands.' On the outside, I was a calm patient, accepting a diagnosis from an arrogant jackass that doesn't see anything much more serious than a broken arm or a 'viral' infection on a daily basis. On the inside, I was feeding him to my sharks in my shark tank in my secret lair (if I was fantastically rich and a super villain, I would have one.) But, 'just in case,' he gave me a req for an ultra sound, blood work, and a stool sample. I trekked across the street to the lab and they took my blood. Then they gave me the supplies to obtain the stool sample. I took it home and read the directions. I had to wait 2 weeks after taking any anti diarrhea medication. TWO WEEKS! Whats the first thing you do when you can't stop having liquid poos? You take some anti diarrhea medication. And lots of it (not that it was working, but it was worth a shot). Two weeks! I was nearly in tears. I phoned to book my ultrasound, and that was a week away as well. I was almost out of sick and holiday days. I was mad. So I did what I always do when no one else believes me, I call my nurse.

I seriously don't know what I would do without this team of health care professionals. I would be super fat, naked, and crying in a ditch somewhere eating doritos. She thought of something no one else did. One of my medications can causes pancreatitis. Oh, good, someone who doesn't think I'm disease ridden and thinks I may be right, that something is wrong with me. She booked my with the replacement doctor the next afternoon to have it checked out. I called the booking hotline and told them to give me the next available ultrasound appointment and I didn't care what part of the city it was in. They found one on the opposite end of town and off I went. The next afternoon, at the doctors office, my suspicions had been confirmed. I had gallstones (thankfully, not pancreatitis). Small, passable ones, but at least I knew what was wrong. She told me to cut out fats completely and give them a chance to move out. I did that, things were looking up, and I was feeling better. I was also doing a showboaty, 'I was right, you all suck,' dance in my head, but that's besides the point. Then, I had to go out of town for work.

I went up to Ft McMurray to do some work, it was a one night stay and I was heading back into town. On the way out, I decided to grab a quick bite at a burger joint, instead of getting something that wouldn't upset my gall bladder. I was in a hurry, it was late, whatever the reason, it was one of the worst decisions of my life. About an hour and a half out of Ft McMurray, I could feel the on set of an exploding poo. I was trying to make it to wandering river, with indoor plumbing and warm interior. As I continued, I realized indoor plumbing was a pipe dream and I aimed for the rest stop a few kilometres up the road. I knew the one on my side of the road would be closed, I saw the sign on the way up the day prior, so I already planned to run across the highway. I was running the scenario over in my head. 'Grab hi vis jacket, get out of truck, don't forget keys, look both ways, run across highway, tear open bathroom door, lift outhouse seat, sit, poo.' It seemed so simple, I had it all planned, if I could just get there. It was dark, I couldn't make out any of the landmarks and I was getting desperate. Would I have to poo in the woods? Would a bear eat me? Or a Sasquatch try and mate with me? There were too many variables, I might die, so no pooing in the woods. Finally, I saw my saving grace. The road widened to 2 lanes and I saw the telltale blue outhouse buildings. I pulled over and prepared to execute my meticulously laid out plan. Grab the hi vis coat (safety first, it was dark on one of the most dangerous highways in the country), get out of the truck, got the keys, look both ways, play frogger across the highway, tear open the bathroom door....oh no. This one was out of order too. My life flashed before my eyes and a knew the poo was coming, there was no stopping it. I quickly accepted the notion of what was about to happen. I ran behind the building, dropped my pants and squatted in one smooth motion, and pooed. On the side of the road. Behind a rest stop. I could hear it splashing against the building and I felt shame. 'Yep, this is happening' I said to myself. I also felt pity for the poor guy who might have to pressure wash this off if we didn't have a heavy enough rain fall to wash my shame away. And the strongest feeling of all was regret. I don't regret much, I tend to learn from my mistakes and let them teach me a lesson. But I knew better, and I ate that burger anyway. If I was more emotional, I probably would have cried while squatting and pooing against that building. But I am not. So I pulled up my pants and waddled across the highway to the waiting truck. I wadded up some napkins and stuck them down my pants. I didn't know the state of my pants and didn't want to have an accident in the work truck. I drove to the bathroom I dreamed about, grabbed a clean pair of underpants, and waddled into the gas station. I ruined a perfectly good pair of underwear that day, realizing that I forgot the 'grab napkins to use a toilet paper' part of my brilliant plan, but the work truck survived without a stain. I made it home and shared my story of the mighty poo-cano with all who would listen. One day, I will tell my children as a cautionary tale. I will include Sasquatch so it is more fantastical, like a fairytale. Until then, it will be known, as the poo-cano story.

The end of my world! (I may have overreacted here)

This turned out to be waaayyy harder than I thought. Who knew that changing a lifetime of bad eating habits and a crack like addiction to carbs would be so freakin' difficult? Apparently, not me. I was beginning struggle so badly, after I had started out strongly. And every time I fell off the wagon, I felt I was starting all over again. It wasn't really that bad, but I tend to overreact, so it felt that bad. Then came an actual, life changing, moment, that wasn't that bad but I lost my shit anyway. My boyfriend was diagnosed with Celiac disease. That meant no wheat. As much as carbs were my enemy, I still wanted to have them once in a while. It was safer to have a wheat free house than to risk cross contamination. So after a bit of research, I had a melt down. Nothing major, kind of like the fire in the chemical plant in superman 3, where everything ended up fine, but almost exploded? Wheat was good at hiding....EVERYWHERE! We threw out so much food and cleaned everything. We had to drop most of our favorite restaurants, which was kind of a good thing, but anyone who knows me knows I like to do things on my own terms, not because I have too (I'm kinda stubborn that way). So all that hard work was about to look like a skinned knee compared to the hemorrhaging brain that was was about to ensue.

Not only was I reading nutrition labels. I was checking ingredient lists for sneaky sources of wheat and Google-ing brand names to finds out if they had wheat free facilities. Then I became a know it all. Worse than before. I annoyed all my co workers and my friends and anyone who would listen, with facts about Celiac disease and wheat and blah blah blah. I'm also a bit of a show off, so I wanted everyone to know how smart I am. (That's the price you pay for being friends with someone so awesome. Take that!) The avoidance of wheat turned out to have a good side effect. See, wheat mostly resides in the restricted section of the grocery store....the middle aisles. Not as intersting as the restricted section at Hogwarts, but it was to be avoided nonetheless. See, the outside edges of the grocery store have all the 'good' stuff. All the fruits, veggies, dairy and meat. There is also the bakery, but we just avoided that all together. Until that is where they but the gluten free bread. Makes sense, but also under minds my point...dammit. My point is, the gluten free diet made it easier to stick to the good parts of the grocery store. And caused another problem. See, gluten free diets are good, because you are eliminating excessive carbs. Gluten free diets are not good, when you sub them out for gluten free carbs. In my label comparisons, gluten free bread has more calories and carbs than regular bread. But it is a craze right now, so let the whores have their trinkets, I suppose. (I have no idea what that means).

So we started eating gluten free carbs, pasta, bread, cookies, etc. Its just like eating a regular cookie, but doesn't taste as good. In fact, it tastes like crap. I was so busy trying to replace our gluten with gluten free, I was forgetting the big picture. Weight loss! Hello! I forgot my rules, to measure my pasta and bread, have half my plate be veggies and eat low fat dairy. That was easily rectified, and I was back on track. Then I got the phone call I had been waiting for. The clinic my doctors office had referred me to approved me and was ready to book my first appointment. I was excited and apprehensive. I had worked hard and lost about 20 pounds, but I knew this was one step closer to possible surgery, which was kind of scary. I didn't know much about bariatric surgery, and I knew they would teach me, but, I was mostly worried about the new people I would meet. Would my new nurse and dietician be as awesome as the ones I had now? (spoiler: Hell no). I knew my diet would have to change again, but to what extreme? I had to do something else, I was almost at my plateau. See, it is really difficult to lose more than 5 to 10 % of your body weight with diet and exercise alone. That was 34 pounds, max. That wasn't going to cut it. My first visit proved to be both frustrating and uplifting at the same time. The clinic had a lot of success stories, but any weight loss program other than theirs was shunned like that awkward cousin that you're sure is a virgin at 40 and has serious impulse control issues so becomes a mailman (mine was a girl, go figure). I asked about HCG, which was a diet my best friend was on and had been hugely successful. I was worried because I was diabetic and needed more information than the internet could provide. My doctor didn't know enough about it and referred my to a gynecologist, but his wait list was about 6 months. This was my only option for now. So I trucked on, open to all options and waiting to learn new and exciting things.

I hate microwave dinners and why diets don't work

There was a lot of learning to do. You know when you think you know about something and it turns out you really know squat? That kind of happened to me. Part of the program was to take some classes on nutrition and making better food choices. Let me preface by saying, I (almost) always read food labels, just not all of it. I read the fat and sugar (as my mother taught me), then the carbs, as I learned from my first, incomplete, foray with a dietician many years ago. I always skipped over the calories, I had no idea what role they played in a healthy diet. I knew they were a form of energy, and I knew all the skinny girls on tv thought less was better, but I didn't know how much I needed. The only time I didn't read the label was when I KNEW it was bad for me. Why bother? I'm buying it because I want it, I'm an adult now, I can have cookies for dinner and no one can stop me. So what if I eat half a bag or oreos and a whole package of pistachio pudding for supper? I'm good, I read food labels for everything else, right? Wrong. I started attending the classes and keeping a food log. I started to realise that maybe I wasn't getting all the suggested servings of food groups in a day. Maybe I was eating at restraunts too often, and maybe, just maybe, calories were important.

The classes were amusing to me, as well as informative. I knew a lot of what they were teaching, but some of the people there knew even less. I don't know if it was ignorance or just plain stupidity, but I was amused. I tried to steer clear of the brand names that had 'healthy' in them. I knew there was trickery involved, (it was acutally salt). I just didn't know how it could be good for you with that many ingredients, most of which I couldn't pronounce. And the smell. I couldn't stand the smell of a microwaved dinner. It induced my gag reflex to such a degree, I almost couldn't eat my lunch. And it lingered, like an annoying neighbour who doesn't have a phone and needs to call an emergency dentist but makes you do it because 'I'm not from this town, it would be weird.' (true story). I've always been a decent cook, and it was easy, why couldn't they do it to? Then I realised, just because I think it's easy, doesn't mean it's easy for everyone. Just like everyone I know can type with out using the backspace key at a 2:1 ratio of the other keys, doesn't mean I can. (trust me, the word 'backspace' isn't even on the key anymore). Then I realised it is also about perception. They precieve cooking to be hard and want to be good at it right away. Doesn't work that way. Takes practice. Know how many alfredo sauces I burned (a lot)? Or protiens I burnt or had to put back in the oven because it was still oinking (even more)? But people want easy, so thats what they get, and who can blame them.

I really felt for the health care professionals teaching these classes. So few of us were there to learn, all the rest looking for excuses and magic treatments. I knew this was a long, hard, road and I was changing the way I would be eating for the rest of my life. I knew I was going to give my children a better relationship with food than I had, but it was going to take work. They had no idea. The reason diets don't work, is as soon as you lose the weight, no one maintains it. They go back to eating the way they did before and gain it all back. 'Why am I fat again? Weight doesn't come back after you lose it. Must be a gladular problem...oh, hello, burger. om nom nom nom.' There is no maintenance after the fact. They see it as 'being on a diet' rather than changing your lifestyle. Changing your lifestyle is difficult, a lifetime of bad habits and addictions to all the wrong sort of foods, throw up many road blocks. Those foods were soooo good and hard to give up. I missed cheese in large quantities, sweet, bread like confections, and the large amount of bread I used to eat. I once ate an entire loaf of sourdough bread with a spinach dip I made and couldn't get enough of. In one sitting. While watching a movie. Nearly went into a food coma while the dog cleaned up the crumbs around my bloated, bready, corpse. But up until this point, I was doing okay. Only eating out 2 times per week, making better choices at the restraunts, and eating better at home was having an effect. I was losing weight. 1-2 pounds per week, as promised. And I felt better, had more energy. Life was looking better. Then came the class that threatened to derail me.

Emotional eating is something that I didn't want to face, but knew I needed to in order for this lifestyle change to be sucessful. I always imagined emotional eating as a fat person, sobbing uncontrolably, and shoveling food into their mouth. It's not always like that, and for me it was stress. Or my daydreams of being skinny interuppted by the sounds of my own chewing. That was upsettingly ironic. So I learned a few things, one of which was the 80/20 rule. They taught you not all your food had to be good 100 percent of the time. You are allowed to have a bad food choice once in a while. So I started adopting that, very losely and not quite as stringent as I thought. I was using it so liberally, that it hindered my weight loss for a while. See, I was using it for individual meals (salad, no dressing, with my burger) and then for all the meals that same day (pizza for supper, no veggies). So it ended up being more like the 50/50 rule, or even the 40/60 rule. It was getting bad, there was cheese on everything, pizza all the time, and a not so uncommon addiction to toast with peanut butter and jam. I was enjoying food again. All the time. What was happening to me? I was doing so well, now I was derailing in a big way. I found an excuse to eat the bad things I wanted again. It was bad, very bad. And I needed to get back on track. I wasn't putting everything in my food log. Flat out, I was cheating. But whom was I cheating? Not the dietician or the nurse or the doctor. I was cheating myself, and my future children that may never happen because I couldn't get my shit together. No more 80/20 rule. Time to get real...again.

The carb-a-holic and the tomatoes of doom!

So it begins. Cutting all the best foods out of my diet. Now, for those of you who don't know, I am a very good cook. Especially things with butter and cheese and sugar and bacon (not all together, that might be weird). No more pancakes every weekend, no more hot dogs 3 times a week, time for nutritious food. My dietician suggested having certain foods on hand to snack on, namely, vegetables. Specifically carrots, cucumber, snap peas, and cherry tomatoes. I am a fan of veggies, I just wasn't used to eating them in this quantity. I also discovered that cherry tomatoes are evil. They are small enough to eat in one bite, however, its bright red exterior and delicious, garden fresh smell are a clever ruse. One in 6 tomatoes has a nasty, albeit, short sighted, defense mechanism. It's slightly elastic exterior is just tight enough to create an explosion of taste ending proportions once you bite into it. The offending fruit explodes its evil, rotten, tomatoey like centre all over your taste buds, inducing a 'oh god, my tongue is dying' gag reflex. And there is no escape, you try and spit it out, but its gooey seed clusters are clinging to your taste buds for dear life. But its all to late. The vile tomato is destroyed. The brave tomato sacrificed itself for it's tomatoey brethren, much like the kamikaze pilots of world war 2. The remaining tomatoes are then tossed in the garbage with disgust and disdain, swearing and oath to never touch a cherry tomato as long as I shall live. I call cherry tomatoes the assholes of the produce aisle, they would rather rot and die than bring enjoyment and nutrition to the world.  Well played, cherry tomatoes, well played.

The snap peas were slightly less disappointing, they want to be delicious AND nutritious, but the bag they come in acts as a stasis field. Seconds after the field is breached, they rot into a soggy, greenish brown goo, devoid of any pea-like properties. So I have peppers instead.

I was also outed as a carb-a-holic. "You like carbs", the dietician stated with the confidence and authority of a police officer ordering me to drop the doughnut with his gun drawn. I knew this was true, i just wanted to 'sneak' them in there. But the food log doesn't lie. I LOVED carbs. doughnuts, pancakes, toast with peanut butter and jam, pasta....I needed to cut back. No more fast food (difficulty level - expert), no more pancakes (difficulty level - hard), cut back on the pasta...wait, that was easy. I just had to start measuring my food. 1 cup of pasta, 2 cups of veggies, 4 oz protein, this is filling. Pasta and bread weren't 'bad', it was the quantities. Yes, having 2 pieces of white bread with butter, peanut butter, and jam was a bad idea. But ONE piece of 100% whole wheat with 2 tbsp peanut butter with no sugar, way less bad and an acceptable snack. 

What else was I missing out on. I consider myself a pretty smart cookie. I KNEW anything that had 'healthy' in the brand or product name was hiding something (it's salt). And it tasted horrible. Healthy food doesn't have to taste like chicken flavoured rubber bands with limp, grey vegetables, and a leeching amount of salt. I know how to cook, I can do this. Do I really need oil in my salad dressing? I love sour flavours, like vinegar and citrus, so I could easily omit that. And what is better than herbs and spices, fresh or dried, instead of sickeningly sweet sauces from a jar? Nothing, that's what. So I started retraining my flavour palate. I COULD make things tasty without oil and sugar. I discovered the fat free greek yogurt, so thick and creamy you could shave with it. (Is that awkward? sorry). Things were going great, until I took a healthy eating module that nearly derailed me.

 

I don't wanna be fat anymore!

So, let' s start this by being honest. I'm fat. Very fat. The medical community calls it 'obese'. I call it 'too much awesome in one place that ran out of room.' Whatever, i'm fat. Last March (2011), i clocked in at 340 lbs. On a 5'8" frame, that is a problem. A diabetic, achey joint, high blood pressure, tired all the time, sort of problem. I can blame it all I want on bad genes, being taught all the wrong eating habits and aliens, if I wanted, but it all doesn't matter. I made some bad eating choices.... a lot. And no amout of blame will make anyone else fix it, or get me some magical pill. It's my problem. MINE. So I decided to fix it. 

It started with meeting my boyfriend, a wonderfully hilarious, nerdy, wooly, bad joke cracking, behemoth of a man (6'6"). And somehow, our weirdness complemented each other. And he wanted children. Lots of them. That posed a problem. I have PCOS, poly cystic ovary syndrome. PCOS causes weight gain and prevents weight loss. It also makes you mostly barren. It has been known to rectify itself with weight loss, but that can be difficult (one of my many excuses over the years). So I decided to ask for help. I went to see my doctor. I told her, "I'm fat, help me." So, she did. She set me up with the nurse and dietician who works out of her office. The end result was to send me to a clinic for the morbidly obese, but they had to prep me first. The clinic required 6 months of pre submission care before they could send a referral. That meant 6 months working with the nurse and the dietician to adjust medication, change eating habits, and start exercising. So it began.

My Nurse is one of the most wonderfully caring people I have ever met. We instantly had a connection (remember the awesome part?) She reviewed my medication and health history, switched up some medications and sent me off the see the dietician. Now this woman was wonderful in a different, scary, ' don't mess with my diet plan' kind of woman. My first meeting with her scared the pants off me, and I knew she would be just the person to keep me on track. She went on a rant about 'healthy' food brands and names and how they mean squat if you don't read the label. I agreed with her, but was too terrified to do anything but nod, and interject with the occasional 'i know.' I handed over the 3 day food log I had been given as homework, worried about how my life would end in the next 3 minutes, and the state of my underpants. But I survived. As soon as she opened the book, it was all business. Good, informative, life changing business. She made small changes to what I was already eating, and suggested new foods I needed to add. She gave me portion tips, flavour tips, what to do when I get hungry. I was inspired and ready to rock. I left with more hope than I had ever had about my weight. Change was coming. I wasn't going to be fat anymore. 

This was me in Hawaii, March of 2011. 340lbs. (We went to a shooting range, I usually don't carry an assault rifle.)