My first born is about to be a bona fide adult. In the legal term of course. I don't know if I would send him out in the world just yet. Plus he's made it clear that Coby will probably grow up and move out before he does. Yeah, he knows he's got it good. When I think back over the past 18 years, I'm just so blessed. But God knew what he was doing, even though at the time we weren't so sure.
18 years and 8 months ago, a plus sign (not an "X" that means negative, Ashley Grey!) turned my world upside down. I had to make the hardest phone call of my life. I had to tell my parents that I was pregnant. I wasn't married. I wasn't financially secure. Heck, I was just barely old enough to vote. And during my second month off at college, I have to call my minister daddy and devout Christian mom, and tell them their teenage daughter was going to have a baby. I waited for the screaming and yelling and crying. If that happened, I never witnessed it. My dad calmly said, "Ok, we'll get through this." And we did.
I was terrified...at that moment, not of being a mom, but of judgment. What would my parents think of me? What would my friends think of me? What would my church think of me? You know what they thought? They thought, "We love this girl. We don't know why this happened, but it is in God's plan. We will forgive her and we will embrace her and her child."
18 years and 5 months ago, after my first semester at college ended, I made another big decision. I would not get married. There was a little shock at this decision, but not by mom. I could hear her sigh of relief. She knew that we would be okay and the support continued.
18 years and 4 months ago, I went back to college. I grew over the semester and a desk without a chair attached had to be brought in. Thanks to an especially boring History class, I doodled a lot and decided on the perfect name for my bundle. I finished the semester with just a few weeks to spare. If I was going to be able to provide for this little "pearl" I had to get my education. I was not going to change my course of action, he would just have to go along for the ride.
18 years and 1 day ago, I went to bed a pregnant teenager. I woke up bright and early in the morning, physically knowing this was the day I was going to meet my Chaston Dane and become a mom. Sure enough, June 12, 1997, 10:44 PM he made his rocket fast appearance. So fast, he hit a couple speed bumps on the way out and had a nice knot on his head that didn't recede until he was about 6 weeks old.
For 18 years, I have been a mom. And I have loved (almost) every minute of it. I was made to be a mom, I didn't know it then...but I know now. And I got to raise Chaston. Life just doesn't get much better than that!
Where can I even start to explain the awesomeness that is Chaston Dane Miller? He was born to a teenage mom, in a "broken" home (I use this term lightly, because by my standards our home was far from broken...in fact it's pretty awesome), and not without some drama. But most people don't know some of the struggles we've had. Because of the support of my parents, our friends, and especially our church and pastor...Chaston has beaten the odds. He is smart, he is funny, he is a natural leader, he is gifted, he is talented, he is an amazing big brother, he smells like a rotting gym sock, he can't clean his room or put dirty dishes in the dishwasher. And I absolutely, unashamedly adore him.
Single parenting is not a breeze. There have been moments of panic as I wonder how in the world am I going to do this? I can't do this! I need help!
I have my parents to thank for helping me to make it look easy. They do more for me than any husband could ever imagine doing. My dad has been an amazing father figure and coach. My mom has helped him with countless hours of homework and costume creating. They have been his cheerleader sitting right next to me, or sending me play by play texts when I'm unable to make a game or event. They have hugged us and let us cry when life got tough, and have been there to celebrate the many great times.
Chaston was born 18 minutes ago, not 18 years ago. Until you have children of your own (and yes, my animal parents, you count as having children), you can't understand how fast time flies by. One minute I'm changing diapers, watching Pre-K graduation, crying over timed math facts tests....the next minute, we're scheduling senior pics and getting ready for prom. Savor every moment, the good ones and the bad, help your child learn from any life experience. They might not thank you now, but they will. Chaston is learning this quickly as he grows up. Leave wet clothes in the washing machine for 4 days and they start to smell, especially after a cycle in the dryer. I pointed this out as he was getting dressed and he couldn't understand why they smelled so bad. He asked if I knew those clothes had been in there. Yep. He got quiet...a few minutes later he said, "A good mom would have moved the clothes to the dryer 3 days ago. But now I realize a GREAT mom would help me to learn a lesson." BAM!!! They get it folks!! You just have to have patience and love them and teach them.
Psalm 127:3 says: Children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from him.
I have been rewarded this young man, even in my sin, but have also been tasked with raising him for the Lord. I'm responsible for raising God's child...just a little daunting. Thank God for Grace, right? We aren't perfect, but He knows I try. Chaston has a yearning to work in the ministry, and every day that I see him live for the Lord I see the pearl in the sandstorm and know that God knew exactly what He was doing....18 years ago.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Tuesday, June 9, 2015
Our own worst enemies
So something happened at a swimming party yesterday that I cannot get out of my head. And when that happens, there's no choice but to just get it all out here.
We were at a hotel this weekend and Coby swam for HOURS. He was a shriveled mess when he finally got out and he had a blast. That boy loves the water! But we went to a swimming party yesterday and while he had told me how excited he was, he slowly walked to the edge of the pool and just stood there. I nudged him to take his tank off and dive in. He walked away and hung his head. What is going on here? I followed him and started pulling his shirt off, but he held his arms down at his sides and fought me. He said, "I don't want them to think I'm fat."
Oh no! My heart hurt. He's not fat by any means! He's not even "husky" by any standards. But he has it in his head that he is fat. Where did that come from? I've done nothing but tell him how awesome, how cute, how smart, how funny he is!
I finally yanked the tank top off him, kissed the top of his head and he dove in. I thought that conversation was over. Fifteen minutes later I hear a child's voice squeal, "You have a big ol' belly!" My head jerks up and I lock eyes with Coby across the pool. No, this didn't just happen. His eyes are filled with shock and pain and blame at me for making him get undressed, then he lowers his head and slowly sinks under the water. When he comes back up, I'm already on my feet running to him. "Did someone just say that to you?? Did someone just say you had a big belly?" He nods his head and points to the boy next to him. I very calmly (this took ALOT of restraint) explained to the boy that wasn't a nice thing to say, it was very hurtful and he shouldn't say things like that to his friends. I then knelt down and looked my Coby Bear in the eye and told him he was perfect in every way and to ignore anyone that says anything negative about him. The party ended with no more issues and he had a good time. But needless to say, I can't shake the look he had in his eyes.
I had to walk away from Coby with tears in my eyes, much like they are now. I can't imagine how this crushed him at SEVEN years old when all they have to define themselves is by their friends. Coby is so many things: he is so funny, kind hearted, loves Jesus and his family, smart, enjoys reading, was awesome at first base this season, and not a bad little athlete all around. There are so many other descriptors to define my baby, other than FAT. But FAT is what sticks in his head, and now he believes that one of his peers confirms that concern.
Have I done this to him? I have defined my success in life by my weight. I have always wanted to be thin and have accomplished it a few times at extreme measures. Coby knows it's my constant struggle and is aware of my surgeries I've had to "get weak"...weak means skinny in Coby-isms. He's heard me mutter under my breath, "I'm so fat...this is disgusting." He's looked at old pics with me and heard me say, "I was so skinny then, now I'm just a fatty."
So when I look at him and tell him he's not fat, but that's he's perfect...he can't correlate the two. "How can Mommy look at her body and say it's disgusting, but I look at mine and it's supposed to be perfect?" Is that what's in his mind?
I am devestated. I work hard to teach my kids the rights and wrongs in life, to know Jesus, to be nice to others, to love everyone and be compassionate. But did I fail them on how to treat themselves?
Why is it okay for us to say the most foul things about ourselves, to ourselves? I blog quite often about how God made us flawless, how awesome it is to know that He made us perfectly imperfect just the way he planned. But as soon as I hit the "publish" button, I can't stand to look in the mirror.
Here's just a few verses that explains what God has to say about beauty and appearance:
Psalm 139:14
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
1 Samuel 16:7
But the LORD said to Samuel, "Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart."
Proverbs 31:30
Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.
I have failed to truly believe that God made me to praise Him....not for others to praise ME. And I have failed to teach that to my children. This changes now. I can not and will not let Coby grow up to have the same issues that I have now. He will know that God made him for a bigger purpose than to have others admire him for the way he looks. He is so much more...and so am I....and so are you!
We were at a hotel this weekend and Coby swam for HOURS. He was a shriveled mess when he finally got out and he had a blast. That boy loves the water! But we went to a swimming party yesterday and while he had told me how excited he was, he slowly walked to the edge of the pool and just stood there. I nudged him to take his tank off and dive in. He walked away and hung his head. What is going on here? I followed him and started pulling his shirt off, but he held his arms down at his sides and fought me. He said, "I don't want them to think I'm fat."
Oh no! My heart hurt. He's not fat by any means! He's not even "husky" by any standards. But he has it in his head that he is fat. Where did that come from? I've done nothing but tell him how awesome, how cute, how smart, how funny he is!
I finally yanked the tank top off him, kissed the top of his head and he dove in. I thought that conversation was over. Fifteen minutes later I hear a child's voice squeal, "You have a big ol' belly!" My head jerks up and I lock eyes with Coby across the pool. No, this didn't just happen. His eyes are filled with shock and pain and blame at me for making him get undressed, then he lowers his head and slowly sinks under the water. When he comes back up, I'm already on my feet running to him. "Did someone just say that to you?? Did someone just say you had a big belly?" He nods his head and points to the boy next to him. I very calmly (this took ALOT of restraint) explained to the boy that wasn't a nice thing to say, it was very hurtful and he shouldn't say things like that to his friends. I then knelt down and looked my Coby Bear in the eye and told him he was perfect in every way and to ignore anyone that says anything negative about him. The party ended with no more issues and he had a good time. But needless to say, I can't shake the look he had in his eyes.
I had to walk away from Coby with tears in my eyes, much like they are now. I can't imagine how this crushed him at SEVEN years old when all they have to define themselves is by their friends. Coby is so many things: he is so funny, kind hearted, loves Jesus and his family, smart, enjoys reading, was awesome at first base this season, and not a bad little athlete all around. There are so many other descriptors to define my baby, other than FAT. But FAT is what sticks in his head, and now he believes that one of his peers confirms that concern.
Have I done this to him? I have defined my success in life by my weight. I have always wanted to be thin and have accomplished it a few times at extreme measures. Coby knows it's my constant struggle and is aware of my surgeries I've had to "get weak"...weak means skinny in Coby-isms. He's heard me mutter under my breath, "I'm so fat...this is disgusting." He's looked at old pics with me and heard me say, "I was so skinny then, now I'm just a fatty."
So when I look at him and tell him he's not fat, but that's he's perfect...he can't correlate the two. "How can Mommy look at her body and say it's disgusting, but I look at mine and it's supposed to be perfect?" Is that what's in his mind?
I am devestated. I work hard to teach my kids the rights and wrongs in life, to know Jesus, to be nice to others, to love everyone and be compassionate. But did I fail them on how to treat themselves?
Why is it okay for us to say the most foul things about ourselves, to ourselves? I blog quite often about how God made us flawless, how awesome it is to know that He made us perfectly imperfect just the way he planned. But as soon as I hit the "publish" button, I can't stand to look in the mirror.
Here's just a few verses that explains what God has to say about beauty and appearance:
Psalm 139:14
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
1 Samuel 16:7
But the LORD said to Samuel, "Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart."
Proverbs 31:30
Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.
I have failed to truly believe that God made me to praise Him....not for others to praise ME. And I have failed to teach that to my children. This changes now. I can not and will not let Coby grow up to have the same issues that I have now. He will know that God made him for a bigger purpose than to have others admire him for the way he looks. He is so much more...and so am I....and so are you!
Sunday, May 31, 2015
I'm me, imperfections and all
So 5 months after my surgery and I'm still fat. I have piles of jeans, sundresses, shorts, tank tops all from last spring/summer that I just knew I would be able to fit in by this summer. I hate being wrong. Like I said in the previous blogs, no matter how weird this sounds, I was hoping that little brain tumor scare had turned in to something. At least then I would have something to blame this on. I'm still stumped. I'm going to pick up all my lab results and make an appointment with my surgeon this week and pray he can help me with this, because I don't know what else to do.
In the meantime....I did it....I joined Orange County Fitness. Yep, I'm attempting to become an #OCFjunkie. After months of being harassed (too harsh? encouraged? is that better?) about going by my cousin and friends, I finally gave in.
I had been going to Anytime Fitness and "working out." I would go for a week or two, put in my 30 minutes, then take a couple weeks off. Then I would just be flabbergasted that I wasn't losing weight or gaining muscle tone. I finally faced the truth that I was not working. I would leave barely winded, hair still #onfleek, and able to sit down to pee without much of an effort (give me a minute, this will make sense shortly). Plus, I was bored. I did the same machines, the same workout, everything...and I was yawning. Dreaded going. Not good signs.
So one day, I finally went to visit OCF. It was the best work out I have ever had. I left completely drenched in sweat, legs shaking in so much pain yet had no feeling, every muscle screaming, and a smile on my face. The sense of accomplishment I felt and the pride coursing through my veins made me feel invincible. Now granted, I was not invincible. Have you ever done 200 squats then attempt to sit on a toilet? I have had 2 children birthed naturally, I have had 3 bariatric surgeries that rendered stomach muscles useless, I have suffered a subdural hematoma that no pain medicine could numb. NOTHING compares to the pain and struggle of sitting on and getting up from the toilet after 200 squats. Try it if you don't believe me! But all this proved how hard my muscles were worked in just one day. I couldn't move, but I knew I would be stronger for it.
One of the best things about OCF is that anyone can do it, you just have to scale your workout to what you can do. I can't run for 200m without having to stop and walk, I couldn't do one wallball, I shudder at the thought of doing more than one burpee....none of that mattered! I got out there and I did me.
My mantra: I do me. This means I do not and will not compare myself to any one else there. Here are some examples of having to repeat this mantra.
Running:
Running does not feel natural to me. Everything jiggles, inside and out. I feel like my insides are a giant weird snowglobe that some obnoxious kid just picked up and shook with all their might, all while sitting on my chest and pinching my nose closed so I can't breathe. Running does not appeal to me. So when the WOD calls for sprinting, then I'm going to move over to the side so the pros can breeze past me as I jog as fast as I can. I am not a runner, I never have been, and I probably never will be. I ran ALOT back in high school...up and down a basketball court. For some reason, I could play entire games with no break and had no issues. Put me on a track and tell me to run a lap? OMG! You would find me flopping on the ground only 100m in, like a fish sucking air outside of the water, screaming for an oxygen tank, and a wheelchair because my legs got lost somewhere 50m back! Not a runner. So a WOD calls for several 400m runs. I will jog 200m, walk 200m. Or just do a 200m jog. I do me.
Wallballs, burpees, HSPU, or anything resembling a pull up:
See that 8 pound ball? Yeah, that's mine. I'm not ashamed, that's the ball I use for wallballs. You want the 20 pounder, awesome! Don't mind me! Same thing with HSPU (handstand push up) and pulls up and all the fancy pull up workouts. I'm good with regular scaled push ups and ring rows...I rock those ring rows! There is no shame in my game! I'm here to get stronger and healthier, not to prove anything to anyone other than myself. I do me.
How many rounds?
WOD calls for 5 rounds, 10 rounds? Watch me do 3, 6, 8...I remember only getting to round 3 of a 5 round WOD. Mrs. OCF walks up and asks if I'm okay. I say yes, but I think I'm about done. I felt ashamed that I hadn't completed the WOD, even though it was only my second day! She looked at the clock and said, "Awesome! You have been working your tail off for 43 minutes! That's amazing! Good job!" Really?? YES! So that's a new outlook for me. Someone else might be able to get through all 5 in 43 minutes, but I did 3...and that's awesome! I do me.
This mantra was a hard one to learn. I felt like I was going to be judged, like they were going to look at me and wonder what this roly poly, soft bodied, no running lazy bum was doing in their gym. But that's not how it is at all. Everyone is there to work, they aren't worried about me because they are focused on themselves and doing their own workout, pushing themselves to be better...just like I am. And we all have to start from somewhere...and this is my somewhere. I get smiles, cheers, a few shouts of strongly worded encouragement from the coaches and it helps. We're all in this together.
So there you have it...only 2 weeks in and I'm on my way to earning my #OCFjunkie tag. If you have been on the fence of upping your work out, a little timid at the idea of joining something so different than your regular treadmill and machine based circuit training....come on! First workout is free, and who doesn't love free??
Seriously...if there is a crossfit gym local to you that you have been thinking about going to; if you've been thinking of purchasing that Beachbody DVD; if you've been thinking about using that C25K app; or if you've been thinking about anything that will get you healthier and feeling better...just do it. Take your first step, no regrets. And remember to just do you...you know who you are. This is a snippet of lyrics from one of my fave songs being played on The Message. Click the youtube link below to hear it in its entirety. You do you, because you are enough.
I am strong, beautiful
I am good enough
And I belong after all, 'cause of what You've done
This is real what I feel
No one made it up
I am loved
I'm runnin' to the One who knows me
Who made every part of me in His hands
I'm holdin' to the One who holds me
'Cause I know, 'cause I am
I know who I am
I am sure, I am Yours
Fearfully, wonderfully, perfectly
You had made me
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6oZuNkT7_UM
In the meantime....I did it....I joined Orange County Fitness. Yep, I'm attempting to become an #OCFjunkie. After months of being harassed (too harsh? encouraged? is that better?) about going by my cousin and friends, I finally gave in.
I had been going to Anytime Fitness and "working out." I would go for a week or two, put in my 30 minutes, then take a couple weeks off. Then I would just be flabbergasted that I wasn't losing weight or gaining muscle tone. I finally faced the truth that I was not working. I would leave barely winded, hair still #onfleek, and able to sit down to pee without much of an effort (give me a minute, this will make sense shortly). Plus, I was bored. I did the same machines, the same workout, everything...and I was yawning. Dreaded going. Not good signs.
So one day, I finally went to visit OCF. It was the best work out I have ever had. I left completely drenched in sweat, legs shaking in so much pain yet had no feeling, every muscle screaming, and a smile on my face. The sense of accomplishment I felt and the pride coursing through my veins made me feel invincible. Now granted, I was not invincible. Have you ever done 200 squats then attempt to sit on a toilet? I have had 2 children birthed naturally, I have had 3 bariatric surgeries that rendered stomach muscles useless, I have suffered a subdural hematoma that no pain medicine could numb. NOTHING compares to the pain and struggle of sitting on and getting up from the toilet after 200 squats. Try it if you don't believe me! But all this proved how hard my muscles were worked in just one day. I couldn't move, but I knew I would be stronger for it.
One of the best things about OCF is that anyone can do it, you just have to scale your workout to what you can do. I can't run for 200m without having to stop and walk, I couldn't do one wallball, I shudder at the thought of doing more than one burpee....none of that mattered! I got out there and I did me.
My mantra: I do me. This means I do not and will not compare myself to any one else there. Here are some examples of having to repeat this mantra.
Running:
Running does not feel natural to me. Everything jiggles, inside and out. I feel like my insides are a giant weird snowglobe that some obnoxious kid just picked up and shook with all their might, all while sitting on my chest and pinching my nose closed so I can't breathe. Running does not appeal to me. So when the WOD calls for sprinting, then I'm going to move over to the side so the pros can breeze past me as I jog as fast as I can. I am not a runner, I never have been, and I probably never will be. I ran ALOT back in high school...up and down a basketball court. For some reason, I could play entire games with no break and had no issues. Put me on a track and tell me to run a lap? OMG! You would find me flopping on the ground only 100m in, like a fish sucking air outside of the water, screaming for an oxygen tank, and a wheelchair because my legs got lost somewhere 50m back! Not a runner. So a WOD calls for several 400m runs. I will jog 200m, walk 200m. Or just do a 200m jog. I do me.
Wallballs, burpees, HSPU, or anything resembling a pull up:
See that 8 pound ball? Yeah, that's mine. I'm not ashamed, that's the ball I use for wallballs. You want the 20 pounder, awesome! Don't mind me! Same thing with HSPU (handstand push up) and pulls up and all the fancy pull up workouts. I'm good with regular scaled push ups and ring rows...I rock those ring rows! There is no shame in my game! I'm here to get stronger and healthier, not to prove anything to anyone other than myself. I do me.
How many rounds?
WOD calls for 5 rounds, 10 rounds? Watch me do 3, 6, 8...I remember only getting to round 3 of a 5 round WOD. Mrs. OCF walks up and asks if I'm okay. I say yes, but I think I'm about done. I felt ashamed that I hadn't completed the WOD, even though it was only my second day! She looked at the clock and said, "Awesome! You have been working your tail off for 43 minutes! That's amazing! Good job!" Really?? YES! So that's a new outlook for me. Someone else might be able to get through all 5 in 43 minutes, but I did 3...and that's awesome! I do me.
This mantra was a hard one to learn. I felt like I was going to be judged, like they were going to look at me and wonder what this roly poly, soft bodied, no running lazy bum was doing in their gym. But that's not how it is at all. Everyone is there to work, they aren't worried about me because they are focused on themselves and doing their own workout, pushing themselves to be better...just like I am. And we all have to start from somewhere...and this is my somewhere. I get smiles, cheers, a few shouts of strongly worded encouragement from the coaches and it helps. We're all in this together.
So there you have it...only 2 weeks in and I'm on my way to earning my #OCFjunkie tag. If you have been on the fence of upping your work out, a little timid at the idea of joining something so different than your regular treadmill and machine based circuit training....come on! First workout is free, and who doesn't love free??
Seriously...if there is a crossfit gym local to you that you have been thinking about going to; if you've been thinking of purchasing that Beachbody DVD; if you've been thinking about using that C25K app; or if you've been thinking about anything that will get you healthier and feeling better...just do it. Take your first step, no regrets. And remember to just do you...you know who you are. This is a snippet of lyrics from one of my fave songs being played on The Message. Click the youtube link below to hear it in its entirety. You do you, because you are enough.
I am strong, beautiful
I am good enough
And I belong after all, 'cause of what You've done
This is real what I feel
No one made it up
I am loved
I'm runnin' to the One who knows me
Who made every part of me in His hands
I'm holdin' to the One who holds me
'Cause I know, 'cause I am
I know who I am
I am sure, I am Yours
Fearfully, wonderfully, perfectly
You had made me
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6oZuNkT7_UM
Saturday, May 9, 2015
Unnecessary Drama
I thought about just updating on Facebook and foregoing the blog post, but this is what I do. I just have to word vomit all this out, and I feel safe here.
Sorry it took so long to update, but life has a way of not slowing down or stopping...even in weird situations like what I've being dealing with. I have had to go to work, baseball games, feed kids and stay up late washing uniforms because of back to back games. So no matter how many times I wanted to wallow in the messiness of this entire "adventure," there was no choice but to get up and keep moving.
So I FINALLY met with the neurosurgeon on Wednesday. Unfortunately for Coby, I do not have a watermelon growing in my brain. Basically, this all boils down to...just no big deal at all. That's right folks, this is basically just some sort of brain pimple. It's not doing a darn thing to me but camping out on my pituitary gland. My labs have come back normal, I am normal (don't look so shocked). He said I might have even been born with this. I did question this as I had an MRI in 2013 and nobody said anything about it then. He said, very condescendingly as a top rated neurosurgeon would typically do, that the peon doctors at our small town hospital probably just didn't see it. Okay, he didn't say those exact words, but my translation of his tone is spot on. He did ask for me to get my hands on that MRI and send it to him, he was curious to see if it was there, if he can see it. Based on his lack of enthusiasm and blasé attitude toward this "cyst" as he's called it, I'm not in any hurry to go out of my way to get this MRI, mail it to him, and then (at his request) email him a few times a week to make sure that he reads it and gets back with me. I feel I have already given this too much of my time.
I asked about my headaches: not caused by this at all. Hmkay.
I asked about my inability to lose weight, my acne, all my female related concerns, my exhaustion: this peaked his interest a tad bit. He started describing a very specific, unusual lab that would test for Cushing Syndrome. I told him I did that lab!! The results were not back yet. Of course they're not... He said if that came back abnormal, then we would need to take some action. At this point, I really don't think that lab is going to come back as anything other than normal. And if it's normal, then I'm still left with these unanswered questions.
But yes...PRAISE THE LORD! This is no big deal. This is exactly what we wanted, and what I asked for your prayers. But there is this nagging in the back of my mind, that something is off. I wanted this to be something so we could treat it and move on, and all my "issues" would disappear. But that is not to be. So I will move on and leave this little detour in life behind.
I'm kind of embarrassed with how I reacted, freaking out about this. It had consumed me. I thought about it all the time, wondered about what the future would hold, spent so much time on the phone trying to get someone to tell me something or do something! Only to be told it's a "cyst" and we will do nothing but maybe get an MRI every other year or so. Ashamed that I spent so much energy on something that didn't deserve my time. Did I not trust God enough to handle this? I don't know and I don't know if I want to answer that truthfully. There were times when I felt like God was trying to slow me down, yet I kept pushing and getting more and more anxious that things weren't falling in to place like I thought they should. Now, it's over, and I'm ready to rest up for the next obstacle that we will most assuredly face.
I do thank all of you for your concern, your prayers, your hugs, your cards with well wishes, your love. You should all know by now, I lead with the drama and can turn even the most benign brain pimple into a wild and crazy ride. Love you all!
Sorry it took so long to update, but life has a way of not slowing down or stopping...even in weird situations like what I've being dealing with. I have had to go to work, baseball games, feed kids and stay up late washing uniforms because of back to back games. So no matter how many times I wanted to wallow in the messiness of this entire "adventure," there was no choice but to get up and keep moving.
So I FINALLY met with the neurosurgeon on Wednesday. Unfortunately for Coby, I do not have a watermelon growing in my brain. Basically, this all boils down to...just no big deal at all. That's right folks, this is basically just some sort of brain pimple. It's not doing a darn thing to me but camping out on my pituitary gland. My labs have come back normal, I am normal (don't look so shocked). He said I might have even been born with this. I did question this as I had an MRI in 2013 and nobody said anything about it then. He said, very condescendingly as a top rated neurosurgeon would typically do, that the peon doctors at our small town hospital probably just didn't see it. Okay, he didn't say those exact words, but my translation of his tone is spot on. He did ask for me to get my hands on that MRI and send it to him, he was curious to see if it was there, if he can see it. Based on his lack of enthusiasm and blasé attitude toward this "cyst" as he's called it, I'm not in any hurry to go out of my way to get this MRI, mail it to him, and then (at his request) email him a few times a week to make sure that he reads it and gets back with me. I feel I have already given this too much of my time.
I asked about my headaches: not caused by this at all. Hmkay.
I asked about my inability to lose weight, my acne, all my female related concerns, my exhaustion: this peaked his interest a tad bit. He started describing a very specific, unusual lab that would test for Cushing Syndrome. I told him I did that lab!! The results were not back yet. Of course they're not... He said if that came back abnormal, then we would need to take some action. At this point, I really don't think that lab is going to come back as anything other than normal. And if it's normal, then I'm still left with these unanswered questions.
But yes...PRAISE THE LORD! This is no big deal. This is exactly what we wanted, and what I asked for your prayers. But there is this nagging in the back of my mind, that something is off. I wanted this to be something so we could treat it and move on, and all my "issues" would disappear. But that is not to be. So I will move on and leave this little detour in life behind.
I'm kind of embarrassed with how I reacted, freaking out about this. It had consumed me. I thought about it all the time, wondered about what the future would hold, spent so much time on the phone trying to get someone to tell me something or do something! Only to be told it's a "cyst" and we will do nothing but maybe get an MRI every other year or so. Ashamed that I spent so much energy on something that didn't deserve my time. Did I not trust God enough to handle this? I don't know and I don't know if I want to answer that truthfully. There were times when I felt like God was trying to slow me down, yet I kept pushing and getting more and more anxious that things weren't falling in to place like I thought they should. Now, it's over, and I'm ready to rest up for the next obstacle that we will most assuredly face.
I do thank all of you for your concern, your prayers, your hugs, your cards with well wishes, your love. You should all know by now, I lead with the drama and can turn even the most benign brain pimple into a wild and crazy ride. Love you all!
Friday, May 1, 2015
It wouldn't be fun if it were easy
First of all...I changed the title of my blog. It used to be "Stopping The Roller Coaster Ride." But, well, life is nothing but a myriad of ups and downs, twists and turns. So I made the switch to "Enjoying The Crazy Ride." I refuse to stop the ride of life, so I might as well have a little fun. Plus, this started off as a place to log and vent all my bariatric surgery stuffs. But I need an outlet for all things about life, not just about weight loss struggles.
For instance, today's vent/update is about this stupid tumor that no one seemed to really care about. And by "no one" I really mean anyone involved in the medical field.
I found out Friday, April 17 that I had this tumor and would be referred to Dr. Angel in Beaumont. On Wednesday, April 22, we decided I would go to Dr. David Baskins in Houston. After googling Dr. Baskins, I was very pleased and felt like I would be in good hands. The problem...actually getting in to see Dr. Baskins.
I called my doctor's office, the referral department, spoke with friends in the medical field about how this process should work...still not hearing anything about an appointment and getting completely conflicting reports on what next steps are.
By Monday, April 27, I finally received a phone call from the referral department of SETMA. They sent all my paperwork to Dr. Baskins office on the previous Thursday at 8:56 AM and I should have heard something from them by now.
I call Dr. Baskins office: We don't have anything on you...oh wait, yeah here it is.
Seriously?!? You've had my name since LAST Thursday and it took me calling you for you to find it? I was told she will fax orders to my local doc's office to get some labwork done here and will find me an appointment for this Thursday (that was yesterday by the way...in case you're not looking at a calendar and following along counting the days with me).
That didn't exactly happen. That was Monday. Finally by Wednesday the lab orders were done and Thursday I was told I have an appointment for NEXT Wednesday. This will be almost 3 weeks since learning about my little alien living in my head. I would like to name this little alien...suggestions?
Every day I would say, "That's it, I'm done." Meaning I'm not going to stress myself out, I'm not going to call the doctor, I'm just going to sit here and do nothing. Unfortunately, that's not me. I have called someone every day, heard the promise of a return call, and hear nothing....and start the process over the next morning.
Finally Tuesday evening, I couldn't sleep. I just laid there thinking about this, about this baseball season, about Coby still snoring in my ear...and that's when it finally happened. I let it go. Sing along...Let it go....let it go...ok, enough.
I finally just said, you take it Jesus. This is not my ball game, this is not my plan, and honestly my hands are not strong enough to hold all this. And Wednesday was the day the ball got rolling. God just needed me to be reminded WHO was in control here, and it's definitely not me. This is a gigantic step for me. I kinda like to be the one in charge, the one navigating the processes. But I couldn't keep going the way I was. I was crying every hour, every day. I was exhausted. I wanted to scream. Thank you, Jesus, for your hand on my shoulder telling me to just be still.
Now don't get me wrong....I'm still a little freaked out that this is even happening. But I know my God is bigger than this. Please continue to pray for me and my little guys as we are going through this. I love all of you for checking in on me, asking me how things are going, and encouraging me through this test of patience and faith. xoxoxox
Edit...minutes after I posted this, the doc called and rescheduled my apoiintment from 8 AM to 5 PM. The same time as Coby's vbs musical. And the patience testing continues as this Supermom is constantly being reminded she can't do it all.
For instance, today's vent/update is about this stupid tumor that no one seemed to really care about. And by "no one" I really mean anyone involved in the medical field.
I found out Friday, April 17 that I had this tumor and would be referred to Dr. Angel in Beaumont. On Wednesday, April 22, we decided I would go to Dr. David Baskins in Houston. After googling Dr. Baskins, I was very pleased and felt like I would be in good hands. The problem...actually getting in to see Dr. Baskins.
I called my doctor's office, the referral department, spoke with friends in the medical field about how this process should work...still not hearing anything about an appointment and getting completely conflicting reports on what next steps are.
By Monday, April 27, I finally received a phone call from the referral department of SETMA. They sent all my paperwork to Dr. Baskins office on the previous Thursday at 8:56 AM and I should have heard something from them by now.
I call Dr. Baskins office: We don't have anything on you...oh wait, yeah here it is.
Seriously?!? You've had my name since LAST Thursday and it took me calling you for you to find it? I was told she will fax orders to my local doc's office to get some labwork done here and will find me an appointment for this Thursday (that was yesterday by the way...in case you're not looking at a calendar and following along counting the days with me).
That didn't exactly happen. That was Monday. Finally by Wednesday the lab orders were done and Thursday I was told I have an appointment for NEXT Wednesday. This will be almost 3 weeks since learning about my little alien living in my head. I would like to name this little alien...suggestions?
Every day I would say, "That's it, I'm done." Meaning I'm not going to stress myself out, I'm not going to call the doctor, I'm just going to sit here and do nothing. Unfortunately, that's not me. I have called someone every day, heard the promise of a return call, and hear nothing....and start the process over the next morning.
Finally Tuesday evening, I couldn't sleep. I just laid there thinking about this, about this baseball season, about Coby still snoring in my ear...and that's when it finally happened. I let it go. Sing along...Let it go....let it go...ok, enough.
I finally just said, you take it Jesus. This is not my ball game, this is not my plan, and honestly my hands are not strong enough to hold all this. And Wednesday was the day the ball got rolling. God just needed me to be reminded WHO was in control here, and it's definitely not me. This is a gigantic step for me. I kinda like to be the one in charge, the one navigating the processes. But I couldn't keep going the way I was. I was crying every hour, every day. I was exhausted. I wanted to scream. Thank you, Jesus, for your hand on my shoulder telling me to just be still.
Now don't get me wrong....I'm still a little freaked out that this is even happening. But I know my God is bigger than this. Please continue to pray for me and my little guys as we are going through this. I love all of you for checking in on me, asking me how things are going, and encouraging me through this test of patience and faith. xoxoxox
Edit...minutes after I posted this, the doc called and rescheduled my apoiintment from 8 AM to 5 PM. The same time as Coby's vbs musical. And the patience testing continues as this Supermom is constantly being reminded she can't do it all.
Friday, April 17, 2015
What's in a brain?
Still not losing weight. Eating 900-1100 calories a day, adding in working out when possible. Still nothing. Not. One. Single. Pound. And I have a lot of whining to do.
Oh, and now my face is breaking out. Like pimples and dry patches and all kinds of weirdness. I had to steal my teenage son's Proactiv. Yeah, it's that bad.
Oh, and the headaches. OMG....the headaches! I had two migraines last month. TWO! I have only had two other migraines in my life and to suffer through two more in the same month was horrific!
So off to my primary doc I go...well, she's really a nurse practitioner, but I heart her and it's easier to say doc. Anywho....I figured if I'm going to be a migraine person now, I should have some meds on hand. She decided to order an MRI, just to get an idea if anything changed since my subdural hematoma debaucle. That's fine, just put an order for Xanax in with that as this momma has some serious claustrophobia issues and I'm not voluntarily squeezing in a 10 inch tube for close to an hour. No way!
That MRI was done on a Monday (no one was hurt in the process, though the nurse held my hand for a while calming my panic attack). Thursday, I get the phone call....there was "something" seen on my pituitary gland and we need to get another MRI stat. Tears....panic....overactive imagination is the bane of my existence. I have to see Coby graduate. I am meant to have grand babies. I could possibly get married a few more times, who knows?!? It's not my time yet!!!! Stay away from the light! I have no idea why people think I'm a drama queen....moving on.
Well after some run around and a few days of panic and asking what their definition of "stat" is, I finally get another MRI done on Wednesday. Thursday the phone call of "Libby needs to see you in her office tomorrow morning." sigh......
Here we are Friday afternoon. And we keep repeating the mantra that the word tumor simply means "a mass of cells" and does not mean cancer. Why even say tumor when we can say micradenoma? Which is smaller than a macroadenoma. So far, so good. I mean, if I'm going to have a brain tumor, THIS is the kind to have, right?!
Oh and did I mention that this type of "mass of cells" totally messes with hormones. They can cause weight gain, acne, headaches....GASP!!! You mean THIS could be why my body has been forsaking me?? Let's rip this sucker out!!
So I am being referred to neurosurgeon Dr. Angel in Beaumont to discuss surgery. Since all of this started, I've been daydreaming of experimenting with wigs since they're going to have shave my head and cut open my skull and and and....what?!?! He goes up my nose?? So much for that hot pink bob I was looking at online. Or the Kim Zolciak line of wigs I was day dreaming about (google her, she's kind of a hot amazing mess with FABULOUS wigs!).
Yeah, obviously humor and sarcasm is my choice of defense mechanisms. I have very brief moments of pure panic, then I move on. Like really....this could be soooo much worse. This is really just a nuisance that needs to be taken care of. Right now, I'm very calm. I know God has a plan, and this is just part of it. This is another story in my book of life adventures. This is just another way to meet my insurance out of pocket expenses for the year.
But really, please pray. Pray for the surgeon, that together we will come up with a plan and course of action that will nip this in the bud. Pray for my kiddos. Chaston is putting on a brave face, but I know he is nervous, texting me every afternoon checking on me, when he should be in class focusing on that Pre-cal test he should have aced. Coby is kind of oblivious, which is just fine with me. He's so my kid that he would worry way too much and immediately go to worse case scenario, but would try to turn it for good and would probably pretend that I'm going to be a zombie. Pray for my parents as they have to put up with my meltdowns and over sarcastic comments. Pray for my mom that she is able to hunt down Dr. Derrick Shepard like she promised, and not Amelia because we all know she kind of has a drug problem following her and was so mean to Dr. Hunt last night.
And yeah, pray for me and my head. We could use it. xoxoxoxox
Oh, and now my face is breaking out. Like pimples and dry patches and all kinds of weirdness. I had to steal my teenage son's Proactiv. Yeah, it's that bad.
Oh, and the headaches. OMG....the headaches! I had two migraines last month. TWO! I have only had two other migraines in my life and to suffer through two more in the same month was horrific!
So off to my primary doc I go...well, she's really a nurse practitioner, but I heart her and it's easier to say doc. Anywho....I figured if I'm going to be a migraine person now, I should have some meds on hand. She decided to order an MRI, just to get an idea if anything changed since my subdural hematoma debaucle. That's fine, just put an order for Xanax in with that as this momma has some serious claustrophobia issues and I'm not voluntarily squeezing in a 10 inch tube for close to an hour. No way!
That MRI was done on a Monday (no one was hurt in the process, though the nurse held my hand for a while calming my panic attack). Thursday, I get the phone call....there was "something" seen on my pituitary gland and we need to get another MRI stat. Tears....panic....overactive imagination is the bane of my existence. I have to see Coby graduate. I am meant to have grand babies. I could possibly get married a few more times, who knows?!? It's not my time yet!!!! Stay away from the light! I have no idea why people think I'm a drama queen....moving on.
Well after some run around and a few days of panic and asking what their definition of "stat" is, I finally get another MRI done on Wednesday. Thursday the phone call of "Libby needs to see you in her office tomorrow morning." sigh......
Here we are Friday afternoon. And we keep repeating the mantra that the word tumor simply means "a mass of cells" and does not mean cancer. Why even say tumor when we can say micradenoma? Which is smaller than a macroadenoma. So far, so good. I mean, if I'm going to have a brain tumor, THIS is the kind to have, right?!
Oh and did I mention that this type of "mass of cells" totally messes with hormones. They can cause weight gain, acne, headaches....GASP!!! You mean THIS could be why my body has been forsaking me?? Let's rip this sucker out!!
So I am being referred to neurosurgeon Dr. Angel in Beaumont to discuss surgery. Since all of this started, I've been daydreaming of experimenting with wigs since they're going to have shave my head and cut open my skull and and and....what?!?! He goes up my nose?? So much for that hot pink bob I was looking at online. Or the Kim Zolciak line of wigs I was day dreaming about (google her, she's kind of a hot amazing mess with FABULOUS wigs!).
Yeah, obviously humor and sarcasm is my choice of defense mechanisms. I have very brief moments of pure panic, then I move on. Like really....this could be soooo much worse. This is really just a nuisance that needs to be taken care of. Right now, I'm very calm. I know God has a plan, and this is just part of it. This is another story in my book of life adventures. This is just another way to meet my insurance out of pocket expenses for the year.
But really, please pray. Pray for the surgeon, that together we will come up with a plan and course of action that will nip this in the bud. Pray for my kiddos. Chaston is putting on a brave face, but I know he is nervous, texting me every afternoon checking on me, when he should be in class focusing on that Pre-cal test he should have aced. Coby is kind of oblivious, which is just fine with me. He's so my kid that he would worry way too much and immediately go to worse case scenario, but would try to turn it for good and would probably pretend that I'm going to be a zombie. Pray for my parents as they have to put up with my meltdowns and over sarcastic comments. Pray for my mom that she is able to hunt down Dr. Derrick Shepard like she promised, and not Amelia because we all know she kind of has a drug problem following her and was so mean to Dr. Hunt last night.
And yeah, pray for me and my head. We could use it. xoxoxoxox
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
One month...
It's time for a new blog post and I have so many thoughts swirling through my head, that I hope I can somehow put them here in some coherent form.
Let's look at the past few weeks strictly on a number and dramatized reaction to said numbers basis:
1/12/15 -- Lost 10 pounds
Reaction: WOOHOO!
1/19/15 -- Lost 0 pounds
Reaction: Huh?
1/26/15 -- Lost nada pounds
Reaction: Is this thing working?!
2/2/15 -- Lost zip, zilch, zero pounds
Reaction: Went and bought a new scale thinking old scale has become senile and stubborn in its old age. No such luck, reads exactly the same as the old scale. Boxed new one back up and returned to store.
2/6/15 -- Lost 3 pounds
Reaction: It's about gosh darn time! But only THREE?!?! Seriously?!? And now I fear that this was a fluke and those 3 pounds, and then some, will creep back on by next weigh in.
So one month in and I'm down a whopping 13 pounds and I'm not exactly thrilled with this. My expectations so far have not been met, at all! Are my expectations unrealistic? I have no idea. I didn't think so based on my research and visiting with others who had this procedure done. But now I question everything I ever thought about my potential success.
One major issue that this lack of weight loss has caused: my fashionista needs are not being met! I stopped buying clothes a month before the surgery, knowing I wouldn't be this size for much longer. I have 2 pairs of jeans, one dress, and a handful of tops that fit. Thank goodness for tights and leggings that I can kind of switch up the looks. But it's so frustrating!
I just knew in my heart that I would be down at least one size by now. Nope. I keep pulling out jeans and trying them on, crossing my fingers that maybe they'll button. Nope.
People keep asking how I'm doing, looking for an update. I respond, "I'm feeling great. All healed up," avoiding the subject of weight loss. What I want to say is, "OMG! I can't believe I just went through all this for NOTHING! I feel fine, but I am still FAT!" But I don't want to scare people off, so I just answer with my canned response and come here to vent and cry and stomp my fingers.
I have logged everything I eat in the MyFitnessPal app on my phone. I have anywhere from 600 to 800 calories a day. I have yet to eat over 1000 calories and very rarely get up to 900. I also take in about 70 grams of protein (60 is the recommended by the nutritionist). I have done this, not only to keep myself in check, but also to show the doctor and/or nutritionist when I have my 6 week follow up next week. I am praying that they will be able to show or tell me what I'm doing wrong or offer some reassurances that I am on the right track and the weight will start magically falling off.
I had my first weekend at home since the surgery without the boys a couple weekends ago. It was the longest weekend of my life. Here's where it gets difficult for a binge eater...being alone with no one to judge or stop your addictive lifestyle (more about this in a future blog post...contrary to popular belief anorexia and bulimia are not the only eating disorders). Those alone weekends, I would eat and eat and eat, hoping at some point I would just get full or fill that empty hole that needs filling. And there was no one there to see, which means it didn't happen, right? Wrong, I know.
But my first alone weekend was a success. I did very well. Well....I didn't hardly leave the house and spent lots of time just sitting and watching tv and watching the clock til an acceptable time to go to bed so that I wouldn't be tempted to gorge myself. So I battled the demons that weekend and won. I felt like that should have earned a 5 pound weight loss right there. But nope. I will battle this demon every day and every weekend. Food is my heroin.
This is just exhausting.
I just hope something happens sooner rather than later. This is all I think about. This is all I talk about. This is all I dream about while tossing and turning, fretting that I will be the one who can not lose weight like this. That all of this was for nothing.
Sorry for such a Debbie Downer of a blog post, but this is real life folks. And since day one, I promised that I would be brutally honest...not just with you, but also with myself. If there is just one person that reads this and it helps them to feel like they're not alone in their journey, then I have achieved the purpose of this blog.
Thanks for reading....
Let's look at the past few weeks strictly on a number and dramatized reaction to said numbers basis:
1/12/15 -- Lost 10 pounds
Reaction: WOOHOO!
1/19/15 -- Lost 0 pounds
Reaction: Huh?
1/26/15 -- Lost nada pounds
Reaction: Is this thing working?!
2/2/15 -- Lost zip, zilch, zero pounds
Reaction: Went and bought a new scale thinking old scale has become senile and stubborn in its old age. No such luck, reads exactly the same as the old scale. Boxed new one back up and returned to store.
2/6/15 -- Lost 3 pounds
Reaction: It's about gosh darn time! But only THREE?!?! Seriously?!? And now I fear that this was a fluke and those 3 pounds, and then some, will creep back on by next weigh in.
So one month in and I'm down a whopping 13 pounds and I'm not exactly thrilled with this. My expectations so far have not been met, at all! Are my expectations unrealistic? I have no idea. I didn't think so based on my research and visiting with others who had this procedure done. But now I question everything I ever thought about my potential success.
One major issue that this lack of weight loss has caused: my fashionista needs are not being met! I stopped buying clothes a month before the surgery, knowing I wouldn't be this size for much longer. I have 2 pairs of jeans, one dress, and a handful of tops that fit. Thank goodness for tights and leggings that I can kind of switch up the looks. But it's so frustrating!
I just knew in my heart that I would be down at least one size by now. Nope. I keep pulling out jeans and trying them on, crossing my fingers that maybe they'll button. Nope.
People keep asking how I'm doing, looking for an update. I respond, "I'm feeling great. All healed up," avoiding the subject of weight loss. What I want to say is, "OMG! I can't believe I just went through all this for NOTHING! I feel fine, but I am still FAT!" But I don't want to scare people off, so I just answer with my canned response and come here to vent and cry and stomp my fingers.
I have logged everything I eat in the MyFitnessPal app on my phone. I have anywhere from 600 to 800 calories a day. I have yet to eat over 1000 calories and very rarely get up to 900. I also take in about 70 grams of protein (60 is the recommended by the nutritionist). I have done this, not only to keep myself in check, but also to show the doctor and/or nutritionist when I have my 6 week follow up next week. I am praying that they will be able to show or tell me what I'm doing wrong or offer some reassurances that I am on the right track and the weight will start magically falling off.
I had my first weekend at home since the surgery without the boys a couple weekends ago. It was the longest weekend of my life. Here's where it gets difficult for a binge eater...being alone with no one to judge or stop your addictive lifestyle (more about this in a future blog post...contrary to popular belief anorexia and bulimia are not the only eating disorders). Those alone weekends, I would eat and eat and eat, hoping at some point I would just get full or fill that empty hole that needs filling. And there was no one there to see, which means it didn't happen, right? Wrong, I know.
But my first alone weekend was a success. I did very well. Well....I didn't hardly leave the house and spent lots of time just sitting and watching tv and watching the clock til an acceptable time to go to bed so that I wouldn't be tempted to gorge myself. So I battled the demons that weekend and won. I felt like that should have earned a 5 pound weight loss right there. But nope. I will battle this demon every day and every weekend. Food is my heroin.
This is just exhausting.
I just hope something happens sooner rather than later. This is all I think about. This is all I talk about. This is all I dream about while tossing and turning, fretting that I will be the one who can not lose weight like this. That all of this was for nothing.
Sorry for such a Debbie Downer of a blog post, but this is real life folks. And since day one, I promised that I would be brutally honest...not just with you, but also with myself. If there is just one person that reads this and it helps them to feel like they're not alone in their journey, then I have achieved the purpose of this blog.
Thanks for reading....
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