Almost There!

Update:

• We had our counseling session. It wasn't interesting enough for me to write much about here. Suffice it to say that the therapist understood that we weren't in a typical heterosexual infertility bind and, while thorough and making use of our expensive hour, she didn't put us through any unnecessary grilling.
• I got a claims rejection from my insurance company for part of the bloodwork I had to do. This bill would come to over $1000. I called the clinic in a panic and they offered to have the doctor write a letter of medical necessity and to put through an appeal. The doctor herself called me before the end of the day to let me know it was taken care of. Love. This. Clinic.
• The doctor called to review my bloodwork. Unfortunately but not surprisingly, my blood sugar was still slightly elevated even with fasting, so she wants me to be tested for prediabetes. This involves doing fasting bloodwork, drinking some sort of glucose mix, and then having more bloodwork two hours later. My question to everything is, "So what does this mean? What is the worst case scenario? Will this delay our process?" The doctor said if I tested as prediabetic, then she would put me on medication throughout my pregnancy to control it, so I should get it done as soon as possible but it will not delay us. She also told me I tested negative for chicken pox immunity. Odd since I had it TWICE as a kid. But I have never been able to build up a Hep B immunity despite multiple vaccinations, so maybe my body is just resistant sometimes. If I want a chicken pox vaccine, that would delay us another month. I declined so I will just have to sign a waiver.
• I met with my PCP yesterday who told me, to my surprise, that Flonase is safe! He said that yes, there is an ingredient in it that wouldn't be safe if the baby was directly exposed to it (such as, in his hilarious example, if I ingested it or inserted it directly into my uterus) but the medicine is proven only to stay in your nasal passages. He said this is actually why it's commonly prescribed for children. And on top of that, he said his own wife took Flonase during both her pregnancies and he had done thorough medical research of his own before permitting that. He did say I need to come off Advair and prescribed me Flovent as an alternative. Advair has one component that only goes to my lungs but another that goes into my bloodstream and could potentially harm the baby, though there can really be no research done on pregnant women to know for sure.
• Swimmers are shipping next week!! It was unnerving how easy it was to charge sperm to my credit card. A few clicks of the mouse and there goes $1888 for four vials, plus $150 in shipping to be charged after I sent in the crazy stack of paperwork they required. Again, my doctor was incredibly responsive. She had to fill out one form, which I emailed to the office and they had it back to me with her signature and information before the day was out. (This is a doctor who works out of at least two different sites and also does surgery.) Because frozen sperm only lives a day (as opposed to fresh which lives about five days) and you only ovulate for a 12 to 24 hour period, it literally doubles your chances of pregnancy to inseminate twice in one cycle, making sure you don't miss that window by a few hours and waste the whole cycle, so those four vials will last us two months.

So I will get my glucose test done as I wait patiently for my next period, and swimmers will be at the Melville office ready to be thawed and washed (to separate out what is okay to go all the way into the uterus from what generally remains in the vagina) and ready for my arrival in a few weeks. A FEW WEEKS!!!

Preparing My Body

Remember when I wrote about my conversion to Judaism and how there was something lovely and holy about preparing myself for the mikvah? I really cherished it and got a lot out of the process that is difficult even to explain. Well, that only took a week (and not for the entire week) and was for something that would be less than ten minutes long. Preparing my body for pregnancy gives me a similar feeling, but I have to be aware of it and consciously act on it multiple times every day, and it is for a process that begins now and will go on for about another year. Intense.

1. The biggest part of this preparation is making healthier nutritional choices. I took it to heart when my PCP signed off on the surgery with my slightly elevated blood pressure and said, "This surgery is low-risk and I'm not worried about it. But you need to be focusing on the bigger picture and get yourself into better shape so you have a healthy pregnancy." She said what I knew but made it real and immediate.

That appointment was on Monday December 23, and I started weighing myself every Wednesday, beginning December 25, and just making better choices - smaller portions, less snacking, only choosing "fun" foods that are really worth it and will be thoroughly enjoyed. I'm not disciplined enough to cut anything out completely so I don't think that would set me up for success. I've also struggled with counting points on Weight Watchers, though I know that when I do, it's a program that is very successful for me. As of this past Wednesday, January 22, I had lost exactly nine pounds. Not too shabby considering all I'm doing is trying to eat more consciously and make choices that are slightly better than what I impulsively want to do.

All too timely, Rabbi gave a sermon a couple weeks ago about the importance of not being enslaved by our impulses, by recognizing and naming the impulse, pausing, and then taking back control over our passions and drives. I remind myself of that when I just want ALL THE ICE CREAM.

We've all heard that people who struggle with weight and eating choices struggle with that their entire lives, no matter how long they may have been practicing better habits. This will never be easy for me. But I need my body to be in good shape so that both my baby and myself can be as healthy as possible...and then I need to stay healthy so I can be in my family's life as long as possible. It's that important.


2. My next preparatory act was beginning prenatal vitamins. They finally arrived yesterday from my insurance company's mail-order pharmacy, and I started them that day. They are crazy looking - one big white pill, and one dark brown capsule. I've heard of people having bad reactions to prenatal vitamins so I'm the slightest bit nervous, but so far so good. I particularly remember my cousin getting so nauseous and sick every day that she had to stop them.


3. I asked my fertility doctor on Friday whether I should be coming off any of my prescription medications as we get closer to insemination. She said that in general it's better to be on fewer, but that she can't make that recommendation and I should consult with my PCP who knows my medical history and prescribes for me. So I made an appointment for the Sunday of President's Day weekend. My PCP is on the Upper West Side, and I haven't changed because every living situation until now was temporary. Now I haven't changed because I just love and trust them so much (I have a favorite, but love EVERY physician I have seen in that practice) and it's still more convenient to go there from work in the Bronx rather than try to get to something in Long Island on a weekday.

My doctor is engaging, easygoing, gentle but frank, and natural-minded. I trust him to help me figure out what medications are safe and weigh the benefits and risks of remaining on them, going off of them, or finding an alternative. I made the appointment for a Sunday because I want my wife to be part of this conversation. I also want my doctor to meet her since he has known me longer than I've known Nicole, and he always asks "how's the wife?" Street parking in Manhattan is free on Sundays and I figured we could make a day of it!

I started doing some preliminary research as soon as I made the appointment. While I take everything on the Internet with a grain of salt and ultimately will be following my doctor's recommendations, I don't want to come in with no knowledge. It was helpful to see what other pregnant women's doctor's have told them, and what the research on certain drugs says.

My medications are for asthma and allergies. I learned that Advair (daily inhalant to prevent asthma attacks), Albuterol (emergency asthma inhaler for during an attack), and Flonase (decongestant) are class C drugs, meaning they have shown birth defects in mice but they obviously can't do this kind of research on humans so it's not known for sure whether it would impact humans the same way. Basically I should come off of them if I safely can, but if my asthma is bad enough (and it will be exacerbated by pregnancy), then it's better to take that tiny risk than to take the bigger risk of not giving my baby enough oxygen while I wheeze and struggle to breathe. However, many pregnant women were prescribed an alternative to Advair, which while maybe not quite as great, does the same job without the ingredient that is the problem. I'm glad I know this so I can ask about that specific medication if my doctor doesn't suggest it himself.

Zyrtec, which I take for everything except congestion (primarily sneezing and itchy, watery eyes), is safe, but Zyrtec-D (decongestant) is not. It appears that there may be no safe decongestant because of whatever the active ingredient is. But that's okay. I don't mind having a stuffy nose for ten months or more (if I can't take it while breastfeeding either) as long as I can breathe!


4. We are slowly switching to decaf coffee. This is what I've been dreading the most, more so than saying no to tempting treats or coming off my reliable meds. I loooooove coffee. I LOVE COFFEE. I love espresso-based beverages as a treat, and I'm a bit of a snob about what I brew at home (always set to "strong" on my bean-grinder) and what I'll drink at other people's houses or at restaurants. It's one of my favorite simple pleasures that I relish every single day. And as much as I delight in the taste, it really doesn't feel so worth it without caffeine. I imagine even people who absolutely love the taste of wine would still balk at the same wine having no alcohol. It's just not right and affects your pleasure on a psychological level!

I've been putting this off for quite a while. I worked with a teen once who wanted to get pregnant but wouldn't stop smoking cigarettes, but swore she could and would as soon as she got pregnant. I didn't get it. Now I do. Addiction is real, people, and this is my first real encounter with it for myself. It didn't occur to me that I was in its throes to this extent until I realized how many mind games I was playing on myself in order to not give it up. "I'll wait til the cycle where I'm trying to get pregnant. Then I'll be so excited I'll be able to stop." "I only have to give it up for that first few months, but then I can have it again. I know plenty of people who had just one cup a day later in their pregnancy and were fine."

Once I realized that all this justification made me an addict, I finally agreed to go along with my wife's suggestion that we start mixing caf and decaf with increasing proportions of decaf until we've switched over completely. Even if at that point I just say "it's not worth it anymore" and stop drinking coffee altogether. I knew if I wasn't going to go cold turkey, then we needed to start that now, and so we have. We just started this Friday, so far so good. We'll see how Monday morning goes.



Watching every single thing that goes into my mouth - food, vitamins, prescription medication, and caffeine - is pretty intense for me. As a somewhat natural-minded person, I've had a mild awareness of my body and what I give to it, but nothing compared to this. I'm going to be really real (and intend to throughout my blogging of this process), without shame and guilt, and say that it is not only about making sure I have a safe environment for my baby-to-be, but also about not doing anything stupid that sabotages us and sends us back to the drawing board of a very expensive process. Of course having that coffee isn't worth even the smallest risk of losing a life that I'm already attached to before it's even there - but it also isn't worth another $3000.

The reality is that I'm not just trying to get healthier because it might be easier to conceive with the idea that I could always change something if we have difficulty. We have to pay every single time we try, and I need to ensure optimal conditions from the outset. With anything that costs that much money, I would hope I would be as careful and protective as I can be, and this is no exception. Obviously I would be dealing with the emotional ramifications of miscarriage or difficulty conceiving, but I would also be dealing with continuing a process that is exorbitantly expensive, a process we can only afford to try so many times, and that's where my mind is right now.

The Evacuation of Sid the Cyst

Surgery is over!!! The new women's hospital is absolutely beautiful. It's where I want to deliver our child (when I was fixed on having a home birth and Nicole was terrified at the concept, I had told her this hospital would be a way to compromise) so it gave me great comfort when I was told my surgery would be there. They have an entire floor for gynecological surgery and it's a new building with beautiful amenities. Beautiful cozy waiting areas, plants, modern tiling, a cushy chair with a footrest for me to wait in, and just a handful of beds per area so you have a lot of privacy and nurse attention. As soon as I passed by the beautiful tree that looks like a synagogue's tree of life, the only decoration in a long hallway, I knew I would be okay. It also didn't hurt that the first nurse to attend to me, a scrappy, cheerful middle-aged woman with a big personality, had the same uncommon name as my mother. I was comforted and reassured without anyone needing to do so for me.

I tried to focus on each step one at a time rather than the larger picture so I wouldn't begin to get anxious, but when I was led into the OR and it looked just like on TV, I started to freak out. There were about five or six people in scrubs prepping in different areas, machines going, and all kinds of sterile-looking equipment. The idea that all these people were in here to knock me out, open me up, and operate on me was suddenly pretty terrifying. I lied down as instructed and both my doctor and the young resident who'd introduced himself earlier were right by me. The resident must have seen the fear in my eyes as everyone else just flew about (I imagine still being new to it all makes you more sensitive to that), and he squeezed my thigh with a smile and said, "Don't worry, we're going to take really good care of you." Well that's all it took for the tears to start rolling, and he tried to distract and comfort me by having me talk about other things. And meanwhile, my Finnish surgeon, whom I'd only known so far to be pretty stern and matter-of-fact, smiled warmly as she used gauze to wipe the tears out of the corners of my eyes. Then the mask went on with the blessed gas and that was all she wrote.

I had no idea that my cyst ended up being a rare, disgusting type (dermoid - don't look it up while eating) that is soft and falls apart so it took two extra hours for the surgeon to take it out piece by piece. I had no idea that my asthma complicated things during recovery and that I had all kinds of machinery monitoring my oxygen levels while Nicole wondered why I had still not woken up. I didn't know that the surgeon came out beaming to Nicole to tell her that the cyst was the only issue and that I have a beautiful, healthy reproductive system. I just remember hearing someone calling my name, telling me to wake up, and me rasping (from the tube down my throat), "Nicole" a few times til they understood what I was asking for and brought her to me for just a few seconds before rushing her back out.

They almost admitted me because I couldn't keep my oxygen levels up. They had me on some very strong drug that they almost never give out, but had because I seemed to be in such pain after surgery despite whatever else they had given me. This drug kept me knocked out, and every time I started to fade back out, I would make crazy moaning sounds as I struggled to breathe and the machine would beep, warning that my oxygen levels had dipped below 90 again. I would whimper, "Oh no, I failed again, they're never going to let me go home!" and then try valiantly to stay awake and breathe in deeply for long enough that they'd release me, before inevitably fading back out again.

Those kind nurses stayed for an hour and a half after the unit was supposed to close in order to try to stabilize me and get me home, where I made the mistake of taking the prescribed extra-strength Motrin and spending all night struggling to breathe again. Apparently I DO have a medication allergy.

I tried to eat at home, since I had been on a liquid diet all day Thursday and then had had nothing to eat or drink on Friday, but even homemade chicken soup made me feel nauseous. I tried to eat a biscuit, thinking something bland would be better, but my mouth was so dry that it was like chewing paste so I had to stop. I gave up and went to sleep.

As much pain as I was in and as hard as it was to breathe, move, do anything, I have such a sweet memory of that first night. I stayed on the couch downstairs, and Nicole made a bed out of blankets on the floor next to me so she could watch my breathing and help me if I needed to get up to use the bathroom. We had Shabbat candles burning on the mantel. Our cat Lily curled up on top of her cat tree, and Jack curled up on one of Nicole's blankets. It was like a little family slumber party.

Nicole has been an amazing nurse to me. She has gotten me everything I needed, sponge bathed me at the kitchen sink, held me when I cried from pain after standing up, has taken on all of the household chores without complaint, and has just been so sweet and affectionate.

She has also been taken into the grip of baby fever. The idea of me going into surgery had been scary enough to her for her to not be able to think of the long-term goal very much. Babies were inextricably linked to the idea of her wife going under the knife. Now that it's behind us, she keeps reminding me that we need to ask at my post-op how soon we can start trying. She is so excited and that has ME so excited and now there is no one to rein us in!!

Surgery Week and the Urge to Fast Forward

I'm exhausted and anxious, so I intend to make this a quick and to-the-point post just to keep documenting my journey.

I went Friday for presurgical testing, which was basically just a physical to ensure it's safe for me to undergo surgery. Apparently this is something PCP's can do, and since I ended up having to go there anyway for follow-up on my continued slightly elevated blood pressure, I wish someone had told me that and offered me the option of making my own appointment at my PCP. Instead, after my surgery was scheduled, I was just informed when and where to go for my presurgical appointment.

So they took tons of blood, took down a family history, checked my vitals. They did an EKG since my blood pressure was elevated. A half hour or more later, they told me to make an appointment with my PCP to get clearance to undergo surgery with the high blood pressure. Um...it's the Friday before Christmas, my surgery is next Friday, and you want me to go when exactly?? In a practice with five or six doctors, there was only one appointment available Christmas week, and that was Monday, December 23, at 7:00 PM. I already had a 3:15 appointment in Long Island for follow-up X-rays on my foot, and then had to hobble into Manhattan on my broken foot for a 7PM appointment with my PCP. I was dreading Monday!!

My PCP was not worried about my blood pressure for surgery and said getting clearance from a PCP with a full medical history on me is just protocol. She said it's a low-risk surgery, and I'm in a relatively low-risk demographic even with my "obesity, prediabetes, and high blood pressure." Gar. She said she is more worried about pregnancy with my health than she is about surgery. She said, "Surgery will be fine. Don't worry about Friday. But you need to worry about pregnancy. Drop some weight." I know she's right. My sister had similar blood pressure issues before pregnancy and I'm watching her deal with the complications. I'm not going to be able to fix everything in a few months, but if I make some changes and lose some of this extra weight I've put on in the past few years, I know there will be a change in some of those numbers. I can only be in better shape for being healthier, even if I'm still somewhat at risk.

So she gave me the clearance and I hobbled back home. Now I anxiously await tomorrow's bowel cleanse in preparation for surgery. This includes two enemas, drinking a bottle of magnesium citrate, and being on a liquid diet. Then I can't eat or drink anything past 11:00 PM for surgery the next day. So I will pretty much be STARVING by the time I'm recovering Friday evening.

I'm trying to do what I did in graduate school when I started to panic and feel overwhelmed with deadlines for major research papers. I'd focus on the task at hand and try to get through it, but part of me also had to be dissociating a bit and looking forward, thinking, "No matter what happens, in ___ days this will all be over." I'm keeping my eye on Friday night, which is not that far away, because even if I'm in pain, it will all be over! Then I will have the longer road ahead of getting my body into better health in order for us to stay on target with trying to conceive in a few months.

Keeping My Eyes on the Prize

As I waited patiently for my next period to come so I could call and schedule surgery, after being denied it when I called during the last one, life decided to throw me a small curveball in the form of tripping down my basement steps and breaking my foot. I actually only tripped down one step. I was carrying several shopping bags and couldn't see in front of me and thought I was at the floor level when really I had one more step to go. So I stepped forward and just fell, my poor lateral left foot taking the brunt of the accident.

Nicole said I never cry, so that's how she knew something was really wrong. Well, to be more accurate, I cry at the drop of a hat when it comes to emotional triggers, but am pretty stoic with physical pain and discomfort. Not that I don't feel it, I'm just used to handling it internally and am not so expressive about it. So when Nicole saw me crying and unmoving on the floor of the basement after she heard the thud, she told me I really should stay home and ice and elevate my foot. I protested, much as I did in 5th grade when I got hit in the head with a baseball bat and was devastated when my father showed up to take me home. Stoic, I tell you. Or maybe stubborn. But when I touched my foot in preparation to put on my rain boots, it was so tender that I winced, and I agreed to stay home. When it didn't get any better in the next hour or so, Nicole offered to come home from work and take me to urgent care, where x-rays revealed a clean and complete fracture of my fifth metatarsal. An orthopedist visit followed, where I was put in a boot and instructed not to go to work and to stay off my feet for at least two weeks, when I will come in for more x-rays and a re-evaluation.

My devastation was twofold. First, I worried that this might interfere with my ability to get surgery for yet another month, and I am just so done with dragging this out. However, many people have since told me that it should not be a barrier, as it would be mostly healed by then and I am not on any pain medication.

Second and more upsetting is that I have been working for years to accrue the maximum amount of paid leave I can have for maternity leave. We don't get any paid maternity leave, but can take up to six months off with our position guaranteed upon our return, so I want to take as much paid time as I can. This means having my annual vacation of five weeks, two vacation weeks I can roll over, my "sick bank" which is maxed out at five weeks, my regular accrued sick time which is maxed out at five weeks, and one week of emergency time. This comes to a grand total of 18 weeks paid. I have worked very hard to get to this. I have been a miser with how much vacation time I will take for any given event,  making sure for the past two years that I keep two weeks to roll over, never knowing for sure which year will be "the year." I have been using my sick time very sparingly so that it has time to renew. And now I'm dipping into it for a stupid, preventable foot injury.

I know that I need to follow doctor's orders so that I heal properly and am not followed by this for the rest of my life. I know this. But if I have anything less than 18 paid weeks to take off with my new baby, I am going to be heartbroken. That's not much time as it is. If I could afford to, I would be taking off the first two or three years!

I started my period while in South Carolina this weekend visiting my family. I called the clinic Friday and attempted to schedule my surgery, which should happen between the eight and tenth day of my cycle. The eight day would be this Thursday, and the ninth would be Friday. The tenth would be unavailable because it's a weekend. So apparently my doctor felt that it was too risky to schedule for Thursday, that I might still be on my period since it lasts seven to eight days. So she scheduled me for the following Friday, December 27, and stated I would need to get on the birth control pill to prevent me from ovulating before then. (Why didn't she just do this last month when she couldn't schedule me within that ideal time frame, instead of making me wait another month just to end up in the same predicament??) I was told that I needed to start the pill no later than Monday night for it to work this cycle, and that I would need to get a pregnancy test and a blood pressure reading before they would prescribe it. So Monday, with just a couple hours before we needed to be on the road to the airport, I was at a CVS Minute Clinic peeing in a cup for a pregnancy test that was pointless in a same-sex relationship and then picking up a prescription for birth control.

Birth control. I haven't been on it since I was 22. I spent that New Year's of 2005/2006 in a hospital bed after having surgery for second degree burns on both my hands. I begged for a new round of birth control pills rather than starting the placebos so that I wouldn't have to get my period while my mother was tending to my every physical need. The hospital either wouldn't do this or didn't do it in time, or maybe I was too groggy to remember to follow up. I didn't bother taking the placebos while I was recovering and drugged up on pain medications, and I just never started back up with the pill.

I told my boyfriend of six years that I had been ambivalent about it for the past year, knowing that the risks get higher the longer you're on it (at 22 I'd been on it five years already, and the risks increase at ten). I'd also become much more natural-minded in general the past couple of years and didn't like the idea of messing with my body's natural rhythms. It hadn't sat right with me for many months, and I felt so good about coming off of it and restoring my body's natural processes. My boyfriend was a little upset, as he had never wanted to use condoms, and I told him he'd have to figure that out, that I was not putting my body through all this for the very rare sex we had while I was going to school in New York and he was still in South Carolina. I was tired of the burden and the effects all landing on me. It was an empowering decision, and for a long time I loved getting my period every month knowing it was a REAL period, knowing that I was likely ovulating as I should be.

And now at 30, in a same-sex relationship and wanting to conceive a child, I am going back on it. Oh the irony.

I shuddered as I took that first pill and just reminded myself of the end goal - not just a baby, but a family. Then today I remembered suddenly around 11:00 that I had to go take another. I panicked for a bit at the thought that I'd almost forgotten. And immediately hated that I was eager to suppress ovulation. It just feels so against what I want to be doing right now!

Then this afternoon I started feeling nauseous. I was thinking about how terrible it would be if I'm sick for this surgery, or even for the presurgical testing I have to go in for this Friday. Then as Nicole dished out dinner, the smell of the roasted potatoes made me feel nauseous even as my stomach rumbled with hunger. I was bewildered; how could I be well enough to be hungry but feel so turned off at the thought of food? That's when it hit me. I remembered that this is a side effect of the pill, and it kind of made me angry. I'm not feeling sick because a bug got me, and certainly not because something beautiful is happening inside my body. I'm feeling sick because I'm giving myself hormones and messing with my system. Ughhhhh.

To keep my spirits up, I just have to look forward. I have to picture that in a month I will be off this thing again, and that my body will be cleaned up and ready to grow life. I won't be discouraged. You're worth it.

Homemade Muesli

About a week ago, I encountered something that changed my life - muesli.

I was rushing through Penn Station from the LIRR to the subway and needed to get breakfast on the way. I stopped in Au Bon Pain and saw nothing but high-calorie pastries and breakfast sandwiches. Then I saw a refrigerated section with yogurt parfaits and muesli. Mildly intrigued, I grabbed the muesli - and it rocked my world. Sweet, raw, filling goodness!!! I ate it three days in a row, even when I wasn't in such a rush and had the option to have breakfast at home. I felt slightly guilty about the packaging I was throwing away and the money I was spending. I also wished it wasn't quite as sweet. So then I thought, "Hmmm, this certainly seems like something I could make at home." It required a bit of preparation, which I can be really lazy about for planning to-go meals in advance, but I couldn't bear to keep buying something so simple and to keep throwing out plastic cups.

Thus began my adventure in muesli-making. I made it this morning and sent my lovely wife off to work with it, a little anxious about how she would like it because I knew it would be mushy and she has issues with textures. She LOVED it. She came home pleading with me to make more for tomorrow. SCORE for cheap, healthy, and yummy!!

Here is my recipe:

Soak a serving size of plain rolled oats in 1/2 cup of milk overnight. Make sure non-citrus fruits of your choice are prepared the night before, cut up and ready to go in. (I used apple and banana.) In the morning, mix in the sliced fruits, dried fruits (we used a craisin, golden raisin, and dried cherry blend from Trader Joe's) for sweetness, nuts (such as almond slivers) for protein if you have them, and brown sugar. Be sparing with the dried fruits, nuts, and sugar, as they are high-calorie; the mixture should be mostly oats and fresh fruit. Use less sugar if you use dried fruits, as they will sweeten it too. Most of the milk will be soaked up, so add more if you prefer the mixture to be more liquidy.

You can change it up (and I just may) by using different fruits (peaches, berries, pears), seeds instead of nuts, honey instead of brown sugar, juice instead of milk. You can really put in anything you think will taste good. The only crucial element is soaking the oats overnight. I think tonight I will also try mixing in the dried fruits ahead of time so that they have time to rehydrate. In the muesli from Au Bon Pain, I had actually thought the cranberries were fresh because they were round and plump, and was surprised to read on the ingredient list that they were dried. I'm hoping a good overnight soak will give them this effect.

Back on the Wagon

In 2007 I joined Weight Watchers and lost 30 pounds. I had never dieted before, and my weight had just been steadily increasing throughout my life. At 23 years old and 185 pounds, my doctor warned me that I was pre-diabetic. My mother and my grandmother both developed diabetes, and this was a huge wake-up call to me. I never thought I ate that badly, and while I would have liked to be smaller, 185 didn't seem like the end of the world to me. But now I learned that my constant thirst that made it imperative to have a water bottle anytime I left the apartment, my frequent urination, and my sporadic lightheadedness/dizziness weren't normal. I also knew that I just didn't feel that great about myself, and that I wanted something to change.

At 155 pounds, I felt great. I wasn't thin or flat-stomached by any means, but I felt confident, happy, and even attractive, which I hadn't really felt since high school. I don't gain weight in my hips or butt; I get a potbelly, my upper body gets even broader while my lower body stays narrow, and my "chin" gets very big very quickly. My most self-conscious attributes are amplified when I gain weight, so the converse does wonders for how comfortable I feel in my own skin. I didn't need to look like a model. I didn't need a different, more voluptuous/feminine shape. I embraced the basis of who I was. Weighing 155 made me feel on top of the world. I might as well have been 125 for how happy I was.

I stopped going to meetings and eventually got lazy about tracking what I ate. I was in a new relationship and lost my focus. However, I had learned enough healthy habits that I was able to maintain it. I may have fluctuated some, hovering around 160 for a while, but seeing it go up would always help me check myself and I certainly never went back near 185.

After my partner left me suddenly and traumatically, I couldn't eat for a week. The only thing my body craved was fruit and dairy; anything else made me feel like I would throw up just looking at it. I recovered enough to resume normal eating, but not before dropping ten pounds in just over a week and weighing my lowest at 150. By the time I got to the anger stage, I took great pride in this, which I was now maintaining through healthy, well-rounded eating habits rather than trauma-induced undereating. I maintained it almost effortlessly, because it was the only thing I felt in control of. She may have turned my entire world upside down, and maybe everything else felt awful, but this, this felt good. This was something about me that I had daily control over that made me happy. I clung to that with everything I had.

My first official date with Nicole was a (clean, innocent) overnight trip to Northampton, MA. I remember feeling like we ate a ton of bad things while we were there, and I hadn't weighed myself in probably a month or so. I was feeling good, single and attractive enough, and I didn't want to lose control again. I went home after the trip and weighed myself: 148. I was absolutely elated. It was the best feeling in the world. I hadn't been in Weight Watchers for over a year, but I was still making good choices and had continued to lose on my own. My healthy weight range is 130-150, and this was the first time I saw myself go under 150. I was almost disappointed that I didn't get to goal while in Weight Watchers. My only rewards and praise were internal.

Since then, as my relationship developed with Nicole, I slowly gained much of my weight back. I really don't know how it happened. I can't pinpoint anything, and hindsight isn't helpful because it was so gradual. I don't know if we ate out a lot, or if I just felt comfortable and happy in life so I could let go of that One Thing that I'd been clinging to for contentment. I'm not sure. We lost some weight together for our engagement photos (maybe about 12 pounds) but then it came back again, and ironically we couldn't find the same motivation for our wedding. I spent a year and a half of my engagement talking about trying to lose weight by our wedding, and instead I buckled under my own pressure and sabotaged my success. Then when we didn't lose weight by our wedding (I was around 168 then), it was sort of like "screw it" right afterward. If my wedding couldn't motivate me, what could? I felt frustrated and disappointed in myself. I also felt a huge relief of pressure that I'd put on myself for well over a year, and I embraced the opportunity to not think about it so much for a while. Under these circumstances, I crept up to 175.

The breaking point was when we were packing for vacation two weeks ago. We brought out summer clothes to take to the beach, and almost nothing fit. I had a few shirts, but not a single pair of shorts. They weren't just tight--I couldn't even button them. I felt so ashamed, and also reminded of how unhappy I've been with my weight lately. How I feel awkward and self-conscious and avoid looking at myself in mirrors. If it was out of my control, maybe my feelings wouldn't be so intense. But I know I can do it, and that all it takes is a little bit of self-discipline. I hate feeling like I have no willpower.

The day we got back from vacation, I signed up for Weight Watchers online. It's only $19 per month, as opposed to the $40 it costs if you go to meetings. For that price I get what I really need right now, which is the points tracker. It's an app on my phone and makes it really easy to track everything I eat, no matter where I am. Nicole has been tracking informally alongside me; we have the same breakfast and pack identical snacks and lunches. We have both lost five pounds just since Sunday. It feels great, but I also feel impatient. I'm annoyed at how much weight I allowed to come back, and I know it's going to take a while to go back down. But I have to get there. I need to get back to at least 155, where I felt really secure in my own skin.

I feel an urgency to do this now. I've been playing around for too long. I want to re-create healthy eating habits that I can maintain throughout life and model for my children. I want my body to be healthy and as fertile as it can be. I want to feel good about myself before the insecurities I'll likely develop after childbirth. There will be enough body image issues to battle then, I'm sure. I don't need to add anything on top of that. I need to at least know I'm in the healthiest place that I can reasonably be before I add all those extra challenges. Posting it here is an an attempt to hold myself accountable.