Warning: Puking and a wayward gal-bladder.
So, weight loss always seemed like a horribly complicated thing I couldn't wrap my head around until late July 2019.
I'd started losing weight before, I didn't notice but other people noticed, commented, and popped poppers about it. The only thing that had changed was: I moved out of the city to a rural town for a job with 12-hour shifts. So, I was out of the house more and nowhere near instant pizza, burgers, hot chocolate, or fountain sodas.
I still drank soda. I still ate horribly. I was just eating less and moving a very small amount more because my 12-hour shift job was pretty much holding down a security shack.
So I lost maybe twenty pounds before I knew what I was doing or how I was doing it.
Fast forward to that summer, I'd been feeling sick for awhile. I was terrified it was something horrible and even more terrified of going to the hospital. I'd stopped looking in the mirror, taking pictures, all that. I didn't know how big I had gotten and every time I went to the doctor's I was confronted with it. The normal scale in the intake room did not work for me.
Anyhow, my contract ended with the 12-hour job and I quickly grabbed a housekeeping job at a casino (LOL) and was in so, so much pain. It was one of a few jobs I quit because my body weight was too much for my feet. Giant blood blisters. Nothing was healing either.
So, I go to grab my last check from yet another job I couldn't keep in July. Took the check to my bank which is in a city where I grabbed a burrito. That burrito wrecked me. It felt like acid was invading my body. My stomach, my chest, it was all on fire. I decided this was it, this was when I was going to the hospital to die. On the way there, I spewed yellow vomit everywhere. I know the word "projectile" is thrown around when it comes to vomit, but I projectiled with the best of them. Emily Rose who?
Get to the hospital, I remember it was 103 that day and I'd been outside for a little bit of it, the doctor thinks maybe it's the heat. Checks me to make sure I'm not having a stroke. I am not having a stroke. I am dehydrated. They start a bag of fluids, take my blood, and go take care of all the other heat stroke victims. Nurses and doctors were so, so busy that day. So that should tell you, my being admitted to the hospital for an ENTIRE WEEK.. was serious.
I was not sent home. I had an angry pancreas, an angry liver, a traitorous gal-bladder. They kept me in order to calm all my other organs down and monitor me.
The surgery went great. Due to my weight, it was harder on the surgeon, but he was a GREAT surgeon and he did the damn thing.
During that time I thought of a lot of things. How, what if I was so big they couldn't help me?
They brought in this heavy-duty scale and I weighed 175kg. It sounded so good in kg because I don't know what a kg is, I'm an American. A fat, fat American. 175! That doesn't sound so high. Nope. 385.8 pounds. 25 years old. 5'9.
I was done. DONE.
In my hospital bed, I was googling weight loss stuff. The science. I wanted FACTS. Not Oprah, not Jenny, not DJ Khaled, Kirstie nor any of her other 4 personalities, not Ms. Bertinelli herself. I was 385 pounds and I was not going to be come hell or high water.
Maybe I'm an idiot. It's not out of the question that I was in the bathroom every time someone mentioned CICO. I knew about it. I figured it was one of the many complicated ways of losing weight and none of them are straight forward because this douche over here is talking about meal times and all that jazz and if I don't get one little aspect of it right, I'll have suffered for no good reason.
BUT IT'S NOT. I feel so bad for my younger self. It's science. It's math.
I cut out soda all together, but when I drank it I counted it. If I had a couple slices of pizza, I counted it. Sugar free peanut butter cups tastes pretty good when they're half the calories of Reese's. I found a bunch of foods I LOVE but never would have tried. My life has a lot more turkey burgers now and that's beautiful. I love turkey. Who knew you could buy it in stores and cook it at home without loading it up with butter and junk? Not me. I am a pop-tart loving idiot.
Anyhow, whatever, I'm down 70 pounds since that day in the hospital. CICO and walking. My next mission is strength training now that my back doesn't hurt, like, all the time.
I'm horrible at taking progress photos. I avoided the camera for a long time.
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from loseit - Lose the Fat https://ift.tt/2Ht3nf8
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