It’s The Not Knowing

I’m up a little early, nervously anticipating my first physical therapy session later this morning.

“You’ll want to take your paid meds before she arrives,” warned my in-home nurse last week.

Yikes.

It’s the not knowing that gets most of us at some point in our lives. A new job, losing a job, getting married, getting divorced, having a baby, sending that baby off to college, surgery, getting old. What will it feel like? How will we handle it? The answer is, we don’t know, we CAN’T know – even after hearing from or reading about people who’ve been there and done that – how it will be until it is.

I get a lot of email from people asking me what their lives will be like after losing more than 100 pounds. What will their skin look like? Will people recognize them? Will they be able to maintain? All I can say is, “Try it and see.”

Rather than worry about skin or life at goal, see what happens – one, two, five pounds at a time – to your energy level. See what happens to your cholesterol and blood pressure. See what happens to your joints. See what happens in these smaller increments of weight loss to the way you feel about yourself.

You gotta do the trying before you do the seeing.

And on this particular day in my life, I’m trying physical therapy.

While I’m not approaching it in the same way I approached weight loss (I didn’t lose my appetite, sleep or tips of my nails before starting my weight loss journey), they are similar in many ways. Namely, I know it will be difficult and I know it’s totally up to me how successful I am. I also promised myself, as I did before I lost my first pound, to give it everything I’ve got. No excuses.

Still, it’s the not knowing that gets me every time. To help ebb that tide of worry a little, I’m lying in bed and writing this blog and preparing my mind for the trying. I’m listening to the birds at the feeder, feeling the air from the window fan blow across my feet, and assuring myself that in a few hours I’ll know.

And I can handle anything once I know what I’m facing.

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Righting Myself (and reviving the giveaway!)

This is what I feel like at this point in my recovery.

That’s Luca trying to right himself after falling out of the sandbox on Saturday. (Notice Claire doesn’t care.) He wasn’t crying (at first), just struggling. Since his center of gravity is right at his diaper, the poor little guy spun around like he was in a snow saucer or was a turtle on his back.

When his mama finally set him straight, he ate sand.

I’m tying to right myself since surgery 12 days ago. Things are feeling better and moving better, but I still need gobs of assistance and that’s getting a little old. I know, I know. I have to be patient. Each day gets a little easier. But sometimes – like when I see someone riding a bike or kneeling in their garden – I want to fast forward to mid-August when I (fingers crossed) will be free from crutches and able to hike and canoe on our weekend “camping” trip with the g-babies. (We’re hardly roughing it. We rented a cabin in Cook Forest. But Claire likes to call it “camping.”)

I don’t want to wish time away. Not really. You know how I’m always trying to stay present and be mindful of each moment? There’s nothing like getting around on crutches to keep a person mindful. Of dogs and rugs and steps and the dark. This is one time I’m grateful I have a small kitchen because I can stand in the middle and move things from the long counter by the stove to the counter by the sink. I can take things out of the fridge and place them on the long counter just by turning around a little. Although I miss the fluidity of my pre-surgical body and the unconscious way I walked up stairs or got in the car, this lesson in mindfulness – since it’s here, although I could choose to ignore it – is a good thing.

It was fun to see the g-babies on Saturday. It gave Claire and me a chance to compare bumps and boo-boos. I was a little apprehensive to show her my incision and offered to cover it up, but my daughter said Claire would be fine with it. And she was. In fact, my incision failed to excite or scare her in any way, and it didn’t hold a candle to the “big BIG” boo-boo on her ankle – the tiniest, minutest scratch ever, but important enough for her to declare it, and not my 6-inch incision, the boo-boo of the day.

Along with grandbabies, it was also a weekend of experimentation.

Sitting around so much (and lacking any padding) is causing pain in my tailbone area. So I Goggled something like “coccyx pain” or “donut pillow” (is there anything you can’t Google these days?) and found a spiffy home remedy site that for the life of me I can’t find again to give you its link. Anyway, instead of buying a fancy donut pillow, it recommended buying a pool noodle for $2 and making one yourself. Larry went to Wal-Mart and picked up a noodle and duct tape, fashioned it to the right bend for my body, I threw a pillow on top, and by golly, it works like a charm! No more pain. Well, there at least.

Larry made a solo run to Trader Joe’s on Saturday, and I don’t know why, but I had a hankerin’ for Belgian endive. He brought home three of the prettiest little endives, but I didn’t know what I wanted to do with them. I’m not up to cooking at the stovetop yet, so I Googled “grilled endive” and I found a million recipes. I opted for simple, cutting them in half and rubbing them with a little olive oil and a sprinkle of salt and pepper.

Because of the whole I-can’t-cook-right-now thing, I was afraid the bunch of leeks in the refrigerator would go bad soon, so I Googled “grilled leeks” and found a recipe for them, too. I used a little red wine vinegar, olive oil, fresh basil and garlic and rubbed it into the cut (and clean) folds of two sliced leeks. Larry grilled the endive and the leeks for a few minutes on each side and they turned out fabulously!

We met our match Sunday with the veggie skewers. They turned out charred, dry and overall yucky. Was it using bamboo vs. metal skewers? Not enough marinade? Was the grill too hot?

We moved on, a little reluctantly and definitely humbled, to the fruit. We grilled pineapple, mango and banana chunks using metal skewers, marinated first in pineapple juice, brown sugar and a little nutmeg (the fruit, not the skewers). These turned out very nicely. Very tasty. The bananas tasted like little bites of warm banana bread and the pineapples mellowed from tart to mostly sweet.

Come today, the family has gone home. The house is quiet. And the task of righting myself continues. Like finding new ways to cook food, I’m finding new things I can do rather than dwell on the things I can’t. For instance, I can’t carry a bottle of water or an ice pack with my hands, but I can put them in a shopping bag and tie it to my crutch. Ingenious!

And just because I can’t do these videos right now, it doesn’t mean YOU can’t! Getting back to my giveaway of things that have helped me along my weight loss and maintenance path, this week I thought I’d offer two Denise Austin DVDs: “Shrink Your Female Fat Zones” and “Get Fit Fast: 3 Target Programs – Abs, Arms & Shoulders, Legs & Buns.”

Leave a comment or send an email to lynnbering@verizon.net to throw your name in the hats for one of these two DVDs. If there’s one you’d rather win over the other, let me know, otherwise I’ll put your name in to both hats. Remember, all I ask in return is that you either give the DVD to someone else when you’re done, or keep it and donate a food item to your local food shelf.

I’ll draw a winner on Friday, July 9.

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What I Expected VS What Actually Happened

One of many lessons I’ve learned or have been reminded of 9 days post-op is that I can’t predict the future. I can plan for, anticipate, and make educated guesses, but often what I expect and what actually happens are two different things. WAY different in some cases. But one thing – the love of a good friend – turned out exactly the way I expected.

For instance:

What I expected: I’d be doomed to weeks of sponge baths and washing my hair in the kitchen sink.

What actually happened: I was allowed to shower five days after surgery.

What I expected: To be wrapped in swaths of gauze for a month, and only a professional could change what I was sure would be bloody bandages.

What actually happened: Two days after surgery, my doctor cut off the ace bandage, and underneath was simply a long thin bandage covering the incision. I changed the bandage two more times when I got home, but have been dressing-free since Monday.

What I expected: For my incision to match the beaut of a scar on the other knee.

What actually happened: Surgical glue. As of this morning, more than half of the wound is completely healed over.

What I expected: To experience some pain the first few days, but to be driving around in a Wal-Mart cart within a week.

What actually happened: 9 days later I still can’t stand for longer than 10 minutes, and I have no desire to go anywhere. While I’m dealing with the pain and exhaustion, the degree to which I feel both surprised me. Like my daughter said the other day, “How do people in their 80s and 90s recover if someone like you is huffing and puffing just going back and forth to the bathroom?” Good question.

What I expected: To live in shorts and t-shirts and be completely unfettered from snaps, buttons, hooks and ties.

What actually happened: The weather turned chilly (although 90 is forecast for Sunday, thank goodness), so I was back to long sleeves, sweatshirts, and sweats. I also feel lost without a bra. So much for unfettered.

What I expected: To take a break from makeup.

What actually happened: No one other than my husband, daughter and in-home nurse and physical therapist have seen me, but feeling my best emotionally is helping me feel better physically. Makeup is a non-toxic, feel-good drug.

What I expected: “I’m in great shape, so physical therapy will be easy.”

What actually happened: Much sobbing and swearing. If you EVER have knee surgery, do NOT ignore the advice, “You might want to take your pain meds an hour before PT.” In fact, you might want to take a little extra. Holy. Cow. I’m not kidding.

What I expected (or actually, in this case, what I didn’t realize): All bodily functions would return to normal once I got home.

What actually happened: I’ve taken enough Dulcolax and Milk of Magnesia to keep an entire nursing home regular for a month.

What I expected: Lots of time to watch movies and read books.

What actually happened: I’ve watched a few movies and have started one book, but much of my time is spent getting from my bed to the bathroom, my bed to the kitchen, my bed to the porch…I also do a lot of staring into space. Oxycodone. Yuck.

What I expected: To heal up in a few weeks and have my doctor evaluate my right knee for possible debridment or total knee replacement before the birth of my third grandbaby in February.

What (will) actually happen: NO WAY! I’m very glad I didn’t know how much this left knee debridement would hurt because I probably wouldn’t have done it even though I really needed it. However, I’ll need time – several months if not a few years – before I can do this again. My right knee is hanging in there better than I thought it would, as are my shoulders and wrists. Once I’m healed up (which, I’ve accepted, may take three months), I’ll concentrate on getting my entire body back into its pre-surgical shape. There will be no talk of cutting Lynnie open again anytime soon.

I’ve received and am humbled by the generous support from my family, friends and neighbors, but there is one person who keeps me the most centered. My friend of 42 years, Teela.

I keep Teela’s photo tacked to the corkboard next to my bed to remind me what real courage is (here she is with her fabulous father, Hub, who when I was a kid I called my “daddy boyfriend”). In the last year, she’s had a mastectomy, hysterectomy, two other surgeries, countless radiation and chemo treatments, and a close call with liver cancer (which, thank god, turned out to be nothing more than a shadow on a film). Teela knows all about pain and fear.

She also knows about living. Teela’s always been a glass-half-full, vivacious person. She called me out of my shell many times when we were kids, and in many ways we’ve lived parallel lives. Love lives, anyway. It took her a few husbands before she found the right one, just like me, and we were pregnant at the same time. Just as I expected, Teela’s been with me (via the Internet) during my decision to have surgery and in these days afterwards, motivating me with every capped word and exclamation point and hilarious “Do you remember?” moments from our past. Here are a few photos of Teela and me from a long time ago. In many ways we’re still those little girls. Just what I expected and what actually happened.

Taken at our neighborhood 4th of July parade in 1970. Me, Teela, and my brother Matthew.

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I know many of you who use Firefox are unable to leave comments on my new-themed site. Please feel free to email me at lynnbering@verizon.net until I figure out exactly what I or Blogger are doing wrong. Thank you!

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I'm (still) In Love

I fell in love the minute I met her, and 27 years later, I’m still gaga over my baby girl.

Carlene was here waiting when I got home from the hospital on Saturday, and except to run out for an oil change and car wash today, she has not NOT taken care of me ever since.

On Sunday night, she and Larry and I were watching “It’s Complicated” (highly recommend!) as my knee got redder and tighter. It had been a warm day – the high had been 87 – and it was still humid, so I thought maybe that was the reason. When it got worse, I scoured my discharge papers for instructions on what abnormalities I was supposed to let my doctor know about. “Excessive swelling and redness” were two of them, but how did they define “excessive”? I talked to an on-call nurse with my insurance company and she thought it would be a good idea to contact the resident on call at my doctor’s office in Pittsburgh. (For those of you new to my blog, I live about 70 miles north of Pittsburgh.)

The resident called me back and said she recommended I go to our local hospital to get checked out. Carlene drove me there me. It was 11:30. Four vials of blood, a shot of morphine and a chest x-ray later, I was strapped to a gurney and loaded in an ambulance. Carlene handed me my purse. I told her to go get some sleep and she said she’d be down in a few hours.

11 more vials of blood, two aspirations (to check for bacteria under my knee cap…oh yeah…THAT was fun), an ultrasound (to check for blood clots) and a shot of dilaudid later, Carlene arrived with a banana in her purse because she knew I wouldn’t have eaten for nearly 18 hours.

All my tests checked out and the docs guessed the swelling was in response to such a major debridement, so I was discharged. Carlene loaded me in the car, surrounded me with pillows, and drove us to Panera where she rolled down a window, locked me in the car, and got us some food.

Last night we watched “Connie and Carla” snuggled up on my twin bed.

I could list all the things Carlene’s done to help me, like getting me safely from point A to point B, and helping me eat right and stay clean, but I’d be typing all night. Besides, those things aren’t the most important components of my recovery. Carlene’s presence is better for my knee than any narcotic. She is soothing and loving, funny and kind. We’re on the same snark level, and we love to discuss books and history. She’s the kind of friend we all dream of, let alone child we hope to bear.

When I think of Carlene, I always get a sweet ache in my heart. I will miss her when she goes home Thursday, but I know with certainty that the next time I see her I will fall in love all over again.
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A quick note about my recent “theme” change to my blog. Those of you who use Firefox or a Mac computer have not been able to post comments or click through on links. I apologize for this. I tried to reset my theme to what it was before, but being the computer genius I’m not, I have been unsuccessful so far. So if you’re unable to leave a comments here and you’d like to contact me, feel free to send me an email at lynnbering@verizon.net.

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Recovery

The last time I was in the hospital overnight was when I gave birth to Cassie 25 years ago. In my room, I fed her, cleaned her up and took care of her. Wednesday night after surgery, Cassie stayed in my room and fed me, cleaned me up, and took care of me.

I think I have this surrendering thing down.

While there were a few rough spots in the hospital, mostly I was cared for by people who did their jobs as though I was a relative. Anesthesiologist Dr. “Mario” Montoya (“Just think of the video game,” he said) really tried to get my legs numb with a spinal block, but when they wouldn’t go to sleep fast enough he took my hand and looked me in the eyes, and explained he had to use general anesthesia. Even though my doctor was yelling, “Get her to sleep!” he made sure I understood what was happening. He even checked up on me three times in recovery.

Amanda the Amazing Nurse listened to me when I said I knew I had a higher fever than the 99 degrees the machine said I had. I knew because my eyes were watering (not from tears) and I had that overall “ugh” feeling, the one that tells me my temp is over 101. She retook it with a different thermometer and low and behold, it was 101.5! She gave me two Tylenol, two oxycodone, an Atavan and tucked me in for the night. I woke up the next morning cool and feeling good. When she came into my room to help me to the bathroom, I serenaded her with my rendition of “Dr. Feelgood.” I was afraid she’d drop my nerve block and hemo boxes from laughing so hard.

Coni the PCT held my hand as I bawled through the most intense pain of my life, worse than two rounds of 13 hours of natural labor. She distracted me with questions which led to a conversation about weight loss and how she recently lost 20 pounds, became a vegetarian, and is in the best shape of her life. And she’s close to my age!

Now I’m home and under the care of daughter Carlene and husband Larry. Carlene made me a fabulous veggie sauté and bean burger last night, which I could only eat ¼ of (the old appetite isn’t as back as I thought) and helped me take a shower with my legs sticking over the sides. An hour after she went to sleep, I needed another ice pack so I called her and she made no fuss about bringing me one.

Larry’s hyper vigilant about keeping the dogs away from me and didn’t mind a phone call at 3:30 when I needed another ice pack and some more drugs. Cassie, Carlene and Larry want me get better, just as I would if they were where I am. Old Lynn wouldn’t have felt worthy of that kind of love. I do now.

Remember how I was worried I’d wake up with an artificial knee instead of just a debridement and the bone growths removed? I found out why I woke up with my original parts. On rounds the day after surgery, my doctor told me my knee is shot. There is nothing else anyone can do to save it. However, he didn’t put a new knee in during surgery because he said, and I quote, “You had my full attention when I opened up your knee and saw what you were working with. You’re in such good shape that I thought if you can be as strong as you are given the condition of the knee as it was, you’ll do just fine for another five years or more with it cleaned out.”

But, he cautioned, the next surgery will be total knee replacement. I’m OK with that. He hoped to buy me a few years because I’m still pretty young for TKR and he has, so far as I can tell, done that.

BFF Chris (CrispyRice from the Weight Watchers 100+ discussion board – my lifeline as I was losing weight) – came to visit me in the hospital.

I came home to a dozen gerbera daisies from BFF Heather in Chicago. Shelley sent me this awesome magnet:

And the supportive posts and emails from my friends – both online and in “real” life – have helped make this recovery more than I ever expected. Thank you so very much for your kind thoughts, prayers, and concern.

Now it’s time to strap up and head to the bathroom. Never thought I’d be so happy to do that alone again.

(By the way, I took photos of the incision, but I thought I'd spare you. Looks like I'll have matching knees again! LOL)

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Grammy Has A New Potty Chair

Friday was the last day I felt oblivious about surgery. I dressed up and went to a university function with my husband.

Here we are in front of his new lab.

No one there knew how knobby my knees were or how the left one can’t bend more than 90 degrees. Nope. I was just Lynn in a dress and a great bra, and wearing a smile. I had a lot of fun forgetting.

But, it will happen, and it’s a good thing. It’s time to take care of this knee. So in light of surgery on Wednesday, I bought a few things to help make the everyday things we take for granted a little easier, and I did a few things to help me feel better all around.

First up, I bought myself the Cadillac of toilet seats. I mean this thing is large and in charge and has its own zip code. I’m a queen on a throne. My toes barely touch the floor and there’s very little bending of the knees required. I’m set.

Larry will install a hand-held shower head so I’m not wedded to sponge baths for six weeks, and his secretary’s mother had similar surgery 10 years ago and has a shower chair I can borrow. Yay!

Yesterday I made and froze several black bean burgers and a batch of red lentil tomato soup. I won’t be able to reach my toes for awhile, so today I had a pedicure, and since I’m carrying most of my worry in my neck and upper back, I had a massage. I also took another long walk – something I will do tomorrow, too. I’ll never take walking for granted again.

T minus 1.5 days.

The biggest change I made was moving a bed downstairs to my office. My office doubles as my workout room. It’s sacred space. A lot of things get thought in there. A lot of muscles get challenged in there. Years of myths I’ve believed about myself have been debunked in there. My office/workout room will prove to be a good space to rehab. It’s a room of energy and light. It is a refuge. Yes, I will be well there.

I woke up once last night wondering where I was, like when I stay in a hotel. Unlike a hotel, though, the bed is familiar, and like my new potty chair, it’s pimped out and comfy with a memory foam mattress topper, my favorite blanket and lots of pillows, my favorite being my water pillow. Best. Pillow. Ever.

Sleeping downstairs, while the sounds are familiar, they’re a lot closer. The neighbor’s dog was out for her last evening potty break, and her bark cut through the darkness like a warning – (Is there a bear out there? A skunk? A raccoon?) – unlike in the daylight when everything feels safe.

There were fireflies near my window, glowing and fading, glowing and fading. The half-moon lit up the pseudo nightstand where my computer table used to be. The moon doesn’t shine and fireflies don’t glow in my window upstairs. What a treat they were to observe.

In a week or so this differently-utilized space will feel normal, but like any change, it just takes some getting used to. Like this surgery, it’s an adventure.

This will be my last blog for a few days. I’ll be in touch when I can from the hospital on my Lynn’s Weigh Facebook page if you’d like to join us over there. In the meantime, I wish you all a good, on-plan week, and I thank you so very, very much for all of your kind support.

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You’ll Know When You Get There

Half-way to Pittsburgh yesterday, there was an accident on one of the most treacherous stretches of Route 28/66 and the emergency response team was directing traffic off the main road and on to a small rural road I’d never been on. The road was narrow and the posted speed limit was never more than 40 mph. There were only a few cars meandering down the road and I lost site of them on several occasions. I had no idea where I was going or where the road would take me (I don’t have GPS), but I trusted I’d know where I was eventually.

Several miles later, two firemen directed me to veer right. A few more miles, another fireman directed me to the left. The road took me through a little village called Belknap, home of Belknap Livestock Auction, an adorable white church with a tall steeple and a small picnic facility tucked in the back, and...well...that’s about it. Further along, I passed a sign for a town called Echo which was two miles down another road (I imagine it’s no bigger than Belknap), and the sign I passed that said “Winding road next 2 miles” was an understatement.

But rather than worry too much about where I was, I took in the amazing beauty of the landscape and trusted I’d eventually know where I was.

Over on Lynn’s Weigh on Facebook the other day, we “discussed” goal weights and how most of us aren’t really sure when we start out losing weight – or even long after we’ve started – just where the end will be. The unknown is always, “Can I sustain ____ pounds?”

I remember well what a friend had dubbed “The Black Hole” of my journey. I was uncertain about what goal really was, especially since I’d changed it from a scale number to a waist size. MAJOR detour. Here’s what I wrote in Jan. 12, 2007, on my original website, Lynn’s Weight-Loss Journey:

“Happy new year! I’m just a few weeks from my 2-year anniversary on Weight Watchers. I can’t believe how the time has flown. I especially can’t wrap my brain around 152 pounds gone so far. My body has changed so much.


“It entered ‘familiar’ territory at around 180, a weight I’d been for several years. (At) 170 and 160, I was feeling great, liking what I saw, etc., and then I hit 155 and I didn’t recognize myself. I’d started working out at a gym (at) 168 and so this ‘new’ body was unfamiliar, even though I was 150 pounds for several years in my 20s and early 30s. (My body) was sculpting into something I didn’t recognize. I developed muscles I didn’t know I had. This was both exciting and terrifying.


“Now at 143.6, I’ve become highly critical of my flaws. I have loose skin under my arm pits, along my belly and my inner thighs. It’s not bad compared to what it could be, but I find myself getting mad at it, like it somehow chose to be there, like it has a mind of its own. Accepting these physical flaws is something I work on every day. I remind myself to not obsess and to love my body for all it is, both the good and the bad.


“My upper and lower hip bones are beginning to protrude, which looks kind of cool. My stomach, despite the skin, is shrinking nicely due to a solid 10-minute a day ab workout. The key for me is patience, something I have very little of. But I’m working on it.


“I don’t know when I’ll get to goal since that will happen when my waist measures 32 inches. That’s less than an inch away. I’m starting to worry now about maintenance. I know, why worry about something I’m not even doing yet, but it ekes into my mind quite often and so instead of ignore it, I try to learn what I can from it. I have to trust myself, trust my body.”

When I finally got to that 32-inch waist three months later, I declared goal like I was sliding into home. Safe at 138 pounds! That feeling lasted all of five minutes before I remembered I’d never been successful at maintenance before. But having learned so much from those who’d gone before me, I walked into maintenance in much the same way I turned on to that rural road yesterday. I had no idea where I was going, but I trusted I’d figure it out.

When you’re feeling most uncertain about your weight journey, remember that with most things in life, what makes us stronger are the detours that weave us through the unknown. Enjoy your weight-loss ride, take in the beauty of you, and trust that you’ll not only find guideposts along the way, but that eventually you’ll know where you are.

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