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206.2

the outside lane

I wrote the 206 post on my phone, while I was waiting for Thor at the dentist’s office. I would have written more, but The Lion King came on, and no matter what I am doing, I have to stop and watch the monkey present Simba. Every. Time. Also, the opening number is just too catchy. Everyone in the waiting room should just be glad I didn’t start warbling along.

I walked in a show to Circle of Life. I was the gigantic bridal gown finale, and it was very, very difficult not to twirl my way down the catwalk to that song. That song was made for twirling. So was the Glinda the Good Witch dress I had on. (Modeling bridal wear is a great way to suss out what you’d like to have for your own wedding. Glinda was swiftly off the list. As was Compound Bride, Country Bride, Slutty Bride, and 80s Hairbride.)

Anyway.

So I weigh 206 lbs. Do I want to weigh 206 lbs? No! That’s one of the reasons I’ve been seeing all these doctors. Something isn’t working properly, or I’d weigh a lot less. I think I’m not digesting my food properly–I’m lacking some enzyme or other.

Am I ashamed of weighing 206 lbs? No! And there’s the thing. No one should be ashamed of what they weigh. You weigh what you weigh. If you like it, fab! It’s no one else’s business. If you don’t like, okay. Work on it. It’s still no one else’s business.

You can’t judge someone’s health by their size. You also can’t judge their personality, their intellect, their respectability, their humanity, or their potential. You may think that you can infer some things. You might think that you could infer that I dine on ho-hos and swill soda by the 2 liter. You would be wrong. You might think that you could infer that I am lazy and never get up off the sofa. You would be wrong.

I have been very, very thin. At my heaviest, my wedding (because I can’t be like anyone else and lose weight for the big day–oof), I weighed 220. I got up to 235 while I was pregnant. A couple of years ago, I worked my way down to 178, then I went to visit Irene and gained 8lbs eating Redneck Benedicts, and I crested at 211 two months ago. I’m working it back down again.

My ideal weight, my personal ideal is 165. The BMI suggests that my personal ideal is 140, on the high end. The BMI can suck it.

I’m just saying that whether I am 220, or 105, I’m still Lane. My flab doesn’t affect my Me-ness. My hips have nothing to do with who I am, other than how well they work to get me from one place to another. I am okay with Lane.

I hope you are okay with You.

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206

the outside lane

image

This is what 206 lbs looks like.  That’s what I weigh.  You would be surprised, at least I am always surprised, by the number of people who ask me my number.  I’m never quite sure how to take the reaction either.

Most of the time I get, “no way!”  Like 206 is some mammoth number.  The other reaction is that I am so brave to admit I weigh more than 165 lbs.  Clearly, I am not thin, so what does it matter?  It’s like being brave for being photographed without makeup.  It’s what I look like.  What’s brave about looking like myself?

We get so hung up on shapes and sizes.  So my backside doesn’t look like Giselle’s?  It is functional and does everything it is supposed to do.  So does the rest of me.  I am fine with it, whether anyone else is, or not.

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Tagline Contest Winner

the outside lane

I am excited to annouce that Amy, from BackseatWriter.com, has won the tagline contest.

Our new tagline will be, “Inside the Outside,” which is a very slight moderation of Amy’s original suggestion, but suits the blog just fine.

Congratulations, Amy!

Thor

Thor

the outside lane

I found this photostrip from an adventure Thor and I had at the Dallas Zoo, back in August of 2006. He was such a happy little man.

One of the nurses, yesterday, asked me when I was going to have another baby. Um, never? That ship has sailed. There was a window of time, between Thor’s being two and four, that I would have welcomed another baby–even craved one, but that window shut just as soon as he started school and I quit paying $210 a week for daycare. Holy moly, that $210 makes a difference!

I enjoyed all of Thor’s babyhood, but looking back, I wonder how we managed. I’m sure every parent does that–especially parents of multiples. How did you make the money work? How did you make it to work on so little sleep? How did you manage to carry around all the stuff you needed, in such a little bag? How did you manage all the germs and illnesses? How did you find the time to bathe yourself? Babies are work!

And bliss. At least mine was. He was fat and happy. Now he’s all long, skinny arms and legs, and happy. He looks nothing like that baby over there, anymore. Those days are long gone.

Fortunately, he still wants to snuggle.

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Looking Inward

the outside lane

More than a few people have asked me if I would tell them how my endoscopy/colonoscopy procedures went, so I figured I would just write it up here. Short story: Not too bad.

I stopped eating solids (save for a snack of sheer roughage) around 5pm on Saturday, then went on a liquid fast Sunday. At 5pm on Sunday, I started the MoviPrep treatment, which is basically 2 liters of evil that you drink, separated by and followed by another liter each of clear liquid (I chose water.) The first liter of evil will relieve you of anything solid. The second liter of evil will turn your backside into a full blast shower head.

I did all right on the first LoE. You drink it in 3 or 4 doses over the course of an hour. I did it in 3 because I am a masochist. When I got to the second liter, I wasn’t feeling it at all. No, that’s not true. I was feeling it, and it was feeling like it was going to come right back up. Afraid they would tell me I had to drink more, I defied my tummy thetans and kept it down. I was immediately, and seriously ill. I got in bed and whined until I fell asleep/passed out (kind of more the latter) for two hours. Then, the unnatural call of nature arrived. I stopped having liquids around 10pm.

The draino doing its work wasn’t even so bad. I expected cramping and pain, but didn’t have any at all. A pretty impressive laxative, if you ask me. I was up every hour, or so, but it wasn’t ever painful.

I got up Monday morning, and even though I felt a little weak, I was okay. I wanted a cup of coffee, but did not give in. Walked Thor to school, and came home to get dressed for the doctor. I had prepped, in my Sunday bath, as though for a hot date. After my first dose of drugs, I told this to the nurses, who were appreciative. They said a lot of people didn’t bother. Listen, if someone has to be down there, we may as well make it as pleasant as possible.

I checked into the surgery center, my mother at my side, at 9:15, and was in the prep station at 10:15. The staff were fantastic and helpful, and everyone was quite merry for people who spend their days poking cameras up anuses. I got into my gown (open at the back) and under my warm blanket, and the nurse started my I.V. with one poke. That done, I was rolled down the hall into my procedure room, where the real fun began.

Another nurse and scope tech explained what was about to happen (this was the 3rd explanation–endoscopy first, where they would snake my esophagus, and then they would turn the table around and snake my intestines), and my doctor appeared to make sure I was happy. He gave the nod and I was asked to curl up on my side. I got my first shot of cocktail, made a couple of dirty remarks about the anesthesia used to kill my gag reflex, and my hot date prep, and I had time to say, “I’m feeling kind of groggy,” before it all went black.

I vaguely remember hearing someone say, “Okay, we’re starting the next procedure now,” and then nothing until I woke up with a start in the recovery room, with my mother staring at me.

The ride home is a blur. I got into the house in time for some copious vomiting, but for the volume, that wasn’t even so bad. I slept most of the day, only really getting up around 6pm, then going back to bed for the night at 8.

I got up at 6:30 this morning, and as I was warned, I have a sore throat (feels like I’ve coughed too much) and have the feeling that I’ve overdone it on the situps (from the pressure applied to my abdomen to help the scope go in the right direction.) I am not uncomfortable or inconvenienced in any way, though. I think I might like another day to sleep, but that’s because I like sleeping. I’m headed to work in 10 minutes.

I got a really good report. Everything looked normal and nice (and very clean!) save for some esophageal erosion from reflux. The doctor biopsied my esophagus, and I should have the pathology back next week.

Horror! Is that really Carrie Fisher on my television hawking Jenny Craig? No!

Anyway, it wasn’t bad. For those of you who are up next, the worst part is the MoviPrep. It is truly evil tasting–I can’t even explain it–but it works. No need to worry. No need to be afraid. I have boldly gone there ahead of you, and am happy to say it wasn’t bad at all. It was much easier and less embarrassing than a gyno exam! Maybe I should ask for knock out drops for those, too?