And the end of the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week

I don't often look forward to Monday, but I was very glad to see it this morning. The past week (well, nine days, really) have been pretty rough for both the Beau and myself - and it was all my fault.

It all started a week ago Friday, when I came home inexplicably crushed because of my body size. I was just so upset about how big I perceived myself to be, how high my weight was, how awful I was certain I looked. Now, I have these funks from time to time and usually a night of pouting and self-pity are enough to make it go away.

Not this time.

My funk continued through the weekend, though it broke a bit Saturday night when we had friends in for dinner. But it picked up again on Sunday and only got worse when I weighed in this past Wednesday and hated the number on the scale.

Thursday was bad. Friday was worse. Saturday was really worse. But then I realized why my emotions were so erratic - I got my period. For me, the worst symptom of PCOS is irregular periods. Usually I'm pretty good at gauging my moods and figuring out if PMS is contributing to my emotional meltdowns. I thought that might be the case this past week but I was honestly a little freaked out when my mood just didn't get better for over a week.

Even figuring out the root cause didn't make me feel any better and Saturday the Beau and I almost had it out. I think we've only really fought once or twice and we don't raise our voices to each other; we get mad, but we get quiet and go to separate rooms until we calm down and then we talk it out. Saturday, though, it almost all came out. And it really sucked.

By Sunday morning, I was back to my old self: still aware I have to get in shape but at least focused on what I have to do and how I have to work at it. And it was one of those weird things, where I went to bed Saturday night unhappy with myself and woke up Sunday feeling so much better; it was almost a little scary how suddenly my mood changed.

I'm thinking it's finally time I investigate other forms of therapy, namely CBT, which will help me change the way I perceive myself and the thoughts I have about myself. It was one thing when my body image issues dragged me down and the Beau just dealt with it as best he could, but it's another when I drag him down with me and we both end up at the bottom of a spiral of despair.

It also freaks me out that simply getting my period makes me so depressed about my weight. It's one thing when I know it's coming; I can prepare myself, be ready, understand why my pants don't fit. But it's a whole 'nother thing when it punches me in the gut from out of the blue like that. Which is why I finally need to accept that I need help learning how to think better of myself. And I wonder if this will help me with my own weight loss goals in that I won't feel as guilty or beat myself up when I make a mistake and fall off the wagon completely, but instead accept it and move on.

Regardless, I know it's time for a serious change. With so many great things happening this year, it feels like just the right time to also change my self-image.

Ch-ch-changes

Since joining WW, I've had great success with weight loss but I've also noticed some other changes that are pretty great. The biggest is that I'm not nearly as bloated and gassy as I used to be. (If this is TMI, I apologize!) This is definitely related to my better eating habits but it's also had a domino effect on other aspects of my life.

Before, when I would get dressed in the morning, I would pick outfits based on how bloated I felt - and no word of a lie, this actually limited my wardrobe options, particularly bottoms. Apparently I neglected to shop while bloated. (Who knew?) Now, though, I can put on most things in my closet and they fit well and I know that I can wear them comfortably all day. There are, of course, a few items of clothing that I don't fit just yet but I'll get there!

Another great impact is that I can work out any time now. Used to be my workouts were based on how gurgly my tummy felt and that would influence what exercise I did, if I exercised at all. And, let's face it, passing gas at the co-ed work gym is not among my favourite things to do. Now my tummy feels much better and I'm working at making exercise a regular part of my routine (even when I don't feel like showering again).

But perhaps the best change is that I'm really starting to like what I see in the mirror, especially around my midsection. I've always had troubles slimming out through my torso, something I've partly blamed on my PCOS but which - let's face it - was also a product of me eating 3 cups of mac and cheese in one sitting. And it's exciting to like how I look after so many years of not enjoying my reflection.

I'm also feeling optimistic that my happy weight may not be as low as I'd previously thought. Here I am, at 193 lb and already liking how I look. My goal is 170 but who knows? Maybe as I keep losing I'll discover I don't need to go that low to love myself. And as long as I love myself, everything will be a success.

"Normal"

It's a stupid word, normal.

What is normal?  Well, my blood sugar levels, for one.  And my hormones, for another.  And my thyroid and all the other things the vampiric medical establishment checked me for during my last round of blood work.

What's not normal?  Me. 

I had a follow-up appointment with yet another specialist today and he says I'm normal.  Thing is, I'm not.  My ovaries don't work and I have an endocrine condition, which is not normal.  But the endocrine specialist doctor can't do anything for me because all the scientific, medical stuff says I'm normal.

Now, not only am I still not normal, I'm incredibly frustrated.

Why is it that we can diagnose me but not treat the condition?  I'm fed up with only treating the symptoms.  It's like having a car with an engine that isn't working properly and deciding that putting more air in the tires will help. 

I was really counting on this appointment, too, to maybe finally shed some light on how I can start fixing myself.  Maybe my expectations were too high; needless to say, I've been despondent and bummed out since finishing up.  I couldn't come straight home after the appointment so I ended up going for an ambling walk and buying some yarn (Christmas is less than six months away, don'tcha know) and that helped for a bit - but then I had to walk home and walking always allows me time to think.  And I started thinking about how disappointing my appointment was...and I was back to my good ol' despondent self.

I was referred to this specialist to see if there was something that could be done at the hormonal/endocrine level to help me with my weight issues.  All the doctor said was to eat well and exercise.  Okay, fine, I'll keep doing that but it's not helping.  I last saw him in April and, since then, as per the scales at his office, I've lost about 2 lb in two months.  I told him that was awful.  He said it was good.  All I can say is that losing 1 lb a month will not keep me motivated.

Which, of course, is making me wonder if I should even try at all.  What good is it doing me, eating well and working out?  If it's not going to help, then why bother?  Apparently I'm normal, so I shouldn't have to change anything, right? 

I know I'm feeling sorry for myself right now and I'll snap out of it (I hope) but all I feel like doing is throwing a pity party, so I'm going to wallow in it for a little while longer.  It would just be so nice if some doctor - any doctor - could give me some kind of positive answer about my condition, instead of just saying I'm normal and to go on a diet. 

I'm afraid it's just not that simple with me, as diagnosed by medical science.  It's so nice of them to give me a problem with absolutely no solution.

Getting healthy on the inside

I have to get blood work done tomorrow and I'm less than psyched about it.  I so hate needles.  HATE them. 

HATE.

But this is a necessary evil because this blood work is going to help my work doctor help me with some health issues.  (I say work doctor because he's based out of the Health Centre here at work; I have a separate GP I see for the regular stuff a girl needs.)

The health issue at hand?  Well, I'm finally - finally - getting around to getting some answers about PCOS, which I was diagnosed with waaaay back when I was 18.

PCOS is polycystic ovarian syndrome or, as I like to call it, "wonky ovaries".  It's one of those things that can't be cured outright but can be managed; it's just that finding the right/best way to manage it can be a struggle. 

Among the symptoms are infertility; amenorrhea (not menstruating); weight gain; depression; excess testosterone; hair loss on the head but excess hair growth where excess hair should not grow; and an increased risk of type 2 diabetes, heart disease, endometriosis and ovarian/uterine cancer.  Fun, eh?

The main thing I've discovered about PCOS, since being diagnosed, is that doctors only really care about the fertility part.  When I was 18, my doctor told me that I'd need help to get pregnant but otherwise live my life and have fun.  And really, telling an 18-year-old that she wasn't going to menstruate and that she'd need help when she wanted babies in 15 years...well, that was just fine with me. 

Over the years, as I changed doctors and sought more information, it always came down to babies and when I was going to have them and what we would do then.  When I informed my GP that I didn't think we'd be having babies, it kind of became a moot point.  She had also done blood work and it showed my insulin and glucose levels were normal and an ultrasound showed my uterus was normal (which is good and means I don't need to worry about endometriosis) so it was left as status quo.

But that wasn't good enough for me. 

I actually got help from my work doctor because I needed him to write me a prescription for my orthotics and, while I was seeing him, asked if the health centre did ultrasounds (which I needed to have to check out my ovaries and other inner lady bits).  This led to a conversation about why I needed it and I told him about my PCOS and he offered to talk to me about it and get me the help I needed. 

Just.  Like.  That.

After near on 14 years of doctors telling me it only mattered if I wanted kids and to just eat right and exercise and all would be okay, it was so...refreshing...encouraging...exciting...to have a doctor actually care enough to help me out.  Of course, to be properly helped out, I need to have blood taken.  And he ordered A LOT of blood to be taken; while filling out the requisition he just kept checking off boxes. 

*shudder*

But I'll suck it up and get it done and he and I will chat and we'll figure out what I need to do to help myself.  Diet and exercise are big ones, of course (and that is partly what prompted my year of healthiness), but there are other issues that my PCOS exacerbates that I want to deal with.  One thing is the excessive testosterone, which makes a person sweat more.  And I'm a sweaty, sweaty woman.  It may sound superficial, but that's the kind of thing that can really affect a person's quality of life.  It would be wonderful to not have to wear black all summer in an attempt to hide my sweatiness. 

But there is something else, something I'm trying to not get too excited about: assisting in weight loss.  As I mentioned, one symptom is weight gain, particularly around the middle (which, lucky me, I got).  One way to help combat this is with Metformin, which is generally prescribed to diabetics but can also help women with PCOS.  One thing Metformin does is help you lose weight.  But I don't know if it's what I need yet, but there is a part of me that wants it, a part of me that already sees it as a magic weight loss pill, even though I know that's not the case at all.  I mean, my blood work could show that I don't need it or that it won't help and then I'll be back to doing 700 crunches a day.  (I wish I could do that.)

Regardless how it all plays out, the important thing is that it will play out.  I am getting myself healthy.  I am targeting the things that are wrong with me and working on making them less wrong. 

For this, I will even endure needles.  *gulp*