Latte, blueberry lemon muffin, laptop, warn sunshine. What more could I ask for? World peace maybe, that’s a bit out of my range of accomplishing, so I’ll stick to “no, there is nothing more I could ask for today.” My triple grande latte is perfection and then some. While others may cringe at starbucks, I am a loyal seattle fan and while peet’s is my all-time fav, starbucks does me daily and I am happy.
I am on a mission to add a little junk to my trunk. Today before stepping in the shower I forced myself across the bathroom to face, head-on, the dreaded scale. I will assume, and I know I am about to make huge generalized statement here, but I still choose to assume that most women dread seeing the number on the scale out of fear and denial that it could possibly read higher than they know they weigh. Yes, most people prefer to live in denial and believe they still weigh what memory tells them they weighed in high school, which may or may not be a true account of high school weight. Regardless, I avoid the scale for the opposite reason in that I do not want to see the latest low number. I really do need to add some junk to my trunk. Poor mr. roll has even offered to give me some of his junk to fatten me up a little.
Weightloss has not always been my problem, in fact for a 5’7, 51 year old woman I’ve maintained a 140lb’s for the fast 5 years. I was a size 8 right off the rack and I was pleased with this. My closest if full of amazing outfits all in size 8. The problem is that I am now a size 4. This does not make me happy. Even my feet have shrunk and what used to be a perfect size 8, is now more a size 7. Again, I need some junk in my nonexistent trunk. My backside has all but disappeared.
So what is going on? Last December I was diagnosed with septic shock. The beginning of December I thought I had a bladder infection and I kept putting off the trip to the doctor due to work demands and a lack of time. one night it became so painful mr. roll had to take me to the emergency room where after tests and a ct scan they told me I had kidney stones and to see the urologist the next day to take care of it. I did. It was a Friday and he doctor saw me first thing that morning, the receptionist telling me to come in on an empty stomach in case he decided to laser the stones that day. He decided to do just that. Mr. roll was with me through it all and he took me home that night to rest.
On Monday mr. roll went to work and when he came home he found me unconscious in bed. 911 was called and rushed me to the local hospital. After more tests and another ct and mri, it was determined I had “gone septic”. I never regained consciousness while at the emergency room. They sedated me further in order to put me on a respirator and then airlifted me to Swedish in seattle. At Swedish I was in icu, in a coma, and I woke up the day after Christmas knowing nothing.
It is understandable that I would lose some weight after being in the hospital for such a time as this, but once home and really beginning to heal physically and mentally I thought I would regain some of the lost poundage. That has not been the case and I continue to lose on average of 2lbs/week. Not ok I tell you.
This morning I was 124lbs. my denim is all hanging one me. I have a closet full of “sevens”, “Hudson”, “joe’s”, “William rust”. “paige”. Mind you not a single pair fit me right now, and there is nothing worse than baggy saggy denim. I’ve been wearing my favorite levi’s cuffed at the bottom and drawn tight with a belt. I figure if Katie Holmes can do it then so can i. I refuse to invest in a new wardrobe, I cannot justify doing it. I like the wardrobe I have I simply need it to fit me.
When I do eat I try to make it full of calories. For example, my grande latte is with whole milk and my muffin is not the low-cal version. I use butter on my roll and I use nothing low-fat ever. None-the-less the weight doesn’t seem to be turning around. Today I put on a denim skirt, size 8, and I slide right off my hips. I’d have though my hip bones protruding would have held it up but no such luck.
Before anyone tells me to stop my pity party as there are worse problems in the world than losing weight, this is a real issue for me. I have no desire to be a middle aged twiggy. I want to be a grammy with some junk in her trunk. A swoosh when I walk. Hips that jiggle just a little to the left and a little to the right.
It’s time to think about dinner. It’s a perfect day here in the PNW and time to break out the grill. I think I’ll have mr. roll grill the salmon and I will make a huge salad to go with it, and rustic crunchy crust bread. Too bad we’re not big dessert eaters because blueberry shortcake sounds really good.