Week 5 Weigh-in with a side of Vulnerability


Can I be honest with you?

I’ve had a lot on my mind lately but there is one thing in particular that keeps nagging at me.

Every time I see a pregnant lady I think about it. Every time I look in the mirror and see how fluffy and soft my body has gotten with weight gain I think about it. And then the flier I got in the mail recently from the hospital urging me to use them as my birthing center…

Every time I look in the mirror and see that my muscles have somehow disappeared I’ll be at a loss for how I ended up like this in the first place after having worked so hard to find a place of health and happiness.

I’ll ask myself over and over, “How did this happen…again?”

Every time I search for the answer I think back to when the weight started to come on again and I’m reminded of this summer when I lost the baby I didn’t know I wanted and the feelings I’m still struggling to figure out.

I’m not much of a mourner but I’ve struggled with this loss because it confuses me. To be honest, when I found out I was pregnant this past summer I didn’t really want to have a baby at that time in my life. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted any more children period.

But that doesn’t stop the hurt… and the most confusing part is I’m not even sure if it’s a hurt that I even have a right to feel.

What’s the deal? Why does it still nag at me? Why can’t I just get over it…

I avoid talking about it because there is nothing I can do about it and I feel like I should be over it by now. By even mentioning it, I feel like I’m making up self pitying excuses for the weight that I had gained this past fall.

This past week was kind of rough. It’s not like it was the worst week of my life but it was one of those weeks you wish would hurry up and pass. It started off with two visits to the ER this weekend for Penelope who had croup and couldn’t breathe.  Before my week had even started I was ragged and sleep deprived.  By Sunday afternoon I found myself sitting on the couch watching endless episodes of Curious George while nibbling on the Chinese food I had ordered out of desperation. The wrinkles in my forehead were twice as pronounced due to the worry and lack of sleep.


The rest of the week kind of went by in a blur, other than the Chinese food I had ordered, I can’t tell you one thing I ate throughout the week. Food was the last thing I was interested in… and yet, I gained weight. I stepped on the scale this morning and weighed in at 202.2.

What the crap?

I hate you!

Not you…

There’s something to be said about being a weight loss blogger who kind of sucks at losing weight. It takes double the courage to keep writing and processing and trying because, well… It’s embarrassing.

It’s not like I’ve been holed up in my house eating secret cheese burgers or anything. But there is shame to be had for the extra fat roll that is currently hanging over my stretchy waist jeans, even if my ass does look great… which it does. (In case you were wondering.)

Every time I see that roll I think of this summer and the downward spiral that set me in motion to become a love handle making machine.

And every time I go to write a blog post on this “Weight Loss Blog” I feel like a loser.

Why would any of you want to read my blog if I can’t freakin get my shit together?

Then, out of nowhere I got a comment from one of my readers who seemed to be reading my mind…

Court wrote- “I love reading your blog. It’s my favorite. I find it funny how some “weight loss” bloggers just stop updating. I can only assume they are not doing too well in their journey. It’s like they just fall off the face of the planet or something. 0_o I hope we never lose you!”

It reminded me of why I write this thing… to relate to people. I’m not here to portray the image of someone who has it all figured out, because I don’t. I’m not entirely sure why I feel compelled to post my weight for all to see on a weekly basis.

I think it might just be the release I feel by facing the truth.

There is something powerful in being honest and vulnerable and completely and utterly imperfect. In a weird way facing all of my flaws and insecurities head on feels… good.


Butthole Problems


Well, hello there… I’m back.

Just thought you should know.

Yeah… so, I’m feeling a bit awkward talking to you today. I wrote my last post while I was on pain medication after having my ectopic surgery and I just so happened to include details about the process that I kind of wish I hadn’t.  If I had been completely coherent I might have omitted the whole part about my anus hurting. Yep. Yep, that would have been a good part to leave out. Some details are better left out.

Then again… I might have just saved some woman’s life out there by sharing my tale of how I went to the doctor for butthole problems and stomach cramps.  Only to find out I didn’t have butthole problems at all, just a scary case of “your fallopian tube is on the verge of exploding”. So, I guess I can bare the humiliation if I’ve saved a life.

You’re welcome.

(Fun fact: I’m not sure I’ve actually used the word butthole since I was a kid while fighting over a turn with a Nintendo controller. I’m pretty sure it was my insult of choice back in the day which is a really gross way of insulting someone if you think about it.)

Needless to say, this whole ectopic pregnancy thing completely threw me off guard. For the first week after the surgery I was a zombie, a hormonal zombie who had just lost a baby she didn’t know she wanted until it was taken away from her. I would be fine one minute and a complete wreck the next. I slept a lot… and I cried a lot. Just when I would think I was starting to feel better and get my energy back I would be hit with another wave of exhaustion. I was tired of being tired and tired of being sad. I’m not one for mourning. I tend to want to just get over things without giving myself the time to fully process them. In this case there was nothing I could have done. What good did it do me to cry about it?

It doesn’t help that my body is in the midst of an identity crisis. My aches and pains from the surgery are gone but I still have pregnancy symptoms (boobs hurting, smells, fatigue, mood swings).  In fact, I feel like they have intensified lately which is really freaking me out. Maybe it’s like having a phantom pain when you amputate something. My brain just can’t wrap itself around the loss of something that was a part of me. I just went out to dinner with my family tonight and I looked down to discover that everything that I had aimed at my mouth was sitting on my newly engorged chest.  I’m pretty sure my boobs are convinced that they are still pregnant. I wish it would just go away because it’s really messing with my head.

Other than that I’m feeling much better. I thought you should know since I wrote that weird drug induced post about my anus the surgery and all. Now, just do me a favor and cross your fingers that I don’t do something drastic like drown in a bag of Cheetos while I sort out my feelings on phantom pregnancy symptoms. M’kay? That would be great and if you do that I’ll promise to write blog posts with more appropriate titles.


Out of the Blue

*Warning: This blog is based purely from an honest point of view and in my attempt to be honest I tend to over share. That is precisely what is about to happen. You have been warned.

Yesterday was a weird day, it completely threw me for a loop.

I woke up in the middle of the night Thursday morning with the worst stomach cramps that I had ever had. I tried to sneak off into the bathroom while Brent slept to find some relief in the bathroom. But there was no relief to be had, so I crawled back in bed and tried to sleep it off hoping the cramps would be gone by the time I woke up.

When I woke up they weren’t any better and to top things off the pain was radiating through my rectum. As a woman I’m quite familiar with stomach cramps, rectum cramps however are a whole different story. I didn’t want to tell Brent what was going on because it was embarrassing. Until later when he was doing something funny that was cracking me up.

“Honey, please don’t make me laugh because when you do my butthole hurts.”

“Uhh… what?”

That’s when I had to confess what was going on. I couldn’t cough, laugh or sit without the pain radiating through my body. I had no idea what was wrong with me. Brent told me to go to the Dr but I didn’t want to because it was humiliating. Plus, I was terrified of having to undergo a rectal exam.

Finally, I decided to make the call so that I could see what was going on and possibly get some relief. While I waited for my appointment I googled symptoms to see what could possibly be wrong. Maybe I was just severely constipated, or maybe I had some form of IBS…

When I went to the Dr I was given a thorough exam. (My greatest nightmare realized.) My stomach was super tender to the touch. If it had been localized she would have assumed that I had appendicitis but it wasn’t it was all over the lower region of my stomach. She then assumed it had to have something to do with my uterus. She check the location where my IUD (birth control) was implanted to see if it had gotten infected or misplaced. But it was in perfect shape and there wasn’t anything wrong from what she could tell, other than the severe tenderness I had. After the exam I put my clothes back on, got some blood work done, peed in a cup and waited in the room for my doctor to come back in.

When she walked in the first thing she said was, “The pregnancy test was positive.”

“Wait.. what?”

I didn’t even know she was checking to see if I was pregnant.

“I have an IUD. That’s supposed to be 99.9 percent effective.”

“I know it’s extremely rare.”

She then explained to me that it was possible that the tenderness could be caused from the IUD implanted while my baby was growing. Or I could be suffering from a tubal pregnancy which would mean I would have to have surgery immediately in order to keep from bleeding to death internally. I would have to wait for a sonogram to be sure what was going on.

She made arrangements for me to go to my OBGYN that same afternoon. I had to wait three hours to find out. I was either going into surgery that night and loosing a baby I didn’t even know that I had or I was going to add another member to my family. My mind was reeling. I didn’t know what to think.

I came home and told Brent the news and he grinned, secretly proud of his virility. He would be happy to welcome another child maybe this one would even be a little boy. Something he has tried to talk me into trying for in the past.

My Dr appointment finally arrived and I was called back for the sonogram. I laid back in that dark room looking up at the screen in front of me to find the answer I had been waiting for.  There it was, a little splotch of a person inside me, lodged in the tiny confines of the tubes leading to my ovary. It was indeed a tubal pregnancy. My uterus was already full of blood. I would be in surgery shortly.

Brent was at home with the girls trying to make arrangements and would meet me at the hospital. My doctor’s office is located at the hospital where the surgery would take place. I was given an admittance packet and I walked to the emergency room on foot. Feeling the pain radiate with every step I took. It was the blood sloshing around in my uterus.

Before I knew it, I was laying on a bed in a hospital gown, my head was throbbing my heart was throbbing and I was connected to an IV that pumped pain medicine through my veins making me feel light headed. Brent was still trying to find someone to take care of the girls for us so I sat there alone. Before I knew it they were starting to wheel me from one room to another.

I was handed more paper work to sign and given more information to digest. Then I was asked what I wanted to do with the fetus’ body. I was given several options and was asked if I had a name for it. I didn’t even know that a fetus had even existed when I had woken up that morning much less given time to think of names. The nurse took it upon herself to just write “Angel of Chapman” in the blank space where the name was supposed to go.

Brent finally arrived, I was given some medicine and the next thing I knew I was waking up in a strange room with a ragged wet cough that pulled at the stitches in my stomach. Brent was there to comfort me and take me home.

We went home that very night. I’ve slept most of the day. My head is still throbbing probably from the shock of it all. I’ve just taken my second dose of medicine and will probably be asleep again shortly. I’m sitting in my pajamas with the hospital bracelets still attached to my arm.

I just wanted to write this blog post for two reasons. To explain my absence from the blog for the next few days and to try to sort out how I feel about all of this. I haven’t had time to process everything. I haven’t had time to think about it or time to feel anything.