Food and Weight: An Ongoing Journey

Battling Demons

Posted on: September 5, 2014


I don’t often admit to having weaknesses. It’s partly a “badass” thing; partly just stubborn. However, this week has been really rough.

I’m feeling stuck in so many places and ways that it’s not funny.

First, the PT is at a point where the upper body stuff is working just fine. However, the lower body stuff, which is not cardiac related, really, is not doing so well. I’ve gained a bit of weight — up to 286.4 lbs. as of this morning — and I feel it. Whenever I can’t do something at PT, the therapist just nudges me about my weight. Yeah, I have to lose the weight again; I know that. But that’s a long-term project, and it will take the time it takes. Constantly pressing me about it is not gonna help. It seems that everyone who knows me knows that except the PT, though.

The recent spate of deaths hasn’t helped. Robin Williams suicide was devastating to me for a lot of reasons, not the least of which being his age, and that he’d been battling depression. And even though Joan Rivers was 81, her death really threw me for a loop, as it has many people, partly because she was so full of life and energy. The death of an online friend in her 30’s from surgery very similar to mine has not helped, either. Nor did the death of fan/writer/filker Roger Clendenning, at age 44, also from complications of heart surgery. I know death is inevitable, but it’s been hitting far too close to home in far too many instances.

My sister and my aunt are still at war with each other, although I have mostly managed to stay out of that. But they are each saying the same things about the other one, and it’s kind of weird to listen to. My aunt is feeling not so great – she has nerve issues similar to my sciatica. Because she’s 91, her doctors are not rushing to operate, and she is very unhappy that her mobility is even more restricted than it used to be, not to mention being in pain. My sister is also having physical issues,

And the final straw on the last month or so has been watching my oldest friend (not Naomi – this is the surviving friendship that went back all the way to my sophomore year of high school) go through getting a breast cancer diagnosis and not being able to be there for her because of a misunderstanding on her part because of something she thinks I did. See, after my surgery, I had told my ex that she was the first person to call, because she was so important to me. He did so, and when she went on for a bit about how she had helped me by doing research before the surgery, my ex listened quietly. She decided that this meant I had been badmouthing her — something even my sister acknowledges I would never do, especially not to this friend — and refuses to even listen to me. I left her a Facebook message, and now the ball is in her court, but the sad truth is that if she knows that little about me after 47 years, the only thing I can do is let her go and wish her the best. However, it hurts like hell.

This doesn’t mean there are not good things in my life. I have other friends, many of whom I can lean on for just about anything. I am getting my health back, although the process i a heck of a lot slower than I want it to be. My roommate continues to be willing to put up with me. I’m about to turn 62, something that – until my surgery in March – was looking less and less likely.

Please don’t take this entry wrong. I am not looking for sympathy. I’m merely recording what is going on with me, which I did promise I would do about the recovery process. To omit the not pretty part would do the journey less than justice. Really, the journey so far has been largely a good one, although way too slow for my taste. I just don’t want to whitewash over the not so good parts, lest I forget that there are times when it *is* a struggle.

 

 

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