Tuck the Tummy

A week ago today I had an abdominoplasty, or tummy tuck. I feel a whole hell of a lot better than I did seven days ago, but I'm still largely uncomfortable. The two drains that drain the fluid from the area operated on are in the creases of my legs -- where the legs meet the trunk. Not great places as far as comfort goes. My surgeon's office was supposed to call today to check the drain numbers to see if I could get the drains removed. I waaant them out so bad. I called at ten minutes to one and the office manager said the surgeon's nurse was at lunch. It's now 2:20 and I haven't heard anything back. I'm going to call again in a bit if I haven't heard anything.

Anyway... losing around 200 pounds wreaks havoc on a body. I carried a lot of weight in my mid-section so my stomach looked like a horror movie involving melted bodies. This tummy tuck was the second step in a three-step body transformation. In February I had an arm lift and breast lift. I'm thrilled with the results of those, so I'm hopeful that I'll be pleased with the outcome of this tummy tuck and the upcoming (five more weeks) thigh lift.

Intense, right?

I am not a good patient. For the most part I follow doctor's orders, but I HATE bed-rest. I get so bored. I do fine the first 3-4 days because I'm so drugged up. After that I'm bored, lonely, crabby. For the first surgery, I had to sit/lie in bed for weeks with my arms wrapped up and above my chest. For this one I'm supposed to sit/lie in bed in a "lounge chair" position. Basically, my head and back are supported by four pillows, and my legs are up on three pillows. It's better than having my arms propped up, but it's also getting annoying. It's funny the little things you take for granted -- showering, lying flat on your back, or on your side, walking briskly, and comfortably. Going to the gym. I'm estimating that I won't be permitted to work out until sometime in July. Ohhhhhhhhhhh, that stresses me out.

My stomach and upper legs are still very swollen. I know it's only been a week, but I worry that the swelling will just never go away. I'm kind of crazy, in case that hasn't been obvious.

I have a ton of books to read in this extended down time. I'm currently reading it sucked and then i cried by Heather B. Armstrong of Dooce.com. It's really funny so far, but it's scaring the hell out of me. Pregnancy sounds entirely awful.

Tonight I'm watching the BF hit some balls at a batting cage and then play softball with his friends from business school. Aw, precious. Hopefully I'll have the energy and strength to be out and about for a few hours tonight. Yesterday I was completely exhausted and had no desire to do anything.

Just spoke to my surgeon's nurse. Drains will come out tomorrow morning. Dang. I was hoping they'd come out today.

Breakfast in Bed

I'm sitting in bed, on a warm, sunny Sunday. I have my dog curled up at the foot of the bed, my laptop in my... lap, my breakfast on the night stand next to me, and the Sunday paper fanned out on the bed next to me. I keep asking myself "why am I watching the Hills?" Wow, it's a terrible show. However, I'd like to have Lauren Conrad's hair. Even if she is blonde.

Oh! But my breakfast! You must hear about this breakfast.

A cinnamon roll from Sprouts, a small bowl of cut up strawberries, and a Trader Joe's Greek Style Nonfat Yogurt (Pomegranate). Ohhh, wow. It's all pretty amazing. I know that cinnamon roll is a calorie, sugar, and fat bomb, but I've decided to allow myself a breakfast treat once a week -- a donut, a cinnamon roll, or bagel. Carbs are my weakness. Once a week is okay, and will keep me honest the rest of the week. The strawberries are a little weak. Really red and juicy, but not... sweet? It's odd. The yogurt is on its last day or two. I have a ton of yogurt (all Greek-style) to work through in my fridge.

So, I had a tummy tuck last Tuesday and was prescribed vicodin for the pain. I took two last night before bed. Every night since I've been on vicodin I've had horrible, vivid, violent nightmares. I woke up this morning crying. It makes me a) not want to sleep or b) not take the vicodin. Neither are really an option at this point. I have a hard time getting comfortable in bed without the vicodin because I feel a stinging pain at the incision. Waking up alone after I've had a terrible nightmare makes it that much worse.

Anyway.

I never thought I'd date someone with kids. I've had friends who have dated men with kids, and no matter how fun it was at first, it inevitably wasn't worth it. I think the boyfriend is great. I think his kids are cute, and sometimes they're fun to be around. I guess this is how I think about it. I'm 29, and unattached for the first time in a long time. I will probably have kids someday (or maybe never... getting older by the second), and right now I feel like it's completely acceptable to want to be selfish and sleep in on the weekends, and not have a set of 5-year-olds dictate how I spend my weekend from where and what's eaten for dinner, to what's watched on TV or in the movie theater.

And I'm more than allowed to have all that, except not if I want to spend the time with my boyfriend. In order to have him and spend time with him, I have to (as he puts it) let go of that selfishness and enjoy life with all of them. I've tried, honestly. I've spent time doing things I don't particularly enjoy because at least I get to spend time with him. I guess deep down, or... not even so deep down, it feels unfair of him to tell me I need to be less selfish. I don't think I need to be. I think I have every right to be selfish. I'm not the one with kids. I'm not the one tied down here. Then it keeps coming back to am I willing to "let go" of all the selfishness to be in  his life. Sometimes I am. But then there are times were a voice inside me is screaming "What the hell are you thinking?!" Ugh. To say that my feelings on this don't cause massive issues would be a HUGE understatement. I feel like we fight more than we don't lately. I think he'd probably attribute fault to me, and I guess he's right. I'm the one with the problem. He just has kids.

I need to stop listening to the Decemberists while I write. It makes me feel worse.

Right now I wish I could go to the gym. When I feel antsy and anxious and sad, working out makes me feel better, or at least calms me down. I have such a good playlist for a workout right now. All female, real poppy. I actually have pretty decent taste in music. I like a wide variety of artists and genres. It just so happens Britney Spears falls in there somewhere. Don't judge.

I'm watching Spencer Pratt punch another man [IN THE HEAD] on the Hills. The Hills is kind of like the female version of professional wrestling. It's fake, but entertaining. It's ridiculous, but we can't stop watching. Oh wait... guys think professional wrestling is real. Oh, right.

And If You Don't Love Me Let Me Go

Depending on the day you ask me, I'll either boast about how great my life is and happy completely, utterly, over-the-moon happy I am, or I'll be a crumpled pile of tears about the disaster I've let my life become. My life, and the vehicle living it (me) have changed tremendously in the last three or four years - mentally, emotionally, physically, and every other possible way. Sometimes I don't know how to keep it going at an even pace.

Today's one of those disaster days.

I grew up in the midwest. Only child to divorced parents. Sexually abused by a family member. Dad cheated on mom. Married the woman he cheated with. Graduated from high school, went to college, married the only serious boyfriend I ever had. Gained a million pounds. Lost a million pounds. Moved to the west coast. Separated from husband. Finished my degree in something I really felt passionate about. Told my parents about being molested. In the process of getting massive amounts of plastic surgery done to correct the obsecene amounts of excess skin leftover from tremenous weight loss. Also in the process of dating someone.

See, I don't know how to give a little. I end up needing to give background on every little thing. Let me try again.

My name is Stephanie, and I'm 29. I'm a mess most of the time. I'm taking care of myself for the first time in my life, and it's terrifying, and hard, and sad. It's terrifying and hard because I feel like I don't know what I'm doing, and it feels like at 29, I should no longer be "winging it." It's sad because I liked going through life with a partner... being responsible for each other. Feeling like my well-being mattered to someone else. I think being an only child with a horrible secret, to divorced parents, I've spent my entire life alone, and for the brief time I was married, I didn't feel alone. It felt like the first time someone was taking me into consideration with regards to everything. He was the wrong partner for me, though. Maybe there is no "right" partner, as I seem to be pretty terrible in all things regarding relationships. I'll likely get into that soon enough.

I think people who were abused as kids either shut down emotionally, or amp it up. I guess I'm on the amp it up end. I'm hyper-sensitive. I'm easily hurt. It seems to be a huge problem for everyone in my life, and they all quickly lose patience, so inevitably they treat me poorly because what does it matter? I'll be hurt and disappointed no matter what they do. God, I feel so sad today.

I suppose sitting here and dwelling on it is making me feel worse, but I need it to be out of my head, and heart, because all I feel right now is physical pain in my chest. I wish I could be one of those cold, emotions-turned-off people. My dad is one. Turns out my boyfriend is, too. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense I was attracted to the BF. I think he was good at pretending to be this all-feeling creature when we met. It felt like we clicked so much on that level. Now I see him for what he is, which is cold and distant, exactly like the father I spent my entire life trying to get to open up to me, and let me in, and love me, and make me feel like I mattered. Now I'm 29, and doing the same thing with him. Sigh...

That all was entirely too depressing, and makes me sound like the most dreadful person in existence. I just made myself dinner. As I mentioned earlier, I've lost a ton of weight (approximately 200 pounds) and I've been trying to eat what I want within healthy limitations. It's kind of hard. Tonight I made myself what I'm convinced is the most delicious sandwich, a salad, and yogurt.

The salad is a big bowl filled with spring mix, a persian cucumber sliced, a quarter of a red bell pepper cut into chunks, a handful of baby carrots and a slight drizzle of Trader Joe's Balsalmic. The sandwich is an Orowheat Sandwich Thin (whole wheat) with a smear of Oasis Jalapeno Cilantro hummus on each side, a Boca Spicy Chick'n meatless patty, and a slice of pepperjack cheese. The Sandwich Thin is toasted. Oh, it's delicious. The yogurt is Siggi's Icelandic Style non-fat yogurt in Orange & Ginger. The ginger is quite prominent.

I'm trying to get into the habit of photographing my food for my health & wellness blog (http://purpleasics.blogspot.com/), but this may end up absorbing that blog anyway. Who knows. I certainly don't. I just need to have a place where I can actually talk about how I'm feeling without the person listening making me feel like a terrible, and/or insane person.

Sorry for the poor quality of the photo. It was taken with my Blackberry. I'll try to get in the habit of using my digital camera in the future so the food may actually end up looking appetizing.

This sandwich is delicious. Try it immediately. It's spicy and perfect. Yum.

In closing (tangent - I remember when I was taught how to properly write papers in junior high where you had an intro word in every paragraph -- First, Next, Then, In closing, etc. It was very formulaic. I notice myself forgetting how to write sometimes. It comes out very mechanical and awkward but I'll leave it!) Where were we? Oh yes, "in closing..." My dog is the absolute best dog in the entire world. I'd be an even bigger mess without her. She's the most amazing companion, and she's the only thing that makes my chest hurt a little less sometimes. She loves when I share carrots and apples with her. She loves cuddling up close when we sleep. She loves tummy rubs. She's happiest when we're walking in the sunshine. I love her so much.

Her eyes look glowingly rabid here, but I promise she's about the cutest dog-cat mutant you've ever seen.