Let’s get it right out there. I weighed this morning – the first time I’ve had the courage in 11 months. I weigh 258 pounds. That’s the most I’ve ever weighed in my life. At 5′9″, it means I have about 60-80 pounds to lose. But it’s a lot less than I thought I’d weigh. The last time I weighed, I was 250. I’d convinced myself I had gained 25 pounds, because I could see how much I’d gained whenever I caught my reflection in a store’s window. My reflection didn’t look like me. When I had a friend take photos for my Twitter profile (@twitter/blannie1), I had to crop the photo at the bottom, so my double chin didn’t show. The steady weight gain I’d experienced over the past 10 years has suddenly increased exponentially in the past two to three years.
As I reflect, it’s been a tough couple of years. One of my best friends, Philip, who was like a brother to me, waged an unsuccessful three year fight against kidney cancer. That represents at least 30 pounds of my weight gain. With Philip’s illness and death, I had to accept that I didn’t control the universe and no matter how much I loved someone, I couldn’t save them. I also had to accept the hard realization that information wasn’t the complete answer either. Prior to Philip’s death, I always believed if you did your research, you could find the answer that would fix your problem. Instead of dealing with those emotions and realizations, I ate. Mostly at night, mostly sweets, usually by myself.
During the same time Philip was fighting his battle, another good friend, Suzanne, went through three bouts of cancer, and finally succumbed. Suzanne was younger than me. And my cousin, Hank, went through a pretty horrific bone marrow transplant and died three months later. He was also younger than me. In the past three years, my own mortality and human frailty was beating me over the head.
In 2001, I moved my mom (now 89) and dad (now 91) up from central Illinois to live near me. Over the past couple of years, their caregiving needs have grown, particularly when my mom stopped driving three years ago. From that moment on, I felt the full weight of responsibility for bringing them food they enjoyed, getting them library books, taking them out to eat and to shop. I was their window to the world. I also took over managing their money, getting them to doctors, taking care of their mountain of insurance paperwork, and keeping them on an even emotional keel, through listening to their ups and downs. It all fell to me and on me. And whenever I felt overwhelmed, I ate to comfort myself.
Last December, my dad collapsed and was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. He was hospitalized for a week, then moved to the skilled nursing facility attached to the independent living facility where he and my mom live. During his month in skilled nursing, I maintained three separate households. I did my dad’s laundry, visited him daily, kept him in library books, and got him to his daily radiation and doctor’s appointments. I also took care of my mom, trying to keep her informed and adjusted to our new reality of a finite timeline to my dad’s life. I kept her in good library books to take her mind off the realities of the situation, took her out, and got her down to visit my dad. It was hectic, sad, and draining. I became the uber parent to my own parents. When my older brother came for a four day visit (his first in two years), he got sick, so I wound up taking care of him too.
I am everybody’s caregiver. It’s my life’s blessing and my curse. I’m the one people call when there’s an emergency. I’m the cat and dog sitter. I’m the counselor. I listen to everyone. I solve the world’s problems and leave my own at the bottom of the heap. I take care of everyone but myself.
Until now.
Over the past few months, I’ve scared myself with how out-of-shape I’ve become. Walking a flight of stairs winds me. When I walk any distance, my legs go numb off and on. Since I’m on individual insurance as a small business owner, I don’t even want to see a doctor about it, because I might lose my health insurance all together. When I went off COBRA, only two companies would even give me a quote, because of my weight, despite the fact that I’m healthier than anyone my own age that I know. I don’t smoke, rarely drink, am vegetarian, have normal blood pressure, and don’t take any medications at all — at 58 years of age. My mom and dad and brother are all still alive. But I’m obese. The first time I saw that on my medical chart, I about died – and of course, I went home and ate more. If you’re overweight, you’ve heard it all before and probably lived it yourself. Our stories are as varied and yet remarkably the same.
Over the past week, I’ve started to put myself back into the caregiving picture. Starting today, I publicly commit to turning my fabulous, not-to-be-duplicated, out-of-this-world caregiving skills towards giving care to MYSELF! I have purchased The Instinct Diet and I am ready to put my own emotional, spiritual, and physical needs first. I will use my caregiving skills on myself in the same laser-focused way I have done for so many people in my life.
If you’re a fellow caregiver and you’d like to join me in putting yourself first in whatever way works for you, I’d love to have you join me. There’s strength and support in numbers. I’ll be posting regular updates on how I’m doing. I figure this public forum will keep me honest and on-track. So today it begins. And I’m finally ready. WOOHOO!
