Krissie: My Body

Photo on 1-9-14 at 8.50 AMI hope Alison pops in here later, but she shouldn’t feel pressured. I just loved the stuff she was talking about. But as you know, I post whether someone else is posting or not, depending on my mood, and there was a lot to think about in the responses to my Morbidly Obese (I see it in upper case but at least not every letter in upper case) post.
240.6, because I was sick yesterday. Nauseous, for no perceptible reason, and just nibbled in saltines and pretzels and a ginger cookie. My body told me I wanted something with just a little sugar, but not candy or anything, and ginger seemed good. I ate two small ones, and it seemed to help. Now to get rid of the rest of them because Richie won’t eat them.
Anyway. I’m okay with the modern scale and weighing myself daily, unlike conventional wisdom, because I don’t let the ups and downs bother me. Seriously, what human loses 8.8 pounds in a little more than a week? At my weight it’s easy to do, and after all these years of dieting I know how weight fluctuates. It just is. Continue reading

Krissie: Good Wolf/Bad Wolf

Photo on 11-15-13 at 10.22 AM 241.2 which is up .1 pound, which makes me happy because it means I’m actually going down. Well, I know I am. Main problem seems to be dizziness at night, and at other times of the day, which I assume is some form of hypoglycemia, so I need to push the protein. but I think I’ve had enough.
Yesterday — oatmeal with raspberries and brown sugar splenda. lunch – grilled chicken snack wrap at McD’s with limited bbq sauce. It’s one of the few non-fried, low calorie offerings at McD and I was on my way to the shrink at 1 and hadn’t eaten yet (I ate the oatmeal when I got home). Dinner was cajun catfish, roast cauliflower and quinoa. Plus grapes. Now shouldn’t that have been enough protein? Oh, I had a cup of oyster crackers too (5 oz. cup). Seems reasonable.

But I was really taken with Barbara’s Move It post on Wednesday — if you missed it go back and read it. She talked about listening to your body.
My body and I have a strange relationship. It betrayed me in the most fundamental way a body can betray a woman. I adored children, loved babysitting, wanted nothing more than half a dozen children (you can tell in my books — it’s often part of the epilogues – don’t hit me Jenny – of the ones I write). When I was in my late twenties I somehow knew I was going to have trouble conceiving. I never thought that I simply wouldn’t be able to.
We went through all sorts of things and procedures (though it was too early for IVF if you didn’t have tubal issues and my fallopians were just fine — it was my uterus and cervix that were screwy). And one cycle I got pregnant. I knew it immediately. Of course I got my period, thought it was late and I’m never late. And of course, no tests, no proof. But with approximately … 468 periods in my life (from 10 to 46) I knew if one single one felt different. (Actually there was a second one but I tried to ignore it since I’d been so shattered the first time).

And I’ve been terrified of cancer, but I suddenly got the sense that if I had cancer I would be fine. I would fight it and recover and be great. But I don’t know if those are listening to your body or part of an intermittent psychic ability (I’ve known certain bad things would happen, etc.).

I remember in my early thirties a friend was shocked that I couldn’t tell what my body was telling me. But I can’t. If I hurt I’m afraid I’m going to die, depending on my state of mind. I remember one day when I was depressed I was sure I had breast cancer (it was a long time ago — I have no idea why). I checked my breasts 4 times that day. (Almost as often as I checked my breasts the one cycle I was pregnant, and yes,the girls were very different when I was pregnant).

I went through a series of dizzy spells a few years ago, saw the heart specialist and had all sorts of tests and was convinced, absolutely convinced that something was terribly wrong. A little voice kept telling me that (or I kept telling me that). Turns out it was incredibly stupid — I couldn’t sing in the choir with bifocals. I couldn’t read music and look up and then down and then up with the lineless bifocals.

With the cyst that became borderline cancerous — sometimes I was panicky, but my doctor kept saying it was nothing, so I put it out of my mind and prepared to ignore it. It took almost seven years to suddenly become dangerous, but I was ready to cancel the appointment that sent the new doctor into overdrive, and I might have ignored it until it was too late (I’d already asked my regular doctor to do the gyn stuff and she said no, I needed a specialist). I got told so often (not by the new doctor) that it was nothing that I believed it.

Then we come to my knees. They’re weird. They’re fucked. Barbara had this great things where the Bad Wolf tells her “you’re too fat, that’s why your knees hurt, if you just lose weight everything will feel better” (or maybe that’s what my bad wolf says, but her BW and my BW are BFFs ) And I tell myself why get my knees replaced when my back hurts and my sciatic nerve hurts and my feet hurt? I should lose weight, and then maybe the other stuff will get better and it’ll make all that pain and rehab worthwhile. But it’s like waiting for your life to start until you lose weight. Your life is now (sez my Good Wolf).

And then, there’s my gut. I was terrified to have a colonoscopy because I was sure something dark and evil was lurking up there (mainly because I have irritable bowel syndrome so nothing is ever normal). And I was fine! A tiny polyp that they almost didn’t see.
But I’m feeling bloated, and I have a chronic ache from adhesions following the hysterectomy, but all sorts of other strange feelings going on. They told me to call if anything felt off (I’m down to two visits a year in follow up) but my CA125 was normal and they didn’t feel anything and I don’t know what my fucking body is telling me.  I feel dizzy and I think I’m dying.

I know I make myself sick when I push too hard. I know stress makes me sick (I’m pushing too hard and stressed right now). I just wish I could close my eyes and listen and know what my body is telling me.

But as I said at the beginning, and should have gotten over by now, my body betrayed me. Every month the blood of my dead babies washed away. Maybe I’m trying to punish it back?

I want to walk. Hell, I want to dance, at least a little bit. But another part is that I’ve done this to my knees by eating, and part of me wants to punish myself for it.

Good God, I am totally fucked when it comes to my body, aren’t I? And yet I can look at myself and think I’m gorgeous (sometimes). And yet I could never ever say I’m pretty (another really loaded word).

Well, now I feel totally nuts, dumping all this. But Barbara’s post really got me thinking, and clearly this is a huge area I have to work on, because it’s a real psychic and emotional tangle once I open Pandora’s Box.

Any suggestions on how to go about working on it? (and no, that’s not the blogger’s question to get comments, that’s me needing help).

Krissie: Games People Play

So we were watching the Property Brothers again (they’re 6’5 — love me some tall men) and I asked Jenny which one she’d pick. She said she couldn’t because they were both identical with the same sense of humor, the same everything. I said if I couldn’t have both at once I’d take Jonathan, the contractor, rather than Drew in his suits. But that’s me.
Anyway, she mentioned a gamed called Marry, Kill, Fuck. (Sorry if that word bothers you, but it is me, you know). Anyway, you pick three men and decide who you’d marry, kill etc. I couldn’t quite understand the concept so she said “Say, Bugs Bunny, Scrooge McDuck and Daffy Duck.” Ignoring the fact that she combined Looney Tunes with Disney, my first thought was that was simple. I wanted to fuck Bugs, and I’d kill Scrooge McDuck, and marrying Daffy would be entertaining.
Jenny said she’s marry Bugs and screw Daffy.
And then I started thinking about it. Some women would marry Scrooge for the money. And sex with Daffy would be all over the place.
So, final answer, I’d marry Scrooge McDuck for all the money, kill Daffy so he didn’t drive me crazy, and fuck Bugs (as long as the deal went that I keep having Bugs on the side, because life with Scrooge McDuck would be very deadly without Bugs to keep me happy).
Ah, the things we talk about as we crochet and quilt and watch HGTV. I guess the trick is go for a group, not a random selection. But you know, it’s hard to pick a group where you’d actually want to kill someone. Maybe Stab. Marry, Stab, Screw. That’s good.
So, another group of three. Vampire Diaries. Marry Damon, Stab (hey, even kill)Stefan, Screw Damon. Oh, that’s cheating. Marry Klaus, kill Stefan, fuck Damon as long as I could always have him.
You pick your three.
Another game is to pick your one cheat (there’s a name for the game but I forget). The one fantasy infidelity you and your husband agree on, like for him it’s Charlize Theron and for you it’s Johnny Depp.
I can’t play that one. Because it’s contingent on the Fantasy Fuck desperately wanting me (can’t imagine taking my clothes off and getting in bed with anyone who’s not so into me that everything about me is glorious). And I cannot imagine anyone feeling that way, and I have lots of imagination, let me tell you.
Which gets around not just to body issues, but to the whole thing of “pretty.” Which is still such a powerful issue for me, which, at 64, I ought to be over.
But Lena Horne was talking about how old women are still “juicy” at 72, and man, she looked it.
I’m still juicy at 64. But I simply can’t imagine Alan Rickman or any of the luscious men I fantasize over (with Richie’s kind acceptance) ever wanting me, even with the largest leap of faith.
Which is kind of a shame.
Anyway, back to the fun part. Pick a group of three. Who would you Marry, Kill, Fuck? Or Marry, Stab, Screw?

Krissie: Top and Bottom 6


Yesterday Cindy mentioned something she heard Jamie Lee Curtis talk about on some talk show. How you should figure out your top three physical attributes and your bottom three (no, your top favorite, not the stuff on your top and the stuff on your bottom — Jeesh). And Cindy mentioned how she could easily come up with twelve things she didn’t like but coming up with three good ones was hard.
So that’s our task for today, and the important part is the three good things. Maybe it’s almost as important to limit yourself to three bad.
So I’ll go first. That’s kind of my mission in life — to spill it all so other people are comfortable spilling. That’s what my minister told me years ago when we were in a study group about dealing with death. I break the ice with a big kersploosh. (No, he didn’t say that — that’s me). Continue reading

Krissie: Body Image


I put this photo up on the first day because for me it’s the epitome of fat and unattractive, so that as I evolved into the sleeker, stronger version there’d be a good comparison. And Jenny said “you should use that picture as your avatar, it’s gorgeous.”
I told her she was out of her mind. She insisted. Lani chimed in (“so pretty”). Richie chimed in over my shoulder (“beautiful”).
I don’t get it. Continue reading