My blogging stream has dwindled to a trickle, nay a mere droplet these days. I put this down to not so much writer's cramp but more the wake-up call I got a year ago that has caused me to make changes to my lifestyle. This was the result of a surgeon's knife style and me being in recovery from a fairly major operation - if I hear the words "it's a large wound" again I think I will disappear up the said cavity and seek insulation from that particular wall of sound.
I won't attempt to sugar-coat things but prior to arriving at A&E whilst aware of my mortality - death is the one thing we can all be confident of experiencing, I was fairly complacent about my own contribution to holding back the grim reaper and didn't quite realise I was in the ante-room and hadn't a hope of becoming a blade runner but a prime cut. Cut down in my prime.
My blood glucose was a heady (heading for a diabetic coma) 18.2 and I will spare you and me my BMI other than say in my case it was BMO (Bloody Morbidly Obese). Fat and happy? I doubt anyone is ever really; FAH tends to be a kind of compliment by others mostly when they are lulling me or others of my bulk I mean ilk, into a false sense of insecurity about our fatness. Believe me girth does not equal mirth, it's a security banquet that avoids the barbs reaching our enlarged hearts.
Thinking back, there were signs all was not well, I was losing weight but shovelling in a nightly supper of a wispa gold, tube of wine gums and other sugary delights, had tingling feet and a middle of the night trot to the pot which I put down to a sensitive bladder and the menopause. I'd been quite spared in the menopause department with none of the hot flushes, mood changes and thinning hair etc, so I was prepared to put up with a little night music. My partner and family were of course worried not least that I tended to go straight to bed on arriving home from work and had little energy for anything. I had in fact become Diabetty and at risk of death from anything from stroke, heart disease or anything in-between. I had quite literally, an inflated sense of my infallibility. I hadn't seen a Doctor for a decade because my weight had become my captor and despite shifting a substantial amount of ballast from around 2007 to 2015 I had a long way to go to love me slender.
Anyway, here I am alive and kicking. It took me until May 2016 to decide I was ready to join a gym and add exercise to my regimen of healthier eating (I've been veggie for years but liked bread, chips and all things carb) and looking after myself. My phobia of the health care profession had long since disappeared - having to display one's nether regions to nurses daily has desensitized me from my fears and I found out that they wanted to care for me and help me get well, not be repelled by my body size or lecture me.
I used to love swimming but hadn't really swam for 40 plus years; now I enjoy swimming 10 lengths of the pool and have learned to swim under water and invested in a nose-clip and goggles. I bought a swim dress wore it once and now have a leg suit - this doesn't hide my apron i.e. the apron of loose skin and fat that will never quite tighten up but I don't care, I don't want to swim wearing a gym-slip and if I offend your eyes too bad. I joined the gym and thought I would use it for swimming but I actually enjoy exercising more than swimming - I have a personal trainer and have undertaken high-low intensity training, treadmill and exercise back and some floor exercises for my core. I go every other day and can honestly say I really get a kick out of it and it lifts my mood. I still have the underarm tripe awnings that come with major weight loss but my arms and legs have tone and I am stronger both physically and mentally.
Sometimes I ask myself why I bother, I'm 60, I should just enjoy the time I have left and then I remind myself that there are other people who don't get the chance to make the choice I had.
