Posted by Katrina Roets at 1:59 PM
Thursday, June 2, 2016
Since I had to go grocery shopping anyway, I decided to go to the urgent care that's over near where I wanted to shop. I hadn't been there before and so I was a little bit surprised when they had me step on the scale in addition to all the usual tests. The number I saw there terrified me. I had suspected that I had been putting on weight again, but not nearly as much as that number showed. I am now at the highest weight I have ever been at. Then, when she took my blood pressure and that was also high, something just shifted inside of me. I have to do something. If I don't, I'm going to die. That may sound dramatic, but it really isn't. At the weight I'm at, my body has to work harder at every single thing it does. This puts wear and tear on everything...my heart, my lungs, my joints...and those things can wear out completely.
My doctor warned me back in August about my weight and my blood pressure. She wasn't particularly kind about it and it made me defensive. This time, nobody said a word. They just showed me the numbers when they came up. Then, I spent a week thinking about those numbers and what they mean to me. Those numbers are the reason that I have trouble climbing up or down stairs. They're the reason I won't volunteer to chaperone trips with the boys. They're the reason that I have some of the health problems that I do.
The numbers scared me, but they got me thinking and for that, I'm thankful. For too long, I've let pride get in the way of me getting help in this area. I've never had a healthy relationship with food. Growing up, food was a sanctuary of sorts. My grandmother used food as a way to show us that she loved us. I never walked into that house without an immediate offer of being fed being made. As I grew older, food became either a way to fill the holes in my emotional world or a control object. Soon I hope to write an entire post regarding my relationship with food. This isn't that post.
This post is about the decision that I've made. Twice now, my doctor has given me a referral to the Sparrow Hospital Weight Management Clinic. Twice, I let get pride get in the way. I told myself that I've lost weight before and that it's not rocket science. I can do this alone. The truth is that I can't do this alone. When I'm doing it alongside someone, I do okay. When I have that accountability. The problem with that comes along when the other person meets their goal or they don't take the time/make the effort to be my cheerleader. When that happens, it's easy to make excuses and let things slide.
It's time to stop the cycle. It's time to get the help that I need to understand what it is that I need to do. If what that is equals therapy, so be it. If what that is means surgery to help my body start helping itself again, so be it. So, I made the courageous decision to attend a meeting next week at the weight management clinic. It's just an introduction to what they do there so I can see if it's the right fit. I suspect that so long as insurance covers it, I'll be going there on a far more regular basis and finding my way to healthy again. After all, I want to be able to ride roller coasters with my boys, to travel comfortably on trips, and most importantly to live a long, long life where I watch all my dreams and hard work turn into something amazing.
I've also made the decision to keep this off of social media for the time being. I'll be posting about it here and over on Welcoming Weight Loss as things happen and I treasure any support that I get, but this is a private decision and that on some level, I need to do for me on my own.
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