Refuse To Regain

Paging Stuart Smalley…

By Lynn Haraldson-Bering

Barbara will be home from Argentina soon, but in the meantime, here’s another one of my musings.

It struck me yesterday, as I was worrying myself to near nail-biting, that just because I lost weight, I didn’t lose my core insecurities. I know I’ve preached over and over again here on this blog and elsewhere that losing weight doesn’t solve our problems, but once in awhile I forget. OK, so a lot of times I forget. Or maybe I just hope it will be true just this one time. But it never is.

What had my undies in a bundle had to do with another person’s critique of my work. I was convinced he thought it was awful, dreadful, the worst stuff he’s ever read, subsequently making me the most awful, dreadful, worst person ever. Why? Because I hadn’t heard back from him during that sliver of time in which my head isn’t thinking up negative, nasty (paranoid?) stuff about myself quite yet. Past that time limit, though, my head has a field day of whoop-ass. It starts thinking things like, “Silence means you’re bad! It has to! What other explanation could there be?”

Never mind that the person I asked to look at my work has a job and kids, or that maybe something was going on in his life that left him unable to get back to me right away to assure my fragile (still fat-girl) ego that I’m OK. This all slapped me in the face when we finally got a chance to talk yesterday, and it was like talking to an old friend, same as it ever was. I felt like a twit for being so frazzled.

Where’s Stuart Smalley when I need him! (Other than trying to get seated as the new senator from Minnesota? LOL) Stuart is one of my all-time favorite Saturday Night Live characters. He is the creation of Al Franken, who starred in the 1995 movie “Stuart Saves His Family.” I thought I’d pass on some of Stuart’s more memorable quotes (thanks to Internet Movie Database) to end the week on a lighter note. Have a great weekend!

[Opening of Stuart's show "Daily Affirmations"]
Stuart Smalley: I deserve good things, I am entitled to my share of happiness. I refuse to beat myself up. I am an attractive person. I am fun to be with.
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Stuart Smalley: But today, I've decided to take a risk, and wear a new sweater. It was sent to me by a recovering sex addict, Melissa D., who knitted it herself; she said it gave her something to do with her hands.
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Stuart Smalley: I'm going to die homeless and penniless. I'm still twenty-five pounds overweight. No one will ever love me. I could just kill myself.
Julia: Stuart, that is just "stinkin' thinkin'."
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[Stuart serves a patron in a restaurant]
Stuart Smalley: Have you had enough time to look at the menu?
Patron: I've had enough time to memorize the menu.
Stuart Smalley: I'm sorry, I'm having a personal crisis. Can I take your order?
Patron: For my wife, the penne arriviata; I will try the oso buko.
Stuart Smalley: You know, the oso buko is extremely fatty. You might want to try...
Patron: I'll TRY the oso buko. And also the mixed baby field greens.
Stuart Smalley: Lo-cal vinaigrette?
Patron: Creamy Caesar.
Stuart Smalley: On the side?
Patron: ON THE SALAD.
Stuart Smalley: Thank you.
Patron: And I'd like another double-scotch.
Stuart Smalley: [smiling] No.
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[Stuart reads a fan letter]
Stuart Smalley: "Dear Stuart, your show gave me the courage to feel my feelings, and to feel my feelings about my feelings, and my feelings about my feelings about my feelings. And my...”
[Stuart skips ahead]
Stuart Smalley: "God bless you, Amanda Q."
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Stuart Smalley: [narrating] When the big night finally arrived, Dad had a new nickname for me.
Dad Smalley: Here we go. Is Sir Eat-A-Lot getting a little nervous?
Young Donnie: Ha, ha, ha. "Sir Eat-A-Lot."
Stuart Smalley: [narrating] I was already nostalgic for "Waste of Space."
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[Stuart is trying to calm his overweight sister Jodie on the phone]
Stuart Smalley: Okay, Jodie, I would never ordinarily say this, but... is there any way you can get to a pound cake?
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Stuart Smalley: I want you to look in that mirror, and I want you to repeat after me: "I am a worthy human being."
Mea C.: [barely audible] I am a worthy human being.
Stuart Smalley: Okay, I really couldn't hear you. Try again.
Mea C.: I am a worthy human being?
Stuart Smalley: No, Mia, it's not a question. Try it again.
Mea C.: I am... I'm sorry, what is the second part?
Stuart Smalley: Worthy human being. I am a worth human being. Just say it.
Mea C.: I'm sorry, am I saying it to you, or to myself?
Stuart Smalley: Just say it. I am a worthy human being.
Mea C.: I am a worthy human being.
Stuart Smalley: Okay, louder.
Mea C.: I am a worthy human being.
Stuart Smalley: Mean it.
Mea C.: I am a worthy human being.
Stuart Smalley: Believe it.
Mea C.: [screams] I HATE YOU, MOM.
[low]
Mea C.: Sorry.
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Stuart Smalley: So, basically, the strategy is: you get me to lie, because if I don't, everyone goes to jail for perjury?
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Stuart Smalley: Because what they say is true - it's easier to put on slippers than to carpet the whole world.
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Stuart Smalley: When it comes to partying, no one gets down like people in recovery.
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Stuart Smalley: [narrating] My father grew up in the Great Depression - his mother's.
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Stuart Smalley: [despairing] Listen to me. I'm should-ing all over myself.

Now vs. Then

By Lynn Haraldson-Bering

Continuing on with my one-woman show while Barbara’s in Argentina (I’m trying not to think about it being summer there as we face 6-10 inches of snow and ice in the next 24 hours), I thought I’d start a conversation with you about what you do now that you didn’t or couldn’t do before you lost or started to lose weight.

After reading Lyn’s blog entry, “What I Missed,” over at Escape From Obesity, I started thinking about some of the things I do now that I didn’t do or couldn’t do well at 300 pounds, many of which seem rote anymore. This was a good exercise for me, and one I need to do more often because I do NOT want to become complacent.

Stairs are a good example. At my heaviest, I lived in a 19th-century general store that housed my antiques business. I lived upstairs in the second-floor apartment. Every night I’d go “home,” up 19 stairs from the back room the mudroom. From the bottom, I’d look up the staircase to the doorway at the top, draw a deep breath, grab the metal railing, and begin my slow, labored ascent, counting stairs as I went. My knees crunched, hips popped and lower back burned. By the time I walked through the doorway, my head was pounding and I could barely breathe. Then I’d sit down on the closest chair and tell myself, “That wasn’t so bad.”

But it was that bad. And eventually I figured out how bad it was and did something about it, only now I  forget about those days because climbing stairs isn’t a big deal anymore. Not that I have to stop and celebrate weight loss every time I face a staircase, but it wouldn’t hurt me to be a little more mindful of where I came from.

I live in a different house now, but I still have lots of stairs to climb. Today when I did a load of laundry, I went up the stairs to get the dirty clothes, went down to the basement, then back to the first floor, then back down to the basement to put the wash in the dryer, then back upstairs, then back downstairs when the dryer was done, brought the clothes up to the second floor and came back down to the first floor. I did this all without once thinking, “God, how will I manage to climb all those stairs?” That’s what I used to do. And when I think about all the time I spent mentally preparing myself to climb stairs, all the time I spent procrastinating and denying my weight and the things it prevented me from doing or doing well, I get a little sad. I don’t ever want to spend my time in that mental quagmire again. It was a very desperate and frustrating place.

In her book, “The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl,” Shauna Reid writes about how, after losing 175 pounds, she had a massage. And she cried the whole time. “Six years ago I couldn’t bear to look at myself in the mirror, but now I felt proud. Every lump and bump of my body belonged to me and told the story of where I’d been. The emotions finally swam to the surface and poured out of my skin. So I cried, great honking sobs of joy and relief and release.”

Climbing stairs, taking a bath, tying my shoes, shaving my legs, walking through snow, sitting on any available chair despite its size…these are thing that make me proud, make me cry a little inside. I don’t want to take these things for granted.

Your turn. What do you do now, big or small, that remind you of where you came from? What keeps you humble? Leave a comment or send an email. I look forward to your responses.

Skinny Jeans

By Lynn Haraldson-Bering

I’ve noticed an evolutionary shift in my attitude toward clothing over the last several years. When I was morbidly obese, clothing’s only function was to hide me, an impossible task given my 47-inch waistline and 57-inch hips. Back then, I shopped online and hoped for the best. But as I got smaller, I started to view clothing as less functional and more of an extension of my personality. I even dared to dress in things beyond my signature color, black.

This shift started before I reached goal, at around 180 pounds, when I dared to go sleeveless for the first time in several years. At around 170, I tucked my shirts into my pants. And then at 145, I bought a tankini. It felt almost scandalous!

However, as I tried on and bought various kinds of dresses, shirts, capris and undergarments, my one clothing nemesis continued to be jeans. I’d worn them once in awhile during those times in my life when I weighed in the 100s, but never when I weighed more than 200. In my mind, jeans magnified each of my waist-down flaws – loose skin, flat butt, wide hips, saddlebags, too-long legs…the list went on and on. I wore jeans, but reluctantly and not very often.

Then came "Oprah" and my worst possible jeans nightmare.

Standing half naked in a dressing room in Macy’s, I heard a producer explain to the stylist working with me that the executive producers wanted me in “skinny jeans.”

Skinny what? I thought. You can see how often I read "Vogue."

Just the word “skinny” made me shudder, let alone pairing it with the word “jeans.” “Skinny” was the girl in junior high who was teased relentlessly for having small breasts. “Skinny” was the girl in my church suffering from anorexia. “Skinny” was the fashion model who ate nothing but rice cakes. “Skinny” was unhealthy. “Skinny” wasn’t normal. “Skinny” was a verbal weapon. Even when I weighed 300 pounds I didn’t want to be “skinny.”

As I stared at hanger after hanger of jeans with thigh openings small enough to fit my arms through and waists so low I’d have to have a Brazilian, I said to my stylist, Michael, “You want MY butt and thighs and loose skin in THOSE pants?”

I assumed they’d put me in a knee-length dress with a pair of tights or maybe a pair of stretchy dress pants with a jacket. But jeans? Especially jeans that looked like they belonged on a 6-foot-tall model? I don’t think so…

I was honestly dejected, and fought hard against the urge to grab my purse, hail a cab, and head to O’Hare. I was still new to maintenance and my eyes hadn’t caught up to the image in the mirror. In my mind, I was not thin enough to pull off jeans, let alone walk out on stage in front of millions of people wearing them. I’d be a fool, I just knew it, and I wanted to cry.

But I didn’t. I obediently pulled (and I mean I literally PULLED) on the first pair of jeans. They were a little low and I told Michael I wasn’t comfortable with my stomach skin folding over the top. This was a huge evolutionary moment for me, almost as big as the Great Vowel Shift. First, I was trying on clothing in front of someone (a man, no less) other than my husband, children or closest friends; and second, I was voicing my concerns and needs, something I hadn’t done in…well…almost ever.

A few pairs later, I tried on a some black skinny jeans with a higher waist that actually felt comfortable. I freely admit I didn’t love them and they were definitely not “me” (and when I glanced at the price tag, I nearly choked before I remembered I wasn’t paying for them…phew!), but they were the jeans the producers chose and I made my TV debut in. They now live (and have since October 2007) in the back of my closet.

That whole experience made me determined to find a pair of jeans that worked for me – jeans  that I would love and wear in public. And I found them. At Macy’s, of all places, and in California right before I met Michael the Oprah stylist for lunch. How’s that for coincidence? Or perhaps it was fate. Either way, I found a pair of Guess jeans for a quarter of the price of the “7” jeans and…I liked them. No, I didn’t just like them. I loved them. They made me feel thin and sexy. They hugged my thighs and somehow didn’t lose their shape around my non-existent butt. I felt like I’d conquered the Mount Everest of personal clothing choices.

Then came last November when I pulled on my beloved jeans and really felt the 5- to 6-pound pre-holiday gain that had crept on over the summer. Nothing reminds you that you gained weight faster than a tight pair of jeans. And I mean tight. Those suckers are NOT forgiving in any way. I didn’t realize 133 pounds vs. 127 is very different than 300 vs. 294. After putting them on and feeling the waistline press too far into my stomach, I peeled them off and vowed to lose the poundage. I did and have been holding steady right around 127 for about six weeks. Still, I was reluctant to try on the tight SOBs until yesterday.

Why yesterday? Because yesterday I felt optimistic. I had a lunch date with my daughter and I was very happy to be getting away for a few hours – away from my computer and writing and the dogs and the house and my little town. I was so happy and optimistic that I decided to give the jeans another try. And this time they fit, just like they had when I bought them.

Of course this jeans moment didn’t solve the world’s problems, but I made another in-road into solving my self-esteem issues. That’s something, at least in my world.

I’m not sure what’s next in this clothing evolution, but I’m sure it will occur concurrently with my self-esteem evolution. The pink sweater I wore today is testimony to my change in attitude. Me in pink? “Surely you’ll look like an elephant or the underbelly of a rhino!” said the old me. But no more. I’ll wear what’s comfortable, certainly, but I won’t limit myself to functional clothing only. I’m no longer about dressing for function. I’m dressing for self-expression.

(However, if you see me in sweatpants and a thermal shirt and thick fuzzy slippers? Remember, that’s part of my evolution, too.)

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NOTE: Barbara’s radio interview with Family Matters Radio hosts Caroline Kruse and Jacquie Chakirelis is now online. Click here to listen.

Still Flinching After All These Years

By Lynn Haraldson-Bering

My husband and I adopted our dog Jake 9 years ago from a shelter. He was a stray 2-year-old, pure-bred Golden Retriever who befriended by some college guys working at the local beer distributer. They nicknamed him “Beer Dog.”

Jake had kennel cough and was losing his hair. He was hyper, underweight, and smelled bad. He wasn’t neutered. Our vet put him on a bunch of medications and removed his manly parts, then Larry and I started the process of getting to know Jake.

One thing we noticed was that Jake flinched when we reached out to pet him. He lowered his head and winced his eyes when he saw our hand near his head, a clear indication that someone hit him regularly. He never once bared his teeth or defended himself as we worked to gain his trust, but 9 years later, Jake still flinches sometimes when someone reaches out to pet him.

Last night I was playing an online word game with my daughter, Cassie. We were vegging on the couch, each with a laptop on our laps. As we played, I said things like, “I’m such an idiot!” and “How could I not get that word?” and “What’s wrong with me? I’m so stupid!” At the end of the game, Cassie asked me, “Why are you so hard on yourself?”

I stared at her like I’d been hit over the head with a two-by-four. I’m hard on myself because I’m innately insecure. I chastise what I feel are my shortcomings.

I remembered I did the same thing earlier in the day when I got to Cassie’s to take over Claire-sitting detail. I said to my other daughter, Carlene, “I am so fat!”

Carlene sighed and said, “Well, you might feel fat, but you’re not.”

How many times has she told me that over the last few years? Ten? A hundred? A thousand? Probably a thousand. I hadn’t done the math until Cassie asked me why I was so hard on myself for not being able to unscramble a few words in a computer game.

Even after the long, arduous task of losing weight, and (in an almost banal way) learning to “accept” and “love” myself, there are moments when I’m still that self-abuser. It’s an unconscious response to something my mind nakedly perceives as stupid or bad or dumb. It’s a raw response, not thought out in the least.

Then someone like my daughter comes around and says, “Why are you doing that?”

“Beer Dog” still flinches when a hand reaches out to give him love. I still flinch when good stuff is handed to me. Unlike Jake, I’m the abused AND the abuser.

Cassie plays word games for the fun of playing. I play as a way to measure how “smart” I am. If she doesn’t figure out a word, she laughs. If she loses, she laughs. If she wins, she doesn’t boast. Cassie knows she’s intelligent and doesn’t gauge it by some computer game. She is one of the most self-assured people I know. And here’s the kicker: I raised her!

I raised Carlene, too. TWO astoundingly clear-thinking girls. When Carlene saw me yesterday, she didn’t say, “God, Mom, you’re a cow!” It wasn’t even part of her consciousness. That was my thought and my talk. That was the voice in my head that still, STILL, after two years, tells me I’m not quite good enough. It’s the voice that says I have yet to live up to some vague personal expectation.

So….in this era of national change…that’s what I’m pledging to do: To figure out what that impossible personal expectation is and to change it. Losing weight, I was fueled by the desire to change and to make that change permanent. Now that I’m here, I’m still at a loss as to what it is that I really truly want and need from my body.

When I stood at the sink doing dishes, I saw my reflection in the window. I saw the outline of my collar bones and the muscles below. I stopped rinsing and thought, “I’ve worked hard.” Then I heard, “Yeah, well, how long will it last? You’ll screw it up like you always do.”

I don’t live daily with this harsh voice. But when it’s there I need to address it. When I hear it, I need to remind myself that I haven’t “screwed up” for two years, and that every day I vow not to screw it up. And if I do screw up, I’ll be OK. If I eat something off my plan or if I don’t exercise, if I still flinch at the scale or my reflection or my perception of what I think I look like, I’m still a good person, an honest person, a person who knows how to get back on track.

Jake trusts me, for the most part. Sometimes his past tells him to be cautious.

I need to trust me, even when my past tells me to be cautious.

Maintenance, at least for me, truly is one day at a time.

Stand and Deliver

By Barbara Berkeley

We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence then, is not an act, but a habit.” Aristotle

Long, long ago, in that distant time period before blogging, a food writer for our local newspaper wrote a first-of-the-year column. Seems that he’d gained quite a bit of weight as a result of all that dining and reviewing and he was determined to take it off. There was the usual worry about health issues and the obligate promise to stay focused. The piece also included a somewhat angry paragraph in which the would-be dieter stated that he refused to tell anyone what he currently weighed, nor did he plan to tell anyone how much he was losing. Basically, he was stating his intention to diet and we wouldn’t hear anymore about it until the deed was done.

At the time, I thought that the public proclamation of his problem coupled with his unwillingness to share his weight loss experience was odd. After all, if he didn’t want the greater Cleveland metropolitan area to know he was on a diet, he had only to lift his fingers from the keyboard. He announced his weight loss plans only to go underground with them immediately. I remember sending him an email with the unsolicited (and I’m sure unwanted) advice that he write about his efforts. I still think it would have been a good idea. As the number of weight-loss blogs swells, we are learning the value of publicly proclaiming our goals and of recruiting interested bystanders as cheerleaders and confidantes. The food writer never responded to me and, I am reasonably certain, never lost his weight.

I’ve frequently thought about such “underground dieters” over the years. It’s not uncommon for patients who see me to tell me that they plan on concealing their weight loss efforts from those around them. “It’s none of their business,” they say. Or, “I don’t want to be the focus of gossip.” While these or other issues (such as embarrassment or fear of failure) may be reasonable concerns, I hate to see people abandon as powerful a tool for success as public goal-setting.

Recently, I came across an online article that crystallized my feelings about motivation better than I ever could have. It is from the excellent motivational site, ZenHabits. Click here to read it. This post focuses on two principle secrets of motivation: declaring yourself in public and finding enjoyment somewhere in your chosen task. I realized after reading this that the behaviors I had been suggesting to clients incorporated just these principles…I just had not realized the two themes that linked them. Examples:

1. I advise people to create an “athletic identity” and encourage those I work with to go beyond simply exercising. I want other people to start thinking of them as people who work out. (Public pressure)

2. I tell clients to fall in love with exercise. This is simply another way of saying to find the joyful part of something that you might otherwise see as a burden.

3. I advocate that maintainers mentor others. It's another way of extending the life of your public persona as a weight maintainer. Stay visible and your commitment to a new way of life will remain visible as well.

4. I recommend staying in a support environment. In other words, continuing to state your goal publicly.

5. I ask dieters to find joy in “huge bowls of salad” and “big pieces of fruit." Finding the fun part of eating well can make it just as enjoyable as eating badly used to be.

As you know, I am fond of telling POWs (Previously OverWeight) to think of themselves as “warriors” – solitary fighters for health in a land that’s gone pretty much mad. We all need to find the hooks that help us to go on, that keep us motivated. To wage your best war, don’t be afraid to publicly declare the terms of the battle and to look for ways to enjoy the fight!

Doctor Phobia - Lynn's Response

By Lynn Haraldson-Bering

When I weighed 139 pounds for five minutes back in 1991, a doctor told me to lose weight. I was pretty disheartened with his diagnosis, especially since I’d just lost 50 pounds and was feeling really good about myself.

So what did I do? Did I step back and look realistically at the situation? Assess what I thought was best for me in light of what he thought was best for me? Nope. I tried for a few more weeks to lose more weight, and when the scale didn’t move, I beat myself up and gave up. I eventually gained it (and an extra 100) back.

This enormous gain wasn’t that doctor’s fault. Back then, I had a hierarchical view of the doctor-patient relationship. Doctors were always right and I knew nothing. I thought I always had to take their advice because, well, they were doctors and knew everything. I never questioned what they said or sought a second opinion. I allowed them to intimidate me because I lacked self esteem and respect for myself.

I remember going to an urgent care clinic when my lungs hurt and couldn’t stop coughing. I’d been sick for two weeks, but I refused to go to my regular physician because he’d make me step on the scale and tell me to lose weight. The doctor at urgent care didn’t care what I weighed. He just treated my bronchitis and chided me for not coming in sooner because I could have developed pneumonia. I had no problem being scolded for not taking care of my lungs, but I always felt like crap whenever a doctor brought up my weight. I always felt like I was a bad person for being fat. It took me years to get over that. Years of therapy, actually. Until I cared about myself, I based most of my self-esteem on what others, particularly doctors, thought of me. 

As Barbara said in her blog, Doctor Phobia, “Our knowledge of the body has become so vast that it has become nearly impossible for any one person to treat all of its parts. Yet in dividing up our bodies into the tiny territories of specialists, we’ve lost the overriding personal relationship that once defined a patient’s connection to his doctor.”

This doesn’t bode well for a person with doctor phobia, and I ache for people with horror stories and a reluctance to go to a doctor because of such negative experiences. But take it from someone who’s been there. If I hadn’t gotten over my fear (at least for the most part), I wouldn’t be as healthy as I am today.

Barbara also said: “There is no reason to be afraid of someone who has your best interests at heart.”

By rethinking the doctor-patient relationship, I’ve been able to see that no matter how insensitive they might seem, most doctors really do have our best interests at heart. I just had to get past the sting of their delivery and realize that what made me wince were my self-esteem issues. I allowed doctors to make me feel bad, even though that (probably) wasn’t their intent. I took their words far too personally. My darkest fear? That they were right and I had to change something about myself. Deep down, that was the problem. I didn’t think I could change.

When my arm doctor diagnosed a torn rotator cuff in my right arm in September 2008, I wrote about it. It’s taken me years to be my own best friend – in sickness and in health – and rereading that blog reminded me of how I used to “protect” myself, when really I was hurting myself by not seeking medical attention when warranted. I hope some of you find yourselves in my words or will find strength in them, knowing you get to decide what’s right for you. Your health is the most important thing you have. It’s worth protecting and standing up for.

I leave you with: “I’m The Decider.”

Some people’s bodies are temples. Mine is a drunken barroom with body parts going to hell like drunk people falling off bar stools.

My toes, feet, knees, wrists, elbows and now my shoulder with arthritis and a nearly full rotator cuff tear and biceps tendonitis – all of them are in some degree of disrepair. I feel like an old house with drafty windows and crumbling drywall. I need to get ahead of the destruction and find a way to stop or slow whatever is going on inside my joints.

I hate surgery and the thought of surgery and everything about surgery. It scares me. And no one has anything good to say about rotator cuff surgery. Everyone I’ve talked to – doctors, patients, relatives and friends of people who’ve had the surgery – say it’s extremely painful with a long and difficult rehab. 

A friend suggested that many of these stories could be like the ones we heard while pregnant, of how horrible childbirth was. They might be, but I’d sure like to hear from someone, anyone, who had a good experience with rotator cuff surgery and recovery.

Part of me wants to say forget it. Rotator cuff tears are not life threatening and the worse that could happen is that I lose the use of my shoulder. Guess what? I already can’t use my wrists and elbows the way they were intended so what’s the difference if I can’t use my shoulder? I can’t lift much weight the way it is. I have to be careful how I twist jars open, chop food, use a mouse, type, feed myself, wash my hair and the list goes on and on. So big deal if I become the Gimpy Grandma who can’t lift her arm above her head? I’m still me. I’m still a thinking, feeling, dreaming human being who can find ways other than using my shoulder to express myself.

I realize doctors want to heal. They want to make us feel better. My shoulder guy is a very nice guy, but he said, and I quote, “Lynn, you’re 44 with the shoulder of a 70-year-old…I don’t know what to tell you…I can let your decision go to not do something about your wrists just now (NOTE: he recommends a full fusion of both, eliminating my ability to move them in any direction), but I can’t let this injury go.”

Um, Mr. Doctor? Yeah, the last time I checked I, ME, I was the one in charge of what I do and not do. I am, to use my favorite Bushism, The Decider.

My doctor has no choice in this matter. He’ll have to “let it go” if I decide to let it go. He can choose not to see me as a patient anymore if I don’t take his medical advice, but he doesn’t get to tell me what to do.

Maybe that’s what’s at the heart of what I’m feeling. Like I don’t have a choice. Like everything about my body is being decided for me. Like I’m being talked about in the third person.

I don’t want to be the Bionic Woman just yet. Something tells me it’s not time. I need to sit back and regroup. Collect my thoughts. Investigate. Learn. Most of all, I want to enjoy the anticipation of my grandbaby’s arrival in five weeks. That’s gotten muddled in all this negative surgery talk, all this fear. I get my thoughts tightly wound into a ball that then behaves like a skipped record. Time to lift the needle. Time to turn off the turntable. Time to turn fear into power.

I might be crumbling to pieces like an old brick stoop, my body might not be the temple I desire, but I still am The Decider.  

Doctor-Phobia: Barbara Responds

By Barbara Berkeley

I’m trying to remember just when it was that people started to develop doctor-phobia. When I was a kid, my doctor was someone who was slightly scary, but mostly because he was from a different social class. He had nice suits, looked rotundly well-fed, and drove a Cadillac. Doctors were different then. They played golf and were off on Wednesdays, while our fathers worked in stores, factories and offices and always seemed short of cash.

On the other hand, my doctor was loved. I remember lying in my bed, hot with fever and waiting for the doorbell to ring. Dr. Shapiro would burst into the house full of a jovial bluster. “I’m coming, monkey!” he would shout as he bounded up the steps. Then he would smell like rubbing alcohol and his hands would be clean and slightly red from washing. His round face would be even larger and pinker than it seemed in the office with big tortoise shell glasses that covered most of this face. His magnified eyes, a watery blue, would peer at me excitedly. All would soon be well, his very presence shouted. After a bit of poking and prodding and a peek at my eardrums, I would get a shot of penicillin and be gifted with a little rubber monster with wiggly hands that could sit over the eraser on a pencil. Within a day, I would certainly be cured.

Dr. Shapiro did not simply make house calls and give shots. When I broke my leg in five places at the Roosevelt Stadium ice skating rink, it was Dr. Shapiro who set the bone. Months later, it was Dr. Shapiro who cut off the cast, got me off crutches and helped me to start walking again. Dr. Shapiro was the cardiologist who diagnosed and treated my father’s heart attack. He was the psychiatrist who dealt with anxiety and depression. He was the gynecologist who did PAP smears. He was the radiologist who read xrays. And, perhaps more than any of that, he was the calming, reassuring presence that confirmed that, yes, we were in good health once more.

Where has Dr. Shapiro gone? His kind of medicine has been erased and we all miss him. To some extent, his demise was inevitable. Our knowledge of the body has become so vast that it has become nearly impossible for any one person to treat all of its parts. Yet in dividing up our bodies into the tiny territories of specialists, we’ve lost the overriding personal relationship that once defined a patient’s connection to his doctor. We need to be whole, to be taken care of as a whole being. And something deep within us rejects being cared for as if we were a bunch of disconnected provinces.

Another problem has arisen as a result of advanced medical technology. In Dr. Shapiro’s day, you might expect to be sentenced to the dreaded “shot,” but that was about the worst outcome of any visit. Today, we live in fear that doctors will tell us that we need to spend an hour and a half in a claustrophobic, noisy, magnetic tube or to undergo cardiac catheterization or have this or that body part biopsied. We fear the result of our yearly mammogram, the report of our PAP smear. A visit to the doctor seems to have become a moment of judgement in which an often distant figure decides our fate. Drugs? Tests? Diagnosis? It all seems pretty frightening coming from someone we may not know very well anymore.

But there’s another side to this story and that’s the doctor’s side. As much as patients have lost, there’s just as much missing for those of us sitting behind the desk. A doctor’s power has always come more from the laying on of hands than from any specific knowledge, and in order to heal, a doctor has to have a patient’s respect and trust. When fancy tests replace the stethoscope, the gentle hand, and the listening ear, there is no room for a healing relationship to develop.

From the doctor’s point of view, there has also been a change in the very profile of illness. So much of our modern disease, particularly as we live longer, is tied to the way we live. Suddenly, doctors find themselves in new territory. They can either add drug after drug or they can try to counsel patients about changing the way they approach life. Medical school has ill prepared them for this task and thus many doctors are stuck giving the stilted, uncomfortable advice our commenters have described.

So, what to do? For the patient, I would suggest that good medicine, well-practiced, remains enormously valuable to your health. There is no reason to be afraid of someone who has your best interests at heart. So your job is to find that person. Since you are the consumer, I would suggest that you interview a number of doctors before you choose one. Make sure that wellness is as important to your physician as it is to you. Make sure, too, that your doctor will do everything possible to treat you as naturally as possible. Drugs are terrific, but only after lifestyle interventions have failed or when there are no other choices.

For the doctor, well…I can only speak for myself. I try to spend as much time with my patients as I can. I try to remember to touch them, to find out about their families and to worry about them. I try to keep in mind the fact that practicing medicine is an incredible privilege because of the access it gives you to people’s bodies and emotions. And I try to remember that facing a doctor can be scary at times.

On balance, I guess I’m grateful that I can rely on the latest CAT scan, the best MRI, the most detailed digital mammogram. But how I miss the jiggly little monster that used to sit atop my pencil.

Questions From Readers to Readers: Going to the Doctor

Time once again to ask you to answer a question for a reader. This month’s Questions from Readers to Readers comes from Trixie who actually posted this question in a blog I’d written over on personal weight site, Lynn’s Weigh, about a doctor who told his patients he hoped they gained weight over the holidays! Insane. Anyway, Trixie wrote:

“(T)his post makes me even more nervous to go back to the doctor. I honestly haven't been to a physician in about 7 years (OB-GYN, yes). I had such bad experiences when I was overweight with doctors being rude and insensitive and telling me that the actresses on magazine covers were "healthy" and should be my role models (hello, Hollywood is totally crazy!) that I don't trust them. Now that I've reached and maintained at my goal I'm scared to go back because I'm still at the upper end of the weight chart for my height and I really don't want some, excuse me, a**, telling me I NEED to lose more weight. I know that I might ultimately be doing more harm than good to myself by avoiding doctors, but I just don't know if I can put myself through it, or trust anything they say if they can't respect my weight. Does anyone else feel like this about doctors?”

This is a universal question for all stages of weight: obese, overweight, comfortable and maintaining. How do you find a doctor you’re comfortable with? How do you talk to a new doctor? How do you talk to your current doctor? What’s your relationship?

Send your answer via a comment or through email to refusetoregain@gmail.com. You can also submit a YouTube video and we’ll embed it into the blog post for reader comments.

Interesting topic. Let’s hear what you have to say. 

Here are a few comments we've received via email:

From Lynette: I would like to add a comment about finding doctors who will work in a supportive, compassionate way with those of us who live  the journey of health/healthy weight/maintanance.

1. Ask your friends for a referral to a Dr. who they have had a positive, professional relationship. Interview Drs. and be very clear about your goals, expectations and past experience. Find a Dr. who will work with you and not beat you up.

2.  Take back your power!  For too long I gave away my own sense of what was right for me because I always felt that since I was and obese person I had no rights.  No right to speak up and to defend myself and my health.  Again be very clear about your goals. I found a Dr. who worked with me at my heaviest weight, while I had stopped dieting and was working with a therapist.  He helped me and supported my goal of a healthy weight. I  found him to be supportive and compassionate, so I know that there are good Drs. out there! 

3. Accept where you are------I mean really accept it. Once I was able to accept myself with the same compassion I expected from a Dr, things began to turn around.

4.  Accept that our culture is screwed up when it comes to women and weight, diets and cultural expectations. Doctors are human and they believe the same junk I did until I changed my thinking. We as a society spend millions of dollars for weight loss solutions that don't work to only repeat the process. Find your own balance and ground around the whole diet and maintanance thing.

5.  I refuse to  be weighed in each time I went to the doctor.  It took the pressure off of me and my doctor was fine with it.

6.  Log on to Body Positive web site. They list practitioners who have a much balanced, non-judgemental approach to weight and health. 

These are a few ideas that helped me throught this tough issue. Hope some of these are helpful.

From Elli: Oh my gosh I can so identify with what Trixie said! And thank you thank you thank you for posting her comments to share with us! I feel like I'm not the only one in the world with this weird thing about going to the doctor anymore. Wow. What a revelation. Because most people have absolutely no hangups at all and I've always felt like such a freak.

The very first time I went to a doctor by myself was to get birth control pills. I was 18 years old and thought I was being responsible. And the doctor looked and pointed at my stomach and said "oh, is that an appendix scar?"  Flabbergasted and mortified I said "ummm, no...just a little stretchmark." I was always very shy and easily embarrassed and boy that didn't help. At that time I was about 20 pounds overweight. A few years later I went to another doctor for some pain I was having in my arm and he ridiculed me by coming to see him at all. He literally told me " you know, everyone has pains and lumps from time to time."  He was extremely condescending to me. And somehow those two experiences in my psychological makeup did something. I know it wasn't reasonable but it happened. It shaped me and my thoughts and I cannot seem to break out of it.

I have been to a few doctors now and then thru the years for serious things but other than that, no, I do not go. I don't want to go. I am terrified of seeing doctors or hospitals or anything medical in general. So far I've done a great job of keeping myself reasonably healthy. I stay on top of checking my blood pressure and cholesterol (with a home kit), eating right, losing 70 pounds, exercising almost every day, sleeping well, and all the other things I can do myself.  I know there has to come a point where I get over this but as to how to make that happen. I am clueless! It's a full raging phobia now after all these years. 

I am going to be 45 this year. I have such a mistrust of doctors and a really bad attitude about the way practices are run. I honestly feel like there's not a single doctor anywhere in my region who would work for me so why bother. Is there any hope for me?

To Elli I strongly encourage you to, before seeing a medical professional, perhaps talk to someone such as a psychologist to discuss your phobia so you can be more comfortable making an appointment to see a doctor. I know Barbara is going to address this issue in an upcoming blog, but I really hope you'll do something soon. Preventative medicine is the best medicine and now, when you're feeling good, is the time to get everything checked out in order to stay well.

A Year of Change

By Barbara Berkeley

Arguably, the idea of change was the most prominent theme of 2008. As politicians on both the right and left recited the change mantra, a country that had become disenchanted with the status quo responded.

In life, as in politics, it’s all too easy to let things go unexamined. In order to make progress, we’ve all got to take stock periodically and – like cleaning out our closets – we need to throw out the stuff that just isn’t working.

One of the things I’ve noticed as the Oprah discussion continues is the degree to which we repeat the same old saws about weight loss. This particular conversation seems to be centered largely on a single theme: when Oprah cares enough about herself to fix the problem, she will do so. As I’ve written previously, the implication seems to be that Oprah doesn’t love herself enough. Now this is a strange notion when one considers that Oprah has established a vast empire, has done enormous good and is one of the most efficacious people on the planet. I wonder whether insisting that people love themselves more can solve anything or provide any real guidance? It seems to me that we learn to like ourselves more when we succeed at the tasks we set for ourselves. So perhaps if weight is a thorny problem, we need to find new, practical ways to get around this issue. Once we’ve worked on these, we’ll probably feel better about ourselves, not the other way around.

If we can reinvent government, if we can reinvent the way we interact with the world, can’t we reinvent the way we look at weight, weight loss and maintenance? I believe that we need to get a lot more creative if we are ever to have a shot at controlling our exploding worldwide problem. We are also going to have to listen better to new ideas and to stop shooting them down immediately if they don’t conform to what we’ve heard before.

To show you just how stagnant our weight-loss conversation has become, I’d like to offer Exhibit A: a series of photos I’ve taken from just a few of my favorite magazine covers. I started collecting these covers, ones that suggest that you “Walk Off the Weight!”, about a year ago. In this short time, I have accumulated more than 20. If simply walking off the weight worked, why hasn’t everyone conquered his or her weight problem? Instead of looking for a new idea, however, magazines simply recycle the same old stuff, even using the same words! To make matters ever so much worse, they pair the message with enormous pictures of, well, take a look.

Here are some of the other recycled diet dictums that need serious re-examination:

1. Diets don’t work.
Oh no? A diet is simply an organized plan for eating. Having a plan is the ONLY thing that works!

2. Everything in moderation.
Just look at the eating and work-out plans of successful maintainers. They are determined, scheduled and rarely could be called “moderate.”

3. Just exercise more and eat less.
You can see my post on IBM if you’d like my opinion on this one.

4. Some magical element will cause weight loss (acai berries, diet pills, omega fats, green tea, vitamin supplements, CLA, ALLI…you name it)
In nearly 20 years of interviewing overweight patients, not a single one has ever told me that they lost significant weight by using a “potion.” It always comes down to sustained dietary choice.

So, dear friends, let’s resolve to approach our lifelong battle with a new resolution. For 2009, let’s vow to think outside of the box! Lynn and I will continue to provide the forum for your brilliant ideas and insights. Here’s to a year of creative thinking, positive achievement and real change!

"After the happy ending" - A Guest Blog by "DietGirl" Shauna Reid

Refuse To Regain is honored to be a part of Shauna Reid's virtual book tour! She blogs at DietGirl and "The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl" was just released in the U.S.

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"After The Happy Ending"
 
My first year of maintenance was easy. I think I cruised through on euphoria alone. Every day in my new body was an adventure - I rejoiced in my new clothes, new fitness and new ability to fit inside bathtubs.
 
Later that year I finished writing a book that charted my six-year, 175-pound weight loss journey. I was still giddy with excitement as I churned out the Epilogue. My body is something to savor and celebrate, I wrote. Every time I put on lipstick and high heels it feels like I'm singing to world about the joy I've found within.
 
The second year was a different story. Everything was messy and unpredictable. I was simultaneously renovating our apartment, starting a demanding new job and promoting my book in the UK and Ireland. I also took on big fitness challenges, such as training for kickboxing grades and a marathon walk. As the year dragged on there were personal issues and a serious financial scare, then we sold our apartment and moved house.
 
As a result my maintenance efforts were chaotic. I'd alternate weeks of intense exercise with weeks of nothing at all. I'd buy takeout too often then go crazy with healthy cooking to compensate. I wrestled the same ten pounds all year long, pinging up and down the scale. Instead of high heels and celebrations, it was more brooding on the couch in my sweatpants.
 
Meanwhile, my inbox was flooded with messages from people who'd read my book. You're such an inspiration! You're living the happy ending! You must be so proud! I didn't feel proud or inspiring. Sure I've lost a few pounds but look at me now! I'm barely holding it together! If those kind readers knew how much I struggled, they'd demand a refund! I felt like a fraud as I answered their email questions about my exercise program, instead of actually doing my exercise program. I made jokes about my woes on my blog, not wanting to alienate readers new and old with too much doom and gloom. But the negativity crept in. I spoke about maintenance with words like "struggle" and "battle" and "never-ending stinkfest".

There were times when I could have cheerfully burned my book. I bugged the heck out of myself with my optimism and irritating self acceptance. I was just plain jealous of Book Shauna, to be honest. I could barely believe that was me who'd lost all that weight and stuck at it for so many years. How did I start wanting change more than chocolate? That determined girl seemed like a stranger and I worried I'd never find her again.

The third year of maintenance was rapidly approaching and I was desperate to make it different. It was a lot like the start of my weight loss mission - I thought someone else must have the secret. I started reading blogs written by fellow maintainers, such as this one. I stalked through their archives, looking for magic solutions. But instead of magic, I read about hard work and persistence; the ability to learn from mistakes and pick yourself back up after a crappy day. Or even a crappy month or year.

I finally had my DUH moment. Maintenance was really no different from weight loss. Sometimes it is fabulous and sometimes it sucks. And that's okay.

I think part of me thought that writing THE END on my manuscript would mean The End of the struggle and The End of learning stuff. Surely after six ridiculous years of lard-busting I'd have figured out my Issues for good? But life doesn't stop when you close a book. The story plows on, the character keeps evolving. Holding on to that happy ending is hard work.

A few months on I feel at peace with the realities of maintenance. I'm starting to live and breathe that happy ending again, albeit without the delirium of the first year! Life is still stupidly busy, but I remembered the best thing I learned in the weight loss phase - the journey is easier when you make it enjoyable. Last year I was falling back into the arms of my old dieter's mindset - all or nothing thinking, expecting perfection, dwelling on mistakes and not savouring the good stuff. But now I want to celebrate how far I've come, instead of feeling overwhelmed by it or taking it for granted. Maintenance doesn't seem like such a drag when I take time out to find the joy in the little things. The peacefulness of a Pilates stretch. The gleeful clobbering of my kickboxing class. The wholesome smugness of a healthy day's eating. I'm ready to dust off those high heels and lipsticks.