March 3, 2018

low-carb ii

Somehow, I made it through the austerity of following P.J.'s pre-op shake diet, with its sick-joke list of snacks and meals.  It was a week of low-carb induction combined with PMS and fatigue and nail-biting anxiety about the upcoming surgery, but Dog as my witness, I made it, and without cheating once.  More to the point, so did P.J., and the kid, who pointed out that feeding him hot dogs and frozen dinners all week constituted "making our lifestyle just above that of white trash."  I went off on him for that, before realizing that he was mostly joking.

I know Lille's whole "you can't make me, but if you can do it, so can I" warped mentality is key here, but I'll take whatever I can get from her, because she's been the one who has tantrums when she wants Triscuits and sweet bagels and nabs and even bowls of my kid's sugar-laden cereal, despite knowing the cereal will make me sick when I dump.  Lille doesn't give a flying shit about me.  She just wants what she wants in the moment.

But P.J. is an Amazon and she inspires me beyond the childish defiance, which vaporizes when it's spent.  I'm coming up on two weeks of very low-carb eating because of her example.  It feels like part of the gestalt of taking care of her, and caretaker mode is a powerhouse for me.  I'll do shit for her and my kid that I would never do for myself.  Yet here I am, taking care of myself, too, caught up in it.

I'm through the induction hump and eating sensibly again, and four of the ten pounds have fallen away.  It's strange, because for most people, there's rapid initial weight loss due to the release of water weight and glycogen.  They've proven, though, that if you've experienced induction once or twice before, the body is wise to what's happening and doesn't release water as slowly.  After a couple of days of having to piss like a Russian race horse every hour, my hydration needs slammed the brakes on it and I started keeping the water again.  I'm cool with that.  It means I'm losing slowly and burning fat.  The Ketostix indicate only trace amounts of ketones, and I'm cool with that, too.

I got this salad at Au Bon Pain during the hospital stay this week, just to take the piss, because it's a bread company not unlike Panera.  The salad had avocado and fresh mozzarella and egg and walnuts in it, with olive oil as the dressing and copious amounts of salt.  It's my new favorite thing, and I can't eat much at a time.  It lasts me two meals.

That's the other thing!  (If I use an exclamation point, it's a big deal; I don't normally truck with them.)  I've gone back to listening to my pouch, and it tells me when I'm full.  I'm also waiting thirty minutes before drinking, which I sucked at before.  The pouch is working like it's supposed to.  Those rules aren't bullshit.  They're spot-on.  Combined with satiating food, it's fucking working.

(If you don't have a P.J. to motivate you, shell out and do this.)

P.J.'s doing well post-op, engaged in the universal struggle to sip enough water and get in protein and regain bodily balance and calibration.  These early days are rough as hell, but my stern-stuff hero is doing everything right.

She's the love of my life.  How can I do less?  Bringing her cozy socks and blankets and making Jell-O and simmering broth with aromatics to make it palatable (which P.J. said was insane and unnecessary) is all well and good, but there's more to this.  There's the unspoken contract to change how we approach life together, in lock step.  How we approach recovery and accountability to each other.  Fairness is another powerhouse.

I went nuts last night on netrition.com and bought us some of our favorite things.  I got low-carb bagels (take that, Thomas' fuckheads) and some granola that doesn't try to trick you by setting the serving size as 1/4-cup.  I got P.J. some Seal Sama sugar-free teriyaki sauce, which is out of this world delicious, and some Polaner's sugar-free blackberry preserves, also of ye gods, or maybe Our Lady of Perpetually Blessed Sauces.  I stayed away from the ChocZero stuff, even though their products are perfect in every way, because right now I'm adjusting my mentality alongside my body and trying to get away from the habit of using substitute products to get a "hit".  Maybe later, when I can handle it, but not today.  Oh, and some Designer Whey protein powder, which is mighty tasty and also uses monk fruit instead of sugar alcohols.  Maltitol is of Our Lady of Perpetual Rotten-Egg Sulfur Gas-Mask Flatulence.

Monk fruit is sorcery.  I do not understand it.

So here's to staying the course, getting back to my low point, not freaking out if it goes up a little bit afterward, and having proven to myself that I have the wherewithal to find balance and preserve the precious trophies I suffered and labored to obtain.  I never want to look in the mirror and hate myself again.

I deserve better.

You have no idea how extraordinary it is that the previous sentence came out of my head.

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