Dear Doc,

Well, I must be doing something right. Because I've lost five pounds.

I know that isn't much to some people, but for me it's a minor miracle. Particularly since I've spent the last week starving not with physical hunger, but an emotional hunger spawned from stress, depression, who-knows-what-else. And I've been trying to feed that hunger with foods that were absolutely not good for me. I knew it wouldn't help, and it didn't. But I couldn't seem to stop myself.

So when I stepped on the scale the other day and realized that I must have done something right along the way, my inspiration was back. Since then I have cheerfully passed up things like you wouldn't believe, and when I've said, "No thanks, I don't want any pie/cake/chocolate, etc." I actually meant it. Because I don't want to rediscover even a half ounce from that hard-won five-pound loss. Five pounds, you must be gone forever.

And then... tonight happened.

I have been feeling exhausted lately. Not in a "I'm tired,  I need a second cup of coffee," way, but in a "I can't possibly get out of bed because that will take all the energy I have" sort of way.  It's frustrating when you want to accomplish things, and you just simply can't. It's got absolutely nothing to do with laziness, believe me.

Simply put, chronic illness is a bitch.

And tonight, I had about a million things to do because I've been putting off the things I haven't been able to do. Feeling overwhelmed, my mind turned to ice cream.

No, not just ice cream. A root beer float. With extra "float."

So I went to Culver's in between errands. And I ordered a large diet root beer (I've been told by a reliable source that Culver's and A & W root beer is the same) and a cup of whipped cream.

The girl at the window only gave me a little bit of an odd look as she passed over my cup of whip.

Whipped cream, I think, is my new favorite thing. It has very few calories, very few carbs, and if you have a good imagination it can pass for the creaminess of ice cream.

(Yes, I know. It has chemicals and no nutritional value. I would like to say I care, but right now... I just really don't.)

So, if you see a woman walking around Target, crushing several cans of whipped cream to her bosoms and cackling maniacally... Don't be alarmed. It's just me, trying to turn that five-pound loss into ten.

Your whipped patient,

Heather

Dear Doc,

This weekend was the 4th of July.

These are the things I didn't eat:
Cookies (which I might add, were adorable with their red,white and blue frosting and coordinating sprinkles).
Buns. (That's right, I was that weirdo eating hot dogs without their buns.)
Bread. (See above.)

These are the things I did eat:
Vegetables.
Fruit.
Pulled pork.
A hot dog.
One itty bitty sliver of cake.
A few (FEW!!!) strawberries dipped in chocolate. (So, that's a total of what... a third of Hershey bar, maybe?)

So, I thought I did pretty good. In fact, I was so virtuous I patted myself on the back. A lot.

Also, I walked. A lot.

So, I thought I'd step on the scale for a little encouragement.

And discovered I weigh exactly the same as I did three weeks ago.

And may I just say, this sucks.

I know that I have all these things stacked against me. PCOS, diabetes, wonky thyroid... yeah, yeah, yeah. But seriously, after three weeks of this, couldn't my body have given up a lousy pound or two?

I just remembered why I give up on every weight loss plan I try. Because of *this*.  Because while the rest of the world, it seems, goes through their "rapid weight loss period," I've apparently gone straight to the plateau phase. Except that... oh, yeah.... I haven't lost any damn weight.

It sucks. It sucks, it sucks, it sucks. I just don't have anything else to say.

Your very discouraged patient,

Heather

As big as a horse's leg

Dr. Doc,

So, you know those supplements you recommend we take?

I have questions about them.

The Chromium Picolinate? What in the heck is that? And where does one find this in nature?
And more importantly, is it made from real piccolos?

The "Women's Ultra Mega" multivitamin. The bottle says it supports healthy hair, skin and nails. I want you to know that I expect to have flowing, glossy hair by the time I reach the end of this bottle. And if my nails could actually grow past my fingertip without splintering in three places, that'd be great, too. Yep, I've got some high hopes for these. Oh, and they have folic acid and all those B vitamins. Those are great, too. (Although to be honest, I'm really hoping for better hair and nails.)

The D-3. I can feel my bones getting stronger. Okay, no, I can't. But is this like sunshine in pill form? Because I swear, I'm feeling a little more perky these days. And heaven knows I don't see much sunlight, because let's be honest. I'm a writer. We don't go out during the day.

The Triple Strength Fish Oil. You're right, it doesn't taste like anything. And I have even avoided that horrible phenomenon you mentioned as "fish burps." (The gal at GNC said if I put them in the freezer and swallow them frozen, the fish burps will be avoided because the pill will be past the stomach by the time it thaws. TMI, if you ask me.)

But... those fish oil pills. You've heard of the expression "horse pills?" These are beyond "as big as a horse's leg." Because that is obviously an exaggeration. This, however is not: the fish oil pills are the size of my mom's kitten's front leg. I am not even kidding. If I can aim them like torpedoes, and they go down my throat the long way, I can get them down with only a few panicked seconds of "I'm going to throw up, I'm going to throw up." But if they go sideways? I am pretty sure they could cut off my air supply.

Death by fish oil. That's something I think I'd like to avoid.

Your "I have an overactive gag reflex" patient,

Heather

Of peaches and fake chocolate.

Dear Doc,

I have suffered a Doughnut Downfall. And I did it for science.

No, really, I did it intentionally. I wanted to consciously eat something I desperately wanted and see if it did, in fact, live up to my craving.

I am discouraged today. The fatigue I have on a regular basis is really bad today. As in, I-slept-14-hours-and-am-still-fighting-to-keep-my-eyes-open. It's one thing if you're craving something sweet and worthless (Let's call that a Sweet Nothing) when you can get up and go for a walk or run some errands or do something to distract yourself. It's an extra challenge when you can barely get yourself out of bed without the assistance of a forklift and an obscenity-screaming drill sergeant.

To add to that, I'm particularly stressed out. A friendship I have seems to be crumbling into pieces, and my cat has something wrong with his kidneys. He had a vet appointment this afternoon.

So, as I was trying to get up, chase him around and manhandle him into the cat carrier, I spied those stupid doughnuts. Would those make me feel better?

I sat down with the bag and ate two. Then two more, then four more. And all the while, I was taking mental notes. My conclusions:

1) Do these taste good?
No.

2) What do they taste like?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. A slight hint of fake chocolate.

3) Am I still exhausted?
Yes.

4) Did I feel calmer after eating the doughnuts?
Yes.

Yes? Why did I feel calmer? I did, though. And I don't know why. Note to self: Ask Dr. L. why that could possibly be the case.

After dropping my cat off at the animal hospital, where he will remain for a day or maybe two while they run tests, I spied a summer fruit stand.

I have been stalking this fruit stand for weeks now, waiting for it to open. And there it was. And it had peaches. I have been dreaming about peaches for weeks, ever since seeing an episode of "Good Eats" that featured the beautiful fruit. But we seem to be in a peach recession. I don't know what's going on down there in Peach Country, but they have not been sending their wares to the Midwest. (Or, at least, not to the stores where I've been shopping.) My need for peaches was getting desperate.

But alas, there they were. I cackled like a lunatic, handed over all the money I had with me, and made off with my peaches. And some cucumbers. And some green beans. (I avoided the potatoes. "White isn't right," ya know.)

Even as I was snarfing my peach, I was asking myself questions:

1) Does this taste good?
Yes.

2) Is it high-sugar?
No.

3) Does it make you feel like you are making a good choice?
Yes.

4) Are you in control of what goes into your body?
YES. Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes.

I just have to keep telling myself that. I am in control. That's a big part of it, isn't it?

Sincerely,
Your longwinded patient,
Heather

Dear Dr. Landers,

When I woke up this morning, I decided to make a protein shake for breakfast. I recently discovered that the G6 vanilla powder and a packet of Starbucks Via tastes pretty fabulous together. Plus, there's caffeine, and I have never met a cup of coffee that I didn't like.

So I'm making my drink, feeling pretty proud of myself that 1) I passed up an offer to splurge on Dairy Queen last night and 2) I am making a good choice first thing in the morning.

Yep. I'm on the right track, I think.

And then... I look over at the kitchen counter.

My husband brought home a bag of doughnuts.

Seriously, what kind of sadist does that? And who in this house needs doughnuts?

I've been staring at those doughnuts all morning. I've thought about putting them away so I can't see them, but honestly I don't trust myself to pick up the bag. I'll eat them for sure if I touch that bag, and the worst part is I won't even enjoy them. They'll taste like chocolate-flavored lard and then they'll leave that nasty film on the roof of my mouth, and then I'll hate myself for eating them.

Stupid doughnuts.

Stupid husband.

He and I are going to have A Talk about this.

- Your patient,
Heather

Dear Dr. Landers,

Well, it's been ten days. Ten days since I came into your office, stood on that Dr. Who-like scale (with its handlebars and blinky lights) and discovered exactly what my BMI was, along with other fabulous numbers including my PBF (percentage of body fat). I also learned that my right arm is 7.89 pounds overweight. My left arm is 7.94 pounds overweight.

I'm not sure how that's helpful information, but okay.

Also, I'd like to know how one arm got fatter than the other. But I digress.

After I was weighed and measured, I took the class on what to eat and what not to eat, led by the wonderful doctor who was so enthusiastic she made me believe that I could *do* this.

And then I went home and was on my own.

I've been sticking to the rules. I have been chanting, "If it's white, it's not right!" whenever anyone dares to eat a piece of bread or potato in my vicinity. I have been eyeing my palm every time I eat meat to make sure I've got the right amount of ounces.

I'm drinking more water. I'm walking more. And I'm feeling... dare I say it?... perky.

So, after being pretty darn faithful to the program, I stepped on the scale today, just to see if I'd made any progress.

According to my ordinary bathroom scale, I've lost exactly a half of a pound. In ten days.
At this rate, I'll be at my 97-pound goal weight right around the time my daughters put me in a nursing home.

This isn't fair. I want to run to the Dr. Who scale just to confirm. But then I'd probably discover I've lost that half of a pound from my wrists, or my left ear, or some other place that didn't really need to lose that much weight. This might discourage me.

But I refuse to be discouraged. It's all about the journey, isn't it? I'll just keep telling myself that.

And since it's always good to bring a buddy when you go on a journey, I've started this blog.
Maybe it'll inspire someone else. Maybe it'll inspire me. Either way is a win-win.
So... onward with the journey.

- your patient,
Heather