F-it

It's ironic how much things can change in a year; from medical to emotional to personal growth.  I'm not crazy big on sharing (in real life) and I find it difficult to reach out (or even "put myself out there") but recently I finally saw a Doctor who admitted that I "most likely have a rather mild case of PCOS" and that is "the reason behind my 20 year struggle of not loosing weight" despite trying everything.

Now I can't claim that I am a saint: I am human, I have had days where I do home and eat a whole roll of Tollhouse cookie dough because the idea of prepping a healthy salad is about as fun as having my sinus' irrigated: a CHORE!  It doesn't make it okay, but again, I am human.

What angers me, is that it took 20 years of fighting with Doctors of documenting my eating habits or paying personal trainers ridiculous amounts of money to try and loose weight only to be told by the medical industry: "You're just not trying hard enough."

You're right, the days I come home so tired I can't even stand to take a shower, let along use a paring knife to prep vegetables means I am lazy.  Yawning through cardio class at the gym and having to take a 45 minute nap in my car before I can safety drive home means I am lazy.  You're right, I am simply lazy when a hike of 17kms a day with a full back pack leaves me dead physically and my partner has to set up camp alone (despite the training I took before the trip).

I am just lazy.

Imagine my anger when I find out that it most likely is PCOS (Poly-cystic Ovarian Syndrome) and I want to punch walls when I am finally told:  "Oh this is usually clinically diagnosed, it is very rare that anyone's blood work comes back indicating PCOS"

I want to yell.

I want to cry.

Instead I come to my profile picture.  This is me at approximately 235-40lbs last Summer (August 2014)  My partner had taken me to Horne Lake Caves (Near Nanaimo BC).  The hike to get to Andres' Annex nearly killed me.  By the time I got to the entrance to the cave I wanted to sit down and cry from exhaustion.  I was done.  My partner had to cajole a "sweet smile" out of me and what he got was this thinly veiled contempt of a smile.  I was done.  I didn't want to go into the cave.

I tried and "tapped out" I saw the ladder and couldn't do it, the ladder seemed too far away and I was unable to see the little ledge you could sit on to climb out on to the ladder.  I left the cave, and sat down for a good long cry outside the cave while he went exploring.

This year, was a little different.  This year I powered through most of the hike up the Andres' Annex, partially fueled by rage, exasperation and a desperation to prove to myself I am not lazy.  I only stopped once so short of breath that I thought I would almost pass out.  I had to prove to myself that I am not lazy.  Just constantly physically worn out, as of late; as side effect of being now 45 days late but not pregnant.  All I want to do is sleep.

When I climbed into Andres' Annex this time I was able to marvel at the assortment of cave crickets and limestone streaked rocks.  I made it to the bottom of the ladder and promptly had to stifle to animalistic need to scream and cry when I could not figure how to maneuver my swollen stomach through a crevasse, I gave up and climbed back up the ladder.  at the top of the ladder before I headed out of the cave I saw this crack and realized that  with a tentative diagnosis treatment is around the corner.

That once treatment starts I can relax and once the weight loss happens and with the right guidance from the Diabetic Education Center I will start to see the results I want to see after months in the gym.  I will start to feel normal again.  I will be happy with the lightest weight of 192lbs, but lets be honest that 185-180lbs would be a beautiful thing.

With any situation there is always a light at the end of the tunnel, I just have to focus on breathing through the panic and trust that the people with me are willing to catch me and lift me up when I need it.