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Ahh, focus. If only. The last six months have felt rather dream-like. Sure, there is always dissociation, sometimes more, or less. But by last November I hit the pretty much routine and expected “post-weight loss surgery iron deficiency.” The standard treatment is iron infusions, but I endured six months of kabuki with a hematologist who’d never dealt with my surgery type (duodenal switch), and did not believe me or my data. Instead, she insisted on something completely counter-intuitive: to take a bare minimum of oral iron for at least three months. And I had to get a colonoscopy “to rule out internal bleeding.” Meanwhile, my iron numbers just worsened. (Duh!) I jumped through every hoop, and finally had two iron infusions in May.

During that six month period, I experienced ever-increasing symptoms of iron deficiency: horrible insomnia, inability to stay focused, constant fatigue, headaches. Days without writing turned into frustrated months. I was stressed by both the hematologist’s dictates, and my declining physical and mental abilities. I was told in mid-May to not expect any effect from the iron infusions for 4-8 weeks.

Within a week of the second iron infusion, my beloved avatar kitty Shayla passed away at age 16. We got her as a kitten to befriend a feral Siamese kitten, Bandit, that we’d trapped and taken inside over the winter. Bandit has never let us touch her in all those 16 years, and suddenly she lost her only friend. For the last three weeks I’ve spent countless hours each day trying to comfort and console Bandit, mostly by talking with her. She cries constantly. She needs coaxing to eat. We installed a Feliway infuser, which may be helping with her anxiety, I don’t really know. She’s making very slow progress. We are witness to her unending grief, and are unable to truly process our own while she is in this constant state of anguish.

So I’ve struggled to find and maintain focus, and to write anything to completion. I’m in week 5 of the 4-8, and growing very impatient to get on with it. My sleep is improving, and exhaustion doesn’t quite feel like my normal state now. The most frustrating thing is that for six months I’ve felt like I’ve finished my pending book Don’t Forget About You — inside my head. It’s just getting it transferred into a computer that seems so elusive.

Finishing this blog post in the midst of this struggle is an important first step for me. I hope you’ll continue this journey with me, as I have lots to say, and it’s way past time that I make that manifest.

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Happy New Year to all! And welcome to new subscribers, many of whom I believe must have followed the link from the Resource section of my new ebook Becoming One!

A year ago, I wrote a New Year’s post describing how I intended to act on my “2014 promise to myself: write.” Looking back, I experienced a lot of struggle and self-doubt about that promise — and I still do. I don’t think that will ever change, frankly.

But the success of that promise culminated in the publishing of the Becoming One updated ebook on Amazon on November 19th. That had been a goal for six straight years, and every New Year I’d awaken newly depressed that I had not achieved it, for various reasons, most of them part of that endless internal struggle.

What changed this year is that I accepted the reality of my limitations and doubts, and in doing so was able to move forward anyway. It wasn’t easy, but it was different. I was so thrilled to awaken this New Year’s Day knowing I’d achieved that goal!

My current struggle is in updating the index for the new print version of Becoming One. This index is aging me. But I’m determined, and it will be done. Soon.

My word for 2015, and my new promise to myself: D R E A M

I seldom publicly commit in advance to things that require me to overcome the internal struggles to fulfill them. But I’ve said in some very public online places recently that there will be a followup book titled Becoming One Every Day: Living Purposefully with Dissociative Identity Disorder by the end of this year. (Yikes!) Instead of focusing on the struggle, I’m trying to focus on the adventure of it all.

It’s a very big dream of mine, that I’ve longed to fulfill for 15 years. I hope you’ll stick around to see how it turns out. For me, it’s as much about the process as it is about the outcome.

Many thanks again for your support and caring! May we all dream big!
 
 
 

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Time to turn the lights back on! It’s so good to be back — it’s been forever! My blog got hijacked in some mumbo-jumbo about databases, and that was just the beginning. Meanwhile, I’ve had pressing family matters that took priority — both in terms of actual time, and emotional energy — over trying to find the solution. I’m finally able to post again, and I’ve got a lot to say, but it’s Christmas Eve Eve, and everyone’s probably busier than I am.

My hope for everyone is for joyous and healthy holidays, and a new year that brings wonder and yes, even some adventure. I’m especially looking forward to that part!

Thank you for your patience, and for hanging in there with me! Thank you to those who’ve dropped me notes of encouragement and strength during some trying times. Thank you to my new subscribers, who signed on even though not much was happening. I truly appreciate it!

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If you had a choice between change forced by unwanted circumstances, or that which blooms from a long sequence of actions you willingly participated in, but really had no idea how it would all turn out … which would you choose?

Today marks three months since I had my surgery. I know. I’ve been away too long. But I’ve had a lot of time to think.

I feel like I can breathe deeply again after years of shallow-breathing self-denial. Life changed radically as a result of my duodenal switch surgery. It’s not just about losing weight. It’s also about gaining health, and regaining mobility, and both come with many new choices. Things are beginning to snap back to present focus, and I’m changing, too.

For the first time in years I am seriously considering writing the sequel to my book Becoming One! So much has happened in my inner world since it was published in 1997. I have much more to say about dissociation, dissociative identity disorder, and the therapy process. I’ve evolved in many ways. Book Two has waited patiently for me to reach a point where I feel I can do it justice.

But first, I want to update and reorganize the thousands of mental health resources I’ve posted here at Third of a Lifetime. They’ll always have a home here, but I also want to disseminate them to a broader audience. The number one blogging lesson I’ve learned is that blog marketing is endless. I’d rather spend much more of my time writing than blog marketing, and I have a few ideas on how to make that work. So the first order of business will be a mostly behind the scenes spiffing up of mental health resources here.

While I’ve stopped publishing new issues of Best Tweets for Trauma and PTSD Survivors, I’ve never stopped promoting new mental health resources. I’m active every day on Twitter and Pinterest. Follow me there! You can also find my latest pins to my PTSD Resources Pinterest board in the sidebar here.

I’m excited about having so many new writing project ideas! It’s sooo overdue. Once the mental health resources are presentable, I’ll be back to let you know what I plan to do with them. It’s a new journey, and I’m hoping you’ll come along with me!

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I must apologize for the delay in continuing this story. I wrote my last post the night before I was to undergo the most complex form of bariatric surgery (on April 30th), known as the duodenal switch (“DS”). I vastly underestimated how much this event was going to put me out of commission, both in terms of the surgery itself, and the impact of all the changes involved.

I fought for this surgery for five years because it offers benefits that the much more well known gastric bypass cannot meet. Such as:

• My stomach is made much smaller (about 4oz) but it is a fully functioning stomach retaining the pyloric valve, which allows me to take NSAIDS such as Ibuprofen safely. NSAIDS are banned for life with the gastric bypass.
• The intestines are reconfigured differently than the gastric bypass, resulting in far more malabsorption (and requires much more diligence with supplements). This is what helps DS patients maintain the weight loss down the road.
• The DS has a documented cure rate of 98% of Type 2 diabetes. I’ve had diabetes for more than 20 years, which lowers the odds of me being in the 98%, but I’m watching my blood sugars settle lower the last few weeks. This, only on a small dose of insulin, where before I took insulin and two oral meds. I am hopeful.
• With the DS, 80% of any kind of fat eaten is malabsorbed. I will never again eat “low fat” anything. In fact, I need to eat more fat to come up with what the minimum RDA for good health requires. After a lifetime of conditioning, this one is hard to get my mind around, but I like it.

In a state like Massachusetts, which is a hotbed for medical research and innovation, there is not a single surgeon who does the duodenal switch. This, despite the fact that Blue Cross of Massachusetts covers it. Go figure.

The closest verified DS surgeons are in New York City. After being pretty much housebound with a bone-on-bone knee and severe back spasms for five years, it took pure force of will — and a combination of muscle relaxers and pain meds — for me to get to New York. My husband Dan made it all possible. He took time off from work for numerous test appointments the year before surgery; he drove us to and from New York; and was with me every step of the way, both in the hospital, and at the hotel afterwards. We were in New York for 10 days.

Then the overwhelm truly ensued. It’s vital to drink enough water, which is a minimum of 64oz a day. Do the math! I have a 4oz stomach! I am fortunate in that I was able to drink water easily, which many people cannot, and wind up in the ER getting IV fluids a couple weeks out from surgery. Plus I have to eat frequent, very small meals. Like one scrambled egg. Or 3oz of pureed soup.

As I add new foods, the focus is always protein. The goal is 30 grams of protein a day by the 30th day (60 by the 60th, 90 by the 90th). The stomach is swollen and not fully healed for a month. It’s hard for me now to imagine eating 90 grams ever, but it will happen.

Plus, I must begin a schedule for adding large quantities of Vitamin D, Calcium, Iron, and other trace minerals that are now not absorbed well. The consequences of not doing so are very serious: osteoporosis, iron deficiency anemia, neurological problems. I’m not going there.

All of this is a huge undertaking, and requires a pretty sharp mind at a time when I’m told the anesthesia is still messing with it. So the days went by without any word from me, and I’m sorry it’s been so long.

But you know what my overriding feelings are about all of this now that it’s done? I feel hopeful for the first time in eight years. Hopeful that I will no longer be imprisoned by my body, and that I will be able to leave my house for things that are purely fun. Hopeful that I am on my way to good health, including resolution of diabetes. Hopeful that my life is beginning again, right here, right now.

What seemed impossible and pointless to even fantasize about for eight years now seems very possible. I’m excited about my future! It’s precious, and I am nurturing it with all I’ve got.

Stay tuned!

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I avoid a lot of things in life, for reasons that are nearly all fear-based. I fear pain the most — physical and mental — and yet, I now live with it daily. How the heck did that happen?

I can trace problems with being overweight back to age 11, when puberty struck. I did not remember then that I’d been molested repeatedly by a “family friend” from age three to six. But somehow I knew that getting my period was a bad thing connected to “grandpas”. (Not my own, who both died before I was born.) No, I considered any older man a “grandpa” — and dangerous for reasons I could not articulate.

I began sneaking food anyway I could. I sure didn’t know why, but in retrospect, I believed that getting fat would make me “invisible” to grandpas. The bigger I got, the more invisible I’d be. Yes, that thinking makes no sense if you haven’t spent your entire life trying to hide. Some women gain weight without under-standing why they don’t want to be attractive to men. It’s a cocoon. I figured that out at 11.

I knew all my life that I had a couple of other people inside of me, and mostly thought everyone did. But I didn’t know until my late 30s that I had alters whose only purpose in life was to eat when I wasn’t co-conscious. I repeatedly went on extreme diets, feeling massively deprived and hungry, and would gain weight. Doctors routinely proclaimed that I was lying about my food intake. Just one of a long list of things that made me feel crazy.

Fast forward to 2008. I began taking my Type 2 diabetes seriously 10 years after diagnosis, meaning keeping track of my blood sugars, and changing my diet to lower carb (which got progressively much lower as I realized that carbs are not diabetic friendly). This was a radical shift for me, and I refused to call it a “diet”, because it would fail. I called it “lowering my blood sugar”.

I also had surgery for a meniscus tear in my right knee that year, leaving it in a “bone on bone” condition that made the pain much worse. My ortho doc said I couldn’t qualify for knee replacement until I both lost a lot of weight, and reached age 60. I was 53.

The last five years I struggled to find relief for my knee, which is constantly painful, but excruciating whenever I leave my house because there are eight steps up to get back inside. Because of those steps, I pretty much only leave my house for doctor appointments. On the bright side, I got my diabetes into excellent control, with my A1C test going down to 5.7, a non-diabetic number.

But I wasn’t losing any weight, which had to change if I were ever to have any hope of getting my knee fixed. Otherwise, I will spend the rest of my life housebound, which for a long while I accepted as just being my reality. And even though I really hate change, last year I began to change my reality.

[to be continued in Part 2)