Weighing In

These past two weeks I've been slowly drifting off the weight loss trail, and my flab has decided to latch on to my bones like a pitbull on a dogcatcher's tit. Thus far I've dropped over 40lbs, and have leveled out. I think this first plateau is going to be tougher to get through than a high school gym class, and those fat cells are going to mock me every step of the way. 60 more to go to reach my goal and at least i'm still on target.

Wife had become very ill, as you know if you've been keeping up with previous blogs. We've been strong, but food for comfort has been stronger. Now that she's gone through the surgery successfully, ice cream, pizza and burgers will hopefully not be so persistent in trying to console me. In fact, maybe they'll just start sending me email so i don't feel so obligated to reply, or guilty when i don't.

My cardio has slowed down. Tomorrow i'm riding in to work so hopefully that will jump start my motivation again. I've been pushing the weights hard, and can see the results. Not only can I deadlift a Buick, it actually looks like i can too. But the flab jabs me in the head every time i take a look in the mirror. If it werent concentrated around my waist like an infalatable swimming tube, i don't think that I'd be so troubled. I will retaliate, flab!

The weirdest part, is how much this stall has affected my psyche. I mean, every week I had successfully lost at least two pounds. The only other definite way to lose so many pounds is to bet on the U.S.A. to win the World Cup. (Italicised to emphasize the horrific pun).

Now I step on the scale in the morning, dreading to see if two more ounces are going to creep up on me. I wonder if I can cheat by trimming my nails, both toe and finger... maybe shave? Have i shit enough, do i still need to go? I wonder how much dirt is on me; can i drop a half-ounce by showering? What if i (ahem) spooge some knuckle babies? As long as i'm not sticking my digits down my gullet to yack up the fat attack, i'm still in a healthy zone. I'd actually cave and cut out carbs Atkin's-style before doing that crap to my body. And we all know I think Atkin's is an advocate of malnutition with his system.

On the upside, the size and shape of my torso is noticeable. I've gone from a "pear" shape, to something resembling an intimidating eggplant, with less purple and more hair. What i find really sexy, (and both my wife and i hope i don't start masturbating to my reflection while posing), is the peak of my bicep that is now inching it's way into view from the outside of my arm, like the crown of a climbing teeneager peeping into the hot neighbors second story window.

I think some pushups are calling me. Maybe a glass of Crystal Light. In either case, tomorrow the road trembles under my pedal power.

It's Alive!

I've never been as relieved as I am today. We went in a whole woman, and we left a whole woman (albeit with three tiny holes). More later, but now it's time to tend to the wife. Time for that big sigh.

A Few Cuts

Chloe is having surgery after all. We were hoping that the medication and antibiotics would do the trick, but it seems that the infection's kung fu is much too strong. They have to go in and drain the abscesses. The infection is so bad, the doctors say, that more may need to be removed but it's unknown how much until they're actually inside with the camera and scalpul.

We've been prepared for the worst. If drainage is not enough, they will remove her left tube and ovary. Her right side may be irrepairable as well, which means it may be removed along with the first. The uterus may follow. We've also been informed that part of her bowels could be infected on top of everything else.

They're (Chloe and the Docs) being smart and harvesting a number of eggs while they have her open. If we can retain the womb, we can utilize in vitro fertilization.

At the very least i can say this; there is still hope for our own children as we dont yet know how much of her girl parts will need to go. We can always adopt. (As per Doug Stanhope, it wouldn't hurt to do our little part in population control). And, of course, most importantly, she is still alive and here with me. If we can save her libido too, I can be happy. ;)

hot garbage

It seems more often than not, these days anything out of my mouth is a downer. I'm simply a reminder that life doesn't always go your way. I'm the stink of a refuse depot neighboring a water reclamation plant. It's not so bad...

Chloe mentioned recently that her favorite phrase is one that invokes all your senses - "hot garbage."

Feel it with me: the stench of a wet summer relentlessly pummeling red and brown carcasses, causing their sticky-furred hides to peel back and reveal bleached bone churning with freshly hatched maggots. All this wrapped in fermenting cabbage and soggy diapers that blast through you like the concussion of a bomb. This thing that is the worst of the worst, can be turned around and appreciated with a sharp wit, deeply twisted humor, and a greater understanding of everything and our small place in it. "It's visceral" she says. I can't argue with that, and i smile loving the hot garbage along her side, breathing deeply and feeling the burn of putrid appreciation.

I love my wife, nothing will change that.

Even feeling the sting in our eyes from the rotting heap, we can smile and love everything that is good.