23 August 2011
The last few weeks have been something of a challenge, just as I'd expected they would be. In some ways, they've been even more difficult than I thought possible. Looking after my darling lovely hubby following his operation was desperately hard. Not because of him... no way!... but because I've felt so damned helpless.
I won't go into detail, but he's had a tough time and I'd have happily cut off my arm with a blunt penknife if it would only make things easier for him. Unfortunately, there's been nothing much that I've been able to do, in a practical way, to make life better/more comfortable for him. Just be there, do what I can and then go hide and cry in private.
The worst part is over, thank heavens, although he still has some minor complications to contend with and will be off work for a while longer yet. I am back in the saddle at work but not finding it easy as I feel I 'ought' to still be at home taking care of him. Ooooh, those 'oughts'. Guilt trips 'r' us!
And like all of those guilt-laden times, the emotions (coupled with worry) can get the better of you and start to drive behaviour. Let's just say that exercise, never mind about kicking things up a notch, did not go well at all.
Most of the days I spent at home (and much of the nights) was a whirlwind of the various meds (and isn't timing everything too), cooking, cleaning, little jobs to do, pillow fluffing, companionship and tea & sympathy, so my planned time on the rower dropped right off the priority list. Getting outside for life's essentials was squeezed into as short a time as possible so he wouldn't be left alone, so walking was off the cards too. To be frank, sleepless nights meant I didn't have a whole lot of energy anyway. Still don't, for that matter.
Food intake was OK while he wasn't interested or have an appetite, so I didn't eat much either, but it went a tad haywire once I started trying to tempt him into eating a bit more for the sake of him healing. Yes it was all 'good' food, but guess who disposed of the leftovers!
Well, the weight dropped off me for the first few days, and I saw 59kg again for an all too brief moment, but then it soon went back on again. Now we're over the worst I've evened out at 62kg, not too drastic but not really where I want to be. And like Steve has mentioned at 'Log My Loss', oh boy am I ever out of shape. I look and feel flabby, not trim. Think not so much racehorse as carthorse!
Ah well, back to the drawing board for the fat lass. I've made a start and am bringing chopped veggies with a yoghurt dip for lunches. I'm making an effort to restrain (and re-train) my appetite and giving myself smaller portions of an evening. This seems to be going OK.
I'm walking every day (which helps but isn't truly the answer, I know) and when I get a little more free time, I'll step it up with some additional exercise. If my darling's meds (which I have to administer) are reduced after our next hospital visit (which I really hope will be the case) I'll be back on the rower in the mornings next week.
I'm not giving up. I'll keep on keeping on, and I will get back to having more love per square inch!