Changes

I facelifted the blog. Like it? It's nothing fancy, but I felt like I needed something brighter, a little more uplifting.

This year has been all about change. Well, I guess every year is, to some degree.

When I was officially diagnosed (meaning, actual tests were run by the RE, not just my OB/GYN assuming with no evidence that that was the case) with PCOS in February, I knew I had to make some changes. I'd done enough research on the condition to know about insulin resistance, and that any extra weight really aggravates the entire situation.

Having spent most of the entire last year nearly crippled and thus unable to move around much more than necessary, I was the heaviest I've ever been. My RE never mentioned my weight, never actually tested me for insulin resistance, and didn't prescribe metformin (which is commonly prescribed to help with the insulin resistance and thus encourage stronger ovulation). Even so, I knew that losing weight and getting healthy was important.

Also, I had this stubborn, angry-infertile thought that if I couldn't get pregnant, dammit, the least I can do is make myself look good, and feel sexy again.

So, in March or so, I started keeping track of my calories. I shifted my diet to something closer to the paleo diet, meaning I did my best to eat primarily meat and fruits and veggies. I bought my elliptical and started working out regularly.

Nothing happened. I don't know if it was because of the clomid or if it was because my body really was insulin resistant and fighting the weight loss, but for three entire months of eating around 1200 calories a day and working out at least 3 times a week (and usually more), I didn't lose a single damned pound. Or any inches. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

Shortly after the three-month mark, I started s.l.o.w.l.y losing weight. I'm talking maybe a quarter or half pound a week. It's not much, but it was enough to keep me going. Whatever it took to keep that scale moving, I was going to do.

In August things really started changing. This was also around the time the RE switched me off clomid and onto Femara, but I don't know if that's what did it. I have a feeling I just finally started to regulate my insulin a little better and my body started working with me, rather than against me. I was losing a pound or two a week.

By October I was down twenty pounds and one (almost two) jean sizes. Of course, at the end of October I had my hysteroscopy, which slowed me down for about a month--two weeks I was completely unable to exercise, and the two weeks after that were just really, really hectic and I was out of my routine. Last week I dropped another jean size. Finally.

I feel amazing. I'm still about fifteen pounds away from where I want to be, but now that I know I can do it I'm not stressing about it. My goal is to hit 160 by the end of this year (I'm 2.4 pounds away), and my end goal is to hit 150 by summertime (assuming, of course, I'm not pregnant by then).

I still have the angry-infertile thoughts. Part of it is wanting to kick PCOS's ass. Part of it is just that I feel good, BoyWonder has been incredibly encouraging (even though his delivery isn't always incredibly tactful, his intentions are always good), and I know that being healthy is important no matter where life may take me.

The other part of this journey has been kind of scary. I've had to lighten up on myself quite a bit, because I find myself using my weight loss journey in a way that might be considered mentally unhealthy--I can control this. I can't force my ovaries to work. I can't force BoyWonder's count or motility to improve. I can, however, stick to my 1200 healthy calories a day. And I can run at least three miles a day, three or four days a week.

I've never had an eating disorder, but I feel like maybe I have a better understanding of how they begin.

For now, though, my focus is on my health. I want to be incredible shape when I get pregnant. I want to stay healthy and strong while I'm pregnant, so my delivery can (hopefully) go smoothly and so I don't gain an excessive amount of weight that I can't lose after the fact.

And, for the first time in this crappy, horrible year, I feel healthy and in control. I feel like something awesome is right around the corner. And I might be wrong. Maybe I'm looking at another year caught in the post-loss, infertility limbo... But maybe I'm right. Maybe I need to do this to get to my rainbow.