Fun with Hernias

So yesterday I was sitting at my desk at work, chatting with a coworker, and I chuckled. I did not laugh. I did not guffaw. I didn’t exert or strain anything. But apparently this was enough to upset my hernia.

Before I continue, I do want to assure you it’s nothing serious. It hurts and it’s making it interesting to do things like move and breathe, but it’s nothing serious.

But before I made a trip to my doctor today, I was freaking out a bit. See, this hernia was diagnosed over a year ago, and I had had it for gods know how long before that. I’ve been an active corsetiere since about 2007 or 2008, though I don’t wear them very often anymore for obvious reasons. I lift and carry things a normal amount for someone who doesn’t lift and carry things for a living, I curl into a ball to go to sleep, I bend, I twist, I do all those everyday movements that I’ve been doing all my life.

And yesterday—while sitting at my desk at work—I chuckled, and effectively pulled a muscle.

…is it January yet?

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The Monster Inside

When a patient comes to my surgeon for bariatric surgery, my surgeon requires them to meet with several different doctors that he keeps on staff. Of course the surgeon himself meets with the new patient, and then he sends the patient to a dietitian, an exercise physiologist, and a psychiatrist.

During my meeting with the psychiatrist, I asked him if it was common for him to hear that the bariatric patients were abused as children. He said it was.

My childhood was, shall we say, interesting for a wide variety of reasons. No, I was not physically abused in any way—but both of my primary households were quite narcissistic in nature, for one thing. There are more details I could share, but I’m going to hold those back for now. But there was very little that I, as a child, had any control over, which is normal for children—but when your formative years are as tempestuous as mine were, you tend to find something to latch onto to give yourself at least the illusion of having control over something. In my case, it was food.

I have become especially aware of this as an adult now that I have all the free agency that comes with being wholly responsible for myself. I have control over when and how much I eat. I have control over what I eat. But somewhere along the way, in my efforts to gain some sort of footing in this crazy world, I lost control all together.

For me, eating certain things is actually a nearly uncontrollable impulse. I believe the technical term for the foods I can’t stop myself from eating is “trigger foods”. And like the trigger on a gun, once I’m set off, it’s hard to stop myself.

On Friday I bought a 7.06 ounce bag of Ghirardelli peppermint bark. I only get it during one portion of the year because it’s a seasonal item, and that makes me want to eat even more of it while I’m able to. As I’m writing this, it’s just after four PM on Sunday. I’m eating the last piece of the peppermint bark now.

I imagine this behavior is very similar to that of smokers. It still strikes me as odd that someone can be addicted to food, but the American Society of Addiction Medicine defines addiction as:

“… a primary, chronic disease of brain reward, motivation, memory and related circuitry. Dysfunction in these circuits leads to characteristic biological, psychological, social and spiritual manifestations. This is reflected in an individual pathologically pursuing reward and/or relief by substance use and other behaviors.”

They further add that:

“Addiction is characterized by inability to consistently abstain, impairment in behavioral control, craving, diminished recognition of significant problems with one’s behaviors and interpersonal relationships, and a dysfunctional emotional response. Like other chronic diseases, addiction often involves cycles of relapse and remission. Without treatment or engagement in recovery activities, addiction is progressive and can result in disability or premature death.”

I daresay that’s me to a T, although I am thankfully self-aware enough to recognize that I have a problem and fed up enough with myself to want to do something about it. Wanting and acting are not the same thing, however, and so we shall see how this goes. Regardless, I have a feeling that I’m in for some dark times ahead.

But then I’ve heard it’s always darkest just before dawn.