Hunger Pains

I woke up in the middle of the night Sunday starving.

I had eaten my Points for the day. I was not hungry when I went upstairs to bed. Somehow I woke up ravenous. I contemplated going downstairs to the fridge for  some sort of 2 AM snack but my accountability (and fear of monsters) kept me in bed.

Instead, I tried to reflect on how I've gotten here. To this point. The point where I need to lose a significant amount of weight before my doctor will take the next step in Infertility Treatment (yes, those words are worthy of capitalization). The more thoughts tumbled through my head, the sharper the hunger pain in my stomach was. Ahhhhhh, I thought to myself, emotional eating. The oldest trick in the book. The excuse on the lips of every fat person. Could it be that this cliche reasoning has directly contributed to where I am today?

My oldest memory relating to food is from when I was six years old. My parents were arguing and I was hiding in our pantry off the kitchen, eating Oreos one after the other until my stomach hurt. I don't know why. But I distinctly remember the same sort of hunger pain that I woke up with Sunday.

In high school I remember being rejected by the love of my fourteen year old life and going home and eating all of my mother's pistachio ice cream. I hid the carton underneath piles of trash. It made me so sick but the cold numbed my pain and broken adolescent heart.

Two months ago I was sure I was going to see a positive pregnancy test. When I didn't, I ate McDonald's chicken nuggets, a burger, and fries and then threw the evidence away in a dumpster by my house. I then ate what Tom cooked for dinner.

Those are just examples off the top of my head. I could go back in the Amanda vault and pull out some real doozies. There are always two constants: emotional distress and shame. Did I always feel this way, even when I was young? Was I always too afraid to voice my fears and hurt? I fear that the answer is yes.

I have always been the person who refuses food or accepts tiny portions in public; I fear eyes scrutinizing every little thing going in my mouth. I've always been a closet eater. Lately, it seems that I've been a closet binger. I know what people think. Just stop eating. Just don't. Eat when you're hungry; don't when you're not. I know all these things. It doesn't take away the hunger pains. The feeling of numbness that accompanies every bite. The beautiful moment of forgetting the pain or anxiety or disappointment.

I know this is an uphill battle. I know that I will struggle with this my entire life. It will always be easier for me to reach for food than analyzing my feelings. But I will do it. And one day when I have children (and I mean will not if) I will teach them how important it is to know the difference between hunger of the stomach and hunger of the heart.

Why Now??

I've been asking myself that question all afternoon. Why now? What is different about this time? I guess I should start at the beginning for all the legions of people reading who haven't always known me.

In my 30 years of life, I have always been at least a little overweight.  Chubby thighs and roly poly tummies are cute when you are three, but not when you add a "0" after that 3.

Chunky legs are only okay when you are small enough to get picked up.

I was always self conscious about my weight. There are only so many compliments you can get on your "pretty face" before you wish that everyone would shut their pretty faces up. As I got older, my weight slowly rose, but so did my confidence. I began to separate between looks and personality. I met my husband, who always has made me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

I've gone on pilgrimages to find the elusive size 6 many times. Many, many times. Sometimes on a whim. Sometimes meticulously planned. I've even had success. But it never lasted. I always regressed and abandoned the search for skinny. I've been pretty consistent with the start and stop of the next great diet. Things didn't start to change until Tom and I decided that we wanted to start a family.

By the time I was in my mid-twenties I was only getting my period three to four times a year but I never thought much about it. I actually felt pretty lucky that I didn't have to deal with all the bitching and whining and bloating. When Tom and I started getting googly eyes every time we saw babies, we quickly got aboard the TTC (Trying to Conceive) train. Toot! Toot! I thought it would be fun and we would be registering at Babies R Us in no time.

A few months later - no positive test. That was fine. I knew it could take a healthy couple a year to conceive. But the fact that I wasn't getting my period could only mean that I wasn't ovulating. I made an appointment with my doctor and went in to see her.

After the usual fun convo and exam, I started telling my doctor about trying for a family and my irregular periods. She suggested bloodwork and an ultrasound. Results came in. PCOS.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

In really basic terms, PCOS (PolyCystic Ovarian Syndrome) is a hormone disorder that makes my ovaries all pissed off and nothing happens. No ovulation = no behbeh. After a little more testing, I was referred to a RE (Reproductive Endocrinologist). We discussed our options. We're trying Clomid. We also agreed that I need to drop fifty pounds before we try further treatment, including IUI or IVF if needed.

So that is the answer to Why Now? Because my husband and I want babies more than anything and I have to get healthier to make it a reality. Why now? Because when I do have babies, I want to be ready to show them the world. Why now? Because it's time.

So here I am now. This is my starting point. I hope you join me in my journey.