112 Pounds and Counting: My Hair is Falling Out, But My Mustache is as Thick and Full As Ever!

I'm a little conflicted about writing this post. And since it's not specifically about weight loss, I don't know if you'll call foul on this being the second post in my Weight Loss Journey series.

Let's Back Up…


Earlier this year, the glorious ladies of the Rockville 8 decided that we wanted to focus on life journeys. Since we're all headed somewhere, we might as well write about it, am I write right? I decided to blog about my weight loss, because it's very much what I'm personally focused on these days.

In short, my journey began on January 1, 2010, when I hit rock-bottom by hitting an unwanted highest-ever: 365 pounds. As of August 1, 2015 (two thousand thirty-eight days later, but who's counting?) I weigh 253 pounds.

(Hold for applause.) (Hold for ticker-tape parade.) (Hold for somebody to tell me to get over myself and get on with the blog.)

So that's 112 pounds, with a lot of ups and downs in between. It's been a long journey, and it ain't over yet! I have eighty pounds to go before I hit my goal of 173 (which is just within the "normal" BMI parameters for me). I posted my first blog about this, I've Lost 100 Pounds and I'm Still Fat, on June 15.

Okay, So What's With This Hair Loss Business?

That's what I'd like to know! Back in November I noticed that I was losing a lot of hair. It had happened a few years earlier, too, after I'd lost a lot of weight, and eventually the "hair fall" stopped and life went on as usual. Even the November hair loss also slowed after I stopped using shampoo (switched to baking soda and vinegar, which I loved). But about two months ago, my hair started falling out again. So now, yeah, I'm a little worried.

Worried enough, and embarrassed enough, in fact, that I wasn't going to write about it. But it's been very much on my mind, and since it's a health-related issue (and possibly a weight-related issue, still not sure), it seemed dishonest to keep it to myself.

I've done a fair amount of internet-related research on the subject. What I haven't done yet is talk to my doctor. But I finally made an appointment, so hopefully I'll soon be on the receiving end of some helpful medical advice. It could be something as simple as an iron deficiency. It could be stress-related. Could be hormonal. Could be a million, bazillion things. One of the most frustrating aspects of this situation is all the things it "could be."

That being said, here are a few things I've done that seem to have made a slight difference:

• Stopped washing my hair every day. Although there was a time when I washed my hair every day, back in November I switched from shampoo to baking soda and vinegar. Recently I've tried going totally no-wash (except with water). Four days seems to be the absolute limit of how long I can go without cleaning my hair, although if I'm ever brave enough, I may push it a little longer. I can't say for sure that no-wash is making a big improvement, but I can say that my scalp feels healthier, less dry, and so I'm going to keep it up. (That is, I'm going to keep up the thing I'm not doing, which is daily cleaning.)
• Taking a supplement called Phytoworx. I'm not going to include a link here, because I don't want it to seem like I'm not trying to sell the stuff. I will say that it's a combination of just about every natural remedy for hair loss that I've heard of, and after a couple weeks of taking it, my hair loss has slowed. Not stopped, but slowed, and that ain't bad!
• Eating more protein, more often. Over the past year, as I've been eating lighter, meat has started to disappear from my diet. I've always felt philosophically drawn toward vegetarianism, and I even tried to go vegan a couple years ago (more on that in another post, if you're interested). But hair health and protein intake do seem to be related, so I've been making sure to include a couple small servings of meat a day, as well as eggs in the morning. I also eat nuts with my morning snack.

Anyhow, we'll see how this goes. If you see me walking around with a dramatic comb-over or a funny hat, you'll know why! I'm really hoping to get some helpful answers from my doctor. But either way, I'll keep you posted!

And if you've had this trouble yourself and don't mind talking about it, I hope you'll share your experiences in the comments.

Um, And What About The Mustache?

Huh. *blushes* Yeah, the facial hair is a whole other issue. Actually, I could have said "beard" in the post title instead of "mustache" but I just think "mustache" is a funnier word, so I used it instead.

Okay, this is an incredibly uncomfortable thing to discuss. But you know what, who cares? Honestly, more and more women are having facial hair issues, so let's get our fuzzy faces out of the closet and talk about it.

I started growing hair on my chin and neck when I was fourteen (not too devastating for a girl who already had major self-image issues!), and it's been a persistent problem. Over the past thirty years, I've tried:

• Electrolysis – was too painful and expensive for me to finalize my course of treatment, so unfortunately this had no long-term results.
• Laser hair removal – which didn't eliminate the problem, but did reduce it by about thirty percent.
• Waxing – I recently tried to let my chin hair get long enough for it to be waxed, but unfortunately that was a no-go. The very sweet lady at the salon suggested I let it grow for two weeks. After I stopped laughing at that idea, I thanked her for her time and left.
• Medical advice – I've consulted two doctors. One said that I exhibited symptoms of PCOS (polycystic ovary syndrome). She prescribed birth control pills, but they made me crazy so I stopped taking them. The other prescribed progesterone, but I stopped taking it due to insurance issues (they're expensive, and I went through a period where I didn't have insurance, so there ya go). I'm thinking about asking my new doctor if she would suggest a similar course of treatment. But to be frank, I don't like taking a lot of prescriptions (already take two for my blood pressure), and since this a cosmetic issue, I chafe at the idea of swallowing any more. (I'm not saying this is a good attitude to have, I'm just saying that this has been my thought process thus far.)
• Natural solutions – For example, at one point, I tried taking large doses of inositol after reading that inositol has a positive effect on symptoms of PCOS. Awesomely enough, the inositol definitely slowed the growth of hair on my face. But unfortunately it also seemed to accelerate the loss of hair on my head, so I stopped taking it.

All of the above remedies have their workability and validity. You'll notice that one thing that most of them have in common is that I didn't follow through long enough to see permanent results. (The one exception being laser hair removal). My best hope is for…

• Weight loss – As I've lost the last fifty pounds or so, the hair on my face has stopped growing so quickly. I'm hopeful that as I continue to lose, the hair on my chinny-chin-chin will stop growing altogether. If it doesn't (which it very well may not), then I will probably go with a combination platter: medical, natural, and another round of laser removal.

Sometimes, you just gotta keep swinging until you hit something.

And Now What?

Well first, I'm going to end this post. It's already way too long! (Thanks for sticking with me this whole time, by the way. It's been incredibly cathartic.) After that, I'm going to keep doing the things that have been working, and weed out the things that haven't.

My next post will be on September 21. What would you like me to write about? Some ideas I've had are:

• I hate going to the doctor, but I do it anyway (medical manifesto from a semi-hippie-chick).
• Three silly things I've done to try to lose weight.
• Five years of weight loss: what's worked, and what hasn't.

Those are my thoughts, but I am wide open to other ideas! Please leave suggestions in the comments. Also, if you have questions about anything that I've written, please don't hesitate to ask. At this point, I don't have a lot of secrets left, so don't be shy.

You can also contact me any time through the About and Contact page on my website: MishaCrews.com/about.

Have a great week, friends!

I've Lost 100 Pounds and I'm Still Fat: 3 Tough but Funny Lessons from an Unfinished Journey

DISCLAIMER: I am not a doctor. I'm also not an astronaut, lion tamer or mountaineer. Please consult a professional before making life changes in any of these important areas. Thanks.

So here's what happened:

On the morning of January 1, 2010, I stepped on the scale and the display read "365."

My first thought was: "Wow, I only had two glasses of champagne last night. Why is my vision so blurry?" I blinked and rubbed my eyes. Still 365.

My second thought was: "The floor must be really uneven here. This stupid scale isn't balanced properly." I got off, moved the scale slightly, and got back on again. Still 365.

My third thought was: "If something doesn't change, I'm going to be dead soon."

The third thought was the one that stuck. I made a solemn vow (as I had done so many — many, many — times before) that I would lose a hundred pounds before the end of that year.

One year and fifty-three months later, I actually reached that 100-pound goal. It was on May 10, 2015, that my scale (the same one!) told me I weighed 264.7 pounds. When I saw that magic number, I did an exuberant but incredibly clumsy happy dance (seriously, be thankful you weren't there to see it) and supplemented my kale shake with an extra scoop of triumph.

But here's the thing: I'm still fat. Although 265'ish pounds was an incredible milestone for me, and I'm as proud as punch to have reached that weight, there is a long, rocky road (yes, that's an ice cream joke) to travel between where I am now, and where I want/need to be. And although many hearty souls have made the trip from Obesityville to Healthytown before me, the journey is different for each of us.

So, in many ways, this feels like uncharted territory. And as I make my way across the wild country, confronted at every turn by untamed bowls of pasta and perilous cliffs chiseled out of chocolate, here are a few things I'm trying to keep in mind:

You gain some, you lose some… and then you gain some back.

Between where I started and where I am currently sitting (258.6 as of this morning), I have dropped a total of 106.4 pounds. (Excuse me while I break my arm patting myself on the back.) In addition to that, however, I estimate that I've lost, gained back, and re-lost about 85 pounds. Goodness only knows how much I'll lose, re-gain and then re-lose again, before I reach my ultimate goal of 173 pounds (which is just at "normal" for me on the BMI scale.

For example, in late-2011/early-2012, I lost about 60 pounds (more on that in a future post). I then spent the next couple years re-gaining and re-losing about twenty of those pounds. I was a little depressed about this for a while. But in the long run, I kept off 40 pounds, and that was the important thing.

If you lose a bunch of weight, there will usually be an "evening out" phase where some of the weight comes back on. It's a natural (if infuriating) part of the process. But the important steps are the ones that lead us forward, and those are the steps we should count.

Decisions, Decisions: Health and Happiness, Or Pizza? (The answer isn't as obvious as it should be.)

Simply put, pizza has three qualities which health and happiness will never have: it's easy, it's always gratifying, and it's instantaneous (if you consider 30 minutes or less to be instantaneous, which apparently I do).

Granted, the whole healthy/happy thing has its own kind of gratification (such as long life and… well… happiness), but it's rarely easy, and never instant. So, when I weighed almost four hundred pounds, how often do you think I'd pass up a hot, delicious slice of instant gratification in favor of a cold, unsympathetic celery stick? If you answered "Never," you win a bag of baby carrots.

But the lesson that I finally learned is this: it's not always an either/or question. Sometimes it's an and/and decision: Pizza and salad and a walk afterwards. Instant gratification tastes better with a heaping helping of healthy habits on the side. And the happiness is never far from my plate.

Mostly mental: Is it all in my mind… or on my backside?

Alfred Hitchcock once said, "When I catch sight of my reflection, I'm always surprised that I don't look like Cary Grant."

I can totally relate to that. Not that I think I look like Cary Grant. Or any Cary (or Carrie), for that matter. But I can completely empathize with the notion that our mental image of ourselves tends to be very different from what other people see.

Some people think they're fat, but they're actually not. Other people, like me, hide in a mental hole and pretend the fat doesn't exist until they get slapped in the face by the meaty palm of reality. (Like seeing 365 on my scale, or having my father die suddenly from heart disease, when he didn't even know he was sick.)

There are also some people who lose weight and still feel fat. But here's something I just realized recently: fat is a physical thing. It may, or may not, be seen as negative.

But beauty is always positive, and true beauty is entirely mental and emotional. If we feel beautiful, we are beautiful. And while there are exceptions to every rule, the majority of people will see us as we see ourselves. 

So when you hear a little voice whispering in your ear that says you're unattractive, or unworthy, or undeserving, tell that voice to take a hike. Even if — especially if — that voice is yours.

And tell yourself every day how beautiful you are. Because, guess what! You are!

What, did you think I hadn't noticed?

So… could this be a regular thing?

I'm thinking of making this weight loss journey my regular blog topic here on the Rockville 8. Does that sound interesting, or self-indulgent? And if it's interesting, what would you like to know?

The Creativity Well revisited/Moving Eve: A Love Story in Brief

A few months ago I blogged about my creativity well, the old farmhouse and grounds my grandparents inhabited for over forty years. I returned at Thanksgiving, knowing that the place had sold, steeled to say my good-byes to this once immutable touchstone of my life. My mother told me she knew the couple who ended up purchasing the house were it because the day they viewed the property, the husband sat on the bench of the breakfast nook in the spot my grandfather had always claimed as his.

This man looked through the multi-paned wavy-glass windows to watch the birds at the feeders, studied the enormous white birch that pops like a torch from the thick patch of grey-brown-green trees along the road, and gazed out at the three-seater outhouse hugging the ravine that leads down to the river. Perhaps he conjured up a story exploring the wherefores and whys of that peculiar structure. Then he relaxed into the cushioned bench seat as though he'd been groomed to take over stewardship of that particular piece of Earth's real estate. In the space of a minute or two, the Three and a Half had become his home.

And while I am sad, sad, sad to lose the physical demesne of my creativity well I know two things. One is that its magic will flow, zesty and sparkling, through my veins the rest of my life. And second, I am grateful beyond imagining that the new owners, this husband and wife I know only through a few words from my mom, "get" just what a marvel they have in store for them. The dreams they will dream. The times they will have. The stories they will create together and share with others. What an adventure they have in store! What an adventure.

Moving Eve: A Love Story in Brief by J. Keely Thrall

"Judy," Gib said, taking hold of his wife's hand. In a fresh set of pajamas, he was once again in bed lying next to the lady he'd loved with all his soppy heart the last seventy odd years.

"You awake?"

"Where were you? Are you all right?" Judy's warm fingers squeezed his. Her voice had faded along with her memory, but his cool blonde always knew him. Always needed to know he was okay.

"Fine, fine. Just soaked through my PJs. Damned night sweats." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. Earlier in the year the doctors determined the bladder cancer had disappeared. Buggering cells had simply decided to migrate, taking up new residence in his lung and kidney. Not much the medicos could do about it. His heart was too weak to undergo vigorous or invasive treatment. A damn shame the spirit of his heart hadn't imparted its robust strength to the muscle. Suppressing a sigh, he kissed Judy's knuckles again before tucking their arms, still linked at the hand, under the covers. Even in a warm house, the Michigan December leaked inside. It wouldn't do for either his lady or himself to come down with a sniffle. "We're moving house today, sweetheart, remember?"

"Now?" Judy's voice rasped into the darkness, at once detached and fretful.

"No, no. Later. We're going to live with Megan and Jeri, downstate. We'll have Christmas there."

"That's right, that's right." She patted his hand as though to reassure him. About what, he couldn't tell, but any kind of pats and pets from his wife were welcome, anytime, any-why, anywhere. Sex may be a non-starter at this point, but a little skin to skin was all right by him. Even if it was just snuggling in bed with his best girl, holding hands.

"This will be our seventy-third Christmas together." What was the point in being a retired mathematician if he couldn't throw down a few facts and figures every so often?

Judy chuckled. The sound of bells on his ear. "Mother was fit to be tied when that Halsted boy let on that you and Eddie were out in the car Christmas Eve."

"We'd just about frozen our nuts off when Howie came and got us."

"Language, Gilbert."

He grinned into the darkness. Change might be coming, but some things stayed constant.

"That night was the beginning of a grand adventure, wasn't it, dearheart?"

"It was?" Judy asked, vague again but willing to be persuaded.

Irritation spiked in a rush of heat. Anger at the aging process that had stolen his mate in snatches and gulps over the last few years drew a flush to his neck. The contrast to the cool night air made him shiver and he shrugged the blanket up to cover his shoulders.

"Yes," he declared, unwilling to cede way to personality's thief. "Sixty-six years and nine months of marriage. Four children, five grandchildren and four great-grandchildren. Travel, foreign and domestic. This home." His voice cracked and he swallowed. Sentimental slob. Blinking moisture from his eyes, Gib cleared his throat. "And our next adventure begins tomorrow."

"Well, maybe you should get some sleep now so you can be rested for this new adventure of ours, hmm?" Tart and unexpected, the zinger triggered a second round of tears that needed to be blinked away. The moments when his dry, witty blonde stepped through the haze of dementia to tweak his pretensions came with less frequency but, man, they still carried a punch.

"All right, dear. Good night." Gib squeezed his wife's hand.

"Good night." His hand was squeezed in return.

In the country four am was dark no matter the season. But in the depths of a northern winter, the black outside the windows felt especially heavy. As though Dawn might not be strong enough this time to roll away her brooding brother Night.

"I said good night, Gib."

Gilbert laughed and turned onto his side, facing Judy. He wiggled to find a comfortable spot, then hunkered down and closed his eyes. He'd trust Dawn to flex her might and usher in the day that would bring his and Judy's next grand adventure.

And in a few days, they would celebrate another Christmas Eve together. His blonde may or may not come out to play, but his Judy would be there, holding his hand, loving him as deeply as he loved her. He was a lucky, lucky man who could still claim rights to the grandest adventure a man could hope for: true love.

The above is an exercise in trying to put myself in another's shoes, as writers are wont to do. In this case it's my grandpa and how I imagine the night before he and Nana leave their home for a new one might unfold.

In thinking about the ways in which one could examine a life and reflect on the ups and downs and curve-balls one encounters, it seems to me that we have an infinite choice in how we address our baggage. First, do we call it baggage? Scars? Experience? Adventures?

Language helps craft our attitudes and our attitudes help form our emotions. I deliberately chose to imbue this narrator (my fictional version of Grandpa) as taking strength in looking to his future with bright expectancy. This move is the Next Big Thing. Something to look forward to, to anticipate. He deals with the cancer, he lives for the brief glimpses of the woman his wife used to be even as he loves the woman his wife is now. But he's not dwelling on the crap. He's looking up and out.

Aside from the personal journey portion of this post (can we say coping mechanism, everyone?), I'm realizing it was really useful as an initial character sketch. Now, I doubt I'll ever write a story in which my grandpa is the hero per se.

But the determination of spirit in the face of adversity? Hmm.

Someone who loves not just from habit, but from nuanced choice as circumstances change over the course of a life. Hmm, hmm.

Someone who sees life as a grand adventure? Hmm, hmm, hmm!

Who do you think would be the perfect match for that hero?