Defining Moments

"It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves."
~Sir Edmund Hillary

I awakened to the sound of the phone—ring after ring—I just want it to stop. I pulled the pillow over my ears and hunkered down deeper into the mattress, but it droned on and on beckoning me to answer.

Barely awake, I glanced at the clock noting it was 4:00 in the morning. I stumbled as I made my way to the kitchen to learn who was on the other end of the phone.

I pressed the cold receiver to my ear and with great trepidation  answered, "Hello." My father's panic voice blurted out,  "It’s your Mom—she had a stroke! The paramedics are here. I don’t know what to do, they say they have a shot they can give her but I have to know the exact time she had her stroke. If  they give her the shot too soon or too late it will kill her."

 The room swirled as I tried to grasp what he was saying.  I stammered something back, but to this day I don't know what I said in response. After we hung up, I recall I stood dazed and paralyzed in fear for what seemed like hours staring at the phone back in it's cradle, not certain what to do. 

A defining moment— my life would never be the same.

The dreaded call was Saturday morning, the eve of Easter back in 1998. Could it be only eight hours before I was skating with such glee with my eight year old son Benjamin and collided and tumbled to the ground only to rise laughing it off twirling under the stars smiling and thanking God for what a glorious life I was living. I practiced as a clinical psychotherapist and was soon to marry my prince, living in my dream house the perfect life. And now, mom was faced with life or death. How quickly my world was turned upside down.

Driving bleary eyed, as the tears tumbled down my cheeks, I dialed patient after patient to cancel my Saturday schedule, while trying to keep my eyes and car on the road as I headed to the hospital four hours away to accompany my Dad in what was one of the saddest and most difficult moments of our lives.

We sat in the intensive care unit, each in our individual silent prayer, only interrupted with periodic conversation and sobs of disbelief. The neurologist tarnished any hope we mustered up when he inhumanely blurted out she would never walk again and guaranteed she'd endure a continuous down turn for the remaining days of her life.

Dad lowered his head into his hands shaking it back and forth mumbling, barely audible, "No, this can't be, not again," as he questioned his decision to not give mom the shot earlier this morning with the paramedics. He raised his head up slowly from his hands and he recounted one of his defining moments when his mom clung for her life nearly 50 years earlier in intensive care, and he, the oldest son, needed to translate from Italian to English and back from the doctors to his family. He made serious decisions then and serious decisions now both intertwined and played over and over in his mind.

His mom died.

He never got past his guilt and grief. And now he was faced with his wife of nearly a half of a century facing the end of her life as they both knew it.

Mom was obese, she picked up a  cigarette habit in her fifties, and didn’t exercise and favored high fat foods all contributing to  her situation she now faced.

I pulled my chair up as close to mom as I could, without climbing in the bed with her, and held her limp had in mine. I always admired her tiny dainty hands and feet. I watched her struggle to take one shallow breath then pause and exhale and repeat—the oxygen machine swishing in the background —her eyes closed—slipping further and further away.

There I sat inhaling the  nauseating  smell of bleached sheets mixed with  rubbing alcohol as I pulled the spare blanket from the foot of the bed around my shoulders—teeth chattering from the cool temperature to ward off germs—when my attention went to my left leg throbbing. For a brief moment my mind moved from mom to my left leg. I startled when  I saw what I thought was a teeny scratch from a fall I had taken and brushed off  the night before while skating with Benjamin—it oozed with infection. I hadn't realized it was worse than I thought merely a few hours ago. Again, I pushed it out of my mind and made a life changing decision.

It was instant, at that moment, I vowed to bump up my mission to help eating disordered and addicted patients to recovery. For the rest of my life I'd give of my heart and soul to find answers and direction for those in the same space as my mother who couldn't conquer obesity. I promised to God then and there that I'd share and teach how I learned to let go of my once obese body, eat free of sugar, flour, and wheat, and lean on spiritual recovery.

I couldn’t save mom but I darn sure could share what I know with those who still had a chance to turn their lives around.

Mom died at 67 years old. She lived four more years after her stroke completely paralyzed. Those days were very good times and very bad times all rolled into one.



Now, on the Eve of every Easter I bow my head in remembrance of the early morning call over 13 years ago— when my life turned a new direction—a defining moment. I'm not saying eating free of sugar, flour, and wheat is easy but death or paralysisis is certainly worse.

Life is brief—live now, laugh now, and pray now. 

http://weightcontroltherapy.com/

Photos Taken by Dr. Lisa Ortigara Crego

I Was On the Oprah Show—Almost!

Okay, so I wasn't on Oprah, and perhaps almost was only from my perspective. The show was on persons who lost over 100 pounds and kept it off and of course were inspired by Oprah. I got close to being chosen but my mistake was not pinpointing a specific Oprah show that inspired me.

I had trouble picking a show because ALL of Oprah's shows motivated me  in one way or another. I watched her from back in the early Chicago days on AM Chicago when I was struggling financially, physically, and emotionally. Often I only had a few dollars to my name and barely enough money to fill my gas tank and yet I never found it difficult to binge eat. Hmmm, an addict—food in my case—always finds money for the substance one way or another.

When the Chicago brutally cold winters became more than I could stand, I moved to Florida—very saddened at the idea of not watching AM Chicago which Oprah hosted. But, as luck would have it, the Oprah Show was syndicated a few months after I moved (September 8, 1986) and one day before my birthday day on September 9, 1986. What a gift!

A few years back I dragged my sister Christy to Oprah's store in Chicago to purchase something from Oprah's closet. My sister didn't "get" why I had to have a piece of Oprah's personal wardrobe in my closet. She thought I wanted to wear it—but of course I wanted it authentic—untouched by my body. So, in my closet hangs an Oprah shirt, and not just any old shirt. It's a Richard Metzgar crisp white cotton shirt with bell sleeves that fan out at the bottom.

And of course while I was in Oprah's store I purchased an O baseball cap, magnets with her slogans of motivation for my refrigerators and I snapped a gazillion pictures of Harpo's buildings.

Yes, no doubt Oprah has inspired me, not only in weight loss success but in all of my successes, even though I couldn't pick a particular show.

So, what does this have to do with almost being on Oprah's show—or anything for that matter.  Although I failed to mention what particular show inspired me, which cost me the chance to appear as a guest on Oprah's show, it didn't stop me from reflecting on how far I've come in understanding my food addiction and helping scores of others find answers and direction to their eating disorders.

No doubt, Oprah has been a mentor to me from back in the days when I was a young woman who branched out alone from a small town in Wautoma Wisconsin back to my roots in Chicago, Illinois at the age of 21, without any degrees or money in my pocket and made my way through college, master's degree and a doctorate degree. I had tons of student loans to carry me through my dreams and to date I am happy to report I'm debt free because I learned to respect myself and my money. Yes, I learned this from many of Oprah's shows.

I always felt (and feel) each step towards growth Oprah made I did too—even with weight going up and weight going down. I, like Oprah, had a best friend Yvonne, who I cherished and still do. She died in 1997 in her sleep. Watching Oprah helped me through the most trying loss I had ever had at that time.

Prayer, meditation, intentions, intention map were tools I learned years back from Oprah's shows—with the intent to go on Oprah.

Dr. Wayne Dyer, in Excuses Begone! states, "...when you engage in the act of active contemplation, you set in motion a powerful force—you allow yourself to be lived by the great universal mind or Tao (p.103). In other words when you set the process of creation into action, what you contemplated comes to fruition.

The day the show I almost was on aired my heart ached with anticipation as it began and then as I watched each persona twirl and unveil their large clothes, letting them fall to the floor, a burst of relief took hold. This is not what I represent—diet mentality and showing off weight loss. Instead, my goal is to paint a picture of hope and relief from food addiction and eating disorders. I aspire to light the way to a better way of living. I bring focus to recovery and the added boost is weight loss if needed.

I  hold a doctorate in addiction psychology and I'm certified as a certified eating disorder specialist and have personal recovery from an eating disorder which helps me to help others.

So, I didn't make it on the Oprah Show, I'm still contemplating and sending out my intentions which I intend to manifest to appear on OWN but in a different capacity than a rah rah look at me and my weight loss to let me show you the way to peace and tranquility once and for all—to break free from your food addiction and obesity.

I'm relieved my Higher Source didn't manifest my intention prematurely. My time will come. Oprah's made a huge impact in my life and will continue to in all my adventures left to unfold.                                              

I no longer want to be on the outside looking in to what might have been but rather to what will be.

Photos taken by: Dr. Lisa Ortigara Crego

Awakenings...

All I have seen teaches me to trust the Creator for all I have not seen.

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

What is an awakening? Dictionary.com defines an awakening as a recognition, realization, or coming into awareness of something. I think of an awakening as being present—in the now. How often do you go through the motions of life missing out on the simple things such as the birds singing or a daffodil in bloom? When was the last time you truly looked deeply at something—anything—in it’s natural setting?

I’d been a bit overwhelmed with teaching, my practice, working on my book, and traveling that I realized I need to slow down this whirlwind of a life and take a day for me to catch my breath. I “turned it over” to a higher source.

When I walk with God and live life as a prayer I awaken without fail to His beauty and His grace—and awareness takes hold.

Night after night birds outside my bedroom window started singing at the top of their little whistles to the point my slumber’s interrupted.

What’s going on I ask?

The birds are turned around—at least the ones out my bedroom window in the middle of the night.

The birds continued to sing all through the night while during the day beautiful purple/pink flowers bloomed around my St. Francis statue in the yard. I didn’t even plant these flowers! In fact, I didn’t even notice they were there—and the statue is smack in front of my kitchen window that I stare out of continuously throughout the day.

I’ve always been drawn to St. Francis. I actually learned recently that I was born in St. Francis hospital in Blue Island, Chicago, Illinois. And when my Mom passed away her prayer card was a picture of St. Francis of Assisi on one side and Father Rookey’s Miracle Prayer on the other. Hmmmm—coincidence? I think not.

I read once where there is great love there is miracles. How can you not feel love when you see a flower in full bloom—or hear birds singing smack in the middle of the night?

To awaken is to be close to a higher source.

So, upon reflection, perhaps my busyness with life blocked my awareness of the beauty that surrounds me. God tapped, then knocked—then threw a brick (i.e. birds singing LOUD well into the night) just to get my attention—to slow down, and stop and smell the flowers, see the cobalt blue sky, and embrace all the amazing beauty right in front of my very eyes. I am awake.

I can see how it might be possible for a man to look down upon the earth and be an atheist, but I cannot conceive how he could look up into the heavens and say there is no God.
~ Abraham Lincoln



Photos by: Dr. Lisa Ortigara Crego