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

A Summer Afternoon Swim...

A lazy Sunday afternoon swim with thunder rolling in the distance is my idea of a perfect setting. The sun is still shinning, yet dark luminous clouds hang over simultaneously. I marvel at how I swam laps with such ease, yet with urgency knowing a storm is not too far off. I am reminded of last year when I gasped for breath with only 5 laps of swimming.

I never was much of a swimmer. As a child, raised on the beach every summer in Wautoma Wisconsin, enjoying boating, skiing, rowing and catching frogs in the pond, you would think I would be “naturally” a strong swimmer. I even lived with my sister Debbie half our childhood summers smack on the beach in our little tent. Sometimes at night we would take a little night swim, but I never strayed out too far.

And as if living on the beach was not enough to make a swimmer out of me, my grandmother graduated with a degree in physical education and taught swimming as well as competed on swim teams. Go figure! Ma (how we addressed her) even lived in the main house near our cottage on the beach. You would think I would somehow absorb her talent and strength as a swimmer. Nope.

So, the question that begs to be asked is why I had such fear of swimming. I have no idea. I have vivid memories of being stuffed in an orange life jacket and feeling confined. I was not comfortable wearing it nor was I comfortable without it. My siblings joyfully swam out to the raft to play "King of the Raft." The goal was to push everyone off the raft and last person standing was king...or should I say queen. My memory of attempting to swim to the raft screamed of fear. I recall paddling and paddling trying to reach the raft engulfed by dark cold water only to approach the huge barrels holding up the raft and peering at the emptiness underneath it. No...I did not want to be queen of the raft. I wanted to be safe on shore eating something sweet and gooey. I had neither energy nor desire to join my siblings.

I was a skinny scrawny kid, always fatigued. I had zero energy. I preferred junk food over real food. I was anemic and was on daily iron drops. Of course I did not stay skinny long. When I hit my teen years I grew quite voluptuous…and then chunky…and then darn right obese. These were the starting years of my on and off dieting, binging, and fluctuating up and down in weight. I have countless pictures wearing an oversized t-shirt covering my shorts. I never wore a swim suit during my adolescence because I was ashamed of my body.

Now here I am 40 years later at my pool wearing my suit and very comfortable in my own body, no longer binging, no longer with weight up or down. It just stays steadily at a nice comfortable maintained weight. I wish I knew then what I know now as I sit at the edge of my pool taking in a lovely afternoon. Well…until the loud piercing thunder shook me out of my daze and inside the house I went. The sky was quickly darkening and a storm was near at hand. Since Florida is the lightening capital of the world I think it's time to back myself inside and finish this blog.

Memories of Time Passed....

I was up early this morning walking along the beach and feeling so alive and connected to myself and beyond. I have walked this very beach over and over for the past 40-something years and it always tugs at my heart. I have so many memories of where I was and where I am.

Last night my youngest son and I watched old videos we recorded 11 years ago. My have we changed! He was so little with a sweet young voice. My hair was long, blond and flowing. I remember back then thinking how fat I was and yet, looking at the video I was not.

The lesson is to be present rather than thinking about where I was or where I want to be...how about just sitting with the now. Sometimes, even today, I think I am fat or ugly, or some other negative kind of thinking. It would be sad to look at a video 11 years from now and think I looked pretty darn good then...but now do not. On and on that negative cycle of thinking could go. I am okay right now in this very moment. I have all I need and I am able to bask in it.

At this moment, writing this blog, I am looking out at the dock that I painted red wood with turquoise benches. Mom would like the "art deco" look if she were here. It is such a beautiful view. A window she looked out many times herself. The same window Ma (my grandmother) looked out. Both women obese and both women suffered from strokes. I wonder what their dreams were as they stared off onto the blue sparkly waters. Did they have regrets of yesterday or hopes and dreams for tomorrow?





Last night, watching the videos there was one with Mom after her stroke. We (all my siblings) were gathered around her talking and laughing and exchanging quibbles of nothing. It was beautiful to see us all congregated around her. I think about her stroke and how maybe it did not have to be. She was significantly over weight, did not exercise, and ate high fat foods. The "what ifs" start to sprout as I ponder. Would she still be here if she had eaten free of sugar, flour, wheat, and high fat foods? Do I go there in my thoughts? Perhaps not. I need to stay present.


My lesson this morning, while walking the beach I had traveled on hundreds of mornings when life was younger and simpler ( or was it?), was to stay in the now. To be where I am. And where I am, is sitting looking out the window seeing a boat or two passing by, big egrets sauntering by, pelicans diving for a treat... and me experiencing the pure joy of being in paradise.


One of the videos we watched was of a 4Th of July celebration in 2001. We were gathered with dear friends sharing a meal and watched the fire works. Benjamin (my son) had the camera on me and was commenting on how I was breaking my "diet." And I responded so defensively on how it was all worked in my plan. I was still in the diet defensive mode. I did not learn yet that life would be simpler, more spiritual, and the diet clenched attitude would be released. I did not know I would find an answer to my own obesity, binge eating, and food addiction.


As our video movie night continued to unfold there also was footage of our oldest son wearing a great deal of weight. He was darn right obese. Watching me eat clean and healthy for years has rubbed off on him. He is now lean and healthy and moving in a positive direction. Videos can teach us a great deal. I learned to live now but take the nuggets of treasures from what I learned watching me in the past.

I am blessed and fortunate right now. Not last year...and not tomorrow...right now. My body is healthy, thin, and I can walk for very long distances...just as I did 11 years ago...and 11 years before that. The difference is today I don't binge and I don't harbor "crazy" diet talks. The difference is I am free of sugar, flour, and wheat and my weight is "normal" and my thoughts are clear.

Life today is good. Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow is not here yet. My body is thin and strong. I don't binge. Food cravings are nonexistent. This morning I was up early walking the very beach I had wishes, hopes, and dreams when I was barely 12 years of age. Now, 40 years later I still have wishes, hopes, and dreams but they are not about my body, my weight, my newest diet, or latest binge. I dream of living more in the present and experiencing this beach, this dock, this paradise that I love so.

Photos taken by: Dr. Lisa Ortigara Crego