Sugar Abstinence & My Big Fat Italian Neck
Jan 31st, 2012
by Alexis Novak
It wasn’t until week six of my doctor-ordered no-sugar, no-carb diet that I dreamt I was licking buttercream frosting off Ryan Gosling’s scruffy-sexy-Notebook-beard. What do you mean you’ve never had that delicious dream before?
Many days I wander my vast collection of Baking Porn, calculating how much a Cake Pop would put me back after days and days of being on. Though I’ve caved a few times to my inner pizza eater, overall I’ve exercised my will of steel. Because my body is actually starting to feel super-sluggish post carb indulgence, cheating isn’t even all that fun anymore. I stare a delish cookie in its eye, tell it how crappy it’s going to make me feel like later and walk away. Okay, okay, sometimes I take a teeny nibble first.
All of this strictness led me to the realization that carbs must’ve given me way too much pleasure because I’m now experiencing South Beach Diet Depression. Carbs are pure joy for an Italian girl. Conversely, I don’t think I can bear one more boneless, skinless grilled chicken breast atop spinach greens. Between that and nuts, I consume the same amount of calories that birds and squirrels do in my yard.
While this seems extreme, it was actually necessary. My post-partum weight’s been stubborn as F#@K and not letting go after my second child who turns TWO in a few weeks. That’s right, I said two. The private battle I’ve fought has been soul-crushing. The words brutal and humiliating also come to mind.
And I’ve tried everything else.
And Sugar Abstinence works. All the hot moms are doing it.
The stubborn weight and my very low energy among other symptoms led me on my own Mystery Diagnosis episode where I’ve acted as doctor /researcher/frustrated patient. I explored bio-identical hormones, hypothyroidism, hypnotherapy, a trainer, nutritionist, blood work like crazy, endocrinology, pre-diabetic hypoglycemia, autoimmune disorders, and these are only the ones that pop into my head. I’m saving acupuncture, veganism, crystals, Reiki, and appearing on Dr. Oz for when I’m really desperate.
But wait.
I should really take my sad story from the top- my neck.
Like Nora Ephron, I feel bad about my neck too.
On my living room wall is a black and white montage of wedding shots where my hubs and I are shoving cake in each other’s happy mouths. Every time I pass it, I think- “Damn, my neck was sexy” and then- “Sure do miss her”.
In my pre-mom life I had a neck that would have made Queen Nefertiti jealous. It was 
skinny and graceful, long and elegant, the Rolls Royce of all necks. People thought I was a dancer. Or from another country. Or very chic. I used my neck to the fullest. Hair bobbed. Long dangling chandelier earrings. Sashaying around the room at a party, you wouldn’t have been able to take your eyes off me. Well, her.
Then six years ago, she went soft, smushy. And while pregnancies changed my body, I never could have predicted that my formerly beautiful neck would be the part I mourned most.
I thought that this was what happened as you approached thirty, like a car accident that occurs right in front of you and leaves you no reaction time to swerve.
Turns out I was wrong. When I finally made my way to an endocrinologist to ultrasound my neck, he said I have a goiter, the thing only old ladies and Oprah grow. I cried. I told the doctor about my formerly swan-like neck. He said that if my husband is a regular guy then he probably doesn’t care about my neck. But the endocrinologist didn’t understand that this wasn’t about my husband, it’s about me.
As I left his office, I promised him I would renounce sugar. Even wine. I vowed to South Beach it right on through the entire holiday season. Sigh.
This was after screwing around with my hormones bio-identically for months, and before I found out about my adrenal fatigue and the hyper cortisol production that is poisoning me. This is near the time of three misdiagnoses and faulty treatment plans. Bigger sigh.
Partial diagnosis: Auto-immune issues ain’t sexy and producing too much cortisol makes your neck (along with other parts) fat.
I wish I could jump off this Medical Roller Cluster. I’ve hated all these doctor’s appointments for the last year and a half. I’ve hated focusing so much on my annoying body while my sitter watches my kids. I’ve hated paying the sticker price to just feel like myself again. But the ride is almost over so I’m getting excited to return back to the day to day of a healthy mom. The routine and humdrum looks much sexier to me now; boring, please come back to me soon!
Next stop, new specialist and saliva testing.
To be continued…
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Written by Alexis Novak • 2 Comments
tanya Tue, Jan 31, 1:03pm