My body, my identity

Four years ago today, my father, James Herman Hanson, left this word, about three weeks shy of what would have been his 84th birthday. If he's looking down from heaven at me, I think he'd be happy with what's happened in the last 18 months with my body, and my identity. After all, he deserves much of the credit for it. My dad never treated me, his daughter, like "Daddy's little girl," like a quasi-girlfriend, or like something he owned. He treated me as an equal, from the very beginning. My father modeled the way I want to be treated by all the men (and women) in my life, including my brothers, my bosses, my health care providers and yes, the many men I love and have loved, in many different ways. I want to be treated as a person who is competent and capable, as someone with something important to say, as someone to regard and not dismiss or patronize, as someone to take seriously, as someone who is not an eternal child just because she's female...

One year ago, I wrote this Facebook post.  Today, a twinge in my "operative" knee reminds me it's still true. How's my knee? It's actually behaving itself. I've had a long string of "good knee days" -- but folks, I don't take them for granted! Everything about our bodies -- our mobility, our senses, our strength, our minds, even our very lives -- are on loan to us. We are called to treat them with the best stewardship possible. But even if we do so, none of these things are ours to keep. Yeah, I get a little PO'd about that, but I work through it. God graciously listens to my rants.

June 27 is a day when I celebrate life and health -- by being mindful of how quickly life can change and how fragile health can be. This date fell on a Tuesday in 2000. At 6 p.m., I'd finished my shift at my day job. I was on my way to my car, chatting and chuckling with a co-worker, when all of a sudden my left arm went numb. I could walk, speak, read and write, but when I felt the numbness spread throughout my left side, it became clear that I needed an ambulance to take me to the ER. What I had was called a transient ischemic attack -- a small stroke. A ghastly series of tests at UW Hospital showed that a blood clot the size of a rice grain had traveled through a congenital hole in my heart that I didn't know I had, and lodged in the right side of my brain. Yes, I was overweight. But my weight didn't contribute to this condition. About one-third of the population, I was told, has this hole in the heart, from where the umbilical cord was while we were in the womb. It...

I've got a little time off work this week, so i plan to spend an hour of each day in my beloved pools -- the lap pool and/or the therapy pool. In my raving about my water time, I need to remind myself that the water may be my "happy place," but it isn't necessarily for other people. Yesterday I got an email from a Dubuque reader of my faith-and-values column in the Telegraph Herald, who asked about my work in the water. She recently had hip surgery, and said she would like to walk without pain, and enjoy her body as much as I said I enjoyed mine. This is what I told her about water therapy: It's not swimming, although the aquatic center that is my home-away-from-home has a lap pool as well as a therapy pool. The therapy pool, about 2.5 to 5 feet deep with 94-degree water, is not meant for swimming, but for standing, walking, balancing and gentle exercising. It's not a Jacuzzi, either. Some of my friends have joshed me about lolling around in the water wi...

Today, while I was out having my swim (AHHH!), I got a call from a friend who wanted to know how I accomplished my weight loss. Jay took the call, and he said the exact right thing, which was this: We're eating less and exercising more. Our portions are smaller. We're choosing foods that offer fuel, and not ballast. But what's right for us might not be right for you. There are any number of reasons why people carry more weight than they should, and any number of health conditions that might co-exist with obesity -- conditions like diabetes, heart disease or, in my case, mobility impairment stemming from osteoarthritis (worn-away cartilage) in my knee. For me, then, a high-impact exercise program would be an example of an approach to weight reduction that is right for some people, but not for me. Even now, I don't do well on exercise apparatus that requires me to be upright, such as a treadmill, stepper or elliptical. But a stationary bike, recumbent or upright, wor...

Today's blog is brought to you by Dove products, for all your bath and beauty needs. I use Dove soap for two reasons. One, it moisturizes my skin. And two, the brand has undertaken a vital project -- addressing the self-esteem of girls and women. I know the ultimate purpose of the Dove Self-Esteem Project is to sell more soap, deodorant, shampoo, conditioner, etc. But unlike other beauty product ad campaigns -- shallow and sometimes dangerous campaigns, in which women are told there's something wrong with the way they look, but don't worry, this product will fix it! -- the Dove campaign strives to tell women that beauty comes in all shapes, all sizes, all colors, all hair lengths and textures, and all temperaments. This is the first ad campaign in my memory that truly seems to "get it" -- that people, especially female people, must love themselves to live their lives as fully, and with as much fulfillment, as possible. When I was a girl, the adults in my li...

I've given considerable thought, especially recently, to why my previous triple-digit weight loss didn't become, as I'd intended, a permanent life change. It happened starting in 2000, after I experienced what turned out to be a minor brain attack. By the way, the brain attack had nothing to do with my excess weight. A blood clot traveled from my lung to my brain through a congenital hole in my heart. My left arm went numb, but my motor skills returned the next day. But I dropped the weight -- about 150 pounds by February 2002 -- to prepare myself for open-heart surgery to correct the defect in my heart. I was, at that time, roughly 10 pounds lighter than I am now. I loved being thinner and more athletic. I loved buying pretty clothes, some of them from thrift store racks. I loved being able to sit in a movie theater without chafing my hips. And I especially loved how the woman who guided my post-surgery exercise regimen -- a nice young woman named Vonda, at UW Health at...

In about an hour, I'm headed for the Moo-Day Brunch. It's a third-Saturday-in-June tradition in Columbia County, to celebrate Wisconsin's status as America's Dairyland. (I know, I know. California produces more milk than Wisconsin. But Wisconsin produces more cheese. So there!) It's held on a dairy farm, but it's the Moo-Day Brunch, and not Breakfast on the Farm as in most other Wisconsin counties, because there isn't a scrambled egg, pancake or sausage anywhere on the menu. The entrees are pizza and grilled cheese sandwiches. The side dishes are yogurt and cubes of cheese. The dessert is ice cream. And God help you if you're lactose-intolerant. As usual, I will pay my $7 for a meal. But I won't eat everything offered. No grilled cheese! I used to love grilled cheese sandwiches, but now I can't tolerate even the thought of butter-fried white bread. Yogurt, yes, and maybe a couple cubes of cheese, which I figure to be at least 50 calories a cube...

I'm about three pounds away from my goal weight, which means, in my mind, I'm pretty much where I want to be, number-on-the-scale-wise. For several days, however, the number's been the same at every weigh-in first thing in the morning. It's called a plateau. Everybody who has ever undertaken a weight loss program experiences it. Another universal experience: a spike in weight. It may be the temporary effect of indulging in one slice of the pizza your boss brought to work during a prolonged project, or a couple too many salsa-dipped chips before your sizzling fajita arrived at the table. It happens. And -- I'm not going to kid you -- it can all too easily indicate relapse, reversal and regain. The doctors and nurses who tell you your BMI is too high won't tell you -- probably because they don't know -- that for obese people, long-term success in attaining the so-called ideal weight is rare. Some studies suggest it's non-existent, even with invasive b...

I want to say three words about physical therapy: "I believe! Hallelujah!" This is my mother, Phyllis Hanson. My first experience with physical therapy was observing her sessions at the Iowa Jewish Life Center in Des Moines. This photo was taken by my brother, Dan, in June 2016, about two months before Mom died. The PT was working on her mobility. There was a cartoon on the bulletin board in the PT room at the Jewish Life Center. It showed Superman, and the physical therapist says, "It's great that you can fly, but I really want you to walk more." About four months after Mom's passing, it would be my turn to experience physical therapy. It was early January 2017. My primary care physician laid out the course for treating my crippling osteoarthritis, starting with physical therapy. Before I left the doctor's office, I had an appointment with physical therapist Dan M. A quick look at his online bio showed a whip-thin, athletic man with devastating g...

It's an admonition my brothers and I heard from our parents more than once: "Act your age!" It was usually when we were fidgeting, fighting, shrieking, or indulging in "bathroom talk" that Mom or Dad or both would suggest our behavior would be more appropriate for a child considerably younger than we currently were -- that a 7-year-old should be more civilized than a 2-year-old. After six decades of life, and with both my parents gone on to their eternal reward, I no longer hear anybody tell me, right out loud, to "act your age." But the message is out there, and it's not just aimed at kids. If anything, it's aimed more strongly at sexagenarians, septuagenarians, octogenarians, nonagenarians and centenarians. On the one hand, we're told that so-called middle-aged people should have the physical and mental vitality that used to be reserved, in popular perception, for adults much less mature than we are. Fifty (or is it 60?) is the new 3...

I've learned the hard way: If I want to lose weight, I must eat. It sounds counter-intuitive, but it's true, at least for my body. When people compliment me on my thinner body and ask, "Now, don't you feel better?" I will respond, if I know them well, in this way: Not necessarily. When I went from obesity to pretty-close-to-ideal-weight, I found I'd traded one set of health risks for another. When I was obese, I could hold off on the morning meal until mid-morning, or skip it altogether. Or, if I had an early-morning appointment, I could rationalize, "I'll grab something to eat later." A couple trips to the ER in the Divine Savior Healthcare ambulance have put that rationalization to rest. Both happened while I was on an assignment for the newspaper where I've worked for 10 years. One incident happened in record-breaking September heat. The other happened on a chilly December day. The symptoms were the same, and so was the treatment. I...

"Enjoy those endorphins!" That was how Dan S., the physical therapy assistant who guided my warm-water exercises, signed off on his response to a follow-up query in March 2017. After asking him about using flippers for lap-swimming (he said yes), I reported how much pleasure I got from my time in the water -- pleasure that often rose to the level of joy. Fifteen months later, the same is still true. I've never had a bad swim. Not once. Not even on that April day a year ago, when my knee pain flared up, with a vengeance, as I exited the therapy pool; I went back in the water for a little while, and it helped.  I guess I'm one of the lucky people who feels the release of endorphins when I work out. My husband says he doesn't notice any endorphin effects when he exerts himself. Not everybody does. But does my joyous sensation arising from exercise come entirely from the opioid-like hormones that my body generates when I put it to work? I don't think so...

So the women vying to be Miss America 2019 won't parade across the Atlantic City stage in a swimsuit. Believe it or not, I'm sorry to hear that. I'm a lifelong aficionado of the Miss America tradition -- a tradition that started as a gimmick to extend Atlantic City's beach season beyond the Labor Day weekend, which is why the pageant (they're not calling it that anymore, either) is held in the second week of September. If nothing else, the swimsuit parade is a tie to that beach-y tradition. The bikinis worn in last year's pageant (won by Miss North Dakota, Cara Mund -- I cheered out loud for that!) have only been featured in the last 20 or so years. The first Miss America -- Margaret Gorman of Washington, D.C., crowned in 1921 -- wore a woolen swimsuit almost modest enough, by today's standards, for a modern professional woman to wear to the office. Others wore bloomers. Then, it was panel-front one-piece suits that, by the 1960s, were so out of style th...

I am a patient of University of Wisconsin Health, and for the most part, I've gotten outstanding care from the UW Health providers. This notice popped up on my Facebook page last week: Health researchers have compiled a searchable map of obesity in America’s Dairyland by ZIP code, and the picture is alarming.  Wisconsin is the first state with an obesity map based on electronic health-record data, meaning it reports how much people weigh at their doctors’ offices, rather than self-reported weights.  Dr. Vincent Cryns, a UW Health endocrinologist and leader of the Wisconsin Obesity Prevention Initiative (OPI) will unveil and explain the searchable map during a Facebook Live interview on June 5 at 11 am CDT.  This is the edited version of the intro -- edited, I'd like to think, because of me. The original intro said, "It isn't a pretty picture" instead of "The picture is alarming."  I wrote a fairly wordy comment about the upcomin...

There's a drug store in the community where I work, with an old-fashioned soda fountain that might soon have a new-fashioned menu. The store's new owner is a self-professed health nut. That's why he's considering offering, along with the chili dogs and chili burgers (or maybe instead of them), some new concoctions that he says are sources of fuel, not fat. They're powdered, and you mix them with water or plant-based "milk" to make a smoothie. I have no reason to doubt that these powder-and-liquid smoothies are indeed as nutritious as the store owner claims. And maybe I'll try one someday. But to be honest, they have little appeal to me. I prefer to get my fuel from, you know, food. I like to eat now as much as I liked to eat 125 pounds ago -- more, in fact. And while it's been about 14 months since I last consumed a Culver's double Butterburger with cheddar and grilled onions (formerly my comfort food of choice), I've made all kinds of...

I made this card, and sent it to friends and relatives, sometime in 2001 or 2002. A health crisis that occurred on June 27, 2000, when I was 42, precipitated a weight loss effort that eventually resulted in a 150-pound reduction.  So what happened? A lot of things. We moved. I got a new job -- a job with insane, irregular hours, a lot of time in the car and a lot of meals (can you say Filet-O-Fish?) in the car. Access to affordable fitness facilities was almost non-existent; but even free walks, on the lovely trails in the community where I worked, were too infrequent because of my work demands.  The moral of the story: There is no guarantee, NONE, that a successful weight loss will be sustained. In fact, a health quest like mine is often not sustained, or sustainable, over the long haul.  If you don't believe me, ask many of the contenders on the so-called reality show, "The Biggest Loser." A study of "Biggest Loser" contestants showed most of them...