Having been here before, but in a much worse capacity a few years ago. With the whole Achilles reattachment that resulted in 6 weeks prone, I vowed that this time I would be much more vigilant about trying to keep active somehow so as to avoid the whole issue of "spread". Aspirations are a great thing. . .reality is the great equalizer.
I don't step on scales. Those numbers are useless to me. I weigh 120 pounds. I know this because my driver's license says so. I am proud that I have been able to maintain that weight all these years. But what happens when you go somewhere where they "need" you to step on a scale? Like say, the doctor's office?
For years, I insisted on standing on the scale backwards and admonished the nurse to NOT say the number out loud. Why do I need to hear that number when I have a document that says it anyway (and will for as long as a good friend of mine runs the DMV locally)? But, I am proud to say that at 49, I have seized ownership of my free will and simply tell the nurse who says blandly, "Step on the scale please," No.
The way I see it, I know when things have changed enough that it needs to be recorded. We all know it. You know that day when suddenly your jeans require air drying instead of being put in the dryer - well that's not the signal. The signal is the day you cannot pull them up beyond your muffin top (which we all know is a delicate term for Dunlop's Disease - as in my belly dun lopped over my belt.) Conversely, when you have been working hard and been successful enough to actually have to go buy clothes because everything you have hangs on you? That would be a signal too. I'm not saying you have to face that number (because you already know it's 120) but you can turn your back to the scale and tell the nurse to keep her mouth shut.
Which brings me to the here and now. I have been, essentially, a body at rest (which, according to one commercial, tends to stay at rest) and even though I was extremely conscientious of what I ate and DID NOT EAT, I am sure the inevitable has occurred. How do I know? Well, the good news is that I can still put on my jeans. The bad news is I kinda feel like Jabba the Hutt. I have a doctor's appointment today and my hope is that I can lose the Herman Munster boot (which I am sure must weigh 10 pounds on it's own) and then I can get moving again. However I will not get on a scale. According to my criteria (the jeans that I can still get on), I still weigh 120 pounds and my driver's license proves it!