Life in the Freezing Frozen

I wake up in the 5 AM darkness, shivering. I check on Lor, who is still fast asleep, curled up in the fetal position, clutching Vixen for a heat source. I am positive that something has gone wrong with the heating system in the house, so I make my way across the (frozen) hardwood floor, out into the (frozen) hallway, and check our thermostat. It insists that the temperature is 69 degrees. But I know, for a fact, that it is -12 degrees F, and we have been somehow transported from the high desert of Albuquerque to the middle of an iceberg floating through the Arctic Sea.

Welcome to the Freezing Frozen - also known as life after bariatric surgery.

I sit here writing feeling as though I have icicles dangling from my earlobes. I am wearing flannel underwear, thick socks, flannel boxers, a set of "thermal" leggings, an undershirt, a sweatshirt, and a hoodie. Except for the hoodie, this is what I wore to bed last night. It is a whole new world. A very cold and ice-covered world, in fact.

I have had it explained to me many times, and no two explanations are the same. Maybe the body's heat regulator gets completely out of whack after bariatric surgery. Perhaps increased metabolism causes us to perceive heat differently. It is a temporary condition that will correct itself after a few months. Or it is a torment to people who are a decade out from their surgeries. The only consensus is that there is no consensus.

I kind of like Lor's explanation, actually - she tells people that, with having lost nearly 100 pounds each, we have ripped out the majority of our "insulation". What would happen to the temperature in our house if we removed half the insulation in our attic?

I am fairly sure it would feel exactly the way it does right now, actually.

Apparently, we have been talking about this more than a little. One of the gifts we received from my in-laws was a 1500 Watt space heater. My parents bought us clothing gift certificates, and my mother advised me to "Buy something warm." I sincerely apologize to everyone who has had to listen to us complain about the cold.

But, it is either that or listen to our teeth chattering.

Wishing I Could Type With Gloves On,

- Hawkwind

Where Has The Polar Bear Gone?

(Image courtesy of Exploratorium.edu)

Winter has totally arrived here in New Mexico - as I sit here (shivering) this morning it is a mind-numbing 27 degrees outside, with the wind chill further reducing conditions to 20. The poor ancient wall heaters in our home keep rumbling into life and trying to keep up, but the fact of the matter is: it is freakin' freezing in here. No amount of socks, sweatshirts, and jackets seem to take the edge off.

I have never in my life been this cold. Which is odd, because I have certainly been in temperatures that were colder. All my adult life, friends and family members have referred to me as a "polar bear" - I have been able to function in, if not exactly enjoy, really cold weather. So, what happened?

The problem, as it turns out, can be traced back to weight loss surgery. 

Part of this is a no-brainer: fat is a natural insulator. Since I have currently lost 29% (and counting) of my weight, I should expect to be 29% colder, right? But I don't feel like the temperature has dropped by a few percentage points. I feel like I am suffering through the heat death of the universe. So, what gives?

As it turns out, there is a second problem with the results of massive weight loss from surgery: the metabolism slows way down. Why? Because it is no longer having to work as hard in keeping blood flowing, oxygen moving, and digestive processes happening. The energy bill for a 3,000 square foot house is going to be much higher than the bill for a 2,000 square foot home. Since the metabolic process generates energy, it also produces heat as a by-product. (Think of how hot a saw blade gets when making a really long cut.) Less metabolic expenditure = less energy used = less heat generated. That's science at work.

The end result is that we now huddle around our heaters, cursing when they turn off. We shuffle around the house in multiple layers of winter clothing, topped off with ski jackets. And at night we huddle closer to one another (which is nice) and fight over who gets to use poor Vixen as a space heater (which is less nice, especially for Vixen.) At this point, I am not even sure that the end is in sight: some say this problem lasts for the first few months after surgery, but other sources claim we will be this way for the rest of our lives. Only time will tell.

In the meantime, we will just have to shiver, bundle up, and take really hot showers on an hourly basis.

On An Ice Floe Waiting For Spring To Come,

- Hawkwind