Adventures in Exercising While Fat

Oh, hai! I just got home from my morning walk a few minutes ago. I came home, took my dog out, and quickly stuffed a Greek yogurt down my gullet before deciding to go ahead and whip up this blog post while the idea is still swimming around in my mind.

 Exercising while fat is, I think, a unique event in one’s life. To be completely honest, I never really exercised this much before. I was totally happy with my video gamer’s physique. Well, not happy with it per se, but not unhappy enough with it to get off of my ass and exercise. As a disclaimer, let me add that there are fat people who exercise all of the time – and not just to lose weight. Some fat people are truly active – I certainly was not, which I am sure was a contributing factor in me getting as large as I was (am). 

Exercising while fat is not unique in that way. No, exercising while fat is unique in the way that other people perceive you and express their thoughts of you. I have gotten a wide range of responses from complete strangers in public – a range of things that made me feel both irritated and sad. Now, I do elicit responses from friends and family on my private social media sites – and those responses, whatever they may be, are absolutely kind and wanted because by posting my exercise business on facebook, I am essentially asking for their opinion, input, or praise. Cool! Thanks! I love getting praise from my friends. Even strangers here on the Interwebs! Especially here, on this blog! I am here putting my business out there in the hopes that it will inspire and/or help people going through similar things. Input and responses here? Totally welcome. But a stranger on the street? Kind of weird.

Here is an example; one day after just starting my morning walk, some guy stopped his car to ask me if I was okay. I wasn’t huffing and puffing; I wasn’t visibly exhausted – I had just started. “Well, that was nice of him to show concern!” you are probably thinking. And hey, in a way, maybe it was nice of him to show concern. Maybe, in his mind, he was doing a good deed. But this guy’s thought process was likely, “Look, a fat person exercising. She must be on the verge of a stroke!”, or, “There’s no way that fat person is walking on purpose; she must be in trouble.”  In other words, while this may have been well-meaning, all it did was make me feel shitty about myself. That’s really more about me than him, but I would have rather he kept his concern to himself. 

Next are the people who feel the need to cheer me on… wtf? I have had several people slow-roll by to say things like, “Great job!” or, “Keep pushing!” I love hearing these things from my friends and family – from some rando? Just… no thank you. First, it is condescending as hell. These people are making a lot of assumptions about me – my health, my activity level, my capability. Also, shouting things at a person as you drive by is usually a shitty thing to do in general as it is typically negative. I also have people shout “fatty” and “fat bitch” and various other colorful things at me; so your well-meaning atta-boy immediately comes off as sarcastic. 

And yes, there are those; the people who are hurling insults at me first thing in the morning for no apparent reason. Isn’t eight a.m. a bit early for insults to strangers? I’m walking around a neighborhood so most of these people are literally just starting their day; they’ve not been in traffic yet or anything! 

Lastly, there are the pervs. Again, at eight a.m. I am not ready for sexual innuendos or other such things; I am certainly not prepared to see a stray penis being wagged at me. This is not at all unique to exercising as a fat person; but is sadly common for women in general. Maybe it is for men, as well? I really couldn’t say; I can only describe my experience as a woman and as a fat person. It isn’t that common (for me), but it does occur. If you live in an area where you are catcalled regularly, you have my sympathies. I know that, for me, it completely ruins the rest of my walk as I get really paranoid and feel unsafe. 

So, if you are a fat person exercising in public, and especially a fat woman, here are a few tips to help you get through that! 

1. Look the part – Wear actual workout gear if you can help it. I tried walking in regular street clothes and I got approached by well-meaning concern trolls over and over again. So, grab some stretchy pants and a t-shirt and pull your hair back. You are exercising – own it! 

2. Get an ipod or something similar and be really in to your music. I keep mine cranked up so I don’t hear traffic and other sounds – it helps drown out distractions. The only side note on this is BE CAREFUL! Always be aware of your surroundings – remember that if your music is cranked up you probably won’t hear someone coming up behind you. Also, don’t get so into a song that you walk out in front of a car. Pedestrian deaths are a major issue here. I walked out in front of a car last week because I was really into a Beastie Boys song. 

3. Try not to take things personally. Some days people will be jerks, other days you will have wonderful experiences. More often than not, the people who stop to ask if you are okay are doing it out of kindness. Try to be patient with them. The strangers who want to cheer you on? As condescending as it may be they are, in their minds, doing you a great favor and making your day better. Again, try to be patient with them. 

4. Ladies. And I’ll make an independent post about this at some point, but a good bra, preferably a sports bra, is your very best friend. Also, chub rub is bad. There are anti-chaffing creams, balms, and powders as well as undershorts. Invest! 

Lastly, to contrast some of the negativity I am spewing, let me share a positive thing that happened the other day. I had just started my walk and was walking along a semi-major road. A lot of parents hang out on this road with their kids waiting for the school bus to arrive. I usually avoid all of the kids, but on this day I decided not to. I approached the area where they were clustered and suddenly the CUTEST little boy I have ever seen breaks from the crowd and runs at me with his little hand stretched out to me like he wanted to give me something. He was maybe three and he had the biggest smile on his face. I squatted down and smiled at him, opening my hand to receive whatever it was that he wanted to give me (that was a risky move on my part), and he dropped a tiny white flower in my hand. He smiled, giggled, and ran back to his grandmother who was shaking her head and smiling at him. This made my day. This small act of innocent kindness really, really made my day. And this kind of thing will happen and eclipse any of the negative you encounter. But the most positive thing about it? No matter what size you are, when you choose to exercise you are taking care of you. Seize that time for yourself and make the best of it. 

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Now, my bi-weekly checkpoint update. This has been a really rough couple of week for me. If you read my other blog, you know that I had to have my dog euthanized last week, which was crushing to me. I think the main things that I want to celebrate are:

Taking the time to care for myself emotionally and physically and:

Reaching the two-mile mark on my walks (yesterday!)

Although these seem pretty meager, they are both huge for me. Usually, when I have a tragedy, I shut down – I isolate and punish myself by not taking care of myself. This can manifest in taking substances, binge eating, not eating at all, not bathing for a week, not brushing my teeth for a week, or any other number of ways. I have been very careful about taking care of me during this, and in being forgiving to myself for any mistakes that I have made. Grief is a bitch and I don’t handle it well. 

Also hitting two miles in my walk? Woah. I never thought that I would be able to do this. When I got home from my walk yesterday and calculated my “mileage” I shook my head and recalculated it again, and again because I didn’t believe it. I was supposed to hit this goal in December. I honestly think that working through my pain and grief pushed me. When I walk I can space out and I need that right now. 

Catching up and #100days (417)

Ah, yet another catch-up post. I have been doing fairly well for myself lately as far as health goes. I met with Ava (the personal trainer) a second time to get a reassessment of where I am and where I am headed. She had instructed me on our first meeting to walk every weekday and gradually increase my distance to being able to walk between home and my mother-in-law’s house, which is about 0.7 mile away. I crushed this goal, and she was quite pleased. For several weeks my daily walk lingered at between 0.5 and 0.8 mile, but I decided to push myself. For the past couple of weeks I have been hitting a mile every weekday. I understand that for the average person walking a mile is not a big accomplishment, but for me it is huge.

My new goal is to make it to two miles a day before the end of the year. I am pretty exhausted after one mile at this point, but I think that if I just keep pushing I will get there. Ava also wants me to join a gym and do 15 minutes of treadmill or bike/15 minutes of weight training on machines/15 minutes of walking or bike riding. I have found the gym that I want to join; I just have to do it. I plan on joining YouFit next week. They have great reviews and they are only $10 a month, which is an incredible price.

Also! I have decided to start training for a few run/walks! The first one will be the annual Turkey Trot, but the ones that I am really looking forward to come next year and are 3k’s. I am going to do ColorFunFest next year; it’s a 5k that they run at night, so that will be much kinder to my very pale skin. At this point that is way, way too advanced for me; but it gives me something to work towards.

My food intake has been good-ish. I have been keeping it under 1k calories, and in the range of 700-800 calories most days. We found ourselves in a tight spot financially for the past couple of weeks, so I have been surviving off of what I can coupon for – which is rarely healthy. I did manage to get a couple of boxes of frozen turkey burgers which are very healthy. I have been eating a half of a patty (no bun) with a Laughing Cow wedge and some olives for breakfast and lunch the past several days. I am surviving in the food area, but not thriving. Things will get better soon with that, though. Payday is coming and with it a nice trip to the store to get some real foods.

My water intake is up! Finally! I bought a couple of the big Smartwater bottles a few weeks ago (yes, it does taste better and different to me). I refill those with tap water and stick them in the fridge. To reach my new water goal (100 oz a day) I need to drink about three of these. I typically reach two at this point, which is much better than the half a bottle I was drinking before. Progress! Not so much progress on my vitamins, sadly. I have to buy them. I finally found the ones that I need though, so there is that!

Also, I had my six month check-up with my surgeon and she was thrilled with my progress! She said, “Whatever it is that you’re doing, just keep doing that.”  She also said that I’m her star patient and insisted on taking photos of me to show off. It really made me feel good! I was sad (as always) that I had not lost more, but I am still making great progress. I am almost to the 300’s; finally! What will life be like for me then? Every 100 pounds (200, 300, 400, 500, 600) is a place to stop and really reflect. When I crossed from 601 back into the 500’s that was nice, though it was still sad because the 500’s is a really scary place to be weight-wise. When I got into the 400’s I was relieved because while the 400s is still ridiculously too large, it is in the range of being a more “normal” extremely obese. Now I am moving into (and may have already moved into, it’s been some weeks since I have weighed) the 300’s. What can I accomplish in the 300’s? Much, I think. Then eventually, if I am lucky and I work hard enough who knows? Maybe I’ll see the 200’s? Dare I dream enough to say I may one day reach the 100’s; “Onederland” as we call it in my support group? It will be a while. For now I can only focus on the next fifty pounds.

Now the #100days thing is something completely different. It is this thing my best friend invited me to do with her, in which I set goals for myself for the last 100 days of the year. It is a group of people and we cheer one another on, lend support, and give advice. I have been doing pretty well so far. I set a plethora of goals for myself, many of which will probably not be met, but many that certainly will be met.  The goals range from organization to health goals and even just plain happiness goals. Since one of my goals is to post in my blogs every week, I will be checking that off from my list today. I’ve decided to rotate it – one week for this blog and the next for Manic, and so forth. I will be listing the things that I checked off of the list here on this blog, as well as other small (and large!) accomplishments. This is more for me than anyone else, as it is a good way to stay accountable and celebrate my victories. So here it goes; highlighted items are completed, others are there simply for categorical purposes:

Sept 23^rd(100 days starting day) – Sept. 30^th, 2015

·         Daily hair care

Consult with dermatologist

·         Daily skin care

Consult with dermatologist

o    Exercise as instructed by Ava

·         Walk every week day

Plan and try out new routes to keep things interesting

Get ipod and headphones loaded and ready to go

·         All vitamins and medications

·   Get b12 from Trader Joes

·   Get a vitamin D supplement (400-800 IU daily)

• Improve writing
• Practice using prompts
• Week  1
• Blog at least once a week, alternating between blogs
• Week  1
• Week 2

o    Get kitchen in order

·         Organize cabinets

·         Deep clean appliances

·         Organize/clean out spice shelves

·         Clean out cabinets

·         Clean out window and wash window

·         Wash exterior surfaces

• Clean computer area
• Get fall and winter flowers for goddess, then change them out ***(This is a long story, haha)
• Clean truck
• Try to temp fix the passenger window
• Make over blogs (by 11/04)

Get help reformatting picture on Manic

·         Clean out email

o    Unsubscribe and report spam

• Addy

Create weekly care checklist

o    Don Juan

o    Get new toys

These are all things that I checked off of my very long #100days to do list within the past couple of weeks. I realize that much of it has no context here and that it looks a little confusing, but it is a small celebration of things that I completed. It is really difficult for me to celebrate those, so I hope you don’t mind.

Below is my latest comparison picture, once again of my face because I am still really freaked out by the way my body looks. Hopefully that will get better one day, for now I am semi-comfy with this. 

I'm getting better... (430)

Change is scary. I’m talking about real, life-altering change. For most of my life I talked about what I would do “one day” and dreamed about who I could be “if only…” but they were abstract thoughts. There is always an excuse NOT to do something; often that excuse is even valid. At what point do you stop making excuses for yourself and actually start doing something to make meaningful changes in your life? When is it the right time to do what needs doing? 

The time is now. It is always now; mostly because the great life-improving, motivational-speakeresque self-dialogue is an ongoing process, not a one-time event. When I had my weight-loss surgery six months ago I certainly changed “overnight” in some ways. I woke up with about a quarter of my stomach left. Because I have such a tiny stomach I have been losing weight consistently and my quality of life has improved. But! What about all of the changes 600 pound me made before the surgery? 600 pound me decided to take charge of her life. She went on a crazy liver-shrinking diet for several weeks and soldiered through it ALL with (minimal) complaints. She started walking and exercising to improve her chances of surviving the surgery. She made the difficult decision to have the surgery at all AND she endured a six month cycle of continuous dieting, weighing in, getting blood drawn, and having humiliating visits to her doctor. She did all of this because at some point she (I) decided that it’s time to kick it into high-gear and get.shit.done.

Let’s also not forget post-surgical me. Not to self-congratulate too much, but I have worked my ass off (quite literally). I didn’t share too much about it in this blog, but in all honesty I was sick – very sick – for a few months after surgery. Every time I ate I felt like throwing up; and indeed I often did. I felt bad all of the time. Sometimes I wondered if I was dying; sometimes I wished that I was. It got better; it got so much better. Am I at 100% now? No; not even at six months out. I still get sick, though not as much. I struggle daily to eat the way that I should. I rarely get in the liquids I need and I cry sometimes when I brush my hair because so much of it falls out. I am vitamin deficient and sometimes my legs and arms go numb. Some days I am unlovable; some days I stare at a big bottle of pills and I wonder if it would be better if I just gave up. Some days I cry. But, I am getting better. Is it a fairy tale? Hell no. But I am proud of how far I have come.

Often, when I think of where I am in life; how far behind I am when compared to my peers, I wish for a do-over. I am in my thirties – most people my age have kids, jobs, a home. They are settled-in to life and here I am, just getting started. In the past this has been a major source of turmoil and depression for me. Self-deprecation comes so easily to me. But thanks to my fucking rockstar of a therapist, I am gaining insight in this and devising a plan to overcome it.

I started out in life pretty rough. I was molested on a very regular basis by someone very close to me at a very young age. From the ages of about five to eight I endured things that no child should have to endure. I won’t go into detail here, but it is sufficient to say that it was horrible.  This kind of thing leaves a mark on a person; this kind of thing changes a person – especially during her most impressionable years. It created a loop; another cycle. This time the cycle was full of shame, guilt, self-loathing, and despair. I sabotaged myself over and over again during my life because I honestly did not believe that I deserved happiness. I still struggle with the idea. I still look in the mirror, even after losing so much of my “armor”, and see an ugly, desperate little girl who will never be good enough. I still practice self-loathing. But it’s getting better. I’m getting better.

I don’t need to compare myself to anyone else; how can I? No one else has lived my life; no one else has endured the specific set of circumstances that I had on the journey that has led me here, to this point. Are there people who have it much worse than I do? Of course. And make no mistake about it, I own the mistakes that I have made in my life. My abusers did not force me to become obese; these were decisions that I made coupled with a set of very unfortunate circumstances.

I’ve been a victim most of my life; it is a role that I understand and that I am comfortable in. But comfort does not equal healthy; what’s normal for me is not what is good for me. I grasp now that I have the power to change who I am. I’ve let me abusers and my past write my story for me; but I have my own story to write now. I am ready to change; and thus I am changing.

How does all of this relate to my weight loss, you may be wondering? It relates because I define who I am now. And I want to define myself as happy, healthy, active, and beautiful. I want to participate in that color run; I want to be confident in myself when I glance in the mirror; and most of all, I want to dance starry-eyed with reckless abandon. And I will; because I’m getting better.

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I have my six month check-up in a couple of weeks, but I was able to weigh in at my pcp’s office last week. I was quite disappointed that I had not lost more, especially since I have been exercising nearly every day. Ah well, I am still losing and that is what is important. I’ll give an update after my next appointment. Thanks, as always, for reading!

Surgeon Social Update (448)

Another day and more big changes for me. My surgeon’s office had a meet and greet thing yesterday (which happened to be my birthday). I dragged my poor husband down so I could weigh in and (sadly not) have a look at the clothes closet – plus get free samples of stuff because free stuff is awesome. The free stuff did not disappoint! I got lots of swag. Pizza flavored protein crisps, Chili Lime Soy Puffs, and lemon meringue protein crisp bars were among my absolute favorites. There was also an amazing selection of Bariatric Advantage vitamins and supplements to take home and try. Their chewable vitamins are great. The lozenges? Just say no thank you; ECSPECIALLY to the mint one. I also got a nifty shaker bottle with a mixing ball for the protein shakes that I honestly never make. Oh! And another nice tote bag from bariatric advantage. Good stuff!

I also met a really nice lady named Ava that I scheduled an appointment with for an exercise evaluation. She is going to go over what kind of exercises I should be doing and how often to help me maintain my loss AND to help me tighten my skin. I honestly already have loose skin so this is really needed. I have been doing squats on my own on the good advice of my very close friend who informed me that it will help me avoid the dreaded flat, flabby white girl ass.

My weigh in results were great! As you may have noticed I am down another 20+ pounds since my last check in. 448! I mean, that’s closer to the 300’s than the 500’s. I am a little disappointed in myself, not because I didn’t lose more but because I have found that I am relentless in my negativity about this. If I lose 20 pounds I feel like I should have lost 30 pounds. It is hard to accept that this is going to take time.

I got a little extra information than usual during my weigh-in. The office scale is one of those that gives BMI and calculates how many calories per day I would need to eat to maintain my weight – plus it gives fat mass, or the percentage of fat versus bones, skin, water, et al.  At my weight right now I would need to eat 2769 calories a day to maintain it. Crazy. It makes me wonder how many calories a day I was eating before all of this. Too many. At this point I still shoot for 700 calories a day, but I often get around 800 and sometimes all the way up to 900. I think that as long as I stay in the triple digits I will be okay for now. Also, according to the scale, I am approximately 260 pounds of fat. I mean jesus. My fat weighs more than my goal weight. Like way more (100 pounds more). So yeah, I guess this is one reason why it is difficult for me to celebrate my small victories and easy for me to be pessimistic.

Other issues to update on – my skin is a wreck. I can see lines in my face that were definitely not visible before. I am guessing this is just an aging thing that is more visible now that there is not as much fat on my face. Also I have dry skin issues on my face now and I never have before. I find that I have to use a good scrub (I am currently using St. Ives oatmeal scrub) on my face prior to putting on makeup or I have this weird flakiness around my nose and lower cheek areas.

My hair is also making me quite sad, though I am told that this is a phase that many women who have weight loss surgery go through. It is dry and falling out. It was always frizzy, but it is even more so than usual. I need some good product, but I am at a loss as to what to try. I may try some coconut oil, or maybe some Jamaican black castor oil.  I will update when I find something that works (or doesn’t work!). It may simply be a matter of waiting it out, however. From what I understand this phase should ease up at the six month mark (September for me).

I am still trying really hard to get in my water. Some days I nearly hit my goal, others I don’t come close at all. I actually feel much better on days that I drink more, so you would think that would be motivation enough. However, I have to have my water really cold. I will pull a bottle out of the freezer and drink about a quarter of it only to let it sit out and get warm. Once it’s warm I don’t want it. I am still working on a solution for all of this (I have no ability to make and store ice like a normal person).

Hopefully I will be updating again soon with more good news! Woot! And thanks, as always, for reading!

Very brief Weigh-in Update (470)

So, I just got home from my three-month checkup with my surgeon. I confessed all of my diet/exercise sins and was scolded. They couldn't complain too much, however since I lost about 30 pounds in a month. I honestly wasn't sure that my loss was going to be as good as it was. I could have done better. I should have done better. And yet, it is still a nice loss. In total I have lost about 130 pounds - that is a person. I cant quite wrap my head around it. Even as I stood on the scale I felt mystified that I have somehow lost so much. And yet I have so far to go. Will I ever even make it to the 200's? Who knows.

The visit went pretty well in general! My blood pressure was kinda low, but hopefully nothing to worry about. It could explain why I am always so tired. I really need to check in with my pcp, but I am in the process of trying to find a new one right now. I have not seen him post-op at all. Maybe I'll be able to get off of my blood pressure medication soon.

I got a keychain from my surgeon! It says "SCB 100 Club" - SCB is for Suncoast Bariatrics. It was given to me for losing a hundred pounds. I wonder what they will give me for losing 200?

My personal goal is to lose another 100 pounds before my six month checkup on September 18th. I think that if I get my protein, drink my fluids, and start exercising again I can do it. That's 33 pounds a month. If I cant do that I would at least like to get under 400 by then - that's 70 pounds, or about 23 pounds a month. I can at least do that, I think.

Also, I start with a new therapist on July 9th - I honestly cannot wait! He is a triathlete and horse trainer an is all about accountability and self-betterment. He is described as being very proactive - this is what I need!

Unrelated but still exciting for me - I also finally made a dental appointment for myself. I am afraid that I wont fit in the dental chair, but I am not going to let that fear stop me anymore.

As always, thanks for reading!

The Day of Surgery (Part Three) – Plus a Brief Update (504 as of 05/04/15)

I resigned my attempts to get my husband to go home – truly I hated him seeing me this way. I was terrified, but trying very hard to be brave. A second nurse, the one Nurse Jill referred to as the real “pro” at getting IV’s in, approached me with a big smile and a bit of a giggle. She was older, with salt and pepper pixie-cut hair. She had large glasses that almost looked like magnifying glasses; they made her eyes look huge. She introduced herself, though I can’t remember her name, and quickly began to search my arms for a vein. She had a sense of urgency about her- like she was in a perpetual hurry. She thought that she had found one in my upper arm that she could use. I braced myself once again as I felt the needle go in.

My stomach was, by this time, really betraying me. She gently twisted the needle about, trying to find the vein. She paused and looked at me with concern – my nausea must have been palpable, because she quickly withdrew the needle and wiped my arm down. She explained that she was not comfortable trying again because she was afraid of ruining my veins for the anesthesiologist. I nodded, but inwardly sighed – I was no ready to be poked again anytime soon.

Like these guys! I honestly think
They could have had their own sitcom. 

No sooner had The Pro finished cleaning up, than a team of three handsome men in scrubs walked into my room. I had heard them coming down the hall; they were in a jolly mood and seemed to have great rapport with one another. One, whom called himself Brian, immediately took my hand and introduced himself and the others. They were on the surgical team and were here to take me to the OR prep area. I felt like bolting; changing my mind and making a run for the door. Brian put a warm, firm hand on my shoulder and smiled knowingly at me.

“We’re going to take great care of you, Katherine.” He said it with the most genuine smile I have ever seen. I relaxed a little and adjusted myself in the bed, lying back and pulling the sheet tight against me. I could see my husband looking over at me. Brian adjusted the bed so that I was only slightly reclined rather than laying all the way back. My husband asked if he was allowed to come with me. Brian frowned a little, but said that he could come along and stay as long as it wasn’t too hectic in the prep area.

Off we went; Brian at the foot of the bed, one of the other men at my side, and the other steering from the head of the bed. As we passed the nurses’ station I saw Nurse Jill sitting at the desk. I blew her a kiss (for some reason) and waved at her, and she did the same as she exclaimed that she would be up to check on me in recovery. We passed through several doorways on the way to the prep area. Brian also backed into a security guard pretty hard, who smiled and patted him on the back. Most of the ride consisted of some pretty amusing banter between my three escorts on who was the worst driver of them all – I think Brian was the declared winner.

I was taken into a large room with several curtained off areas inside. My bed was parked inside of one of these areas, and a chair was brought for my husband to sit on next to me. He sat and grabbed my hand, squeezing it tightly and staring at me blankly. He smiled nervously when our eyes met. I began to say something to him, but my anesthesiologist (Dr. McDreamy himself!) walked up and took my other hand. He gave me a reassuring smile and glanced down at my hand – the smile quickly fading to a frown.

“Why didn’t they give you an IV?” he asked, brows furrowed. I explained that they had tried several times, but were unable to do it. He sighed and nodded, then looked over his shoulder at a female nurse who was hovering nearby. She said that she would get him the supplies he needed and scampered off. He began to raise my bed up higher and higher. I was so high that I could look down at the top of my husband’s head by the time he was done. The nurse returned with the supplies and he looked at both of my hands. He frowned at the left hand, which was covered by a tattoo, and said that he couldn’t use it. He tied off the right arm and began looking for a vein, making humming and tsking noises as he looked it over.

“I can see why they had problems. You’re not going to like where I have to put this, but I’ll make sure you experience minimal discomfort.” He gently turned my hand palm-side up and tied off on my lower forearm. I turned my head and looked at my husband, hoping that I wouldn’t throw up in his lap. My husband looked mortified, but he caressed my left hand gently as he peeked over at what Dr. McDreamy was doing. He put the IV in my inner wrist area. The very thought of that IV makes me queasy to this day. The IV itself did not hurt at all. I felt pressure and he was done, immediately. He used extra bandaging and instructed me to not move my wrist at all.

I gingerly rested my wrist on my stomach and smiled at him weakly as he excused himself for a few minutes. My surgeon appeared with a gigantic mug of coffee and a ton of paperwork under her arms. She was not much older than I was with tan skin, brown eyes, and recently chopped-off black hair. She smiled sheepishly as she set all of her things down on a table and came over to me. She asked if I was ready and let me know that her partner surgeon (who has been doing the procedure much longer than her) would be joining her in the OR to give her some tips. I assumed that this was because of my extra-large size. She excused herself to go get ready and I began to panic again.

I felt like a small child lost in a huge crowd. People were rushing around; there was a constant sound of movement. I could hear another woman in the room talking to her nurse; complaining about her pain. I felt the familiar gentle squeeze of my left hand and turned to concentrate on my husband. He was the only thing there that wasn’t terrifying. The well-meaning, gently smiling nurses and staff that walked by me only made me feel more uncomfortable. I began to cry a little – just a little; a few tears slowly streaking down my cheeks.

The next part is really blurry for me; and then I remember nothing aside from waking up in ICU. Dr. McDreamy came back to check on me. He asked me how I was feeling and I think he must have noticed my tears. He asked if I wanted him to give me something to help me relax. I immediately said yes; though I briefly had my doubts after the yes came tumbling out. He quickly fumbled through a cabinet behind him and pulled out a small syringe. He asked me if I knew how…. "something” worked. I can’t remember what that something was – the type of drug he was about to inject into my syringe, I assume.

<insert inna gadda da vida here>

As he adjusted something on the syringe and gave my IV a second look he explained, in much detail
filled with medical jargon that I clearly did not understand, how this miracle drug would work. He injected it into my IV, tossed the syringe, and then stood in front of me; studying me intensely. He asked me how I felt; did I feel like I had been drinking? I remember absolutely nothing after this. I have no idea what else he said to me or how long it was until I went to the OR. My husband tells me that I answered his question by saying, “I used to smoke a lot of pot and...woah”. He also tells me that I did say goodbye to him before they took me back.

Needless to say, surgery day was a huge deal for me, as it is for anyone undergoing weight loss surgery. It is the beginning of a new life, and it is terrifying for many different reasons. I am glad that I went through it and even more glad that it is over.

*******************************************************

Now, small update – I haven’t been back to the doctor’s office to weigh in since May 4th, so I really have no idea how much I weigh right now. At my last visit I was 504; but that was over a month ago. I am eager to see where I’m at now, and will be able to do so when I go in on the 25th.

I had some major slip-ups over the last month. I got really lazy and started eating takeaway regularly. I would eat “better” things, but this is still something that I have to not do because it is a bad habit for me. Side salads will turn into cheeseburgers, and indeed they did. I cannot, of course, eat much of either but it is the good eating habits that will carry me to my goal in the long-run. I can still only eat about a ¼ to ½ cup of food at a time. I still get nauseated regularly, though not quite as much.

I will also be trying out a food blog that I am developing now. I’ll be making things from Pinterest and reviewing them; also adjusting them for bariatric patients where they need to be adjusted.
Thanks so much for reading!

The Day of Surgery (Part Two)

Well, it looks like there will actually be three parts (or more!) to this. I suppose that I remember a bit more than I anticipated.  As always, thanks for reading!

The long walk ended in a pair of heavy, double doors. The officer jogged ahead of us, his keys jingling loudly, and pressed the large, metal button on the wall. The doors swung open slowly, and revealed a large area with an unmanned nurses’ station and several beds separated by curtains. “Helloooo?” the officer said as he gently placed a clipboard with my chart in it on the station desk. He looked at us, a little embarrassed, and walked around the corner. We could hear him chatting with someone for a few moments as we stood awkwardly in the doorway.

He reappeared with a tall, blond nurse that I recognized from my last visit to this hospital - Jill. She had cared for me when I was here for my endoscopy a month earlier. She and I had got along very well – she was funny and reminded very much of Lisa Kudrow. She gave me a huge smile and bobbed her head in the direction she and the officer had come from. “Let’s get you prepped!” she said with a smile.

She escorted me to a curtained-off area with a bed, a chair, and the usual accouterments of a hospital room – blood pressure cuffs, oxygen tubing, and bio-hazard sharps container. She pointed to the hospital gown and the pair of rubber-grip socks on the bed and instructed me to take off everything I had on and put them on. I nodded as she pulled the curtain closed and I began to undress. Never have I
felt so naked. My husband was smiling at me reassuringly.

When I picked up and unfolded the hospital gown I knew that it was far too small – a usual problem for me. Everything seems to be too small. I tried, sheepishly, to get it on and it covered exactly half of me. My husband found a blanket for me and then called out to the nurse. He poked his head out of the curtained area and explained the issue to her. I heard her jog off and return with another gown. My husband thanked her, turned towards me, and beckoned for me to turn around. I heard him chuckle a little at the sight of my naked ass. I glared over my shoulder at him with a faux anger that only made him chuckle harder as he helped me pull the gown on.  He tried, with great difficulty, to figure out how to tie the things up before feebly tying a few strings and calling it good.

I sat down and pulled the yellow, rubber-grip bottomed socks on. They were really tight around the ankles – I had some pretty severe swelling, especially around my left ankle. I pulled them down my ankle just a bit so that they would not feel so tight, and laid back in the bed, pulling the blanket over me. Nurse Jill returned a few moments later with a cart full of equipment. She asked me a series of questions, many of them repeats from the admittance questions, but with the addition of health background related questions. Between hospital visits and doctors’ visits the past few months I had answered this type of questionnaire so many times that the answers are automatic.

After the questionnaire she took my vitals – my temperature and blood pressure were perfect. She apologetically informed me that she would need to get my IV started.  I smiled weakly and nodded; getting blood drawn or putting an IV in me was always a chore, even for the most experienced nurses. Nurse Jill had done it successfully last time on the second try, so I had confidence in her. As she gathered the tubes and needle I went down the hall to the rest room to take a urine test – the anesthesiologist required me to take a pregnancy test before the surgery.

When I returned Nurse Jill was still fumbling about with various tubes and packages. My husband was sitting in the chair, visibly uncomfortable, and eyeing the needle packs with unease; he hated needles even more than I did. I sat back down on the bed and watched Nurse Jill open the needle pack, setting aside with other IV equipment on a steel tray on her cart. She smiled and chatted with me as she tied my left wrist off with a big purple tourniquet. As she gently pressed and smacked my hand looking for a suitable vein I stared at her scrubs, trying to find a neutral place to focus my gaze that was not on my soon-to-be penetrated hand. I noticed how scuffed her clogs were, and I noticed the imprint of an iron on her blue scrub pants. I smiled to myself; this was my kind of person – scatterbrained and a little messy, but with a good heart.

She popped her bubblegum loudly as she continued to search for a vein, moving from place to place; arm to arm. She inserted the needle three different times, each time groaning and sighing; once she said that she couldn't get it to “thread right”. Finally she resigned. She told me she was going to let the other nurse give it a try because she was afraid of messing up my veins. She apologized profusely and was obviously disappointed, but I made some passing joke that
made her smile before she wandered off to find her co-worker.

I felt a twinge of nausea; I think my husband did, too. He was looking at me a little wide-eyed, but with sympathy. He shifted in his seat and crossed his arms. His eyes were so red; he must have been rubbing them. I could tell he was exhausted. I suggested that he go home and get some rest and he rolled his eyes and shook his head. I continued to suggest that he go home, but Nurse Jill must have overhead me. She poked her head in and said that of course he was not going to go home; that would be ridiculous, and for me to drop it. He seemed to agree with that sentiment, though I could tell that part of him really wished that he could find a place to curl up and nap for a while.