One Last Singular Sensation

 Well, well well, what have we here!  I am down 36 pounds from my highest weight and 19 from the start of the year.  One more pound and I will be out of the 300s.  I can’t remember the last time I was under 300 pounds.  It’s a weird kind of sensation; leaving something so familiar to me; my padding, my shield.  I know I’ve discussed this before, and it still comes to mind.  How will I handle being smaller?  My husband mentioned that my ass is already smaller.  When I looked in the  mirror, my skin was so flawless (after makeup) that I looked…I don’t know.  It just didn’t look right, or it looked too right.  Maybe that’s just the look of a person who has only had liquids for the past week.

I admitted to my husband that my biggest concern throughout this whole process is that I wonder how he will see me, how he will relate to me once I have broken up with half of myself.  He made a comment that he keeps seeing how I will look in his  mind and he’s not sure.  I admitted that I fear that he will no longer find me attractive.  He said that he has never related to a smaller woman in his life.  I suggested that, instead of seeing me as smaller, he see me as healthier.  Then I reminded him that he will be able to carry me over the threshold for the first time ever, as well as toss me to and fro!  That we agreed upon.

One bariatric source indicated that a person who is over 300 pounds when they have surgery, will most likely lose 16-30 pounds in the first month and 80-90 pounds in the first year.  Dang.  Right now, those are only numbers, but soon, it will all make sense.  Could I have done this without surgery?  No, I don’t believe so.  Now, we will never know. 

I honestly believe that I will continue to love myself and have a loving attentive husband no matter what my body, my shell, looks like.  I am me.  I have been me for as long as I can remember and will continue to be me.  I have already been creative, confident, caring and kind.  That will not change.  I have felt sexy, loving, and fun.  What will be different?

One thing is for sure.  There will not be a three as the first digit on the scale.  Goodbye 300s.  Good fucking riddance.

Where Has the Time Gone?

I am six days post-op and feeling good.  The last week is a blur.  I have been up and around, walking, resting, sipping, sipping, blending, tracking…all the things!  I am supposed to walk 60 minutes per day at 10-15 minute intervals.  I am supposed to give myself a shot twice daily, take my medication, about five of them, drink my 64 ounces of liquids (water, broth, caffeine free etc) and get in 60-70g of protein.  This is no easy feat after stomach surgery.  I’ve come to enjoy warm broth with a bit of non-flavored protein powder and I found a good use for my little electric whisk. 

For me, with just about everything, out of sight is out of mind.  That is the same with my nutrition.  I have it all next to me to make sure I get it in by the end of the day.  In the  morning, I make tea and pour a carton of Caramel Premiere Protein for flavor and to get the protein started.  I make a 32 ounce cup of water with a sleeve of Aldi crystal light.  I bought the cutest ramekins that have measurements marked inside.  I put about eight ounces of broth on my candle-warmer so that it’s ready to sip when I am.  For lunch, I sip on watered-down cafe’ latte’ protein shake or vanilla, chocolate, or some other flavor.  I’m not quite sick of it yet, but it’s getting there.

Before surgery, I made popsicles out of protein water.  They ended up tasting a bit sour, so they are still in the freezer.  I also made, get this!  I made a protein shake out of Iso Fruity Pebble protein mix and almond milk.  Then, I made popsicles.  So Yummy!!!  I’ve been getting a couple sugar-free tropical popsicles here and there.  

Today, I was able to cuddle with my son, watch a movie with my daughter and watch Hallmark with my husband.  I have needed pain medicine only once today, so far.  The night is young.

Food For Thought

     It is 4:40am.  I was on a liquid diet yesterday and that included magnesium citrate and dulcolax, so I’m a bit woozy.  I don’t have to be up for another two hours, yet, here I am with ideas and stories running through my head. 

 I just keep thanking my body for sustaining me all of these years.  I am grateful.  One thought that has been on repeat is about how others will respond once the weight starts coming off.  In my support groups, I hear people, women mostly, share how awkward they feel when someone asks them about their weight-loss.  Now, we all know that weight and women (some men too) can be a touchy subject.  The idea that some people have to justify, defend and lie about their weight-loss goals after surgery is beyond me.  People have shared stories of being told they are now too skinny.  They feel they have to share skewed numbers when people negatively comment on their progress, or when they ask, “how much weight are you planning to lose?” Don’t do that!  In the same way that you don’t want to ask  a woman when her baby is due before  finding out if she is even pregnant or say to a pregnant woman, “Goodness, you’re huge!  When are you due?!

People, let’s be sensitive here!  If you would not want to discuss your weight loss, gain, goals, failures and such with another person, don’t dive into their business out of your own curiosity.  If you know the person well enough, then you will have some ideas about their journey and their goals.  If you don’t know, then wait for them to share with you.  Here are my boundaries.  If you did not mention my weight when I was close to 350 pounds, then don’t dare say anything when I approach 150 (which, for the record, is still considered obese for me by the BMI chart - eff that!).  Just don’t .  You may encourage me, pray for me, or even ask how things are going.  But you may not speak negatively, make jokes about or inspire shame about my body.  Just a little food for thought, or liquid protein for thought.

So Many Thoughts

 So many thoughts.  In about 24 hours, my  bariatric surgery will begin.  I am excited, a bit nervous, curious, and calm.  We had family pictures taken the other day and I finally saw myself honestly.  I am beautifully at a weight that is no longer serving me or my family.  Some people see themselves as bigger than they are in reality.  I realize that, due to high self-esteem, healthy self-concept, positive friends and family, I did not really SEE myself.   Well, now, I have seen me.  For a few seconds last week, I wondered if I really needed to follow through with surgery.  A friend asked me, “Do you even qualify for that surgery?”  I answered that yes, I qualify.  Even though I may look like I weigh somewhere in the 200 pound area, I am actually over 300 pounds.   This is what a 300 pound woman looks like.  She might not sit down to eat a full pizza followed by a gallon of ice cream, she does not refuse to walk out of laziness.  She is not full of depression and hate for herself.  She is not feeding her emotions every time the wind blows.  She is trying to maintain a healthy life for her family.  She runs and plays with her children.  She eats small portions and stands even when a seat is offered.  She laughs heartily, and has friends who love her.  This is me.

The struggles in life  get real right before the change is to being.  With relationships, after you have decided, planned and worked yourself to a place where you are DONE.  It’s over, and today is the day to leave.  Then, when you are about to walk out the door, you remember that the other person has your 007 movie collection in their belongings.  They are not quite finished with the last in the series, so you decide to stay a bit longer before taking or leaving the box-set.  I felt this way when I questioned for a second if this was what I wanted to do.  Here’s the thing.  I wasn’t questioning because I was uncertain about the procedure or the outcome.  I started questioning because “Will the kids eat okay the two days I am gone?  Will my husband get breakfast with bacon cooked to his crispy preference?  Will the house be a mess by the time I’m able to look up to see it?  Will my daughter sleep through her alarm AGAIN without me waking her with singing, shaking, and then threats?”  

It’s hard to shift the focus to myself when I have willingly, gratefully focused on others.  In January, I declared that my goal for the year was to secure my own oxygen mask before securing the mask of others.  I have prepped and practiced with my family.  They know how to pull the straps and breathe.  Now, it is my turn to let them.

Please, Be Seated

 I love to wear dresses and skirts.  There was a time I would not have been caught wearing anything but pants, but now, I love A-line, flowy, tight, long short dresses or skirts.  I remember my husband before he was my husband, informing me that he liked when I wore skirts.  I replied that I did not have the shoes for that type of wardrobe change.  He answered, “Well, then we will find you new shoes.”  And a dress-wearer was born.  I stocked my closet with wrap dresses, faux wrap dresses, ankle-length and mini skirts, colorful and simple solid skirts, internationally influenced and old fashioned American dresses.  I wore them all the time.  I kinda still do.  My daughter will often ask, mom, why are you so dressed up today.  Might be a full day of work, or a random Tuesday of errands and chores.  

One thing about wearing skirts and dresses that you would never know is a problem unless you have this derriere design is that magically the hem of my garment takes on two different measurements.  Unless one is wearing an item purposely designed to be longer in the back, or like Lee Lee’s Valise, a designer deigned to add a bit more fabric in back so that it appeared to be the same length all the way around, there is often a problem with forward tipping hem syndrome.  

This is not a true syndrome or disorder, but give me time.  I’m working on the justification.  When a person has a large buttocks, the flow and hang of skirts and dresses is impeded.  The ass takes up enough room to lift the skirt or dress, butt only in the back.  If one glances from the side, it appears as though the dress-wearer is bending down.  There is no bending down happening, only butt hold up.  

Now reader, I painstakingly took time to explain all of this for a reason.  It took me years to move from plants to skirts.  I now live in a climate that is warm in the winter and I no longer need to wear leggings under said dresses or skirts.  Herein lies the problem.  I was with a friend

 enjoying one of my last restaurant meals out before the now becomes ‘before’. I had chosen a knee-length colorful dress to wear.  I looked so cute! My hair was in braids, my makeup flawless and my outfit was just right.  

My friend and I sat, ate and chatted for nearly two hours. This divine-smelling Greek restaurant challenged me on my commitment to not consume fries.  It tempted me with coconut cream pie, baklava, and cake.  I decided upon the salad with grilled chicken.  Right?!  I know!!! Yay me!  I had nothing to drink because that is something I’ve needed to practice.  After surgery, there is a 30-30-30 rule when eating and drinking.  No beverage 30 minutes before eating.  I need to take 30 minutes to eat the meal (small bites and lots of chewing because it takes 20 minutes for your body to register that it’s full), and then wait 30 minutes after the meal to drink.  The reason behind this is that beverages help us eat faster and consume more by pushing food down at a more rapid pace.  After surgery, it can also wash the food through too fast for my body to absorb the needed nutrients.  So, there I sat with my salad and chicken as my friend enjoyed, another of my favorites, Philly cheesesteak and fries.  I checked in with all of my selves.  Ya’ll ok?  Everyone feeling strong in the moment?  Good! No part of me was plotting to jump across the table and relieve her of her fried potatoes that were delicately drizzled with ketchup.  

I was aware, when I chose the only booth that was available, that it was covered in pleather and cracked down the center of the seat.  The alternative to the booth was a hard chair that did not look like it would pass the ass test.  So, I slid into the booth, noting the space between my tummy and the table; I didn't have to push the table toward my friend one bit.  After two hours of laughing and sharing, it was time to go.  Before then, I had the most uncomfortable pinching in my upper-leg area.  I started to shift around looking for a more comfortable position.  My left leg was stuck to the booth. “Houston, WE HAVE A PROBLEM!” I had to jerk my leg this way and that and make such jarring motions to start the extraction that I actually interrupted my friend to tell her why I was moving around so much.  “It seems that I may be stuck to the booth.  Pardon me as I move, jiggle and adjust as you are telling your story.”  After a while, and a few looks from the couple to our left, I stopped trying.  My attention was back on my friend until the pain was unbearable.  I did that thing where you wrench your leg outward in the most unladylike fashion to free my thighs from the grip of the pleather.  I swear I heard a ripping sound and if one looks closely, one might find a layer of my skin in booth #1.  I sat with both legs dangling off the booth as I rested my right elbow on the table trying to keep my undivided attention on my friend.  Her story was so gripping that I didn’t want to jump up and make her think I was disinterested.  I sat in that position, lower body facing left, upper body resting on my arm which was on the table.  Each half of my body had their own agenda, until it was time to scoot off the booth while gently yet firmly coercing my skirt to exit the places where it had settled and cover my thighs that were raw and offended.  

Damn, I can’t wait to wear a skirt that is the same length all the way around and does not hike up in the back when I sit, stand, walk, move, breathe or partake in any other human activity.  

Who Is to Blame?

 It’s 8:13am and I have already yelled, cried, moved a dresser and thought about my upcoming surgery.  Let me explain.  As I am sure you do, I have a lot going on.  I hate to say that “I’m busy” because that implies that I’m just flitting to and fro from this to that filling every moment with something.  Wait.  That is what I do, but… I don’t like to call it busy.  I say, “My life is full,” or “There’s a lot on my plate,” (so many food references in our societal jargon).  Ok, back to my point!  I was in my son’s room and thought, “I bet I could fit that dresser into the closet to give him more room to play.”  So, with the help of my strong seven-year-old, we moved the many many items that were on the floor between the dresser and the closet.  And then we pushed!  I’m not so good with measuring and all that nonsense, so I eye-balled it and knew it would fit.  Well, it did not. So,there it sits; half in and half out of the closet, awaiting some magician to push it one inch more until it fits.  

What is it about parenting that makes me feel more guilty when I lose my shit than the child who “encouraged” me to lose my shit?  When I say, “lose my shit,” I really mean fussing vehemently. When I ‘lose it’ my actions mirror a toddler’s tantrum; stomping up the stairs, throwing my clothes here and there, fussing all the while to NO ONE, BECAUSE NO ONE IS LISTENING.  I swapped my jammies for sweatpants and a loose sweatshirt.  I tossed off my night bonnet and grabbed a hat, which I then kept in my hand and not on my head.  I zoomed down the street to hopefully catch the bus before it screeched away.  Boom!  We made it with time to spare.  Then I started feeling horrible for yelling this  morning about the things I’ve gently fussed about for months.  I felt sooooo bad! I apologized for yelling.  I felt like I should take McDonald’s to my daughter for lunch.  HOLD UP!  What about this scenario makes me land on taking tasty, addictive, awful, processed, salty food to my daughter as a way to brighten her day after (she helped) mine get off to a rough start?  Can I switch this over to something she really would like from me, like a walk or time together after school?  Yes, but that is an afterthought.  Why is it easier to fill generations with the foods we loved, and then learned were not good for us even after we have learned they were not good for us?

Moving on to why I cried.  I am full of emotions about my surgery.  I am excited, a little nervous, curious and hopeful.  Take that and wrap it around the fact that over 20 years ago, my mom had a similar surgery.  She did not have the same doctor or support that I have, nor did she have the success she’d hoped for.  Her doctor stopped practicing shortly after her procedure and we found, three years later, that he had left a cloth in her stomach cavity.  This foreign item wreaked havoc on her system.  About 15 years after her surgery, it was discovered that she was not absorbing iron or protein that was needed to help her body function.  I don’t know what appointments she had or what vitamins she did nor didn’t take, but things did not work well for her.  This was the first thing that came to mind right after I considered calling for a consultation with the surgeon.  Will I be successful?  How do I measure success?  Will I feel guilty if I lose more weight than my mom did?  

Two years ago, on the evening of Valentine’s Day, my mom passed away in her sleep and joined my dad who had transitioned eight months before.  I miss her and I miss him deeply; thus the tears that I felt falling down my face.  When my mother was alive, and she would kill me for saying this, I never wanted to lose more weight than she had. I did not want her to be the biggest of the five women in our family.  WHAT IS THAT?!  Yes, I speak my truth because I know this is a safe space to do so.  As a child, I saw my mom struggle, fight, work and starve to lose weight.  Nothing worked to her satisfaction.  So, I sabotaged my own progress in order to make her feel comfortable.  She had no idea about this, of course.  No one did.  

Are you living your life, making decisions, sabotaging success, or holding yourself back for another person?  Why?  Is that what they would really want, or is that an excuse to keep pushing that boulder up the hill, only to let it roll back down and then you try again?  When do you matter?  When is it only about how you show up in the world and not about what others think or how they feel.  We are not responsible for the feelings of others.  I’ll say that again.  We are not responsible for the feelings of others.  We have influence over them, but ultimately, each individual chooses how they express their emotions.  It sure was easier to look outside of myself and find reasons for my weight gain.  

In the end,it comes down to you living for you.  In doing that, you are able to help others, love others, support others and do all the other things that make you, you.  First, you have to discover who you are living for.  Are you even seeing the dangling oxygen mask, or did you cut the cord to offer it to someone else?  Am I doing this surgery for my children?  No, but I can’t wait to sit on the floor with my children when they invite me to.  I look forward to saying YES when they want to go outside to play.  Am I doing this for me?  Yes!  I also anticipate walking without laboring and descending the stairs without knee pain (these are for me).  Never again will I put the hypothetical feelings of another unsuspecting person ahead of my own goals and success.  What’s the point, unless it’s just to have someone else to blame.

IT'S GAME TIME!

 YES!!! I said NO!

Well, well, well.  I guess you can teach a middle aged dog new tricks!  Let me set the stage.  I was at a superbowl party.  The setting was beautiful and the spread was massive.  Delectable treats included the most stylish, checkerboard pattern Mexican dip, shrimp, chicken wings, bbq chicken wings, hot wings, ribs, ground turkey sliders, ground beef/cheese sliders, buffalo chicken dip, crab boil with shrimp, potatoes, and corn, pasta salad, green salad, individual, well-seasoned and cooked to perfection -LAMB CHOPS!  Giiirrrrlllll, it was a par-tay!  There were also chips and fried chicken with waffles as well as desserts and drinks.  

Ok, so, my plate was full of protein and no carbs!  No bun for the burger, no ships for the dip, no waffle.  I tried to grab some of the tri-colored pasta salad, but ended up with a spoon-full of diced peperoni, green pepper and tomato.  Thanks Universe!  It was good with a capital G!  Everything was made with love and just the right seasoning.  

I tried to escape before the desserts were brought out because I know myself.  And, after seeing the main dishes that these ladies had created, I knew the final course was gonna be good.  You will not believe it.  She brought out the trifecta in little, cute, perfectly arranged dishes. 
Banana pudding - instantly brought memories of the big, yellow, ceramic bowl my dad used when he made this for hot summer holidays.

Punch-Bowl cake - I have never heard of this or tried it before, which was just about enough justification for me to take a spoon and slide it down into the colorful, multi-layered goodness.

Cheesecake, with cherries - Oh, NO SHE DIDN’T!  Yes, she did.  Cheesecake is my favorite dessert.  It is what I crave when I’m happy, sad, hungry, full, celebrating, mourning, remembering or forgetting.  Cheesecake with visible layers of graham cracker crust, filling and bright red fruit topping.

I didn’t touch it.  Had the hostess been a food-pusher, I would have given in.  She offered, I declined, and then she made her way to the others in the room.  I’m sure I was staring and drooling a bit, which might have been her clue to keep moving.  

This is worth celebrating!  Now, that brings  me to wondering why we celebrate so often with unhealthy food.  I am no longer talking about the party and not contemplating my family.  Why is it that, when I say I should celebrate, my mind instantly goes to ice cream, chocolate or the two bites of cheesecake my daughter is saving for her after-school snack?  Today is Valentine’s Day.  Cookies, brownies, chocolates, candy hearts are what the holiday is all about.  But, it’s not.  It’s about love; love of others and love of self.  I want to change the thinking around holidays and celebrations in our home.  I’m not ready to rid the house of sugar, carbs and goodies (or shall we call them baddies?!)  I will make gluten-free, sugar free brownies that are on the back of  my almond flour bag.  If I cut them into hearts, my kids will still get the point that I love them, right?  If I suggest a Valentine’s Day family walk, it  might start the change I want to see.  The example I want to be.

It's a Journey not a Destination

 Man oh man, I have been on the cycle of guilt this weekend.  I’m doing great with my planning and tracking, then I justify a bite of this or a small fries of that and then I’m cast into the downward spiral of dark and yucky shame.  “I’ve ruined it.  I can’t keep doing this.  Why don’t I just say NO?”  In reality-land, I have not ruined anything.  In one day, I had protein shakes, cheese sticks, a salad and a small order of fries.  Were those choices based on my new goals and plan?  Mostly, yes.  Will I have to learn to not eat french fries with my salad…yeah, that’s gonna be a tough one.

About fifteen years ago, I attended an International Communication Conference in Chicago, IL with a colleague.  When we arrived at our swanky hotel, it was late and we were hungry.  I wanted Mexican food or a burger.  She ordered salad, and fries.  I canceled my order and doubled hers.  It was the perfect combination plate; cold and crispy along with hot and crunchy/soft, super healthy and super indulgent.  It was the Ying and the Yang baby!  And with that simple meal, a memory was created and for fifteen years, I have eaten fries with my salad.

So much about what, why, how much, when and where we eat stems from memories.  When I eat a “HOT” Krispy Kreme doughnut (dang, why am I talking about this?  My mouth is watering). I am teleported to a car in Atlanta, GA where I was introduced to my first taste of this sweet, sugary, chewy cloud of goodness.  What memories do you have about the foods you love?  Our first meal in our first microwave was hot dogs with canned chili and American cheese - Oh my gosh, we should be preserved forever just from that one meal! We planned for that meal, shopped and timed that meal.  Now, when I make chili, I save enough for a chili dog (with or without American cheese).

I was walking through the park on July 4, 2021 when I saw and smelled smoke billowing from a huge, black grill.  Tears filled my eyes because the smell reminded me of the ribs my dad used to make every holiday that he was able.  Man, I missed him at that moment.  Don’t even get me started on the smell of Lawry’s seasoning salt and fried chicken.

Our brains and bodies hold memories.  Those memories can be triggered by a sight, smell, sound, feel or just a quiet moment of remembrance.  There also comes a time when we acknowledge those memories and move forward with what serves us better at the present time in our lives.  My body does not like hot dogs, doughnuts or ice cream (wahhhhhh), so why do I keep eating them to keep memories alive?  When will I pay attention to my body instead of feeding it junk and demanding it perform optimally? For now, I will do my best to hold memories in my heart and not my stomach.

Is it Worth It?

 Today, I had my pre-op visit with the surgeon.  My blood pressure was 110/75, which is a bit high for me, but still good.  I was given a stack of consent forms to sign.  These included acknowledgement that the procedure I am receiving offers no guarantees, will require effort and smart food choices on my part, will be more effective with exercise, and could have complications.  

As with any surgery, there are complications, and it is my choice to willingly initial that I understand each one.  I remember when I had vocal cord surgery for the first time in 2016, the doctor informed me of the possible complications of that particular surgery.  He said something like, “whenever one is working with lazers, there is a chance of fire.”  I said, “So, are you saying there could be a fire in my throat?!”  He answered, “Although that is highly unlikely and has  never happened in my 30 years of practice, but, yes, that is what I’m saying.”  I signed the form and had the surgery.  No fires to report.

With bariatric surgery, the possible complications that I initialed, included some kind of issues with heart, kidney, bleeding, breathing, bowels, and the list went on for two pages.  Here’s the funny thing, and if you have ever struggled with weight, you will get me.  Short of certain death, I would sign those papers any day.  I am not afraid of surgery.  I am afraid of the way my knee pops and hurts so hard it stops me in my tracks when I’m walking sometimes.  I am not afraid of potential complications.  I am afraid of my heart having to work twice as hard to force blood through my body that is the size of two bodies.  I am not afraid of the pain post-surgery.  I am afraid of my children not knowing to run and play with their children because their mother did  not run and play with them.

Is it worth it?  Yes, I believe it will be.  Only time will tell.

Baby Got Back

    My whole adult life, I have heard mixed messages about my particular body type.  I have heard that I have the coveted hourglass figure; large bust, small waist, big hips and ass.  I have been told that most men like big butts.  Here are a few lyrics that echo this sentiment:

“I like big butts and I cannot lie

You other brothas can’t deny

When a girl walks in with a ity bitty waist and a round thing in yo face

You get sprung”  

“You can do side-bends or sit-ups, but please don’t lose that butt!”

By  Sir-Mix-e-Lot

“As I walk you to the dance floor

We begin to dance slow (oooh)

Put your arms around me

I'm feeling on your booty ”   By R Kelly

“Boys like a little more booty to hold at night” By Meghan Trainor

“Big, big booty

What you got a big booty

Big, big booty

What you got a big booty

Big, big booty

What you got a big booty

Big, big booty

What you got a big booty” By J to the L.O.

    Oh no!  What if I lose my booty?! I”m sure I will.  But maybe I won’t.  But I’m sure I will.  Will the shape stay the same?  I like the shape of my butt, except there’s just so much of it.  When I walk into someone’s house, backyard or office, I size up the chairs like a boxer sizing up their opponent.  “Hmmm, will it fit my hips and ass?  Will it be painful or just uncomfortable?  Will it look like I’m sitting ON the chair instead of IN the chair?  Is there another place I can sit, like a bench or couch or something?  Don’t even get me started with picnic tables.  Can’t tell you how many times I’ve been the first to sit down first with my food, swang my legs around (awkwardly) under the table, only to have the whole damn thing start to tip my way.  Talk about a jump-scare!  

    Honestly, these songs make me wonder if I will still be sexy once I have broken up with half of me.  My family traits remind me that, no matter how much breaking up is done, I will still have hips and ass.  Is that what makes me sexy though?  I’d like to think it’s my kind eyes, hearty laugh and genuine disposition.  Will my hugs feel as welcoming without a soft landing?  Will I be as strong as I am now?  Or will I be stronger?  I think that this journey will be more of a mental strength test than a physical one.  Or maybe it’s both/and.  

I can’t wait to be comfortable, as I learn to become comfortable with only half of me.  I hope that, at my core, I am full of spirit, smiles, personality, generosity and love.  

Much more than B double 'O' TY - oh my!

Nervous Nelly

 Y'all, I’m feeling nervous today.  I’m not nervous about the surgery, but just wondering  if I have everything I need beforehand and everything for my family and my recovery after.  I am not new to surgery, anesthesia and pain.  About twelve years ago, after working out religiously with a couple trainers, I decided to have liposuction.  Dr. Kind Guy removed six pounds of fat from my belly, back, waist and knees.  That was the most excruciating pain I have ever experienced.  It’s when I learned that Vicodine does not work for me; just puts me to sleep, still in pain.  Right about the time I was expecting to see my results, I became pregnant with my oldest daughter.  No regret there.

Back to nerves, I had not thought about what nightgowns I would wear during recovery!  Thank goodness for the two groups I’m part of on social media because their discussions reminded me.  Most of the things I am purchasing for surgery are things I have needed, and have put off getting because, well, this mom tends to her own needs last - working on this in therapy as well.  I needed slippers, a robe, nightgowns, panties, a heating pad and hair.  Yes, HAIR!  

For those who have the ‘wash n go’ type hair, let me tell ya, the black hair care struggle is real.  I need to remember to take my bonnet to the hospital because cotton pillow cases damage my hair.  I can’t wear my current style of “wet and wear” because I won’t be able to wash my hair and braid it daily for a while.  I need to get my hair done before surgery.  If I get individual braids, it will take 6-10 hours and could cost over $200.  If I get crochet, it will only take 2-4 hours and will cost under $200.  If I use synthetic hair, I will need to treat it before going to the salon.  Treating the hair means that I soak the bundles in apple cider vinegar, water and a tad of shampoo to release some of the processing chemicals to which I am allergic.  After I treat it, I hang it to dry before going to get it installed into my own braids on my own head.  If I use human hair…I’m not sure if I have to treat it because I have not been able to afford human hair.  I am not allergic, won’t have to treat it, it looks more natural and is reusable.  One pack of three is over $150 and I would need two packs.  What’s a girl to do?!  Ps, this is why black women and girls kindly request that others keep their hands off of our locks.  Hair Care is expensive, takes a lot of work and the oils on hands messes with our tresses, or the tresses of those who have donated to the cause.

I just realized that I am nervous because this is for me and me alone.  I have spent nearly a year in Taiwan as a missionary.  I have traveled to Italy for three weeks (twice) for a photography class.  I have left my husband and young children behind for five weeks to help pastors and the Bishop in Uganda.  I have built houses and distributed eye-glasses in Mexico.  But this; this is for me.  And that terrifies me.  If I fail, I have no one to blame.  As a recovering perfectionist, I do not want to fail.  I can’t fail.  I won’t fail.  And what is failure anyway?  The only way I can fail is to give up and, if you know me, you know that is not ever an option.  So there, failure fears put to rest.  It is time for me to see me, honor and respect me and put me first.  Funny, that was my goal at the beginning of the year.  I said that I wanted to secure my own oxygen mask before securing the masks of others.  Well, Jenn, oxygen masks have fallen from the ceiling.  Secure the cup over your nose and mouth, then pull the cords on each side.  It’s time to take a deep breath. 

One More Day

 I just heard from my online pre-op app that I have one more day before I need to begin my pre-op, low carb plan (diet).  Do I eat what I want today in celebration of one more 'free' day?  Do I stick to the plan now that I have weighed out my ground turkey and planned my meals and snacks for the day?  Why is this a difficult question?  Of course, because this is a lifestyle change, I will stick to my plan and give myself a gold star for starting early.  But then, I know three months down the road, I'll be tempted to say, well, I started early, so now I have a free day!  Nope, not how it works.  I think I will consider all of the days before this one to have been free days.  Starting now, I am beginning the rest of my life with gratitude and countless food options instead of scarcity mentality and limited variety.  

I am also learning that when I am in or near the kitchen... you know the drill!  I either need to clean something or eat something.  Or clean so that I can eat.  Or eat and then clean after myself.  The kitchen needs to be another room in the house and not a scary trigger trap.  What mantra can I recite?  My kitchen is a room in my home.  I prepare healthy and fun meals for my whole family.  I invite light, love and appreciation for all who contributed in any way to the food on my plate.  Our food is meant to sustain and nourish us.  

The Last Suppoer

     Girl, I have been bracing myself for today for the last two weeks.  Why is it that now that I am determined to end this toxic relationship I have with food and eating and the half of my body that feels the need to hoard calories for a rainy day, I can only think of the foods I will never eat again?  Of course, this is an exaggeration, but in my mind, it’s reality.  I have to talk to myself a lot.  “Am I hungry?  Am I thirsty?  Do I have a meal plan for today?  Can I make the same foods for the family as for myself?”  I wanted to eat pizza, sushi, chocolate, ice cream and french fries just so that I could remember what my favorite foods were. Interesting that these are the foods that contributed to my having a complex chronic condition of being morbidly obese.

    So many times, we go back to our abusers; either mentally or physically. We think, "they didn't hit me, they apologized, they didn't mean it." No more excuses. I guess I"m not only breaking up with half of me, but also breaking up with habits and patterns that have been ingrained into my lifestyle. They are no longer serving me.

Starting today, I begin my pre-op diet.  I realize that, until now, I have not disclosed exactly how I planned to break up with half of myself.  That was your first clue.  My pre-op diet looks a lot like the Slim Fast or Keto diet.  It includes a lot of protein (90 grams/day), and meat and veggies with low carb.  I was thinking, dang, if I could regularly eat like this, I wouldn’t need such a drastic end to a life-long battle with my weight.  This morning, half of me was worried, really worried, that I was going to be hungry.  I’m rarely hungry in the mornings, and I keep myself busy throughout the day.  But today, I had to closely look at my plan and start prepping for dinner at 7:30am. 

Breakfast - Protein Shake and hot tea (learning to avoid caffeine)

Snack - Cheese Stick

Lunch - 2 ounces of ground turkey with cabbage (yummy egg-roll bowl)

Snack - Protein drink

Dinner - 2 ounces of chicken with cauliflower rice and broccoli

That’s my plan for today.  The idea behind this diet is to shrink the liver by eliminating sugar and carbs from my diet.  This will make my surgery more successful.

There, I said it!  In two weeks, I am having weight-loss surgery. After working with my doctors, dieticians, and nutritionist, I have decided to undergo duodenal switch bariatric surgery.   I have kept silent about this for four months because I feared what others might say.  I now realize that whoever knows me, knows that I research, think deeply and weigh out (most) things before jumping in.  I also know that everyone understands their own journey and would never feel comfortable commenting on my choices toward a healthier lifestyle.  I know that people will not negatively comment on my weight loss, just like they didn’t negatively comment on my weight gain.  

I usually like to do things in silence and then present them once I have finished.  This is different.  I want to share the steps I am taking and solicit support from friends.  I am so excited.  I know that this is not a magic solution.  Just like any other weight-loss program, it is a tool.  It will challenge me to overhaul my household meals, snacks and activities.  I will be able to sit on the floor or go for a walk with my kids.  I will teach them healthy options for making yummy meals and snacks.  This is life-changing and it starts now!

I'M BACK

I took a little break for a few days. After I started putting myself out there, really out there, I wondered if it was too much, too soon or too much information for people.  After checking with some of my most trusted readers, I was assured that I need to keep writing.  For myself and my journey, I need to keep writing.  

That seventh grader inside me suddenly felt judged and laughed at, even though no one is laughing.  I tend to hear voices of criticism, hate, and judgment but in reality, the voice is mine.   I will tend to her in therapy.  

For now, I will document my journey and hope it helps someone else along the way.  And if not, it will help me and that also matters.

What If?

 What if I don’t know how to act after losing half of myself?  I have only always been a “big girl,” so I wonder how will my arms hang?  Will my hands face in as they do now when they hang down my sides?  Will they face backward like I see in smaller women?  Is it about the shoulder or is it the bulk in the arm that makes the difference?  How will I carry things like money and napkins if my cups no longer runneth over?  I have even been known to tuck a pink quartz crystal or amethyst stone in my bra close to my heart.  Will it fall out if I lose half of myself?  

How do (what’s the correct term here? skinny, small, fit, svelt, folks with lower BMI) thinner people have sex?  I don’t want to know how they do, but I want to know how I will.  I have been limited to a few positions due to my luscious curves and I just don’t know if I’m ready to go recreating wheels and such.  Is it like riding a bike?  Do you just adjust accordingly?  I know these are things people don’t talk about, but they are truly concerns in my mind, so I will.  

My identity is wrapped up in my appearance and thus my size.  I know that when I walk into a room, I fill it with my presence.  I am noticed.  Will I be noticed in the same way when there is only half of me?  Here is where people will say, “I never noticed that you were a larger woman…and you’re black?  Never realized it!”  Well, I am both of those things and you might not have been aware, but I have been, all of my life.  What will I think about with all of that free time to not worry if a chair has arms that will push into my thighs?  Or if my destination up a flight of stairs is right at the top, or down a bit where I can catch my breath before running into anyone?  

I am excited about a few things that I will get to experience in the next year as I strive toward losing half of me.  One thing is going horseback riding!  I have wanted to ride a horse since I was a child.  When I was going to finally face my fear and take lessons, I was told (by multiple stables) that I surpassed the weight limit for their horses.  Ummmm WTF?  I have seen cowboys bigger than me riding horses, so what the heck.  I will celebrate with riding lessons once I reach the point where I will do no harm to the animal beneath me.  I can’t wait.  I also want to go indoor skydiving.  I took my kids last year and it looked scary/fun.  I decided at the last minute to do it with them - “what the heck!  I will build memories with my babes!”  Well, the weight limit was twenty pounds less than my current weight and I could not go.  Of course, I made up an excuse as to why, but inside I cried a bit.  I am also excited to walk.  For those of you who have been smaller most of your life, you might not know, but not everyone walks without their thighs meeting and greeting at each step.  My legs might not want to be separated.  They might get cold or lonely without the constant heat that is created by the rubbing that causes my jeans to wear thin in the thighs and changes the color of my inner legs.  Maybe they won’t be very far from one another, time will tell.  Oooh, and I want to wear a bikini!  I remember reading that bikinis are not to be worn by women over the age of 35, but who are they to tell me?!  Really, who are they?  I can’t remember who said that.  

I dream, I wonder, I fear, I hope - what if?