I have a feeling this blog is about to take a very different turn than just an outlet for my silliness. I made the decision a while ago that I was ready to have a gastric bypass. I've been heavy all my life, but in the last 2 years my life has gotten completely unmanageable. For a long time I've fought this, thinking I could just go on a diet again. And it wasn't until I really looked at myself that I realized I just do not have one more diet left in me. And that I could either fade away, hiding in my bulk, and let this kill me, or I could go to the extreme (and only known cure for morbid obesity) and have the bypass. Today is the day they scheduled my surgery, just 9 short days away, on January 14, 2010.
I will never again be able to eat a whole loaf of bread. This does not make me sad. I will have to take vitamins for the rest of my life--this is doable. I will have to focus on protein, then veggies, then fruits, then (if there is any space left) complex carbs. This will be hard, don't get me wrong, but it isn't the end of the world. Giving up soda is going to be hard, so I'm just not going to think about it. And even if I am one of the people who can't eat chocolate after the survery, I will live. It will not be the most horrible thing.
No. Horrible is shopping in a gas station because I don't have to walk as far as I would in a grocery store to get to the milk. Horrible is the clothing that I'm forced to wear, because nothing fits (and even if it did, it would be of the mumu variety and nothing pretty to look at). Horrible is having to take showers, because I'm afraid that if I sit in the tub I won't be able to get back out (calling 911 when naked in the tub is not the most ideal way to meet firemen, I'm guessing). Horrible is not being able to cross your legs, sit on the floor, walk across a parking lot, or go shopping. Horrible is knowing that my size makes me invisible, shortens my lifespan, makes me hate myself. There's more of the horrible, of course, and I plan on writing it all down so that I can look back and see why I did this, in case the pain of the surgery or the throwing up or the restricted menus make me wonder "what the hell was I thinking."
Right now, all I can think about is my goal weight. My doctor told me that my ideal goal would be to weigh "around 150." 150. I was close, once. I made it to 148 after a four-month liquid diet followed by the stomach flu. That lasted about 15 minutes, when a deep sniff outside the pizza parlor pushed me back over 150 (that's right, yummy-smelling air has enough calories to make me gain weight). So I can't even imagine 150. I have to lose an entire Back Street Boy, plus one-half of Hanna Montana, to even be able to see it on the horizon. That's over 1/2 my current body weight. And I wonder, what happens when you lose more than half of yourself?
In my head, I'm hoping that it means there is more room for actual living--not sitting on the couch watching people act out life. And I don't know what kind of living I want to do--not yet. But, as Auntie Mame says, "Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death!" Perhaps I will get to finally belly up to the banquet and eat...