Here I am ... 24 hours after the realization that a major, massive, monumental change is coming my way.

I don't feel at all like I had expected. I'm more frightened than I would have thought. That seems odd to me. I mean what could possibly be worse (with regard to this surgery, specifically) than feeling like a prisoner (and a justly convicted one, at that) inside a body belonging to someone else? For surely, this body is not my own.

What could be more frightening than being taken to the hospital, thinking I was having a heart "episode" of some sort? Kissing my kids goodbye and silently praying it wouldn't be the last time? Writing about this now seems overly dramatic ... and those of you who read platitude paradise already know the outcome of the story ... but all I could think as we made that trip was: if I leave my children without their mother, it's nobody's fault but my own.

That, my friends, is some tough shit to swallow. 

I had already begun the process of the surgery prior to that day in July. Had already spent years trying to decide if I should do something so drastic ... but if ever there had been room for doubt, that evening removed it. As frightened as I am to go through this, those were the most terrifying couple of hours of my entire existence.

And yet ... I cried yesterday. Not really sure what emotion(s) was (were) behind that, but I cried, none the less. Then, I pulled some chicken out of the freezer to defrost and headed down to my treadmill. 

But then, the dinner hour descended. During dinner, we sit as a family - with my mother included - and eat together. We also chat (and yell at the kids to pleasefortheloveofgodeatyourdinner! and stopsinging - don'tkickmeunderthetable - or - chewwithyourmouthopen! and finally, SIT DOWN!). After the girls had consumed the requisite sustenance, they were excused and the real trouble began. 

Mom and I started to chit chat. (Hubs worked last night, so was not present for this little convo.) Just for some background, my youngest sister flew home from the UK on Tuesday. She's been there for the past year - literally backpacking around Europe. This is the same sister that has a degree in child psychology with specialization in dealing with special needs. She gets paid almost as well as most lawyers. (I'm not jealous AT ALL) She also has a LOT of opinions about our methods of parenting ... bearing in mind, of course that she is all of 26 and is not only not married, but has no children. (yes, this bloody DOES matter to my story)

Where was I? Oh, yes ... my baby sister. She's also got a waist size of about 24". Not that she doesn't work at it ... she does, for sure ... but she has never EVER been fat. This brings me to my point (I know, I know ... I do take my time with this ... what did you expect, really?), while chatting over the remains of the meal, Mom informs me that she told  "Sissy" about my plans to have weight loss surgery. Now, this in and of itself is not such an horrendous thing ... although I really don't feel it was her place to say a goddamned thing to ANYONE. 

To my credit, I didn't freak. But I think she sensed the shift behind my facade and quickly said that my family NEEDS to know this stuff. I disagree, but whatever ... no point in closing the barn door once the cattle has escaped, right? Then, she stated that if one of them were having surgery, I would want to know. I think that is subject to why they were having it, personally, but this is the same argument I suppose. She then informed me that she hadn't told my aunt and cousin on her recent visit with them - even though her reason for that definitely was NOT because she was embarrassed about it or anything. (This from the woman who refuses to tell anyone that she moved out of her in law suite into my house for the embarrassment factor) Like this was supposed to garner praise?  Argh! 

I had had my fill by this point and said that I understood why she told both of my sisters, but that I would appreciate she left it at that, and didn't tell anyone else. I went on to explain that there is a great deal of shame associated with this and in addition, many people are of the opinion that this is "the easy route". I really don't want to have to add the pressure of the uninformed opinions of others to my own. Mom agreed and seemed to understand my point, but then went on to describe the conversation she had with my youngest sister: "she wasn't negative about it or anything. I mean, she thought about it for a bit and was concerned about the psychological aspect of weight loss" ... "she finished by saying 'it's kind of like working on the problem from the outside, in'... I hope she can handle that."

Perhaps I am entirely too sensitive here ... but WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?! Sanctimonious much? Where do these two even get off talking about the hardest decision of my life like I'm picking out fugly carpet? And why, for the love of everything good and holy would my mother be sharing this with me like I should be so pleased for the opinion?

Am I nuts here? Have I lost my mind? I'm asking ... for real. Who in the holy hell do they think they are? And just why is it that my weight loss surgery has ANYTHING to do with my mother ... or sister, for that matter? Next thing, I'll have an invitation to Maury fuckin' Povich coming in the mail.

I just don't get it.

I have a secret. A secret I don't particularly want to share over at my usual haunt, platitude paradise.

It's dark and ugly and I guard it like a wounded child... except that I am ashamed on such a level, I can't think of it as a child ... it's just there ... and awful.

Blogging has been good for me in so many ways, it's hard to sum them all up. So, for me to stop doing something I love so much, it must be for a pretty good reason - right? There are actually a couple of factors. One, because my creative juices look more like the Sahara - and two, because my attention has been focused on something big.

What is it, you ask? 

It's me.

I'm the something that is big... and I am not merely using the word loosely, either. I am approaching a level of big that has already started to affect my life and the way I live it more than a little (like the way I got around saying 'big' again?).

One of the things I enjoy about blogging is the level of anonymity I have been able to maintain. Not about who I am ... you likely have a good read on that. No, it's got to do with my appearance. None (or a very limited few) of you have the slightest idea what I actually look like.

Now, as vain as this may sound, it's actually about so much more than vanity. It's about control ... or in my case, a lack thereof. I can not handle loss of control. I'm a freak that way. I have done so many different things in order to lose weight and get into better physical shape, it boggles the mind to list them. I stopped short at shock therapy ... let's leave it at that, shall we?

Nothing works. 

Well ... to be clear, some things work for a short time ... usually about three months. During that time, I lose a respectable amount of weight (30 - 40lbs) and then mysteriously, it stops... then reverses ... and by the time THAT bus gets stopped, I've not only gained back what I had lost, but another 8 - 10lbs for good measure. This has been happening for YEARS!! In fact, when I first started to diet - I really didn't NEED to for any reason other than vanity --- and I mean stupid vanity here ... like I didn't like the fact that I had a teeny tiny roll I could pull off my tummy if I tried real hard.

So, after doing some research on line and with my doctor, I came to a decision regarding this albatross - I was going to have weight loss surgery. A referral form was sent in September of 2009. I was invited to a group session in March of this year and have been awaiting the clinical appointment to meet with the psychologist, endocrinologist and dietitian as well as the nurse that heads up the program at the hospital in Halifax.

I had a full fuckin' page of blood work done two weeks ago, which resulted in my parting with ELEVEN vials of blood. My appointment was this morning. I am STILL sweating. It was a little on the rough side ... like the Spanish Inquisition, you know. This was the appointment that decided whether or not I am a viable candidate for the procedure ... whether I am mentally capable of dealing with life before, during and after the finer points of this little journey <--so you can see my concern, no? Whether I am physically healthy enough to tolerate it and whether I have done enough of the "before" work to be deemed worthy.

Apparently, I am ... and have ... I'm approved!

What does it mean? Well, it is highly likely that before my 38th birthday in November, I could already be on my way to a healthier, happier existence.

I know this is drastic. Having 80-85% of your stomach cut out of your body is pretty major ... but desperate times call for desperate measures. Conservatively, I have 150lbs to lose. If I listen to what "they" say it's more like 170ish. I'll be perfectly happy with anything near 100lbs off this carcass.

I know there are people in the world that are of the opinion that this is the "easy way out" ... I have to say to them, that I disagree. Trust me - I wouldn't be doing it if I hadn't already exhausted every non surgical  weight loss solution I could try. Right down to "speed".

Man - I feel like I've committed a crime and am asking forgiveness of my peers right now... perhaps they should have looked a little closer at my psyche.

It is going to be quite a journey. I am frightened. If I said anything else, I'd be a liar. This is huge ... but it works, and I think I have covered most of the possible issues that are likely to arise.

I have spectacular support from my guy. He's worried as hell and insists that he loves me just the way I am, but since I have taken such a very long time to come to this conclusion (over 5 years), he is behind me all the way.

I am hoping I can count on you guys too. It's gonna be a long and bumpy road, but I think it will change me in a really positive way.

Whew! I feel better having shared this with you guys. Thanks!

D - out