quick post before the pain meds kick in:

I’m home and fine. (As long as we’re using “fine” to mean in pain, tired and bitchy, that is.) The surgeon didn’t find any twisted bowels or an internal hernia, so that’s awesome. He did, however, find a few adhesions and cut them out. He’s pretty sure they were causing my pain but at this point, we just have to wait and see.

He said there was a “small area of concern” on my liver, so he took a biopsy. My mom had a crappy liver and actually died from liver failure and complications from metastatic cancer. I didn’t know bum livers could run in families, but apparently they can and do. I go back to see him in two weeks and he should have the results by then.

The sucktastic part of the recovery is that I can’t lift Maddie at all. They say not for TWO WEEKS. Yeah, whatev. I didn’t lift her yesterday or today since Gerald was home with us, but he’s going back to work tomorrow. I can change her diaper on the floor and let her sit in a regular kitchen chair for meals so I don’t have to lift her up into her highchair, but I’ve got to lift her to put her to bed. I’m not about to teach her how to climb in and out of her crib. Oh hellz no! So, there will be some lifting, but I promise to make it as minimal as possible.

All right, I’m starting to feel loopy and I’m having trouble remembering how to spell words so I’m going back to bed.

Dude. Enough already.

So, I’ve got to have surgery on Wednesday. The Mysterious Pain in my abdomen hasn’t gone away and is now accompanied by elevated liver enzymes. Since CT scans haven’t revealed the problem, my surgeon feels it’s in my best interest to carve me like a Thanksgiving turkey go in and have a look around the joint. At this point, he thinks it may be either an internal hernia or a twisted bowel. Neither one sounds pleasant, but he assures me that should he find either one whilst wandering around my belly, he’ll be able to fix it right up.

On one hand, I’m feeling like perhaps I made a mistake having the bypass. I’ve lost a metric ass-load of weight, but I can’t stop having complications. I wanted to be healthier, not having THREE surgeries in nine months. GAH!

On the other hand, I look like this now, so perhaps it’s not such a bad deal after all. (My in-laws got me this dress for my birthday. I saw it at Christmas time and it was too expensive. She found ONE last dress and it was on sale. Notice the size. And yes, I can zip it all the way up AND still breathe, thankyouverymuch.)

I’m One Big Mental Glitch.

First, thank you all for the sympathetic/empathetic (I can never remember which is the correct term) comments about The Hernia. I went ahead and made an appointment with my surgeon for tomorrow morning. I’m quite unhappy about the horrible testing I will most assuredly have to endure, the surgery itself, the recovery time, the lack of paid time off from my job for said recovery time, and the expense. However, I’m allowing myself a weak glimmer of hope in the form of a tummy tuck at the same time. I know this is futile and someone will most likely end up in tears, but for now it feels good to hope.

Now, on to the real topic of today’s post: Prettiness.  How do you know if you have it? Sub-topic: Flirting. How do you know when it’s happening to you?

I don’t ever remember being told I was pretty as a child. Let that sink in for a moment. Never once did my mother tell me I was pretty or beautiful. (Before you think poorly of her, let me excuse her behavior by telling you she was abused by her father as a young girl and had many mental glitches with parenthood because of that abuse.) As I moved into the notoriously awkward teen years, I had plenty of boyfriends who told me I was pretty, but for some reason, if my mom didn’t think I was pretty then I just wasn’t.

I think it’s because we’re conditioned with that stupid phrase about someone having a “face only a mother could love.” As a mother, you see the best in your child. Of course you think they’re pretty or handsome. And smart, too! I tell Maddie she’s pretty and smart at least once a day.  It’s not something I do intentionally. I just think she IS pretty and smart. (Also an asshole, but that’s another post.)

So, in my mind if my own mother didn’t think I was pretty (I have no idea what she thought, only that she never said it. Which equals “thought” in my head.) then I must not be pretty. I’ve never thought I was ugly. I even find my individual facial features attractive as sums of the whole. It’s the whole that gives me trouble.

Ok, are you still with me? There’s a point to all of this, I promise.

Now that I’ve lost weight and am now within the range of “normal” sized women, I find that I’m getting more attention from men. Not outwardly sexual attention. Just regular attention. More men strike up conversations with me. Men that I work with who talked to me when I was fat talk to me a little more now. Or they talk about different things. It’s weird. It’s like all of the sudden I’ve become a worthwhile diversion in their eyes.

This leads us to the sub-topic of flirting. When a man flirts with a very obese woman, it’s safe. Both parties involved are aware that it’s meaningless because men don’t find fat women attractive. Right? (Regardless of whether or not that’s the truth, that’s what most fat women believe.) Now, it seems as though I get flirted with a lot more than I used to. Or maybe I don’t. One of the things I worry about is not being able to recognize flirting anymore. I mean, what if I’m not being flirted with any more than I used to? What if I just assume it’s flirting because I’m not fat anymore? What if I’m not fat but I’m ugly so the flirting is still meaningless? Who cares if it’s meaningless because I’m married so it’s ALL meaningless. GAH!!!

(Also, if I am being flirted with more often, that makes me mad. I’m the same person I was when I was fat. If I’m “worthy” of your attention now, than I should’ve been a year ago, too.!) (But, you know what? I’m not the same person I was when I was fat. I’m more outgoing, I’m more confident. I’m less obsequious. I guess that makes my mad-on irrelevant.)

Not only are there significant physical changes that come along with losing a massive amount of weight, but there’s a boatload of mental hang-ups, too. I can’t have sugar AND I don’t know if I’m pretty. I can’t eat bread AND Wait? Was that flirting? I’m lactose intolerant AND I’m suspicious of male attention.

Like I needed more mental glitches. *sigh*

Drugs are bad, mmmkay?

So, I spent most of last night in the emergency room. Around 6:15, I  started getting some stabbing pain in my upper abdomen, right under my sternum. A half an hour went by and the pain intensified. Since I was at work, I didn’t want to make a scene. I shuffled over to the break room and called Gerald. He told me to go to the ER and that he and Maddie would meet me there. Well, I don’t know about you, but my personal version of hell is entertaining a toddler in the ER well after her bedtime. So, I nipped that plan in the bud and asked my boss/friend to take me to the hospital. Luckily, I work near the hospital where I had my gastric bypass, so I felt comfortable that they had experience dealing with post-op bypass patients.

I got there at 7:00 and was in a room by 8:00. They gave me some pain meds that didn’t work, so then they gave me morphine which also didn’t work. I had X-rays to check for a bowel obstruction and they came back clean. The pain got so bad that I broke out in a cold sweat, then my lips and hands started tingling and I passed out right in my hospital bed. Thank goodness the nurse was in the room with me. They gave me a second dose of morphine and a shot of a drug called Bentyl. In 10 minutes, the pain was a horrible memory. A couple of hours went by and then I had a CT scan. I went back to my room and watched late-night TV and texted Gerald with updates and plastered twitter with drug-induced misspelled tweets. At 1:00am, the doctor came in to tell me that the CT scan showed an internal hernia, most likely involving my colon. Apparently, hernias are one of the most common “complications” following gastric bypass. “Complications” in that it happens after the bypass, but isn’t caused by the surgery itself. Rapid, massive weight loss (like 105lbs in 8.5 months) results in loss of supportive fat in the abdomen and often results in a hernia.

They gave me the a prescription for the pill from of Bentyl and told me to make an appointment with my bypass surgeon. You know, because I want to have ANOTHER damned surgery. This will be three in 9 months. That’s ridiculous. I’m avoiding making the appointment and probably won’t do it at all until the prescription runs out and the pain comes back. I just can’t deal with another surgery. Not emotionally and certainly not financially. We’re still paying out $3000 on my bypass and $2300 on my gallbladder removal.

Gerald commented last night that I certainly am not the poster-child for gastric bypass success. I know things could be much, much worse, but this pretty much sucks. I’m not skinny enough for all this trouble to be worth it.

Attention, Please!

On this 20st day of March, in the year of our Lord 2009, I officially weigh 197lbs.

ONE hundred and ninety-seven pounds. Did you see that? It’s an effing ONE!

(Tomorrow is my eighth month post-op to the day.)

(Thank you to My Buddy Mimi for pointing out that once again I do not know what day it is.)

100

As of yesterday morning, I’ve lost 100 pounds. I’m still sort of in awe/denial about it. Sure, I knew it was coming, but still. It’s hard to believe that I used to weigh 100 pounds more than I do now.

Starting my job this week was so much easier now that I’m not 300 pounds. Back in the fatty days, I was always so nervous about situations where I had to meet new people. I was afraid that all they’d see was my fat and decide I was worth getting to know. Projecting much? I mean, looking back on it now, I can plainly see that I was the one who thought I wasn’t worth it. This past week, I felt cute and comfortable in my own skin. I wasn’t worried about what people would think of how I looked. It was freeing. I was able to concentrate more on what people were saying to me instead of obsessing over what they must be thinking about me.

There were also some surprises this week. Like fitting in chairs with room to spare. I can sit in my desk chair indian-style now. And I was freezing cold all week as opposed to sweating. And I VOLUNTARILY climbed two flights of stairs to visit another department. There are lots of things I do now that I never used to do! I play with Maddie at the playground, I cross my legs, I LOVE shopping for clothes, my sex life has improved, my skin is clearer and I feel pretty. Losing 100 pounds is like some kind of MIRACLE DRUG! heh.

As always, pictures are here.

Six Months Post-Op

On January 21st I reached the six month post gastric bypass* mark. Here’s a run down of my progress:

* I’ve lost 91 lbs and currently weigh 209.
* I wear an XL shirt and 16 or 18 in pants, depending on the cut.

First of all, let me stress how incredibly happy I am with my progress. 91 lbs is a hella lot of weight to lose. I feel absolutely fantastic. I’ve begun to lose track of all the new and fabulous things I can do. I forget what it’s like to be 300 lbs. I will forever be grateful that I had to opportunity to have the surgery.

That being said, let’s talk about the bad stuff, ok? Well, there’s really only one REALLY bad thing. The loose skin. OMG, I look like an effing shar pei.  I get so disgusted when I look in the mirror and I see the toll that being 150 lbs overweight has taken on my body. My legs and arms look like they belong on a 70 year old woman. I have trouble fitting into clothes in my size because of them. My belly doesn’t bother me as much, I guess, because it’s easier to disguise. I’ve got a couple of spanx-y type camis that do a great job of smoothing out my lumps and bumps. However, I’m a little lot worried about the warm/hot as hell months ahead. There’s no way I can wear that shit in 100 degree temperatures.

I wish with all my heart that I could go back in time and stop myself before my weight got so out of control. Yes, I’m changing my ways, but my body has paid a very high price. And I’m going to have to pay an even higher one to have it put back the way it’s supposed to be. The plastic surgeries I’d like to have (brachioplasty, belt lipectomy, breast lift, thigh lift) will run in the neighborhood of $45k.

* A note on this month’s pictures: Normally, I try to have Gerald take my pictures when I look halfway decent. However, I’m sick. AGAIN. So basically I don’t give a damn. I have no make-up on, I’m wearing yoga pants and a free t-shirt. That’s as good as it gets this month. I dare you to give me shit about it.

Five Months Post-Op

*Pics are here*

Yesterday was five months since my gastric bypass. Stats are as follows:
Weight – 220
Pounds lost – 80
Size – 16/18
Bra size – 40DDD (I’ve lost FOUR band sizes and NO cup sizes. WTF is that about? Also, the boobies are starting to look like tube socks with a tennis ball in the end.)

I’m feeling really good these days. I’m taking my supplements regularly, but still not getting enough protein. I don’t have a good reason for this, either.

I’ve cancelled my gym membership because I wasn’t going. Instead, I’m jumping on the 30 Day Shred bandwagon. I picked up the video last night and watched the level one workout. Jebus. I was tired after just watching it. I have a feeling that it’s going to totally kick my ass. Which is EXACTLY what I need. I don’t just want to be skinny. I want to be strong and fit.

Blatantly Obvious

We took our 2008 family Christmas photos last night. I’ve done some high-tech editing (read: slapped that shit together in Paint) and created a side-by-side comparison with last year’s photo. In last year’s photo, I’m wearing a size 28 jean and a 26/28 sweater. In this year’s photo, I’m wearing a size 18 jean and a 16/18 sweater.

This is what losing 75 pounds looks like:

Say it with me… “WOW.”

p.s. If you’re interested, there are more Christmas pics here.

Attention Internets:

I just purchased clothing for myself at a store WITHOUT a plus size department.

I just bought “normal sized” clothing. From a store. For myself.

Can you believe it???? *squeeeee!!!!*

You may now return to your regular internet activities.

Thank you.