Today was kinda cool because a few people that had the surgery came in to answer questions. I have to admit, my biggest concern is the throwing up parts. Really, if it was guaranteed my whole life that food would make me sick if I ate it, I would not be having GB surgery. I hate throwing up more than anything and I can honestly recollect every stinking time I was sick as a kid kneeling in front of the toilet and praying with all my might to just stop the nausea. This being said, I am pretty sure I will be able to keep on track. 1 puke and I am done with that. I never was a good one for getting back on the horse once I fell off and got puke...I mean hurt. Nevertheless, we had to talk about challenges that we may foresee in ourselves postsurgury. My answer was clear. Exercise. I hate exercise. You get hot, you sweat, you stink, you get hives all over and puff up and itch, your face turns into hamburger (at least mine does-I think I'm allergic to exercise-NO LIE). I friggin hate exercise and right now, along with my old standby hates, my feet, back, legs hurt SO BAD. For every day I exercise, there is at least 3 days I can't move for the pain. I can only hope when the weight starts to come off, that part will be easier. Maybe the hives and itchy puffiness will get better too. On the other hand, I do have a friend who is thin and pretty all the time, who complains of the hives too. This might be a problem long term and I brought it up in group as such.
Anyway, 3 people came in and it worked out that there was a bad extreme, good extreme and an average patient. The bad extreme guy-we will call him Grumpy-he was very ill beforehand, still has a hard time keeping hydrated, can only eat a little at a time a year and a half later and he had a heart attack postsurgury. He made sure that we knew this was very abnormal and that without a doubt, he would go through the surgery again. He can move, do things, go places, sit in any chair, ride in small cars. The continued problems is something he chooses to deal with happily because that is just how it worked out for him.
The other extreme was extreme to the good-we can call her Happy- had very little soreness, nausea or problems after surgery. She was up and walking all over the day after surgery and has had a happy result overall. Would she do it again? Yep.
Then there was the average lady-she needs a cool handle. Um, how about Flatline? Flatline still has trouble keeping certain foods down, especially harder to digest stuff like meat. She stated she had to be aware of how things were prepared and how much she consumed. She too, had no problems with saying she would do it again.
We asked our questions. Mine of course consisted of, "Did you/do you throw up all the time?" The answer overall was that you kind of know what will and what will not go down. A lot of times you know before you even swallow. I associated it with morning sickness. I could put something in my mouth and chew it a second and know it was the wrong choice before it ever slid down my throat hole. Grumpy said he could eat about anything, just only a bite at a time though.
"Does exercise get easier/more fun?" Yes. They told me to make sure I had good shoes. We all know my thoughts on shoes and how they compromise the strength of your feet with their ugly ways; however, I do have a good pair of walking shoes I paid a pretty penny for. I use them and get weird blisters in weird places like on my arch and the top of my foot. They cramp and pinch my toes. They are hot. I hate them. I continue to be a shoe hater. They do have a barefoot shoe that is designed for running, but keeps your feet in a natural state. I may look into those. Both in an effort to stay comfortable and to express my shoe rebellion and hate for all surfaces concrete. They did say it would be easier though and more fun because movement is easier, you can try more things and are more likely to want to be with others while you do stuff.
"Whats the most fun part of having the surgery?" Lets face it here. I was born a 10 lb baby. I have NEVER in my life known svelte. I wore boys pants because they did not make girls pants my size. I wore hand me down shirts from my overweight 40-year-old aunt. I have never, ever been comfortable in my own skin, in public, in a chair...this question probably seemed inconsequential to everyone but me. To me, this is the most important because this happiness is what I needed so much in my lonely teenage years, when I had to go to dances and dance with a teacher, when no one wanted to be my partner, picked last for a team, made fun of and then the person who was forced to be my partner was picked on because he was with me. I cried so much, beat my fists on the cement until my knuckles bled, scraped coat hanger hooks on my skin to make myself bleed, hit myself in the face, pinched my arms and gave myself bruises and I cried and cried and cried. I want to finally know what it is like to be seen. For someone to see me in the room and describe me as that happy lady with the pretty eyes. That really smart lady, that lady who laughs and is so funny, that artist, that person who is not that fat person, that big lady, you know the hefty one. I am so ready to be seen for who I really am. I am so much more than this fat, tired, hurting, sad monster who happens to love art, writing, reading, and can sing like any of those American Idol girls. But see, no one sees the latter, because my body takes over the canvas and all the beautiful cool bits are pushed into the background. So, what is the most fun parts? Sitting in any chair, crossing your legs like a real lady, being feminine, clothes, riding the ferris wheel with your lover, having sex and participating fully in the act (not covered in group, but this is my blog and I will say what I want), walking through a turnstile, feeling pretty, wanting to have your picture taken, wearing bangle bracelets and necklaces without extensions, getting that tattoo I have always wanted and being able to wear the shirt that will show it off, sleeveless, shorts, going out and doing stuff with the kids, running, bras that fit, shoes that fit, cute underwear, motorcycle rides, knowing my hubby is proud of showing me off, singing in public and liking it, taking compliments, swimming, bathing suits, holding my baby on my hip, long walks, uphill walks, uphill runs, friends, socializing, fitting in my car, moving the seat up, not having the steering wheel rub on my belly and leaving black marks on my clean shirts,less food stains on my shirts (I assume if less of me sticks out, less will fall on my shirt), high heels, dancing...
And then she talked about people who failed, which pretty much consisted of people who failed to be aware, take responsibility, or try. people who assumed that the surgery would be a quick and easy solution to the overall problem. The scariest thing for me is the fact that after I do all of this, it is still not really up to me but up to all my people and my surgeon and my doctors to decide if I am ready. That scares me so much. Every time I even think something could go wrong, or I screw up (missed an appointment) I cry and cry scared to DEATH that this will not happen for me. An ongoing problem I have had my whole life is my so-called bad attitude. I have one, yes, but even when I have tried to overcome it, it ended up a factor in my failure.
Once I was at this work camp where we, as a group, went out and did chores for the state. We planted trees, painted picnic tables at the park, made paths, dug holes, chopped down trees. They graded you each week from 1 being the best, to 5 being the worst. I wanted a 1 on the worst way. All week I worked my tail off, worked through my breaks even, moved fast and did what I was told with no complaints. When the end of the week came and we got our numbers, I was a 3. I was absolutely crushed and spent my entire weekend locked up in my cabin crying. My counselor asked what the problem was and I told her everything. She in turn went to the counselor in charge of my work group who said that indeed I was a wonderful worker and I had worked harder and faster than anyone, but I had a bad attitude. To this day I think about that and how the term bad attitude followed me through school and all my classes, with my grades, my level of participation, all through the summer and camp, with almost every job I held thereafter, no matter what I did right or wrong, I had a bad or substandard attitude. So here I am facing this thing that is so important to me, so crucial to my self, my life, my family, my family's well being, my husband, my social life, my health, my health, my health and all I can think about is my bad attitude. Is it showing? Is it in the way? I know its lurking in my exercise hatred, but I'm smiling when I say I hate it. I'm doing it anyway. I showed up to group even though my dad was on his way to Rochester ICU--was that good or bad? Was my attitude bad? Was showing up anyway the right thing or the wrong thing? Having the baby there was bad, but I had no one else other than myself. Was my attitude bad then? What is a good attitude? Smiling and being chipper has not worked for me. I guess I still have a bad attitude even when I'm not trying to have a bad attitude or when I'm truly happy, energized, helpful and happy. Maybe I just have a bad attitude face? Will my bad attitude destroy my chances of knowing what it is like to be comfortable and happy? The thought makes me even more uncomfortable and unhappy and scared, and panicky, and a little sick to my stomach.
Is my admitting all of this making me seem like a crazy person? Crazy is a big no on the chart too. Fuck. And I was going to give the link to my blog to my group leader. I need to stop this thought process before it erupts into a really bad attitude.
