“Willy is My Joy, My Sorrow…..He Says He’d Love to Live With Me…” - Joni Mitchell

Some days I just cannot keep it together.  A sad song on the radio, the hint of ridicule in some stranger’s voice, the mere glance of a pile of fluffy white kittens in a toilet paper commercial on TV, and I’m gone – melted into a puddle of tears.  The tears come on suddenly, over the silliest things, and once they start pouring down my face, I can’t stop.  The only way I can stop myself from crying is to avoid all things that might make me cry – which is everything!  Keep my head down, do not make eye contact, keep my heart sharp as a razor.

There have been SO MANY DAYS like that for me lately.  Actually, there have been many days like that for me for quite a long time. 

For the last few sessions, Jessica (my therapist) and I have been talking about “all or nothing” thinking, something I do without even realizing.  It is so insidious that even when it’s pointed out to me, I have a difficult time seeing it and not doing it again 5 minutes later.  Really, I have lived my entire life ruled by emotion.   Whatever I “feel” like doing, I do (for the most part).  I haven’t really ever thought critically about how I’m feeling or why, or “is what I am doing an appropriate response to what I’m feeling”, or “do I even know what I’m feeling right now” – and more importantly, what are the thoughts behind my vague feelings. 

My husband has told me that in the 6 years we’ve been dating/married, he has never seen me cry.  In my family, showing emotion was a sign of weakness.  No one cried in my family while I was growing up, except me, which sucked!   Crying in front of other people brings me back to growing up and having “serious family conversations” about my weight and what to do about it.  During these conversations, my parents would beg and plead with me to lose weight, and, as I got older, offer me a new wardrobe, a trip to somewhere fabulous, cash….any incentive they thought would work, if only I would lose the weight.  These conversations always ended with me running off crying and them being completely flabbergasted that I wouldn’t just lose weight.  I had a pretty good childhood otherwise, but that is just not a place I like to re-visit so I’ll be damned if anyone is going to make me cry or see me cry now. 

In private is a different story.  I am still that cry baby in private.  I cry at the drop of a hat.  I cry if I’m happy, I cry if I’m sad.  I cry if I’m angry.  I cry if I'm frustrated. The only way I can stop myself from crying is to eat or act out in some way.  I just do not know what to do when “I feel something”.  It means I spend a good deal of time like a character out of a Country and Western ballad….always on the verge of some crisis or another, always heartbroken over something, always weak, always mourning, always feeling down and out, until I rise triumphant and “start over”.  Makes for a great song, but it does get old.  Perfect example of “all or nothing”….if I can’t be “this”, then I’ll be “that”.  No room to be both, which is what a well-balanced person is. 

Jessica has been encouraging me to examine the thoughts behind the feeling.  What thought is causing me “to feel something”.  It makes me uncomfortable to examine my thoughts.  I find all kinds of thoughts I never expected to find.  And I find all kinds of thoughts I knew were there but I avoided.  I am forced to confront all my judgey, politically incorrect, disturbing, dark thoughts.  Which leads to more feelings. 

As everyone knows, Felix has been the focus of my thoughts and emotions of late.  He has been missing for 3 months.  He’s my baby and I miss him.  From the beginning of his absentia, there’s been a cat at Lollypop Farm that looks so much like Felix. Lollypop has named him Willy.  Willy has been at Lollypop since May.  He was one of the very first leads I got of Felix.  We arrived at the Greece Mall location, where he was first being kept, within a week of Felix’s disappearance.  They kept him in the back room where they store supplies.  He was so skittish and scared that he would not mingle among the other cats or allow people to touch him.  Sam and I went into the back room with the Lollypop worker and we talked about Felix, showed them a picture of him, tried to get Willy to warm up to us.  All the while, Willy insisted on jumping from and to the really high up spaces in the room, but when Sam started to leave the room with the Lollypop worker, he came down to greet me. 

Willy

I have since visited Willy several times in person and I love him.  He is now being kept at the main Lollypop office but still, in a group of offices, not the general population.  The first time I visited him in this space, I sat at the desk quietly while he paced back and forth and watched me from afar.  After a few minutes, he jumped up on the desk but would not let me touch him.  So I went over to his bed by the window and waited.  He jumped up and started to purr.  I spent a half hour with him.  By the time I left, he was purring around my legs and I had tears in my eyes.

In between visits, I look at the photos of Willy on Lollypop’s website and watch the little video they made of him over and over, searching for clues that he is in fact Felix.  He really does look and act a lot like Felix.  He’s around the same age.  It seems perfect – he needs a home, he looks like my cat, I want my cat, so maybe this IS my cat…except, Willy was picked up in May (we know this because he was micro chipped the next day) in Penfield and has pink pads on his feet.  Felix went missing on July 12 in Rochester and has black pads on his feet.  These little details are all that separates Willy/Felix from me.

His existence eases my guilt and grief over Felix.  As long as I can see Willy, then I can tell myself Felix is ok.  More than that, if I examine the thought behind the feeling, I know that I think Willy is in fact Felix.  I think Willy will be adopted by another family eventually and I will never see him again, and then my only link to Felix will be gone.  I know I am right about these thoughts because tears are rolling down my face as I write this.

I wanted my neighbour, Pat, to adopt Willy.  I think she and he would be good for each other but also, selfishly, I want him close to me so I can continue to visit him.  But Pat is not ready to adopt.

Willy

If I could adopt him myself, I would.  I want to.  My girl cat, Sugar, would probably not accept Willy….and it is that fear alone that stops me from doing so.  She is extremely possessive, unpredictable and territorial….we call her the Fluffy Mafia.  She is small, but fierce.  She oversees everything with a disapproving look and a fluffy tail that looks like it was made out of peacock feathers.  I’m not even sure she will accept Felix if we get him back.  She only accepted him the first time around because he was so tiny. 

Looking for Felix these past 3 months has really beaten me up.  I never realized how many tuxedo cats there are, many of them with the same markings as Felix.  And each one of them kills me.

The last few months have also shown me both the kindness of neighbours, who continue to ask about Felix and look for him on walks with their children and dogs, and the cruelty of posters on CraigsList who regularly post about what happens to stray cats.  I’ve made contacts in various animal control services who contact me when they pick up a dead black and white cat.  I’ve met several other Canadians who also live in Rochester all while looking for Felix.  Sam is a regular at Verona Street, where he visits every week to check for Felix.

I met a woman who has taken it upon herself to feed the stray cats of Rochester.  She   goes out every single morning at 5am, and goes from street corner to street corner to the many little stations she has set up…..no matter the weather.  She feeds them, checks the shelters she has built them and gives them water.  She rescues the ones she can.  She finds homes for the ones she can.  She neuters and spays the ones she can.  She picks the ones up off the street who have been hit by cars.   All out of her own pocket, with her own time, with no assistance - financial or otherwise.  She knows the hookers, the street people, the thugs and the vandals who destroy her work.  And they all know her.  She exposes herself not only to financial hardship, but also to disease from cat bites and scratches, and to the dangers of the street.  She puts aside her own heartbreak and outrage and DOES something about it.  I gotta hand it to the girl…she’s got conviction.  I admire that.

When I read her blog, I am heartbroken at the dangers these cats encounter.  All my worst fears for Felix are confirmed – yes, people really are that cruel; yes, Felix could have been hit by a car by now; yeah, he could be getting attacked by a dozen other cats every single night.  He could be starving.  He is most definitely scared.  He may have no shelter and if he does tonight, he might not tomorrow. 

 

One Thursday night at 10pm while Sam was watching football, a woman and a couple of kids showed up at our house with a cat who looked nothing like Felix in their arms, as if they scooped it right up off the street, claiming that it’s him.  They even tore off one of the posters we put up and brought it with them, as if we might have forgotten about our lost cat.   We put all the posters in plastic sheet sleeves to protect them from the elements but even still, this was clearly one of the first posters we put up and it’s shriveled, ripped, worn exterior sits like a reminder on the stairs of how emotionally draining the last 3 months have been.

 

We have followed so many leads and seen and heard so many devastating stories of unwanted pets, it has really gotten to me.  There are some things you just can’t “unknow”.
 

However, my life goes on.  I keep putting one foot in front of the other, willing the days to pause so I can get Felix back before Winter sets in.  Everything seems like it is slow motion for me, which has been a good thing for me in terms of my sleeve surgery.  If it wasn’t for this “slow motion” thing, I’d be losing my mind waiting for the process to unfold.  Patience, I’m afraid, is not one of my gifts.

 

On October 2, gastric sleeve surgery stepped just a little bit closer to me.  I saw Dr. D and got my surgery date.  The next step is insurance approval.  The hospital submitted the claim to insurance and now we wait.  Apparently my insurance company has recently made it their policy that they will only pay for one bariatric surgery in a lifetime.  Although they did not pay for my lap band to be put in, they did pay for it to be removed.  (Usually, a "revision" patient is someone for whom Dr. D has put in a lap band, then a year or two later the patient decides they want sleeve surgery instead.) The insurance company's thinking is, it's not our fault you chose the wrong surgery.  I obviously don't agree with that thinking (all or nothing, anyone?) but it's not Dr. D's call - it's up to Excellus.  My surgeon has not had another case like me, so he is not sure what they will decide to do. 

 


Willy

I suppose in terms of timing it has all worked out rather perfectly.  Assuming I am approved by insurance, my surgery date is January 6, 2014.  What better time than a New Year to do something like this?  It also means another 5 day pre-op liquid diet, which makes New Year’s Eve the last night I can eat or drink anything I please for a long, long, long time.  
 

My Mother-in-Law did a lovely thing to try and cheer me up.  She gifted me with a big, thick, black lace skull shawl, handmade by one of her old students.   It did cheer me up and helped me remember that doing something is better than stewing about it. 

In the spirit of “pay it forward”, I really need to do something for Willy.  Please, if you live in Rochester and have been thinking of adopting a cat – choose Willy.  He would do best in a quiet home, living with women and no other animals.  He is 6 years old, takes awhile to warm up and when he does he is a cuddly sweetheart.  And is really beautiful.  He's neutered and micro-chipped.  Lollypop has a free adoption event on Friday…..you don’t even have to pay for him!  Here's Willy's listing:  http://www.lollypop.org/site/c.clKUI9OQIoJcH/b.7792283/k.ADD3/Cats.htm#.Ul7J4WzD_yN

And I hope if you do adopt him, you’ll consider letting me visit him occasionally, tears and all.  See his video here:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pdtTpHfHhIs&feature=share&list=FLXO4jaIX3jmhAN6qCXtGCAw

These Things Are True About Me:

·        I absolutely LOVE Fall - falling leaves, gorgeous colours, crisp leaves, burning wood smells in the air
·        Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday
Now that I live in the US, I get TWO Thanksgivings, which could not be more awesome!
·        I love Halloween
·        Pumpkin everything!
·        Tim Horton’s pumpkin iced cappuccino – OMG so good!
·        I love homemade Halloween costumes.  Brings me back to Halloween as a kid before my Aunt Rosie, who was an artist, moved to BC....she made paper mache masks for us, did our make up, dressed us up, made awesome Halloweeny popcorny caramely treats and decorated our house with cool Halloween art.
  

"When I Live My Dream, I'll Take You With Me, Riding on a Golden Horse." - David Bowie

In 2004, my life seemed full of promise for the first time in years.    I had been working at Accenture for 2 years already, which was a record for me.  I had never worked anywhere more than a year.  Thanks to the web design program I had finished a couple years earlier, I was feeling good about myself for finishing something and I had a lot of new tech skills.  For the first time in my life, I was aware of my “professional development”. 

But more than that, the people I met at Accenture became a second family to me.  So many talented, amazing, very cool people…all with their own special skills and quirks.  The dynamics at work really were like those in a family.  Another first for me…..I felt right at home there and my early Accenture years really promoted my growth as a person. 

However, I was the heaviest I had ever been.  My doctor’s office scale went to 350 pounds.  I was heavier than that.  My grandparents, both in their 80’s at the time, could easily out walk me.  I could barely stand up long enough to have a shower without my back aching, my feet giving out and breaking out into a sweat.   Things I absolutely loved doing, such as cooking or going to parties, became so unbearably hard that I really didn’t enjoy doing them anymore.  Things I had not done in years, like going to a club to dance, were unthinkable.  Things I did while I was growing up - things that had contributed to who I am as a person - like horseback riding, riding a bike or roller skating, well, it seemed very unlikely I would ever do those things again.  And my love life was non-existent.   I was thriving in my work life - only because I sat at a desk 8 hours a day- but I was at rock bottom in every other way, all because of my weight. 

Around this time, someone I know who had lap band surgery a year earlier, told me about it.  She started out about 100 pounds less than me but was really doing well with her lap band.  I had investigated weight loss surgeries before this but had never heard of the lap band.  I was afraid of weight loss surgery.  The risks seemed enormous.  I bought into the idea that surgery was “the easy way” to lose weight and not for “someone like me”.  Truth is, I was in denial.  There is no "easy way" to lose weight when you are 350 pounds and have been obese your entire life...there is only "the way" - if you are lucky.  I had tried and tried so many other ways to lose weight.  Weight loss surgery is exactly for "someone like me". 

I went to my family doctor, who was extremely supportive, for a referral.  Then I went to Toronto for a consultation.

A lap band is an inflatable band that is implanted around the stomach.  A port is implanted (different surgeons place the port in different places – mine is at the bottom of the sternum).  After surgery, at your first check up, a doctor or nurse injects saline into the port which then travels to the band and tightens it around the stomach creating a small opening for food to pass.  This process is known as a “fill”.  One needs to go back for several fills to find the “sweet spot”….the right amount of fill is different for each person.  It is a “Restrictive” type of weight loss surgery, as is Gastric Sleeve surgery.  One should only be capable of eating a small amount of food at any one time.

Because lap band surgery is about implanting something as opposed to cutting something, it seemed to me to be “safer” and not like “a real surgery” since it was reversible.  The risks were lower that other types of weight loss surgeries.  I decided I had nothing to lose by trying lap band surgery.  Except of course $16,000. 

The one problem with lap band surgery was it was not covered by OHIP.  I tried to get my health insurance to cover it and they also refused, saying it was an elective procedure.  I appealed the decision and had my doctor write a letter of support…after all, I had been denied life insurance by this very insurance company based solely on how much I weighed.  They did not conduct a physical or base their decision on any other factor than that number. If they could deny me coverage for a number, then surely they would see it necessary to reduce that number using whatever means necessary.  I could provide documentation demonstrating a lifetime filled with attempts to lose weight.  I appealed a second time and still, they refused to budge.  And I didn’t have the money.  So my parents stepped up and said they would pay for it. 

In short order, my parents wrote a check.  I went for a sleep study, was found to have sleep apnea and was required by the surgeon to get a CPAP machine for the surgery.  I tried it twice at home and never used it again - I hated it.  I went for my chest x-ray and EKG and then I had the surgery on April 1.  My mom and I stayed the night before at my aunt’s house so we could get to the clinic at 5:30am.   I still remember the episode of Law & Order we watched that night….the one where “Biscuits” and “Books” were perps (Biscotti and Libretti were their real names…I thought that was so clever).  We ate Jamoca Almond Fudge ice cream from Baskin and Robbins and talked about how my life would change after this.  We were all excited. 

The surgery was performed in a plastic surgery clinic in Toronto on Eglinton in Forest Hill where two bariatric surgeons rented space to start their blossoming bariatric clinic.  The clinic looked like something out of a bad 80’s movie.  My mom and I arrived at the clinic at 5:30am and waited in the sitting area for 5 hours.  Skinny, vain, rich, white women came and went while I sat there stuffed into a chair in the lobby.   Their scale also only went up to 350 pounds.  The gowns didn’t fit.  The chairs and beds were all too small for obese patients.  You had to walk up two flights of stairs to get to the operating room.   By the time I laid down on the table in the OR, I was thirsty, hot, winded, exhausted (from climbing the 2 flights of stairs), hungry from 18 hours of fasting and upset.  I started to have a panic attack as the staff started to prep me for surgery.  As the anesthesiologist  took me under, my last thought was, "I am going to die on this table". 

The $16K covered a “lifetime” of care.  Meaning, I stayed overnight with a tiny nurse who barely spoke English - just me and her all night in this creepy little clinic 3 stories up.  Maria turned out to be wonderful though.  She told me stories of her son and her home back in Spain.  She got me up to walk every hour or so.  She took care of my wounds and made sure my oxygen was hooked up.  She and I became very close that night and stayed in touch via email for years until she moved back to Spain.  At 7am, they kicked me out and my mom drove me back to Welland.  In a few weeks I went back to Toronto for a fill.  Then another.  Then another.  I asked them to make sure my fill was tight (meaning, I could only eat a couple little morsels at a time).  They did.  That was the end of the care.  I didn't hear from the clinic for 4 years after that. 

And there began the happiest couple of years of my life so far.  For the first time, I felt free from my food addiction. When you mess with the stomach surgically, you change hormones that control hunger. I lost 100 pounds that first year, seemingly without trying.  (I still had another 100 to lose but I was thrilled anyway.)  I ate what I wanted, when I wanted.  I only ate things I really loved to eat...I no longer ate just for the sake of eating something.  My back didn't hurt anymore.   I was seeing someone special.  I was happy.  Work was still good and I started looking into buying a house and moving out of my parents' house.  I did not expect the bubble to burst or think about why I was obese my whole life or worry about changing anything about myself.  I had the band to save me.  I was convinced and relieved that never again would I weigh 350 pounds and be miserable because of my obesity.

Sure, I got sick a lot when I ate.  I accepted that as part of having the band.  It was often like having an eating disorder....I ate and ran to the washroom to be sick because something had gotten stuck in my band, if I ate the wrong thing or too fast or too big a bite.  In restaurants I always had to know where an available washroom was and I always had to be seated so I could easily get out, just in case.  Also, if I was in a stressful situation, I couldn't eat.  If I was eating with someone who ate really fast, I couldn't eat.  My body and the band would have a physical reaction to those situations and anything I ate would get stuck and I'd need to be sick to feel better.  It took me a half hour or more to eat even just a bit of food.  And I ate a lot of unhealthy food instead of healthy food because the band did not object to chips or ice cream like it did chicken breast or raw vegetables.   Or sometimes, there was no reason, I just could not eat.  Life with the band was...interesting, to say the least.

But, I did not over eat.  The band physically did not allow me to.  I never felt full and I never felt hungry.  It was fantastic.  Four years later, I still hadn't learned to acknowledge the band as a "tool".  I depended heavily on it so I never did lose more than that 100 pounds.  It could only do so much and the rest was up to me. 

In late 2008, I got a cold.  Suddenly I could not swallow anything without getting sick.  I couldn't drink water without getting sick.  My band suddenly felt so tight, nothing would pass.   I desperately needed a de-fill.  I had not been to the clinic in 4 years.  One of the surgeons was arrested and charged with sexual assault for assaulting his patients.  When he was released on bail, he fled to Mexico.  His medical license was revoked in Canada.  The other surgeon aligned himself with a large lap band manufacturing company (not the brand he had implanted in me) and suddenly had a fancy new clinic, support staff, a website...things they did not have when they operated on me.

When I showed up at the new clinic, none of the support staff knew who I was and I didn't know them either.  They had absolutely no records on me at all.  They told me that usually a nurse does all the de-fills but the surgeon happened to be in the clinic and wanted to see me.  The nurse did the de-fill and the surgeon lectured me about having the band way too tight.  I felt like a child being scolded, not like a woman who had paid this professional $16K for a lifetime of care.  I reminded him that he himself is the one who filled me.  He asked why I didn't participate in the support services they now offer.  I told him I was never notified of any support services.  And on and on it went.  We argued, and I called the surgeon a hack.

Needless to say, I never wanted to go back to the clinic again - and I never did.  I just simply tried to exist with my band.    The only way to explain what happened with my band is to say that one day it worked and the next day it didn't.  I was convinced it must have slipped or corroded or that something was horribly wrong inside my body....my stomach, my liver...something was not getting along with my band.  I no longer felt like I had any restriction (even though I did have as much fill as the clinic was willing to give me).

It was the perfect storm.  In my previous post I mentioned 2007 and how that a lesson of loss for me.  It's true - really, I have never, to this day, emotionally recovered from that.    I was depressed, unrestricted to eat whatever I wanted and hadn't changed one single thing about myself.  It was a recipe for me to end up exactly back to where I was when I thought I had hit rock bottom in 2004. 

And so I have.  My grandfather, now in his 90's can still easily out walk me.  I can barely stand up long enough to have a shower without my back aching, my feet giving out and breaking out into a sweat.   Things I absolutely love doing, such as cooking and going to parties, are so unbearably hard that I don't enjoy them.  Things I have not done in years, like going to a dance club, are kind of unthinkable.  Things I did while I was growing up - things that are important to me - like horseback riding, riding a bike or roller skating, are so far away from my reality, it hurts.  My marriage is in trouble.   I've got a decent job but sometimes I need to travel and socialize with clients at parties and restaurants, and I just can't do it.  My cat is missing and I can't walk around my neighbourhood to look for him. 

I weighed 374 pounds the last time my surgeon weighed me.  It feels like every single part of my life is being destroyed by my obesity.....a destructive, vicious circle.   Here I am, at rock bottom - again.  It kills me that I have given another decade to obesity. As if my youth will last forever.  As if I have all the time in the world.  I'm not feeling sorry for myself.  I'm angry about it!  I know I did it to myself. 

This time is a bit different though.  This time I have a team behind me, cheering me on, pushing me, guiding me, helping me, supporting me.  And I am so much smarter than I was a decade ago.  This time I'm using heavy duty tools.  The gastric sleeve, my talk therapy, my nutritional counseling, my surgeon and his staff and my will to actually be who I am...these things are like a lighthouse in the fog to me right now.  Yeah, being 374 pounds is hard work.  Getting through the day is hard.  Holding up my head after humiliating events is hard.  Seeing the light at the end of the tunnel from here is hard.  But I know it's there.  It's up to me to reach out and grab it.

I love the way certain smells just bring me to a happy place, for example:

• Cool, crisp air, burning wood and apples remind me of home (we've never had a wood burning fireplace or stove...doesn't matter)
• The smell of the ocean reminds me of home (I have never lived by the ocean, doesn't matter)
• The smell of horses reminds me of home (never lived on a farm....doesn't matter!
• Obsession by Calvin Klein is the only perfume I wear
• Oscar Dela Renta used to be my perfume until I had thyroid surgery in 1991 and I got sick from anesthesia and now the two are forever linked
• Patchouli is my aunt Rosie
• Clinique Aromatics Elixir is my aunt Joanie even though she hasn't worn it for years
• Yves Saint Laurent Opium is my best friend from UofW, Adrienne
• Chanel No 5 is Marilyn Monroe
• Chanel No 17 is my grandmother
• Estee lauder is my other Grandmother
• Old Spice is my grandfather
• My parents aren't perfume/cologne wearing kinda people

"Your Pulse Stops in the Claws of Your Obsession." - Siouxsie and the Banshees

It's a tiny, knitted Felix!

Suddenly, I’m obsessed with knitting.

Last Tuesday, I took a 1 ½ hour free beginner knitting class after work with one of my co-workers and suddenly knitting is all I can think about. Part two to the beginner class is today and I can’t wait! I’m picturing cozy sweaters, luxurious blankets, funky socks, warm hats and mittens, cool fingerless gloves, retro leg warmers…all knitted. Everything knitted, all the time. Everyone I know is getting something knitted for Christmas this year and every year. It’ll be fantastic!

That was written last Thursday. In Thursday's class, we learned the Pearl stitch. I now know I hate the Pearl stitch.  However, I continue to practice while I drop and split stitches all over my so-called scarf. In October, there is a 4 part class for sock knitting. I'm all in now.

Dear readers, I must confess....before this class I had no interest in knitting. It's not that I was "not interested" in knitting...it's just that I was not "interested". I didn't see knitting ever being my thing. But at my workplace, the new CEO has been trying to breathe some life into the "culture". People have been "empowered" to mingle, start things up and get others involved....that kind of thing. So some nice person decided to donate their skills and knowledge and offer free knitting classes. Signs were put up. Emails were sent out. *Crickets* No one wanted to learn to knit. So I signed up. Sure, why not? What do I have to lose.

In the first class, we went around (to all two of us) and talked about why we were there, our experience with knitting, etc. The last time I knitted was when I was a Brownie. I did it for some badge, couldn't remember which one. Susan, the woman teaching the class, said, "Could that have been the knitting badge?" She tried really hard to say it sincerely and without sarcasm. That class was the first time we had really ever spoken and I decided I liked her right there. I had forgotten there was a knitting badge but that really explains why I ever learned to knit...I was forced to if I wanted the badge and I'm sure I wanted ALL the badges so I had no choice.

Then Susan showed us all her cool knitting gear. I'm sure many of you, like me, thought knitting gear was limited to 2 long, dirty plastic pink needles that were passed down along with 5 old balls of yarn that were found in your grandmother's attic. But that is not the case! Susan has all kinds of exotic, mixed wood needles in various sizes in beautiful cases, a tool kit filled with wicked devices I want to own, not to mention balls of gorgeous angora and wool.  The Pearl stitch may have ended my short lived knitting obsession if not for Susan's patience in showing me once, twice, four times, many many times in the two hour class. I'm willing to conquer the Pearl stitch so I too can have a decked out knitting kit like she has. 

I get these weird obsessions ALL the time. I have ever since I was a kid. I’ll hear a song on the radio and suddenly something in my head clicks and I’ll have to play it over and over again. I’ll read a book and love it so much that I have to read it again immediately after I finish it…..and nothing can stop me from than doing just that right now. I’ll make something for dinner, and again…the clicking in my head, "OMG this is so good (if I do say so myself)", and I’ll make the same thing for dinner every day for a week ‘cos I loved it so much. I’ll find something I like to wear and decide I want to wear it every day, forever - so I buy 10 of the same thing and wear them all until they fall apart and I start looking like a homeless person.

What I always find amusing is: the things I become obsessed with are the things that become my favourites. I never get sick of them. (This is so unlike me because I love variety and usually get bored with and discard things very quickly.) Unless of course I am obsessed with how much I dislike a thing….then it never becomes my fave. Like the book “Heart of Darkness”. I am obsessed with how much I hate that book. It’s been 25 years since I read it and even now, there are a great many unpleasant things I would rather do than read it ever, ever again. Don’t take my word for it….Forget about Martin Sheen, read it yourself and you’ll see what I mean.

So, my obsessions are many. Knitting came along at a great time for me. I’m struggling to think about anything other than Felix. But there is a team of people who are waiting for me to “get with the program”…the weight loss surgery program, that is. I need to really embrace the new way I will have to eat and live after I have my sleeve surgery in order to be successful. I need to start showing results from the 8 months of talk therapy and nutritional counseling I have been getting. I need to start being able to justify the time away from work for all of these things with actions.  I still hadn’t really found that thing that would replace obsessive/compulsive eating for me.  The thing I turn to automatically when I am stressed or happy or bored.  The thing I do without thinking that comforts me and reassures me.

Knitting could be that thing for me.  It keeps my hands and mind busy and active. It helps me focus.  It's a creative act that results in something beautiful (one can hope that someday I will indeed create something beautiful!).  The act of knotting fabric over and over again comforts and reassures me.   It also helps me think differently about food and the weight loss journey I am on by providing me with some relief.  It gives me time to think without being preoccupied by food.  It helps me build my confidence by showing me that yes, I can actually succeed at something.  Knitting therapy.  I highly recommend it.

The other day while I was knitting, it occurred to me that the word "loss" is not a real positive word and yet I - and every other person going through the same experience - use it all the time to describe the process of having gastric sleeve/gastric by pass/lap band surgery, getting fit and healthy. It's our "weight loss journey". 

But the word "loss" implies something is missing and you want it back.  For example, Felix is lost...I hope to get him back.  When someone dies, we say we "lost" a good one...meaning we can't get them back and we'll miss them.  I do want to be healthier and thinner...but I certainly won't miss that weight once it's gone.  I won't want it back and I doubt I will mourn the loss of it.

2007 was the year I learned was loss was about.  All in one month, a meaningful relationship ended, my grandmother died after a short illness, my cat died suddenly, and my aunt died after a 5 year battle with Inflammatory Breast Cancer.  That was a journey of loss.  It was all a shock to my system, not in a positive way.   No thanks, don't wanna go through a journey of loss again unless I have to.

I also don't like thinking of the losing of the weight as a "journey".  This experience does not exist in a bubble.  It's a part of my life.  There's no beginning and no end to it.  Life is itself the journey and this is just one experience in that journey. 

So what's important about the surgery?  The decrease in my body mass is certainly the tangible result I'm looking for.  But more importantly, it's the emotional growth the experience of being obese, coming to terms with it and letting it go has given me.  I'm quite sure I would be a different person if I had never been obese. The development of healthy living skills is what's important.  The investment in myself.  The result I'm looking for from surgery is to be a happier, more well rounded, healthier person. To be a better role model for my lovely nieces.

Today in my talk therapy session, Jessica, my therapist and I, talked a lot about the Wise mind.  The Wise mind is where the Emotional mind and the Reasonable mind overlap.  The idea is that a balanced, healthy mind involves both emotions and reason.  Seems simple enough.  This has become the main crux of my talk therapy.  How to call upon the Wise mind when the Emotional mind takes over.  And that is a tough thing when you have allowed your emotions to run your life as I have.  Sure, the Reasonable mind makes an appearance now and then but I have always been extremely impulsive. 

Jessica and I have talked about the Wise mind several times but I have been having a really bad summer.  I hadn't seen Jessica in over a month and it was clear today after I left her office how much she really does help me.   I walked into her office a mess - upset about Felix, upset about my physical limitations, upset about work, upset about home life, upset about blowing off several important social events, missing appointments, calling in sick to work.   I think I expected and wanted her to "there, there" me....tell me I was justified in skipping out on my responsibilities and it was all ok and clearly I am stressed beyond what any person can handle. 

But she didn't.  She listened without expression on her face and when I finished my pity party, she said, "what would the feminist ideal say about that?"  And I got what she meant instantly.  Being a strong woman, a feminist, is important to me.  If there is an ideal I strive for, it isn't to be the skinniest, most beautiful, most popular person...it's to be the strongest woman I can be.  I consider myself a feminist but I am weak right now and I want to be stronger.  I strive to be my feminist ideal - independent, thriving, free thinking, smart, able to make decisions from a place of strength instead of weakness.  Something about the Wise mind wasn't getting through to me until today.  Now, I can visualize my Wise mind as the Feminist Ideal and use that when my Emotional mind takes over.

From now on, I will no longer refer to the process of having gastric sleeve surgery, getting fit and healthy as being a "weight loss journey".  From now on, this journey shall be known as "Knitting to the Feminist Ideal".  KFI.  It's got a nice ring to it, right?

 Some of my current and long standing obsessions:

 · Music
 ·All things British
· Law and Order (and almost all crime/courtroom dramas)
· Serial killers
· Death
· Road trips - Nashville is my current road trip focus
· Books (not that I have been making time to read lately)
· Cognac, sherry and port (had Trentadue chocolate last week and I must buy a bottle!)
· Food (this summer has been Wegman's California Salad Rolls...yum!)
· Nigella Lawson
· Magazines
· Fashion

“Goodbye Stranger – it’s been Nice.” - Supertramp

So, I had surgery on June 24.  That was the first of two surgeries I will have this year. 

The first surgery was to remove my lap band.  My surgeon also cut away a ton of scar tissue that had grown up to my abdominal wall down the entire length of my torso (this scar tissue was not a result of the lap band; it was from having my gallbladder and appendix removed in 1987, which was an open surgery) and implanted a vena cava filter, which prevents blood clots from travelling to heart or lungs. 

My surgeon could not remove the port for the band because my liver is so large it’s in the way.  Fatty liver disease is a pretty common side effect of obesity.  If you don’t have surgery, you probably wouldn’t even know you have it.  (I found out I had fatty liver disease when I had my lap band put in.)  My surgeon asked me to lose 30 pounds for the second surgery so my liver shrinks a bit and isn’t quite so in his way.

I spent one night in the hospital and was on a loathsome liquid diet for a week – 5 days before the surgery, nothing the day of the surgery, and then 1 day after the surgery.  Nothing but clear fluids, diet Jello and popsicles, and an Atkins shake 3 times a day……I lost 15 pounds that week.

Two nights before surgery, I needed to consume a bottle of Magnesium Citrate, which I assure you, is as disgusting as it sounds.  They try to disguise the hell contained in that little bottle by putting cherry flavour in it.  Nice try.  But that’s nothing compared to what happens for the next 6 hours.  I’ll spare you the details.  If you really want to know, you can ask me.

After I left the hospital, I resumed a normal diet.  Now I wait for my stomach to heal. In the meantime, I make sure I have followed all the requirements I need for my next surgery and cross my fingers my insurance company will pay for it.  Get to work on losing those 30 pounds and continue with my therapy and nutritional counseling.

Why am I doing all this?  It’s all preparation for my second surgery later this year - gastric sleeve surgery, which is one type of bariatric (weight loss) surgery wherein ¾ of the stomach is removed.  I will be left with a small banana-like “sleeve” for a stomach.  This will do a number of things:  reduce my hunger level, reduce the amount of food I’ll be able to eat at a time and change the hunger hormones in my stomach…therefore I will lose weight.  A lot of weight, FAST. 

I know it probably sounds scary and extreme.  But for me, it’s not scary and certainly not extreme….it’s necessary.  My grandfather had this surgery in the 1960’s, not for weight loss, but to remove ulcers.  They didn’t call it “sleeve surgery”, but it was effectively the same thing.  Besides, there is nothing scarier or more extreme to me than another decade being morbidly obese. I’m done. I’ve spent my entire adult life so far fighting a losing battle.  It’s time to bring out the big guns. 

Although some surgeons perform lap band to sleeve conversions in one procedure, my surgeon (Dr. DiBenedetto from Rochester General Hospital), does not feel it is safe to do both surgeries in one procedure.  The stomach gets all torn up from having the band removed and needs to heal for several months in order for the stitches from the sleeve surgery to heal properly.

So, two surgeries.  Better to be safe than sorry.

At this point, you probably have some questions.  I have to admit, I feel a little overwhelmed by all the things I have to say about obesity, weight loss surgery, the lap band, my history and all things related to these things.  It’s a complicated web.  My self –assigned task now is to untangle that web and bring some clarity to the chaos through words on a page.

It’s been difficult for me to untangle that web over the last month.  I have been heartbroken and distracted by my missing cat, Felix Rumpletumpskin. 

This little tumbleweed of trouble bumbled into my life and heart at about 4 weeks of age (almost 5 years ago) when he showed up in my backyard and wouldn’t leave.  (Although I did only give him a day.) It was September, chilly and he was just so tiny and charming.  What else could I do?  I brought him inside and after some introductions, my other two cats, Whiskey and Sugar, passively followed the new kid around as he explored each room.  The water, kitten food and litter box that had been set up just for him in his own room were appreciated, but what really got his attention was the Sleepy Pod filled with cat toys in my bedroom.  I swear, when he saw them, he dove in head first and proceeded to attack each and every toy with bluster and pluck.  Whiskey and Sugar sat there like baffled parents at the edge of the Sleepy Pod watching intently as Felix joyously kicked and threw toys up in the air and all over the floor.  Later that night, the tiny ball of fur risked the massive jump up to my bed and settled in on top of me as I lay on my side.  I couldn’t even feel his weight, he was so small. 



Felix as a kitten attempting some sort of daredevil trick

From that moment on, Felix ruled the house.  He is the life blood of the household.  I always tell him it was good thing he picked me ‘cos no one else would put up with his antics:  his refusal to be picked up without causing bodily harm; his insistence on biting you hard if you dare touch him when he didn’t want it first; his love of being “spanked”; the way he doesn’t just sleep beside me…he has to force himself right into the back of my knees so his body is actually pressing into me (he’s way too heavy to sleep on me anymore, but he tries!), even on the hottest summer day; his high pitched “meow” when it’s breakfast time; the way he positions himself on the TV stand right by the treats as we get ready to walk out the door (after I moved to Rochester and he realized the dogs always get a treat when we leave, he decided he would like that too); the way he destroys anything green and leafy and the rough, carefree way he bounds down the stairs 2 at a time.

In our house, when you find yourself asking the question, “What was that?” - 99% of the time, the answer is “Felix”. 

For the last month we have not been asking that question.  It has been eerily quiet in the house.  The life blood is missing.  And my energy, thoughts and time are not occupied by my weight loss journey or preparing for surgery or even family, friends or work.  It’s all just Felix.  I have to get him back.  This cannot be the end of my relationship with this glorious character with the glossy black fur, turned up nose and velvet ears.   We search every social media site’s “lost and found” listings.  We pursue leads, no matter how far-fetched.  We read websites about how to find lost cats.  We put up posters in our neighbourhood and search at 2am for him.  We put cameras throughout the house and outside to catch a glimpse of him.  I toss and turn sleeplessly at night, worried about where he is, if he’s safe, if there’s something else I can be doing to find him.

So consumed have I been with my own grief that I have made no effort to show concern for my neighbours.  On one side, the elderly couple has clearly moved out of their home of 40 years.  People come and go while piles of trash get piled at the curb every week.  I have no idea where they went and I have not inquired.  On the other side, grandchildren and sisters and friends have gathered for more than a week, the driveway spilling over with cars.  I recognize the scene…someone has passed away.  Last night I mustered up the voice to say “goodnight” through the dining room window as I closed it before bed.  Only then I did acknowledge to the relatives of my neighbours that I knew something was wrong.  Harold, our neighbour, passed last week from ALS.

In my last post, I said I wanted to lock myself away from the rest of the world while I handle my weight loss journey and now I find myself saying the same thing about finding Felix.  Don’t bother me – can’t you see I’m busy with my grief and struggle?  But life doesn’t work like that, does it?  Because, let’s face it – we’re all grieving and struggling all the time.  Bad things happen.  That’s life.  Nothing stops even when I am grieving, even when I am struggling.

You might think the title of this post shows a resignation to having lost Felix for good, but that’s not the case.  I joined a new social network called “Next Door” which is neighbourhood-centric.  You can connect with people who live close to you and post things such as “Lost and Found”.  Thanks to this network, I have hope that Felix is still in our neighbourhood…there have been several sightings close to our house that could be him. 

Sugar, Felix and Whiskey enjoying Sunday morning sun

No, the “stranger” in the post title is not Felix, but my lap band.  Most of this post was written several weeks ago.  After 9 years with the lap band, it truly is the end of an era for me to no longer have it and even after living with it for 9 years, it is a bit of a stranger to me.  I never learned to live with it.  Good riddance.

I also now kind of think of the title as an homage to Harold.  Last night, his sister told me - in response to my wishing we had known sooner so we could have done something – that “they need me now” since they were leaving to go home (they live in another state.).  Suddenly I felt the warmth of being given a second chance….of being entrusted with a responsibility and being brought into an inner circle. 

I can be there for Harold’s widow Pat.  I can invite her for dinner and listen to her stories and look at her pictures.  I can encourage her to adopt the cat she told me she wished she had when I moved in and she saw my cats sitting in windows.  I can make the effort to know her and open myself to her so she knows me.  I can do the same for all my friends and family.  I can do that for myself.    

Goodbye Stranger, indeed.

These things are true about me:

·              I am a terrible procrastinator

·        I am only really productive when I have very little time and many things to do

·        I don’t believe that things are “meant to be”

·              I absolutely love animals more than people which is a difficult thing to say to people you love and difficult to admit

·               I have had 7 cats and 6 dogs and I adore/d each and every one

·               The cats:  Pipin, Smokey, Smudge, Whiskey, Lucky, Sugar and Felix

·               The dogs:  Prince, Angel (a Doberman), Tiny (a St. Bernard), Catie, Lizzie and Ladybug

·               I absolutely hate the word “fat” unless it is being used by Nigella Lawson to describe juicy sausages, fluffy yellow chicks or babies’ cheeks

·               I’m pretty bossy normally.  When stressed, even more so