"Nothing's as obvious as what is lost; Nothing's as painful as the cost." - Blue Rodeo

Well, I suppose I have been quiet long enough.  It’s time for another blog post.

I’m hesitant to write anything because I really hate being misunderstood.  Being misunderstood is one of my greatest frustrations in life.  And I know this post is going to sound somewhat depressing and self-pitying.   Look, in many ways, I am extraordinarily happy with myself.  I’m thriving - physically and emotionally.  This is the healthiest I have been in my entire adult life…and I mean that in the truest sense of the word “healthy”…..and I know I’m just going to keep getting healthier.  Every day I greet the world with nothing but confidence and joy and I know I have absolutely no good reason or right to feel sorry for myself.

But the truth is I’m suffering a bit of an identity crisis.   So, I suppose I AM feeling a bit sorry for myself, even though I have no right or reason.  There are a lot of really, really great things happening and I'm celebrating those things...while I feel sorry for myself.  I pretty much find myself thinking “woohoo!” and “this sucks!” all the time.....sometimes in the same moment.    Apparently I can't just allow myself be happy.  That would be too easy.  I’m working on that….but I’m not there yet.

I’ll start with some great stuff.  Yesterday, I wore heels to work….a hot, Italian pair of four inch heels – office appropriate, with amazing stitching, stylish details and gorgeous distressed leather.  My feet were KILLING me, and I didn't care.  I strutted around the office like I owned the place.  You see, it’s the first time I have worn heels for an entire day in years and years and years….possibly EVER!  Do you understand??  Let me spell it out for you.  Because of my weight, there are a great many simple little things that I have never been able to do before.  One of those things is wear heels.  Could not before .....and now I can.

That, my friends, is a mofo NSV!

It would not have even occurred to me to attempt such a thing if this other little thing hadn’t happened last weekend:  I was parked behind Sam in the driveway.  He wanted to leave so I needed to move my car.  All my shoes/boots that I normally wear were upstairs so I threw on a pair of sandals that I had not worn since last Summer.  They’re Birkenstock type sandals with adjustable straps across the foot.  I just threw them on and started walking, and, I could not believe it………they slipped off my feet as I started walking!  I literally tripped over them.  My freaking shoes were so big I could no longer wear them!

Things like this happen ALL the time now and when they do, they catch me off guard EVERY single time.  I know I should not be surprised.  I’m losing weight….a lot of weight.  Things ARE going to change!  Lots and lots of things will change.  But I swear...I see myself naked and I don't really think I look all that different (except my neck and shoulders). So I forget that I have lost weight all the time……and then when something happens that reminds me, THEN I notice something’s different, and I’m like, "Hey…..You!  Check out this thing that changed!”.    I just HAVE to tell someone.  I want to share my joy…I want them to start screaming and jumping up and down just like I want to do.  But usually I just get a blank stare or a half smile in return.  I get it….unless you’ve had the experience of being trapped in a cage, how could you possibly understand what it feels like to be free?

But this shoe thing is especially exciting for me.  It’s exciting because I have a collection of shoes…. Heels, actually.  Sexy, pointy, strappy, gorgeous, amazing heels that I bought over the years even though I couldn’t stand up in them, or even put them on my feet.  I bought them because I loved them and wanted them.  I bought them because I could completely see the real me in my head and the real me is the kind of woman who sometimes wears heels.  I like heels.  They make me taller.  They’re beautiful.  They’re stylish.  They’re sexy.  They make legs and asses look amazing.  I kept buying more and more heels and I’d keep them shined up and sitting on a shelf like art while I yearned to be able to wear them.  I never gave up on the idea that the day would come when I could actually wear heels.  That day, it seems, is upon me.  Or at least…..I can see the sun rising on that day. 

Another great thing happening for me - Writing.  I am getting paid to write.  I still have my full time job at Pictometry but in addition to that, two agencies now hire me freelance to write for them….it’s called ”content marketing”, but it’s writing.  I am super stoked about getting paid to write, being published (even if it's ghost writing and I don't get credit for it), and the fact that it’s a side job where I have a great deal of control.  I say when, I say where, and how often.  I finish an assignment; I say I want another one…..so they give me another one.  No matter where I go, I can keep doing it.  It’s awesome that I don’t need to sell my soul to make some extra money and I get to do something I feel happy and confident about doing.  I’m still pretty slow and very new to the whole industry so it’s not like I’ve had a lot of assignments or am getting paid a huge amount of money per assignment.  But I’m working on building my skill, speed and experience and then it will become a bit more profitable.

I also have a work trip to Florida coming up in February for the next National Sales Meeting…Amelia Island.  I’m very excited about that.  I have always really enjoyed the road trips down to Florida to visit Sam’s parents, so I’m going to use a week of vacation time and split it up before and after the NSM so I can drive and make a couple stops along the way.  I really loved Charleston, SC but only saw a bit of it once so I may stop there for a night.  Also, there’s a really interesting large retail space called Tamarack in Beckley, West Virginia where all different kinds of artisans sell their creations.  It's an amazing place.  I have picked up several gorgeous pieces there over the years so I’ll definitely have to stop there on the way….for me, no road trip to Florida would be the same without stopping there. (There’s also something pretty magical about the West Virginia mountains, especially when the sun is rising…the mist is intense. Always cool to stop there overnight and experience the WV sunrise.)  Then there’s Nashville, TN which has been calling me for years…..I really want to go there.  It’s more out of the way so that may not happen, but I’m excited to think about the possibilities and make some travel plans.

And….Felix action!  Suddenly I’m getting calls about Felix again.  Tonight I’m checking out two leads after work. 

Ok, so now onto the identity crisis I’m having.  I’m not even sure I can really articulate it, but I’ll try. 

To start with, too many things are uncertain in my life right now and it’s making me crazy.   The number one most annoyingly uncertain thing is my Green Card.  What happens with my Green Card has repercussions in other areas as well so not knowing what’s going on means I can't plan, which screws up my life as well as Sam's and leaves us both in limbo.

You may recall I needed to apply for a 10 year card back in July.  I did so, I got a year extension on my GC and had my biometrics appointment in August.  I haven’t heard a thing since then, which is, sadly, normal for USCIS.  You don’t hear anything until you do.  The timeline for these types of applications is supposed to be 6 months, so - in theory - by January, it should all be decided.  However, Sam and I have used VisaJourney, an online community dedicated to helping people navigate the immigration process, from the beginning……and there are people on that forum who applied over a year ago for their 10 year card and are still waiting.  Their extension letter has expired.  Maybe that won’t happen to me.  But what if it does?

In the meantime, what will USCIS decide to do with me?  Will they ask for more information?  Will they make us do an interview?  Will they deport me?  I  know, I know…just wait and see.  I’m getting ahead of myself.  Except, not really.

Sam and I are at the point of our relationship where we are both ready to move on.  We both NEED to be able to move on.  I need to move out.   We need to get divorced.  I am tired of my ambiguous marital status.  Sam wants to just move on.  But we can’t do a damn thing until the GC issue is settled.  If we divorce in the middle of the process, I need to reapply for my 10 year card and start all over again, pay another fee, as a divorced person.  I’m not completely sure I can move without screwing up my application, but let’s say I could…. I don’t want to move into my own place and then have USCIS come back and say, no you can’t stay in this country.  Then I’ll have to move again. 

Thinking about what happens if USCIS does tell me I need to leave......I mean, it’s not so bad…I’d go back to Canada.  So I find myself kind of “planning” a life in Canada – because there’s nothing left of my old life, I’d be starting all over again there - while also simultaneously figuring out what to do next here in the US.  I have no idea which life I’m going to end up with.   In my weakest moments, I question where it is I even belong.  It’s municipal election time in Canada and I am no longer eligible to vote there.  But I can’t vote here in the US either.  I feel like I don’t belong anywhere.

As I think about the possibility of returning to Canada, I am heartbroken over Felix.  I think, as long as I stay in Rochester, there’s always a possibility I could someday get him back.  It’s possible.  Or maybe staying close to the last place he was seen just makes me feel less guilty for allowing my absolute worst fear about moving to the States – something happening to one of my cats – to come true.   In any case, "feels" about Felix have flared up big time lately.

My road to fitness is going really, really well.  I am constantly amazed at the things my trainer asks me to do and even more amazed when I can do them.  And…the last time I went to the gym, I walked 3 miles for a warm up.  3 miles!  And I wasn’t even hot or tired or sweating for the first mile.  Remember in May when I walked my first 5K and I barely finished it?  I was the very last person to cross the finish line and I was so proud?  Um yeah….now my goal is to be able to walk 5K five days a week….every time I go to the gym just for a warm up…and that goal is within reach.  My trainer wants me to enter a beginner Kettlebell competition in December!  Say, what??   I thought she was talking to someone else when she said this.  I was busy trying to lift a 35 pound steel ball above my head so I wasn’t really paying attention to her, and when I realized she meant me, I started laughing.  So surreal.  Is this my life?  It’s amazing but so weird.  I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone all the time.

Another thing is I’m lonely.  I am truly, heartbreakingly lonely.  There are a lot of different things contributing to this.  I miss my family.  I miss having a partner.  I don’t feel like my friends can really understand what I’m experiencing in my weight loss journey.  And….I do have a lot of friends, but I’m kind of a loner.  I tell myself I want to be alone…I like it, then I feel lonely.  I never used to be like this when I was younger….I was always the social planner.  I brought groups of people together to go out.  I made sure everyone was included.  I was a social butterfly.  When did that change?  You guessed it…after I was raped in my 20’s.  I feel like I need to embrace my need for people instead of just secluding myself all the time.  And this is messing with my sense of self.

Not to mention the fact that most of the people I know in Rochester were Sam’s friends before they were mine and although they have also become mine, I don’t want to put them in the uncomfortable position of “choosing” Sam or me.  I feel obligated to back away and let him have his space with our friends…because if the situation were reversed, that’s what I would want.  Right or wrong, that’s what I would want.

The idea that I will be divorced is another big hurdle for me.  I just feel like such a disappointment and failure.  I feel an overwhelming sense of loss associated with the entire thing, not just for the relationship itself but for the loss of Sam’s family in my life, the knowledge that when I move out, our dog Ladybug stays with Sam, the loss of “home”…these are my people and this is where I belong.   I have no one to take care of…except myself, how dull.  With Halloween approaching, this feeling has been amplified.  Sam and I had two weddings, both on Halloween.  We both love Halloween.  We always decorated the house and it has always been our tradition to watch scary movies and eat candy together on Halloween.  So I’m feeling kind of sad over the loss of that tradition.  And in spite of everything I said above about the GC issue, we have set a move out date for me of April 1.

I have not weighed what I weigh now in at least 15 years.  I haven’t been this “physically fit” (and I put that in brackets because “fit” is relative to my experience) since I was in my early 20’s.  Yet, my body still reflects the damage done by obesity....stretch marks, extra skin, really flabby arms, thighs and belly.  This is all uncharted territory for me.  I don’t know how to act, how to live, how to be and I'm trying to not freak out every second of every day.  I'm trying to handle it with grace and dignity.  I’m stumbling my way through, trying to make good, healthy decisions for myself.  But this is a mindfuck in the first degree.  I know other people who have been morbidly obese for their entire adult life will understand the struggle here and that mostly everyone else will not.  Which just makes it all the more a mindfuck.  I constantly feel like the only one who has smoked weed at a party…and I’m going around to everyone else going, “can you believe that just happened?”  No one else sees what I see.  I just look crazy.  And maybe I am.  I certainly feel crazy sometimes.

I find myself constantly plagued by self-doubt.  I doubt that I’m really losing weight.  I doubt that it’s really happening for me.  I doubt that I will ever be able to do everything on my “list” that I want to do.  I see myself naked and honestly, I don’t see the difference in my body, I really don’t.  I only notice the difference when I put clothes on or I step on the scale or try to do something new.

In addition to that, I have also been having my first physical problems since my surgery.  I’ve been REALLY sick a couple of times in the last few weeks.  (As I write this, I have realized these problems may well be stress induced.)  

The physical changes I am experiencing as a result of my surgery….the loss of the weight, the loss of the comfortable miserable identity I hung onto for so long.   As I lose more and more weight, everything becomes more and more possible and there’s nothing I don’t want to do, nothing I don’t want to be.  It’s all very overwhelming.

Which leads me to my dating life.  Dating should be the easiest, light hearted thing happening in my life right now.  It’s supposed to be fun.  I know this.  But it’s not.  It’s stressful.  I don’t want it to be stressful…it just is.  There are just so many weirdos out there.  So many people with questionable motives.  So many reasons to distrust someone.

And it’s difficult for me to “be myself” while I’m suffering an identity crisis and don’t know how to “be myself”, because I don’t know who “myself” is right now.  I had my first experience with a man telling me if I lost too much weight he would not be attracted to me.  I had to ask him to repeat himself – twice.  I just could not believe what I was hearing.   OK I get it….not everyone appeals to everyone else.  Some men are only attracted to large women, some men are only attracted to thin women.  I get it….but who exactly will be attracted to me right now…the guy who likes larger women or the guy into fitness?  ‘Cos I’m both, and don’t really fit neatly into a physical category.  Just like my hair color, my body is going to change.  So if you're into fat redheads, and you think I'm it, I've got bad news for you buddy.  I need someone with more...... flexible tastes, and that is just not easy to find. 

But seriously, if you are a man who is only attracted to large women and you know a woman has had weight loss surgery, why would you even ask her out?  Why would you waste any time at all trying to get to know her?  Why would you spend the entire first date spewing your hatred for weight loss surgery and trying to feed that woman cheesecake all night after she’s told you how meaningful having this surgery has been to her and telling you how sick she’ll be if she eats it? 

Sometimes it feels like people don’t date to get to know other people.  They date to impose their views on you, their life on you.  They know they want a partner and they don’t care who that partner is…they can envision the life they want and they want to just slot someone they are physically attracted to into that life to complete the picture.  They don’t care who you are, they only care who they can make you be.  You’ve got the look, now they want a puppet who they can tell how to think, how to act, what to say so they get their perfect little life.  If there’s one thing I know I’m not, it’s a puppet.  If there's one  thing I know I do NOT want, it's a puppet master.  If there’s one thing I know I am, it’s a romantic, and the romantic in me doesn’t go for crap like this. Dating is really hard on a romantic.  Dating is a very cold business.  It’s use or be used. 

But the larger issue with dating for me is much more embarrassing.  Truth is, it almost feels like I’m on a quest.  It’s hard to enjoy anyone when you want everyone to be the same person.  There’s a scene in the movie “Love Actually” where a kid confesses to his father that he’s in love and proclaims that there’s nothing “worse than the total agony of being in love.”  Ah yes, unrequited love.  This is the problem I’m facing. 

I mentioned many posts ago that I met a guy - months and months ago - I called him my “ideal man”.  That was a superficial, shallow way to explain how I felt about this person.  Truth is, this is the closest I have ever felt to “love at first sight”.  When I met him, he started talking, and really didn’t stop.  I barely got a word in, he talked so much.  He didn’t just go on and on about himself…he was interesting and did ask me questions and answered my questions when I was able to ask…..and everything he said just made me want to know him more.  But the fact that he talked so much gave me a lot of time to observe him and I have never felt so drawn to a man before, so instantly fascinated, so powerfully attracted, so pushed to challenge myself and be better so I could deserve him.

It’s not just that he is physically beautiful, although in my eyes, he is.  More importantly than that, I could see all the men in my family in him….my dad, my brother, my grandfather, my uncles….all their gifts, all their skills and talents, all their flaws…plus his own unique characteristics, and because of that I instantly trusted him, liked him and wanted to be near him.  I didn’t want to leave.  I didn’t know him very well, I had no idea if we were compatible or not but I knew I wanted to find out.

Unfortunately for me, none of those feelings were mutual.  I don’t give up easily and I definitely believe in the whole “if you really want something, you fight for it until you die”/ Say Anything School of Romantic Thought, but after someone tells you several times they are not interested in you, you risk becoming a stalker if you continue to pursue.  You don’t look like a passionate person fighting for what they want, you look crazy.  So I was forced to accept I had reached that threshold. 

Since that time, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this guy.  Yes, I know, it's been months.  I have been known to carry a torch for a decade.  I don't get over people easily.  I want to know him.  I want to date him.  But since he won’t date me, I try to move on.  I don’t expect every other guy to be like him.  I know he’s not perfect and he's not "ideal".  But he did show me the feelings I want to feel for my partner and he showed me I am actually capable of having those feelings.   I’m not interested in dating someone I only kinda like and letting that grow into a stable relationship based on friendship.  There's nothing wrong with that, but it's not what I'm looking for.  I want to feel that spark, those fireworks, that gut-wrenching drive to discover every single thing there is to discover about the person I'm dating.

Oh man, I know how I sound right now.  It’s cute coming from a 10 year old kid with an English accent in a ridiculously mushy, romantic, feel-good movie.  Coming from a 45 year old woman going through a divorce - not so cute….desperate.  Yes, I’m desperate.  I’m desperate to get him out of my head, to feel what I feel for someone else who will return the feelings, and desperate to have a dating life without him sitting on my back the whole time.  I am desperate to not let how I feel about him destroy any more potential relationships.  This is ridiculous, but I have actually thought, hell, if I’m going to move, why not REALLY move and get away from him and his town…..’cos yeah, after 7 years of being with Sam and visiting Rochester, this is that guy’s town.  Everywhere I go, I wonder if he’ll be there.   Maybe a fresh start would help.  Pick a place I’ve never even been to…..I dunno, Austin, Texas, for example, and just GO THERE.  

It’s a nice fantasy to run away like that.  If only it were that easy.  It would serve me no purpose to just run like that.  I do have some stability in my life right now.  Work.  My trainer.  The gym.  These are the things that keep me sane.  When I have no idea what I’m doing or why, I know I have these things.  Love feels essential to me because I’m a dreamy, starry-eyed, impractical, freak and I’ll probably never outgrow that but truth is, love is not essential…not right now.  I still have a lot of hard work to do.

There are only a few things I REALLY want in life.

·         Get Felix back

·         Reach my fitness/weight loss/lifestyle goals

·         Be crazy passionately madly in love

I only have control over one of these things so I’m all in with it.  Everything I’ve got goes towards reaching my fitness/weight loss/lifestyle goals. 

The Return of Random Stuff:

·         I am obsessed with white kitchens.  And bathrooms.  In fact, I love white walls and furniture too.
·         There is no design style better than art deco.  I’m a fan.
·         I always think of myself as a coffee person as opposed to a tea person, but I love, love LOVE me some Chai, Earl Grey, Apricot Spiced and Red Zinger tea.
·         I'm neither a cat or a dog person…I am both.  I want ALL the critters all the time.  I can’t go to a pet store or animal shelter without wanting to take home every animal in the place.
·         I was deeply disappointed by the finale of True Blood.  In fact, the last three seasons were so bad, I have no idea why I kept watching.  I’m only now able to talk about it.
·         I’ve recently discovered a genre of music I can only just barely tolerate:  death metal
·         I can barely eat an entire banana.  Seriously, I’m completely stuffed after eating a banana.
·         I can’t stand tuna or salmon.  I hate the smell.  I hate the sight.  I hate the taste.  If you invite me over to dinner, you better not make me a tuna casserole or salmon on a cedar plank.  If you do, and I say I like it, I’m totally lying.
·         I could eat scallops, lobster and blue crab all day long.
·        The meme I added to this post?  Yeah that’s me.  White girl in yoga pants who loves Fall and is obsessed with pumpkin everything.  Totally.  Me. 

 

 

“For Life is Quite Absurd; And Death's the Final Word.” –Eric Idle

My very first memory in life is being at my grandfather’s funeral visitation, which was two days after my fifth birthday.  My grandfather – my mother’s father - was 48 when he died.   Just three years older than I am right now.  I can still see him in his coffin.  I can see my grandmother having a meltdown and my mother, trying to comfort her, telling me to go find my grandmother’s doctor in the crowd.  I can see the crowd as I move through it in search of the good doctor. 
I have been obsessed with death for as long as I can remember….maybe ever since that day.  Maybe I was already obsessed with death before that but I don’t remember anything before that.

After that, I hated being in the dark as a kid…I was afraid of the dark.  I thought Death would come and get me in the dark.  I had dreams of bodies rotting in the ground…bugs crawling in and out of empty eye sockets.  Long hair and finger nails and ratty clothes hanging off corpses.  Sometimes the body was my grandfather, sometimes it was me, sometimes it was someone else I knew.  I would wake up screaming in the night with leg cramps because the nightmares were so intense and  my dad would come and give me a leg rub until I calmed down and went back to sleep.

I actually had a very sheltered childhood.  Yes, I was at my grandfather’s funeral but my parents did not talk to me about the details of death.  How I knew about rotting bodies, I don’t know.  But at a very young age, I figured out that everyone – including me, including my parents, including my baby brother – everyone, would die someday, and that terrified me.   I could not understand why anyone would want to have kids if they were just going to die someday….born to die, how cruel!  My mom’s explanation that we would all be with God someday did nothing to make me feel better….it just led to more questions and if you read my previous posts, you know how that turned out.

When I got a bit older, I started reading the obituaries in the newspaper.  My favourite ones were the ones with a picture of the person and a write up that talked about who the person was, who their family is, what they did for a living, the important things they did with their lives, the things they cared about.   I still always go to that part of the paper first if I read a newspaper.  My roommates in college thought I did this just to be morbid or as a pretentious show of appreciation for the goth/alternative lifestyle we were all entrenched in, but no….I was really curious and interested who these people were and felt compelled to honour them in death.

Since I was a kid, my mom always told me I trust too much, let people in too easily, reveal myself and get close to people too quickly.  That’s just naturally the way I am.  I’m a good listener…and most people like to talk about themselves if given the chance, so I let them.  Pretty soon they’re telling me their secrets and they feel close to me, I feel close to them, and a connection is formed.  My obsession with death has always made it difficult for me to let go of people once that connection happens. I feel like I need to know where everyone is….my friends, my family, people I talked to once, people I dislike….everyone.  I just need to know where everyone is all the time….because otherwise, what if they die and I never find out?  What if I never see them again?  It’s not logical, I know this.

I’ve lost a lot of people in my life…I’ve been to a lot of funerals and have been present when several people died.  But they were always older people.  Even the ones who were young were still older than me and although it was very sad and triggered my death obsession, it never really hit close to home.  It wasn’t someone my age who could have been me.  

Until 2009, when an amazing woman, a co-worker and great friend, only a couple years older than me, died rather suddenly.  She had a larger than life personality that could not be stifled.  We bonded over our love of cats, good food, bawdy jokes, our lifelong battles with obesity and our freedom loving single lives.   During a work fitness challenge two years earlier, we went to the YMCA together and gossiped and laughed while we walked on treadmills.  (Rather, she gossiped and I laughed until I couldn’t walk anymore.)  She had a way of creating a pop-up, chaotic, loud party everywhere she went.  She was full of life. 

Then one day she died.  Just like that.  Out of the blue.  On a day in January just like any other, except on this day, my friend died.  Her sister told me afterwards it was from a pulmonary embolism. 

I remember when she died, I struggled to make sense of her sudden death.  At the time I worked a steady midnight shift…I spent the majority of my time – at work and otherwise - alone and in darkness.  I was terrified it would happen to me too. At this point, I had started to re-gain the weight I had lost with the lap band.  I wasn’t the heaviest I had ever been but still, she was a comparable size to me and I felt incredibly guilty that it happened to her and not me.  It should have been me – she was so well loved and, I thought her life had more value than mine.  Suddenly death seemed a very real possibility and I worried constantly.

During my next visit with my doctor, I asked him what a pulmonary embolism was, if it has anything to do with a person’s weight and if it could happen to me. 

Dr. Rivers, my PCP before I moved to the US, was amazing.  I had become his patient when I returned to the Niagara area after my disastrous decade (the 90’s).  He was just out of medical school and had just started a practice.  I did not want to go back to the family doctor I had grown up with so I went to him as one of his first patients. 

On this visit, he listened to my concerns and answered my questions.  He told me a pulmonary embolism can happen to anyone, regardless of their weight.  He also reminded me how healthy I was, in spite of my obesity.  He was working towards becoming a body builder and had a really low body fat percentage and was extremely fit, but my blood test results were still better than his and every time he tested me, he’d be amazed by that.  He told me if he had to choose between being me and being a thin smoker, he’d pick being me because I was super healthy.

He was always very empathetic but firm and supportive regarding obesity.  He was the only doctor – one of the only people - I had met up until then who didn’t “fat shame” me for my weight. He didn’t say it was ok, and encouraged me to lose weight but supported me in whatever weight loss methods I wanted to try and he knew, better than me, that losing weight was not just about diet and exercise for me.  He didn’t automatically jump on the “you’re obese so of course you could get a blood clot and die” bandwagon.  I felt reassured.  I trusted Dr. Rivers, maybe because he told me what I wanted to hear.

The blood clot possibility came up again last year when I was at my heaviest ever.  My new PCP’s reaction was a sharp contrast to the reaction I got from Dr. Rivers.  My new PCP positively flipped out when I went to see him in March about a swollen foot/leg.  I told him the foot/leg had been bothering me for about 6 months on and off.   He asked me, in a near hysterical voice, why I waited so long to see him about it……did I want to die from pulmonary embolism?  He  sent me for 3 rather invasive tests immediately (as in, “get in your car and go get these blood tests done and then go immediately to ACM and have your X-ray, MRI and CT Scan….I’ll be waiting right here for the results…..GO!”)  Trashed another entire work day.  I was annoyed at him for being such a drama queen…there is no way I could have a blood clot….I’m perfectly healthy!  At the same time, I left his office hiding my tears, my worry, my fear.

The next time I went to see Dr. DiBenedetto, he asked/told me in a very nonchalant way during our consultation that he’d like to implant a vena cava filter in me during my lap band removal to keep me safe from blood clots during surgery.  Dr. D has a very mellow, but direct, confident way about him.  He spoke in a soft voice, looking over his glasses at the end of his nose, and did not in any way, except that he asked the question/made the statement, give me a sense that he was really all that concerned about my getting a blood clot.  The fact that he even mentioned it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. 

After I left his office, I was curious about this mysterious filter so I looked it up on Wikipedia and what I read really kind of worried me….the process of implanting it in the groin, the process of removing it.  It sounds silly, but part of me was happy to be ridding my body of a foreign object – the lap band.  My white blood cell count has been escalating for years since I got the band and I was anxious to see if removing it would resolve that issue.  I wasn’t all that excited to have another device implanted into me.

So I called Dr. D’s office and spoke with one of his lovely and talented assistants who explained more about the filter to me and told me it was really no big deal…that it is usually implanted using local anesthesia and it was perfectly safe to leave it in.  The filter basically “catches” any large blood clots if one does form and starts to travel to the heart or lungs, which can kill…...a pulmonary embolism.  The filter is designed to stay in the body, like a pacemaker, so having it removed would be my choice in years to come, but if I did want it removed, it would be fished through the body and removed through the carotid artery. 

Gross.  I decided I didn’t want to know any more and put my trust in Dr. D.  It really ended up being no big deal.  I still have the filter in me and I don’t know it’s there.  And it turned out I didn't have a blot clot but I do feel safer knowing the filter is there.

Death still terrifies me.  Not a single day goes by that I don’t think about dying at least once.  I obsess about my death and what it will be like, how it will feel, not just to die, but to be dead.  Will I live to be an old woman?  Will I have any impact on the world at all or will it be as though I was never here?  Will I be afraid when the time comes?  And, most terrifyingly, will I have regrets?  Will I just simply run out of time like my friend did?  Will my consciousness really be gone or is there something else?  I can’t fathom the world going on and me not in it or even aware of it.  Or will I be aware of it?  Will I live long enough to be a role model for my niece?  I have more questions than answers.

A palm reader once told me I would live a lot longer than I wanted to.  She meant this to be reassuring but ever since she told me that, I worry even more.  Will I be in a horrible accident and in pain for hours before my body finally dies, or some other equally gruesome scenario?

I’m not embarrassed to say that if vampires were real, I would trade my mortality in a second for an eternity of blood drinking.  I don’t want to die…ever.  What’s more is I don’t want anyone I know to die either.  I just cannot handle the cycle of life.  I know that is an extremely immature point of view, but there it is. 

I have no control over death and I don't have answers to my questions.  The only thing I know for sure is I do not want to regret anything when that moment comes and that is all on me.  I have been living under a rock of fear for way too long.  So fuck fear!  Fuck doubt!  I've got my life and confidence back, and I’m not holding anything back.  It’s full steam ahead….adventure, pleasure, and passion on the horizon for as long as I have this life.  I’m not waiting for it to come to me….I’m going to get it!

Random stuff:

·        I love variety in all things except pizza.  I always get/make thin crust with mushrooms, onions, bacon (or sausage) and cheese.  And I'd rather make my own with homemade sauce 'cos I can't stand tomato sauce from a jar (thank you, Italian Grandma!)

·        I will be a roller derby girl, even if just for one season

·        My top travel destinations before I die:  Italy, Britain, Africa, China, Hawaii

·        I spent a Christmas Eve once on an empty beach in West Florida and it was glorious

·        I have been whale watching twice and I want to do it again

·        I love boats

·        I hate mountains.  I spent a week in the Poconos once and felt nauseous the entire time

  

“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.