“My Whole Existence is Flawed; You Get Me Closer to God.” – Nine Inch Nails

If you know me or have read my previous posts, you know that Sam and I are separating.  Romantically, we have been very distant from each other for quite some time, but we still live in the same house while we both figure out what each of us wants for our future and pay off our shared debt (ironically, our wedding, among other things).  We remain very good friends and have had many post-mortem conversations about our relationship, what went wrong and why and I think we are both at peace with it being over.

This whole post is about love and sex, and the thoughts in my head about these subjects.  It’s not meant as a commentary on Sam in any way.  Many people who have weight loss surgery find their relationships are changed after surgery.  Some people find it improves their relationship, many others find their relationship is over after the weight comes off.  For Sam and I, it happened before my surgery, probably because I had long term therapy for the year before surgery whereas most people don’t, so I think that hastened the process for me.

This post, just like all the others, is about me thinking critically about myself as I progress through the weight loss surgery experience.  Anything I say here is not a reflection of Sam’s shortcomings, but rather my own.  It’s just rather difficult to discuss sex and love without mentioning Sam in any way since he has been in my life for the last 7 years.  My relationship with him was only my second relationship that lasted more than 2 dates. 

He said something to me a while ago that has really haunted me these past few months and I’ve been thinking about it a lot.  He told me that I push everyone who loves me away because I think I’m not lovable. 

When he first said that, I really just kind of brushed it off.  I didn’t really think about it a lot but then one day, something happened and it was like a stone hitting the windshield.......you think it’s nothing but it completely cracks your window.  That insignificant thing that happened in my day suddenly made me realize there was something to what he said.  So I found myself re-examining my life, yet again, in this context.

When I was 14, I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome.  My family doctor had referred me to a specialist because I started to develop hair growth on my face.   The endocrinologist gave it to my mom and I straight:  I have too many male hormones;  will always have cysts on my ovaries which means I am probably infertile and probably won’t ever have kids;  I’ll need to be on birth control pills for the rest of my life to balance my hormones, and I will probably always struggle with my weight. 

So at the age of 14 I started on the pill and electrolysis treatments.  That also set the expectation that I carried with me throughout life that I wouldn’t have kids.  I never thought about whether or not I wanted them…I didn’t want to get excited about something that would never happen.

At this point in my life, several things were already true:  I already felt different than everyone else even before this, and even more so afterwards.  I already knew that other people thought I was fat and that it was a bad thing.  I had been on several diets, and generally felt that I was not acceptable the way I was.    Other people’s fear of my becoming fat leeched into me and started to shape how I felt about my body and myself. 

At the same time, I also became aware of how powerful my body was.   My classmates, my family members, advertising and media - everyone - seemed to have such strong reactions to and opinions of the female body and what was and wasn’t ok.  I mentioned previously that by the time I was 14, I looked 19.  I got a lot of attention from older guys.   I was already obsessed with sex and the attention I got was kind of scary to me.  I knew I was way too young for sex.  But still, I was curious so I would raid my dad’s porn stash and watch his VHS tapes until he’d realize one of his kids was seeing stuff they shouldn’t and try and hide them somewhere else, which didn’t work ‘cos I just found them again.  He probably thought it was my brother – not that he ever asked - but nope, it was me. 

I was confused by the dichotomy between being told I wasn’t good enough and all the attention I got.  It made sense to me that I wasn't good enough for love or real interest but I was good enough for sex.  Those guys probably gave that same attention to every girl, hoping someone would sleep with them, so I tried not to rely on it for my feelings of self-worth. I tried to not want that attention.  I tried to see it as not important.  Instead of trying to be sexy and attractive, I tried to focus on other things like being stylish, smart, mysterious, cool, a rebel.  In a previous post I mentioned how I had a lot of male friends in high school and how I thought dating was a big waste of time.  That’s all true, but the more complete story is, I didn’t think any guy could ever actually be interested me.  

I knew I didn’t want to ever get married.  I saw what being married looked like all around me and that wasn’t how I wanted to live, even as a kid.....that just wasn’t how I saw myself.  Being married seemed…….safe and "normal" I guess, to me. It just wasn't the kind of life I imagined for myself.  But I am a total romantic and wanted a relationship someday.  I just wanted the intense, passionate, transcendent, rock n roll, soul scorching kind of relationship poets write poems about and Led Zeppelin wrote songs about.  I wasn’t interested in a safe life…. I wanted a partner as tempestuous, irreverent and challenging as I was and our relationship to reflect that.

But I grew up hearing from everyone around me – especially from well meaning people who loved me - that I would be alone for the rest of my life unless I lost weight.  No man – certainly not the tall, fit, handsome men I was always attracted to - would want a fat girlfriend.  I grew up hearing I had such a beautiful face, which sounds like a compliment……. but the unspoken “but” is, “shame about the body”.  I grew up hearing, ‘you’d be perfect if only you lost weight’.  I grew up hearing that a woman is only worth something if she’s desirable to men and fat women are not desirable to men.  The conclusion I drew:  You are fat and don’t deserve to be loved or desired.

I wish I could go back and take that girl under my wing and tell her to not buy into the bullshit she’s hearing all around her….to REALLY not buy it.  I wish I could cover her ears and shout, “la la la, she can’t hear you and shame on you for being such an asshole!”  The awful thing is, you hear something often enough and you start to believe it and tell it to yourself over and over and pretty soon, it’s your truth.  All these years, I really believed I had ignored these messages.  But I can see now that was not the case.  Not only did I not ignore those messages but I absorbed them like a sponge.  I still don't believe anyone is ever actually attracted to me.  I always think there must be some other reason for their attention.

In the late 90's, I started to realize my 20's were almost over and the idea of turning 30 hit me HARD.  I had been living back at home at my parents' house after I was raped and had gained a lot of weight after trying to compulsively eat my anger away.   I had still never had consensual sex in my life and had still only ever been kissed by one guy.   It was depressing, embarrassing and I was tired of it, so I decided to start seeking out sex on the internet.  I don't remember the first guy I slept with.  I took what I could get.  Over the next several years, I would have long periods of total celibacy.  Then suddenly I’d get the itch to explore and would sleep with lots of people in a short time. I sometimes slept with several people a week and they were always one night stands.    None of those experiences were very satisfying.  Wars were waged on sex, myths were built on it…I was convinced there had to be more to it than what I was seeing and this thirst for the discovery of the magic I was sure existed drove me on to sleep with more and more people.

I was never really attracted to anyone I slept with.  What I mean is, they weren't physically my type.  But they were willing to sleep with me and that was all I thought I could hope for.  I didn't think anyone I wanted to have sex with with would ever want to have sex with me. I didn’t feel like I deserved to ask for what I really want.  I didn’t think I deserved to be loved or desired.  I didn’t think I was good enough to get the partner I want.  

I have no idea how many people I slept with.  I don't remember names, I don't remember faces (except the guy who used my toothbrush without asking...THAT guy I remember.  I was SO pissed.)  I put myself in some ridiculously dangerous situations.  I don't even know why I did all of this.....because I could?  Because I hated myself?  Because I was so numb and disconnected from my body that I wanted to feel something...anything?  Because I wanted control of my sex life back after having it taken away by the guy who raped me?  Because I was desperate for human contact?  Because I was just horny?  Maybe all of the above. 

Back to Sam's comment that I push everyone who loves me away because I think I’m not lovable. Honestly, I am not sure about the “pushing away” part yet.  There have not been that many people in my life who have loved me - in a romantic sense, I mean….two people.  And I’m not sure that’s enough to make it a pattern.   But I do think fear ultimately plays into this “pushing away” business. 

But do I think I’m unlovable?  The more I think about that, the more I know Sam is right.  I know I am terrible with money.  I am demanding and irresponsible.  I have a quick temper.   I’m impulsive and impatient.  I’m selfish.  I always try to be in charge and then resent my partner for not being strong enough to tame me.  In addition to everything else... my history, my obesity struggle, my medical issues….. who would want to put up with all that?  Who would want to love or have sex with someone like that? 

So yeah….I think I am pretty damaged and fucked up…….and unlovable.   I guess I have things to discuss in my next therapy session!

I just can’t believe I didn’t see all this myself years ago and do something to change it.  It took a passing comment from Sam, who obviously saw it so clearly, and an insignificant "stone" to make me stop and think about it.  Realizing all of this has helped me feel totally confident that Sam and I ending our marriage is absolutely the right thing for both of us.  Sam is a great guy and will make a great partner for someone else.  But I could never make him happy, and he could never make me happy......we both should have known that a long time ago.  Neither of us did anything wrong…we just need different things from our partner than the other is able to deliver.  We’re all looking for different things out of life, love, sex and a partner and what I wanted as a kid from a partner is what I still really want.  Splitting up doesn't mean “you suck and are unlovable”, it just means, “I don’t see what I’m looking for in you, but someone else will”.

Recently I read an article on Inc.com titled, “The One Behavior That Guarantees failure”.  Although the article was geared towards succeeding in business, the crux of the argument was this:  letting fear of failure stop you from asking for what you want ensures you won't get it. 

Yeah, I found this article helpful for me in my job, but more importantly, I found it really hit home when thinking about my personal life.  While I was reading, a fairly simple concept became clear to me - fear of failure holds people back and stops them from truly fulfilling who they are and getting what they want in life.  It certainly has done that to me in my life.  That has to change.  Starting now.

The interesting thing to me about this is I always thought it was love that holds people back and stops us from truly fulfilling who we are.  Clearly I have some work to do in this area.
 

"It's Been a Long Time Coming, But I Know a Change is Gonna Come..." - Sam Cooke

It’s been awhile since I wrote a blog post.  More than three months!  Might as well be a lifetime.  You know how you have periods in your life where not much ever really changes?  Same old routine, same old thoughts, same old rut.  Yeah, no….my last three months have been super productive and ever changing.  Hard to keep up…hard to write about it all.  But, my therapist has been encouraging me to get back to writing.  And, as unbelievable as it is to me, people keep asking me when I’m going to write more blog posts.  Hard for me to imagine anyone gets anything from my long winded histrionics, much less finds inspiration from these posts, but it is good for me, so here it is.

I will preface this post with three thoughts. 

One…..I have actually written quite a few posts in the last six months but didn’t publish some them.  The ones I didn’t publish were pretty painful to write, kind of personal and I just was not ready to put them out there for public consumption.  Of course now that I do feel ready, it feels weird to publish them because although they are dark and sad posts, they don’t really describe my current state of mind and I don’t want an outpouring of pity and sympathy.

Two…..for the last few months, I have been sincerely selfish and self-absorbed.  This is really not like me and there is no good defense for this kind of behaviour.  Everyone goes through stuff, you still need to be a good person and treat other people well.  I mean, I haven’t been a monster or anything like that, but it’s been the Laura Show and I am aware that I have been completely insensitive to everyone else’s feelings…..at work, at home, with friends, with my family…everywhere.  I don’t know how to explain what I had been going through with therapy gearing up for weight loss surgery without it sounding like, “what I am experiencing, none of you can possibly understand because you’ve never been through anything as intense or as real as what I am currently experiencing”.  Life is intense, everyone hurts, people experience some real shit and get through it.  You have.  I have.  I am right now. 

Ok third….I started this blog committed to being completely and totally honest.   No bullshit.  A few posts in, I realized I still have to sensor myself because I don’t want to hurt anyone I care about.  The stuff I write doesn’t just affect me, it isn’t about just me…it’s about the people in my life, too.  And they did not commit to being 100% bullshit free, and they did not agree to expose themselves on the internet like I’m doing.  Also, being totally honest doesn’t mean I have to lay every single detail out there.  There are some things most people really don’t want to know and I don’t want them to, either!  I figure if anyone wants more details, they’ll ask me, and I’m ok with that.  Please don’t worry about asking questions….especially if you’re considering a sleeve and need more information.

With all that said, here’s a brief overview what’s been going on the last few months. 

My gastric sleeve surgery date was set for January 6/14 but when my surgeon submitted the request to my insurance company, the request was denied based on the universal “not medically necessary” justification.  I disagreed.  So I wrote a (clearly) convincing appeal and the decision was over turned in December, so surgery was a go and I had my surgery on the set date at Rochester General.  I was in the hospital for 3 days.  I was on a clear liquid diet for 2 weeks (my last day of real food and alcohol for a year was New Year’s Eve). 

The only “complication” I had was an excessive amount of scar tissue that had re-grown down my abdominal wall from previous surgeries.  Some of you may remember that in June, my surgeon removed all that in preparation for this surgery, so you can imagine how frustrated he was when he discovered it had all just re-grown.  That made the surgery an hour longer than it would have been and very nearly made it necessary for my surgeon to covert the laproscopic surgery to an open surgery, which would have sucked so badly.  Luckily for me, he was able to complete the surgery laproscopically.  I have 10 (I think) 1-3 inch incisions all over my abdomen.   They were closed up with staples so for the first week and a half, it felt like I had tiny zippers all over me.  It was kind of fascinating but also kind of creepy.

I had some pain but not as much as I thought I would have.  It felt like I had been kicked in the stomach a thousand times.  That’s it.  It was a dull ache.  I healed very quickly and very easily.  I guess I’m lucky but I am also an old pro when it comes to surgery…I know the drill.  The more you get up and walk, the faster you will heal.  Drink as much water as you can.  Manage your pain.  Don’t lay in bed and rot…get up and do as much as you can for yourself.  Keep a positive attitude.  Stay focused on your goals.  Push yourself, but don’t hurt yourself.  I didn’t let people come and visit me, with the exception of Sam, who checked in briefly once a day, and one other friend who was so stubborn, I couldn’t stop him.  I made my parents stay home.  I’d rather just rest when I need to and do what I need to do than sit and “visit” all day when I am sick. 

When I was discharged, my surgeon gave me a prescription for a huge bottle of liquid pain medication, but I didn’t need it at all by the time I got home.  I was also given a prescription for an acid blocker that I need to take, in addition to a chewable multi-vitamin, twice a day.  The acid blocker is for 6 months.  The multi-vitamin is forever.  (Because of my experience with the lap band, I was already taking multi-vitamins, folic acid, vitamin D, vitamin B12 and iron.  Weight loss surgery – all WLS - leaves you vitamin deficient…not much you can do about it except supplement.  But it is really important to supplement your diet with vitamins or you’ll suffer all kinds of unpleasant side effects including hair loss.  Trust me, I know from experience.)

I got to have a shower right away when I got home, which was fantastic!  It was difficult to lie down in my own bed at first, so I slept in the living room in a recliner for the first few nights.  When I started to go back to my own bed, it was difficult to lie on my side but that also got easier within a couple of nights.  I transitioned from a liquid diet to a pureed diet sooner than expected.  I got my staples out 10 days after surgery and no, it didn’t hurt at all getting them out.  I was pleasantly surprised…….I really did not feel a thing! 

I was so excited to start pureed when I did but now I am so done with it.  I’ve been eating stuff like creamy polenta, mashed potatoes, pureed butternut squash or turnip, scrambled eggs (which were my saving grace), cottage cheese, ricotta, apple sauce (with no extra sugar), Chobani 100 (less sugar than their usual).  In other words, as you might expect from “pureed” food, anything soft and mushy.  Mostly stuff the surgeon wants you to STOP eating as soon as you're done the pureed stage.  I started to add new foods about a week ago and today I am officially onto full food again. 

The idea now is to try one or two new things a day.  Re-introduce whole food into my diet slowly.  I can eat about a cup of food at a time and that should translate into about 800 calories a day for the losing weight stage.  I use an online tool to help me figure out how many calories, how much protein, how many carbs, how much sugar, etc. I’m eating.  I should not drink alcohol for a year, no caffeine, no carbonation, no drinking calories, no drinking at all for 30 minutes before or after eating and no grazing (which is a huge challenge for me – that’s how I like to eat!).   Protein shakes should not be consumed…calories and nutrition should now come from whole, clean food.  And drink lots of water....as much water as I can.

I am not yet cleared for lifting.  So far I have been focused on just walking and moving.  I park further away at the office, get up every hour from my desk, go up and down stairs at home….normal things that you always hear people talk about doing to be healthier.  I am psyched to start a real exercise routine, but honestly I was intimidated to walk into a gym.  I decided that instead of joining a regular gym, and taking my chances on a random personal trainer, I’m going to become a client of Dr. Steve Comella, who is an anesthesiologist at Rochester General.  He and a body building friend of his started a lifestyle management service.  They will put together a personalized nutrition and exercise plan to help their clients accomplish their goals.  They’ll be my nutritionists, personal trainers and cheerleaders.  I’ve have access to their gym. 

Everyone asks me: so how am I doing so far and what are my goals?   Honestly, I could not care less about numbers on a scale.  I have never been thin in my life and I never will be and I have never been the kind of woman who weighs herself constantly.  I refuse to let some number tell me when I should be happy or feel beautiful or strong or healthy.  So I don’t judge my progress by that at all.  I know that when I reach my goal, I will still be a larger woman than "society" or the health/fitness industry would like, and I am ok with that.  I'm more than ok with that!  I like my  curves and I want to keep them.  That said, I weigh myself once a week just so I can answer the question.  As of this morning, since surgery I’ve lost 30 pounds.  Pre-surgery I lost 20.  So 50 total so far.  I’m not complaining!  Fabulous start, feel better already.

My goal is to live a full life without my size or fitness level getting in the way.  For example, I want to get back on a horse.  I want to be able to travel and not worry about what I can and cannot do.  I want to run up a flight of stairs and not feel like I’m going to die.  I just want to feel proud of my body and myself and not feel like am imposter in my own life.  And I want to feel strong, like I can take care of myself physically in any situation.  I also want to do what I can to protect my body from the ravages of weight loss surgery.  This process is tough on a body…especially a body over 40 who has been obese for more half of that.  I’m focused on taking care of my skin, drinking lots of water, building muscle, maintaining a positive attitude and clean lifestyle and eating healthy food.

You know, I said earlier that I have been really selfish the last few months and it’s unusual for me.  The thing is, this is the first time in my adult life I have respected myself at all.  I guess I’m figuring out how to balance being kind to others and to myself simultaneously.   I am truly excited about my future, excited about myself and don’t regret my history…..for the first time!  I am finally comfortable enough with myself and my experiences to really explore.  So yeah I feel selfish, but I also kind of don’t.  These are choices I’m making based on the “now” and I am not making them lightly or maliciously to hurt anyone else.  I regret that other people may get hurt by my choices……but I’m just trying to be true to myself, trying to be my most authentic self and I am fully considering the consequences before choosing.

Thus, I have become a weight loss surgery cliché….although a bit sooner than most.  Sam and I are ending our marriage.  This really is the best thing for both of us.  It has become clear since we have been living together that we don’t really bring out the best in each other and although I am the one who made the conscious choice to end it, neither of us have been happy for most of the 2 years we’ve been married.  This may seem like sudden news, but I assure you, it is not.  We both got married with the best intentions and for the right reasons.  But sometimes things don't work out the way you hope.

I will always cherish the time I spent dating and married to Sam.  With him, I have travelled to places I hadn’t been before, learned things I would not have learned otherwise and of course made my way to the States, specifically Rochester, which (even though I didn’t really want to move to the States) has changed my life forever.  Knowing him has made me a better person and I am hopeful we will always be friends and in each other’s lives. 

These things are true about me:

·    I hate hunting but feel strongly that everyone should be able to catch and kill their own food. 

·        If we all did have to catch and kill our own food, I’d be a vegetarian
·        I wrote an essay on slaughterhouses once and then stopped eating meat for 5 years
·        There’s nothing better than a rare rib eye steak
·        I’m a hypocrite.  I know it.
·        I am obsessed with Law and Order and almost all crime/courtroom tv shows and movies
·        I don’t believe in capital punishment

"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

Why am I doing this?

I want to write a blog. There, I said it. When I ask myself the question, why would I want to do such a thing, I can think of a few good answers. For example, I seriously need therapy and can not afford it - financially or emotionally (ever tried searching for a good therapist?). So let me seek wisdom and truth in the blank, voiceless screen.

Also, I absolutely love to write and, in the spirit of total self absorption, what better subject than "me" to write about!

The other thing is - and I fear this is the most important - I am pissed. Seriously, I'm angry, and I don't really know what to do with myself. I need to vent. I am very aware that no one wants to be around an angry person. I am aware than the correct answer to the question, "how are you" is "oh, I'm fine, thanks" with a smile on your face. Trust me, I am trying to fake my way through, but for some reason, it's not working for me. So....venting. On a blog. Anonymously.

(I should say in the spirit of full disclosure: Mom - I love you, but this blog is NOT for your eyes. If you happen to find your way here and realize it's me, please do us both a favour and don't read any further.)

Onto the things that are making me angry. There's just no other way than to dive right in, is there?

My mom has dementia and she's 63. I don't have any faith that my dad can look after her. I am seriously, seriously in debt. I find myself "kind of" married when my feelings towards marriage have always been incredibly negative. I am at the mercy of the USCIS and have been for the last 8 months and I live this kind of half life with two homes in different countries. I am in my 40's and feeling extremely conflicted about my life and the direction is is heading.....maybe it's a classic mid-life crisis. I don't know who I am anymore. I want to be someone else. I want to pack up my car with my cats and books and RUN.

But I also want to stay, and be responsible and honour my commitments and work through it. And so I write, in the hopes I will acquire some clarity.

If anyone is out there, thank you for reading. The first post wasn't all that painful. I'll write more soon.