"And You May Ask Yourself - Well...How Did I Get Here?" - Talking Heads

Sam and I met on eHarmony.com in Summer 2007.  I was on the rebound.  So was he. 
Two months earlier, my grandmother had died (on Sam’s birthday, actually).  Two weeks later, my Aunt Rose died.  And between the two of them, my cat Smudge died.  Just before all of that, I had been dumped by the guy I had been seeing for over a year…..my first relationship….and I loved him so desperately. I was devastated.  I thought I would never love anyone again.

But life as we know it is all about movement and cycles.  Nothing stays “good” or “bad” forever.  And nothing is ever really all bad or all good.  Good and bad can co-exist.  So while I was upset, I was also in a really good place in my life.  I had bought a house the year earlier and was really enjoying living completely alone for the first time ever.  I was feeling very confident after having had the lap band for 3 years and losing 100 pounds.  In general my life was good, but I was going through a hard time.  It didn’t occur to me it would get harder before it got easier. 

Just before I met Sam, I had once again been looking for casual sex to make me feel better.  Maybe it was my new found confidence , maybe it bothered me to have strangers in my house, or maybe I recognized that sleeping with guys I don’t care about was just making me feel worse, not better….in any case,  it didn’t last long.  After a couple of weeks of that, I thought love, not sex, is what I needed to replace, so I joined eHarmony.  Sam contacted me within a short time. 

When he first contacted me, I almost ignored him.  I thought Rochester was actually much further away from me than it was.  But the thought of a long distance relationship seemed comforting.  I could have the space I so badly need, and see him once every couple of weeks.  He lived two hours away from me so it was no big deal to go for a drive to see him.  We emailed back and forth for a few weeks, then we decided to meet.  I would travel to Rochester for our first meet. 

So began our great adventure together.  On my way to Rochester the first time, smoke started to pour out of my car on the Peace Bridge.  A weekend in the Summer......the bridge was packed.  I couldn’t do anything but keep going.   I spoke with Sam while I was on the bridge…the first time we had ever talked on the phone.  I had a CAA membership with unlimited towing in Canada and the US…so I could get towed to Rochester or back home to Welland.  He said he would try to find someone in Rochester to fix my car.  It was a Saturday.

When I got up to an inspector, they waved me through and I pulled over at the Customs office.  I called CAA and they told me AAA would be responding to the call since I was now on American soil.  The Customs officer interviewed me while we stood there waiting for the tow truck.  The tow truck showed up and the driver drove me and my car to Rochester.  The driver and I talked quite a bit on that drive and I think he was seriously worried for me. 

But I wasn’t worried at all….I thought the situation was hilarious.  I had already faced some pretty treacherous situations in my life…what could possibly happen that I could not handle?  Eventually, Sam called and told me to drop off the car at the house of a mechanic friend of one of his friends who would be willing to take a look and see if he could fix whatever the problem was.  I had a Pontiac Sunfire…pretty generic car.  Easy to get parts for.  I thought the worst case scenario is he can’t fix it and I have to get towed home again.  The tow truck driver told me what to do so that tow would also be covered if that ended up being the case.  I gave the driver $100 and Sam and I said hello while the driver unhooked my car and continued to look worried.

Sam and I went for sushi in Charlotte and walked up to the lighthouse.  It was the first time I had ever had sushi, believe it or not!  It turned out the car repair was no big deal.  The guy who fixed it was able to get the part he needed and I gave the guy $300 cash.  I stayed overnight and picked up my car the next day. 

Three months after we met, Sam and I took a trip to London together.  One of Sam’s dogs became very sick right before we left and needed surgery.  She would be in the hospital recovering which would leave his other dog home alone while we were gone.  One of my cats that I had just adopted around the same time I met Sam died after an illness and her brother would also be alone while I was gone.  In spite of all this, we went to London anyway…Sam’s first time, my second. 

It’s kind of surprising one of us didn’t kill the other while we were away.  It’s even more surprising we stayed together after that trip.  We had some fun but we only had five days in London and I think we both felt resentful for not being able to just do and see whatever we wanted.  We both felt held back by the other person.  Also, I am a direct person…I don’t hide my feelings well.  I don’t see the point in doing that.  I don’t try to be rude….I just believe in expressing myself….but sometimes it does come across as rude.  Sam is more…….polite and restrained.  He got frustrated with me and would become passive aggressive. I got frustrated with him and would become just aggressive.  But we stayed together.  And adventure became the framework for our relationship.

A year later, I started to have trouble with my lap band.  It was no longer providing any restriction at all and I steadily began to gain weight.   (I wrote a post about that last September so I don’t want to repeat myself too much.)  But I completely relied on the lap band to control my eating.  I could have lost more weight with it if I had exercised and was more disciplined with my diet but I wasn’t motivated to change my lifestyle at all.  I just took the weight loss for granted as a guaranteed outcome of weight loss surgery and mistakenly believed I would never have to worry about putting on weight again.  I had not done any work on myself or changed my habits in anyway or analyzed my own responsibility in terms of my obesity.  I had given all the power to the lap band and I had no strength of my own.  I forgot that life is all about cycles and I took my happiness and weight loss success for granted.

I lived that way for three years, struggling to get my weight back to where I was, desperately grasping for the control I had felt when I first got the lap band, my happy life slipping through my fingers.  My weight gain started to affect every party of my life, including my shaky relationship with Sam.  By this time we had started to plan our future life together and wedding planning, moving and the immigration process took over as my priorities in life.    Around this time, my mom also got sick and was diagnosed with early onset dementia.   The year leading up to her diagnosis was hell for me and my dad.  Also, after I bought my house, creditors started to give me much more credit than I could handle and I did not restrain myself.  With the salary I made, I could barely afford the basic day to day life I was supporting.  I definitely could not afford to date Sam so I put everything on credit….gas back and forth to Rochester, eating out, trips we took together…everything….and I had way more debt than I could handle.

Suddenly, everything got really serious and it no longer seemed like a big adventure.  It was more like a big disaster.  Sam and I talked about how we each wanted to escape our own lives.  Just pack up essentials in our car and drive away from it all….the wedding, immigration, our houses, our families, each other.  Maybe we should have.  But we both stuck with it and by the time we got married, I had regained half of the 100 pounds I lost with the lap band. 

By the time I finally moved to the States in October 2011, I knew my journey with the lap band was over and that, in terms of my weight, I was well on my way to “rock bottom” again.   I decided that once I got to Rochester, I would search for a bariatric clinic, have the band removed and try another kind of weight loss surgery, with a doctor I could trust.  At the time I had not heard of gastric sleeve surgery.  I thought I would be going for gastric bypass.  

Sam was not very happy about this idea.  He really didn’t want me to have surgery.  He didn’t know a lot about weight loss surgery but he knew enough to be scared by it.  But he knew me well enough to know I was going to have surgery whether he liked it or not.  And as the months went on, I gained more and more weight and he saw my mobility become impaired, he saw my depression get worse and he was astounded by just how miserable I became.  I knew I in no way resembled the person he met that first time as the tow truck driver unhooked my car.  He really didn’t know what to do with me anymore.  My weight was taking a serious toll on not just my health and mental state but also on us. 

After moving to the US, I could not work until USCIS (United States Citizen and Immigration Services) granted my application for work authorization and residency (a Green Card), which I could not apply for until I moved to the States and Sam and I had gotten legally married in New York.  It took 4 months for them approve my application.  Until that time, I was also not eligible to collect Employment Insurance from Canada so I had no money coming in at all.  During this time, I was not allowed to leave the United States or I would give up my immigration claim.  I was terrified something would happen to someone in my family and I would not be able to leave the country to see them.

I had sold my car in Canada because it was easier than trying to import a 14 year old car whose manufacturer no longer exists.  (You need a letter from the manufacturer for a car of a certain age to say it meets certain standards or you can’t register the car or get insurance for it.)  For the first time since I was 17, I had no wheels of my own.  Sam’s small house was ridiculously crowded with his stuff, my stuff and our combined 2 dogs and 3 cats. 

Since I was the one at home, I settled into this kind of “little woman at home” kind of role and I completely hated it.    I hated the house in general and I just felt so claustrophobic all the time - from my physical surroundings, from my own body, from living and sharing space with another person again, from not being allowed to leave the country, from being married when I had not resolved my marriage issues in my own head, from not having the kind of freedom a vehicle provides and from our completely different lifestyles….. I like to stay up really late; Sam goes to bed early and gets up early, so neither of us was getting any sleep.  I really felt trapped and I don’t think he was all that thrilled either.  The reality of living together was a world away from the adventures of dating we had enjoyed and it was a bit of a shock, to say the least.

My plan was to have bypass surgery before I started working.  Someone I know from Canada had bypass surgery at Highland Hospital.  I assumed they were the only bariatric clinic in town, without doing any research. So I called them.  Every single time I called them, I waited on hold for half an hour just to speak with someone.  When I finally did speak with someone, they didn’t seem to know what to do with me since I already had a lap band.  I called several times before I spoke with someone who could give me a plan of action and tell me how to see a surgeon.  I didn’t even have a Primary Care Physician yet so the clinic told me to get a doctor and get my surgical notes from my lap band surgery, then call them back.

I got my Green Card in the mail at the beginning of February 2012. I had also started to get Employment Insurance from Canada and had a claim for 6 months so I had some, but not a lot of money coming in.  Sam wanted me to take my time looking for work since I had six months before my EI stopped, but I wanted my own car, I wanted to get out of the house, I did not want to be stuck at home anymore, so I started applying for work right away. It was pretty clear at this point that I would not be able to get weight loss surgery before I started working anyway.  

I had done lots of research online while I still lived in Canada and targeted a handful of companies, including Pictometry, as places I wanted to work when I got to Rochester so I focused my job search on those companies.  Within a few weeks, I had 4 interviews and 4 offers of employment, all of which I turned down.  I really could not believe how little money these companies were offering…less than I had made in over 10 years!  Finally I realized I needed to adjust my expectations.  I couldn’t expect things to be the same in the US as they had been in Canada and I was discovering some major differences…..wages (lower in the US), the cost of houses (lower in the US), property taxes (higher in the US for fewer services).  In mid-April, I accepted a job working at Pictometry. 

Sam got a pretty good tax return that year so we decided to drive down to Florida to see Sam’s parents before I started working. We took our time getting down there, made a point of taking a different route and going off the beaten path on the familiar drive.  We stopped in Charleston, SC for a night.  We went to Miami and the Everglades and drove up the East coast of Florida on the way home.  We really tried to get some sense of adventure back in our relationship and lighten things up between us.   

When we got back, finding a Primary Care physician took months.  I went to a few different Primary Care physicians and decided against them for one reason or another.  I finally just went to Sam’s doctor.  I wasn’t happy with him either but for the sake of moving this thing forward, he was good enough.  I wouldn’t be able to get anywhere with surgery if I didn’t have a PCP.

Getting the surgical notes from my lap band surgery from the Canadian clinic proved easier than I thought.   They told me years ago that they had no records on me, so I was very surprised that they did in fact have my surgery notes all these years later.  But it took three requests for these notes.  Highland wanted them faxed directly to them so I’d call the Toronto clinic to request them, then Highland to see if they got them. Half an hour wait on hold.  No, you didn’t get them?  Call the Toronto clinic again, then Highland again…wait on hold for half an hour.  No, you still didn’t get them?  This whole routine happened on three different occasions, all while I was at work where I had no privacy at all.  So people around me at work all became aware of what was happening.  I had no idea where the breakdown was occurring but I was getting really ticked off so finally I got the surgery notes emailed to me personally and then I personally printed them out and brought them to Highland. 

So I was finally able to book an appointment with Highland.  For June.  Another months long wait.  When I finally went to the appointment, a number of things happened that told me this was not the right hospital for me.  I don’t want to get sued so I won’t go into detail… but I didn’t feel at all confident in their level of care or comfortable with the surgeon and staff.   I was upset that I had invested so much time in this hospital and really felt they jerked me around.  I left in the middle of the appointment in a big angry huff……walked right out after telling both the surgeon and his mediocre assistant off.   The receptionist tried to give me back my co-pay but I didn’t stop for it. 

I don’t know why I thought Highland was the only game in town…probably part of that “all or nothing” thinking I’m guilty of.  Sam did a quick search online and found that Rochester General Hospital also has a bariatric clinic.  The surgeons hold public information seminars every month, so Sam and I registered for the next one, and heard one of the surgeons, Dr. DiBenedetto, speak.  At this point, Sam was still not hugely overjoyed about the idea of my having surgery but he was trying to be the supportive husband, so he came with me. 

About half way through Dr. D’s spiel I realized I wanted him to be my doctor.  He is very soft spoken, but extremely confident, calm, and really knowledgeable.  He’s also very direct, which I always appreciate.  He discussed the different types of weight loss surgery, which is how I heard about the gastric sleeve.  I was leaning towards bypass before I walked into the seminar.  But when he described what the sleeve is and how it works, I knew that was the right choice for me.  He talked about why dieting doesn’t work for most people who are obese.  He really understood the struggle with obesity and believed that surgery, accompanied by a change in lifestyle can be the difference between life and death.  

He had case studies and information packets for us to read.  He had stats to back up his record.  He answered questions without judgment and didn’t close it like a sales guy would.  He didn’t ask you to have surgery.  His presentation was very much like, “Here are the facts.  Here’s what I’ll do for you.  Here’s what you’ll do for me.  The choice is yours.”  He didn’t seem motivated by greed, he seemed like he actually cared about how successful his patients were. 

After the seminar, I spoke with Dr. D about my situation.  He had his assistant book me an appointment right away for a lap band consultation.  Since the lap band had worked for me once before, he wanted to see if it could work again.  Since I trusted him, and since the band was such an expensive device, I decided to go along with him and give it one more shot. 

A few days later, I saw him in his office.  He completely de-filled my band so he could see how much saline I had.  Since I was experiencing some pretty severe acid reflux at night, he left the band un-filled for a month to allow any inflammation to clear up.  I went for four fills after that and still did not feel any restriction.  In the end, it was a tight fill…as much as I have ever had.  I should have had some restriction, but I didn’t.  I could eat anything…..and as much of anything as I wanted.  (The lap band is mysterious device.  It works for some people, not for others.  And it works sometimes but not all the time.)   And my acid reflux had returned with a vengeance.

So that was it.   He was now also convinced my lap band had failed and in October 2012, I officially became his revision patient. 

Bariatric surgery (weight loss surgery, or WLS) is not a quick and easy solution for weight loss.  It is a very long process, and it was even longer for me because of my lap band.  Before deciding to have surgery, you need to be 100% committed to changing your life or you’ll end up just like I did with the lap band.  The surgery won’t do it all for you.  The surgery can fail.  The surgery can be successful but if you make the wrong choices, you can screw yourself over by consuming too many calories.  The surgery can help you lose weight but it won’t help you keep it off. You need to be prepared to act as though you are not having surgery at all….as if you are losing weight completely on your own.  All the surgery does is give you an extra edge. 

The point is to give you a good start but you need to keep the momentum going on your own.  It requires a huge commitment, investment of time and money (even if it is covered by your insurance, all your co-pays can really hurt), patience and a support system.  A lot of people choose to keep their surgery private and don’t tell anyone they had it done.  Personally, I don’t see how that can work.  I don’t know how I could have done this without my workplace being on board.   I was new to the company…they didn’t know me, they had no reason to excuse me while I ran off to yet another appointment.  I have spent the last two years going to doctors’ offices….the entire time I have been employed at Pictometry.  I have had at least four medical appointments related to weight loss surgery every month. 

I also don’t know if I could have done it without Sam’s support.  Even though our relationship was completely broken down by the time my surgery happened, and even though he wasn’t completely thrilled with the idea to begin with, he stuck by me and supported me as I started this new adventure on my own.

Someone recently asked me how I could feel ok revealing so many personal things in this blog.  I think I’ve said before, I’m not just trying to be provocative or exhibitionist.  I feel like this is part of the growth process for me….that by revealing myself and being vulnerable, I will be stronger for it. 

Sure, it’s weird.  I don’t know who has read my blog and who hasn’t, who in my “real life” knows what about me and many people I see every day know me much better than I know them as a result.  I know I’m giving a lot of information many people probably don’t find relevant to my weight loss surgery process.  A lot of people want to see before and after pictures, see food journals and exercise logs and measurement and weight comparisons, but for me, those are all really superficial things and not at all important to how happy or successful I will be for the rest of my life. 

I kind of think of this like getting a new roof.  When I got my roof done at my old house, it had 4 layers and had never been torn down to the bare bones and the house was 100 years old.  Which means every time a new roof was put on, it was put on top of the previous roof, which was weak and didn’t provide a strong base for the new roof.  Each new layer just made the whole thing weaker and weaker. 

So talking about all this personal stuff is me tearing myself down to the bare bones.  I want to make sure my foundation is strong and that means checking myself.  The only way to do that is to lay myself bare so my weaknesses are no longer hidden...mostly from myself. Writing helps me uncover these weaknesses and publishing it means I can’t hide and pretend I don’t have weaknesses.  In a sense, I am re-starting my adult life.  I don’t regret any of the choices I have made up to this point because they brought me right here to this point.  But from this point on, I'd like things to be different than they have been. 

Random Stuff:

·        I was attacked (?) by a big black lab when I was about 6.  Is it called being attacked when you wander into your neighbour’s back yard to try and play with a chained up, barking dog?  In any case, I was bitten multiple times on my face, arms and legs.

·        The dog’s owner was schizophrenic and was known as “Crazy John” on our street. Crazy John would walk up and down the street in his underwear at all hours playing the harmonica.

·        The dog was always tied up and I knew he was not friendly but on this day, I decided to try and play with him anyway.  I was convinced he would like me if only he knew me.

·        I don’t really remember the attack itself, but I remember my neighbour carried me home to my parents all bloody and crying and they took me to the hospital where I got stitches.

·        I have a small scar under my nose and above my lip from the attack.  I don’t think I have others, but it’s hard to tell since I have so many other scars.

·        That event did not make me afraid of dogs.  Not even afraid of that dog.  I would have tried to play with him again but my neighbour put up a very tall fence after that.  Not so crazy, if you ask me.

·        Nothing happened to the dog.  My parents knew it wasn’t the dog’s fault.  We always had dogs of our own and they knew the deal.

·        Crazy John died sitting on his front porch listening to music when I was in my 20’s.  No one even noticed for a day.  He didn’t have any family or friends and even though he lived on our street for 30 years, the neighbours stayed away from him.  His is a very sad story.

“This is a man’s world, but it would be nothing without a woman or a girl.” – James Brown

For the last 10 years or so, all I’ve really wanted was to be Nigella Lawson when I grow up. 

In case you don’t know, Nigella Lawson is, among other things, a food writer from England.  She refers to herself as a “home cook” but she has had many TV cooking shows on the BBC over the past decade and is a genuine celebrity in England.  Now, after years on the Food Network, she has a prime time TV show on a major American network called “The Taste”.

I can’t watch “The Taste”…I find it really inane, but I still love Nigella so much.  Her charisma, her obvious distain for “rules” and “authority”, her reverence for the classics, her passion for Italy and her attitude towards cooking and life in general all speak to me.  I admire the fact that although she grew up rich and “upper class” (which still means something in England), she has overcome childhood abuse, many painful losses, and several humiliating recent events, and still she manages to be grounded, strong, humble, authentic and unashamed. 

I adore people who have some tragic story to tell and yet you’d never know it.  They don’t act like victims……they seem to have it all, but you just know that all that pain has built an interesting, strong character with great stories to tell.  Plus, in Nigella’s case she’s sexy as hell and has that amazing accent.  What’s not to like?  She seems to have the ideal life and be the ideal woman.

I met Nigella once in 2005 in Toronto at a cookbook signing at a book store.  Indigo’s website said that Nigella would only sign one book - her newly released book - and only if we bought it there at Indigo.  I did buy her new book for her to sign.  But I also brought along with me a huge box filled with all seven of her previously released cookbooks – all First Edition hardcovers  – hopeful that she would also sign all of those for me. 

The fact that I dragged all these books with me to meet Nigella is classic Laura.  I know the rules; I know the limits……and?  Rules and limits are for everyone else……I can do whatever I want.   I was the first child of two pretty conservative, young parents who had no idea what to do with a willful child who questioned everything and would not obey or take no for an answer.   They both always said “no” to everything, all the time….it was just their automatic reflex to say no - out of fear, I think.  They were both extremely protective and wanted to shelter me.  But I had no interest in being sheltered and I wasn’t afraid of a damn thing.  So when they said “no”, I heard “yes” and it became my mission to get them to say it too.  Unfortunately, I never outgrew this.

Anyway, my aunt Joan went with me to meet Nigella, and we waited in line, with me pushing the box of books up the aisle with my Doc Martens as we got closer and closer.  Joan is quite an eccentric, bold, loud woman with her sky high heels, expensive clothes, bright red hair and giant hats.  She has a habit of creating a scene wherever she goes.  She is my godmother and was my hero growing up…I always wanted to be just like her, flaws and all.  And age has not mellowed her one bit.

When we got up to Nigella, she asked me what I had in the box.  So I showed her the books I had brought with me and she thought it was hysterical.  Much to the annoyance of everyone behind me in line, she didn’t blink twice…she signed each and every one of those books with a personal message and talked with me while my aunt attempted to take pictures of the two of us together with my camera.  My aunt kept “accidentally” turning off the camera instead of taking pictures so it turned into a scene from a bad comedy with Nigella’s people helping my aunt take the pictures and everyone behind us in line completely frustrated by the both of us. 

Luckily, Joan always wins everyone over with her “ways” even though they are usually cursing her while she does it.  That’s exactly what happened on this occasion.  While she hammed it up and played quite dumb with the camera on purpose to delay the line from moving, she got the people at the front of the line involved and in the end, they all loved her.  This gave me a lot of time to talk with Nigella and she did not disappoint me.

I don’t know when I first starting thinking of myself as a feminist.  It’s been pretty much a part of my identity for as long as I can remember.  Even when I was young enough that I didn’t know the word or what it meant, I was determined to hang out with my dad in his garage while he fixed cars; and be an apprentice in my grandparents’ plumbing business; and never get married but if I did, I would keep my name and have my own separate bedroom; and definitely NOT stay home and raise the kids and let my husband tell me what to think and how to act and make all my decisions for me. 

Many women, including my aunt and Nigella, have really been living examples for me of what it means to be a feminist.  I adore “strong” women (and men!) and that strength shines in so many different ways. 

March 8 was International Women’s Day.  March is Women’s History Month (here in the US and in some other parts of the world; in Canada and others it is October).  Between those two events, my birthday last week and all the changes I’ve been experiencing lately, I have been thinking a lot about what feminism means to me now, at this point in my life.  My feminist ideals are near and dear to me, but I have been realizing that “being a feminist” has lost meaning for me and it’s time to re-examine that. 

I haven’t really thought about this for years….probably not since I volunteered at the sexual assault support center in the 90’s.    When you are involved in a non-profit organization, whose goals are to specifically help women, you tend to get very involved with the politics of feminism.  The whole time I was in university, I belonged to the Women’s Centre and I also chose Women’s Studies as a minor.  I read a lot of feminist theory, I studied the history of the Women’s Movement, and then I volunteered at the sexual assault center.  So throughout my 20’s, I was pretty entrenched in feminist ideology and surrounded by other people who were also entrenched in it.  The language, the dogma becomes second nature…..I really didn’t even think about it ‘cos I was IN it.

I know the word “feminist” scares/bothers/repels a lot of people.  It can be a really divisive word.  Even among feminists it can be really divisive.  A lot of people feel “feminism” is only for white, liberal, middle class, heterosexual women and there’s no room for anyone else.  Then there’s the whole question of whether or not men can be feminists.  A lot of women – both young and old - don’t want to identify as feminists because they’re afraid of being seen as extreme.  As astounding as it is to me, there is still this idea that all feminists are femi-nazi man haters who want to push men down while they build themselves up.   I’ve always been kind of an extremist so I’m not afraid of being labelled that way…but feminism is not about hating men or being an extremist.  It’s not about taking anything away from men and it’s not about women being able to do whatever they want and get away with it in the name of “girl power”. 

I think people would be less afraid of the word if we all spent more time actually talking to each other about our beliefs and our lives instead of letting one word loaded with assumptions do our talking for us.  People can get so worked up about the silliest things – like the weather, traffic, whether or not McDonalds has the McRib or Shamrock Shake right now - but when it comes to important issues that could literally change our society, people just can’t be bothered.  Unless we’re talking with a bunch of like-minded people…then of course we can really get passionate.  But that’s not how we change the world, or ourselves. 

Since I moved to the States, I have realized just how many words there are that have that same polarizing effect as “feminism”.  The word describing almost any religious or political group:  “Christians”, “Muslims”, “Conservatives”, “Libertarian”, “Liberal”, “gun rights advocate”….and on and on it goes.  These are really all just labels and don’t tell the whole truth or story about the human condition.  We assume - based on one word - that we have nothing in common with someone or have everything in common with someone.  If we could ignore these labels and try talking to one another, we might find we have more common than we thought and these words would seem less extreme.

I don’t want this to turn into a feminist theory lecture, but I think it’s important to identify what exactly feminism is.  A feminist supports the rights and equality of women.  That’s it.  If you think women should be treated fairly, then guess what?  You’re a feminist!  Feminism is the movement that supports this work.

Both men and women all over the world work hard so women have choices about how they live their lives and have access to opportunities just like men do.  It doesn’t matter what choice I, as a woman, make with my own life…the important thing is I have choices.  I suppose this is debatable but, men don’t benefit from sexism.  And men are very much affected by feminism.  It’s not about men and women being the same and equal in every way, or putting one down so the other can benefit.  It’s about making sure that everyone’s rights are protected.  So it’s really important that men are also involved in feminism. 

For me, the most important quality I can possess as a feminist is strength….having a strong mind, a strong body, strong emotions.  I admire this in other women, I admire it in men.  But to just say that is not enough.  Talk is cheap….what matters is action.

Up until now, I always looked outwards to find my muse.  For the last 20 years, I didn’t see anything inspiring about myself at all, probably because I couldn’t bear to look at myself and see anything positive.  I could only see flaws.  But last week, I turned 45 years old.  That is a very surreal thing for me.  Like a lot of people my age, in many ways I still feel like I’m 16, but – if I’m lucky – half my life is gone.  The years have flown by and some of the stories from my life seem like a movie I watched on TV.  Did that really happen?  Why did I allow that thing that happened to knock me down and keep me down for so long? Why am I still dragging all that around? 

I can’t worry about all that though.  What interests me at this point is how I choose to live now.  From this point forward, I just refuse to have regrets.  Jessica and I talked about this the last time I saw her a couple of weeks ago.  It was the first time I had seen her in 6 weeks and she suggested that we should have one more appointment on May 8 and then, if I was feeling ok about it, she would discharge me.  She asked me how I felt about that.  I thought for a second and realized I felt great about it!  No more therapy….that’s awesome!  Six months ago, that would have terrified me. 

But while we were talking, it occurred to me that all the things I admire about Nigella and my aunt and all the other women and men I admire, I could say about myself too…… if I could see past my flaws.  I’m starting to understand that although other people can provide us with inspiration, it becomes a slippery slope from inspiration to hero worship if we’re not careful.  If I simply admire someone else and don’t allow the inspiration to move me into action then what is the point of being inspired?    Then I just start to live vicariously through those who are just simply living their lives….they’re living, I’m watching and before I know it, another 20 years has passed.  Most heroes don’t set out to be heroes…they just live their lives and make mistakes and get up and try again and sometimes something beautiful happens as a result.

So yes, my aunt and Nigella do provide a strong feminist framework for me.  But I am also now realizing that I need to be my own muse.  I need to allow my strength to shine and have the courage to live my life the way I want to and appreciate myself the way I admire other people. 

This realization is instigating quite a shift in my life…in the way I think, the way I live and the way I treat other people.  I find I have more patience, more compassion and am less judgmental, and much more tolerant, especially towards people who have different opinions than me.  I find I am way less interested in television, even shows I have watched for years.  I am just suddenly really not interested in pretend people living their pretend lives and am much more interested in real people living their real lives. 

One thing that I have become very aware of in recent months is just how insecure I am about my looks and body, which completely conflicts with what being a feminist means to me.  Now, because I hate seeming vulnerable in any way, I am aware I don’t allow that to show very often.  Only people who know me in certain situations might believe it, but it’s true.  I am desperately insecure.  I am a bottomless pit when it comes to flattery and compliments.  I can never hear enough and I never really believe them anyway.  But I find insecurity to be a really unflattering quality in a woman my age, with my awareness…it just is.  Don’t I have anything better to think about?  Nope, nothing else on my mind today….. just how pretty I look.   At this moment in my life, this is the quality I am the most intolerant of about myself and it has got to go.  I am just not that vacuous a person and this quality makes me feel like I am.

Part of being a strong woman, for me, means being in charge of my sexuality.  I’m a really sensual person so sex is really, really important to me.  In spite of my addiction, sex actually matters to me.  But it’s good sex – no, GREAT sex that matters to me.  When I treat it like an addiction, it’s just to feed my insecurity.   I know, it’s a shocker….I’m a feminist but I really like sex and I really like men.  And…get this…..I like men to be dominant.  I’m not really into bondage – not that kind of dominant - but I like the kind of guy who takes charge.  That does not threaten my feminist ideals in any way.  I’m not going to pretend otherwise.  I own my sexuality.  It’s mine.  I’ll make choices about my own pleasure and hold my head up high while I do.  From now on, I don’t make choices about sex from a place of shame or lack of respect…..for myself or my partner.

And lastly, being physically strong gives me the confidence to both kick my insecurity and be in charge of my sexuality.   I mean, I am nowhere near where I want to be in terms of physical strength but the important thing is, I am working on it…actively going for it, not just sitting around dreaming about it.  ROC Boxing is seriously one of the best things in my life right now.  I can’t even say how much I love being there.  Everyone is so supportive, friendly, helpful and inspirational.  And having aching muscles at the end of the night is ridiculously gratifying.

I gotta say, the last two weeks have been really hard for me in terms of diet.  There have been a LOT of birthdays, parties, events.  While I haven’t necessarily eaten too much, I have been eating all the wrong things and it has been difficult to get my head back into the right way of eating.  I have gained 5 pounds in the last two weeks.  I have a follow up appointment with my surgeon tomorrow and I’m going to keep the appointment, and take the ass kicking I know Dr. D is going to bestow on me.  Not only should I not have gained 5 pounds but I should have lost another 10 so I’m not showing the results I did at my last follow up.  Six months ago, I probably would have postponed the appointment until I lost the 5 pounds.  Then I’d start telling myself what a failure I am and I might as well give up.  And then I’d never lose the 5 pounds…in fact I’d gain 5 more.  But that’s definitely not happening right now.  And I could not be happier.  I no longer want to be Nigella when I grow up…I just want to be myself.

The return of Random Stuff:

·        I love the smell of rubbing alcohol.  It’s a throwback to my childhood.  (My dad has type 1 diabetes.)

·        I hate the smell of insulin.  That is also a throwback to my childhood.

·        I love the smell of diesel.  Makes me want to go on a road trip.

·        I love kissing someone who just drank Jack Daniels. It’s even better than me actually drinking Jack Daniels.

·        I love sipping Hennessy cognac in front of the fireplace after work.

·        The gastric sleeve is my fifth surgery

·        I don’t have my appendix or my gallbladder

·        I’m missing half my thyroid

·        My stomach is now ¼ its previous size

·        I have my first tattoo idea all ready to go and I know which studio and artist I’m going to use….excited!!

·        Don’t be surprised if in a year from now I have many more tattoos.  I love body art.

 

 

 

“Don't Say You're Easy on Me; You're About as Easy As a Nuclear War.” – Duran Duran

I am addicted to magazines.  It’s true….they are one of my many addictions.  Since psychologists can’t even agree on whether or not someone can be addicted to food or sex, I’m pretty sure they would question whether or not a person can be addicted to magazines, but my “collection” is all the proof I need.  At least, it was…..until Tuesday. 

On Tuesday, the recycling guy came and took away 5 liquor boxes full of magazines.  The week before, he took away two.  I still have about 8 more to get rid of.  That is a lot of magazines.  But the pile is getting smaller, not bigger, and that’s the important thing here.

This addiction was born out of a love for music……or, at the very least, teenage lust.  In Summer 1982, my mom took me to my first concert ever – Blondie, at the CNE in Toronto.  Duran Duran opened.  I was 13 and that day changed my life.  Debbie Harry was my hero, but that day I became a true blue Duranie and started spending my allowance on Smash Hits, Creem, Tiger Beat and Rolling Stone so I could plaster my bedroom walls with posters of John Taylor.    

Then as I got a bit older, after I fell in love with NYC, I discovered Details.  That was way before it was a men’s style magazine.  Back then it was a low budget, black and white, non-glossy magazine dedicated to the underground music/party scene in New York City.  When Conde Naste bought Details in 1988, they turned it into something totally different and that killed my obsession with that publication but got me started on Vanity Fair, which continues to this day.  But eventually, I would buy any magazine if it had the right cover or byline…..I don’t care if it’s about celebrities, film, art, houses, horses, books, travel, food, cigars, liquor, music….I like them all.  

Listen, I can read some heavy duty, hard core literature.  I have read Stephen Hawking, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Tolstoy…..all kinds of “serious” books, and many of them have encouraged my substantial fantasy life, but magazines are a completely different animal.   Books are about deep, respectful, beautiful love.  I take care of books and display them on bookshelves so I can admire them every day, and I certainly do not lend them to anyone…they’re mine alone.  Magazines are about lust, desire, and envy.  They are a guilty pleasure and stored in boxes hidden away from view until I go looking for them.    I bend their pages back, use them as I wish, rip out pages if I choose and toss them when I am done with them.  The printed word is totally unnecessary in a magazine…. I don’t really care what it has to say to me, unless of course it’s occasionally amusing……It’s all about the images.   Oooh - look at all the pretty pictures!   Shiny!!  Sparkly!!! 

There is something ultra-seductive about the allure of a beautiful cover; the smooth, glossy pages; the gorgeous photographs;  the high end product ads; the fluffy, meaningless articles you can’t take seriously (some of which are occasionally well written, but who cares?); and the easy banter of the one page, “Top 10” features of every magazine.  The artifice created in the pages of a magazine provides nothing less than hedonistic gratification.  You are immersed in another world you’ll never experience in your real life – a world that is whatever you want it to be. Pretty, fun people without a care in the world; creatively designed houses; beautiful, well-made furniture; the unattainable, well dressed  partner with a great car; spectacular food and cocktails; expensive  handbags and shoes ….all of it completely, perfectly staged and reassuring that yes, Utopia does really exist and you COULD have it if you wanted, ‘cos see….. it’s all just right there, ready for you to reach out and take it.

Or maybe that’s just me.

I thought had been able to keep my magazine “collection” down to what I considered to be a reasonable number.  But when I moved to Rochester, I brought with me 7 boxes of magazines, and I knew I had been kidding myself about how “reasonable”  that was when I realized how embarrassed I was that the people helping me move would have to lift and move all these heavy boxes clearly labelled “MAGAZINES”.  I thought if it were me, I’d be like, “move your own damn magazines, you hoarder.”  But that didn’t stop me from getting a whole bunch of subscriptions when I got here.  Magazine subscriptions are REALLY cheap in the States compared to Canada.   

After two years, it had gotten to the point where there were magazines in every room of the house.  They were everywhere…… I was constantly knocking over piles of magazines.  It’s not like I even made the time to read them or cared at all to read them, but still I “saved” them.   It became a really overwhelming problem, which is what happens when you don’t take responsibility.  If you aren’t responsible, then you have no control over this thing that happens to you.  You turn yourself into a victim.  Even if you want things to be different, you feel powerless to change.

I have said in previous posts that in the almost 10 years since I first got my lap band, I haven’t changed all that much which is why I didn’t pass the psych eval a year ago for the sleeve and why everyone, including myself, connected to my sleeve surgery was concerned that in the long term, I would not be successful with my second weight loss surgery.  I know that sounds defeatist and overly pessimistic, but consider this:  perspective isn’t what happens a few months after surgery, or even a few years.  My lap band surgery was considered successful for 4 years.  It is only in hindsight, after all the facts are revealed, that an assessment can be made. 

Personally, I do believe every single person having weight loss surgery should go through long term therapy.  I’m not saying everyone who is obese has the same story/history as me and that’s why they gained weight, but I do think the process of stopping and evaluating who you are, what you want out of life and how your thoughts and behavior help or hinder you in attaining those goals is a pretty worthwhile endeavor, and if everyone did that, then the stats for people who re-gain their weight after WLS would be much lower.  But it does take time to really grow from the process. 

I started my therapy over a year ago and even though the first 10 or so months gave me some great tools for growth, when I look back now, my actual growth didn’t start happening for me until a few months ago when I started to really pay attention to what I was thinking and doing, not just with food but with everything.  The stuff I learned from Jessica in those initial months helped me realize that I do need to pay attention and take responsibility for my own life and not just sail through and leave a mess for others to clean up while I skip on to the next adventure and in the meantime expect to be happy or find greater meaning in my life.  If I wanted my life to be meaningful, I would have to work at it and find the meaning.  It wasn’t just going to fall in my lap if I wasn’t living authentically.

This whole post makes me really uncomfortable to talk about because I am not talking about stuff from my past or stuff that I have no control over.  Suddenly I’m talking about right now…. within the last six months.  It’s easier for everyone, including myself, to say, “oh we’ll forgive her for ‘X’ because that was a long time ago, before I knew her and I don’t know that person.  The person I know is a good person and has battled those demons.”  But I’m saying, no – I hadn’t.  I hadn’t changed since I got my lap band!  Nothing about me had changed and I hadn’t grown and so naturally, when confronted with conflict and discomfort, I reacted the exact same way as I have in the past.

One of the biggest concerns with weight loss surgery is transference of addictions.    Weight loss surgery supposedly takes away your food addiction and you can become addicted to something else in the place of food.   This is a challenge for me for sure.  I have long believed that being addicted to food is the same as drug, alcohol, sex, cigarette…..ANY addiction.  It doesn’t matter the substance or behavior you’re addicted to, the behaviours are the same.  If you’re desperate enough, you’ll do anything for the next fix….lie, steal, cheat, beg, whatever degrading thing you have to do.  It’s really not an empowering thing to realize your entire life is centered on an unhealthy relationship with whatever thing you are addicted to.

Interestingly enough, last year John Taylor, my teenage crush, published a book about his fight to overcome drug and alcohol addiction.  The whole time I was staring at his pictures on my bedroom wall, he was fighting his own demons.  Addiction really is a universal challenge and I think there is no one right way to deal with it.  As they say, the first step is realizing you’ve got a problem.

About four months ago, in spite of my marriage breaking down, I started to feel really good about myself.   Finally, my sleeve surgery was going to happen and I was high on the promise of my future.  My therapy was going great.  I loved my job.   I had lost a bit of weight from my highest weight ever – without the lap band or the sleeve – so I felt pretty good about that even though I had a long way to go.  Things at home were awkward with Sam and I, but it felt good to have things out in the open and I really believed the decision I had made would be best for both of us.  Basically things were going very well.

However, I was ready to move on before Sam was and it did cause some friction between us.  Winter was setting in and the fears and worry I felt over losing Felix and not knowing what happened to him were again very raw.  While I should have been growing and thinking about myself, I was instead trying to squash my worries and fears and continue to feel good.    I thought I had done the hard work already and had earned some excitement.  I was wrong.  It should have been obvious that I was wrong when instead of food, I once again turned to casual sex to make me feel better.

It was history repeating itself.  Again, it wasn’t all that fulfilling. Again, I thought I was empowering myself and taking charge of my sex life.  And, again, I was sleeping with people I really wasn’t that interested in.  I talked to Jessica about what I was doing and she didn’t judge me but said I needed to think seriously about whether this was going to help me accomplish my goals.  I left my session that day not feeling great but not yet motivated to stop what I was doing.

A few days later, I met someone who stopped me in my tracks.  He was the personification of my ideal man….like he was put together just for me and I was powerfully drawn to him.  Within 5 minutes of meeting him, I could imagine him having dinner with my family and fitting right in.  But there were several problems.  I didn’t want to have casual sex with him…I wanted to know him and for him to be a part of my life and for me to be a part of his.  I couldn’t bear the idea that I would just be a nameless, faceless casual partner to him.  And then I started to imagine how I must look in his eyes with all the stuff going on in my life. Not that any of it mattered anyway, since he wasn’t interested in me.  This is when the idea that I don’t deserve to have the partner I want came up.  I had absolutely nothing to offer him. I was overwhelmed by my feeling of unworthiness......this had never happened before.

It was like a big red STOP sign had been put up in front of me, and I realized I kind of need things like that to happen.  When they do, instead of taking it personally and wallowing in my feeling of unworthiness, I need to pay attention to what’s going on and learn and grow from it.

That got me thinking about my relationship to alcohol.  My hard partying days of my early 20’s seems like another lifetime ago now…and I really have no desire to go back to that.  I was never truly into drugs or cigarettes - but I used them anyway back in those days – so it didn’t feel like “giving them up” when I stopped.  I just simply stopped using them.  But alcohol was something different….I loved drinking, almost as much as I love magazines, sex and food.  But still, I stopped drinking completely for a number of years – no AA, no therapy, nothing…I just stopped because I got angry that the police blamed me for the rape because I was drunk.  I stopped drinking out of spite, basically.

Years later – after I had started dating Sam - it occurred to me that I could probably handle having a drink on a social occasion and not let it consume me.  So I had a drink and it was fine.  I enjoyed it and didn’t feel like I needed to keep drinking.   I’ve been fine with alcohol ever since.    If I can do that with alcohol, then why couldn’t I take that same approach to magazines, sex, food or any other thing?  It’s not that difficult a concept.  It’s about really enjoying whatever it is.  Don’t do things just “because you can”, or because you’re bored or whatever.  Don’t “use” people, food, sex, magazines or anything else as a coping mechanism.  
 
At this point in my life, I am ready to be done with addiction of any kind.   And it makes sense to me to work on stopping ALL addictive behaviours now.  It doesn’t matter if it’s food, sex, drugs, alcohol, magazines…whatever the vice, I don’t want it to have control over me.  Having casual sex does not prove how liberated and in charge I am…just the opposite.  Overeating doesn’t prove how much I love food…it shows my lack of discipline.  Hoarding magazines doesn’t prove anything except that I like to waste money and collect dust bunnies.  I can and should enjoy all of these things for the right reasons and not be so desperate to consume.

Just before my surgery - it occurred to me that I didn’t need magazines.   Having this huge collection of magazines no longer reflected who I am.  I let that idea kind of swirl around in my head while I recovered from surgery.  I couldn’t lift anything anyway so the magazines sat there and I grew more and more resentful of the space they were taking up in the house.  One of the techniques I have been working on with Jessica is, “What if…”.  Any time I find myself confronted with a feeling of discomfort, instead of trying to make myself feel better using whatever unhealthy instant gratification I can find, I ask the question, “What if…?”  in relation to whatever is happening.    You keep asking until you get to the root of the feeling. 

So:
What if I got rid of all these magazines?  Then I’d be upset.
What if you were upset?  Then I’d want to eat something or sleep with someone inappropriate.
What if you ate something or slept with someone inappropriate? 

You get the idea.  You keep asking, “what if…?”  until you uncover the truth of what’s going on.  This exercise really has been especially helpful to me in the last few months and it has been really empowering.  I have done this often enough now that I have realized that things are never as hard as they seem and that I have the confidence to confront really anything now.  And so, magazines and piles of clothes and all kinds of other crap I don’t need or want has been finding its way out of the house.

On Monday I had my meeting with my new lifestyle management guru and it didn’t go exactly the way I thought or hoped it would.  Normally that would have really disappointed me, but during the meeting I found myself adjusting my expectations and going with the flow and keeping an open mind and I think it’s still going to work out.  They will not actually be my personal trainers nor do they have a private gym but they have built me a depressingly boring but healthy diet.  Apparently, people who are in excellent shape eat the same kinds of simple things all the time.  I should have known this from seeing what my brother eats.  So apparently I AM the kind of person who drinks a protein shake…every day, for breakfast or a snack.  But I get to have a “cheat” meal – anything I want – once a week.

They do use a gym very close to my house - ROC Boxing - and I’m set up with a couple of trainers there.  It’s exactly like a boxing gym out of a movie and it’s a bit intimidating but also has a great vibe.  Lots of action.  I’ll be focusing on strength training, and I’m also going to try some boxing and see how I like it.  I get to hit things.  I think I’m going to like it.

On Thursday I had my 6 week post op follow up (although it’s actually been 7 ½ weeks) and my surgeon is very happy with my progress.  My incision sites are healing very well and my weight loss is average.   I kind of plateaued a bit in the last couple weeks and my surgeon was sure that would change with the new diet and exercise I am starting.   I’m feeling very energetic and am headed in the right direction.    

Everything in life really is timing.  I am here right here, in this emotional and physical space, at this point of my life and it all coincided perfectly with my moving to the States.  I admit, I never wanted to move to the States (even when I wanted to move to NYC as a kid – I didn’t think of that as moving to the States). I loved my life in Canada and did not want to leave my job, my house, my friends, my family, my doctor, my car.  It felt like when I moved here I gave up a lot.  Although I already had a lot of friends here and I tried to see it all as another adventure, it really felt like a sacrifice. 

But the people who have come into my life since I moved here have been instrumental in helping me rediscover my life and myself.  My new job, my friends, my health care providers, and everyone else I have met along the way have really touched me and offered me so much support even when I did not deserve it.  A bunch of Yanks have completely changed my perspective.  It no longer feels like moving here was a sacrifice…it feels like it was a gift that I will need to spend the rest of my life earning.  It feels like home now.  Timing.  It’s a beautiful thing.