Monday, November 22, 2004

Psychics Look Inside Rosie! What Do They See?

(Besides adipose tissue, that is)…
I went to a psychic fair this weekend and had some readings done. The palm reader said my family interferes constantly in my life and that my expectations of other peopleÂ’s behavior are too high and thus I am constantly disappointed.
My I-Ching reading came out that the first hexagram was “needing nourishment” and I was eating a sample candy bar as we rolled up it! That reading was all about trying to get nourishment from things that aren'’t nourishing (ie, Hershey bar!). The man who did the reading was also overweight and we talked about the eating habits of skinny 20 year-olds (which leads
to being fat and forty, like we are). He was AWESOME; he knew the numbers and names of the hexagrams without looking them up. Of course, there are only 64 of them, but I'’m still impressed.
I had a voodoo bones reading (very interesting). It started out with three cards being drawn from a black angel deck. The story the cards told is that I need to love my body. (Which is what I'’ve been doing with the Lighten Up tape.) Then I need to take time to meditate and listen. (I know that; it's finding the time to DO it!) Those two things will lead to my 3d eye opening even more, and giving me even more discernment. That was just from the cards. The bones confirmed that I'’m on the right path, but she didn'’t see that I would actually need the bariatic surgery. She thinks I will do it another way, but to leave the door to the surgery open.
The tarot reading was a little less definite. I had the tower, death, hanged man, and three of swords. Basically a 3-way conflict, which will lead to a whole new way of life. Something will happen in about a year, at the end of 2005, when some planet crosses my something-or-other. From what the people at the meetings tell me, it might be that long before my surgery is scheduled, so I guess that door is still open. Or maybe I'’ll sell a book.
I did a couple of angel readings. One said that I would master the next card I picked, which ended up being “Father Healing.” Since my dad is sick, I assume this means I will accept his illness and stop fighting it.
There was another pick-a-card reading that I did, but for some reason I don'’t remember it--oh, it was a goddess. Began with an M and that'’s all I remember.
I also spent some time just talking to the angel reader. She attuned me to this special stone she has, which is from Lemuria via Mt Shasta. Combined with the 11:11 gate we passed through 11 days ago (hey-another 11!) it has really given me an energy headache and made me exhausted.
I had some henna painting done, ala What the Bleep, but it didn'’t take, probably because my skin is so moisturized from the Lighten Up work.
Finally I had a massage. The lady has worked on me before, and for the first time my fascia tissue, which is pretty much cooked & all stuck over my swollen injury, gave way and started to move.
Did I learn anything new about myself? Well, maybe the father healing thing. Mostly it was confirmation of what I'’m already doing, little nods from the gods. (I like that. “Nods from the Gods.”)

More Places Fat People Can't Go

Folding chairs are scary. I always approach an unfamiliar folding chair with trepidation. There are the wooden ones, with the slatted backs. Wood can't be trusted. Then there are the standard metal ones--they tend to be sturdier and less prone to breaking than the wooden ones. I am not so fat I need two folding chairs, but I have seen some people that are.
Regular chairs, like you'’d see in a hotel meeting room, are usually okay. Nice and sturdy. Movie seats-—whew. It'’s a crapshoot. Some newer theaters have seats with flip-up arms (like airline
seats) which are nice. Personally I haven'’t got a huge problem with movie seats, but I HATE sitting right next to someone. I am more comfortable with an empty seat to either side (or I sit on the aisle). So I don'’t go to the movies on Friday or Saturday night, when it'’s going to be busy. Or on opening night, when it will be sold out.
I recently went to Long Wharf Theater in New Haven and those seats were okay. Not real comfortable, but not so tight I couldn'’t breathe. On the other hand, Mohegan Sun arena---I will never go there again. I literally had to wedge myself into the seat and I didn'’t know if I'’d be able to get up again. Once I was in the seat, it wasn'’t as bad as getting in and out, because the arms protrude inward and it'’s hard to squeeze by them. It sucks to be at a concert and have to sit through the whole thing (and not be able to see because everyone else is standing) because you can'’t get out of the damn seat.

Thursday, November 18, 2004

fear mongering 3

Now it's people who overdose on antibiotics and breed antibiotic-resistant super-germs in their bodies.
I agree, it's a problem, but what's with the breathless delivery?
It's Fox news. It's almost enough to make me not want to watch the Simpsons anymore, the only Fox program I ever watch.

Tuesday, November 16, 2004

homework: Money Thoughts

For my homework from my therapist, I have to write down what I think about money.
Money you say? What the fuck does that have to do with anything?
Well, if I had money, I wouldn’t have to worry if the insurance will pay for the bariatic surgery. I wouldn’t have to worry about coming up with the money to pay for plastic surgery a few years after that surgery.
And I’m living in a state of lack, loss and limitation. It impacts everything around me. My NaNo writing is behind (eek). I’m sucking at sales at work. (Well, that’s what they get for giving a fat woman a sales job. Unless I’m selling ice cream, who wants to listen to me? Or look at me?)
I HAVE NO FUCKING MONEY. (Wow, I’m swearing a lot today. I must be angry.)
That’s what I think about money. Some of these I BELIEVE as well as think. Others are just in my head. Some of them are true, some aren’t. But as my therapist says, this is the story I tell myself in my head about money–notice how often it contradicts itself.
I think 20% of the population has 80% of the money.
(I’m going to drop the “I thinks”–just assume they’re there.)
There’s enough money to go around if it’s spread more evenly.
I will never be rich.
Lotto is a tax on people who are bad at math.
It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.
“God money, I’ll do anything for you...bow down before the one you serve.”
Money is not spiritual.
I have to work hard to get money.
Money should be spent, not hoarded, to help the economy.
Money shouldn’t be wasted.
Money is precious.
Money represents energy. Some people’s energy is worth more than others. (How much you make an hour.)
If I do not make a lot of money, I am worthless.
The universe will provide my material needs if I have faith and show gratitude.
Money doesn’t buy happiness.
It’s easier to love a rich man than a poor man if all else is equal.
Money is the root of all evil.
Money is a necessary evil.
Not having enough money makes me feel sad.
And frantic.
And even suicidal.
I know why people rob banks and convenience stores now.
Lack of money is destroying my marriage.
Debt is overwhelming me.
Obviously the gods don’t love me, or I’d have a well-paying job by now, and my material needs would be met.
I need money to be happy.
If you do what you love, follow your passion, the money will come to you.
If everyone did what they loved, everyone would have plenty of money and be happy.

My brain is tired. I am sure more will come to me later.

Bariatric Surgery 4: dying

Another meeting of the used-to-be-fat post-ops, the still-fat post-ops and the tremendously fat pre-ops (that would be me.) Even more depressing.
I thought I would be done by March or April with surgery. But someone was going in TODAY who started her process last December. E gads.
I have no fucking patience. I’m fat, damn it. What do you need to weigh me, poke me, prod me for? Don’t you have EYES? Cut me open. Move my intestines around. Hell, chuck some of them out, that will make my waist smaller, right. DON’T MAKE ME WAIT.
I almost typed DON’T MAKE ME WEIGHT. Interesting.
I think of that funny prayer some say: “Lord, grant me patience, but hurry”
It’s not that I’m giving up on losing weight in any other way than being chopped up. Do you think I WANT to be chopped up? It’s pretty gross. There’s a six in scar down the belly after. And all kinds of hanging flapping skin.
Although word is, lots of exercise and water will reduce the flappin’ and hangin’.
The amount of water to drink is 108 oz a day. I figured out that I have to drink a 20 oz bottle of Aquafina approximately every other hour to reach that goal. It tried it today at work; in seven hours I had about 3/4 of ONE bottle. Not good. And what if I get a job that won’t let me have a bottle of water at my desk? I’ll have to get a doctor’s note, how humiliating.
Interesting factoids that came up. When you’re full after the surgery, your nose runs. No one knows why. If your nose doesn’t run, you get very hot, like a hot flash. Nice. I like it. I wish my body did that now. Oh no, I shouldn’t wish that, now I’ll be snotting everywhere when I eat.
I’ve been getting so tired lately. I cough all the time, my bronchitis isn’t getting better. So that makes me short of breath, and just walking up a flight of stairs makes me pant, cough, and need a break. This isn’t right. This isn’t life.
How can insurance companies not want to pay for this? This is not vanity. I would like to be a size 4 again, yes. But I’d like to take a walk without feeling like I’m going to die even more.
Someone said last night that with new, inexperienced doctors, the death rate is 1 in 50. Overall it’s 1 in 200 but my doctor said he’s only lost one patient out of over 600. (Or is it 600 a year? I forget). But he says his death rate is more like 1 in 1,000. And the lady who died had cancer and went for the surgery anyway, and it was too much for her.
1 in 50 is scary. There were probably 50 people at the meeting. That’s one of us, boom, dead. DEAD.
Well, I’m going to die anyway from being fat, right?

Iraq (aside)

I don’t want this to turn into some kind of war blog, or news blog. But I am really, really upset that the terrorists killed that lady.

I know the link will go away, so here’s the story, from CNN:

* * *

Family heartbreak over Hassan fate

(CNN) -- The family of Margaret Hassan, director of CARE International in Iraq, said their "hearts were broken" Tuesday after hearing of her apparent death at the hands of her captors.
Looking gaunt, her Iraqi husband, Tahseen Ali Hassan, said, "I have been told that there is a video of Margaret which appears to show her murdered. The video may be genuine but I do not know. I beg those people who took Margaret to tell me what they have done with her."
Hassan's wife was kidnapped on October 19 by a group that did not identify itself. Videotapes surfaced Tuesday purportedly showing her killing.

Arab network Al-Jazeera reported, "Al-Jazeera has obtained a video showing a masked militant shooting a blindfolded woman, who was referred to as Margaret Hassan, in the head using a handgun. Al-Jazeera decided to wait on reporting the news until it confirmed the authenticity of the tape."

Al-Jazeera did not show the video.

CARE, for whom Hassan had worked for more than 12 years, issued a written statement through a spokesman.
"It is with profound sadness that we have learnt of the existence of a video in which it appears that our colleague Margaret Hassan has been killed. We are shocked and appalled that this has been the apparent outcome of her abduction."

Hassan, who was in her 60s, held dual British and Iraqi citizenships.

British Foreign Secretary Jack Straw said, "Our experts have been examining a video which appeared to show that Margaret Hassan has been murdered, to establish whether it is genuine.
"As a result of our analysis, we have today had to inform Margaret Hassan's family that, sadly, we now believe that she has probably been murdered, although we cannot conclude this with complete certainty."

His written statement continued, "I want to express my deepest sympathy and condolences to Margaret's family. They have been through a month of the most terrible uncertainty and torment. To kidnap and kill anyone is inexcusable.

"But it is repugnant to commit such a crime against a woman who has spent most of her life working for the good of the people of Iraq."

Hassan was a highly respected humanitarian official in the Middle East. Shortly after her abduction, patients at a Baghdad hospital took to the streets to protest the kidnapping.
They credited her with helping to rebuild the medical facility last year.
Hassan's family said Hassan had devoted her life to caring for the poor and vulnerable. They said in a written statement, in part:
"Our hearts are broken. We have kept hoping for as long as we could, but we now have to accept that Margaret has probably gone and at last her suffering has ended.
"For the past 30 years, Margaret worked tirelessly for the Iraqi people.
"Margaret had only good will towards everyone. She had no prejudice against any creed. She dedicated her whole life to working for the poor and vulnerable, helping those who had no one else."

The letter was written by Michael, Dierdre, Geraldine and Kathryn Fitzsimons, brothers and sisters of Hassan, and was issued at their request by the Foreign and Commonwealth Office press office.

In its statement, CARE said it was profoundly saddened by Hassan's apparent death.
"We are shocked and appalled that this has been the apparent outcome of her abduction. We want to express our deepest sympathy to Mrs. Hassan's husband, Tahseen, and to her family.
"Mrs. Hassan was an extraordinary woman who dedicated her life to the poor and disadvantaged in Iraq, particularly the children. The whole of CARE is in mourning.
"Through her courage, tenacity and commitment, Mrs. Hassan assisted more than 17 million Iraqis living in the most difficult of circumstances. Everyone who met her was touched by her personality and compassion.

"CARE sincerely thanks the Iraqi people for everything they did to try to secure the safe return of Margaret Hassan and for the many expressions of support.
CARE pulled its staff out of Iraq on October 20 after deciding it had become too dangerous to remain in the country.

Hassan was born in Ireland and had lived in Iraq for 30 years.

The group said on November 2 that it would turn Hassan over to an al Qaeda-affiliated group -- Base of Jihad -- if the British government did not pull its troops out of Iraq within 48 hours, the Arab TV network Al-Jazeera said.

Base of Jihad has been blamed for numerous beheadings of foreigners in Iraq, including the slayings of Americans Nicholas Berg, Eugene Armstrong and Jack Hensley, and Briton Kenneth Bigley. They also claimed responsibility for the killing of a Japanese hostage.
At the height of the war, about 46,000 British troops were in Iraq. About 8,500 remained in late October.

Early this month, Hassan's three sisters met with Irish Prime Minister Bertie Ahern and appealed to her captors for her release. Relatives also begged British Prime Minister Tony Blair and the British government to meet the kidnappers' demands.
But one of her sisters, Dierdre Fitzsimons, said, "We are Irish, and we have no influence on the British government."

Hassan appeared in two videos, aired by Al-Jazeera in October, pleading for her life. In one, on October 27, she urges Britons to pressure Prime Minister Tony Blair to withdraw troops from the country.

Hassan also called for the release of all female prisoners in Iraq and urged CARE's board of directors to end operations in Iraq, an action they already had taken.

Hassan's pleas are not heard in the tape, but an anchor for Al-Jazeera described the contents of her message. Five days earlier, a videotape of Hassan shows her tearfully urging Blair to pull troops from Iraq.

Hassan was kidnapped on the street shortly after she arrived at her office. Her abductors never explained why she was targeted.
* * *

I had compassion for the Iraqi people. I don’t anymore. I think we should nuke their fucking country into a sheet of glass. Fuck you, Iraq. This woman LOVED your country, she cared for your people, she married one of them. And you put a gun to her head and killed her. Fuck you.

Friday, November 12, 2004

How fat am I? Photo

This is actually not me, but it's someone approximately the same size as me. I doctored the photo and changed the face. Posted by Hello

Fear mongering 2

The same radio station which played the fearful ad for aspirn abuse today previewed (rather breathlessly) "What if a terrorist attack hit Connecticut? Would we be prepared?"

blah (be afraid) blah (be very afraid) blah (don't be happy) blah (worry) blah (are you scared yet) blah (not scared enough)


I am this fat (but this is not my picture). Posted by Hello

Thursday, November 11, 2004

Walk Like an Egyptian. . .

Or like a fat person.
I walk funny. Almost like my knees are tied together. I don't take long, confident strides. I take mincing baby steps. It's not that I'm lazy. I think it's the size of my thighs. They are very large. They don't sag or hang or bulge out like saddlebags, they are just big. (They mostly stick out in the front.) I can stand with my feet together, but my knees want to be apart. (Which is funny because when i walk, my knees want to be together!)
Fat people have to sit with their knees apart because their thighs make it so. That's also why we can't cross our legs. We just can't get the one leg high enough. I can for a moment, but the top leg slips off quickly.
I have to say, I was kind of liking at first this whole idea of posting to the blog via email but it takes FOREVER ... and ... the stupid ad for Yahoo is on the bottom of my post, since it's on my email, so I have to go back and edit all my emailed posts. I've sent about four today, still none show online. I guess this is (yet) another control issue I have.

Served by Fat #1

I am fat for a reason. I must get something from my fat, right?
Let'’s analyze this.

*Men don'’t pay attention to me.
*I don'’t have to work full time because no one will hire me.
*I don'’t have to do anything athletic.
*I can fail at any and everything and blame my fat.
*I am warm in the winter.

Hmm. I am sure this list will be ongoing.

National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo)

We'’re 11 days into NaNo. ( I post once in a while on the site, mostly under the Connecticut forum. If you want to find me on the boards, follow this link:
I'’m holding my own. Not doing great, not behind.
It'’s lunch now and I must work on NaNo. Too much blogging, not enough noveling!

Bariatric Surgery 3: what to ask a surgeon

Questions to ask my bariatic surgeon:
How many surgeries do you do a year?
What kind of surgeries do you do? (Bypass-what kind? Lap band? Something else?)
What if I switch insurance partway through the process?
What if I get cancer?
What if I get Alzheimer'’s and can'’t remember I had bariatric surgery?
If my metabolism is so slow, so messed up, that I can already live on small amounts of food without losing weight, how is having a tiny pouch going to help me?
Won'’t my metabolism slow down even more after the surgery, when I can only eat a spoonful of food at a time? Won'’t I go into total starvation mode?
Do you do the exact same surgery on every person (cookie cutter) or adapt the pouch size and bypassed intestine length for different needs?
How much intestine typically gets bypassed?
If preliminary tests show something ELSE is wrong with me causing my weight problem, will you help me fix that? If it doesn'’t help, do I have to start the procedure again (going to meetings, psychiatrist, etc)?
Won'’t I automatically gain weight once my metabolism resets to the even lower food level I'’ll be on?
What'’s the average starting weight of your patients? What'’s the average weight loss? What are the maximum starting weights/weight loss you'’ve seen?
How many people regained most of their lost weight or even ended up heavier?
What will happen when I get really old. Old people hardly eat anything. Will I starve to death?
Do doses of prescription medicine have to be adjusted after surgery since my stomach will no longer be normal? Do pills melt the same? Am I more likely to get sick from pills?
If we have to take 2 multi-vitamins a day, do I take them together or 12 hours apart?
If I already throw up from certain foods, and get diarrhea from others, won'’t that just get worse? What if the foods that don'’t make me sick now start making me sick afterward and I have nothing I'’m able to eat?
Can I get so sick from the surgery that I can'’t eat at all and starve to death?

fear-mongering (aside)

I HATE fear-mongers. I just heard an ad for some local news, about how they're having a story about some moron of a woman who OD-ed on over-the-counter pain relievers. So what? No need to put the rest of the population in fear over taking an aspirin for god's sake!


I am not happy with my feet. I love myself, but I don'’t like how I look. I'’m sure that causes some kind of crazy dichotomy in my head. I'’m wearing black loafers with socks. My feet seem to be bulging out of the loafers, rather like a loaf of bread rising (hence the name, perhaps?).

Lighten Up

One of the things I'm doing is an audio tape called “lighten up —I'’ve been searching online but I can'’t find a link for it. There's a program called that in Seattle, but it'’s $500. This is a $15 low-production value tape, recorded at a lecture, and it'’s a few years old. (She talks about 1992, but not sure if that'’s when the tape was recorded.) When I have it in front of me, I'’ll look for a name or phone number. I think her first name was Carol.
Wait. I'’ve found it.
It'’s an interesting process. I can see that it has merit. Like anything else, can I stick to it? It reminds me a little of the Inner Smile exercises I used to do. I paid a lot of money to learn it and now it'’s on the net for free:
The six healing sounds (also beneficial to do) are outlined here:
So the “Lighten up” tape has several techniques on it. The main one takes five minutes a day. There'’s another thing that you do before you eat (but I didn'’t write it down and I can'’t remember it, so I have to listen again). I thought I was going to have to listen to the whole tape every night, but that'’s not it at all. It'’s mainly informational. Worth $15.

"If it makes you happy, why are you sad?"

That song was just playing on the radio-Sheryl Crow. Someone once said I look like her. I don't see it. I guess it's a compliment.
That tag line: "if it makes you happy, why are you so sad?" seems to really sum up the relationship between overweight people and food.
So many people eat because food is a comfort. (You've heard of "comfort foods"). Food is our friend. It doesn't judge or complain or ask anything of you, except that it be near you, that you eat it. Something that's comforting should be a good thing right?
It's a downward spiral. I feel sad, so I eat. I get fatter. Being fatter makes me sad. So I eat. And get get it.
So, if food makes me happy, why AM I so sad?
Probably because I weighed myself. After all, I need a baseline to know if all this stuff I'm doing is working. I weigh 10 lbs more than I guessed. And my guess was, let's say, generous. (My BMI is even more scary.)
But it's just a number, like my age. I had a therapy session yesterday and I mentioned my age to her, and she was surprised. She thought I was at least six years younger than I am. One of the reasons I look so young is BECAUSE I am fat. My skin is smooth and soft, not wrinkled, not dry. Have you EVER seen a fat person with wrinkles? No. our skin is all plumped up nice with fat.
Back to the scale number. I did have to tell my therapist. And I didn'’t want to. And I cried. And we talked about shame. It'’s very shameful for me to be so fat. I feel terrible about my body. I feel terrible about myself.
I feel like a big, fat failure.
(I HATE these new '“reality series'” where they use the term '“big, fat, obnoxious'” in the title. Such an insult to overweight people. We not obnoxious and it hurts to see the media couple '“obnoxious'” with big and fat.)
I used to be thin. In college I was a size 6. —I was still about 7 pounds overweight at my thinnest. My comfortable, happy set point in college was actually 20 lbs overweight, or size 8. I have all my Levi's still-in sizes from 3 / 4 to 9 /10, and one black leather miniskirt. Would I like to wear those jeans again? Sure I would. Will I? I hope so.
I remember how easy it was to wear clothes. I didn'’t have to look at everything and wonder what fit today.
Will these pants button? Will this shirt pull across my hips? Is this sweater too short because my boobs are so big? I just pulled on a pair of jeans, grabbed a shirt, and I was good to go. No worry.
Yeah, I have clothes I KNOW fit right now. The pants I have on are always good, cuz I bought them a size too big. I have some oversized polos that aren'’t a problem. But now it'’s sweater weather, and I'’m trying on sweaters and crying. They are tight across my chest, or tight across my hips. Or they have round necks (which choke me, I like v and square necks, besides, I have good cleavage). Or they'’re short and my belly hangs out.
I am constantly adjusting my clothing, pulling down my shirt to cover my belly. I fidget. I am uncomfortable in my body, uncomfortable in my clothes. Neither fit who I think I am. I want to dress a certain way; I see the clothes in the catalog that I want. But they don'’t come in my size, or if they did, I know they would look terrible on my spherical body. (My waist is my height, I think.) Some people say, don'’t let being fat hold you back from doing anything. So I should dress how I want, no matter how terrible I look? I dress to hide. I wear dark colors most of the time, black pants, dark blue or green or black shirts.
I feel such pity when I see overweight people wearing inappropriate clothing. I know pity is ego, when I pity someone it'’s because I feel superior to them (and sometimes these people are thinner than me, so how could I be superior?)
My mind has mixed messages about clothing. I walk around the mall (as infrequently as possible) and I see chubby teenage girls wearing low-hipped jeans, skin tight, with tight belly shirts. A roll of fat bulges between the two (nicely pierced most of the time). I think, '“don'’t these girls look in the mirror before they leave the house?'” (But of course they do, they are also wearing approximately two pounds of make-up and five pounds of jewelry.) And then I think, maybe society is changing. Maybe these girls have boys panting after them, maybe boys like that little cushion of fat they'’re displaying.
But models still look like heroin addicts. Most movie stars are bony and unattractive. As long as society'’s ideal is a skeleton with flesh draped over it, how can someone normal- sized (like me in a size 8 or 10) ever feel okay about herself?
Yeah, some guys like their women with meat. (I went out with a boy in high school who also dated several of my friends. And he only dated the overweight ones, even when the skinny ones wanted to go out with him. Did he think fat girls were easy lays? Or did he like his girls padded?) And some honestly don'’t care. (Do you believe that? I don'’t. My husband cares that I am fat. He never would have married me if I was this fat to begin with.)
I get a little confused with this therapy stuff. I am supposed to talk to my body, tell it I love it how it is, and somehow that will make it thinner. How does that work? What alchemy makes '“fat is okay'” into '“Yay, I'‘m thin'”?

Monday, November 08, 2004

blow-up & places fat people can't go

So last night, I'm calmly eating my dinner with my parents and grandmother, and my grandmother goes off on me about how she cried after I left last week because I ate two "huge" plates of pasta (one scoop of pasta on each, not really that much--she eats one forkful and is full cuz she's almost 90) and then I had oreos and popcorn. Yes, I brought the popcorn because she asked me to. She bought the oreos. (and I puked when I got home, not sure what set me off since I had no milk).
She decided that I'm not "allowed" to eat flour or sugar anymore. And she gave me $50 to buy "good" groceries.
It turned into a huge fight. My mother started yelling at my grandmother (her mother) to leave me alone. My father's really sick (basically a terminal illness) and my mom's under a lot of stress. She started crying. Apparently my grandmother's been harping on my mom all week about what I ate on Sunday and my mother's been telling her to drop it. Then because I am an emotional sponge, i started crying. My father, who hates conflict, just got up and left (I think he
hid in the bathroom).
My grandmother started talking about how much I eat, and my husband jumped in and started yelling at her, about how he eats with me every day and I don't eat very much at all. My grandmother says I should eat less. My husband pulls out all the statistics we learned at the bariatic meeting about how diets don't work for people as fat as me.
My grandmother is immovable; she's like President Bush. Once her mind is made up, no other facts can move her.
I suggested that my grandmother give me $20 grand for the surgery. She, of course, knows all about the surgery since "that black guy on tv" had it (Al Roker). And it's "no good." That people who have it have to eat four times a day (horrors) and take "load" of vitamins (2 multi-vitamins a day is "loads?") and their stomachs are so small they can't eat. THAT IS THE WHOLE POINT, GRANDMA.
I love my grandma, don't get me wrong. And I wasn't happy that we were all yelling at each other and crying about how fat I am. But she can't help me just by not buying cookies anymore. It's not about whether I have a few oreos for dessert on Sunday.
One thing I was thinking about this morning that I forgot to report...during the presentation, the bariatric surgeon said that within THREE MONTHS of the surgery, people can sit in a booth again AND fly SouthWest airlines (which descriminates against overweight people by charging them more). Even if I weighed 110 I wouldn't fly SW airlines just to make a statement against their discriminatory policy.
He forgot to mention seatbelts. I can't buckle seatbelts in all cars--I appear gracious by saying
"you can have shotgun, I'll ride in the back" but really I'm afraid the belt won't buckle and it's a
$175 fine for not having the seatbelt on in the front seat.
I am too fat to drive a Chevy S10. My thighs don't fit under the steering wheel and the seat doesn't move. I just don't fit. I borrowed a friend's once--what a mistake. I almost cried. How do you admit you're too fat to fit IN A TRUCK? It's a small truck, yeah, but still!
I don't think I could go into a small cave. I cannot crawl. I can sit on the floor, but not get back up. I can't climb a ladder (they wouldn't hold me even if I had the inclination).
When I sit in an office chair, it gradually s-i-n-k-s. So after a few days I can barely stand up, can't figure out why, and it's because the seat is at the level of my knees, not my butt. Chairs with arms don't get along with me in general. The arms cut into my hips & sides.
Booths--some are good, some not so good. When in doubt, I ask for a table. I have friends that love and adore booths (WHY? what's so great about a booth as opposed to table? Esp in a buffet!) and then when they see how uncomfortable I am, with my stomach so indented that I can't even breathe, much less eat, they get all embarrassed. I had told one friend, "if you get there early, get a TABLE not a booth" and I get there, and she's in a booth. "I like booths better," she says as I squeeze myself in (the booths at Outback are the WORSE, in my opinion--narrow and they have a decorative lip to squeeze by). Then she tries to move the table, which is fixed to the wall. I'm turning purple from lack of air; children think I'm Barney. Blithfully, the skinny bitch says "are you okay?" "No, I told you to ask for a table so I wouldn't have to be embarrassed like this." "I like booths." Well, I DON'T FIT IN A FUCKING BOOTH YOU DUMB WHORE. Jane, you ignorant slut...

Saturday, November 06, 2004

Bariatic Surgery 2 & Being Force-Fed by Mom

This is the third report I've filed via email this week and none has appeared on my blog. I can't get in to edit it either. I wrote to them today. Perhaps magically all this information will appear there soon.
I went out with someone last night who has had bariatic surgery, to talk to her about her experience. She has lost 135 pounds in 2 years.
She had a lap band, which I had originally wanted, but my insurance will NEVER pay for that. They will pay for the stapling/bypass. She knows someone who had the bypass, and said the woman can eat her under the table (and she's no light eater herseslf).
She told me that despite all the pain of gall bladder and gas attacks and how she wanted to shoot herself the first few weeks, she would do it again in a heartbeat.
I guess that's all I really need to know, right?
We talked about things like drinking soda. She still drinks it, and even through a straw, which I guess they tell you is impossible. She said you can eat anything if you're determined enough--that if you soak a devil dog in milk you can force it down. (when's the last time I ate a devil dog? years ago probably) I told her about a woman I met who was on a diet for some health condition, and all she ate for every meal was raw tuna and lettuce (and she stunk of fish, it
was disgusting). She said having no food choices completely freed her. It wasn't confining at all.
Instead of having fifty things to choose from and agonize over, she had nothing.
My friend said that she had to lose 15 lbs before she could have the surgery. The place I'm going to advocates a diet-diet, you know, weighing all your food, eating 1 from this column and two from that. She lost her weight on a version of the Atkins--eating chicken broth and a few oz of chicken for every meal until she went into ketosis. I could deal with that.
It's like the think I'm having right now where ice cream makes me puke. I still WANT ice cream, but I don't have it cuz it makes me puke. If all I could eat was broth and a little meat, I could say, "I can't meet you for dinner, I'm on a chicken-broth fast ordered by my doctor."
But if I just say, "I'm on a diet" you know how it goes-all your friends want to see you fail. "Just have one bite." "Just a nibble." Or, "start your diet again tomorrow."
I just want food to be a non-issue. Today's Friday, and I know from my food logs I rarely have lunch on Friday for whatever reason. So lunch has been removed from my head. But I am thinking about SUPPER already. It's 10:38 a.m. Am I hungry? A little. I might have some crackers around 3 p.m. but I don't want to "spoil" my dinner (whatever it may be).
Spoiling the dinner. isn't that funny? What's that really mean? it doesn't literally make the food go bad. maggots don't erupt on the meat. It means you have food in your belly and you don't WANT to eat your dinner.
I am reading a book my therapist gave me and it talks about eating when you're hungry and sleeping when you're tired. When you're born, that's what you do. but then the doctor tells your mother she has to feed you every 3 hours whether you're hungry or not, and put you down for a nap every afternoon even if you aren't tired, and if you wake up during the night (except to be force fed) wanting to play, that's repressed too.
It's no wonder we all grow up to be fucked up.
Forcing food into our bodies every few hours, according to the CLOCK not according to our sense of hunger. Lying in bed at night, wide awake, but knowing it would be "wrong" to get up and do something constructive (wash the dishes, write your nano novel or even just watch the Science Channel and learn about robotics.) What's that Rolling Stones song..."it's four a.m. don't you people ever go to bed?"
back to surgery...
I also spoke via telephone to a man I know who's had surgery. He lost 180 pounds and still weighs over 300. He had a bypass, maybe 3 years ago? or four? He was extremely sick the first six month to a year, it's very serious surgery, and he's still sick. But I don't weigh anything near 500 lbs, and I'm a lot younger than him.
I want to be thinner, I want to be healthier. But I am so scared of the IV's, the needles, the veins, the blood.

Friday, November 05, 2004

Arms & a Replacement for Food

I have big arms. I don't like to expose them. I wear oversized short-sleeve shirts which hang to my elbow (which is saggy and weird looking).
I don't mind wearing long sleeves, but I dislike wearing sleeves over sleeves. Does that make sense? I hate wearing a coat with sleeves. I'll wear a cape, but not a coat with sleeves over my sweater sleeves. Too much material. I feel like a sausage, or the pillsbury dough boy.
can't remember always feeling this way. I must have like sleeves at some time in the past. But I don't remember when.
So what happens when you've had your stomach done and you can't go out to eat anymore? Where do you hang out? I guess a park, but what about in the winter? in the rain?
There's alwasy the mall, but the mall has food to tempt you, and also mall rats to annoy you. People can come to your house, but what happens when you have guests? What have you been trained to do? Offer your guests food.
How many social rituals revolve around food? (or alcohol) It's like I've already said, that people who have issues with non-food subtances can give them up cold turkey. But us food people, we're screwed. We can't escape it, not ever.
How can I make food not matter? how can I stop caring? Put it on my shopping list BENEATh toilet paper, for instance.
I know it's supposed to be eat to live, not live to eat. And no, I don't live to eat.
But there's a lot of social conditioning around food. And advanced planning. It's not a spontaneous thing. Maybe that's the problem.

Smells & Thoughts

I went to another stomach-stapling meeting the other night. It was strange to be so fat, and know how fat I am, yet to be among the average-to-thin people in the audience. And insurance companies don't want to pay for the surgery anymore because it costs too much. What about all the small costs of being fat & sick which add up to probably well over the $20K? Some of the people there were literally so fat they could barely walk. I can walk with no problem. (not for long/far, though) So do I bow aside to let someone else who needs the surgery more get it done before the insurance cut-off date? or do I say, I am just as entitled to this, even though I am half those people's size. (so you can imagine how large these people are) I saw one woman who didn't fit in the front seat, she had to sit in the back seat of a van with those huge sliding doors. She was one of the ones who could barely walk--she had one of those canes with feet.
I could feel sorry for her and think, how did she get to be so fat, but how did *I* get to be so fat? She probably couldn't say, any more than I can. The worst thing about being in that room was the smell.
I am very sensitive to smells. It's not a smell of sweat. It's a dampy, meaty smell. Not quite like a mushroom (mushrooms are sharper) but similar. The smell of something getting funky in the dark. the original meaning of funky is, of course, being stinky. Here's the defination from (Merriam-Webster online):
Main Entry: funky
Function: adjective
Inflected Form(s): funk·i·er; -est
Etymology: funk (offensive odor)
1 : having an offensive odor : FOUL

I had an overweight neighbor when I was growing up. I liked her. She always smelled very faintly of sweat. These people were not sweaty. Sweat is usually an honest smell. This smell is dark, musty, wrong. Sick.
It remember me of my friend's sister. She made these fabulous cakes. I had eaten a piece of one at a party, and thought it was delicious. Then I met her.
She was extremely overweight, in a very sloppy way. (Do you know what I mean? Some overweight people are neat and tidy and some have flesh slopping all over and they don't give a shit. I like to think I'm somewhere in between.) She had this terrible body odor, so strong it really was sickening. Again, not sweat. My friend said it wasn't her fault, that she had yeast infections all over her skin. Her husband worked in a fish market so I guess he had no sense of
smell or didn't care.
Another time, I was out with my friend and we stopped by his sister's house. That smell permeated EVERYTHING in the house, the way a smoker's house always stinks of cigarettes. I thought I was going to be sick. She was making a cake for someone when we were there, which made me think of the cake I'd eaten in the past which she had made, in that stinking house. She
offered to make one for me as a birthday gift but I declined, saying someone else was already making me a cake, which luckily was true.
Was she a dirty woman? No, her kitchen was clean (as clean as it can be in the middle of a baking project), her house was reasonable neat and picked up. It was just the SMELL.
That's so mean of me, isn't it? But I have such a sensitive nose. I'm sure she washed her hands and utensils and everything. But she just smelled SO FUCKING BAD.
I'm not friends with that person anymore. I don't know if his sister is still fat, still makes cakes, still stinks. I don't think I'd know her face if I saw her in the grocery store. but I'd know her smell anywhere.
I smelled it again at that meeting. I guess it's the smell of being fat. I am terrified of smelling like that.

Monday, November 01, 2004

ASSumptions & therapy

This morning I got up late. Time changes confuse my brain. Is it really 3:30 or 1:30 right now? Hate it. So I had no breakfast. Not that I eat breakfast at home, but sometimes I do.
So I was a little hungry. Last week I bought a couple of packages of $.50 cookies and I had one package left so I opened it and was nibbling on ONE cookie at my desk while waiting for my computer to boot up at work. This woman who works with me comes swooping over and crows triumphantly "I KNEW you were a sugar addict! I knew you ate sugar!" like I had previously denied eating sugar (I only denied drinking coffee, which she can't understand or remember). She wanted to know why I wasn't eating something healthy and offered to cook me pumpkin nut muffins. Gag.
The point is, I didn't even finish that one cookie. The last 1/3 of it is still in the package, with another whole cookie. And I was drinking water with the cookie, when she was probably on her third cup of coffee. But because I'm fat, she feels she has the right to comment on what I eat. She's too skinny and hyper because she drinks coffee all day, do I say anything? No.
After work I went to my first therapy session. I told my therapist about this blog--she is one of two people who know my "true" identity--because these are the issues we need to deal with, and she wants me to journal. So, here's my journal.
I am sick of everything I eat making me sick. I'm tired of food falling out my butt or my mouth.

I want all addiction to food totally lifted from me.

I want all desire for food totally lifted from me.

I want food to stop mattering.

It's not fair that cigarette smokers, alcholics, etc can give up their poison cold turkey 100%. I can't give up food. And is food even my addiction? My husband says that I dislike food, and he's right. I do dislike most food. Food annoys me. It annoys me that I pay $5 for my lunch and 90 minutes later it's in the toilet.
I don't know what my fucking problem is most days.
And she gave me a book to read and eight cds to listen to and a tape that's some kind of daily exercise. And I've got NaNoWriMo to deal with. It's November. ARGH. Freaking out, I am freaking out already. Must go write. No posting to NaNo boards, no writing here unless it's journaling. MUST GO WRITE FICTION.