Well...the decision has been made. The non-refundable deposit has been deposited. And so, on January 12th, 2010, I will go under the knife and become what they call a "bandster". My gastric band surgery will be, I very much hope, the finale in a lifetime of (failed) weight loss attempts.
I've always been the fat chick. I probably started realizing that I was a fatty in about grade one. My mother was very vocal about how much fatter I was than the other little girls (although now, looking back at photos, I was NOT...however...I digress). I really embraced the fat girl persona. I actually love being the fat girl! Seriously! I swear, I'd tell you if I didn't! I'm funny, smart and pretty, so being a fatty hasn't held me back like it might have held some girls back. I've enjoyed it. I absolutely LOVE having big boobs, and being soft...I seriously DO like myself. So why commit to a surgically invasive, possibly dangerous, OUTRAGEOUSLY expensive procedure in order to permanently (although reversibly) change my eating habits? Well...there are a few reasons: first of all, while I love being a fatty, I seem to have, while I wasn't paying attention, slipped into a category I believe is known as "deathfat". Morbidly obese. Actually, I think I may even be beyond that, at SUPER obese! Really, where is there to go from here other than washing myself with a rag on a stick and waiting for Jerry Springer and his crew to come and remove a wall from the living room to get me out of my house? That's one. Second, I hurt my knee last February, and I need to have it repaired...it has been suggested to me that I might not even be a candidate for knee surgery if I don't weigh less. Thirdly, I have 2 gorgeous little boys, aged 9 and 3, and I'd love to not die of a massive coronary in front of them. So really, this seemed like the only option left.
While I may seem cavalier about all of this, really I'm not. I'm pretty deeply ashamed that I have to go to this length to lose weight, and that I've let things get to this point. But this blog isn't about that so much as it's about journaling the experience, and giving myself something to look back on so I remember and don't ever end up here again.
Today I got my package from the SWLC. Lots of paperwork. An impressively vivid release form for me to sign. And some skin wash for me to use pre and post operatively, which for some reason really freaked me out. Yesterday and today are the first days I've really let myself think about this. Prior to this, I haven't been able to think about it, and I certainly haven't been able to TALK about it. Only a few people know, and I'm hoping to keep it that way. My husband, my parents, my brother, and 3 select, very close friends. Other than that, I'm really wanting to keep it quiet. So shhhh.
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