before

We took pictures of me last night, front back and side, the way you are supposed to for your very important Record of Weight Loss, and let me tell you something – there is no fucking way I look like that. No way. That is not how I look inside my head. Oh god, I can't believe that's how I look outside my head. You're beautiful, Guy says, and then I kill him dead because for someone in his condition, it is a cruelty to let him go on.

It is kind of horrible, this mound of flesh I have suddenly become (with a pimply chin. why has my skin gone all to hell(er)?) but I am not entirely in despair, because it will not be for long, it will not be for long, it will not be for very much longer. I am exercising every day – every morning, I do a video called "Walk Away the Pounds!" because I am a dork! And two! And three! And walk! And hate! And walk! And hate! And walk! Into! Your house! And kill! Leslie! Fucking! Sansone! You stupid! Fucking! Whore! And walk! And two! And three!

Also I am doing weight watchers, and I have not had candy in like, three weeks? Four weeks? MANY GODDAMN WEEKS. And I am doing well and proud and getting further away from those photos, but not nearly fast enough to make me happy. I wonder if anything will ever make me happy. We'll see.

In the meantime, I also have to register for the hospital, find a way into San Jose (which is the easy part) and find a way home after surgery (which is the part that will suck), find a hotel room, find time to go to the "pre op class" that the hospital has which I don't understand, fill out the short term disability forms that will let me not lose a million dollars when I'm out of work, confirm with HR, confirm with my boss, stock up on the things I will need after surgery (like Hope and Faith and a gun to shoot myself in the head and also protein drinks and vitamins) and the things I need to take with me into the hospital and call the anesthesiology department about the cost of being knocked out cold, knock on wood, and make an appointment for bloodwork and an appointment to see my regular physician to talk about my bloodwork and an appointment with my surgeon to fill out the last parts of paperwork, including the paper that says yes, I know, my head could explode at any time during this surgery and it totally isn't the doctor's fault, because I shouldn't have had an exploding head in the first place, I am so dumb.

And – is that it? I don't think that's it. That's a lot, and I know there's more, and I am so scared, and so excited, and so terrified and elated and apprehensive about the surgery, and what's going to happen after the surgery, from the small things to the larger, life-changing bits. This shit is scary, and it is huge. Like my before photos.

baby steps

I quit smoking! It has been five weeks. Every one of which has been deeply unpleasant. When I quit smoking (and I have quit smoking many times), I do not ever get to that magical point where people are all evangelical and the smell of cigarettes is just, phew! and ew! and and oh! how could they ever have lived a life full of such poison, rot and stink?

Me, I love smoking. I fucking love it. I will always love it, and it will always love me back. No matter for how long I quit. That is the kind of relationship me and smoking have. We love, we live, we laugh, we get cancer and die – but we die together! And isn't that the important thing? I love you smoking. Wait for me. Stay alive! I will find you! Though probably not.

Quitting smoking was the first step in the whole pre-screening process of processes that come before the major process, with the cutting and chopping and the anesthesia. The next was finding a doctor who would accept my insurance and in return, be accepted by my insurance, and it turns out he exists. Thank you for existing, mr. doctor man.

I went in with Guy for my evaluation and thingums, and I was surprised at how emotional I got, talking about my history of fatness and how I wasn't stupid and my primary care physician says to me "forget weight loss surgery! Just eat less and move more!" as if I am retarded and slow. Like I'm leaving every appointment all "she said I should eat twinkies and float in a vat of pudding! I love weight loss!" As if I have not been trying that for 20 years, up and down and up and down.

Guy was phenomenal and was very interested in the vitamination process, post-surgery. He is making plans about pill boxes with the days of the week and the times of the day, and he is taking off time from work to be around while I am recovering and he is worried for me and proud of me for being brave and he has loved me both fat and thinner and I can't imagine being any luckier.

At the psychologist appointment, the doctor told me I was a very excellent candidate, and he was kind and also supportive and it did not feel as if I were paying him to feel like that. But he asked questions about my relationships and he said – you know they're going to change, right? You know things are going to be different after you lose this weight? It could be good, or it could be bad, but I want you to prepare for it. Your boyfriend might not like you slender; he might not deal well with the attention you get. You might not deal well with the attention you get. Are you prepared for that? I can't imagine things changing; it seems completely impossible. Of course it is possible. Of course I will try to imagine that these things might happen. Forewarned means armed and dangerous.

Oh, this is so much more complicated than I wanted it to be. That does not surprise me, though. Easy way out, my ass.

And after all that, with the waiting and the quitting and the waiting and the talking and the appointmenting, now I have a date for the surgery. I am going in on Tuesday, November 7th. Election day. I elect to be healthy! Hahahaha! Sorry.

I am kind of freaking out, and I can't tell if it is happy EEEEEE or happy OH MY GOD, but from the churning sensation in my gut and the way I am dancing around my desk anyway, I think it might be a little bit of both. Holy, holy shit. I'm doing this. I can't wait to do this.

things as they happen

The sad thing about not chronicling all the seconds that pass as they are passing right that second is that you forget what you've done and what led from A straight through B and C and D and so on. And it is annoying how things keep happening and everything changes and the earth keeps all swinging around the sun and shit. Slow down! Go back! I would like five minutes to enjoy my waffle and my television programs, thank you.

So what has happened, on the macro level, is that I have gone from simply deciding to have weight loss surgery to believing in it and looking forward to it (though I remain terrified of it, on a purely logical and rational basis, because ow, major surgery). It is something that I have stopped being embarrassed to talk about, and now admit to freely, to various reactions. Most of them have been positive. My mother, though – still haven't told my mother. My mother drives me nuts enough as it is.

In the meantime, before I tell you all about the excitement, adventure, and really wild things, I also want to say that I am very excited to be a guest poster on one of my more favorite sites, Big Fat Deal, with the lovely Monique.

I get to post about my very personal knee-jerk reactions to stories about obesity in the news, and point out cool things and talk about interesting things, and I am really pleased to be a part of it. We'd love you to come say hi, and talk all smart in that way that you do.