I'm Wigging Out!!

 Carolyn my dear,

I think I'm buying a wig. OMG! I'm cracking myself up. It was so much fun to go through all the Amazon pages and imagine the fun of putting a different color on daily and just having fun. You know, that's what's missing in so much of what we do: the fun.

It's an interesting notion, if you think about it. There are so many moments daily where you can stop and take a moment of gratitude, or pride or pleasure and that's your day. But fun. The joy of being silly or inventive or just doing that thing that makes you laugh because it's good fun.

So this weekend has been about getting things done. The dryer is finally fixed so 3 loads of laundry got done. I cleaned my closet so it now reflects more of what I want. I put my beginning Bariatric hoard into plastic so it's organized. I redid my food log and my activity log. I went to the dump. I cleaned the floor. I'm really pleased with everything that's done but I can't say there was any fun in it.

WIGS

This was fun. Especially with the knowledge that post surgery you're practically guaranteed hair loss and that isn't fun at all. This is such a nice way to acknowledge that but to do it with pizazz.

Anyway, I've been thinking about looks/body/appearance and having some thoughts. A lot more thoughts than I want to try and discuss in this post. But following Bariatric support groups and blogs, it's hard not to notice that a huge part of the journey for a lot of women is to wear fashion. To dress like the other women. It's about being able to blend in, something you never feel like you do when you're fat. When you're fat you always stand out from the crowd. Your size is a neon light. Even if nobody is looking at you, when you're fat you know the entire world is staring at you. And judging harshly.

(We judge ourselves so severely, we can't believe the world isn't doing the same. The greater truth is that when you're fat. you're invisible because you're not the proper kind of feminine. If a man doesn't want to put his penis in you, you basically cease to exist.)

And my mind starts to skip along and I wonder if I really want to blend in? Do I want to disappear? Do I want to blend into the crowd and find a new way to not be seen?

Would that be any fun?

Anyway, I don't have any easily found answers right now. I'm in the beginning of this journey and asking the questions. There's a lot of questions.

I love you friend. We'll talk later.

Starting the Hoard

 Dear Carolyn,

I should start taking pictures and posting them here. Give you an idea of where I'm at, what I'm doing...

Anyway, I got my first bariatric delivery from Amazon. 12 Premiere Protein Chocolate/Peanut Butter protein shakes and 10 Lemon Pepper Tuna packets. I'll be living on Protein Shakes for a long while before and after surgery. From the sounds of it, protein shakes and supplements become a mainstay of a person's diet. So I'm planning on buying plenty.

I have to keep a food journal which I started a couple of days ago. I really don't have enough protein in my diet. 

Last night Myrna made pork chops, scalloped potatoes and salad for dinner. It was very delicious and very filling and a little heart breaking to think that this is going away soon. Soon, of course, being relative. 

OMG! I just got my appointment for EKG and Pulmonary Function test for next week Thursday. But I have to have a Covid test on Monday (yeesh and yuck). This is Lori pushing her agenda forward. 

This is a good moment. You know the roller coaster that emotions are so when things fit well, it's so special. That's how I feel right now. 

The electrical problem we had is hopefully fixed which means I get to spend this weekend doing my laundry. I'm ready to wash everything I own. You know what a pain this has been so yay to it getting fixed. 

Oh God Carolyn, I have to get a nasal swab Covid test. No matter how nice life is, they're going to poke my brain with an xtra large q-tip.  LOL!!

Lori

The Rabbit Hole of Obsession

 Dear Carolyn,

I've been lost in a rabbit hole of bariatric surgery information. Joining online support groups, watching TikTok bariatric videos, reading articles and books and rewatching videos sent from my bariatric team.

And last night I melted down.

I knew it was coming. Obsession like that is a combination of needing to become a personal expert, needing to prepare and needing to hide. As long as I'm "doing my research" then I'm not dealing with the real issues. You know: like having the first surgery of my life or not being able to eat. Or having a future as a skinny person.

Or what will I do with all the excess skin?

So last night the lights went out and my brain was banging crazy in my head and I needed to slow it all down. So I put on Psyche by JooHoney/Jooheon and I cried. I cried because I'm terrified. I cried because I don't want to fuck this up. I cried because I love Patty melts and I'll bet I won't be eating those anymore. I cried because I can't imagine what my future looks like and I feel paralyzed.

I'm trying to power forward. To be as prepared as possible. Think ahead, plan ahead. Remember that I'm doing this to get surgery on my knees and stop living in pain. To be mobile again. To walk down stairs while facing forward (yeah, I can't do that).

But then I think about how I always sabotage myself and how will I do that in this instance? Can I ot do that this time/ How will I know I've got this? 

I probably have about 3 months before surgery. That's a lot of time t prepare. To hopefully calm down. To get a plan in place. I'll take advantage of any therapy/counseling offered and I'll definitely continue post surgery.

Oh yeah... and I need (for myself) to take some pics in my undies to start recording the journey. Stay away from your text messages for awhile. I don't promise not to share.

Lori

How Much Intestines Do We Need Anyway?

 Dear Carolyn,

it's a good thing I don't believe in portends or signs or I'd be in big freaking trouble. I had my first bariatric appointment today and then on the way home my car tire shredded (literally shredded) and I was abandoned on the side of a road with no cell phone service) (Angels everywhere though and people did try to help).

Anyway, I will be getting the surgery. There's a choice of 2: full gastric bypass or gastric sleeve. I need to have more conversations with other people to know which to do. But I'm figuring by the end of January it should happen. 

I don't know how to feel about the whole thing. I mean, we both know that losing weight is something I can do. Keeping weight off is not. The surgery will take the weight off and if I'm willing to work with the team and d the real work of taking care of me, then the weight should stay off. Which means knee surgery in my future and a visit to Japan to see Mollie and walk the wild streets.

But weight Carolyn. Talking to a woman about weight is more than numbers or intentions or dietary misdeeds and good doings. It's a lifetime of never being pretty enough, skinny enough, worthy enough. Gaining weight as a teenager was a way to create a boundary of fat to keep my father's hands off me. It was a wall to hide behind. It was the most necessary and hated part of me.

Can I be thin? I don't know how to be thin. If I don't have my buffer of fat then what do I rely on? If I'm rejected I lose the convenient excuse of my weight to blame. When I fail then I fail, not my weight.

God, it's a ridiculous door to open. That room where weight resides is the worst room in the house. Created as one thing, turned into a half dozen other. It's a million excuses, even more heartbreaks and it's comfortable. So comfortable to have this fat to hide behind.

You and I will have a lot of conversations about this one, honey babe. I'd suggest you bring snacks, you might need it  ;)

Lori

My Sexuality is Marie Kondo Asking: "Does it Spark Joy?"

 Dear Carolyn,

I can't say it's been a long time since we talked because I just hung up the phone after talking to you. But there's so many changes from day to day and I'm sitting in my bedroom right now and wishing we had so much more time to talk and really say... everything.

I've been spending the last few days living amidst physical chaos as I'm trying to organize my bedroom into a working space, hobby space and living space. That's a lot to do to one little room. But now that I'm working from home it feels like my bedroom is becoming a lot more an office space and I don't want that to be its definition. 

Transitioning to working from home has been really interesting. But that is a blog post in itself. I think where I'm feeling the most lost is trying to bring my hobbies/interests into my space. Also because I don't know exactly where my interests currently lay. I  don't feel overly motivated to sew, I haven't had a new pig skull to decorate in ages and I fucked up my knitting project and need some help to get it back on track.

I did find a fabric stash (yay cleaning!) that I had plans to make something for Mollie and I'm thinking that maybe I should noodle on that. 

Anyway, I still have some more reorganizing to do in my closet and then I think I'm done. I should probably fold my pants and put them in a drawer instead of hang them and then I can display my purses. I might now have the 100s that I covet but I do like what I have and it would give me pleasure to have them out.

I'll talk to you tomorrow, friend. I meet the bariatric surgeon and his team in the morning and I have a feeling that's going to be interesting/

Dating?

 I'm 62. That's 62 years of age. Not 62 inches tall because I'm not. I'm 60 inches tall if I stand straight. Which I don't. Stand straight, that is. So I'm a short, round old woman with two bad knees that make me wobble and lurch...

you get the picture. I'm old.

And someone wants to date me.

He's a nice guy, named John. Not a romance hero by any means. He smokes too much and talks too much. I think I say a sentence once every 15 minutes. But... he's nice. And he has a good heart. And he likes me. I mean, I kind of don't really see myself in a relationship because I just don't and I don't always answer his calls and I haven't tried to get together with him and then I called him with a work thing and he practically jumped through the phone and was like "yeah! And then you'll have lunch with me!" and I said yes because he was so happy saying it and I was like, okay...

I want to be excited but I'm not. Why can't I see myself relaxing into dating someone? Everyone tells me that companionship is worth it and again, he's a nice man and I'm too old to really believe that one of my K-Pop boys is going to wake up tomorrow wanting an old, broken woman.

Is it possible that I really do like myself enough not to need another? Is it because my vagina is old and uninterested? Am I waiting for Hawaiian George Clooney? Or am I so damned scared I can't even acknowledge it?

There's a part of me that thinks maybe I can go to his house and just hang out with him. Maybe we could watch a video and just hang out. Maybe if I could stop thinking about how much I don't want to date I could just be.

Anyway, it is a compliment to have someone excited about going out with me. I just wish I was excited also.

Memories

 I recently saw an ad on Instagram for a journal to be written by mothers to their daughters. I had a small snicker at the idea of Mollie reading my memories and rolling her eyes. "You already told me that story," she'd mutter.

She says that every time.

Maybe it's about getting older or maybe it's just the idea of how small but special our lives are. But those things we remember, those small moments from our life that remind us of moments that have passed...

I remember the house in Laurelhurst. That was the only house we ever lived in that was my home. When I dream of going home, it's always to that house. My only real home.

It was a red brick house. I remember the brick stairs at the front of the house and a rhododendron bush on each side. My mother loved rhododendrons. The side of the house had a brick wall and iron gate which led to a small side yard. There was nothing special about the side yard but I remember it being so green and lovely. And quiet. Did I spend much time there? I don't know if I did but I feel like it was someplace I hid with a book.

But the memory I have: the cherished memory of a moment that meant nothing but I remember as clear as yesterday was sitting on the front step. I was a chubby girl, I was wearing shorts. It was a warm spring day. I remember the coldness of the brick under my skin. Even today, I can perfectly recollect that feeling of the cold brick, the warm sun and how it felt.

Memories are funny things. As I remember that moment, as my body slips right back into that feeling I'm still that girl. I'm always that girl. I'm a 62 year old woman with shot knees and a shuffling gait, but I'm that girl feeling the cold brick under her skin, the only home she will ever know behind her back and the endless wonder of a warm spring day.