Another Decision

Back in February, when my boss, my fellow manager and I were sitting around talking about what we would do if the layoff were us, I was definite about what I would do. "I'd wait to qualify for insurance that would cover the lap-band surgery, then run and have it done!" I think some cosmic guide heard the conviction in my voice and said, ok Baby, you asked for it. Because of course it was me that got the axe. It took a while longer than anticipated to be able to qualify, because I'd actually....!!GASP!! planned ahead for my unemployment by stashing my sizeable tax return and my stimulous check in order to stretch my comfort. Now that the bottom has dropped out, so to speak, I am again an insured human being.
It was my first thought after qualifying, and has been on my mind constantly since getting insured. Why? Because sitting around the house has helped me find ridiculous amounts of extra weight I certainly didn't need to begin with. Because I'm not employed, and having surgery wouldn't disrupt me in any way. Because without a doubt, it would be easier to be employed, and to convince people of my capability if I were thinner, as try as they might, they are still prejudiced towards the obese.
I'd decided quite firmly I didn't want my guts chopped up. I don't want the roux-en-y bypass surgery, even with the recommendation of the surgeon here in Lewiston. Who, by the way, thought I was a monster for Wanting to weigh 200 lbs (my comfort goal). I'd be a failure in his otherwise untarnished study, and he refuses to perform the lap band on me because I'm TOO big. Whatever. The reality is that although advised because of impending, future health problems, this surgery is still elective, and as such, I feel that I should be able to pick my own god-damned form of torture. I realize that I'm perhaps too focussed on food, and that I'm ridiculous for not wanting to take the final definitive step, but the thought of never being able to enjoy a diet coke, or a coffee, or celebrate with Christmas Dinner, or taste my sister's cheesecake again...I mean....WTF? Food isn't everything, but raised French, like me, it is a huge part of the love my family shares. I want to have the option to taste, to snack. Never again to overindulge and glut, but at least to say yeah, I can have a bite of that.
So then the doubts start up... even before surgery I have to shed about 40 lbs, maybe more to qualify for the banding. So my rational mind peeps up and says, "Well stupid, if you can shed 40 lbs on your own, why in hell can't you just lose the rest and keep it off?" Keeping it off being the operative suggestion there. I've lost all my weight twice in my lifetime. Once in highschool, and again in college. In college, I didn't see how buff I'd gotten...I was 180, rock hard from walking EVERYWHERE, and stacked like a brick house. I had all kinds of attention, but in my mind I wasn't good enough....because I wasn't 115. That damn number. It's the same number the Lewiston surgeon threw at me as a final goal. FUCK YOU!!
So then I have...Malcolm. LOL, I can't help but laugh when I type his new pseudonym. Malcolm loves big girls. B I G girls...like 300 lbs and up. He's very against this procedure, just wants me to eat healthy and exercize, maybe firm up a bit. Well, he's got his chance I suppose, because I've got to shed the 40 on my own. He's intimated that he may not be so interested if I lose a whole bunch of weight. I don't think I can let that influence me to stay at my present state, because too many things hurt, like knees, and hips, and ankles. And it's harder to breathe, and move, and be spontaneous and fun. I would hope that he'd still care for me a little lighter.
BFF was ecstatic when I talked to him about it. He's wanted this for me for so long, and sometimes I wonder if my increase in size didn't contribute to his infidelities too. He swears no, but a girl has to wonder, especially knowing what turns him on on OBC, and watching porn. He'd even be willing to help with post-op if I needed it, so eager is he to have me take this step. He's a dear in his concern, and has been waiting for 5 years for me to do this. I guess I'll see if the Portland surgeon...just down the street from him, incidentally, will say yes to my wishes, or will try to make me conform to his wishes.
It's not a short road. I started today, and will continue for the next 2-3 months on my own until the tests are done, the classes are taken, and the first 40 lbs are off. After that, probably after the holidays, I'd have the surgery...2 days in the hospital, and 5 days post op remaining within range of the hospital in case of complications. So, a week off and then I'm back in the saddle! The laproscopic surgery is minimally invasive, and recovery is quite speedy. I'm still not 100% sure, but the very least thing I can accomplish is to try, and see how I feel when the final hour comes around.
I want to close by saying I love being a bbw. I love being lush, and curvy, and full. But I don't like being this large because I'm tired, and achy. There are all ranges of being a bbw, and I just want to be further down the scale so that I can have fun and be active again.
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