Current AM weight – 228
Well, I’m starting to feel a lot better. Woke up this morning without my back feeling like it was thrown out of whack from sleeping on my back, propped up by a folded blanket. I don’t watch the clock for when I can take my Tylenol (I really should have opted for the Oxycodin for those first 4 days, let me tell you), and I plan on going out and walking today. Food is less on my mind and slowing down how quickly I eat my three gulps of jello is at the forefront.
I’m still reeling that 1/3 of a Jello cup makes me full. I mean, really? JELLO?
It’s hard to remember not to take big gulps of water, too. I keep getting a huge mouth full of my strange concoction of water/special k protein powder/stool softener (at ease…) and I remember and I have to sit there with water in my mouth, swallowing it slowly. Yeah that sounded weird to me, too.
What shall we talk about today though? Oh, I know. The subject of my “support system” keeps coming up. Honestly, I don’t get why your family wouldn’t support you. I mean, ok I can see a person being maybe jealous – people see the surgery as a quick trip to size 6 jeans. I certainly do not. This was the very last thing option for me. I did not want to do this surgery. At all. I wavered on 60/40 to NOT do the surgery since I started Madigan’s Pathway which was 6 months long. I was so undecided, I gained 10lbs while waiting. =/ But I’ve had a few friends, very few – I’d rather not advertise I’m so over weight that I need surgery – that were perplexed by the idea of me even getting it. That was until I told them how much I actually weighed. That is the beauty of being Brown, my friends. Short and Brown – we carry our weight fabulously, or so I had hoped. Even this morning I told my father (who weighs 140lbs wet and fully clothed) how much my start weight was and even he paused.
“What? Really?”
“Yeah, Dad. I weigh almost as much as Paul, my brother who is a beefy handsome beast who carries his weight in his arms and shoulders.
“Really?”
“Really, really, Dad.”
I had one friend offer to go with me to weight watchers which is something I think I’ll get into to maintain my smaller eating portions when I can eat. Ultimately I decided to do the surgery as I was talking non stop for 30 mins to the psych doctor, the last part of the required ‘pathway’ for the surgery. He was, well bald but I suppose that’s not the point, and very helpful. He just let me talk. You know how helpful it is sometimes to just have a sounding board? Well mine is in South Korea, so this bald guy was plenty fine for me. I talked about how unsure I was about actually going through the surgery. How, damnit, I like to eat and I think I’d really miss eating. Granted it’s only for a short time, but oh my god I LOVE EATING. Then I progressed to talking about the kids, specifically Catherine. Especially how she’s mimicking my eating habits.
“Huh,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“I am fairly certain I am going to go to my car and cry after this.” I did, by the way.
“Why’s that?”
“Because my daughter eats exactly how I do.”
So, that did it for me. The less I snack, the more she’ll see it as a good thing. She talks about wanting to ride bikes with me when I’m skinnier and is genuinely excited for when I can walk more than 50 feet without getting winded. She wanted this for me, so I could be there for her.
Huh. I think I’m going to go and cry again.
