I'm Fat. There. I Said It.

I’m fat.  (Or as my imaginary best friend, Rachel Hollis says, I have fat).

There. I said it.

And immediately I hear all of your voices in my head:

“No, you are not!”
“But you are so tall, you carry it well!”
“Whatever…you are beautiful.” 

And it’s not that I don’t value all of your opinions, but I’ll go with the lady who went to school for at least eight years, studying all things medical, who wrote “morbid obesity” on my chart.  MORBID!  Like, you are going to die from this.

So, for once, I am making an investment in myself. I LOVE investing in others!  Always have and probably always will.  Like I have said before, I’m the friend that people come to when they are in distress.  I’m the lady in the store that random strangers just start talking to about their problems.  But I have realized that I am the one whose body is in distress, and I am the one who has a problem.  So, instead of adding savings to my kid’s college tuition, I’m handing over a wad of cash to a very well-trained surgeon who will perform gastric sleeve surgery on me tomorrow.  Because, MORBID!  If something doesn’t change, I may not even see them go to college.

I’ll pause while some of you pass judgment.  Let me know when you are ready to proceed…

To answer your first question – Yes, I have tried everything.  Weight Watchers, Adkins, going to the gym, hiring a trainer, Weight Watchers again, Adkins again, cutting dairy, cutting sugar, Whole 30, the list goes on and on.  And I could (and have) used the excuse of the bulging discs, asthma or other ailments that get in the way, but they are just that…Excuses. Here’s the truth: I lack discipline.  I hate exercising.  I love birthday cake and lattes. I care more about others than I do myself.  

So, it’s time for extreme measures.  i.e. forking over a ton of money and removing part of my stomach.  Go big or go home. 

Today is the day before surgery.  I’m enjoying some delicious clear liquids like chicken broth, popsicles, Gatorade.  You know…the good stuff.  And while I’m sipping on a delicious cup of decaf coffee with no cream or sugar, I’m dreaming of life after surgery.  Here are some of the things I look forward to:

• Seats – As in, fitting my butt into them comfortably (especially airplanes seats!)
• Superfly clothes.  Sorry Lane Bryant and Torrid.  You ladies have been good to me, but it’s time to move on.

• Shaving my legs without having to be a contortionist.  My plus-size ladies know what I mean.
• Finding my breath.  I lose her a lot these days.
• Crossing my legs like a lady instead of a man! 
• Playing outside with my kids.  Like, vigorously playing.  Hiking, exploring, bike-riding, jogging.  Whatever they want to do!
• Really good sex!  Don’t get me wrong, sex now is good, but come on!!  Sex minus 50 or more pounds is going to be REALLY good!

I better stop there.  

I know I said I was doing this for myself, but maybe I am doing this for someone else.  Maybe I’m doing this for the 12-year-old-girl whose grandfather made her feel overweight when she probably wasn’t.  Maybe it’s the 15-year-old girl who always compared herself to her thinner friends.  Maybe it’s the 25-year-old woman whose boyfriend always told her how fat and worthless she was.  But it’s not about them anymore.  

Tomorrow I am saying good-bye to not only physical weight but emotional weight as well.  I know it’s not going to be easy.  In fact, it’s going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done!  Remember Vince?  The therapist from my first post?  I’m sure we’ll be spending a lot more time together, but at least I’ll take up less of the turquoise couch.