The Agony and the Ecstasy

Urgh.

Waiting and prepping for VSG ain't for sissies. I keep hoping the back-and-forth pendulum swing of excitement, doubt, worry, anticipation, excitement, repeat ad nauseam will stop--or at least slow down--but so far, no go.  It's a great way to make yourself feel pretty well discombobulated.  Don't get me wrong, I am still all in favor of the need for this surgery.  It's not a passing interest, and I am doing my best to educate myself and absorb all the information I can about the multiple ways my life and eating habits MUST change in order for me to have any long-term success, post-op.

That's my agony.  The waiting, the anticipatory worry.  The not knowing exactly when this all will fall into place so that I can say, "my operation date is _____________" and make all the arrangements I need to make ahead of time.  Right now, we're in the hurry-up-and-wait phase.  Crayzee making, is what it is.  Deprived of hard, cold information, my imagination goes haywire and sets me up for stressing over all the things I can't possibly control.  Like worrying over complications; worrying about inevitable hair loss; worrying over whether I'll be a relatively fast healer (as I was for each of my Cesarean sections a decade and a decade and a half ago), or whether I'm going to still be feeling like the north-pointing end of a south-walking cow weeks after I'm home.  Worrying over what my operation date is going to be, and whether I'll be able to heal quickly enough to be at 100% efficiency when school reopens in September.  Ideally, I want my procedure done during the summer--but whether or not that happens is dependent on things like how quickly I'm able to get through all the appointments and classes that are required, which, again, I can't really control; I have to take 'em when they're available.

Achieving a zen-like calm is not as easy as you might think.

The ecstasy is at least not making me toss and turn at night.  Mostly, I'm ecstatic about the way I hope to feel and look, a few months post-op.  A year afterwards, I'm expecting to have the BEST summer ever.  I intend to get out in the world, go to the beach during actual operating hours instead of waiting until after dinnertime so that fewer people see me in a bathing suit.  I'm wondering what it might feel like to be able to buy gorgeous renfaire garb in a much smaller size, what it might be like to be SO proud of how I look in a narrower bodice, and  maybe even wear a *gasp* calf-baring skirt.  To be able to buy boots that aren't made for "wide calves".  To be able to shop for work clothes and jeans and cute tops at a store that ISN'T plus sizes only.  Wow. 

That ecstasy is going to be what I cling to when I'm in pain, when I'm questioning my choice; when I'm feeling overwhelmed by new eating rules, when I'm tempted to make old, familiar, bad eating choices and avoid exercise.  I'm going to keep the image of a more slender me right up in front of my eyes, even before it's real.  And that's how I'm gonna make it become real. 

What do you cling to for mental strength and motivation?  Comments, please!

I'm still pre-op, and still feeling pretty new to the entire VSG process, so I'd like to hear from you about your experiences so far.

• If you could tell a noob like me only THREE things-- to remember about the journey, to do either pre-or post-op, or to understand about VSG, what would they be?

• What are your favorite ways to beat the old, bad habits that brought you to needing VSG? 
  (Do you exercise to distract yourself?  Eat healthier snacks when you're craving greasy/sweet ones?  Have you taken up a new hobby to replace boredom eating?)

Tell all of us about it in the comments section!
Hope your weekend has been a great one--brace yourselves, Monday is coming.  *sigh*

My Post-Op Promise.

***Cross Posted from the VST Forums***

My post-op promise (for when I get there):

Well, I could say I swear to forever and always give up sweets and carbs, but I know myself, and that's not realistic. One day, post-op, I will indulge in a nibble or two, and be able to step away from the sugars.
I could say I swear to work out for two hours a day, 7 days a week, but unless I've fallen through a rip in the time-space continuum into an alternate universe, I'm gonna have to go with "nope" on that as well.

But here's what I can promise. I solemnly swear not to be one of those post-WLS folks who feel so pleased with their own success and progress that they then look down on obese people who haven't made changes. I will never hate on any non-WLS person.

What makes me say this right now? (Apart from the fact that I'm just not that mean?) I've been reading around the internet, looking at WLS blogs that are scattered across various sites, reading Facebook profiles that were linked to the authors of those blogs, and stumbled across someone's public Facebook photo of an extremely obese woman who was out running her errands (shopping and whatnot). This woman most likely had NO idea she was being photographed, and the picture is certainly not flattering. The caption mentioned how the photographer felt "sick to their sleeve" after looking at the obese lady.

Wow.

Now, I don't know the photographer from Adam's left ox; I just happened to stumble across them while internet-wandering, and they had publicly posted photos--the pics weren't hidden in any way. I clicked away from that Facebook profile feeling sad and disgusted that someone who bragged about conquering their food challenges and accepted lots of public back-patting for it would then skewer another human being who hasn't been able/brave enough/informed enough to take the same steps.
So, I am publicly promising never, EVER, to be that catty and smug about whatever progress this tool brings my way. I will never, EVER judge someone else who isn't on the same path as my own. Weighing less won't turn me into a rude or obnoxious person, any more than being heavy makes me one.

You can all hold me to it.

Saturdaze, and the Living is Easy.

I love love love the weekends.  It's my unwind/de-stress/de-tox from the week time.  I sleep late--one of the joys of having two teenagers is that they love sleep almost as much as I do; gone are the days of 7:00 a.m. "Mommmmmm, I'm hungryyyyyy" calls from the living room. 

The weather here has finally realized it's spring, and today the sky is a brilliant Wedgwood blue.  It's the kind of day that makes you happy to be alive. At least until you realize there's a mound of laundry big enough to be best friends with Marjory the Trash Heap from Fraggle Rock.  Sigh.  Looks like the only other colors I'll be staring at today will be the ones in the laundry basket, while I separate them from the whites.  Wheee!

I don't know how often you've wandered through the blog-o-verse, looking for WLS blogs, or blogs about healthy eating, but so far I've found two that I am head-over-bellyflab in love with.  I thought I'd pass them along, in case you might find them interesting, too. 

One, called The Waning Woman, is a journal of one sassy Texan lady's progress with her gastric vertical sleeve surgery (the same operation I'm gearing up for).  I absolutely LOVE her writing style; she tells it like it is with sass and humor and good grace, whether the scale does what she wants every day or not.  Reading her blog is what inspired me to start this one.  (And I mean that once I read her first entry, I could NOT stop reading until I finished every entry--from 2010 till 2013.  It's THAT good.)  Go check her out!

The other of my favorites so far is The World According to Eggface.  Shelly has the classic gastric bypass; the one most people probably think of first when they hear "weight loss surgery".  Her experience with living post-op has led her to create her blog, with tons and TONS of healthyyummyeasy recipes suitable for weight loss surgery patients.  I want to hurry up and get to post-op solid food eating LIKE RIGHT NOW, so I can start trying her recipes on my sleeve! (Patience was never my strong suit, but come on, you go look at her food photos and try telling me your mouth doesn't start waterin'.)

I'm so grateful for these resources, along with the Vertical Sleeve Talk forums--they have already helped me to envision a life after surgery.  Despite my periodic fears and neurotic worries about the entire thing, I find a lot of comfort in the knowledge that every step of the way, I have no reason to feel like I'm struggling on my own.  Someone--in fact, LOTS of someones--has been down a similar path, and they are incredibly willing to offer the wealth of their experiences with new people.  It's pretty damn inspiring.  Oh, and if you're not a sleever, but you're maybe a gastric bypass or lapband patient, there's forums for you too!  Start at MyBariatricPal and you can find your specific procedure's forums from there.

That's really the reason for this blog.  I'm hoping to not only put my thoughts and emotions "out there" to help me work through 'em; I would LOVE for my ramblings to offer support and solutions for anyone else who is also working their way to better health through WLS. 

So, in the interest of casting information as widely as possible, imma share a video that I saw yesterday on the Waning Woman's blog.  It's about an hour long--I know, but I promise, it's WORTH IT--and it will turn a blazing spotlight on the way our bodies really work when it comes to weight gain and weight loss.  Please watch it, and share it along to your friends, too!

Watch 10 Things You Need To Know About Losing Weight on PBS. See more from KPBS Presents.

In a shameless act of reposting something funny that I read elsewhere on the 'net, I will now shamelessly repost something funny that I read elsewhere on the 'net. 
In the interest of full disclosure, it's from a blog on the verticalsleevetalk.com website, called "Gastric Sleeve Surgery - An Unexpected Journey", where the blogger was relaying great comeback-answers for how to explain weight loss surgery scars to any busybodies you may encounter post-op.  They were giggleworthy enough that I had to share a few of my favorites!

So where'd you get those scars?

"The first rule of Fight Club is 'don't talk about Fight Club'."

"Remember when your mom told you not to run with scissors?"

 "I was at this party with Marilyn Manson and everyone was giving out hugs."

"Oh these? Hmm, I dunno, they’ve just always been there. Well, I mean, ever since I took over this body, anyway. Strange, don’t you think?"

And my #1 favorite...*drum roll*

"Tell them you are trying to avenge your father and ask if they have six fingers on their right hand."

I swear, I WILL use that one, at any given opportunity.  YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

If you are a pre-or post-sleever, do check out www.verticalsleevetalk.com, it's a great community with lots of friendly people who are willing to share their stories with us noobs.  Can't have too much of that, can ya? Got any snarky comebacks like those above to share?  There's always room for some playful snark at my table--post the snappy patter below in the comments section!

Spring has Sprung--Sorta. *squish squelch drip*

It's a dreich day here in the House of SleevahDiva.  (Find your favorite Scotsman to figure out that word, iffin you don't already know.)  I dont' know about you, but the weather often affects my mood; in the winter I have a mild--or at least tolerable--case of Seasonal Depressive Disorder.  I don't go around wearing sackcloth and ashes, or shoving little old ladies and small children off of busy curbsides, but I do feel...just...meh, from December till March.  One-third of my life is a little too much to feel generically blah, but it lifts like clockwork, as soon as we make the time change and "spring ahead".  (Like clockwork.  See what I did there?  Wokka-wokka!)

Spring in New England is kind of a myth.  We have several weeks of pseudo-spring, a time when Old Man Winter gets rigor mortis and refuses to let us out of his dead, scraggly, frostbitten grasp.  Then comes Mud Season.  It rains, looks gray, clears for a minute or two (often at night; Mother Nature's humor is fiendish sometimes), then rains some more.  Usually right around the time you're considering converting the lawn furniture in storage into a green, plastic ark, the leaves suddenly erupt from every branch and bud.  This, of course, ushers in Pollen Season.  During those couplethree weeks, you pray for rain to return and rinse away the yellow tree-sex dust.  Hay fever's red, watery eyes become a fashion accessory, and post-nasal drip is de rigeur.  Then it becomes humid and swampassery abounds--ah, New England summer.

So, yeah. I'm guessing we're on the cusp between Mud and Pollen.

In other news, today I made a few more appointments related to the VSG pre-op process.  My first and second psychology evaluations are set to go in about two weeks. Then right after my second psych visit, I have an ultrasound and EKG the following day.  A week and a half after that, I'll have my second nurse-practitioner visit.  Whew!  That's probably more medical evals and office visits in a single month than I've had in the last decade or so.  (Ummmmyeah, I haven't always been a reliable patient when it came to annual checkups.  See also: Reasons My Health Could Be Better Than It Is.)

I can't decide if this pre-surgery stage is clunking along slower than a wheezing, backfiring jalopy, or flying by at ultra warp speed.  There's SO much to take in, so much to wrap my brain around, and sometimes I'm worried that I can't possibly absorb and process it all.

I know that I'll probably have tough days that make me wonder if surgery is/was the right decision for me, but I don't want to decide that I made a mistake.  When I'm brutally honest with myself, I know to my fat-buried bones that I'm not going to make enough changes on my own.  I've given up on being the yo-yo diet girl.  No more losing twenty and regaining forty-six, or losing thirty-two and regaining fifty.  So, that means either I keep doing what I'm doing--i.e., NOTHING--and continue expanding till someone needs to knock out a wall and hire a crane to pry my fat bee-hyne out of my house for my funeral, or I accept that if there is going to be any help for me, it has to include something as "drastic" as WLS.  I'm not going to find lasting success any other way; and if I don't find that success, my obesity will kill me.  Kill me dead.  Steal me from my children and my loved ones, and cheat me of time that could have been spent together.  It might happen in a year or in fifteen, or maybe I'll make it to retirement; but I won't live my full measure of years, and it will be due to my poor choices coming home to roost, with me unequipped to un-roost them in time to make a difference. My fat will put me in the ground, if I don't take this step.

Every time I find myself in doubt, I need to remember that.  The clock is ticking, no moment that passes will ever return, and there's a chance for me to rescue myself.  All I have to do is be brave enough to grab it. 
I can do this.  I must.

What keeps you motivated and sure of your course?  Tell me in the comments section!

To Tell or Not to Tell?

Another question for veterans of weight-loss surgery, and those who are considering it:
 
Would you/Did you tell people in your life about your surgery?  Beforehand, afterwards, both or neither?

Part of me is pretty sure it's really nobody's damn business.  The other part of me says "yeah, but if not for hearing success stories and encouragement from people who'd had the surgery, I wouldn't be on this path, so why not share it?  Maybe I can pay it forward..."  
There are people in my family that I won't be telling beforehand; mostly because they will get so wound up and anxious themselves that it will set up a cycle of angst.  Their anxiety will lead them to question my choices, which will make me defensive, which will make them more upset, yadda yadda.  Better to keep it to myself until it's a done deal.  At least, that's how I feel about it at the moment; maybe I'll change my mind and want to tell everyone, I really don't know yet.

What was/is your policy about telling people about your WLS?  
    

Is it Possible to Have Buyer's Remorse BEFORE Making the Purchase?!

Whew.  Just finished reading an 11-page forum thread titled "Would You Have WLS Again"?   It's definitely a hot topic, with people passionately defending both the "FUCK yeah" and "hell NO" sides of the issue.

After reading some of the concerns from the "no way" camp, I've succeeded in freaking myself out a good bit.  I really hope I don't end up with deep, lasting regrets.  I'm funny that way; sometimes I bounce back after a disappointment, other times I fall into a huge slump over things that go poorly.

I need to do my best to make sure I'm going into this procedure with both eyes wide open.  I could end up with complications.  I could be staying longer in the hospital than I expected.  I could have any number of long-term issues, not least of which is death.  (It doesn't get much more long-term than that, does it?)

Well, as someone far wiser than myself once noted, "the wee hours of the morning are no time to make life-changing decisions."  So I'll go tuck myself in to bed and percolate on all this for now.  Good night--erm, good morning, technically. 

Hospital Bag Wish List--Never Too Soon to Plan!

Just on the off chance that a few VSG/WLS people wander on through here at some point, I'd like to make a request.

If you're post-op, scroll down to the comments and list the thing(s) that you would consider absolute must-haves for your hospital stay. Right now, I'd say "OMGIjustGOTTAhavemylaptopANDmyNookANDmycellphone", but...I'm guessing that's not utterly practical.  
So, what do you consider essential to bring along for those few days?  Clue me in!

I'm A Self-Sabotage Overachiever.

I just read a pretty great article called Avoiding All Or None Thinking, and it resonated with me like one of those gigantic Chinese gongs.  Not only have I often been my own worst enemy when it comes to weight gain and trying to lose weight, but I have to agree with the article--I've often sabotaged my own damn self by setting my standards impossibly high.

Case in point: every time I resolve to excercise, if I actually follow through and DO the workout, I am never satisfied with doing the normal 20 or 30 minute process.  Nope.  I have to push myself to the absolute limit.  If I'm doing a DVD workout that tells me to use 5-lb. hand weights, I gotta be Workout Badass Girl and grab 10-lb. weights PLUS ankle and wrist weights.  If I convince myself to go out for a walk, then I'm speed walking as fast as I can for at least 80% of the time.  If I dust off my ancient "Sweatin' to the Oldies" tapes and Richard Simmons chirps at me to "go get two soup cans" to use as light hand weights, you know my dumb ass is raiding the cupboards for the Sam's Club-sized, feed-the-entire-congregation, #10 cans of cling peaches in heavy syrup and duct-taping them to my sweaty paws.  Then, when I wake up the next day, feeling like I've been run over by a tank brigade in my own personal Battle of the Bulge(s), I throw a pity party for how much it hurrrrrrts.  By the time the soreness and stiffness wanes, I've usually made up my mind to avoid EVER exercising again.

It's a pretty brilliant (if rather warped) strategy, really.  I'd make the effort--nay, I would make MORE of an effort than any rational human could possibly expect of me--then I'd wallow in self-pity while simultaneously gloating that I had worked SO hard; and then I'd flounce away, feeling justified in giving up.  Food would be my consolation prize for the way exercise had betrayed me.

And that's just one aspect of the entire self-sabotage campaign.  I have been known to follow that all-or-nothing mindset in choosing what I eat during a diet, in following the guidelines of whatever program I happen to be on that time around, and in measuring my progress.  Every time the results bit me in my expanding butt, EVERY time the scale stopped moving, or (gasp!) moved in the wrong direction, I would wallow and flounce. The usual result was that I gained back everything I had lost, and then some, which only fed my negative attitude about my body.

If I am going to move forward and become a successful sleever--and I SHALL--it's pretty apparent that I am going to have to drop my all-or-nothing mindset in the biohazard bucket, along with 80% of my stomach.  I'm going to have to be my own biggest fan, buy some pompoms, and recruit myself to lead Team Diva's cheering squad.  Learn to accept setbacks (even the ones that are minor) with grace and resolve, rather than hissy fits and Hagen-Dazs.  That may be the biggest challenge of all, but I'm determined to make it!

What have your mental stepping stones and attitude stumbling blocks been?  Tell me about it in the comments! 

Golly, it's an awfully long one for my first time! ::insert "that's what she said" punchline here::

So. 

Here I am.  And there you are.  Hello, by the way.  Thanks for stopping in and joining me on this little circus of the macabre---I MEAN MY FIRST BLOG ENTRY.  Yes, that. I warn you, I'm a wordy gal.  I intend to use this blog to help me document and work my way through the life changes that loom on my horizon, and I tend to do that with a lot of wordage.  Be warned:  if a tweet makes you want to say "TL; DR" and run, this will probably make you want to scoop your eyebulbs out with a rusty melon baller.  I may not always be so wordy, but when I have a lot on my mind, I yammer.  I blither and I babble.  Welcome!
Let's get started, shall we?
 
A couplethree months ago, I was talking (well, textchatting, but you don't really care about that distinction all that much, do you?) to my good friend Itsi.  This is--quite obviously--not her real name, but I've known her that way for years, so the name works quite well.  Itsi has been an inspiration to me along those years of friendship.  Although we are separated by a large distance in terms of miles, she has always been among my very favorite people.  

Itsi started a journey of her own, a year or two ago, and she's come so amazingly far, that it brainboggles me to contemplate it.  It's her story, so I won't presume to tell it, but in a shiny little nutshell, Itsi took a big step toward regaining health and happiness.  She opted for a vertical sleeve gastrectomy, sometimes known as a VSG, other times known as "scalpel-induced banana-sling-stomach'ing" or somesuch.  

As time passed, I watched as the shy and blazingly witty girl I knew began shedding her cocoon.  Layer by layer, pound by pound, she physically melted away, and her soul shone through her smile in a way I had never before witnessed.  She started living her life--really LIVING it.  Taking photos where she smiled in FRONT of the lens, not hid behind it.  Wearing adorable clothing.  Regaining energy and wringing every day dry of possibility.  My envy was palpable (and I say that with love).  I wanted that. You know, that.  That inner light, that joy of self-acceptance.  I resolved that it couldn't happen, though.  I wasn't a surgery candidate, I was just a girl with a love of carbs who needed some self-restraint.  Okay, a lot of self-restraint.  Whatever.

Also in my collection of treasured friends is another brave soul, who I'll lovingly dub Miss Flaca for the duration of this little blogproduction.  Flaca is a talented artist and educator.  If I could be a student in her room, I'd never, ever leave school.  Seriously, they'd have to keep giving me #2 pencils and black composition notebooks and a backpack full of Depends that I could strap to my walker.  I would NEVER leave.

Miss Flaca, too, has taken a dazzling leap of faith, combined with determination and hard work. She had a Roux-en-Y gastrectomy (also known as a gastric bypass), after years of struggling with her weight.  I watched Flaca as she seemed to melt away, week in and week out, month after month.  Her eyes, too, seemed to take on a new sparkle.  She could light the darkest night with the power in one of her smiles.  She seemed to be so much...happier. (Maaaaan, I want to be that happy!  When's the last time I really was that happy?)

Just as Itsi had, Miss Flaca became a new and radiant young lady.  Again, I considered taking the same path, but...no.  Surgery, me?  Not possible.  I mean, I didn't have any health issues, I was just "fluffy".  I was just "a big girl with a pretty face".   I was just "plus sized".  I was just fucking fat was what I was, and getting fatter; and what's more, I was miserable.  I hated shiny surfaces for showing me just how large I was; I hated my clothes for seeming to slowly, but inexorably, shrink of their own accord.  I hated that I was tired all the time, that stairs were a chore and my chin was rapidly developing a conjoined twin.  One big wobbly ball of self-loathing, yup, that was me.  (Pass the carbs, please, I need my comfort food.)

Eventually, my doctor prescribed me a low dose antidepressant to try to help me out of the constant state of Eeyore-blahs I was carrying around.  (The dog ate them before I could take 'em--long story.  Suffice to say that after racing to save my furbaby's life at an emergency vet, I never did end up taking those antidepressants.)  Then my body began to betray me further.  My knees hurt.  My back ached.  I blamed the old mattress and aging.  My hormone balance went wacky.  I blamed that one on my age, too, even though no women I knew of in my entire family had ever hit menopause in their early 40's.  I had heartburn; first, only with spicy foods.  Then, only if I ate too quickly.  Then, only if I didn't sit up straight after meals.  Then, even when I drank water.  So I blamed stress.  I blamed everything except what was the real source of my aches, pains, and gray moods:  my weight.  

Meanwhile, other friends and even work acquaintances were taking the steps Itsi and Miss Flaca had.  I began thinking mmmmmaybe, just mmmmmmaybe, I should at least consider my options.  Maybe my doctor would give me a good ol' fussin' out and send me packing with some low-calorie sweetener, egg substitute and a prescription for situps.  But, then again...

So I approached both my heroes, Itsi and Miss Flaca, as well as a few other friends.  Not one person told me to mind my own business.  Not one got offended.  Instead, I found this rock-solid source of support and encouragement, wrapped in excitement to see me willing to take that big step, too.  
Well, maybe.  Cautious curiosity was the order of my day.

But you know what?  Slowly, ever sooooo slowly, I realized that I wanted more from my life than what I was getting.  Year after year of making dieting resolutions, swearing to exercise more (ha!  Try "at all").  Losing a few pounds here and there, or maybe even many of them, then watching as they all returned, AND brought friends and relations to stake their claim to my hips, butt, thighs, and let's not forget the Chin Twins.

So, one day, I told Itsi, "I'm gonna do it.  I'm gonna call, and see what they tell me.  I probably won't qualify.  My insurance probably won't cover it.  It's probably a big waste of time.  But I'm gonna do it."
And I did.  I called.  It was the toughest phone call in a very long time, but I made my fingers tap those little virtual keys, and I did it.  I attended a bariatric surgery seminar, then three days later, found myself in my very first surgeon consultation.  

Mind = blown.  (Am I really doing this?  Looks like I am!)

And that brings us to today.  The day of my consult, which went fine--I DO qualify for the surgery, and my insurance DOES cover it.  Apart from having to hear aloud the dreaded digits of my relationship to gravity, it was fine.  I mean, c'mon, *I* know I'm fat, everyone else can see that I'm fat, so going to a doctor to help me deal with my fat was actually no big deal.  Very different from a basic physical, where I would pray that the doctor would just sorta skip over that part of the file and talk to me about something else.  Like the political situation in the Mideast, anything, dear God, anything but "hmmn, you seem to have put on a few pounds since your last exam, can you think of any reason for that".  This time it was just the facts, ma'am.  No dodging, no pressure to explain how, why or wherefore the scale said what it did.  It said it, it was noted, we moved on.  IT WAS AWESOME.  Even better, I had the support of Miss Flaca, who's been thurr, done thet with this exact doctor, even though her procedure was a lil' different.  Between her and Itsi, I feel surrounded by friends who can help me through, whether I need a shoulder to cry on or a kick in the butt.
 That's love, you guys, that's love.

This is only my very first step.  I have a loooooong road ahead of me, I know that.  At least, I know it in that vague way of knowing that you have when you haven't actually lived through it yet.  I'll know it better and know it more, later on.  That's fine with me, for now.  I can't look too far down the road; right now I just need to keep my lil' piggy toes scootin' forward, a step at a time.  

My whole life has been about gaining.  Most of the gains were good ones; I gained experiences, I gained friends, I gained abilities and talents.  But that one gain that's been holding me back SO hard for so damn long is about to start becoming a loss.  

I can't wait to start.  Hope you'll tag along, and if you do, I'd like to hear from you.  Thanks for being here.


--Vixy, the Soon-to-be-Sleeved-Diva