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