Postponed

So, surgery was postponed. I received a call from my surgeon late Sunday afternoon telling me there was some issues with lab work from the previous Friday. We're back on target for mid to late March.

Nearly there

Yeah, so that picture above perfectly describes the later half of this week. First half, not so much- stomach bug + liquid diet = pure happiness. 

 Today began the "clear liquids" phase, which for some reason sounds far more intimidating the a "regular" liquid diet.  People, I'm just f'ing HUNGRY!  Between not smoking and starving I'm, as always, an awesome person to be around.  Ramon is simply overjoyed at the prospect of a leisurely weekend with me.

I report to the hospital this Monday morning at 8:45AM.  I was so hoping for an earlier report time- get up, wash my ass and hit the road.  Alas, it's not to be.  Instead, I will be very politely awoke by one fat dog barking in my face and another donkey kicking me in my liver, spleen, kidney or all of the the above at the same time. 

Still not nervous outwardly, but I'm assuming SOMETHING is a bit off subconsciously.  I've had a recurring dream the past few weeks- I'm out in public in a towel that barely fits.  I struggle to adjust it to keep the boobage hidden and just randomly stroll down the street among throngs of stranger.  Different location every time too but I'm always on my way to someone's house.  I also woke up this morning to a pretty serious facial breakout.  Since I must pick, my face is pretty scary at this point.

Anyway, thank you again to everyone reading, for all your kind words and amazing support.  If you believe in it, say a little prayer for me this weekend. 

See you all on the other side...

Noting to fear but fear itself

I had two mildly interesting conversations this weekend and both people asked if I was afraid.  The answer that quickly spills from me is, "No".  Sure I have some fear, I am having surgery and one with possible severe complications.

However, I am confident in my decision; I have spent many months researching medical facts, reading message boards with first hand accounts- everything from people that have sailed smoothly post operative to those that have literally faced death.  There are some who, if they could rewind the clock, that would choose the same path again knowing what they have faced down and those who are actively seeking to reverse the procedure- which in and of itself is quite risky.

Anyway, it's eight days til surgery and I leave you with this quote.  I've decided this will be my next tattoo when I reach whatever weight my body settles at.

"Quod me nutrit me destruit."

Tilting at Windmills

In previous posts I’ve talked about getting/being healthy and taking back my life.  That brings us to today’s topic, “Goals”.  I’m only going to talk about immediate goals, those achievable in the next 6 months. 

Ø  To be under 180 pounds for the first time in my adult life. 

Doesn’t sound like a biggie for most people, but I haven’t been that light since 7^th grade.  As if 180 pounds is “light” in comparison to my height.  And yes, you read that correctly, I was 174 pounds at my annual physical back in 1990. 

Moving past that, I don’t have a specific goal weight in mind.  If I lose 100% of my excess weight that would be amazing.  If don’t, it’s not going to ruin my day. 

Ø  To start going back to the gym- EVERY DAY.  Ok, ok maybe every other day. 

There was a time that I played outside every day; swimming, roller skating, softball, sleigh riding.  Then I grew up.  And my belly grew, and my butt grew, and my legs grew.  You get the picture.

Ø  To jog a 5k with my mother and sister.

Back in grammar school, yeah when I weighed in less than 180 pounds, I ran track on the school team. I can actually run pretty well in short bursts still.  I enjoyed running, be it on the track team, for softball or even just playing Manhunt on summer nights.

Oh, and I'm going to share some pics of me through the years.  I wasn't always fat, but man I was ALWAYS built like a brick shit house.

Me and Lynn ages 2 & 4 maybe.  Shocker, look I'm eating a hot dog!

Me and my most favorite Aunt Cookie.  Age about 3.  Oh, look I'm EATING!

Me and Lynn at my cousin Willie's Christening, age 8.  Everyone ignore my freakishly long fingers.  For once, I look to be similar in weight to my sister. And hey, no food!

 And finally, Confirmation with my cousins Barbara and Jeanine.  This is me at around 180 pounds.

Forever a Phat Girl

"I am pulling for you to "trap" that phat girl on the inside and let the "skinny bitch" out". - anonymous Face Book friend message

I know that the above comment was made with love and support despite this person disagreeing with my decision to have surgery.  I appreciate it for what it is, it's meant to be supportive and encouraging and I take it as such.  I love this person immensely and I know it’s reciprocated.

I know not everyone will agree with my choice, not everyone will offer support.  You know what, that's fine because I don't need your approval or your acceptance.  The choice is mine and mine alone.   

Sorry if that sounds rude as it's not my intention to be so.  My motivation to have surgery is not rooted in my desire to be a "skinny bitch".  I want to be healthy, I want to live, I want to run and I want to enjoy whatever time on this Earth that is given to me.  

 I don’t have the expectation that I’ll be “skinny”, “thin” or even average weight.  Am I stoked by the idea that I could potentially lose 100% of my excess body weight?  Of course, but more importantly, my diabetes will probably be cured, my aching knees and back will feel so much better.  My overworked heart will pump stronger and more efficiently.  In short, I will have my body back and a relatively healthy one at that.

I will ALWAYS be a “Phat Girl”.   Being a Phat Girl is not the state of your body, it’s in your soul.  Only a true Phat Girl will understand that.

12 days to surgery. Time to get my proverbial shit together and get right.

There's no such thing as a free lunch

Many people have this notion that any type of weight loss surgery is taking the "easy" way out.  There is no such thing.  It's not a cure, it's not forever and it certainly isn't the easy way out.  I encourage you all to do a little reading on what exactly a surgery like Roux-en-Y Gastric Bypass entails and the restrictions someone having the procedure faces. I won't bore you with details or graphic descriptions.  I'll say this, life is forever changed.


Of course WLS is an elective surgery, a choice and personally, it wasn't an one that I made lightly and without a lot of research into all 3 main types.  Seven years ago I started looking into it and always found myself at a dead end.  "Am I that fat that I need to do this?", "I can lose this on my own, I just need to try harder".  "WLS is for really, really fat people."


Having spent nearly 25 of my 35 years on a diet, I have lost and regained in excess 125 pounds over the years.  Losing weight has never really been my issue, it's the ability and motivation to keep those pounds off.  Even small losses of 2-3 pounds have always come back bringing along an extra pound or two with them.  I'd go from jubilation to feeling like a failure.  Time and again I failed.  Time and again I'd berate myself, hate myself but some how get myself back on that horse.


Through the years my health and overall well being began to deteriorate... arthritic knees and spine, shortness of breath climbing stairs/walking fast, no longer able to run or jog just because I wanted to. 

Hell, I don't think I could run or jog even if there was some crazed ax murder chasing me.  I'd be the horror movie chick that falls down and gets slaughtered in spectacular fashion. My final straw was having to start injecting medication for my Type II diabetes.  Has my life spiraled that out of control that I could no longer keep up with this life threatening disease?  The answer was simply, "Yes".


To make what is a long and tedious story short... I have not given up, I am not taking the easy way out and this isn't my cure to being fat.  It's the start of a new me, a new way of living and hopefully, a new lease on life. 

I don't want to be that "fat mom" at the park that sits watching while her children play.  I don't want to be the "fat lady" in the grocery store whose cart everyone looks in and passes judgement on her food choices.  In short, I DON'T WANT TO DIE YOUNG!


Oh, and surgery should have been 16 days away is now 44.  Another rant for another day.

Lazy summer days

Welcome to my first ever post on my first ever blog, “Swimming for the Lighthouse”. 

Many of you reading this probably recognize the lighthouse in the picture above.  For those that don’t, it’s Stepping Stones Lighthouse in the middle of the Long Island Sound here in the Bronx, NY.  (Technically, the lighthouse belongs to Nassau County, Long Island )  It was built way back in 1875 and is still in use today guiding ships safely through. 

Growing up, the shining green light of Steeping Stones was a constant in my life.  From my parents’ home, and the home of my bestest friend and Phat Girl Melissa, Stepping Stones is always clearly in view.  Through rain, snow, fog, and clear evenings the green light shines.  As a little girl the milky green light on a foggy night always brought to mind haunted houses, witches, deranged madmen and the like.  I’d race through the alleys of Pennyfield Camp, from Melissa or Marlena’s houses, swearing some crazed murder was *right* behind me.  Closer and closer the streetlights on Miles would appear and finally I'm free and ALIVE!

I’ve always been a water baby; my mom always says I swam before I walked.  Melissa and I would spend endless summer days floating around her “backyard” of the LI sound, and out there directly in front of us was Stepping Stones.  Sometimes, Marlena (my other bestest friend and Phat Girl) would join us off her sea wall, two houses down from Melissa.   Randomly, we would decide to “swim to the lighthouse”.  Stepping Stones appears deceivingly close, and so we’d begin.  Stroke by stroke, and laugh by laugh we’d go, stopping so Lass could rub out my toe cramps.  Toe cramps are my genetic destiny apparently, thanks mom for my weird ass toes. 

We’d get out past the buoys, the houses behind us shrinking, shrinking until Melissa’s dad Eddie was a speck on the deck watching us go.  We never once reached that damn light house.  

Surgery is exactly 19 days away…