And now for something completely different …

Actually, this is sort of on topic and sort of not. OK .. it’s a bit of a rant.

What I’ve been thinking a lot about lately are perceptions. After a lifetime of battling a weight problem, I find it funny that I only now am noticing how people look at me at restaurants or in public. I don’t know why I am so conscious of this right now. Perhaps it’s because I’m a little more aware of myself nowadays. As things change, I find myself slightly self-conscious. My clothing doesn’t fit right. I’m always thinking about necklines and cleavage or jeans that might fall down. I’m too cheap to spend too much on clothing until I reach some significant goals.

The other day was a perfect example. Rick and I went to Subway, and I ordered a sandwich that I knew would be relatively safe: a breakfast concoction of egg whites and bacon on flatbread with lots of tomatoes and light mayonnaise. It was the April special: $5 for a footlong. I think the six-inch version was $3.75 or something like that, so I decided to order the longer sandwich and have it for not two, but FOUR meals. My stomach accepts about three inches of sandwich without too much trouble (I usually stop a bite or two from completion, just to be safe).

Anyway, after I ordered the sandwich, I noticed the man behind us in line giving me a look. It wasn’t a nice one. He glanced at me up and down, then at the bag of sandwiches in my hand and rolled his eyes a bit.

I was not surprised or hurt. Instead I was angry. Actually, I was downright pissed. First off, he didn’t know me. He didn’t know my situation. And, frankly, it didn’t matter. No one deserves that kind of look. I don’t care if you weigh 100 or 400 pounds. It is simply not proper to stand in judgment of anyone. Period.

The other day, I was thinking about the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. When did we stop living by that credo? As a child, my parents pounded it (not literally) into my head. Both of my parents were infinitely respectful toward others. My father, especially, knew the value of kindness. He and I had some philosophical differences that I shall not go into here (nothing that EVER changed my love and admiration for him), but one of the things I always tried to emulate was his approach to others. He was charming and honest, but didn’t take crap.

I didn’t say anything to the man in Subway. What good would it have done? There are some people who just don’t get it. But I couldn’t help but wonder how many other “fatties” he’d treated to his own special brand of condemnation?

No matter how much weight I lose, I have a feeling that my mentality will always stay the same: I will always remember where I’ve been and what it was like to grow up overweight. I will always be a fat girl, if not in body, then in mind.

I used to think that was a bad thing, but I’m not so sure. If it helps me to keep my eyes open to the struggle that all obese people face, then I’m good with it. 

I don’t ever want to be THAT person … the one to whom the Golden Rule doesn’t apply.

Out of the darkness ...

I know now more than ever that everything in life is relative.

For three weeks after my surgery, I lived in misery. Absolute, utter misery. From problems with medications I was taking to never-ending nausea and pain, it seemed like everything that could go wrong was doing just that. 

I knew that I needed to get in protein. But the protein shakes that sounded so good pre-surgery nauseated me. My tastes seemed to change minute by minute. I gagged down most food and threw a lot of it back up again.

Some things got "stuck" in my new pouch. I was able to eat canned tuna one day ... and had it get painfully caught in the narrow exit from my new stomach.

I wish I could say something positive about those days, but I find it extremely difficult to do so. As I told a friend the other day, had someone suggested that they were going to assassinate me, I would have said ... let me buy you the bullets. It was a dark, dark time.

Finally, some light shone at the end of the tunnel. A member of an online support group for weight loss surgery patients helped me realize that I might be lactose intolerant now --- something that can happen with people who undergo this type of surgery. I stopped eating dairy in any fashion ... and my stomach stopped hurting. My nausea dissipated.

Ahhhh ... it might have been raining outside, but the sun started to peek through in my soul.

At the prompting of my gym owner friend, Joan, I started taking a probiotic. The healing began and has continued.

I now have been able to go back to the gym: Something that I was simply too weak to do prior to the discoveries we made. I can actually keep food down rather than immediately throwing it up. I have energy.

And the weight loss ... it's been great. I have lost approximately a pound a day, especially now that I am not fighting my metabolism. My clothing has been getting smaller.

I even went out on a limb a couple of days ago and ordered some new shirts online. They're just T-shirts, but they are small victories. I also ordered a pair of capri pants: Three sizes smaller than what I usually wear. Prior to surgery, I wore a women's 20 petite. I ordered a pair of size 16 petites. I think I'll be able to wear them by the time they arrive and hope that they'll be too big by summer.

The fog that I was in during those three weeks has dissipated. My brain is much clearer than it's been in a long, long time. I think that might be part of the transformation as well, and I am glad for it.

So ... everything that is happening now is relative. Compared to those three weeks, life is beautiful. A gift. And every day, it gets a little better.