Days of abstinence: 29
Days until surgery: 54
Weight: 164.6 pounds
The date of my surgery still feels far away, except when I start
my blog post every morning and I count down the days by one more. In that moment, every day, I realize that
this surgery is right around the corner.
Before I know it, it will be one month away, then 3 weeks, then 2 weeks,
then, Oh Crap, it’ll be just one week away.
I am excited and nervous. It is
hard to believe that I am actually doing this.
I know the recovery is going to be incredibly painful and
difficult. At the same time, I can’t
wait to have all of this extra skin gone.
I am so tired of having breasts that hang down practically to my belly
button and a belly that looks like a huge, soft prune hanging over my C-section
scar. I know there are some women that
wear this evidence of childbirth and weight loss proudly and I envy them. I am not comfortable in my own skin. My body, as it is today, is a testament to
the road I’ve traveled thus far. It’s
probably a fairly accurate representation, at that. It’s been a rough ride and there were many,
many years when I coped with difficult times by eating (and at times, drinking)
too much. Food was my security blanket
in more ways than one. I didn’t only
feed myself too much, food was something that I could offer to other people
that I knew would make them happy. I am
a good cook, some even say I am a very good cook. It is fun to cook for my friends and
family. I get a lot of satisfaction out
of that and it is something I will continue to do, probably for the rest of my
life. What I cook has changed over the
years, but it’s all still good.
I’ve overcome a lot of obstacles in life and now, at 53, I am happier
and more content than I ever imagined I could be. I credit that to a lot of things, some of
which I made happen, others which happened around me. I will never underplay the importance of my
therapy sessions with Stan. From age 30
to 41, I was in therapy, with a three year break in the middle when Stan got so
exasperated with me he wouldn’t take my money any more until I realized how
much I was sabotaging myself. Yeah, when
your shrink fires you, that’s when you should really figure out that you have a
problem. I have to admit that I have a
lot of respect for Stan for doing that. He
won’t take my money if he doesn’t think he can help me (either because I’m
being too stubborn to listen or because I’m doing great and really don’t need
to see a shrink any more). Yes, the
therapy was a huge part of my recovery process.
But there is a lot more to it than just that. My relationship with my family has improved, I’m
happily married, my kids are grown and doing well, I exercise regularly, I eat
well, I have a good job, and life is just plain good. But my body reminds me of the darker days and
I hate that constant reminder. I am
really looking forward to getting it nipped and tucked and putting that part of
the past behind me, as well.
Starting this post has started my mind down a path that begs to be
written about but I don’t have time so I need to sign off. Maybe it’ll swell back up on Saturday
morning, when I have more time to write.
Then again, it might happen again two years from now. Who know?
Until then, I guess it’ll just have to percolate.
Have a beautiful day!
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