I had my one year post-surgery check-up appointment last Friday. It has actually been over a year, but I have been putting off going as I am not where I want to be and am feeling bad about it. I finally put my big girl panties on and made the appointment. Hiding is not helping. Some people have asked why I haven't blogged about it and wanted to know how it went. After all, I've shared everything else about my journey. I've shared my past, I've shared my reason for pursuing the surgery, I've shared all the trials involved in getting the surgery, I've shared my dark days, I've shared my best days. So, why, at this point would I not share? I responded to the person, "I'm not sharing this time, I'm too embarrassed. I feel like I have failed." I thought about all the people that support me everyday and are pulling for me. I just couldn't do it. My friends, of course, said I was being ridiculous, no one thinks I have failed. But, I do.
I stewed about my appointment all the way home afterwards, and then, all weekend. I was numb. I was embarrassed. However, the more I have thought about it, the more I realize, I cannot hide from where I am at in my journey now anymore than I could hide from that appointment. I can't pretend like it didn't happen. I can't pretend I am any place other than right here. My story is not complete, nor honest if I leave things out. My whole blog is about putting all my crap out there. It's therapeutic for me and I think it helps others that may have similar situations going on in their lives. I mean, hopefully no one else has had to relate to crapping their pants or having their guts explode, but still, there have to be some nuggets of wisdom in there somewhere, right? I have people tell me all the time that they read something that they related to or a struggle they shared, so to all of you, I will continue to be honest.
Rewind to last Friday. I arrived at my appointment feeling apprehensive. I wondered what they would say. I heard they had been following my blog, so they knew all the deets. They knew about the apple pie showdown, the Zinger love affair, the chocolate...they knew. It's not like these things represent my daily diet, it's not what I eat everyday, but the feelings for these foods and the occasional caving in to these foods was likely the key to my stalled weight-loss. As I weighed in, I took my shoes off praying for the scale to give me some sort of extra credit. Nope. That bitch can't give me any credit. The cold truth right there. I got off the scale and walked into the exam room. I spent a few minutes answering all the questions I had already just spent 15 minutes answering on the paperwork in the waiting area. Finally, the moment of truth, Dr. B came in the room. She asked how things were going, I said, "okay." Let's cut through the crap. We both knew this wasn't going to be one of those warm fuzzy appointments where they tell me not to be so hard on myself and to accept where I am in the journey, etc. Nor was there any, "OMG, look how far you've come!" No, "Wow, what a change!" There was no, "You have done such a great job!" Not for me. Dr. B looked down at my weight written on the page and just stared at it for a minute. My weight has not changed in four months. I'm stuck. I'm going to the gym, going through the motions, but still struggling with food. I might have a small stomach, but I can still make bad choices. And, even though some of those choices aren't even that bad, when you have a body this resistant to change, you can't screw around. Dr. B said that she felt I needed a boost, a little extra help. We discussed my options, one of which involves some additional medication, and we made a plan. I also need to see the nutritionist next week. I'm sure Poptart Barbie will also have some serious words of wisdom for me.
I left there feeling defeated. Like, I had just been told I had failed at weight loss surgery. Like I was at that same place I was after having the Lap Band surgery. I flashed back to when Dr. L had told me that there is a certain percentage of patients that don't respond to the Lap Band. I was in that percentage. I remember him telling me that I just needed to keep at it, or I needed to consider a different surgery, which, at the time I immediately ruled out. I had been angry then and felt abandoned. This felt a little like that. I felt numb. I was disappointed in myself. I was angry that now we are going to alternate methods because I can't make this work. The reality is, this isn't anything like where I was with the Lap Band. The Lap Band was an utter failure because it tortured me and it didn't allow me to eat the way I needed to. I hated it. I had little success with the Lap Band. The reality is, I have had success with the Gastric Sleeve. I've lost more than I ever have before, but I still have so far to go and my body wants to rest at this place that is not anywhere near my goal. I felt like I had let myself down and everyone that is pulling for me. As I shared my shameful story with my pal, Pony Crazy, she said to me, "Who the F cares how you lose the weight? Who cares what method is used as long as you are trying to get healthy and you keep on trying? And if people do judge you, they can F off!" I know what she says is true. Mostly, what I know to be true is that I judge myself and expect more from myself than anyone else does. The pressure is coming from within. Nonetheless, I feel a certain responsibility to all those that support me to make this happen.
Anyway, after stewing all weekend and feeling like a failure, I understand I have two choices. I can give up and have a pity party or I can suck it up and keep fighting. I'm not a quitter. I can't be, not in the Year of the Angry Pony. I need to get my shit together. After almost two weeks of not being at the gym due to all the chaos at work, I returned today. It wasn't really that hard to go. I just did it as I had done so many times before. Ass Kicker was waiting for me, ever faithful. I walked up to the elliptical machine and cringed at how my legs were going to protest. I got on and just started in. I was talking to Ass Kicker as I was working away and didn't even notice how fast I was going on the elliptical. I looked down and I was going faster than I had ever gone before and my legs didn't hurt. They weren't protesting. I was confused. It was almost as if my body was taking over saying, "we got this." It was a weird feeling. I guess maybe I had accomplished something over the last two months. My body was stronger, more capable than I gave it credit for. I worked out with Ass Kicker until I was sweating like a fat kid chasing an ice cream truck in the heat of the summer. It was good. Today was good enough.
So, that's the update. That is where I am at, one year out. Not an amazing success. Not an utter failure. Just me. It is the struggle that is my life, and while I am pissed off it is never easy for me, it is what it is. This is my path, for whatever reason. I may never understand it and likely will never accept it. That is just one of the reasons I am Angry Pony, I suppose.
I stewed about my appointment all the way home afterwards, and then, all weekend. I was numb. I was embarrassed. However, the more I have thought about it, the more I realize, I cannot hide from where I am at in my journey now anymore than I could hide from that appointment. I can't pretend like it didn't happen. I can't pretend I am any place other than right here. My story is not complete, nor honest if I leave things out. My whole blog is about putting all my crap out there. It's therapeutic for me and I think it helps others that may have similar situations going on in their lives. I mean, hopefully no one else has had to relate to crapping their pants or having their guts explode, but still, there have to be some nuggets of wisdom in there somewhere, right? I have people tell me all the time that they read something that they related to or a struggle they shared, so to all of you, I will continue to be honest.
Rewind to last Friday. I arrived at my appointment feeling apprehensive. I wondered what they would say. I heard they had been following my blog, so they knew all the deets. They knew about the apple pie showdown, the Zinger love affair, the chocolate...they knew. It's not like these things represent my daily diet, it's not what I eat everyday, but the feelings for these foods and the occasional caving in to these foods was likely the key to my stalled weight-loss. As I weighed in, I took my shoes off praying for the scale to give me some sort of extra credit. Nope. That bitch can't give me any credit. The cold truth right there. I got off the scale and walked into the exam room. I spent a few minutes answering all the questions I had already just spent 15 minutes answering on the paperwork in the waiting area. Finally, the moment of truth, Dr. B came in the room. She asked how things were going, I said, "okay." Let's cut through the crap. We both knew this wasn't going to be one of those warm fuzzy appointments where they tell me not to be so hard on myself and to accept where I am in the journey, etc. Nor was there any, "OMG, look how far you've come!" No, "Wow, what a change!" There was no, "You have done such a great job!" Not for me. Dr. B looked down at my weight written on the page and just stared at it for a minute. My weight has not changed in four months. I'm stuck. I'm going to the gym, going through the motions, but still struggling with food. I might have a small stomach, but I can still make bad choices. And, even though some of those choices aren't even that bad, when you have a body this resistant to change, you can't screw around. Dr. B said that she felt I needed a boost, a little extra help. We discussed my options, one of which involves some additional medication, and we made a plan. I also need to see the nutritionist next week. I'm sure Poptart Barbie will also have some serious words of wisdom for me.
I left there feeling defeated. Like, I had just been told I had failed at weight loss surgery. Like I was at that same place I was after having the Lap Band surgery. I flashed back to when Dr. L had told me that there is a certain percentage of patients that don't respond to the Lap Band. I was in that percentage. I remember him telling me that I just needed to keep at it, or I needed to consider a different surgery, which, at the time I immediately ruled out. I had been angry then and felt abandoned. This felt a little like that. I felt numb. I was disappointed in myself. I was angry that now we are going to alternate methods because I can't make this work. The reality is, this isn't anything like where I was with the Lap Band. The Lap Band was an utter failure because it tortured me and it didn't allow me to eat the way I needed to. I hated it. I had little success with the Lap Band. The reality is, I have had success with the Gastric Sleeve. I've lost more than I ever have before, but I still have so far to go and my body wants to rest at this place that is not anywhere near my goal. I felt like I had let myself down and everyone that is pulling for me. As I shared my shameful story with my pal, Pony Crazy, she said to me, "Who the F cares how you lose the weight? Who cares what method is used as long as you are trying to get healthy and you keep on trying? And if people do judge you, they can F off!" I know what she says is true. Mostly, what I know to be true is that I judge myself and expect more from myself than anyone else does. The pressure is coming from within. Nonetheless, I feel a certain responsibility to all those that support me to make this happen.
Anyway, after stewing all weekend and feeling like a failure, I understand I have two choices. I can give up and have a pity party or I can suck it up and keep fighting. I'm not a quitter. I can't be, not in the Year of the Angry Pony. I need to get my shit together. After almost two weeks of not being at the gym due to all the chaos at work, I returned today. It wasn't really that hard to go. I just did it as I had done so many times before. Ass Kicker was waiting for me, ever faithful. I walked up to the elliptical machine and cringed at how my legs were going to protest. I got on and just started in. I was talking to Ass Kicker as I was working away and didn't even notice how fast I was going on the elliptical. I looked down and I was going faster than I had ever gone before and my legs didn't hurt. They weren't protesting. I was confused. It was almost as if my body was taking over saying, "we got this." It was a weird feeling. I guess maybe I had accomplished something over the last two months. My body was stronger, more capable than I gave it credit for. I worked out with Ass Kicker until I was sweating like a fat kid chasing an ice cream truck in the heat of the summer. It was good. Today was good enough.
So, that's the update. That is where I am at, one year out. Not an amazing success. Not an utter failure. Just me. It is the struggle that is my life, and while I am pissed off it is never easy for me, it is what it is. This is my path, for whatever reason. I may never understand it and likely will never accept it. That is just one of the reasons I am Angry Pony, I suppose.
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