Final Countdown

9 more days.

One more weekend.

One more grocery shopping trip.

One more staff meeting.

One more praise band rehearsal.

Three more laundry days.

Five more dinners to cook.

Six more school days.

Nine more sleeps.

Holy hell, it is getting here fast!

My nerves are coming and going more often now; no full blown panics, though I'm sure they will happen next Tuesday morning about the time we start to roll on down to the OR.  

I did meet with the anesthesia nurse on Friday and that went well.  She went over everything and also gave me my post-op instructions so we could go over them as she said people are so foggy and overwhelmed after being in the hospital.  She went over everything that would happen from the time I arrived until the time I was released and hopefully there won't be any surprises.  The really awesome thing is that she told that they very recently opened a bariatric wing and she believes all the rooms are private.  That rocks my world!  

What was a bit unnerving was filling out an Advance Directive, which for those of you who don't know, it is a requirement in the state of Maryland to fill out this form that states that in the event I am not able to make my own medical decisions, who can make them for me, and it also allows me to chose what I want.  It's finished, and signed and witnessed, but kind of left me feeling a little creeped out.

I have lists upon lists typed up; what I need to do each day this week, notes for Kelly and Shelley, who are going to handle my kids the two evenings I am in the hospital until The Brit gets home, what I still need to pack (Yes, I already have pj pants, chapstick and a small bottle of lotion in my overnight bag), the call list for when I am out of surgery, a final grocery shopping list for this week.  Tomorrow at work, I will make out a list of what I need to accomplish in the church over the next six work days (yes, I am working the day before surgery).  

Tell me again how amazing this will be.  How not too bad surgery is.  Yes, I have asked it before, but it is slowly becoming a reality now.  

And that is a tiny bit scary.

Oh and P.S  Remember Sue and the discussions about where are all the post op people.  Apparently, there was a Bariatric Ball thrown in Michigan as a celebration for bariatric patients.  450 were scheduled to attend.  

 

Once Upon a Time

I'm kind of an analogy person and in light of yesterday's post, I just wanted to add these thoughts that mulled through my head this morning.

Let's say you had a great love of beautiful flowers.  You loved imagining being surrounded by them and very little could make you happier than the thought of a lovely garden in your own backyard.  So, you begin and you do it your way.  You rush out to the store and you buy seeds and you come home and you plant all your seeds in your yard.  You plan it out exactly the way you want it to look and you have picked seeds that are going to grow in a lovely contrast of bright colors.  You can hardly wait to see your garden dream realized.  

And soon you begin to see it.  Tiny sprouts are emerging from the ground and you are so incredibly excited.  You water the little sprouts and try to pluck out any weeds that might endanger their livlihood.  You know that success is right around the corner as the little green sprouts shoot up a tiny bit more.

Then the next morning you walk outside to check on your dream and you find all your thriving little sprouts have died.  You are crushed and tearful.  What could have possibly gone wrong?  Your hopes are dashed so quickly it leaves you breathless and you mourn your loss for several days after, torturing yourself with what might have been if only it hadn't all gone so horribly wrong.

One morning you wake up and discover that you are fueled once more.  You are so not going to give up on this dream of a flowering garden.  So, you run out to the store and you buy a book on how to grow gardens and you spend days pouring over it, seeing some things you could have done differently and your hopes are renewed once more.  So you follow the book's instructions to the T as you begin again, planting, watering, tending, hoping.  You feel more confident this time because you are doing everything absolutely right and sure enough, here comes the little sprouts again, emerging up through the soil, the reward of all your hard work.  You feel wonderful and on top of the world as your buds become sweet little flowers.  You are giddy with excitement.

You have to go away for a couple of days, but you make sure your beloved flowers are watered before you go.  You feel out of the woods this time; after all, the last time, the sprouts never made it to flowers.  So, you leave, feeling slightly unsteady about it, but you have to go.

When you return, all the little flowers have died off and you weep over their loss.  You shouldn't have gone away with things obviously still so fragile.  You are so angry with yourself and disappointed and you feel hopeless, certain your dream is never going to be realized.  You rebel and decide you never want anything to do with flowers ever again; after all, it doesn't work, they always die and it is taking a toll on you emotionally anyway. 

But you do return, again and again, with new books, new articles, new ideas and something always seems to go wrong and each time your heart breaks a little bit more as you lose a little bit more of yourself to the dream that is never going to be realized.  You decide that maybe you just don't have what it takes to grow flowers; apparently, it just isn't your thing.  You must have the thumb of death and no matter how much you love and admire their beauty, it is just not in the plan for you.

Several weeks later, you come home from work to find a flyer wedged in between your doorframe and screen door.  You open it up and find that it is an advertisement for a gardener who is looking for work.  The ad boasts that he can help you to grow anything and you feel a tiny surge of hope.  Maybe this man is the answer; maybe he can help you really get the garden past those first critical steps to a place where it can thrive.  Of course, a gardener is not without costs and once your garden is flourishing, there is no guarentee that it will continue to thrive.  You consider this carefully.  You have neighbors and friends who have incredible gardens that they have grown all by themselves with no need for something as drastic as a gardener.  But you have tried everything you know how to do.  You have poured out your heart and your soul again and again to only have your heart broken and your dreams dashed against a stone.  What if you are just one of those people who need some extra help to have this dream realized?  Is there any shame in that? 

I think WLS is a lot like this.  Some of us just need that extra boost that comes from surgery.  There are costs involved, but it will all be worth it to have the long time dream realized at last.  The flowers will be just as lovely, no matter how it is we all got there.

Knowing the Score

Sometimes we are faced with a feeling of certainty so deeply embedded in our gut, that even though we don't know for sure how someone else feels, we are almost positive that we are correct.

I've been dealing with this feeling for quite some time about someone I always considered myself close to, though lately this person, to me, feels like she is withdrawing from me entirely.  The reason?  I'm not completely sure anymore so than I am completely sure that this isn't all in my head.  What I have to wonder is if this person thinks either a) that I am taking the "easy way out"; b) that I am setting myself up for failure or; c) that I could lose weight the old fashioned way if only I would set my mind to it.

When someone is your friend, any of these three options are painful for me, and here is why:

a) I'm taking the easy way out: I've addressed this one before, so in a nutshell, I have spent the majority of my life dieting in one form or another.  I have exercised, done diet programs, starved myself, you name it, I did it.  All the while I have continued to walk the path of my life in this body that has become somewhat of a prison for me.  I do not take this surgery lightly; not even close and this option, if it is true of this person or of anyone, pisses me off, whether it is thought about me or some other WLS patient.  Walk our lives in our shoes, go through the agony of making this decision, come to terms with the possibility of all that can go wrong.  Easy?  Anyone who thinks that is so incredibly misguided that it makes me sad. 

b) I am setting myself up for failure: Part of preparing for this surgery is preparing for the life that is to follow.  I almost have to laugh after I think about all the research I have put into this, all the prep, all the conversations and appointments, that someone might think I will fail.  See, here's the thing for me.  I've been fat all my life, hindered by weight all my life, sometimes more pounds, sometimes less, but never at a healthy size.  I have vowed to myself that once I lose this weight, I will NEVER put it back on again.  EVER.  I would hope that those who know me would know me well enough to know that I would not make as drastic a decision as surgery to simply blow off the after care I will be doing for the rest of my life. 

c) I could lose weight the old fashioned way if only I would set my mind to it:  Yup, that is an accurate statement and lemme tell ya'll how that works.  I work my butt off exercising and dieting for months to drop minimal weight.  Then, I go on vacation, or something stressful happens or who knows what and it comes back on with some additional.  So, sure, I could lose weight the old fashioned way and I have...about fifteen or twenty times, so as Dr. Phil would say "So, how's that workin' for ya?"  Yeah, it's not and it hasn't, which is the reason I am leveling the playing field, so that I, who has to lose about 150 pounds have a chance, a real chance at being able to accomplish that goal.  Then, and only then, can I lead my life the way any other normal person who has to watch what they eat has to do. This surgery will place me in the game for the first time in my life.  If I had fifty pounds to lose, I would so not be opting for surgery, but that isn't my situation.  I wish to hell it was, but it isn't.  I'm mad as hell at the fact that this is what it is going to take to put me where I need to be, but it's a fact I have accepted.  I could spend the rest of life doing diet after diet, trying to make one work for the long run, the way I have the first half of my life, or I could give myself a running start.  Six year olds don't chose to be fat.  In the year between being five and being six, I didn't change my eating habits.  My body changed and I have been fighting with it every year since then and I'm tired of this fight.  I'm tired of it all falling apart and hitting brick walls.  The time has come for me to give myself a fighting chance.

I may be wrong about this person and what she thinks, but even if I am, there are other people out there thinking the same things about someone they know who is going to have this surgery.  So, if I'm wrong, I write this for them.  The folks who have made the agonizing decision to have surgery as a way to finally conquer weight issues need the support of those they love and those they call friend.  I'm not asking anyone to fawn all over me; that's not what this is about.  This is about knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt who is part of your support system.  There is nothing worse than not knowing where you stand with someone you have always trusted to be in your corner. 

I know that I have enough people in my corner and I thank each and every one of them from the bottom of my heart as it means more to me than you will ever know.  WLS patients do not want to set themselves up for failure; so it would be nice if those we loved didn't do that for us.

Say It Ain't So

So I'm a little bit on edge as I'm feeling a little dragged out and tired and I have that feeling that one might have if one might be getting sick.  It's only a possibility because sometimes when I have been doing too much and going one hundred miles an hour, I'll get that "I might be getting sick" feeling and it isn't anything that a good night's sleep doesn't cure.  So, I think tonight, I'm going to go to bed early and hope for the best.  I don't know what a cold would mean to surgery.

My work week is over as tomorrow is my appointment at Hopkins with the anestheia person at 11:00.  Looking forward to finding my way to the hospital without the Brit (slight sarcasm...I'm a little nervous as I hate the beltway) and then hitting a yarn shop and lunch with Shelley.  

Today I told both the boys when they left for school that I loved them, just for the hell of it.  It seemed a little weird because it isn't something I say a lot or first with them, but it's a start.  We'll get there in the end with God's help.  Thanks to everyone for their encouraging comments yesterday.  They mean more than you know.  

I'm going to go fix a cup of hot tea and think about cooking dinner.  I'll give you verdicts tomorrow; both on my health and on my appointment! 

And Now back to our regular programming

So as I'm about to give up eating larger quantities of food, I'm thinking blogging can be my new addiction!  I all but went into a panic attack when I could not get logged in from home!  I was thinking "NOOO!  I have to blog!  What if I can't blog?  That will blow Blog 365!  I'll have to drive into the church and blog from there!"  Yeah.  Obsess much?

I feel so incredibly prepared for the 15th that I keep waiting for something to go wrong.  I even bought Mother's Day cards today for my mother and the mum-in-law in England.  I've contemplated addressing my thank you cards to those I know will be helping out in some way while I am in the hospital, just in the event that I am feeling stressed after surgery with discovering this new way to live and forget to send them.  I must be a bit OCD or something.

I'm going to make a confession here that has nothing to do with surgery and has more to do with being a mother; an adoptive mother specifically.  I find this to be the hardest job I have ever done in my life and I don't always like it.  I wish I had started it ten years earlier when I was ten years younger.  I wish I was more patient.  I wish it came naturally to me.  

The bigger confession is that I have real issues with my older son that I should not be having.  A little history for those of you not in the know.  Aaron was nearly eight when he and JJ came to live with us (JJ was three).  Aaron had spent most of his young life shoved from pillar to post, getting caught up in the system when his grandparents would not take him in a second time (though they took JJ).  When he came to us, he had lived about five different places (sorry, for some of you this is old news).  He bonded with the Brit fairly quickly and I think the reason for this was that his bio-father was not around much, so the kid was starved for a father figure.  But where mothers go, even though bio-mom was passed out a lot, in his young eyes she was still there for him and he resented me very much.  Our start was rocky to say the least.  He rejected me time and time again and what it taught this first time mother was to be defensive; to put up a wall to keep his words and actions from hurting me.  JJ and I got on very well together, but of course, at three, it didn't take him long to accept me as his mama.  Aaron was a whole 'nother story.  I'm not even sure we every really bonded.

The problem is that it is nearly five years later, and though our relationship has grown a little bit, I would call it infinitesimal.  The biggest reason for the stunted growth on this?  Me and I know that.  When someone hurts me, my armor goes up and it takes forever for it to be taken back down.  It is wrong and I get that, but now I am trying to sort out how to fix it.  I had delusions that somehow surgery would help because it would allow me to do more with him that we both may enjoy and that may be true, but I can't bank on that.  

I've been trying really hard to analyze my own parent/child relationships when I was growing up and though I always knew that my parents loved me and would do anything for me, as a child, I don't remember a lot of hugs or "I love you"'s.  I hadn't really thought a lot about this until a friend pointed it out to me; that though my mother is a wonderful person that I am very close to, that she isn't the warmest person in the world.  I don't think she is cold, but she is an introvert and I just can't recall a lot of public displays of affection.  It doesn't really make it wrong; we did lots of stuff together, including traveling the country, but I was born into that family.  Because of being born into a family, there were certain things you just knew such as the fact that your parents love you. 

My children do not have that knowledge.  They were not born to me but were suddenly given to two people who were to be their new parents.  For the Brit and I we were given two children who did not sign up for this.  They never asked for their parents to be failures as parents and to have to go live elsewhere.  As a child of parents who never so much as got divorced, I cannot even imagine my parents suddenly not being my parents.

So, they don't have the knowledge that they are loved because they have always been with us.  And I apparently mirror my own parent's lack of displays of affection.  I find it very difficult at times to hug them..awkward almost.  I love them; I do.  I would throw myself in front of a train for either one of them so why does a hug or saying "I love you" feel so foreign to me? 

I see the same thing with my interactions with the Brit but on a smaller scale.  I am just not always the most affectionate female.  Sometimes I think I just assume that I show them I love them by doing things for them, but it kind of feels like a cop out.

So, I'm dealing with a few issues.

My strained relationship with Aaron

My feeble attempts at affection

I need to work on fixing these things.

I had a long talk with Paula today about these things and she confessed to encountering them as well.  She told me how her oldest son would end his phone calls from college with "I love you, mom" and then not too long ago, he called her out and asked why he always had to say it first.   Like me, Paula is a product of her mother.  She loved her mother dearly, just as I do, but our parents aren't any more perfect than we are.

So I'm trying to start small and to allow for it all to become something that is second nature instead of feeling forced.  The emotions themselves are not forced; it's the words and the actions.

Pray for me.  This is hard stuff.

We interrupt our regularly scheduled program

I'm having internet problems and am waiting for Verizon's tech support to call me back.  Basically, this is the first time I've had a connection all day, and it is because we bypassed our router for the moment.  So, I was skeered and a'fritened that I would not get to blog, but here it is!

Hopefully I will back with you shortly!

A Rant

It's been one of those afternoons where my children are fully aware of the fact that their father isn't home.  In a nutshell, they are being total disrespective little toads.  

Eight is the worst age ever because JJ thinks he knows everything and he has the same mean streak that Aaron had at eight.  Aaron spent time getting two stretchy cable thingies (they have a real name but it escapes me) that JJ threw up into a tree a few weeks ago, only for JJ to decide to try to throw one of them back up into the tree.  Aaron took this opportunity to shove him, which made JJ drop his poptart and he came in crying and Aaron came in complaining.  I told them both off (one for being nasty and throwing things and the other for shoving).  But it still continues.  Everytime Aaron comes in the door it has to do with money.  He wanted posters for his room, and it took me a bit to get them, partially because we weren't sure if the Brit's friends brought him back posters from Nascar and partly because I had a terrible time finding stuff he would like.  But we got them, mounted them, and I hung them on Sunday.  Now, he wants brake pads for his bike because his are worn out (something is always worn out on his bike!  I swear, when I was a kid, I lived on my bike and I only ever needed something when I actually outgrew the bike!).  I told him as he lives to make skid marks in the road (thus the wearing out of the brake pads) and as he has money, he could replace them.  This resulted in an argument, which I quickly told him I was over.  Now he is on about some kind of Aeresol gun (I don't even know what this is or if I am spelling it right) as he has apparently told JJ he was going to buy himself one.  I tell ya now, if it actually shoots stuff out of it, it isn't happening here! (I just Googled it.  Apparently, it is a pellet gun.  Just how loudly can I say NO!).  All this fun and I still get to take them to praise band practice with me.  Yippee.

I cleaned the bathroom top to bottom today and oh yeah, next Thursday my new tub/shower happens!  I also have a meatloaf in the oven to freeze, so that is two meals down.  I'd still like to get a couple of more in the freezer, just to make everyone's lives easier, even mine, after surgery.

After Dinner

The fun continued at dinner as Aaron did not bring home the homework assignment I asked him about last night.  This has been a new rule as we found out he was simply not doing parts of his homework, so now all homework must come home or he is grounded the next day.  So now he is sulking because he is grounded tomorrow for not bothering to bring it home.  Two hours and forty-five minutes till their bedtimes. 

I'm still pmsing and I wonder if it is taking forever to arrive because I'm stressing as we are at T minus Two weeks as of today. 

/rant