Bitch Flap

Tomorrow is my 6 week post-op mark.  Time to celebrate.  Time to move on and get back to a normal, restriction-free life.  Time to feel super sexy and wear itty-bitty drawers.

Yeah, not so much.  I've got so far to go it's not even funny.  I knew this was going to be a tough surgery to recover from and I was prepared for it.  Or so I thought.  I totally underestimated how much it would impact me physically and emotionally.

So here's a brief update.  I've been drain free for 3 weeks and aside from a brief trip to the ER to rule out a blood clot in my leg I have had no complications.  My incision is pretty much all sealed up aside from about an inch worth of scab (pretty amazing considering my incision is 28" long) and I am getting by with just occasional Tylenol.  I'm still fairly swollen, especially at the end of the day, and my belly button still looks like I have a small bald man trapped in my stomach but the change is already pretty dramatic.  I'm starting to wear real clothes again, work more, move more and get out of the house more.  All good things, right?

So why am I such a hot mess still?  I'm struggling to put it into words.  I tried to explain the problems I was having and the major body issues I was struggling with to a friend the other night and she didn't get it. "But your stomach is flat now.  What's the problem?" I've only told a few people how I've been feeling and most think I'm absolutely nuts.  I'm going to try and do my best to explain because I think it's relevant to everything I've been working on to date.  But if you, too, think I'm off my rocker you may want to keep that tidbit to yourself.  I'm full up on disapproval right now.

Let's start with my appearance.  I've literally spent almost all of the 6 weeks in huge sweat pants, oversize baggy shirts, no make-up, tweezer-free and frizzy, unkempt hair mode .  You know, the natural look.

I had to wear a binder 24/7 around my mid-section for the first 3 weeks and then I graduated to compression shapewear like Spanx.  My worst fashion nightmare was realized when I had to go into a dressing room and attempt to stuff myself into and then peel myself out of high waisted girdle after girdle trying to find something that didn't make me want to cry and wasn't going to suffocate me, knowing whatever I picked I would have to wear 24 hours a day.  I was sweating and in pain and exhausted and literally went home to lie down after.  In the car ride home I just shook my head and said, "And can you believe I used to be a group fitness instructor?"  Spanx totally counts as a workout, right?

I went from working out 5-6 days a week to sweating when trying on Spanx or napping after a shower?  The fatigue was something I really underestimated.  I'm still struggling with it but it's getting better.  The worst part of it, though, is not having the exercise I'm used to to keep my head straight.  I felt like I was getting somewhere with this body gratitude stuff.  Two steps forward, five steps back.

Here's a tiny glimpse in to the last 6 weeks (ask my husband):

"Oh my God.  She took away all my curves.  I'm not curvy anymore.  Do I still look like I have hips? I look like I should be in the Texas Chainsaw movie with this scar. My legs look huge now.  I look like a freak.  Everywhere I go people will know I have had surgery because my stomach is flat and my legs are a ginormous.  I don't even look normal in pants. They fit my thighs but now the crotch is empty.  I have saggy crotch.  No one likes saggy crotch.  I could fit a whole penis in there now.  Seriously - do I still look curvy?"

Side note - in the midst of all this crazy a friend of mine posted a picture on his Facebook page that I took exception to.  He thought it was hilarious.  I told him it was asshole-ish.  This is the picture, except it had the caption, "Wingman of the Year".

I considered ignoring it but I really do like the guy enough to not want him to look like an asshole because I don't think he is one.  When he asked what my problem was with it and I told him it was obvious it was just one big fat joke he promptly blocked me from seeing anything on his page but not before I saw him call me a bitch to someone else.

Could I have lost my sense of humor during all this recovery time?  Perhaps.  Might I be over-sensitive because of my current battle with body issues?  It's definitely a possibility.  But I'm also a straight shooter (and he knows this and has appreciated it in the past) who has spent decades battling weight and years working with people battling their own weight issues.  And let's not forget that very early in this blog I swore I would always call a person out on a fat joke. Humorless bitch?  I take great offense to the humorless part.

You know what is funny?  I'm having what I've decided to call "Phantom Flap" issues. (Prior to surgery my son asked me, "What are you having surgery for again?  Oh yeah, you're having your flap removed.")  If you have ever had much of a belly you know the horrific moment when you feel your underwear slip down underneath your "flap" and you realize you'll have to find a private moment to try and excavate them from their depths.  Assuming you can still find them.  So I tell my friend (the same one mentioned previously who thinks I'm nuts) that I keep thinking I feel my underwear slip down below my flap and then I realize I have no flap and she text me a couple days later saying, "I've pulled my drawers out from my under my flap at least 30 times today and I've thought of you each time and cursed your name".  I almost spit my coffee on my phone.  I adore my friends.  Except for the asshole-ish ones.

I'm not writing this blog to get you to feel bad for me.  I know I asked for this and I should have known what I was getting into.  I'm writing to once again remind you (and myself) that the answer to feeling good about yourself and finding self-worth is not external.  Sure, those things help but they don't fix you.  I wasn't looking for this surgery to fix my self-worth issues at all.  I'm smarter than that and having been through a large weight loss and a different post-operative recovery I already knew this was a fact.  I guess I just didn't expect it to make me feel worse than before.  I did not anticipate going backwards.

Another good friend sent me an article called "What Losing 180 Pounds Really Does to Your Body - & Your Mind" by Jen Larsen that resonated with her and it made so much sense to me as well.  I did not have weight loss surgery but I actually sympathize greatly with the topic. (So much so I already bought her book and started it.)  I get her loss of "sense of self" and "sense of proportion".  One quote that resonated with me was this: "I thought my body was wrong when I was obese; I thought my body was wrong when I was thin past the point of health."  Granted, I'm no where near thin but just as I battled obsessive self-scrutiny when I lost weight the first time, I find myself doing it again now that I once more have changed my body into something unrecognizable to me.  I'm out of my normal routine, still trying to find myself at home in my own body with all the physical changes, not able to combat stress with exercise and I can't remember the last time I felt pretty.  Interestingly enough, I wasn't even able to use food as self-medication either.  I'm not sure if it was the pain medication or the exhaustion or the compression-wear but I did not have a normal appetite for quite awhile.  Definitely a blessing that I wasn't over-eating for stress relief but I wasn't doing anything else for relief either.  I spent a lot of time alone in my room inside my head.  NOT a good place to be.  Or worse yet, standing in front of a mirror magnifying every flaw I have in order not to stare directly at that scabby place on my body where 9 lbs of my own flesh used to be.

I probably still haven't explained this right or I've come off sounding like a self-absorbed asshat.  All I know is that I've gone backwards.  I've been battling feelings of depression, anxiety, unworthiness and they are all related to me not recognizing myself anymore and not feeling anywhere close to pretty.  My surgeon said this would be a doozy of a surgery.  Doozy, indeed.

On the "pretty" note I ran across this video and it hit home with me.  I wouldn't exactly say that poetry slamming is my thing but this is powerful.  And no matter how many times I watch it the last 60 seconds or so get me every time. (Warming - there's an F-bomb dropped at the end so be careful at work.)

 I sincerely hope you aren't reading my blog because you think I have the answers.  Clearly I don't.  But I'm looking for progress constantly and I want to share my experiences along the way with as much honesty as possible.  And this is where I'm at right now.  Surgery or no surgery, I still have so much work to do if a period of 6 weeks is enough to knock my self-worth back to square one.

Jen Larsen said "don't love yourself even though you're not perfect - love yourself because you have a body and it's worth loving and it is perfect."  So back to the drawing board for me.  I need to start practicing body gratitude again so you may see that pop up on my Facebook page.  Today I am grateful for my body's amazing ability to heal after I've abused it so egregiously.  I need to start moving every day again and I need to write more often.  I've got to get back to the work of finding my own worth again.  6 weeks is enough of a hiatus.

And I'm going to be doing it all over again but this time in itty-bitty drawers.  I may be a hot mess but that part worked out just fine.

Indecent Disclosure

Yesterday started like most days: alarm, coffee, getting the kids off to school and a little work.  And then a bunch of buck ass naked pictures were taken of me by a professional.

Ok, so maybe that last part was not part of my normal Tuesday routine.  But it got your attention.

I've been thinking long and hard about whether I wanted to disclose this information.  It's not that I'm ashamed of it or embarrassed about sharing.  And I certainly am not shy about talking about my body.  I'm actually afraid of being called a hypocrite and I'm terrified that it will negate what I've been trying to do here in your eyes.  But you know what?  I told you I was going to be honest and vulnerable and authentic.  And the most honest truth is this: whether or not you think I'm a hypocrite I am not changing my mind.

In just under two weeks I am having cosmetic surgery.  Abdominoplasty to be exact.  In layman's terms I am having a tummy tuck.  I've made no secret that this has been my desire since I first lost weight.  I have waited for this for over four years, always wondering when would be the right time, the perfect weight, or the best financial situation to get it done.  I'm no longer waiting for the perfect weight, I can afford to do it and now that I am not working at the gym the right time is now.

Here's a not so secret secret about losing a drastic amount of weight.  You are a hot mess after.  You all know this already.  It's why the contestants on The Biggest Loser start out with baring their shameful fat on t.v. only to have it suddenly covered up half way through the show.  That's because it's ok for the show to shame these contestants this way.  It's not ok for the reality of drastic and quick weight loss to shame the television show.  Cover that shit up ASAP and don't tell anyone that they won't look perfect when all is said and done.

As big as I was I was always pretty solid. I still am. It wasn't even until I got pregnant at nearly my highest weight that I ever got stretch marks (and I did it again less than a year after the first was born, at exactly the same starting weight).  My stomach had no where to go any more.  It had given what it could and it was all out of give.  When I lost the weight I was left with a flap of skin hanging over at my bikini line.  A pretty hefty flap indeed.  There is no amount of exercise and perfect diet that can remedy this.  I was actually pretty lucky - it could have been much worse.  The skin has an amazing ability to shrink back if it's not terribly damaged and it did shrink back for me, otherwise I'd have a FUPA hanging down to my knees.  But I don't.  I have just enough that I can tuck that shit into my pants and be on my merry way.

The medical term for this is called a panniculus. (Don't Google the images. Yeah, I'll wait............I told you so.)  It sounds like a cross between a creamy Italian custard and a sexually deviant Roman emperor.  I can tell you it resembles the custard more closely, but it certainly makes me feel deviant.

They say when you lose weight that you should throw out all your old clothes.  I was diligent throughout my entire weight loss and I donated my clothes to friends or organizations as soon as they were too big.  To keep them would be just setting myself up for future failure.  We're not going to talk about the shame involved in having to buy some of those sizes again, right?  Yeah, I didn't think so.  Another day.

Every morning or every time I change or after every shower I see one of these old oversize outfits, except I'm wearing it.  I'm wearing a skin suit of my former 300 lb self that I just can't take off and donate.  It reminds me of my past, but not in a good way and it feels like it's just sitting there, waiting for me to fill it back up.  I'm not doing that.  I've already stopped that process and I won't go back to that size where I was at the unhappiest I've ever been in my life.  I have one choice to take it off and that's surgery.

I was actually afraid my surgeon was going to tell me that I was too fat to have the surgery - that I would need to lose a ton of weight first.  As she knelt before me back in December, grabbing my flap of a stomach and shaking it up and down she seemed giddy as a school girl. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun!  This is so exciting.  You are going to love this!"  I asked if she thought I needed to lose more before the surgery she said, "Oh, I don't think so.  I don't know if you realize this but you carry all your weight from the waist down."  *snort*  No, I hadn't noticed.  She said the chances of further weight loss coming right from that area I wanted to fix was slim to none.  She also said I had some "really good stuff" from the waist up.  She should know.  She made some of it.

You see, this is not my first surgery.  I may as well tell you all of it.  I did have one surgery four years ago after the weight loss. I had a breast lift.  I like to joke about the fact that I went from a 44FFF bra size to a 34 Long.  Seriously, tube socks with tennis balls.  Cocker Spaniel ears.  I was fed up with needing some kind of search and rescue mission to my armpits every time I laid on my back.  "No, honey.  They're back there!"  I was the same size after the surgery as I was before.  I just didn't have to roll them up into my bra anymore.  They are not completely store bought (not that there is anything wrong with that - to each their own) but they are refurbs.

I trust my surgeon, Dr. Jennifer Harrington.  She is amazingly talented and one of the best in the state.  She's just arrogant enough because she knows she's that good.  I promise you - humility is not a quality you want in a surgeon.  But I wanted the best and I know she's the one.  This is my last procedure. I will not go crazy with the cosmetic surgery.  Case in point:

So there you have it.  I was nervous to tell you about it because I thought you would call bullshit on all my body gratitude shenanigans.  Say I was full of it when I said we should love our bodies first.  But I want you to know that I am not removing this piece of skin because I'm full of hatred for it.  I've actually been living with it for quite a long time and it's normal to me.  I'm just ready to let that part of me go.  It's like scar tissue but I'm ready to move on and heal now.  It's time.  That and I just really want to be able to rock some smokin' hot drawers.  And take a break from Spanx.  And not have my shit jump out of my pants every time I round house like a mutha.  There has never been and there probably never will be a burpee and kickboxing friendly pair of drawers out there when you have a panniculus.  Especially a custardy one at that.

I'm going to be recovering for a minimum of six weeks.  Two to three of that I probably won't even leave the house except for doctor appointments.  I know I'll go stir crazy and I would have probably blown my cover anyway on Facebook if I hadn't told you about this.  Never Facebook and Percocet.  Remind me of that in a couple of weeks when I'm sliced from hip to hip and on house arrest.

So back to my naked pics.  I had forgotten that they take pictures before the surgery for the surgeon's reference and for "before" shots.  God, I would have groomed or something if I had known. This poor young woman whose only job at this office seems to be taking naked people to a closet had to kneel down in front of me and take pictures of my stomach as a raised my hands above my head.  Front. 45 degrees. Side. Other 45 degrees. Other side.  With no soft lighting or cocktails on either of our parts I'm sure it had to be the scariest mugshot since Nick Nolte's and at least he had clothes on.  I will make this promise to you here and now - the next time I have naked pictures taken of me my shit is going to look good.  And hopefully one or all of us will be a little drunk.  And candles?  Is that too much to ask?