Let Me Tell You Once Again...Who's Fat?

With apologies to Weird Al for ripping off his lyrics for my title. Anywho…

Yes, I am fat. Not chubby, not overweight, not curvy, zaftig, or phat. I am FAT. Like, morbidly obese fat. Like “twomealsawayfrombeingconfinedtoascooter” fat. I’d laugh if it wouldn’t start an avalanche of fat rolls down my belly.

I guess it really isn’t a laughing matter, and I guess you’re wondering why I chose to write about this particular subject when I have several other posts backlogged in my blog folder. Well, I’m bringing it up because 1. I will (hopefully) be getting Lap Band surgery before the year is through and 2. when I went to my gyno appointment last week, I had gained weight. This killed me inside. I usually weigh about the same each time I go to an appointment. This weigh in was showing a 10 pound increase. TEN POUNDS. I was up to the dreaded number: 400.

Yes, I weigh 400 lbs. Writing that makes me feel wretched and ashamed. I almost left out my weight in this entry, but felt I should be honest with my few readers and myself. You wouldn’t think I weighed that much when you first look at me, but my body is really dense (like my mind). My husband doesn’t believe I weigh that much. In some ways, *I* can’t believe I weigh that much again. Did I say again? Yes I did. Once before, when I was 22, I weighed that much. I lost it for the wrong reasons (another story for another day), but I felt great! I want that feeling back again.

So you’re probably thinking, “Yeah, here is another fat ass that sits around and does nothing but eat crappy food and watch television all day.” You’d be wrong. I sit around and eat crappy food and play on the internet all day. Ha. I‘m kidding, of course. My eating habits are fairly normal. I eat less than my husband does, and he’s a skinny Asian bastard (I say this with love). I may not exercise enough, though. I love walking and working out on the Wii Fit, but I don’t think it is helping, and it is getting harder and harder to do those things.

So now we get to the reasons WHY I’m like this. The first time I lost weight, I instilled in myself the eating habits that SHOULD HAVE been instilled in me before. I made myself exercise like I SHOULD HAVE before. No, I’m not laying a “this is all my parent’s fault” guilt trip. Yes, they cooked a lot of fried foods and buttered foods and loaded me with 2% milk, but it wasn’t their fault. I was an active child. The weight just clung to me. Then I got lazy. Then I got fatter. Then I lost weight. Then I got pregnant. No, I’m not blaming my lovely son. I just let myself eat whatever because I was pregnant. And I had cravings. And I didn’t care. Then I popped out my boy, lost some weight, then it all came back again. Fuck.

I have battled my weight all my life. I have been called more names than I care to remember. I cried more days than I care to remember over the teasing and taunting. I have had doctors, nurses, and other people tell me the standard cliché, “Oh, you would be so pretty if you weren’t overweight.” Fuck all y’all and your lack of help. I have had exactly TWO doctors try to help me lose weight. It didn‘t work.

So where does this fat dilemma leave me now? Well, I can go into fat acceptance and embrace the heft until I die like 10 years from now, or I can get the surgery to help me lose weight. I’m opting for the latter. I do not want to be this fat. I can feel it weighing down on me, no pun intended. I cannot sit comfortably in chairs, couches, planes, trains, or automobiles. I cannot walk without breaking a sweat, even on cold days. I cannot buy clothes in regular stores. I’d say I can’t get frisky with my old man, but that still happens and he seems to enjoy the lard. I just hope he isn’t too disappointed when it disappears.

This post is not meant to slander people who don’t care about how much they weigh. I applaud you for embracing the chub. I do as well, but not at this level of heaviness. Even though I am crazy healthy (only medical problems are high blood pressure and asthma…and the mental issues, but they don’t count), I can feel the weight starting to take it’s slow toll. My knees and legs hurt a lot now. I am breathing harder. I have developed a form of sleep apnea, although I don’t need help with it yet (God willing, I will never need help with it). Most of all, I am afraid. Afraid of cutting my life short, afraid of having my son embarrassed about his fat mama, afraid my husband will be embarrassed about his fat wife, and afraid that I will never be able to do the things I want to do in life because I have 250 pounds of extra bulk hindering me.

My consultation appointment for Lap Band surgery is on Monday. I’m praying that the surgeon will see that I am sincere in my efforts and approve me for it, because I really have no other options at this point. Weight Watchers worked for a while. My doctor’s diet worked for a while. MY diet worked for a while. They all failed me in the end, though. Maybe being restricted to a half cup of food at each meal will finally gain me some results.

If it doesn’t, I’ll be dead before I’m 40, and I really don’t want that to happen. Life is fun, even when it is being a bitch.