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Member Interests
- Animals - I adore cats and dogs. They're better than people.
- Humor - I'm big into comedy. I've been told many times I'm very, very funny.
- Teaching - I'm an elementary school teacher. I currently teach first grade.
- Dating - I'm twice divorced and I date a lot.
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This page, like me, is a work in progress.
3/8/07 on March 8, 2007 6:34 pm
I recently purchased a set of "Liftits," which also goes under the product name, "Bring It Up." This product is a kind of clear tape that gives you an instant breast lift. It attaches to the TOP of the breast and pulls the breast up. The product is very easy to apply. You can see a video of it here (warning--nudity): http://www.bringitup.com/BreastLift.mpg
The product is as easy to apply as shown in the video. If applied properly, it is undetectable under clothng. I tried a pair out today, under a v-necked camisole. I applied the tapes at approximately 6 a.m., and they've stayed in place comfortably for 12 hours so far.
Anyone larger than a D cup won't get great results, but if you wear a D or smaller, it's worth a try while you're awaiting plastic surgery. They're good for special occasion clothes but too costly to be a daily solution to droopy boobs. You can buy them at:
https://www.bringitup.com:444/cgi-bin/storeforge.cgi?action= item&id=1009
3/7/07 on March 7, 2007 3:49 pm
No fanfare, no parade, no grand celebrations, but yesterday marked my one year anniversary of my roux-en-Y.
Time to reflect and take stock. I am NOT the same person as I was a year ago:
I have changed physically for certain. While I have not lost as much as I'd hoped to lose (I really had hoped to lose at least 100 pounds by now), I'm very grateful for the 86. I am disappointed and often wonder if I'll ever get to 100, but have to keep telling myself that I'm incredibly fortunate to have regained my life and my health and that if 100 is meant to be, it will be. If it is not meant to be, so be it.
I am no longer diabetic. I haven't taken any diabetic meds in 10 months. I no longer suffer from fallen arches and don't have foot pain. My heels no longer crack and bleed. I don't get winded readily. I'm stronger physically and have lots more energy. I have found a physical activity other than sex that I enjoy (trikking).
I have also changed psychologically and emotionally. I now have a greater sense of self worth than I did a year ago and I am less likely to be a doormat for a man. That is a sign of personal growth, but I still feel very awkward about the choices I make with respect to men.
I am beginning to feel like I fit in with the regular crowd and that I no longer stand out as the fattest one in the room. If I want to stand out, I do so with flashy clothes and my sense of humor. Previously, I stood out as fat but funny.
I still have very bad days where I feel like I look like a house and nothing I put on my body looks flattering or attractive. I still have lots of body image issues to work through. I desperately want to feel pretty. Some days, I kid myself a bit and think it's possible. Most days, I consider myself of exceedingly average looks with a few nice features.
These days, I enjoy clothes shopping. I struggle, though, with the urge to buy anything and everything that fits. This is a carryover from my pre-surgical days when I'd be grateful to find anything that fits and would buy it because to find something that fits at those larger sizes is a rarity. Now I get to be choosy and I have to keep repeating the mantra that just because I can buy something doesn't mean I should.
Overall, this has been a very, very positive experience. Certainly, there have been days that have included physical pain. There's been a learning curve and lots of struggle. Every minute has been worth it and I would undergo the surgery again in a heartbeat. I am one of the very luckiest women I know.
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It's been a few months, so it's time to revisit the list of 30 goals. I still have a way to go:
- Not cringing at turnstiles—DONE.
- Walking comfortably through the center aisle of a schoolbus.
- Throwing out my diabetic meds—DONE.
- Sitting in a single-unit schooldesk with room between my belly and the desk—DONE.
- Not needing a seatbelt extender on airplanes—DONE.
- Not being the fattest one in the room—DONE.
- Being able to walk the Yale Loop—DONE.
- Buying naughty things from Frederick’s and Victoria’s Secret.
- Going for a haircut and not feeling embarrassed when they pump/raise the chair.
- Asking the salesgirl to find it in a smaller size—DONE.
- Choosing any seat I want, not just the one that looks sturdy.
- Turning heads—DONE.
- Crossing my legs—DONE.
- Not having waistbands or bras cut into my flesh—DONE.
- Being picky about clothes—DONE.
- Dancing without everything bouncing.
- Reading the scale by looking straight down.
- Not being afraid of the scale in any doctor’s office—DONE.
- Flirting and not looking like a fool—DONE.
- Wearing sexy shoes—DONE.
- Not feeling like a freak at swimming pools and beaches.
- Handing off my fat clothes to someone—DONE.
- Borrowing skinny clothes from someone—DONE.
- Being able to wrap a regular sized towel all the way around me at the gym.
- Not having to wedge my ass into the seats at a baseball stadium or hockey arena—DONE.
- People not recognizing me—DONE.
- A man loaning me his jacket out of chivalry, and the jacket is way too big on me—DONE.
- Really wondering, “Do these jeans make my butt look fat?” without already knowing the answer.
- Not shying away from cameras—DONE.
- Not wondering, as a man picks me up and twirls me around, whether I’ve just given him a hernia.
2/26/07 on February 26, 2007 3:56 pm
I haven't updated in several weeks. My weight has just about stayed the same. I'm currently at 171.8. I've been up and down in the past few weeks, but nothing earth shattering. I'm coming up on my one year surgiversary in a week or so. I had hoped to hit the century mark by now, but que sera, sera. I'm still damned grateful for what I've accomplished.
Overall, I've been fairly happy. There have been setbacks, though. One guy I dated (Tony) told me that he couldn't see himself dating anyone bigger than him, which made me feel like I was still enormous. Then in the next breath he also told me that he thinks I'm beautiful from the neck up, which made me feel hideous.
I told Tony that despite all the pain of surgery and the subsequent work and all that I had accomplished, in under ten seconds he successfully negated a year's worth of success and reduced me to feeling like utter crap.
Then Tony had the gall to ask that I continue to date him. I told him that he'd found my biggest insecurity and that he couldn't have hurt me worse if he kicked me straight in the teeth.
I said to him,
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After hearing what you've just told me--that I'm only beautiful from the neck up and that you can't picture yourself with someone who is or who ever was bigger than you.... In what world would I ever allow myself to be so vulnerable to ever be in a state of undress with you?! Are you crazy?!
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I continued,
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You've proven it yet again; here's the inherent difference between the sexes. You have no qualms about saying something so shallow or hurtful, whereas no self-respecting, decent woman would ever say to a man, 'You might be my ultimate, end-all, be-all lover, my Alpha and my Omega, if only you got those hair plugs.' No, no good woman would ever do anything so hurtful and mean. But a man? No compunction whatsoever. That's why women are so superior to men--we look beyond the surface. We look at character, and you've just shown me yours. A very wise woman once told me, 'When someone shows you who they are, believe them.' You've shown me who you are. I am grateful.
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Tony slunk away, knowing that there was no ladder big enough to get him out of the hole he'd dug for himself. What an idiot.
I was a basket case for days. It's amazing how deeply it affected me.
Thankfully, the man I'm seeing now (Robert) seems to think I'm beautiful. At least he treats me that way.
He's seen pictures and video of me from before my surgery, and is astounded at the change. I don't think he would have been attracted to me before I'd lost the weight, but at least he's not cruel. He's respectful, sweet, affectionate, appreciative, fun and kind. He bought me roses for Valentine's Day and took me to a wonderful restaurant. I bought him two sweaters and a Borat t-shirt (his favorite movie). It was the best Valentine's Day I have ever had.
I am still struggling with eating. A lot. That's undoubtedly why I haven't lost more weight. But it seems that Robert is good for me...I am so relaxed and happy when I am with him that I don't eat much or often. So it seems that some of why I eat is out of boredom and loneliness.
I know this will be a lifelong struggle.
I've gotten myself a new toy--a trikke (http://www.trikke.com). I have been enjoying it--it's a pretty good workout and a lot of fun, too. My new beau has one as well, and we've been enjoying riding them together.
1/7/07 on January 7, 2007 10:12 am
I'm back down, to 172.4. I feel so relieved. I'm now wearing size 14 pants and 12/14 tops. I was fortunate that while I was visiting someone a couple of hours from here, I happened upon a discount clothing store where everything in the store was five dollars or less. Woo Hoo! I bought 4 tops and 4 pants. I needed them, and it was guiltless shopping.
My friend Karen suggested we take dance classes and we start tomorrow. I'm really looking forward to it. We're going to be taking salsa, cha cha, merengue for an hour, followed by country line dancing for another hour. That's two hours of aerobic fun, and it should help jump start the weight loss.
I did cancel my membership to the gym. It was pricey, and I was dissatisfied with the customer service I was receiving. Replacing it with the dancing should be fine.
This week, I turn 43. I'm having the time of my life. I'm dating aand I look and feel better than I have in decades. Literally, decades.
12/31/06 on January 2, 2007 3:34 pm
I'm up a few pounds, to 175.8. I've been eating everything wrong for the past three weeks. It's my own damned fault.
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My Story    
I was always the chunky kid growing up. Back when I was seven, I remember silently praying every night before I went to sleep, asking God to please let me wake up pretty. It was 1971, and I grew up on Elizabeth Montgomery, Barbara Eden, Marlo Thomas, and Barbara Feldon. I just wanted to be beautiful like them. My mother told me all the time that I was beautiful, but she didn't count. She's my mother, after all.
I prayed about figures like Barbara Eden and Elizabeth Montgomery for several years, and then finally gave up praying. Sure, there were times in my life, albeit short ones, when I was thin. When I was twelve, I was very pretty. But thin never lasted for long.
By the time I was 14, I had a drop stomach and varicose veins. I shrugged it off out of a defense mechanism and because my focus needed to be elsewhere. My parents were always so deathly ill, and so often in the hospital with life-threatening conditions, that my own physical appearance and health became secondary. My praying for my own beauty was replaced with frequent prayers for their mere survival. I started being a caregiver at age 15.
All my life has been a journey from one medical crisis to another for my parents. I cannot remember any period longer than two months without one of them being deathly ill. My parents are still in and out of hospitals, in life threatening conditions, almost every month. I always run to be by their side and to do whatever I can to help them recover.
Now I am 42, and little has changed. Sure, I dieted. I fasted. I took diet pills. I took thyroid pills. I took protein shake fasts. I tried hypnosis. I joined gyms. I did everything imaginable short of wiring my jaw shut. But the only thing that changed was my age. I had partial successes, of course, but they were short-lived. The yo-yo syndrome is all too familiar to those of us on this website.
My weight has affected my mind as well as my body. Twice, I married and both times I married at my highest weight. My sick mind rationalized that if the men married me at my highest weight, they must truly love me. Obviously, that didn't prove to be the case.
Now that I am again single and now middle aged, it is time to take time for me. Three decades of caring for my parents did little more than maintain their status; they've never improved. I need to take care of me before I become deathly ill as well, because I have no children to look after me in my old age.
My surgery is two weeks from tomorrow. I am never going to look like Samantha, Jeannie, That Girl, or Agent 99. But I will be rid of my diabetes and have a decent quality of life, finally. I no longer pray for beauty. Now I pray for health.
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