It’s Saturday morning about 520am.  I’ve been tossing since about 4am.  I had to go to the bathroom on my way back to bed the nausea came and I ran back to the toi-dee and proceeded to throw up stomach acid and few pieces of potato.  My throat is burning.  Now my stomach is upset and I’m shaky. We have literally nothing in the house.  I usually like a few crackers or a piece of bread when I get like this, but here I am sitting at the computer with just my bottle of water.  Last night was definitely a mistake…

I have only about three weeks until my pre-op testing appt and knowing that I have a few more pounds to take off in preparation for my weigh in, I suggested dinner at Outback to have the “last steak”.  Of course my “last steak” was accompanied by half a platter of batter friend mushrooms, a salad and ¾ of a baked potato dripping in butter.  I probably finished half of the 12 oz steak. My hubby has a nice leftover box with half of my steak and half of his Alice Springs chicken to eat for lunch today.  Oh and just for the record the steak was yucky.  It had too much pepper on it.  It burned my tongue.  My “normal” way of thinking would probably make that justification for a second trip since my first one didn’t leave me satisfied, but after just yacking up pepper steak acid, I’m thinking no for that.  This is like the third time I’ve had a “last something” that not only was disappointing but had after effects.  UGG.  I feel so sick.

I want to talk about my experience at the restaurant tonight.  It was pretty normal for me, but eye opening just the same.  I’m hoping that a year from now I can look back on this and be thankful for the surgery I’m going to have…  Our buzzer went off and we were being led into the dining area.  All of a sudden panic set over me when I saw the booths.  I ALWAYS ask for a table and thought to myself “OH NO, I forgot to ask for a table” but then I remember Outback only has tables for larger parties.  So a booth it would be.   They seated us in one of those 1.5 seat booths meant for just a table with two patrons.  I did my normal visual check to see which side had more room.  I even asked my husband his opinion.  He just quickly sat down saying it didn’t matter.  I wonder if my saying that out loud embarrasses him.  I sat down, or rather squeezed it and proceeded to situate myself somewhat comfortably which of course means my boobs rest on the table.  It’s horrible.  Booths automatically make me feel like I’ve got a neon side above my head flashing “FAT CHICK ABOARD”.  UGG.  I “joked” with my husband several times that my boobs were resting on the table.  It’s really not funny.  The joke is on me.  I started thinking “what the f*** am I doing here, I hate this feeling”.  But thought quickly to that yummy juicy steak I was going to have.  I felt like everyone had noticed me come in and squeeze in that damn booth.  I looked over the room to see if anyone was looking at me.  No one was.  I’m just being paranoid.  Then I spotted another volumptous lady across the room.  AHA!  She ALSO had her boobs resting on the table.  I felt somewhat relieved.   How awful to take relief from someone probably feeling as crappy as I did with that situation.  I found that during the dinner I was frequently looking at this woman.  I realized that the ONLY reason she struck my attention was because of her size.  I realize that people do the same thing to me when they look across the room.  What an awful thought, half a room of people all sneaking glances at the morbidly obese chick across the room stuffed into the booth and gorging on a meal.  UGG.  The whole idea of it makes me sick.  After I ate my meal, my husband had to go to the mens room.  He took an unusually long time.  I was very self conscious while he was gone.  Would people think I was there alone?  Would the staff think we were somehow stiffing the bill?  Was he passed out in the bathroom?  UGG.  As I sat there I became aware that my now full belly was firmly pressed against the table.  I was thinking about how I was going to gracefully unwedge myself to get out of the damn booth.  After my husband returned and we paid the bill, I made my best attempt, but remember thinking about what I must have looked like.  And I dropped my jacket halfway on the floor so I just covered my insecurity with brushing off my coat and then putting it on.  As I walked by the fellow larger lady to leave I made sure I did not make eye contact.  I wasn’t sure if she would have seen that I had been glancing at her all evening.  Goodness knows I didn’t need to make her self conscious too.  We left the restaurant and went home.

My well intentioned “last steak” proceeded to make me sick to my stomach and made me feel horrible inside from overthinking what everyone ELSE must have been thinking.  It’s SOOO not worth it…feeling this way…  I wish I could retrain my brain again the “last anything” mentality…

I have had a rough nights sleep tonight.  Probably all that nastiness in my stomach didn’t help.  I had a nightmare early in the evening.  It made me very uneasy.  Then we won’t up to hear “PLUNK PLUNK PLUNK”.  My husband had to get dressed and investigate outside and the gutter was making some weird loud dripping noise.  He tinkered with the downspout a bit and it stopped.   I had trouble getting back to sleep.  Then I woke up at 4am.  Before I came in here to type this out, I turned my bedside light to it’s mid-dim setting and re-read a few chapters of a book I already read.  I looked over at myself in the mirror.  Damn that mirror.   My laziness and lack of asking my husband to take care of it, still has our dresser mirror positioned on the floor.  It gives me pretty much a full length view of myself lying in bed.  I sleep nude.  I find that I frequently pull my covers down and look at my body.  I’m disgusted.  How could I have let myself go the way I have.  I sit there sometimes and move my fat around, pull my fat back, etc etc to see what I have got there and what I might be able to get rid of.  That horrible damn mirror.  I really need to move it so I stop obsessing with these thoughts but its’ that same obsession that makes me leave the mirror there.  It’s my nightly reminder of who I have become and what I need to overcome.  My body is mutated.  The skin is so destroyed that I know even when I lose the weight from surgery that my only option to regain a normal appearance will be to have plastic surgery.  But one thing at a time.  I can’t even begin to think that far ahead.  I wonder even if I have my big panni after surgery if it will more comfortable since it will weigh less. My stomach is my most difficult fat area.  It puts a lot of pressure on my back and posture.  And certainly does make clothes hard to look nice in.  Sometimes I’m able to wear a shirt that hangs over my panni just right that I just look fat and round.  Not hourglass with a HUGE FAT SACK hanging off the front of me.  When I took my pictures for my OH page.  I made a point to wear something close fitting and short to show the true geometry of my body.  I don’t want to EVER forget what I started with.  I think of my body and seriously want to puke.

December 10^th cannot come fast enough for me.  I wish I had a remote control for life and press the fast forward button ahead 4-5 weeks.  UGG.  December 10^th seems so far away.