Building A Cocoon

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No one talks about it but I bet it happens a lot more than people are willing to admit. I mean really, not ALL fat women have low self esteem. I, for a long time saw myself as well proportioned and beautiful. I always thought, "I'm not THAT big." It wasn't until my health started to decline that I realized that I was THAT big. Still, I fooled myself further. I was sure that I was the hottest looking BBW there could possibly be. High blood pressure really isn't any indication of who I am or my total health. A lot of black people are prone to HBP. I looked in the mirror and saw a normal sized body. For YEARS. Even when the layers came, the fat rolls, the sagging butt. I saw a normal sized sexy woman on the plus side.

I sat in chairs and the chair was small (my butt wasn't big). People stared because they had seldom seen a bbw with such confidence. Not because I was the biggest girl in the room. I am sort of mad because my window slowly shattered. My view was bought back into focus when I began stepping up the stairs one at a time and then I came to OH and started looking at the pictures and hearing the stories and my false image fell away. The layers were then so grotesque to me. I was so unattractive. I now see it spreading to my face. I haven't taken a good picture in months. I see the flaws. It's from the inside out that I don't feel pretty anymore and now I am not very pretty on the outside.

I never wanted surgery to seem like the defining point in my life. I wanted it to be an enhancement of my health and appearance. Now I feel like my future, my sense of self depends on it. I can't be saved from the reality in the mirror any more. As painful as it is I hope the Fatorexia never comes back. It's so easy to fool yourself into divahood (ok I am still a diva). The illness is why I let myself go so far. It was never that bad really. Really, it's that bad.

When I came to OH it was because some one mentioned it to me. A dear friend. I came and dilly dallied around. Then... I posted my first post! It was to my friend. It was truly contagious though. I found myself posting nearly every day. It wasn't so much that I felt support as I felt entertained... amused... comforted in a friendly environment. Although all were friendly and helpful (which I know is also supportive) but some... handful have gone above and beyond. They have made me feel that the words "The OH Family" were not taken so lightly, at least not by these special few.

So in this family there are a few rogue cousins (always a few cousins  you have to avoid). But all and all this OH is a good thing and I'm happy I found it.

And to my special few... I am uplifted by you.  Brightened by you. Made better because of you. Please don't change. You have  my adoration.

I must be grateful about the little blessings. I was so furious with my son on Thursday and most of Friday.  On Saturday some of it ebbed away... most of it in fact. This morning I woke up with this wondrous feeling of love for him. I'm so gleeful that the positive energy has washed over me and I once again can be appreciative of his little face. I forget that parenthood isn't about a perfect child.  We don't live for  the sad times but for the good ones. When all is said  and done  we live for the moments. The ones that take us over. The ones when the sun hit's their face and you know at that moment that the universe was aligned just to compliment his beauty. I am grateful for one such day... even if it only turns out to be a moment... it can propel me a bit further.

Tennyson’s Face ©



The sun shines brightly,

Bouncing off his walnut skin...

Playing in his eyes.

His lips part to unveil his white teeth,

The sun,

ashamed,

Hides behind the clouds.

I was defeated today. Defeated by a person not even as tall as my shoulder. I was bowled over and floored. Just like it was nothing. It was my son. He crushed my hopes today. The little ones you keep to yourself. The ones that you dream before you sleep. "When he's settled I'm going to go back to work." "When I have the operation I'll be able to start my career." "I can write now!" All of them dashed by the third call this week in regard to my son. The second time he had to leave early in a week and the second one day suspension this week. How does one work under these situations? What do you tell your job? There's nothing but little bullshit jobs you do at home just to keep the bills paid. There's nothing but to sit... eat... and watch television because you never know when that next call is going to come and a big piece of cake may be the only pleasure you get today. You plan dinners you are too emotionally exhausted to make. So the chicken spoils as you call for fast take out or swing by McDonald's for a happy meal. You don't order one yourself because really, what is there to be happy about?

The boy was on loan to me since he occupied my womb. His father and I discussed repeatedly that if for whatever reason we didn't work out my son would live with him. By the time we split up he was too unfit and I knew that he would never give my son, who had special needs, the attention and love he needed. Irresponsible of me to leave my son in his care, I took him with me. He moved to Florida, I moved to Pennsylvania. Happily we split. My son never asked to see his father and was content speaking to him on the phone.

As my son grew, even before the move it was accident and incident then more incidents. He drank the orange clean. Running to take a few squirts every time I went to the bathroom or to my room for anything. I found him hour later puking on the floor. I could have lost him. One night he climbed up into the cabinet, stole the Excedrin and ate them like candy under his bed. He was up all night and luckily no liver damage was done. He used to jump off of a chair and bang his head on the radiator and then try to do it again, and again. Even after moving the chairs he did it yet again without the chairs. There has never truly been a moment that I could relax. I wake up when he does (crack of dawn) and keep an eye on him because he will eat a half gallon of ice cream or a bag of cookies if he isn't watched. There is no safe spot in my house. No cabinet that he will not break into.

So recently besides the suspensions he decided that he would WALK home. WALK! almost 2 miles a little eleven year old boy. He was found by a woman on fourth street asking passers by for directions. She bought him home. He said "I felt like walking." I explained to the woman who ran the program that it was unacceptable. She agreed and naturally it will never happen again.

I say all of that to say that I feel like the boy is still on loan. He will never truly be mine. I feel one day I will slip and he will be gone. I can't fully love him because I don't know what silly thing he will do next that will cause his life to be taken. I remain affectionate but there is definitely a distance. How difficult it must be for mothers of children with terminal illness to know their babies will be gone. This is different in-so-much as there is no cause for him to go. I will lose my son through pure willfulness on his behalf. He requires the kind of supervision I can't give without killing myself in the process.

I am weary, so weary. Wondering day after day when my precious gift will be snatched from my arms because I slept too long or turned my head or let him play outside. What does a mother do? I haven't figured it out yet.

I have had so many great moments in the last week. Last Tuesday I went in for my first appointment. The one that makes the journey official. It puts me in the books and on the trail that leads to the day where my life will change forever.

I went there with some sense of trepidation. I won't write all about I've already done so in a post.

Another learning experience for me this week was the realization that small minds exist all around me. When I worked in academia I was acutely aware of people and their underlying motives. Living in Lancaster I have let my guard down. My job isn't as demanding and my interaction with bigots and sheep was limited.

But this week, here on OH I was reminded that I am not that far removed from my great, great grandmother. She lived to 104 and it is my blessing that i got to know her. She would tell me about her life and the things she lived through with a resigned casual attitude that made me wonder sitting at her knee why she would put up with the mistreatment she described.

I now understand it's never a choice. The way people treat you is a mirror unto them. A person's poisoned spirit can spew over you like rancid blood from a slaughtered pig. It is disgusting and foul, and all you can do after it has happened is wash yourself off and try to forget the aroma of filth. I am cleansed but still the blood stains remain in society and even here where there is so much commonality
people still find a way to bring the ugly nature that has poisoned them into the world around them.

I am hurt. Not for myself but because I now know what exists in the world and everything is shaded a little more gray because of it. "There is no help for it" -Albus Dumbledore

Three days from now would have been my very first appointment. The one that would have told me whether or not I was expecting or not. However I have been curtailed. It seems I must wait a few more precious weeks before I find out.

I can't help but feel like an expectant mother when it comes to this surgery. In six and a half months I could well be having an event, in a hospital that will likely change my life forever! Giving birth yes, to my improved life. I wanted to say new but truly it will be the same one. We are only given one and everything that you do lays the ground work for everything you will do there after.

So I sit many days staring at my stomach wondering what the outcome will be. So this month wasn't good news. Perhaps next month will be the month that I can begin hope. Then just two short trimesters (bimesters?)... I can hardly wait!

There have been many many posts about people who were denied by their insurance company. I always think to myself, "Oh gosh they know this is a process why don't they just suck it up??" I sit all too upright on my high horse sometimes. I tend to roll with the punches with most things. What I don't roll with I change.

Today I have been humbled. Humbled to tears. I had physical therapy this morning. Just prior to leaving my house I saw an unopened letter from MIlton S. Hershey Medical Center. Well all of the mail from them is usually opened with vigorous anticipation. So I couldn't figure out why I hadn't opened this one. I concluded that the children must have put it there. No matter, it was just before PT so I'll just read it quickly and go.

I read the line "Due to a change in your insurance provider's schedule, we must cancel your appointment on 9/19/07." I threw the letter down and stomped out of  my house furious and unwilling to participate in PT. I'd go to the hospital and I'd tell her so! I had important things to attend to.

I ended up at the hospital and I went to tell this skinny, blond, part time PT (Physical Therapist) and Part time PT (Physical Trainer) that I couldn't concentrate on anything until I sorted this all out. While telling her I began to cry. I cried and cried and could barely get my words out. They dropped out of my mouth like globs of Jello. Clumsy and misshapen they came. She gave me a disapproving look, "Obviously this is something very important to you. So I won't hold it against you if you want to leave."

It sounded like "Well if you are so fat that you can't exercise and diet why would I think you'd be dedicated to relieving your pain. This is just an excuse. It could wait." Was I projecting? The look in her eye told me I wasn't. Her words said I was. She disapproved. That was for sure.

So I rushed home and took a few minutes to try and compose myself and I taped my reading of the letter then I taped my phone call to those people. Turns out my appointment has to be rescheduled because the DR will be on vacation for 2 weeks. Not due to insurance. I felt stupid. They said that I could have an appointment on October 17th. I said it wouldn't work for me and after talking to 3 different people I was told it could be moved to October 2nd.  So we split the difference. I can live with that. It's fair considering.

But, all that I have written the bottom line is not to persevere. It is a message to my heart that when you want something so incredibly bad and you have pinned your hopes on it, thought about everyday... all day and watched it pass before you just out of your reach it hurts to watch it go by. It hurts to feel like you have to fight for something that others seem to get with hardly any struggle at all.

My process has been slightly delayed, but it didn't stop my heart from aching and my soul from crying. I can't imagine what being denied by the insurance must be like after having traveled the road. I will say I think I was more prepared for that fight than to be cut off long before I even can begin to move forward.

I hurt although the wound has been tended to and I feel compassion for all those people who I thought should handle their disappointments better. I feel shame for not understanding, for judging.

We move forth...

Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate,
but that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us.
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, handsome, talented and fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.
Your playing small does not serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking
so that other people won't feel insecure around you.

We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us.
It is not just in some; it is in everyone.

And, as we let our own light shine,
we consciously give other people permission
to do the same.As we are liberated from our fear,
our presence automatically liberates others.


--Nelson Mandela

Tonight I ate my dinner on a small saucer. I surprised myself when I picked it up and surprised myself more when I looked at the amount of food I put on it. I didn't go back for seconds and I thought about what it must be like post surgical. Post surgical that would have been a meal.

This night it sufficed for me as well. I was and am full even hours later. It gives me a little hope that I will be able to embrace the future. Although it still feels like the day for surgery will never come. I know that it is a wait and hurry situation. It will crawl along and then suddenly the day will be upon me.

So I wanted to wait for 30 minutes to drink I ended up waiting 2 hours... and then I reversed whatever good I had done with pastry and chocolate milk. I told myself that after surgery that will be a protein drink and nothing more. I hope it's so. I need it to be so.

I'm so out of control that the more I focus on food the more I seem to want to eat. I try not to buy the bad stuff. It's hard with my children here. I hate to change their eating as drastically as I have to change mine. Even if it is good for them.

It's working out. This is just the ramblings of my train of thought. Something I wanted recorded. I hope to look back at this and remember... never forget.

I went to my son's orientation today. He's beginning Middle School and they had us go on a tour. Upstairs, downstairs, around the corridor, through the halls, more halls, more halls.

The entire time I perspired in small streams down my face and back. In the cascading folds on my sides. I was embarrassed and looked around at the other parents to see if maybe one of them was having a hard time too. Although there were other BBW mom's there I was the largest and the only one who seemed to be suffering to the extent that I was.

I began to feel like a dope fiend trying to look normal. When a dope fiend has not taken dope for a while (a few hours to a day or two depending) they begin to have symptoms. some of those symptoms is perspiration, shakiness and restlessness.

Today I looked like a dope fiend. I smiled the smile that is supposed to say "Everything is fine" but everyone knows what that smile means. It is a cover up. Something was wrong with me and they all could see it.

I half hoped that I would fall out right there. It would be an excuse other than that I was fat and couldn't take this light jaunt around the small school. I knew though that I was just exhausted and not ill... I was a fat-head... and I needed my fix. Not food, but sitting, leaning, resting.

Through this disease obesity I have learned that although food is a crutch it has spawned other questionable behaviors. Much like the drug addict's behaviors change, such as they become thieves, lose the ability to handle finances and betray family and even themselves. I have done the same.

I sit so much because my addiction has driven me to it. I ride when I could walk because it is the behavior of an obese person. The weight, caused by the food has caused an entire culture of behaviors that contribute to the problem.

However, what made me happy after all was said in done was that I had accomplished it. I kept up. I didn't fall behind and I didn't complain. I may have looked horrible but that won't be forever. If I am fortunate enough to pull through surgery and lose weight I will be able to do these things without a second thought.

It made me pleased with myself that my son had his mother with him and I didn't wait in the hall for him to finish the tour. It was an accomplishment.

Perhaps this fat-head has found rehab... it's a 12 month program and when I am done I can just take it one day at a time. Maybe make it through recovery a better person than I was before.