NiNiBoo
Now that I have been approved for surgery so comes the ethical task of telling my husband of my plans. About a year ago, I pursued this very same surgery, went to the informatory meetings, and prepared my letter for the insurance company the whole nine. When I talked to my husband about it, he became angrily opposed to the idea. He shouted I should try exercising to loose weight. I know my husband pretty well, and for him to become upset about this, just shows he is scared of possible complications. So I dropped it, and promised to exercise more.
Well here we are a year later and I weight 30 pounds more than last year and higher cholesterol. So this time I looked it this surgery on my own, and got approved without anyone in my family knowing. I have kept this a secret from my family for about 3 months now. There is only one person who knows and that’s my boss, who has had RNY and supports my all the way. I told her not for support but, I needed the time off.
I have a history of hiding what is going on with me. When I was younger, my mother would take away anything I showed interest in or loved just to feed her own sick pleasure of seeing me without.
If I liked cereal and milk she would tell me I could never eat it again and if she caught me she would beat me. If I found a friend, she would tell my friends parents that I was a bad influence and they should keep their child away from me. On the flip side she could enjoy all the things she liked.
One time I came home from school to find all of my toys gone. When I asked where they were she told me that I did not keep them clean so she threw them away. A few weeks later when she went to jail for beating up her husband; I had to stay with a friend of hers while she was gone. They had a girl my age named Michelle and when I went to her room, all of my toys were there. So from then on I kept everything a secret.
It was not until I ran away from home that I could live some type of normal life. I find myself even to this day denying myself things that bring me happiness. I love purses and things with butterflies. Yet I refuse to buy them not because I cannot afford them, but I tell myself that someone like me does not deserve them.
