But You Don’t LOOK That Big

As I’ve talked to people about my experiences with bariatric surgery, I’ve heard the same thing over and over – “But you didn’t look that big.” “I never thought of you as fat.” “I just thought of you as my normal friend.” It reminds me of things I’ve heard about other parts of my identity: “You don’t look Mexican.” “I never think of you as introverted.” “I just thought of you as my normal friend.” But just because you don’t acknowledge one part of my identity doesn’t mean I don’t live it. And when denial of the problem is the response to the fact of my surgery, it assumes exactly the thing I was trying to avoid: that I did it because I wanted to improve my appearance.

I’ve talked about the numbers, but if you’ve read my earlier posts, you know that just numbers don’t tell the whole story. The experience of living in a body that carries a significant amount of excess weight is constant, it’s difficult, it’s humiliating.

The insults and limitations start at the beginning of every day. I get up and go to my dresser or my closet, and think “What can I wear that is both comfortable and doesn’t make me look like I’ve given up on myself?” Women’s bodies vary so much in shape, and as we gain and lose weight, that shape can change drastically, so it’s not a matter of finding a style of clothing that works for me, it’s a matter of finding a single brand, manufacturer, or single item of clothing that reliably fits and is comfortable (I am of the opinion that clothing that fits correctly and is comfortable is automatically flattering. Feel good, look good.)

Now I’m dressed, and I face the challenge of breakfast. What to have? I could skip breakfast, telling myself that I’m sparing myself the calories, but I also know that one of the down sides of having a suppressed metabolism is that if I miss a meal, it may spur my body to either eat more at my next meal to “make up” for it, or to hang onto calories it would otherwise burn easily because it’s in starvation mode. So, skipping breakfast not a great idea. Most days I’d have tea (I don’t drink coffee, but I drink so much tea…) and toast, perhaps some fruit.

Now comes the challenge of incorporating exercise into my day. I would sit at my desk for a few hours working on stuff, and the longer I sat at my desk, the more guilt I felt because I know I should be getting my steps in, should be taking breaks to walk around, etc. But because I work from home, if I got up from my desk, I had a choice between go out for a walk or getting actual chores done, and there are always chores that need to get done. This is a reality for a whole lot of people – the time it takes to work out is a luxury a lot of folks just can’t afford. Similarly, if I’m out running around on errands and it’s way past lunch time and my toast and tea have worn off, it’s easy to make choices that aren’t the healthiest. Have you ever tried eating a salad while driving down the freeway? It’s worse than texting. But you can eat chicken fingers with one hand.

Dinner time is the next hazard. I have a family, and nobody has the time to make three entirely different meals and then clean up afterward. It means that there was not just food that wasn’t the best for me (tons of pasta) but a whole lot of it (because my family can put away a whole lot of pasta). Worse, there were a lot of days that we didn’t even start thinking about dinner until it was too late in the day to begin cooking, so we opted for take out – pizza, Indian, Thai, Chinese. And I would eat not just because I was hungry at the end of the day, but to be social with my family and to ease the tension and stress of the day. It wasn’t uncommon to get up from the dinner table with some variation of “I’m stuffed!”

Bedtime. The final challenge. By bedtime, my lower back and left hip were so painful that I knew I won’t be able to sleep. I take ibuprofen, I take CBD, I put a couple of Salonpas patches on my lower back and hip. One doctor said I should stretch more because I hike without stretching first. Another just said to take more pain killers. Every doctor said “lose weight,” although not one would tell me how. It could be hard to fall asleep and impossible to stay asleep because the pain in my lower back was so great.

And then I would get up the next day and do it over again. And none of this includes doing things like shopping for clothes (I couldn’t walk into a mall, go into any clothing store, and count on finding clothes that would fit me), taking public transportation (being embarrassed because people would rather stand than sit next to me on the bus, and if they were standing and I was sitting, it wasn’t unusual to get hostile stares from them as though I were purposely denying them a seat), grocery shopping (the feeling of shame and self loathing as I put things like ice cream or potato chips in my cart, even if those things weren’t for me), or doing anything that required me to ask someone for help in person (it would be unusual to get the attention of a service worker, and when I did, they were almost never motivated to put much effort into helping me solve my problem).

So, while I appreciate that you didn’t see me as fat, I hope that you understand that I didn’t do this to change anyone’s opinion of me. That’s ultimately not my business. I did it because there were realities of my day-to-day existence that I didn’t want to live with anymore.

The Flavor of Anti-Vaxx

I got this email at 4:30pm yesterday from the mother of the boy we drive to school in the mornings:

Hi Monkey,
So yeah, Carpooligan has been tested positive for whooping cough. Just thought you should know. Even the vaccine isn’t protecting kids at Gryffindor, so if the Goddess gets a mild cold and cough, I’d think about getting her tested.
Carpooligan was partially vaccinated, by the way, but did not have the booster. I chose not to get it because I didn’t think it was effective against the strain that goes around…
He’ll be back at functions Saturday and school on Monday, so no carpool buddy the next few days.
Hope you’re all well!

 

The tone of this email infuriates me. “This isn’t a big deal! He was ‘sort of’ vaccinated, so it’s not my fault. Even the vaccine isn’t 100% effective.”

 

I want to break this down just to figure out why it makes me want to sue this woman for everything she’s got, then burn it all, and her along with it.

 

  1. “Carpooligan has been tested positive for whooping cough.” Two weeks ago, she could have sent me an email that said “Carpooligan has been exposed to whooping cough and he’s not vaccinated.” A week ago, she could have said “I think that cough Carpooligan has might be whooping cough.” But she waited until after he tested positive to say anything to anyone. The lack of concern for anyone else is staggering.
  2. “Even the vaccine isn’t protecting kids at Gryffindor…” As I said, there is a small population of parents who opted out of the vaccine, but no vaccine is 100% effective. The pertussis vaccine is more effective in children than in adults, but is still not at 100%.  So, of the ~150 children at my kid’s school, roughly 5% aren’t vaccinated at all (so, about 8 kids), and another 3-6 will get it even if they were vaccinated. That’s 11-14 out of about 150. But that’s just the kids. Every one of those kids has parents, and many of them have siblings. Those people have jobs and friends and come into contact with thousands of people, so it’s not just about my kid having to miss school if she gets sick. It’s about spreading the disease along vectors you never thought about.
  3. “Carpooligan was partially vaccinated, by the way, but did not have the booster.” If he didn’t get the booster, he’s not protected. I don’t know what comfort she’s trying to offer with “partially vaccinated,” but maybe she’s just trying to tell me that she’s not a crazy antivaxxer. But if she’s not opting out on the grounds that vaccines are dangerous or against God’s will, why aren’t her kids vaccinated?
  4. “I chose not to get it because I didn’t think it was effective against the strain that goes around…” Aaaah! With her housewife medical degree, she decided two years ago (when her kid was in seventh grade and legally required to either have his vaccinations updated or provide an opt-out form) that the vaccine against pertussis, which has been shown to protect 98% of children who receive all their boosters, wasn’t the right one for the strain of pertussis that is currently being passed around. So, not only a medical hobbyist, but also a prognosticator. How about this: you chose not to get it because you have four children with four different schedules and signing an opt-out form is WAY easier than making an appointment and taking your kid to the doctor to get his shots updated? Because, having known this woman for 6 years now, I’d bet good money that her logic went “Taking my kid to the doctor is expensive and inconvenient, but signing a form is easy. I’ll do that!” It makes me wonder just how many of these opt-outs are really parents who can’t be bothered to just take their kid to the doctor. It makes me feel that schools should require more than just an easy signature on a form. They should require parents who choose to opt out to either provide a doctor’s note signed within the last week stating that their child has a medical condition that precludes vaccinations, or pay $10 and attend an hour-long lecture about vaccines and why they’re important. Something that would take about as long and cost about as much as just going to the doctor for the shot.
  5. “Hope you’re all well!” Fuck you. We’ve got whooping cough.

Disestablishmentarianism

Three weeks or so ago, my right hip went out. It hurts to walk. It hurts to bend over. It’s not so much that the motion itself hurts, although it does. The worst part is that whatever muscle lifts the leg forward is weak. My right leg has about a quarter the range of motion as my left leg. It means that I limp even when I’m not in pain, and that my balance is shot.

But for three weeks, I’ve been putting off going to the doctor. At first, I told myself that I had pulled something running. It’s true, the problem showed itself the day after I had done my first 3-mile run in a couple of weeks. I took hot baths, put compresses on it, took ibuprofen. The hip would feel a little better, then a little worse.

Then I realized that it wasn’t just my hip. It was also my knee. This is the same knee that I had injured tripping over the mountain of crap in my daughter’s room. But did the knee problem cause the hip problem, or the other way around?

I’m telling myself these things in an effort to diagnose myself so that I don’t have to go to the doctor.

And then I realized why I don’t want to see the doctor. The last time I went to a doctor for my knee, he said that I needed an MRI.

“I can’t have an MRI.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have a magnet in my hand, and once it’s ripped out of my hand in the MRI thing, there’s no telling where it might go.”
“Why do you have a magnet in your hand?”
“Because I had someone put it there.” (I didn’t want to give this guy the entire long story of what led me to getting it, and it wasn’t relevant.)
“Can it be removed?”
“No.”

He ended up telling me that he couldn’t find anything wrong. Which was his shorthand for “since you decided you don’t want an MRI, I decided I don’t want to treat you.”

I’m not excited about going through that exercise again. I’m in pain, and I’m worried that I’m going to need something like a knee replacement or a hip replacement because the damage is getting worse and worse, but obviously I’m not so worried that I’m willing to actually go to the doctor.

A lifetime of not being taken seriously and being told that all the problems I’ve ever had have been due to my weight, is it any wonder that I’m not keen on the medical establishment?