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| I can't understand this! I've always been level headed, the one who looked askance at those who mess with Mother Nature. I mean, really! God gives us bodies and we should be happy with them. Right? Well....not when you've lost 85 lbs. and all that stops you from fitting into the size you're supposed to is a pendulous flabby stomach - thanks to the years of gluttony. Seriously. Look at that picture! I could cry! I know it's insensitive, that there are those who are just starting this journey and think that I have a great body. That I should just be happy with what I have. And I used to believe that! But gradually, something started to happen. This worm of a thought burrowed its way into my brain and it grew to gigantic proportions. It started about a month ago. I'd just bought this beautiful satin slip-type pajama. It's gorgeous, and the material is sumptious - rich - magnificent. When I slipped it over my head and it slid like silk over my shoulders, then my breasts, this wave of sultry femininity washed over me. I had forgotten how that felt. Every pore of my body was feminine. I'm not talking S-E-X. Nope! I'm talking about the power of being a woman. I had forgotten what it was like. Smoothing the material over my hips (I have hips!!) I went to the mirror to take a look, then stopped dead in my tracks. The vision of me in my head didn't match the one in the mirror. The woman in my head was slim, trim, and made for speed. |
| 170 lbs. |
| But the woman in the mirror was like a lumpy, mushy rug. Aghast, I ripped my eyes away, saddened beyond belief as I realized that no matter how much I work out, no matter how much I lose, I will have this THING on my abdomen that resembles a deflated baloon. I gingerly began exploring my body, just to be sure that I was right. And sure enough, there were ribs! And hip bones! A tail bone! That's when I realized that I had lost all the weight I should lose, and anything else would be unhealthy. I was left with the remnants of obesity, a C-section and a hysterectomy. I used to believe that if I ended up with a saggy belly, then that would just have to be the price I would have to pay for years of obesity. As if I deserved some sort of punishment for my behaviour. I now believe that living those years that way was more than enough punishment, and I didn't need to carry this flabby belly as penance. But what to do? Gradually, the thought of abdominoplasty began to take root. I prefer to call it abdominoplasty instead of tummy tuck. Tummy tuck sounds so vain, and I'm not a vain person. As the days wore on, I began thinking about the surgery more and more and researched, in my best reporter way, all the ins and outs of such a measure. The more I read, the more I became convinced that I needed to do this thing. That it is the final piece in my healing. So I applied for a loan, but was turned down because of my debt load. They don't care that we have a comfortable income, it seems, and a 6.96 rating of a possible 7.00 wasn't good enough. When I learned I was turned down for the loan unless I got a co-signer I was devastated. That in itself shocked me. I had pretty well made up my mind that if I couldn't get the loan for the surgery, then I would accept that. I was surprised at my great reluctance to let it go. In fact, I fell into a bit of a depressive slump. Which isn't like me at all. But last night I was finally able to put on the dress that you see above. I won it in an e-bay bid, and until now it was much too small. When I put it on, I felt gorgeous! As I sat in my chair waiting for my husband to come home to show him the dress, I kept peeking in the mirror, certain that the woman with the legs was going to disappear - or I was going to wake up from the lovely dream. My impatience got the better of me, so I hopped in the Jeep and went to where Frank was working. Slinking down the stairs, hemline swaying seductively, I sashayed around the corner, got my husband's attention and said, "NOW do you want to come home?" A come-hither smile on my face. Eyes bugging, he stared at me for a long minute. "Ah..... YUP!" he said as he reached for me. "Then hurry," I cooed. When he finally arrived home about half an hour later I was in tears. You see, I had taken the picture above, but when I imported it to the computer screen I was devastated at what I saw. All I saw was a bulbous, fat abdomen. When Frank finally got home I almost screeched at him. "Why didn't you tell me I look fat in that dress?" I demanded. He stared at me, uncertain what to say, knowing that a time like this is tenuous for any man - weighing his words, afraid to say anything, but knowing that anything he might say could be like a match to a fuse. "But you DON'T look fat," he said. I simply turned my back and went into the bedroom, sat on the bed and thought. I knew there was nothing he could say to convince me otherwise. Fat! Fat! Fat! After all this work. FAT!!!! So, in true Karen style, I rose to the challenge and decided come hell or high water I AM getting that surgery. And not only that, I have a deadline in place. Mark my words - it will happen. I have never faced a challenge the way I am facing this one. Every single thing I own is for sale. Everything except my marriage, my family and my home. Everything else is just material possessions - things I can't take with me when I'm gone. And this is how I'm doing it. Every day after work I come home and spend hours in the computer room, photographing my treasures, writing descriptive blurbs about each piece, and uploading all to e-bay. Yup! That's right - e-bay is going to pay for this surgery. I probably spend five hours each day on-line and readying things for sale. Tonight will tell if my first treasure, an authentic Faberge collector's egg will sell. I also have a plan B in mind. This belly of mine is driving me. I work like a fiend until the wee morning hours, crawl into bed, then get up a few hours later to go to work, come home and start all over again. But something wondrous is happening in the meantime. My husband, who is the true collector of our family, is hauling out his goodies. He knows what this means for me and he's become my partner in this quest. The best part is the time we are spending together talking about the goods for sale. He tells me some history about the collectible and a great conversation is borne. I listen to him intently, and the joy in sharing our lives with a common goal is the true benefit of this. It's amazing to me, this whole thing. I was prepared to be the victim. Poor me, I have to carry this albatross on my belly as penance. But the new me, the one who is so much happier and self-assured wouldn't let that happen. She insisted I be the best I can be. She won't let me down. In the process of finding me, I have strengthened this 20-year marriage. Slowly but surely I am becoming healthier both in body and in spirit. Stay tuned.....I AM going to have the surgery, and for those of you who wonder what it's like, I promise to tell you all the details. |
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