Memories

I was thinking the other day about memories. Not the kind that are warm & fuzzy, but the kind you think back on and never want to repeat. Memories about the way life used to be for me before I had this surgery. Some might say the life I had pre-op is better left to the ash heap but I feel it's good to keep certain things in mind so when I want to reach for that second Timbit (which, I've decided, are the devil's candy), it's easier to say no.

When choosing this apartment, I had to consider the stairs of the building. Did I want to climb up a flight (or two) or go down a flight? This would determine what floor we lived on. So that's why we have a basement apartment. Not as bad as it sounds - it's really quite nice with tons of large windows. However, I'd love to have a balcony. But that would've meant climbing stairs or living in a more expensive building with an elevator. No balcony for Cindy. Now, when I'm home and want to leave, of course I still have to go up a flight but better that than carrying groceries up some stairs, right?

Carrying groceries. Um yeah. I hardly ever did that. Anything that had to be hauled out of the car was Erich's job. I usually stumbled in the door and collapsed on the couch for about an hour after we went anywhere. I was usually hot, in pain and completely exhausted. I've seen him make 5 or 6 trips to the car to bring stuff in, especially after we'd been on vacation or something. I always felt guilty about that but there was no way I could help him. Now I beat him back and forth to the car, trotting up and down that flight of stairs like it's nothing.

I sit in the bath now and run my hands along the water at my sides and remember when my ass made a pretty good Hoover Dam-like stopper. I remember 20 years ago shopping for a trailer with my ex-husband and one of the main selling points of the eventual winner was the 'garden' tub in the master bathroom. It was about 1-1/2 times as wide as a normal tub - SOLD! I do love my baths. Now the size of the tub really doesn't matter. Even hotel tubs work. This may seem like a small thing, but it's a big deal to me. Also, getting out of the tub used to involve mechanics better reserved for four-point parallel parking. Roll to the side..stop. Grab side of tub and hoist body up on one knee...stop. Count to three then liiiiffffttt!!!...stop. Stand there a second to re-gain balance...stop. Now I simply...get up. Stop.

'Shopping' used to mean two stores. And usually for bottoms only. It was a rare circumstance when I could find a top to fit me anywhere, in any store, plus size or not. Can you imagine what it feels like to try on a 6X - knowing that is the biggest size in any store you can get to - and it doesn't fit? I hoarded clothes. I had shirts in my closet that were more than 10 years old. I wore them long after they should've been thrown out due to wear and tear or style. I never knew where my next shirt was coming from. My mother-in-law made a lot of stuff for me, thank GOD, but I couldn't just go out and get something new. Ever. Now there are things in my closet less than a year - even 6 months - old and I'm having to get rid of them because they're too big. It's a little traumatic for me. I hate to part with my clothes; it's a psychological thing, I guess. I need to remember that I can wear things in any store now. I can always go get more clothes.

I remember when I longed to be invisible. It's an odd thing that the bigger you are, the more people try their best to ignore you and the more you WANT them to do just that because attention you do receive is likely to be condescending or insulting. I don't mind bright colours or tighter clothes now. I don't need or want to hide. I will get on the dance floor, I will walk right past a pack of teenage boys, I will look people in the eye and smile at them. All without fearing being laughed at. It's a work in progress but I'm getting there. Just yesterday I walked past a group of teenagers laughing and talking and didn't have any paranoia that they were laughing at me. That's a good feeling.

I could go on and on and on but you get the idea. I never could've imagined life this way. I've mentioned this word before but it's just freedom. Freedom from fear, really. Fear eats at you till you obey its every whim without a second thought. Letting go of the fucking fear is so hard. People look at me differently now and sometimes I wonder why; that's the old fear creeping in. Don't wonder - just live your life! This is how normal, happy people live. I tell myself 'remember the way life used to be and resolve never to go back'. Sweeping Cindy, right? Out with the old and in with the new.

Now onto lighter subjects. There's a link in the left-hand column to a fantastic blog I visit frequently. The World According to Eggface is very helpful to post-ops. She just gave her blog a facelift and is having a contest to celebrate! She's giving away a variety pack of Torani syrups. These syrups are way cool and very handy to have in the post-op world. They're difficult for Canadians to get our hands on, though, and I usually import them when I got home to Ohio. So, I'm entering. Fellow readers, especially my gastric bypass patient readers, check out Eggface and leave a comment on her contest blog to enter.

I'm gonna post her snazzy new button thingy just because she asked: