Saying Goodbye to Dinah

I was banded November 18, 2010. I weighed 340 pounds that day.

I weighed 380 pounds on the heaviest day I know of. I know of. Why is that phrase significant? Because I didn't own a scale that would weigh me. The only time I knew my weight was when I had to go to a doctor's office, and I avoided doctors at all cost. No one at 380 pounds enjoys going to the doctor (I guess no one enjoys it). Us fat people...we know the lecture. We've heard it over and over and over. Year after year after year. So yes, 380 is the heaviest weight I know of, but it probably wasn't my heaviest.

My lapband changed my life. My lapband probably saved my life.

In January of 2012, I hit my goal weight of 170 pounds. And I even stayed that weight...for about 10 minutes.

As I prepare to end my journey with Dinah (the name I lovingly gave my band), the timing of the conversation I am about to share could not have been intentionally planned to hit a nerve more raw. I know that it is an often accepted perception that weight-loss surgery is a "cheat." I've had the conversation with many people over the last 7 years. And I know even more have had it behind my back. Usually, I am perfectly happy, even excited, to be a part of the discussion. Those who know me know that I absolutely love a good debate. I often disagree with some extremely smart people and we go toe to toe both online and in person, always remaining respectful and above the belt (or at least I hope they feel I do). But not this time. This time, armed with the sad knowledge that I will be losing my band soon, I was less than polite. Less than respectful. And I stand behind the foul language that is to follow. *F bomb warning.

You're joining this in mid-conversation:

Friend: But you have to admit that you took the easy way out.
Me: Of course I admit that. It must have been easier because I tried for years to do it on my own and couldn't. The band made it easier for me for sure.
Friend: So you cheated.
Me: Cheated what? Death? I used a tool that was made available through modern advances. A tool that made a task easier. Do you still cut your grass with a hand-held blade? Or do you use a lawn mower? Did you walk here? Or do you drive a car? Are you opposed to all modern tools? Or just my lapband?
Friend: **blank stare**
Me: Exactly. Then shut the fuck up.

And why was that nerve so raw? Why did those same questions that I have answered I don't know how many dozens of times make me respond so rudely? Because I went into that conversation (which originated as a discussion about Chick-fil-a of all things) burdened with the knowledge that I will soon be losing my band. I will be saying goodbye to Dinah.

You see, I have kept my band empty for the last five years. For the most part, I've had no restriction (other than in the mornings before I drink some fluids). Other than that I can eat normally. Just like anyone without a band.

Over that time, my doctor has urged me several times to remove the band. His reason being that if I am not relying on it for restriction and using it as a weight-loss tool, then it is an unnecessary foreign object and can, if left long term, cause esophageal problems.

My reasons for keeping it?

1. My insurance won't cover the removal, so no. Just no. If it's not causing a problem, it's staying in there.
2. It's kind of fat girl safety net. I know I can always have it tightened if I get out of control. And Whamo! Presto! Restriction! Back on track!

But now...my band has slipped. Dang. It means I can't eat solid food (for about a week now) until it goes back in place. Here is what the band looks like when all is well: 

I'll spare you a second pic, and just say that this IS NOT what mine looks like right now. And food won't pass through. Some liquids will. Yay! Another super thin protein shake! But no food. I continue to eat food. And then throw up said food. But hey...I'm hard headed. And I like food. What can I say?

So the bottom line is that when I go back to the doctor's office next week, I know that he is going to suggest, once again, removal of my band. And this time I am going to hang my head and sadly give in.

And then...

What if I go nuts? What if the old me shows her face? What if I wake up next week and I'm 380 pounds again?

What if...

So many uncertainties.

What if she was right, and I only succeeded because I cheated?

But what if I don't? What if I continue letting Tessa torture me and I meet my goals and then set new goals? What if I continue meal prepping and planning as if I never needed it?

What if I just continue continuing?

I'll miss you Dinah. You helped me change my life. You made me stronger and smarter and healthier, and I'll miss you. But I won't need you. I'll speak of you fondly forever, but I'll never need you again.

Marley and Me

Has anyone ever written about a dog the way John Grogan did? The pure, unadulterated love of a human for his dog and a dog for his human. I would argue that Garth Stein came close, but just close. No one can touch Marley when it comes to tugging at a dog lover's heartstrings. 

“A dog has no use for fancy cars or big homes or designer clothes. Status symbol means nothing to him. A waterlogged stick will do just fine. A dog judges others not by their color or creed or class but by who they are inside. A dog doesn't care if you are rich or poor, educated or illiterate, clever or dull. Give him your heart and he will give you his. It was really quite simple, and yet we humans, so much wiser and more sophisticated, have always had trouble figuring out what really counts and what does not. As I wrote that farewell column to Marley, I realized it was all right there in front of us, if only we opened our eyes. Sometimes it took a dog with bad breath, worse manners, and pure intentions to help us see.” 

~John Grogan

The monologue at the end of the movie is slightly different, in my opinion just as poignant:

A dog has no use for fancy cars, big homes, or designer clothes. A water log stick will do just fine. A dog doesn't care if you're rich or poor, clever or dull, smart or dumb. Give him your heart and he'll give you his. How many people can you say that about? How many people can make you feel rare and pure and special? How many people can make you feel extraordinary?

Marley and Me is a book that I can reread over and over and fall in love every time. 

Every time. 

I can watch the movie over and over and fall in love every time. 

And laugh every time.

And cry every time. 

And wonder every time, "Why can't people love one another so unconditionally?"

There is no greater love...

Memorial Day 2017

How did you celebrate? And is celebrate even the appropriate word? It is a holiday, after all. Doesn't that imply celebration? I would think it would be more appropriate to ask how someone observed the day, but that isn't a phrase you hear often. I don't think celebration is meant disrespectfully (at all), but in light of the day's essence, it seems a strange word.

I have read numerous heartfelt Facebook posts, blog entries, and a few beautiful essays today in honor of the fallen brave. And while I know that this day is in memory of those who made the ultimate sacrifice (and Veteran's Day is the day devoted to ALL service men and women), this morning I made a point to thank two of the servicemen in my life, both still living. And both still deserving of gratitude. Today. Tomorrow. The next day. And Tuesdays, mid October.

I was reminded to thank them because this morning I saw this.

I can't remember who posted it (it was a FB friend), and actually it was a different picture (that I can't find) but with the same quote. And here is the effect it had: 

It made me think about bravery. Ultimate sacrifice and bravery. Appropriate for today in honoring the lost, but it made me think of the living as well. 

Anyone who enlists in the military does so knowing there is a chance they could be sent into combat (an assumption on my part...but I think a logical one). And in doing so, in signing on the dotted line in spite of that knowledge, service men and women show an immense bravery that today I wonder if I could ever muster. It is for that reason that today I felt called to thank the living as well. Because they faced (and still face) that same possible fate, and they accepted the possibility heads high. So I do understand the essence of today, but if you are a veteran or active military reading this, know that today I also thank you (and am reminded that I am in awe of you). 

I would like to think that I could give my life for those I love. Of course I want to believe that. But could I? Could I dig deep inside and stare down mortality and willingly sacrifice myself for others? Again. All I can say is, "I hope so."

For me, today also calls to mind Victoria Soto. She put herself between her students and the Sandy Hook gunman and gave her life for theirs. Bravery. Ultimate bravery. In that split second, she found it in herself. 

I think of the Catholics arrested during the Nazi regime and wonder would I have the courage to stay true to my faith when faced with persecution, true, terrifying persecution. 

I think of the Chernobyl Suicide Squad (who I read about in Mrs. Lindquist's sixth grade ELA class). Here is what I remember about them, what stuck with me after all of these years: They (three of them) dove into a flooded basement to turn a valve that inevitably stopped a second explosion and an even more devastating meltdown. And they did this knowing there was no chance of survival. 

It was estimated they saved millions. Bravery. Ultimate bravery.

Fairly recently, when gathering related articles for a teacher to share with a group of high school freshmen, I came across a book that details many different versions of the suicide sqad's story. Apparently, the truth isn't quite what I remember from sixth grade, but the memory remains as powerful. They apparently didn't die within weeks from the radiation (as I remember), but in keeping with today's theme, I wonder if they went into that basement thinking they could. And probably would. And went anyway. 

Bravery. Ultimate bravery.

I'm sure there are countless examples of these stories of bravery and sacrifice that I could call to mind (or Google) today. And I know that today is meant to honor specifically the bravery and sacrifice of our military.

I do thank them. And I am glad we have a day devoted to honor them. And today, I spent time wondering...

Could I ever muster what they gave so willingly? Could I find the depth of bravery that they each did when they laid their lives on the line for someone else? I hope I never have to know. But could I? 

Dear Mr. Swayze,

"Nobody puts Baby in a corner."

That's your line. It's iconic. I hope you were proud to leave it as a legacy.

Johnny Castle taught an entire generation of ladies (and maybe gentlemen too) that dirty dancing can be beautiful dancing. He taught us to not judge the book, or the dancer, by the cover, and indeed he taught us to never settle for being put in a corner.

I'm sure you inspired countless injuries (and YouTube videos) as people of all ages have tried to perfect that lift year after year after year. And no one, no one respectably long in the tooth, hears that song without remembering you (not Johnny Castle...you) fondly.

Time of my Life

Dalton taught us that it's important to be nice..."until it's time to not be nice."

Vida taught us that "some men need to be hit back," and even Bodhi taught us the importance of 100% adrenaline.  I may have listened to Bodhi just a little more than I should have. "Little hand says it's time to rock 'n roll!"

One of my favorite quotes, though, came from you, not one of your characters. "How do you nurture a positive attitude when all the statistics say you're a dead man? You go to work." You went on to explain that the work is whatever you love. You keep at it. You play with your kids. You dance with your wife. You shoot a movie if there's one to be shot. You go to the work of life, but no matter what, you don't give up. You don't give in. You never sit down and be done.

And you didn't.

I don't know a character you played I didn't love. You made me love them all. If you have a crap role out there, I hope I never discover it.

You are the reason ditto is on my list of top ten favorite words, and I hope and pray that Sam was right. "It's amazing, Molly. The love inside. You take it with you."

Prince, Rocky Balboa, and Willie Nelson

I had very personal moments inspired by each of these three men today. All for very different reasons. Yes, I know Rocky Balboa isn't a real man, but he still makes the list. As much as I love me some Sylvester Stallone, I would never sit through a Rambo marathon. Never. It is Rocky Balboa who mesmerizes me.

I'm a pretty big fan of all three: Prince (God rest his talented soul), Rocky Balboa (the ultimate comeback kid), and Willie Nelson (come on...how can you not love Willie?). 

Today, I've had reflective moments where the words of each of these men stuck with me. And maybe even changed me. Because I think that's what reflection does. It changes us, one tiny piece at a time. 

On my way to work I was almost brought to tears listening to the first verse of Let's Go Crazy. Well, if I'm going to admit getting all emotional listening to a Prince song, at least it wasn't Pussy Control. 

Go ahead. Click on the link below and listen to the introduction. Alright, listen to the whole song. You know you want to. 

Let's Go Crazy 

Do you get it? Do you see why listening to this artist talk his way into a song I've heard hundreds, if not thousands, of times got me all up in my feels? No? Me either. But it did. I was contemplating life and my purpose and my beliefs about the afterlife. Yes! Seriously! All because Prince said life means forever, "and that's a mighty long time." 

*Side note: If you let the YouTube video continue into the next, you'll get to enjoy Purple Rain as well (man, I love that song...and that movie). 

And then after work, tired from an extra long day, I turned to an old friend, my go-to when I need mindless television I love: Rocky Balboa. I love them all. I can easily make a Rocky marathon out of any Saturday or Sunday, but my favorite (no question) is Rocky Balboa, the sixth in the movie saga. 

I've seen this movie at least dozens of times (at least!). I can quote large portions of it, but tonight two lines hit me (both during a conversation with his son...during which I think the son is a putz). What wisdom did my favorite fighter impart?

"You think you oughtta stop trying things because you've had a few too many birthdays? I do not." 

and

"I stopped thinking like other people think a long time ago. You gotta think like you think." 

And again...life...purpose...big thoughts.

Enter Willie...

Tonight, I begin chapter 19 of Willie's autobiography It's a Long Story, but when I reached over and picked the book up, my thumb slipped just inside the cover, causing the book to open to the introduction (which I read last week). Nothing on the page was highlighted (I'm a chronic highlighter), but for whatever reason my eyes were drawn immediately to this line: 

"My prayer is that the memories, whether joyful or painful, refresh my spirit, and yours, by assuring us that the stream never runs dry." 

Isn't that why we write? 

Life. Purpose. Big thoughts. 

I highlighted the sentence, by the way. And then I wrote the introduction to Let's Go Crazy on a Post-It and stuck it on that page. Some day, I'm going to flip through this book looking for highlights (because that's a thing I randomly do), and I'm going to wonder why that note is there. I bet it will inspire musings of life...purpose...big thoughts. Or not. You never know. 

Good night, Prince. Good night, Rocky. Good night, Willie. 

Tonight I drift off a better person because of you three. And for that, I thank you.  

When Words Won't Come

We all know that writing is hard. In fact, I wrote an entire entry here about that fact once. It was hard. Hehe...see what I did there?

Today is one of those days. The words just don't want to be found. Hell, the topic doesn't even want to be found. But a friend and I promised to blog every week. And well...if she can do it, so can I.

So today...I borrow words. It was always one of my favorite classroom stations. "Found" poetry the smart people who came up with it call it. Over the years, I've had students borrow words in a number of ways from a number of sources for a number of different products. Today, I do the borrowing.

The poem below (and I'm using the term poem loosely here) consists entirely of the titles of books that can be found laying around my house at this very moment.

________________________________________

Bird by Bird
by Kristi Piper (and many other authors to whom I am grateful)

I is an other
Same kind of different as me
When women were birds
Uniquely human
Aging with grace

Passing it on
Reflections
My own words
For one more day
Journey to the heart

Made to crave
A song flung up to Heaven
Pieces 2 peace
Facing your giants
Brain on fire

Gather together in my name
Crossing the threshold of hope
Deeply loved
A hundred and one days
Grace for the moment

It's a long story
A long way gone

Bittersweet
__________________________________________

Well, there you have it. A complete blog entry (five hours ahead of my deadline), and a beautifully crafted poem (packed with meaning and nuance) that any poetry professor worth his or her salt would give at least a solid D-.

Obsessed With Being Obsessed

I am obsessed with being obsessed. It's true. I was diagnosed by an 11 year old on the television show Hoarders. He was describing his mother's addictive personality (not a phrase he knew), and I heard him say, "She would never be able to just take up jogging. She would have to train for a marathon."

Boom.

Wow.

Drop the mic., kid.

You nailed it.

I went to grad school...and didn't stop until I had a doctorate. I decided to lose weight...and had lap band surgery. I took up jogging...and trained for a marathon.

I get bored if I don't have an obsession.

I recently found a new obsession, one I am particularly excited about. There is no degree or finish line attached, but if I make it to wherever it might lead me, I think it might end up being the journey of which I will be the most proud.

I want to transform my body. Like really transform it. Like as in bodybuilding. But not in a real bodybuilding way (because I am a giant pansy). But body transformation.

I have dabbled with trends in the world of fitness since shortly after my lap band surgery in November of 2010. I've gone to bootcamps. I've taken a few kickboxing classes here and there. I've eaten Paleo (even went to a Paleo conference once) and completed a Whole30 (and attempted four more). I've jogged. And quit jogging. And jogged again. My point is...I've dabbled. Other than training for the Houston Marathon, I've never really stuck with anything consistently.

I met with a trainer recently to pitch the idea to her, the idea of transforming my body. I knew the exact trainer I needed (there was no doubt in my mind), and she was totally on board. And she asked me, "But how do I get you to show up?" I had attempted to work with her before and had flaked after an embarrassingly few sessions.

My answer? You don't. I do. I think I'm ready. Because I need something to be obsessed with.

It's that simple. I am currently obsessed with exploring how far I can push my body and watching what it does in response.

How's it going? Well, I'm still a giant pansy. But I'm showing up. And I'm loving it. And just the other day I thought I saw a muscle. And then I realized it was probably a streak on the mirror.

Some obsessions come to fruition slower than others.