Putting Down The Cheeseburger

(Mmmmm....food porn.)

Yesterday, Lor told me a delightful (/sarcasm) tale about a lunch date with two friends that hadn't seen each other in quite a while. One party spent the majority of the luncheon complaining bitterly about her sister, who had recently had weight loss surgery because "she was a lazy ass who doesn't want to put down the cheeseburger and exercise." Towards the end of the meal, the complainer asked her friend how she was managing to stay so trim and fabulous looking.

"I had bariatric surgery, because I am a lazy ass who won't put down my cheeseburger." was the reply.

I would guess that lunch ended soon thereafter.

This story, paraphrased from a tale Lor found on a bariatric social web site, highlights the ongoing issues that we have relating socially after we have gone through bariatric surgery. The great misconception still exists that we have somehow created a trap door in our digestive system that allows us to eat whatever we want and suffer zero consequences from it. 

Can I let you in on a little secret? I have to work twice as hard at maintaining my diet and exercise as a "normal" person. Every single thing I eat is analyzed, weighed, measured, and logged. My daily regimen is closer to that of a professional athlete than that of someone who just wants to stay fit. I live on supplements, protein shakes, and meals that would not pass muster as a salad on a child's menu. And a single dietary mistake lands me locked in a bathroom for hours, expelling the material my rearranged digestive system didn't agree with from both ends. 

Those who choose bariatric surgery are accused of doing this because we want to be more attractive, as a sop to our poor self-esteem. But, the truth is, bariatric surgery did not turn Lor and I into Malibu Ken And Barbie.  I will admit, I no longer suffer from feeling unattractive due to my size. But I now feel unattractive due to the huge piles of deflated skin covering my body like flesh-colored Play-Doh. I don't recognize my face in the mirror, which gives me some real existential crises. I had to shave my head due to hair loss, for goodness sake. (And, yes, the happy accident is that I actually like my shaved head. Thank goodness.) 

And, through it all, I still deal with the lingering suspicion that I am somehow "not doing enough." I should eat less, exercise more, hydrate better, sleep longer. Bariatric surgery has given me many of the symptoms that we would equate with an eating disorder.

Do I wish I hadn't done it? Not for a moment. Societal mores had nothing to do with my decision. I took ownership of my own health, and control over my own body, by going through with surgery. But I still find it very frustrating that our society not only is focused on size as a metric for determining the worth of a person, but is even willing to judge those of us who strike out toward health via the method of bariatric surgery. In a nation where over 50% of the population suffers from obesity, calling those of us who required surgery "cheaters" is disingenuous at best, hypocritical at worst.

Yes, I "put down the cheeseburger". Bariatric surgery was one of the tools I used to help me do so. The idea that this is somehow "cheating" is held by those who have not spend years (or decades) trying and failing to defeat obesity. To those who have not walked a mile in these shoes, I can only say the following:

Get Over Yourselves,

- Hawkwind

A Simple Call To Action

As we approach 25,000 total visits to Misdirected (we will hit that number later today), it occurs to me that we have built an entire community around the experience of bariatric surgery. A small community, to be sure, but a loyal and interested one. So, as the primary "voice" within this community, I would like to take a minute to ask everyone to do something in the name of bariatric surgery patients across the country and around the world.

Talk to somebody about it. It is as simple as that. You, gentle readers, know more about this process than 99% of the population. The world is still filled with people who do not understand obesity, who think that being overweight is purely a form of laziness, who refer to bariatric surgery as "the easy way out." And all of you, thanks to the time you have spent here, know the truth.

I am not asking you to tackle every overweight person you see and make them beg for mercy until they agree to come visit us here at Misdirected. Surgery is most certainly not the answer for everyone. But, is there an obese person in your life who is struggling with self-esteem issues? Talk to them. Tell them you appreciate and support them, and understand that what they are going through is happening to them, and is not necessarily self-inflicted. Do you know that one person who loves to make fun of "fatties"? Talk to them. Inform them they are making fun of people with a disease, not individuals who have somehow earned scorn and disapproval. Do you spend time with a person who is speculating about weight loss or weight loss surgery? Talk to them. You know more than the average person on the street about the reality of the process, just from spending time with us here.

Again, this is not a call for more subscribers or visitors, though that would certainly not be unwelcome. Mainly, I want the word to get out there to those who are obese - they are not alone. Almost half of the United States struggles with obesity, yet our media continues to popularize the notion that health and self-respect are only one fad diet or light beer away. Overweight people are still mocked, looked down upon, and regularly discriminated against. You, from visiting us here, know the truth: it is not a matter of "putting down the cupcake." Obesity springs not only from excessive eating, but also from genetics, emotional issues, hormonal balance problems, and the low physical activity forced on us by the chaos of our daily lives. It is not a simple problem with a simple solution, despite what the pundits would have us believe.

But you, just from reading these posts, already knew that. Do us all a favor, and go communicate your knowledge to someone else. All your knowledge is not a tool until you put it into use. Express your concern, show your empathy, correct misconceptions. And, if the conversation happens to direct someone here for more information, so be it. I am never afraid to answer questions of any kind.

Thanks to everyone for being a part of the Misdirected community. We are now 8 months into our "journey", with the rest of our lives to go. We are glad to have you along for the ride.

Looking Ahead To 50,000,

- Hawkwind

Summertime Blues

The enemy on the rooftop

Quick, what is less comfortable that a fat person in 100-degree heat?

Exactly - two fat people in 100-degree heat.

All props to Lor, who is shedding weight like our Chihuahua sheds fur, but she still has a way to go before she has reached a "climate comfortable" weight for here in New Mexico. And, as for me, I can't even see the promised land of a body no longer covered in fat from where I am standing. 

So, of course, yesterday during our 100-degree heat wave is when our evaporative cooler decided to give out.

For those of you wondering where the heck I was yesterday, I was busy dying of heat stroke in my living room. The cooler has been slowing going out on us for a while now - I replaced the lime-encrusted pads a couple weeks ago, for a few days of blessed relief, and then...nothing. When I went outside to take a look at the cooler (mounted on my roof, of course), I could literally see steam rising out from the pads. So, not willing to get on my roof when the sun was at its highest, I went out every couple of hours to hose the pads down from ground level, using a "jet" attachment on a garden hose.

Obesity begets creativity.

When evening finally came, and the sun had dropped below the horizon, I hauled my ladder out to the side of the house, and hauled myself onto the roof. A couple things here - my ladder is rated at 225 pounds. I am currently rated at 263. The noises it made as I cautiously climbed up were alarming, to say the least. Then, the really fun part - I have an 8-foot ladder. My lowest point of access to my roof is 9 feet off the ground.

Have you ever seen 260+ pounds of sweaty male trying to balance on the top step of a ladder in order to leap across the gap and onto his roof? No? The neighbors were taking bets on when I would fall and what size of a crater I would leave. I eventually sort of leaned across onto my roof, onto the still-steaming tar and shingles (ouchouchouch), and kinda crawled my way up to safety.

Investigation proved what Lor had suspected (and suggested) all along - my water pump, which had been working perfectly well 2 weeks ago when I replaced the pads, had finally died. Disgusted, I removed it and returned to the ladder.

Only now, I couldn't reach the ladder anymore. No matter how I grunted and groaned, I could not get my foot down onto that precarious top step. (You know, the one 2 steps above the text saying "Do Not Climb Above This Point".) Ashamed and exhausted, I called Lor to come out and hold the ladder and direct my steps as I kinda crawled backward (ouchouchouch) off the side of the house onto the ladder.

Once inside the house, we began our research. I could order a pump off of Amazon, but it would take two days to get here, while we withered away in the heat. I checked the website for Home Depot, and discovered a replacement pump for less than Amazon. It was now 9:03 PM and Home Depot closed at...10 PM. We briefly discussed which bill we would not be paying this month in order to buy a new pump. (We are poor folks, remember? Why do you think I haven't bought a new ladder? Tall ladders are hideously expensive.)

I then rushed off to Home Depot, found the pump, bought it with our gas company payment (who needs gas in summer, right?), and rushed home. It was now fully dark, but I was unwilling to wait until the next morning to get this done. Lor had spotted a better location for the ladder (when I fell off, it would be onto softer ground), so I grabbed a flashlight, and scurried back onto the roof. At least it was no longer searing marks into my flesh any longer.

An hour later, thanks to the fact that I can hold a Mini-Maglite between my teeth, the repair was complete. The pads were getting saturated once more, and I could now make the treacherous journey back down to ground level. I sat on the floor in the hallway directly under the now functioning swamp cooler for at least half an hour, as a reward for my valiant efforts.

So, how was your day?

Not Sure About This Home Ownership Thing,

- Hawkwind