Atoning for utter depravity


I am chain eating red grapes right now in some sort of ridiculous effort to cleanse my pallet and my gullet of the three pumpkin waffles that I just ate. Chain eating? Is that even a thing?

The waffles were topped with butter, syrup, whipped cream and rice pudding.  When I seriously contemplate gastric bypass surgery,  it is this sort of eating that I hope to combat. It has to be the high sugar/starch and fat combos late at night that keep me morbidly obese.  Fair assessment of my eating habits would put fast food and late nights as the main fat making culprits.

My greatest fear of gastric bypass is that it won’t work for me.  I find that thought incredibly scary.  That I could go through some that completely rerouted my digestive system,  my innards as I know them, and NOT lose 100+ lbs and NOT completely change life as I know it.

My mother had this surgery when she was just over 500 lbs. In the first year, year and a half, she lost like crazy.  Nearly 200 lbs. It was crazy to watch. I thought she would meet her goals. Get her new knees. Get a fresh start to life. But instead she discovered different ways to binge. Jars of  peanut butter.  Boxes of croutons.  Wine and crackers. 
So she started out a miserable 500+. Knees bone on bone from osteoarthritis from being so fat for so long.  But no surgeon would touch her for knee replacement because she was so big. So she had the bypass.  And it was working.  Until she found a way around the pouch.  So now she’s back up to around 375. Her flesh is lumpier and sagging than ever. Particularly on her  upper thighs. Where they would need to tourniquet if she were to get her knee replacements. So she sits in her chair all day, drinking,  sncking and abusing her pain meds. And her last resort for weight loss intervention has been used up.

That’s what I’m afraid of.  I have rheumatoid arthritis.  The damage in my hips, knees, ankles  and feet is severe and getting worse every passing day. Many mornings I need help to stand up to go to the bathroom for the first time. 

My husband is unfailingly supportive of me but I’m still scared. How long before needing help to stand up so I can walk to the bathroom becomes just going to the bathroom in the bedroom.

Years ago when Son was a baby, I became suddenly,  life threateningly ill. I was in and out of the hospital and every time I was home there were visitin

nurses there trying to help.  Some of them actually did, I suppose, but I was just so scared and stressed and tired, I just wanted to spend time with my kids and my husband and it seemed like there were always more strangers there trying to help.  At any rate,  one suggestion was particularly horrifying.  One nurse suggested that we make mornings easier by putting a commode in the bedroom right next to the bed!!

If there was ever any way of assuring that I hated my own bedroom which should be a woman’s sanctuary and as a bonus that I never wanted to have sex  again that was it.  That was such a tremendous turn off to me that it has literally been the negative reinforcement needed to keep me going even when I feel like I can’t possibly stand the intense pain that goes along with a bad day I think about things  like a stinking bedroom commode and I push myself.


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