The Fat Doctor

I went to the "Fat" doctor (I call them) today to find out about having bariatric surgery. I was almost convinced that I wanted the lap band (being that the risks are lower), but when I found out how long it takes to lose the weight and you lose 10% or more less weight, I'm starting to rethink this. I know I know "It's risky". Let me just tell you this. If I continue on the path that I am currently on with high blood pressure, diabetes, polycystic ovarian disease, bad knees, ankles, etc etc I will die a very early age as did my Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles & my Dad. So you tell me what you would do?

And another thing, I get sick of everyone just making the assumption (see ass at the front of that word) that I or anyone else wants this done for cosmetic reasons. Yeah sure, it'll be nice to be able to fit into a smaller dress, or not have to worry whether or not I'll fit through the lil metal turn thingy at the Bass Pro Shop but damn people, these diseases are killing me and this may be a way to at least slow it down or cure it all together. I didnt ask to look the way I do. I didnt ask to be fat. I have a disease that ensures that I am. Dont judge someone on how they look because you never know their story.

Try getting up every morning after not sleeping well, your knee hurts as soon as you put weight on it. You get dressed and can't find anything anymore that hides how you look so you just put on whatever makes you look as good as you can and pretend it's not there. You go about your day and live through all of the looks, whispers and down right stares that people give you no matter where you go (and heaven forbid they see you in the damn grocery store or trying to buy clothes). Its time to eat so you stop for something to eat and you can just feel the criticism creeping all over your food when it's handed to you. You smile politely, thank them and drive off. Bastards. How dare they judge what you eat? You sit in traffic and see the young kids beside you blowing out their cheeks to make a "fat face" at your expense. You flip them the bird and realize just how fat your fingers are. Oh, and there's mustard on them from the burger you just picked up so that makes it all the better. You drive home and are so frustrated you could puke. You grab your stuff, come in the house and sit down because your feet and knees ache. You go through your house and avoid any reflective object at all cost. If ya can't see it.. it ain't there. Your significant other comes home and wants to make love. After the day you've had you just want to sleep. They get angry and the viscious cycle just takes another spin. You agree although its the last thing you want to do. Not because you aren't attracted to them because God knows you think they are hot, but because your back hurts, your knee hurts, you are depressed and heaven forbid they see you naked. You slip off your clothes in the dark and make certain that your lover only touches your above your tummy.. nothing down to low. Sex is wonderful as always but could be so much better if the self esteem you need was there. You get cleaned up (ok people we all know this is what happens, get off the wagon) and hurriedly put on pajamas before the love of your life sees you naked for to long. Opening up the kitchen cabinet, you take out the 4+ pill bottles and take your daily regimen of medicines for the diseases you have that are killing you and raging havoc on your body as you stand there. You crawl into bed and try to get comfortable, but it's hard with DD's shoved in your throat. You toss and turn and toss and turn and toss and turn all night long. You wake up the next morning, throw your legs out of bed and realize your knee hurts. Welcome to the life of a fat chick.

We may laugh, be the life of a party, be the first to make fun of ourselves but you can rest assured that all of the jabs, stares, whispers, comments hurt like hell... and we never forget.