The Surgical Option

There hasn't been a bigger flip-flop in the history of flip-flops since Janet's boobie flopped out of her malfunctioning wardrobe and the entire country flipped over it.

I am considering the surgical option.

Not only am I considering it, I am favoring it.

That's probably not even truthful.

I'm stalking it. Courting it. Being nice to it in the hopes that it will eventually marry me.

Yes, Angela of the no-surgery-ever-no-way-no-how-I-will-not-die-to-be-thin... has flip-flopped.

Apparently, all it takes to persuade me into an option with which I vocally, loudly, adamantly did not support... is a man in a white coat with a Russian accent telling me that it was the only option for weight loss that would offer me a 70-75% chance of success.

The problem came when we started discussing calories and I started throwing out all of my tips, tricks, tweaks, secrets, and cheats for meeting my daily calorie goal (of which I'm well-aware). If he'd given me a quiz from the hospital's nutrtional weight loss program, I probably would have scored a hundred percent AND gotten extra credit points for excessive elaboration on certain subjects.

He looked at me and said, basically, that I obviously know what to do and how to do it. My problem is continuity and maintenance (aggravated by current and recurring depression). Gaining and losing 50-pounds at least half a dozen times in the past decade is proof enough for him that the non-surgical option is probably not going to be my saving grace - especially since there doesn't seem to be anything more I need to learn on the nutrition/exercise side of things aside from implementation, follow-through, and a pile of therapy that's yet to be scheduled.

In discussing the options, we decided that it would be prudent for me to start the motions of the pre-op classes, if only to educate myself more fully about what is involved with the surgery and to make a more informed decision as to whether or not I want to have it. But, I can tell you, now that I have allowed the possibility to exist, it's all I can think about. I want it done and I want it done now.

I feel like I've done my time as a fattie. I've put the work in, time and time again, only to watch others (who know less and don't try nearly as hard) succeed where I fail.

And I am sick of it.

I turn 30 in two weeks. If I would get the surgery as soon as possible after completing the required classes (September or October, most likely), I would probably be down 60-pounds (plus the 10% I have to lose pre-op for insurance purposes, so make that almost 100-pounds total) by the time I turn 31.

I deserve this.

I deserve not to have my 30s suck.