My Digits

Sunday, February 23, 2014

We Are Always Running

I thought I would fire up the old laptop and blow the dust off of these keys.  Happy 2014 my friends.  Happy almost end of February 2014.  Can you believe it is almost March?  Before we know it, Christmas will be upon us again.  And even though I told Heather she killed Christmas, and we would no longer be celebrating due to her behavior this past Santa Holiday, everyone who is anyone knows that me giving up Christmas is complete reindeer shit and I will be hanging Christmas lights before we even eat our Thanksgiving Turkey.

Lord...I got off track quick.  You see, the thing about not blogging for months on end is that once you do return to blogging, your mind is just EXPLODING all over the page.

Where should I even begin?  Should I go chronologically? Should I go graphically?  Should I lead with my new boobies?  SO many ways to go.  I feel like this is one of those books from when we were little kids, when you go to the end of the chapter you could choose to go ahead to the next chapter for one ending, or jump to page 87 for a different ending.

I will save my boobies for another post, one in which I can post pictures...because afterall, what is  boobie post without pictures?  Which reminds me of a joke I saw the other day:  Without nipples, titties would be pointless.

So let me catch you up on my weight loss and my strivation (that could be a made up word) for athletic domination.

On January 3rd of this year, my company started a weight loss competition through a national program called Healthy Wages.  You form teams of 5, pay $70 each, and our thus enrolled in a weight loss competition with other businesses and their teams of 5 for 3 months.  Max you are allowed to lose is 16.6% per person. Anything else will not be counted because they don't want to promote unhealthy weight loss.  If you are the winning team at the end of the 3 months, your team wins $10,000.  I do not underestimate your skills as mathematicians, but that is $2000 for yours truly.

And I like money.

I mean...I rarely have any, but I can imagine I would like it.

 So I signed up.  I weighed in at 185.6 on January 3rd.  That weight was thanks to a couple days of free eating, being laid up for 6 weeks thanks to the new girls, and several large bottles of water pre-weigh in.  To lose 16.6% I would/will need to lose 30 pounds. 

So far, I have lost 20.

The first month rocked.  As recommitment to losing usually does.  These last 2 weeks have been slower and smattered with a few poor food days here and there.  But I am on track.  If our team loses, it won't be my fault.  Let that be known.

So my current size at 166-168 pounds is a 10, with some 8's.  I have cut back on weight lifting just a tad and of course upped my cardio.  I am using myFitness pal to track everything I eat and every workout.  Annoying yes.  Helpful yes.  I gave up drinking until the competition is over. 

So on the upping my cardio front, a couple of things happened.  For six weeks after my boob surgery I wasnt allowed to run.  The first day I was cleared for running, I doubled up on sports bras and set out.  I completed 3 miles, but had to walk several times.  It was rough.  But last weekend we ran our first half-marathon.  13.1 miles.  It took me 2 hours and 22 minutes.  I wanted it under 2 hours and 15 minutes, but there was a little snag, namely my girlfriend leaving me in the dust at mile 2, which was not part of the blame, and me plotting her death for the remaining 11.1 miles (okay...not death...but let me just say that 2 hours is a LONG time to do something you hate (running) when your partner has left you because of her ego and ability.  But I digress.  My point is...in less than 2 months...I made some good progress.  So if I can.  Anyone can.  Truly. 

This is me crossing the finish line.  You see, since Heather finished 15 minutes before I did, she could at least take pictures. 
 
 
I don't usually wear all back when running, but I must say...it worked for me.  It makes me look a little slimmer than I am in reality.  But shoooot.  I will take it.
 
Over these last several months though, I have had some time to reflect on our weight.  And by "our" I mean women's (I do realize that there are a few random fella's that read the blog, but just read and nod boys, read and nod). 
 
First, not being able to work out during my recovery time was enlightening.  It was scary at first.  And I missed it.  But I didn't gain any weight.  In fact, I lost a few.  What I lost was probably muscle mass, but it was reassuring and gave me a sense of peace that taking some time off wouldn't result in me ballooning back up.  My body was still working for me even when I wasn't working it.
 
Well then I was released for weights at 4 weeks.  And it was beautiful.  It felt so good.  I get so much from lifting.  And amazingly...I didn't notice a difference in the amount I could lift.  And that felt good as well.
 
But once I was released for running, it was go time.  We had the Pensacola Double Bridge run just one month out from my release.  That is 9.3 miles.  It would be our second year, and I wanted to beat my time from last year.  My time last year was 1 hour 52 minutes.
 
 My friend and coworker Nichole. 

After the race.

Somewhere around the first mile.
 
 
This year, I shaved 20 minutes off my time!  I finished in 1 hour and 32.  And what's even better, is...it felt GOOD.  I didnt ache.  I believed in myself.  I felt goood.
 
So good in fact that I signed us up for the half-marathon the next weekend.
 
But the other thing that I have been thinking on, and this isn't a groundbreaking revelation or anything, is how absurd it is that we place SO much importance on weight loss. 
 
Whenever I get into the 160's, the compliments start rolling in.  People notice a difference and there is a lot of ego stroking.  And I dig it...don't get me wrong.  It's the fact that I love it so much, as so many of you do as well, that is also a little disturbing.  I don't think I place weight loss compliments above compliments on my public speaking, or on my characteristics as a friend or partner, but I guess it's because I get the weight loss compliments more right now than the others, it seems to be a little...much.  Because really, if I weigh 175 or 165...I am still me ya know?  It really just means that for that month or two I was able to "Diet"...well hell...any of us can do that for a month or so. 
 
 
I think it's just important to remember, for all of us to remember, no matter where we are in a journey, the number on the scale doesn't determine our character or who we are.  It is a part of us...yes...but there are bigger parts...better parts.  Parts that will matter more long after we are gone.
 




Wednesday, January 1, 2014

The close of 2013...It's A Wrap

As 2013 winds to a close, I thought I would take time to reflect on the last year and set some goals for the upcoming 2014, 365-day time span.

2013 was a pretty good year. I saw my lowest recorded weight earlier this year...163. I was superfine at 163. I dug me. I still dig me at 176...but more on that in a moment.

 Me somewhere around 163 with our kickball team


2013 was also the year of the Gunz n Glutes team making it's debut in obstacle course racing (Heather is the Gunz...and I am the Glutes...which I mean...I think is pretty self explanatory). We have done one Tough Mudder, one Savage Race, one Spartan Race, one Warrior Dash, and one Superhero Hero Scramble. By far, Tough Mudder was my favorite. Even though it ws the longest at 11 miles, it really is so well put together and you feel like you have accomplished a great feat when you finally run through the finish line (clearing marked by dangling electrical wires). But another thing I love about the Tough Mudder is that it is NOT timed and you CAN skip an obstacle if you want...there is no penalty. The race is supposed to be about team working and helping others. I dig that. I also really enjoyed the Superhero Scramble. My least favorite? Well the Warrior Dash, although it has the best shirts and headwear, was too easy...(see fantastic Warrior Dash swag below)

 ...the Spartan...no. I didnt like that one. No.

2013 was also the year that this happened....

Heather proposed to me on her birthday, May 22nd, in front of all of our friends...in public...down on one knee.  I love her more than I can possibly explain.  It was the highlight of my year.

There were some lows as well.  I lost my Shelby this year.  He was 14.5 years old and had been with me since he was just 3 months.  He was always my main man. Putting him down was one of the hardest decisions of my life.   I still miss him everyday.  If it turns out that I am wrong, and there is life after this, I can't wait until I see him again.

And of course, most recently, my beloved "back massager" went to live in the clouds as well.  I like to believe that all good back massagers go to Heaven.

Back to the good...I also got a wee promotion at work.  I reached the peak of my fitness levels so far.  I got new boobies...I grew up just a little bit more, and I recognized somethings about myself that I am going to try and focus on this year.

In a nutshell, I am going to try...wait for it....

wait for it...

Be a better person.

There it is.  Now, there are some specific things I am going to focus on, that may bore you to tears so we don't necessarily need to focus on all of them right now...but overall...I want to be a better person.

You see, I have a gift.  People seem to like me. 

I know.  I know.  You are thinking that it is both a gift AND a curse...much like the gift that was bestowed on Peter Parker after a spider bite....and you would be correct.  And in all honesty, it is probably a gift that most of us possess...although I can think of a few people that really are quite unlikeable...

but for some reason, whether I deserve it or not...people tend to like me.  They want to be my friend.  They want to hang out.  They want to make me happy. 

And usually...I don't deserve this admiration.  I can be a rather shit friend.  I am not really flaky...because flaky means that I make plans and then cancel them.  Hell, I rarely make plans.  I am kind of a boring friend.  I like to stay at home.  I like to be alone.  And alone can either mean ME or with Heather.  I don't do much afterwork.  Now if someone REALLY needed me, I would most likely show up and help.  But if people only kind of need me...I kind of don't really pony up.  I am not sure why people necessarily like me.  I think it boils down to they THINK I am probably pretty fun.  And I can be.  But, not to beat a deadhorse (who would really beat a deadhorse anyways), I would rather be at home sleeping or walking around in my p.j.'s than out dancing or drinking.  Maybe people like me because I am funny and make them forget their problems for a second . Maybe they like me because I can pop my trunk with the best of them (and the best trunk poppers are often gay men...just in case you didnt know...), but I wasn to be better and do better.  I want to use my gift for good. 

One specific undertaking I will be embarking on is NOT TALKING NEGATIVE ABOUT PEOPLE.  Lord have mercy...this will be very very hard.  I have a nasty habit of complaining about how annoying my friends are.  For example, I will be scrolling through facebook and see a beyond stupid post by one of my friends, at which point in time I will turn to Heather and say "So-and-so is SO stupid, they just said this or that".  So INSTEAD of saying or thinking about all the things that drive me crazy about a person, I am going to focus on saying or thinking about all the reasons I DO like that person...

And if I can't find a reason...then they don't really need to be on my "friend list"...either on Facebook or in real life.  So far, we are 15 hours into the new year and I haven't yet failed.

2014 is also starting off very frugaly.  I am not sure if frugaly is a word or not, and I am too lazy to google it, but money is tight.  A little tighter than normal.  So I am going to DO BETTER with grocery shopping.  Here in Florida we have a chain of grocery stores called PUBLIX.  They are a little more expensive than say Walmart...but they ooze customer service and cleanliness.  I visit Publix for some ingredient or piece of food at least 5 times a week.  I buy this or that for different recipes.  I don't compare prices.  I don't shop around.  Well, I am doing better this year.  Hear me now.  I am shopping around.  I am going to have a plan.  I am going to make decisions damn it about what I can afford and what I can't.  This will probably prove to be harder than not talking bad about other humans...it may prove harder than pulling a monkey out of my big toe...I mean...spending and saving money has been a battle since I had my first purse full of those fake cardboard credit cards that companies would send my parents in their junkmail. 

So we shall see. 

My motto?

Do Better.  Be Better.

So here's to US bloggers and blog readers!  Let us start a new chapter in our book of Life. 

Friday, November 22, 2013

Day 4 With The New Girls



Well there you haven them. The before's and the four days later.  Once my mother finds out I have posted these pictures, I am sure I will receive a call reminding me that if they are on the internet...they are forever...and that someone in China may be stealing my credit card info.

But until then....let's face it.  We know each other.  You know about my turkey waddle...you know when I get sunburnt on the cho-cha.  You have seen my boobs pooling in my bra. 

We are at the point in our relationship that I can share these pictures with you.  AND...you can't even see my nipples. AND...my head is not in the pictures, so technically...if these ever appear on 20/20 or The Queen Latifah show...I can say they aren't mine...that I was just holding them for a friend.

So they day of surgery we arrived bright and early.  6:00 am for check in time.  They called me back into the changing room where I got my pretty little robe and these sexy compression socks that hit me at mid thigh.  They should brace you for that...it was very much like recreating the moment when I open the can of cinnamon rolls and half of the dough is sploojing out of the can...except the dough was my thigh meat and the can was the compression sock.  So I got those on, opened the door and blew a kiss to Heather, and padded back to the exam room in my baby blue non-slip socks.

I was nervous.  More nervous for this than the lapband.  After they started my I.V., my sister and Heather came back to keep me company until Dr. Patterson arrived.  Once he came it, he stood me up with his magic marker and started drawing out the masterpiece.  He asked me what size I wanted to be.  I said small C.  I told him to keep these words in mind "cute, perky, sporty".  We were not going for "pornstar".  He was on board.  After that, I kissed Heather goodbye and headed to the operating room. 

The operating room is the scariest part.  I remember it being the scariest part of the lapband surgery.  They strap you down before you are even asleep. 

And then..

bam...

I am awake. 

After I could talk and make  a little pee in a cup, I was free to go.  Heather took me home.  I took my pain meds and slept for a little while.  Then I watched Season 5 of Sons of Anarchy with Heather...and slept some more.

On day two, we drove to the doctors office for my follow up.  All looks well.  I can't tell you how many times he and his office staff stressed the importance of DOING NOTHING...that the worst thing I could do was try to do too much too soon. 

When I first saw the new tats, I was pretty happy.  I was expecting bruising or something.  My nipples are taped bc they got snipped off for the lift, and the scar under my boob where he inserted the implanted is also taped.  The tape will stay on for 2 weeks...unless it falls off sooner.

They are still really swollen and high.  It will take about 6 weeks until I get a true idea of what size they will be, and up to 6 months before they start to really take their place where they will settle.  Heather keeps calling me Dolly, but has been a really good caretaker. 

The sportsbra/compression bra that they gave me to wear is super tight.  It is a size 32.  I wear a 36.  But, the tightness of that and the swelling in general has made my band pretty tight.  I don't know if it's the tightness or my pain meds, but my appetite has been minimal.  Which is awesome bc this not being able to work out is freaking me out.

I will keep you guys updated! 

hugs and motorboats...

Amy

oooh...ps...I have some bent over pictures of the old girls...but I will wait and reveal those when I can take some bent over pictures of my new girls.

Monday, November 18, 2013

Tomorrow I'm Swappin' Out the Sags for Some Perky Girls!

Above is a picture of the last time my girls will run an obstacle race.  They will be replaced tomorrow with new chesties.

Here is the skinny.

I am getting a breast lift with augmentation.  The lift is performed first.  He will make a keyhole incision around my nipple, take the nipple off, cut out the extra skin, put the little nip back on and stitch it up.  Sort of like this.
Then, the implant will be put in through an incision under the boob fold. 

Dr. Patterson talks in cc's.  So when people ask me what "size" I will be, I am not sure.  Probably a C.  He will decide during the surgery if he will be putting in 300cc implants or 325cc's. 

My surgery is at 7:00 am and it should last 3.5 hours. 

I have taken before pictures.  I will be wrapped/bound until my 2 day post op on Thursday.  He will unwrap me and take a look see, then wrap me back up.  I should be able to shower after that, so when I return home...I will try and take the first after picture.  I will try and post side-by-sides at least weekly. 

I am nervous, scared, and excited.

Let's cover that in the order as listed above.

Nervous:

That I will die.  I mean...anything can happen right?  I will be covering this matter with Heather when we get into bed tonight.  In lieu of flowers, I would like donations sent to the animal shelter in Topeka, KS.  I also have two life insurance policies that give Heather and my mother a good deal of money.  I mean...not enough to whack me over...but enough.  Heather is to donate some of that money to the shelter as well.  At my funeral, I want there to be a dance off between some of my favorite queer fellows, meatballs, and queso.  I do not want to be cremated.  I want to either be dipped in bronze (or platinum) or entombed so people can worship me.  Also, I will let Heather know that she is not to date or have sex again.  At least for 10 years.  This is not a Nicholas Sparks novel.  I do not wish her to find happiness with another meaty woman for a very long time.  Then end.

I am scared that I will not like the new boobies.  AND THAT'S A LOT OF MONEY TO SPEND ON SOMETHING SO PERMANENT!    What if they are too big?  What if they are too high?  What if...you know?  There are a million what if's.  What if Heather hates them? 

I am also scared of how much pain I will be in.  I have a pretty high pain tolerance...but I just don't know what to expect.  Maybe it won't be that bad. 

I am scared that maybe they will look amazing...and that will make the rest of me look even worse.

And excited...

Yes.  I am so excited.  I am excited to be able to wear a strapless dress.  I am excited to be able to bend over during sexy times and not be distracted by my swinging ladies.  I can't even really imagine.

I am off work for two whole weeks...which is also rather exciting.  Heather will be with me for 3 days.  I will post again as soon as I can...

until then...

hugs and kisses and sweet dreams of fields of lilacs and pert nipples!

Sunday, September 15, 2013

The Day My Back Massager* Caught Fire

Many moons ago, I decided it was time to upgrade my battery operated back massager*.  You see, my battery operated back massager* would run out of battery juice preeeeetty often.  To often for a girl in her early 20's who, while she did get her back massaged by others, never REALLY got a good deep tissue back massage....you know....the kind of massage that helps you see the Lord and helps you to fall asleep with a little smile on your face.

So, I did some research and decided to invest in what was referred to as the "Cadillac of Back Massagers*. 

Recently, I had to lay to rest my third installment of my Magic Wand, pictured above.

One problem with corded items that see a lot of use, and then get their cord wrapped around them so they can fit discreetly in a sock drawer, is that over time, the place where the cord connects to the base of the "wand"...well that connection starts to frey a little.  The rubber coating the covers the wires inside of the cord starts to crack and give way to the actual wires.

Well one day a couple of weeks ago, after a particularly fine massage, I went to turn unplug the little guy to return it to it's home in the drawer, and before I could get to the wall...

well...

it kinda caught fire. 

Seriously.  There were sparks shooting from the torn cord.  It was like fireworks.  One little spark landed on the damn carpet and I thought I was going to have to stop drop and roll...naked.  I managed to get my little friend unplugged though...managed to stamp out the potential carpet fire...and stood there in my bedroom....back massager* in hand.  It was over.  The time had come.  I walked into the kitchen and stood in front of the trash can.  I briefly thought of burying in the yard under the oak tree.  But I didn't want to have to shovel dirt with my lady bits flapping in the wind...so I placed it in the trashcan and said goodbye.

It could have been worse I guess.  I could have caught my cooter on fire.  That would have been an uncomfortable conversation to have with the ER doc...and my girlfriend.

Happy massaging my friends!

*If you are a member of my family or one of my coworkers, please know that I really meant my back massager.  If you are anyone else, you may replace the words "back massager" with vibrator.

The end.

Monday, August 19, 2013

Low Hangers and Low Spirits

One forgets when one is not blogging, how wonderful getting comments on blog posts feels.  Thank you guys for all your comments about yesterday's post regarding my impending plastic surgery consult.

Now for the results.

First, I decided to see Dr. Nathan Patterson.  Dr. Patterson came to speak at our WLS support group several years ago, and I remember liking him then bc a) he wasn't trying to sell us on his services, b) he was honest about expected results, and c) he was cute.

So Heather and I arrived at the appointment. 

First order of business, they take me back to the changing room, complete with a white fluffy robe, and they hand me my disposable blue panties fashioned from, I am pretty sure, paper towels and string.  On to the picture room and Heather was waiting for me.  Angie (the office coordinator?  Nurse?) set up the official camera, had me drop me little old robe, and started taking pictures of my belly and then my boobs.

At this point we got to feel some implants from a drawer and I probed Angie about her own boobies. 

Off to the exam room.  Angie hooked us up with an iPad so we could watch a little video, took my vitals, and made me weigh in.

Then we awaited the arrival of Dr. Patterson.

And hence he came.

While I was immediately struck by his eye-pleasing qualities, my heart reminded me that it would always belong to my favorite elective procedure surgeon and life saver, Dr. Friedman.  But it doesn't hurt to look ya know.

So Dr. Patterson has my pictures in his lap.  Beautiful little close up pictures of my tummy and boobs taken just minutes before.  He starts with the tummy.  And at first, I am confused because I didn't know if they were pictures of MY stomach or someone else's because they didnt look as bad as I picture my stomach.  They were indeed images of my sag though.  So he explains, in great detail, about how he would do a tummy tuck.

Here are the highlights:

-I keep my belly button
-I will have 2 drains.  One for about a week, the other for around 2 weeks.
-He will put disposable staples under my stomach coming down the middle of my stomach to bring my abs back together (they can come apart after babies or being fat)
-He will lipo a little off the side
-My scar will be above my pubic line
-I will be able to return to work after 2 weeks, but he recommends 3.

We talk about my port.  He said he will talk to Dr. Friedman about replacing my port with a low profile port during the tummy tuck.

We talk more in detail.

We move to the boobies.

Now, although I felt relieved with the pictures of my stomach, I was mortified with the pictures of my boobs.  I reckon this is because I have seen my stomach in many photographs (I wear a bikini for goodness sakes), but I have never seen my saggy boobs in a 8 x 10 picture.  They were/are horrible. 

Here are the highlights:

-I would need a lift and implants
-The implant would be put in under my fold in my boob
-I would have a keyhole incision around my nipple and down my boob (from the lift)
-He recommended not going too big, somewhere around 275-300cc's.  This made me happy.
-I would be getting silicon.  Not saline
-The implant would be under my muscle

He demonstrated how durable the implants are (Heather is worried I will pop one during a mud race).  No worries he said.

He answered more of our questions.  He really was amazing.  He sold Heather...and she is a hard sell.

He said in a perfect world where time and money were not an issue, he would recommend 2 surgeries.  One would be the tummy tuck and a lift, and the other would be placing the implants.  But he said that because I am young and healthy, we could do it all at once.

So when we finish up with Dr. Patterson, we go to the room to wait for the different write ups for how much this will cost us.

I had imagined somewhere around $10k-$12k for everything.

Well it turns out that everything will run me $22k.

I just stared at the girl and smiled and tried to NOT cry and not let her see my heartbreak.

She left the room.  I cried.  But just a little.  While she was gone Heather told me we could make it work.  We could borrow from our retirement, I could use her credit cards.  If I wanted it, she would make it happen.

But I am so torn now.

On one hand, that is more than my brand new car.  And it's all for vanities sake.
On the other hand, money is money and like Heather said, we will spend it one way or the other.

On one hand, I feel selfish for making Heather spend her money to fix a body that I ruined.
On the other hand, it would mean so much to me.

This is why I didnt want to go to the consult.  I was afraid this would happen.  For it to seem so close, yet so far away.

I got home and took off my clothes and stood in front of the mirror.  I lifted my saggy little girls up.  I touched my stomach. I pulled it back, lifted it up.  I bent over and watched how everything stretched and sagged. 

And then I sat on the bed and cried.

I should just be able to love myself.  If I could accept myself for what I am, I could save tens of thousands of dollars.  That money could be used for our wedding...if it is ever legal.  It could buy us a boat.  It could pay student loans.

But I don't know if I can.

I don't know if I can ever not loathe these parts of my body.

So I am undecided.  And confused.  And stressed.

And we are juicing for 7 days.  Did I mention that?  And this is day one.  SO I CAN"T EVEN DRINK!  OR EAT COOKIES!

Damn the world.

xoxox

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Do Your Boobs Hang Low?

Do They Wobble To and Fro
Can You Tie Them In A Knot
Can You Tie Them In A Bow?

If you can answer yes to the above children's song altered to speak to many a weight loss patient, then it may be time to consider...

A Boob Job

Friday I finally called and made a consultation for plastic surgery.  Amy Workman may be getting plastic surgery.  I can't wait for that to show up in a google search.

Let's rewind.  Let's begin from the beginning.

My grandma Roether had big boobies.  She was a big lady.  My mom never had big boobies, even when she was a bigger lady.  My boobies were always pretty big.  But I was always bigger.  I owned several DD creations in my time.  I would say though, on average, I was a D.  My cup sometimes spilleth over.  Even before losing weight though, my girls were heading south.  I actually don't remember a perky stage, although certainly there had to be one.  I DO recall watching Whoopie Goldberg once, and she had some joke about how you knew your boobs were saggy when you could put a pencil underneath one, let go, lift your hands in the air, and the pencil would remain right where you left it.  Under your saggy old lady tits.  I had to be in my teens.  

But when I started losing weight after lapband, I didnt think I would ever get plastic surgery.  I have always had a little negative connotation to the falsies.  My judgement doesn't carry over to others...but only pertains to me.  I sort of have the same feeling towards fake nails.  When someone says "Hey, nice nails"...they aren't really complimenting YOUR nails.  They are complimenting your plastic nails.  You did not grow them.  You did not nuture them.  You bought them.

Same holds true to fake boobs.  They would never be "mine".  Here is a better example.  If someone compliments my arms, or my back muscles...well I worked hard for those.  I put in time and sacrificed for those.  They are mine.  I grew them from little acorns.  I try to recognize that I get highlights in my hair.  And if someone says they love my hair, well I take that damn praise...so what's the difference?  I don't know if there is.  

But after losing this weight, my boobs are no longer boobs.  For those of you who have been with this little blog for years, you know that long ago my boobs became knee high socks with ping pong balls in the end.  You know that when I am clothed, one may believe I actually have boobs.  But hiding underneath my cute fitted tee is the terrible truth...skin just pooled in a C cup.

Heather loves my non-boobies.  She likes hunting for my nipples that are hiding in my arm pits.  She likes to swat at the girls as they sway back and forth.  She finds me, and the chi-chi's beautiful.  I on the other hand, get distracted by them.  I am a naked person.  I like to walk around topless.  Not at Taco Bell or Target, but at home...clothes are restrictive.  But it's dangerous.  I can't cook bacon with these girls flinging abouts.  I can't bake cookies.  I might shut one in the oven.  I have to hold them when I brush my teeth.  I have to hold them when I bend over to pet our pigs.  I am always aware of them.

Our friend from work recently had a tummy tuck and boob job.  She is our age, had gastric 10 years ago, and now weighs around 130.  She has shared her pictures and kept me updated over the last 3 weeks.  It's funny how open she is with her pictures.  We are not besties, and she works out with Heather more than I do, so when she first sent me a full frontal pre-op and one week post-op, I thought it was pretty awesome.  I also understood how she could do that.  For her, and for me, and maybe for you...our bodies after this weight loss don't really feel like our bodies.  Take a picture of our torso, and omit our heads, you are looking at the body of an 80 year old.  There is a disconnect.  But it was her openness and honesty that made me finally pick up the damn phone and call for a consult.

Because here is the truth.  I joke so much, with anyone who will listen, about the state of my body underneath my clothes.  But it makes me so sad.  If I really give myself time to contemplate my boobs and stomach, I immediately tear up.  It's hateful.  And hurtful.  And can make me so angry.  I work pretty hard for my body.  But no amount of work can fix decades of being fat.  And that is disheartening.  

So, by making a call and going to an appointment, I am allowing myself to hope. And that is scary. Because what if I can't afford it?  I can barely afford the consultation fee of $100.  What if he tells me everything he can do and I can't get it done?  I will be heartbroken.  

But I am going.  And Heather says we will make it happen one way or another.  I love her,

But let's get to my other fears.

What if I get my boobs done and they are huge and I hate them?  I don't want big huge Pamela Anderson knockers.  What if I get boobs and a tummy tuck and can't work out for weeks and weeks and I lose all my muscle (I GET that I may be exaggerating just a smidge).  What if Heather hates them?  What if people judge me?

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But there is good news for you guys.  If I am going to do this, you will get full coverage.  You will see pictures.  You will know what it feels like (from my perspective).  You will get to hold my hand and send my presents or pain killers.

Tomorrow friends.  Tomorrow.  

Shit...I almost broke out into a song from Annie.

Until then.  Hugs, kisses, and motorboats.

Yours-Amy