Hey all! I miss you. I miss LJ. I just kinda forget it exists except when I don't.
Anyway, I'm going to verbalize something here before I start talking about it on tumblr because this is a much, much safer space. I think.
Most of you who've known me forever, are very, very aware that I have been obese my entire adult life and overweight for the rest of it. I've had times where I was eating well and exercising consistently, but due to a weird quirk of my body where I don't really get biofeedback when my stats (blood sugar, blood pressure, etc.) go wonky, as soon as I step off track for even a day, I end up off the wagon for years at a time.
I was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes seven years ago at age 27, the youngest of all my family members to get it, and have been facing a decline in health just as I want to really start and build a career that sort of demands you be someone functional physically and is best when you're in the type of shape where you can squat and hold that pose for long periods of time, or handle someone's feet pressing against your knees while you sit on a low chair and they use your body for leverage. I made it through a year but came out the other end exhausted and weak and with the realization that something drastic had to change.
Four weeks ago I started to talk to my diabetes doc about getting bariatric surgery. Something I swore I would never, ever do. Ever. Why the fuck would I cut my stomach. How could that be considered healthy? How could that be considered sane? But the truth is? What I've done to my body is not sane.
And I've done it. Yes, there are contributing factors. My mom had gestational diabetes with me that she more or less didn't control. Despite being breastfed and active as a little kid, I ended up with a shit ton of allergies and really bad asthma, which put me on a medication that they've basically taken off the market because it speeds up your heart so much that you can have a heart attack. I took that medication from age 6 to age 18. I basically didn't sleep from age 6 to age 18 and then I slept for the next decade only coming out of my hole long enough to go to work and make the occasional trip out to CA to go to conventions. This wrecked havoc on my metabolism, but hey, at least I didn't die from asthma. I mean that seriously. That medication, one of the only ones they had at the time, kept me alive.
I ate a shit ton of shitty food because I felt horrible all the time. I didn't recognize this and I still have to very purposely check in and evaluate my body in order to recognize when something hurts or I feel nauseated or dizzy or anything negative. I made mindless choices. I make mindless choices.
I am now on 8 different regular medications. And I'm 34. And I can change that. Obesity is a chronic illness that, in my case, can be put into remission. Hell, with the type of surgery I'm likely to choose, my diabetes will likely be put into remission as well. That's huge.
At 15 I watched my grandma die a horrible, horrible death due to uncontrolled diabetes. I don't want that to me my death.
And I can make a choice now that could radically alter my body and, at least for a time, help me make different choices going forward, hopefully long enough for it to stick. Statistically, there's a good chance the changes will keep after having the surgery.
Making this choice feels a bit like a failure. I admit that.
But more? It's a relief. It's such a fucking relief.
There's still a lot to do before the surgery. There's still a lot of decisions to make. There's still a lot of emotional and spiritual shit I need to work out so I don't fall down a depression hole when I no longer have food as a security blanket.
So that's the decision. The first of many.
I imagine there will be some things I need to journal about. Starting with how awesome I think the body/fat acceptance movement is, but how many things I think they kinda get wrong even as a lot of what they get right is so fucking important and good. But that's for another day.