I've been contemplating what I wanted to write this afternoon and, since this blog is all about honesty and, HOPEFULLY will be helpful to someone somewhere I've decided to go big.
I'm just gonna jump in now.
I have, at this point, lost over 100 lbs. 3 months. 100 lbs. Mind fucking blown. According to this chart I have, that is the size of a 2 month old horse... I'm really looking forward to 118 when I'll have lost the weight of the complete Encyclopedia Britannica.
My highest weight was cataloged at my surgeon's office at 453 lbs. Yes. That. 453.
My last meeting with the scale in my bathroom registered 347. This is a big deal. I'm guessing, based on the reactions of my nearest and dearest, that I probably don't need to actually tell YOU guys it's a big deal, but, until recently, I needed the reminder myself.
This surgery thing has been... crazy. I feel contrary about it ALL the time. I feel like every conversation I have sounds loony and every blog I write is a babbling mess.
Sometimes it seems like I've done nothing and I don't deserve any praise for weight lost. Other times it is the hardest thing I've ever done in my life and I JUST want someone to hug me and tell me it was a good idea. Usually those moments are reserved for food cravings, depleted protein levels, dehydration, or when I look at myself naked in the mirror.
I do that a lot. STARE at myself. At my face and at my body. Not always naked.
It's... just... fucking weird.
It's... this THING. The surgery is this THING I've done. To repair the damage I've done to this body I live in. I know that it worked because eating has become a chore and the number on the scale is dropping, but, do I SEE it working?
Not really. Not in the good way I was expecting. I thought I'd be able to see it happening and be happy about it, but, mostly, I think what little I see looks weird. It's the strangest thing to go through. I wish I could adequately describe it, but, frankly, I'm not sure I have enough words, or you have the time to read it. Everything is... deflating. It's actually a bit horrifying.
My clothing is finally getting to the point where it's way too big and I need to start looking for interim items to get me through for a bit.
I've gone shopping a few times, but, struck out. REPEATEDLY. HOW could I be losing this much weight and NOT be down roughly eleventy billion sizes??? Or... at least ONE size??
Oh, right, because while I've been wearing a size 28 since Jr. High, toward the end of last year that size was getting so tight my pants would LITERALLY cut into my waist. By that I mean wounds with blood necessitating Neosporin. Why wear something so tight? Because 28 is the highest size you can purchase as a plus size woman without turning to the internet for help. So I wore what I could find that sort of fit and hoped I fooled everybody.
The only thing that has changed significantly was my bra size. My poor, sweet, lovely breasts. I'm so sorry I have betrayed you in such a fashion. You've been so good to me and now you are so sad. When I went into Lane Bryant the staff tried to tell me that they think I've moved from a solid D down to a B. I goggled at them and then told them I didn't have it in me to continue the conversation...I'll try THAT again at a later time.
Where was I going with this? OH YES! THIS AFTERNOON!!!!
This afternoon I decided to go to Torrid with my dear friend Vikisha because I had this coupon and my pants are getting a bit ridiculous.
Torrid carries sizes (in store) roughly 12-26 (they typically have them tagged at 0-4, but who are we kidding WE KNOW A 0 IS A 12 AND A 4 IS A 26!!!). I almost NEVER had success shopping there pre-surgery as I was over their size range, but, I love their clothes and thought I'd go for it. I gathered up the items I wanted to try on in my standard sizes: 4 for tops and dresses and 26 for pants. No real hope I'd fit into any of the items.
The first thing I tried on was this cute little dress. I walked out of the fitting room and Kisha noted that it seemed too big and suggested I get a smaller size.
This is a moment. One of those etched-in-your-brain-forever moments. I distinctly remember staring at her. I'm guessing there was a blank look on my face because my brain could NOT understand what she said. I... huh? I... wait... huh? If the 4 doesn't fit then I don't get the dress. That's how that works. I don't get to buy it because it doesn't fit. There are no more sizes.
Shockingly, it turns out there ARE more sizes.
Not actually in that SPECIFIC dress but she DID bring back a lovely white dress in a size 3.
I tried it on. It fit. I burst into tears. Crying in front of everybody in the back of the store about how I've never, in my adult life, been able to wear a size 3 before.
It was SO much more than a size. It was the first time I saw it. I saw my weight loss. I saw my struggles pay off. I saw a lovely dress that I got to wear because it fit me.
I've included two pictures of the event below. Neither one is particularly flattering, but, real moments in life aren't about that.
Oh hey! Turns out the pants I grabbed were too big also. I ended up leaving with a pair of jeans in a size 24. Hot fucking DAMN. A 24!!! I cannot believe it.
This journey wasn't started with an end number in mind. No weight or size a goal. It was started because I was running out of options and running out of choices and TODAY I finally saw those two things increasing.
So awesome.
Anyway, I've got to end this thing now, so I'm gonna leave you with some appropriate lyrics from one Mr. Ice Cube. Because, while I don't actually have an A.K. to use at any point, no matter HOW the day goes... "I got to say it was a good day."
Love you guys,
Mamy
