A Beat Be-hind

Barbie Doll

(Marge Piercy) (b. 1936) 1930

This girlchild was born as usual

and presented dolls that did pee-pee

and miniature GE stoves and irons

and wee lipsticks the color of cherry candy.

Then in the magic of puberty, a classmate said:

You have a great big nose and fat legs.

She was healthy, tested intelligent,

possessed strong arms and back,

abundant sexual drive and manual dexterity.

She went to and fro apologizing.

Everyone saw a fat nose on thick legs.

She was advised to play coy,

exhorted to come on hearty,

exercise, diet, smile and wheedle.

Her good nature wore out

like a fan belt.

So she cut off her nose and her legs

and offered them up.

In the casket displayed on satin she lay

with the undertaker's cosmetics painted on,

a turned-up putty nose,

dressed in a pink and white nightie.

Doesn't she look pretty? Everyone said?

Consummation at last.

To every woman a happy ending.

I first read this poem in my Senior year of High School. It was in my Advanced Placement Literature class. I could so clearly see myself in it, and it drew me in. I copied it into my notebook of favorite poems and, even six years later, I still find it just as compelling.

I can't count all the times in my life where I've been so desperate that all I've wanted to do is take a knife to my abdomen and slice off the offending fat. And it's the little things that cause the most pain. Not being able to walk up a flight of stairs. Being unable to bend over because my stomach's in the way. Getting stuck in a small parking spot and having to climb out of the passenger door (assuming there's more room on that side). Having to request different seating in restaurants because the table in the booth is screwed to the floor and I can't push it out a little. Asking for a seatbelt extension on a airplane (or worse, getting a ticket for not wearing my seatbelt because it doesn't fit). Limping from my bed to the bathroom every morning because my feet are in so much pain from carrying my weight that it takes a few minutes to adjust. Having to contort myself into positions that would cause a Cirque de Solil performer to cringe, just to go to the bathroom. All of these things cause a little death each time they happen. I've had to build myself a suit of armor against them, but sometimes it's just not enough.

So now that I've taken back my control and decided to change my fate, I find new challenges every day. The Fall semester has started at Diablo Valley College and this year I'm taking 3 classes. English (online), Spanish and a P.E. class called Hips, Abs and Thighs. My first new challenge (or at least, an old challenge that I'd forgotten about), occurred in my Spanish class. I don't easily fit into the tiny desks in the class room, though I can just squeeze into one, though not comfortably. This week, I sat at the handicap table. It's a regular folding table with a rolling chair that are sometimes put into classrooms for the use of handicapped students. This was much better, even though it puts me in the front of the room where everyone can look at me funny before the figure out why I have to sit there. This same night, I overheard another heavy girl in the class complain to her friend about the desks. I looked up and said "that's why I'm sitting over here." She seemed pleased that she wasn't the only one forced to endure the indignation of seating discrimination. Later, during an activity, she came and sat with me. After class, she and her friend caught up with me and we talked as we headed toward our respective cars. She thanked me, though I'm not sure what for. I think maybe it's just nice to know that you're not alone in your embarrassment. I know it is for me.

In my P.E. class, we spend the first 30 or so minutes walking laps around the pond on campus. The first week (remind me why I took a class at 10:00 AM on a Saturday?), I hung back and very quickly ended up being the last person in the group circling the pond. I began wishing that I'd taken the class with a friend, but then I realized that I'd just be holding back anyone who stayed beside me out of friendship, so it's probably better for me to suffer alone. I was pretty proud though. The first two walkers in the group lapped me on my fourth revolution (their fifth) and I headed back to class after them, figuring that if I did the final lap, I'd be so far behind everyone else that it would be pretty ridiculous. However, though I didn't do as many laps as everyone else, I did walk for just as long as they did, so there's a bonus.

Back in class, I was able to keep up with the aerobic workout, which was fun because it resembles a modern dance routine. Then we get on the mats and do some more exercises. These were harder. Some of my muscles aren't strong enough to hold my body the way she asks. For example. We're supposed to lean back till we find the balance point where we can lift and extend our legs, basically balancing on our tushies with out body in a V shape. Okay, not only can I not lean back to find the balance point because I'm so top heavy, but my legs weight a ton and it's hard enough just to do leg lifts, let alone expect the to free float. There's a yoga move we do where we extend a leg behind us and bend over the front leg, putting our hands on the floor, one on each side of the knee. Because of the huge flesh bag hanging from the front of my body (also known as my abdomen) it is impossible for me to position myself over my knee in this manner. I have to modify off to the side a bit, but at least I'm doing it.

Some of the moves are harder than others but I do the best I can. Sometimes I start to ache and I have to concentrate on breathing (which makes me sound like I'm doing lamaze or something) and all I want to do is lie there in the pool of my sweat and tears and surrender to the urge to drop dead of a massive coronary. But just when I'm ready to give in, the little sadistic drill sergeant in the back of my brain starts screaming "Hey you wimp! You know you can push it a little further, you're just lazy! Are you really serious about this or aren't you? Get moving fat girl!" And though I make mental faces behind his imaginary back, I push a little harder, close my eyes and pray that I make it out alive.

Then there comes the last part of the class... My favorite moment of the day. As we cool down we lie flat on our back, use meditative techniques to relax every muscle in our bodies, clear our minds, and rest. Lying there listening to the jazz music from the stereo is probably the most relaxing part of my whole Saturday. The funny thing is - though I'm all sweaty; though my hair feel yucky, my body aches a little and I feel more out of shape than I normally do; though I've spent the last TWO HOURS feeling embarrassed, slow and fat, avoiding looking at myself in the many mirrors around the room and avoiding the eyes of my classmates, I feel better than I have all week. So after two hours of sweaty, agonizing hell, I have a whole new week to forget how much I loath exercise before I have to come back, bright eyed and bushy tailed with enthusiasm for another class.

My fondest wish is that someday, I will grow to love exercising. I'll wake up one morning and crave it the way I now crave peanut butter cookies, or french fries. Instead of forcing myself to focus on things in my environment that make me happy while I'm working out; I feel a genuine burst of adrenaline that makes the exercise the only reward I need. People get telling me it'll happen and I have no choice but to believe them. I experience my own setbacks, but for the most part, I'm more motivated and dedicated to doing the right things then I have ever been in my LIFE. Especially with exercise.

Of course, I do have my slip ups. Days when I eat more than I should, weeks when I gain instead of losing weight, days like last Friday, which was so blazing hot that I wimped out and, for the first time since I started my daily walking routine, sat inside and read my book instead. However, in my own defense, I feel I need to state that I have been pushing myself. Maybe even harder than I realistically should be. My P.E. teacher said that if you were to walk 45 minutes, 4 times a week, you would lose 18 lbs. Without dieting. Since I was already doing 30 minutes a day, 5 times a week, I decided to try upping my walk time to 45 minutes whenever possible. It was much easier than I thought it would be, and I managed to do it 4 out of the 5 days. (Friday I only did about 15 minutes.)

But walking so much poses it's own problems. For one, my feet get so tired that by the end of the day, I'm practically limping back to my car because they hurt so badly. For another, the friction of my skin against my jeans creates a rash on my inner thighs that burns like nothing else. Thankfully, I spread my walking throughout the day, so it doesn't get quite as irritated as it could but still, it's frustrating. Plus, I'm still having trouble getting all of my water in during the day, so add in the extra movement, and the dog days of summer and you get a girl so dehydrated that she gets positively nauseous sometimes.

I keep myself moving by thinking that every step I take, every day I get my butt out of bed and walk, walk, walk, each time I eat right, brings me that much closer to December and my goals. I've turned in all my information, so I'm expecting a phone call any day now to schedule my surgery date. I've already told my instructors that I might be needing to take finals early, depending on when I'm scheduled. Now all that's left is to get the date and start making arrangements for then.

There are so many of you out there supporting me and waiting to see the outcome. Thanks to everyone, family and friends alike, for pulling for me. I'm so excited and it really helps to have you all to talk to as I go along. I know that my cousin (hi Erik!) had some questions he wanted me to find out answers to. Does anyone else? I'm sure if you want to know, it's something I should know, assuming I already don't so please, ask away! - Love you all!

The Rayne in Spayne...

I weighed myself this morning and was thrilled to see that I'm down to 284.0. That's a total of 12 1/2 lbs. lost. Last Monday I had gained three pounds so I was starting to get worried. Dieting is terrible and I know that's why I've never been successful at it in the past. You go on a diet and, for a while it works. You feel great, you start to look great and everybody is so excited and so proud of you. Then you hit that inevitable plateau... and suddenly, everything starts going wrong. Instead of people saying "you look great! How much weight have you lost?" You begin hearing, "So, how's that diet thing going for ya?" That's when you know you're in trouble. You lose a bit of the drive. You get depressed, anxious, and inevitably... fat. It's a traumatic rollercoaster of blubber and you know that when you hit bottom, there's a breathless crowd of people there waiting to commend you on the ride - when you know that the part that really counts, staying on the ride, is where you failed. Again. It gets depressing. For a long time I kinda gave that up. I refused to look at a scale. I looked in the mirror every day and said "I think you're great" (to myself). I refused to wear make-up and the 'in' clothing, convincing myself that I was rebelling from what the masses did. But what I was really doing was lying to myself. I hated those girls who wore the latest fashions, but not because they were sheep. I hated them because I wanted to be a sheep. So instead, I made myself different out of... spite? I like to think of it as finding my niche. And in a way, I did. I had a few good, close friends who loved me for who I was (you know who you are) and I learned to appreciate the differences in myself, including my fat. Let's face it, if I had been one of those girls with the gigantic bangs, pegged bongo jeans and esprite tops, I probably wouldn't be the person I am today. I shudder to think of all I would have missed. But while I was trying to convince myself of my worth (which my fat always got in the way of), I was ignoring a (pun intended) swiftly growing problem. Namely, me.

The summer before I started High School I was getting dressed to go somewhere with my mom. I was putting on my jeans in the bathroom when I suddenly looked in the mirror for the first time in I don't know how long. I mean really looked. I burst into tears because the girl who was reflected back to me was not who I saw myself as. This has been a recurring problem for me. I don't feel as heavy as I really am. In my mind, I don't look as heavy as I really do. I had been so busy convincing myself that I loved myself just the way I was that I forgot to take care of that girl. I stopped seeing her and started picturing someone different. Even today I'll catch a glimpse of myself in a store window and stare in horror, thinking, "You poor thing, what have you done to yourself?" And I did do it. Besides the key factors of genetic and environment, I've had numerous opportunities to change my life and I've always failed. My parents took me to a dietatician in the sixth grade and I was mortified. I know they must have feel horrible for making me go but looking back, I know that they did it because they were afraid. I should have learned from the experience but I was so relieved when I didn't have to go anymore. I failed at Jenny Craig (twice). I've never been a consistent exerciser and being pressured to do it makes me want to scream, sit my butt in a Lazy Boy and eat a pint of Ben & Jerry's (Phish food... mmmmm..... Phish food...).

It got to a point about a year and a half ago when, once again, I was sobbing over ill fitting size 28 jeans when I really had to have a serious discussion with myself. I looked at myself in the mirror and I said "Kimberlee..." (I call myself Kimberlee). "Kimberlee," I said, "this girl staring back at you is not the real you. You can love yourself, but you don't have to love that girl, because she's killing you. It's time to let her go, and stop letting that girl drown you." And I knew I was right (well, myself was). The mirror girl was not who I wanted to be and her self destructive ways were causing me nothing but pain and sending me straight to an early grave -face down in a bowl of ice cream with a bum ticker. So after much crying and a whole lot of whining (hey, I wasn't going willingly!) I dragged myself to my doctor.

NOTE: For the sake of the innocent, namely me, the following names have been changed to protect people's privacy. Dr. Kalkstein will here after be referred to as Dr. Doorknob.

I planned out a nice little impassioned speech for Dr. Doorknob. When he arrived, I told him of my weight loss woes. Of my struggles with 'X' number of diets and my current plight with Curves (which is a wonderful program, don't get me wrong, but where I wasn't losing anything). I was sincere, begging him to help. A special diet, little blue pills, anything. I began to cry a bit from recounting my frustrations to yet another person, when Dr. Doorknob shocked me into another emotion entirely. Anger. " I see here you have a history of mental illness." He said, not making eye contact. I could see where this train was going and I didn't like it. "Yes..." I responded. "I've been taking Paxil for about 6 years now." "Uh huh," he continued, still flipping the pages in my chart. "Do you think you'd benefit from a few days in the hospital to calm you down?"

Okay. Before I continue, I need to clarify a few things here. I was crying, but I wasn't sobbing or carrying on like a drunken baboon. I was frustrated, not depressed. So for this to be his first and, frankly, only respose to my request for help, was not only surprising, it was outrageous! Anyway, I told him that wasn't necessary, I simply couldn't seem to lose the weight on my own and felt that I needed some assistance. Bottom line, he couldn't help me.

At this point I was getting desperate. I was having dreams about taking a knife to my abdomen and slicing off the excess fat, then stitching the wound closed again with a knitting needle (my grandmother knitted). Myself and I had another talk and I realized that desperate times called for desperate measures. That's when I began researching Gastrointestinal Bypass Surgery. I switched Doctor's to one who is familiar with my family history and tried again. This time I was met with more compassion and the rest is history. I'll have met my half way mark for both weight and classes on Wednesday, so within the next two weeks, I'll have an actual surgery date! This has not been an easy rode for me and I know there are so many others like me who face similar struggles and live through similar hells everyday. We continue going through the same patterns, making the same mistakes, and all it takes is our inner Professor Higgins' to take the time to talk to us; inspire us; make us see the beauty in ourselves for the change to occur. For me, the Rain soon will be in Spain. I've just got to dance at my own ball and prove to myself, and the world, that I can do it.

Pre-Op photo 1 taken 8-1-04. Weight, 290 lbs. 

Let's Start at The Very Beginning....

Hello, and welcome to my Blog. I've decided to track my journey through the world of Weight Loss Surgery (WLS) by sharing my thoughts with friends. As this is my first posting, I'll tell you all a little about myself (in case you were interested). :)

I've been overweight since I was 5 years old (I'm 24 now) and, after a 2 year struggle to get through all of the hurdles required for approval, I am finally in the home stretch! I've tried everything to lose weight. I've been to a Dietatician, Jenny Craig, done the Atkins thing, the Cabbage Soup Diet (do NOT try this one people.... Not only does it make your house stink to high heaven of boiled cabbage and soy sauce but I started craving eggs so badly I thought I was turning into some weird reptillian creature from the paleolithic era. Not to mention the gas....) Needless to say, I'm tired of trying and failing. They say only 5% of people who diet on their own, keep the weight off for more than 5 years or something. With WLS, the percentage rises to 50%. I'm liking those odds.

Many people I've spoken to have been afraid for me. The say things like "can't you just diet one more time?" or "I just think you're taking the easy way out." and then there's my favorite "you can't! So many people have died from it!" For starters, only about 1% of patients die from WLS. For another, WLS is NOT easy! I've got to lose 10% of my excess body weight before surgery and take 8 Nutrition classes and 8 New Lifestyle Management classes. Then after surgery, I have to re-learn to eat, exercise every day (!!!) and learn how to manage my bad eating habits, my emotional stress and continue looking fabulous. I can't wait!

My highest weight is 296.5 (I can't believe I actually making that public knowledge). I've been weighing myself every week and I'm currently down to 290 as of last Monday (8/2/04). I've done 6 of my classes and I'm raring to go!

My hope is to use this forum to chronicle my journey to the center of me. I hope you all will join me along the way. It's going to be a blast. If any readers out there are going through this experience, please share your comments, your sucesses, your failures and fears as I share mine. I hope to be able to help you and help myself get through this intact! Let me know if you have questions, fears, or anything else you'd like me to address. I'm ready and waiting.

I'll try to update at least once a week. I hope to build a community of friends and family to share with so don't be shy! I'm currently taking pictures of myself once a month. The one included in this posting is my first Pre-Op photo. Thanks for taking it Daddy!

Till next time,
Kimberlee