I don't want to say I didn't love food when I was a little kid, but the truth is that I was horribly picky. Like, sit at the table all night because I didn't want to eat my spinach, pea's in the couch cushions, slipped it to the dog when Mom wasn't looking kind of picky. Yeah, I usually sat at the table for hours every single night... so, to top it all off I was stubborn. Picky and stubborn eater. That is a bad combination. Now add to that immune compromised, with an extreme fear of needles, which I had to face every single week with injections, and it's no wonder food became my best friend. Especially milk with a little sugar or Molasses in it, which the Dr told my Mom to give me to get all my medicines down. (Thanks for that, you maniac.)

Anyway - fast forward to present. I'm an adult. For years I have been saying, "grow up" "take responsibility for your fat butt" "watch what you're eating" - well, I've been watching alright, watch as I stuff it in my face that is. Oy... so a process of failure, hope, failure, willpower, weakness, hope, failure... you know the routine, anyone who is struggling knows this routine. But now I'm facing down the barrel of a gun called obesity and a surgical decision to save my life, and I'm saying to myself, "how the HELL did I get here"? Most of my friends, people that REALLY know me say that I don't act like an obese person. I don't really know what that means, and I've tried to get someone to explain that to me, and the only response that seemed honest was that I just seemed to not relate to my weight. To me that sounds like I'm in some advanced state of denial. Maybe I just didn't see my fat, because I wasn't paying attention to it. I have lead a pretty dramatic life - my Mom died when I was 11 and my Dad was an alcoholic, not a mean one, but addicted nontheless... so I was used to making excuses for why he drank. I could blame it on my Mom dying, but he drank before that, too. Actually, he lost me while trick-or-treating when I was 4 because he and his best pal were lit when they took a bunch of us out trick-or-treating. I will never forget the sound of my Mom's voice when the lady who's house I ended up at, took my home. My Dad caught holy hell, to boot. I remember thinking that no one could protect me like my Momma!

Anyway, I'm getting off point. I guess I'm just trying to figure out how I got here. I don't want an excuse - I'm just looking for MY reason.

And in the meantime, I'm getting ready to meet with several different surgeons.

Thanks for reading.