Floridacocoon

I don't really have a story yet, as I haven't had the surgery. I am in the process of qualifying and it's going well, and I'm cautiously optimistic that the hope I'm beginning to feel will become reality. I've been significantly overweight for years. When I asked my primary doctor for a letter of necessity and his support, part of me thought for sure he would say, "Oh, you don't need to lose that much. You're not in that category." But he didn't. I'm actually glad, but surprised in a way, too. I suppose that's just the denial mechanism at work. It's like there were two "moods" about my weight all along: What I saw in the mirror and in pictures of me and what I thought I looked like. And that was a major disconnect. I can't wait for the outside to match the inside. Guaranteed, a woman approaching 50 is nearly invisible. But obesity seems to lead to contempt, not invisibility. Did anyone ever read Leslie Lambert's "Fat Like Me" story many years ago in Ladies' Home Journal? She was a normal sized person who put on a fat suit and went about her day to see what the difference might be. She was astounded and wrote an amazing story about it. I guess a sudden change in how she looked made her acutely aware of the differences in people's attitudes. I'm sick of hiding from cameras. I don't want to get on an airplane and fear getting the middle seat, wondering if the seat belt will reach, and how uncomfortable it will be to try to hold my arms and shoulders in so I don't spill over onto a seatmate. I'm sick of feeling crummy all the time. I'm weary of store windows, which may as well be funhouse mirrors for how I look, and it always surprises me. I'm tired of flat shoes, clothes with W or X after the numbered size, imagining going to yet another class reunion and being the unofficial One Who Gained the Most Weight instead of One Who Traveled Farthest. I want to do a cartwheel, ride a burro into the Grand Canyon, wear heels and dance!