Choices - A Reflection on Seven years of WLS Life

Life is full of choices..... some choices are immediately lovely
to the eye... other choices need to grow on you.
Original photos by Julie Dostal

May is a month of milestones for me. In May of '04, I got my first lap band. In May of '06, I had a revision to a  different lap band. And, in May of '10, I had a revision to a gastric bypass.  Yesterday was my one year anniversary for my gastric bypass.) The last seven  years have been an amazing journey  for me, full of opportunities to grow  and learn about myself... full of  chances to quit or push ahead... full of  successes, joys, victories and moments  to be treasured... and most of all, full of the Grace of God to walk side by side with me through each of those  things.

I am content with my journey, and at peace with the road this has taken me down. One of the greatest lessons I have learned throughout my WLS journey is the lesson of choice. During most of the difficult times that I have had over the last seven years, there was very little that I could do to change my circumstance. I had trouble with my lap band; significant trouble. And, because I am a smart woman and I trust a very smart team, if we were going to "figure it out" so that I could learn how to live peaceably with my lap band, it certainly would have been done. But that wasn't to be. There was just no "figuring it out" for me.


For many years, I fought my circumstances... I railed against them...whined, cried and threw little temper tantrums (at least in my own head). I turned myself inside out and into multiple knots trying to make things different. But, I had a life lesson to learn. When I can't change my circumstance... I have to change me. When the storm around me just can't be calmed... I need to trust that God has His best for me and become calm within the storm. It is truly all about me and my attitude... about the level to which I am willing to change the things I can and then change my attitude about the things that I cannot.


I am an Executive Director... I am USED to making things happen. That's how I do what I do; it is how I function. It is expected that I am smart enough, savvy enough, and have enough vision to look at the big picture, see the problems, and then develop solutions. Yet, even with all of the skills that God has loaned me for my life here on earth, there are things that I am just not able to impact... no matter how hard I try. Learning to face those things with grace and peace has been a hard fought, bloody battle for me. And now... with the help of this journey... I am able to do this on
most occasions.


I have gotten FAR more than a healthier body from this journey. I have a healthier mind, healthier emotions, and a healthier spiritual life. And, it's all about choice. It is an active, conscious choice to do what I can do to impact my circumstance and then be peaceful about the rest. It's not perfect... Believe me... I'm no Gandhi or Mother Theresa... I still have my unattractive moments. But, they are fewer and further between.


There are at least two active choices that I'm currently making about my WLS journey. First, I have a thiamine (B1) deficiency. So, I have to get B1 shots that hurt like the dickens! Second, I have recently developed an issue with seriously low blood sugars, (even outside of my exercise) and am now closely monitoring my food and sugar. Here is my choice... be upset that things are "going wrong" or decide that the B1 and the sugar are simply dietary adjustments that I need to make to maintain a healthy body. For me, thinking of them as dietary adjustments rather than problems is the healthiest way to go. So, that's what I do. I don't have to get all freaked out about a dietary adjustments. Heck, that doesn't even SOUND scary. And... It makes for a more peaceful me.

I don't talk about this much... but for those of you who are curious... at 1 year out from revision, I have lost 75 lbs. I think I was at about 250 just before the revision, and my weight today is 175. My highest ever weight was around 330 (maybe higher... I wouldn't get on a scale). My highest BMI was 52, and it is currently 26. All are miracles. I don't talk about my weight numbers very much because in seeing them as merely a part of a much larger journey, I need to keep them in perspective. But,
because we ARE here to lose weight, it is only fitting to share them occasionally.

I wish you all much learning on your journey. May you come face to face with yourself... and grow as person... emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, and physically. And... may the grace of God be your constant companion through each step of your own personal miracle!

'Twas the Night Before Surgery...

‘Twas the night before surgery 

and all through the house

I was frantically cleaning, even ironed my blouse

The cupboards were empty, the shelves, they were bare

There was nothing but soup and protein shakes there.

My family was nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of new life danced in my head

I packed my PJ’s, the ones with the snap

And laid my head down for a short, little nap.

Before I knew it, the alarm night did shatter

I jumped up knowing I would never be fatter.

As I walked out the door, I tossed my last “stash”

And away to the hospital we flew like a flash.

They prepped me and poked me, to sleep I did go

I knew all was well, such care they did show.

When I was awakened, but who should appear?

The surgeon, the nurse and nutritionist dear.

They gave me a cup and a pink swabbie stick

If I did more than sip, I would surely be sick.

More rapid than eagles, my courses they came

The message was clear, this is no game.

“No sodas! No solids! The protein must mix in

Four weeks from now, purees you’ll be fixin’”

And now down to x-ray! Oh, what a ball!

Now drink it down! Drink it down! Drink it down all!

Then like a hurricane, my time it did fly

The discharge nurse said a fond “good-bye.”

So, into my brave new world I flew

With heart full of hope for my life anew.

I mixed and I measured, looking for proof

That this huge decision had not been a goof.

Then one happy day the scale turned around

The weight begin falling, it fell with a bound.

I became overjoyed from my head to my foot

Bought brand new clothes, and spent lots of loot.

All my old “fat” clothes in a box I did pack

Off to the Goodwill with the sack on my back.

My eyes – how they twinkled, my soul it was merry!

My husband sent roses. He was pleased, very!

And now, my new tool I have gotten to know

My spirits have risen from depths oh so low

I live from above and not from beneath

Support, love and joy the team does bequeath

I never thought possible, losing my belly

(Although it still shakes like a bowlful of jelly)

My dreams are no longer on the back shelf

I can stand quite tall and be proud of myself

With confidence now, there is nothing to dread

Life is a joy, it is full steam ahead

As I was told, this new way is work

I make the choice, the rules I won’t shirk

There’s no way to say as I end this prose

How happy I am, how much my peace grows

I skip and I sing, and sometime I whistle

My spirits soar high, like the down of a thistle

And so I will close with not one ounce of strife:

“Good health to all, and to all a long life!”

Julie Dostal 12/22/05

Adapted from The Night Before Christmas

By Clement Clarke Moore

Walls

Built by time, built by pain;

Tall, impenetrable, strong and there.

This fortress only few can see, surrounding all that I am.

The soul cries from within, smoldering, as the mortar molds and rots.

The heart searches for cracks, just one small chink.

While the sun is only a myth.

No light can be seen by the one inside

For the horrible truth of reality might be seen by the one outside.

This most gruesome truth that the heart is

broken, soiled, and human.

And that this most hidden soul longs for love, caress, and hope.

The wall protects and imprisons.

The heart prays that the one outside

will find the chink and see through the centuries-old lime.

The heart screams from within its dungeon

As strangers walk by with eyes that are deaf.

So, for now, wait. The sun may be myth.

So, for now, dream. Sleep is better than pain.

So, for now, hope. The one outside may come in.

Twenty-Five Again

(note - this entry was written at a particularly bleak time in 2006. )

 

I had finally arrived.  I was at “goal” weight.   At 170 pounds, I had reached the nirvana I was seeking before I would proceed with reconstructive surgery.  It was significant because 164 pounds was the top of the normal weight range for my height. Once I had reconstructive surgery, at least 10lbs of skin and fat would be removed.  So, in my head 170 seemed like the best place to start the reconstructive process.  I would guarantee myself a trip into “normal” land. 

 

Looking back, I’m amazed at the power of numbers and strangle hold that they have on me.  When I started this process, I would have never guessed that this might happen to me.  My original goal was to be under 200 pounds and a size 14.  It was a reasonable goal and a success by ANY measure. As my weight went lower, my lust for an even lower number increased.  Being a Psychologist, this chase for the numbers was always niggling in the back of my mind as disturbing.  Clinically, I could step back and know that there was a lack of balance.  I had started this journey for my health, yet the highway I was on was the fast lane to an emotional train wreck.  It didn’t matter.  I was so ebullient about the weight loss that any reservations I had about my zeal to become thinner was easily pushed aside.

 

I contacted the plastic surgeon’s office to schedule a consult.  I knew that I wanted the extra skin from my abdomen removed and my breasts lifted and augmented.  My panniculus (commonly known as “the apron”) hung way down on my thighs.  My breasts had continual infections underneath them as the loose skin rubbed against my bra.   All of this skin, left over from a 160 pound weight loss, was unsightly and it impinged upon my quality of life.  I looked in the mirror and was disgusted by the remnants of my obesity.  The abdominal skin flopped and flapped as I did anything active.  I could hear it hit my legs as I bounded up a set of stairs.  Climbing stairs was both an expression of the sheer joy of being able to do several flights without becoming winded and of the deep shame of actually being able to hear the skin from my panni slap my thighs.  I can hear it in my mind although years have passed since it has happened.

 

My amazing husband, who supported me all the way through the weight loss surgery process, had never complained about a thing.  He loved me as a 330 pound woman and often referred to my curves as “luxurious.” (talk about getting bonus points!) His fear was that he would end up being married to a stick.  I didn’t think his fear would ever possibly be realized.  And bless his heart, as I lost the weight he made only one comment on one occasion:  for no particular reason, he came up behind me and lovingly wrapped his hands around my waist, and sadly said, “I miss the girls.”  At my heaviest I was a “DD” kind of gal.  He liked that.  Now that I was 170 pounds, I was barely a “B” and most of that was skin.   To be honest, the state of “the girls” was pretty darned pitiful.  If it weren’t for my lily white skin, I could have easily doubled for the tribal women that are often featured in National Geographic.  One of my bariatric friends often referred to her girls as tube socks with tennis balls at the toe.  I could relate. 

 

So, Dr. Mooney and I devised a plan to address the issues that most impacted my life and my health.  He decided to do a full abdominoplasty (commonly called a tummy tuck), and a bilateral mastopexy with augmentation (a breast lift with implants).  These were truly reconstructive procedures.  My body had been so ravaged by the disease of obesity that to consider the surgery to be cosmetic would completely negate the reality of the impact large quantities of sagging skin actually has on an individual.  

 

There was another on-going medical issue to deal with as I was preparing for reconstructive surgery.  My lap-band, the very reason for all the weight loss and thus the catalyst for the reconstructive surgery, had been “acting up” for about 7 months.  The bariatric team and I had been working to get my band properly adjusted after having had a brief obstruction back in the spring. To be honest, this adjustment issue was just background noise in my life.  Having reached an amazing weight and loving every second of my new smaller body, I was fairly dismissive of the seriousness of an incorrectly adjusted lap-band. In addition, the bariatric team was diligently working with me.  We had every faith that it would be resolved.

 

My reconstructive surgery was successfully accomplished on December 8^th, 2005.  After eleven hours on the operating table, eight pounds of excess skin was taken off of my abdomen, my long-damaged core musculature was repaired, and my breasts were lifted back into their appropriate position.  I expected to be in a huge amount of pain, but by the grace of God, my pain was well managed.  I was able to be up and walking just a few hours after surgery.  I was even able to go home from the hospital a day earlier than anticipated. 

 

When I arrived home and looked at my flat stomach for the first time with eyes that were not clouded by morphine, I dissolved into tears.  I was overcome with the emotion of feeling normal, for the first time in my life.  I did not have a stomach folded over onto my legs.  I actually had a lap.  I looked at the tops of my thighs and thought about how odd it was to see them.  I stood up and looked down; there were my toes.  I had not seen them from this angle for at least 30 years.  I gently ran my hands over my newly crafted abdomen.  It did not seem possible that this body belonged to me. 

The sobs welled up from a place deep within my spirit as if I were the movie underdog screaming in slow motion across the goal line with every last ounce of my effort.  I cried and cried wondering how life had just changed for me.  I wondered what was going to happen when all of the confetti finally fell to the ground and the air horns stopped blowing… and in the silence, it was just me and my new body.  Would it matter?  Would I still find reasons to hate my body, or would I truly recognized the gift I had been given in this new, functional body that now had the potential to burst across that goal line, rather than barely lumber across it?  I cried as I prayed for the latter.

 

As my recovery continued, I couldn’t stop looking at myself in the mirror.  I was startled every time I accidentally caught my reflection in a window or a door.  “That can’t be ME,” I would think to myself as I stopped and gazed.  I hoped that no one caught me looking so intensely.  They would never understand.  To the casual observer, it would look like a female who was completely absorbed by herself, self-centered and self-important.  To me it was complete disbelief.  It was the beginning of the process of living in a body that was half the size of the one I had become accustomed to.  The person in those reflections didn’t look like me, didn’t move like me, and she certainly didn’t FEEL like me.

 

I didn’t have much time to “enjoy” my new shape because this extensive reconstructive surgery had two severe, rather obtusely connected ramifications.  First off, I stopped sleeping.  I had been having trouble with getting a full night’s sleep on and off for years and had always chalked it up to a variety of stressors in my life.  Something was very different after this surgery.  It seems as if something inside my brain changed. There was NOTHING that my personal physician could do or suggest that would help me sleep longer than 4 or 5 hours a night.  The sleep disorder relentlessly wore down on a body that needed every single ounce of energy for healing surgical injuries.   My mood plummeted and my physical ability to function began to diminish rapidly.

 

Second, my lap-band, which had been on the edge for the better part of a year, had finally had enough.  When I came home from reconstructive surgery with 10 extra pounds of fluid in my system (from swelling and from I.V. hydration), my band became tight as a drum around my stomach.  I tried to baby it to avoid a serious problem.  However, two weeks after surgery, I had the first of three acute post-operative obstructions.  These acute obstructions were so severe that I was not even able to swallow my own saliva. This first one, the bariatric team was able to treat in clinic and send me home.  The second and third bought me in-patient hospital stays for I.V. hydration. 

 

Between trying to heal, the sleep disorder, the difficulty with my band, and a crushing depression, my body was taking a beating.  Weight was just falling off of me.  At least THAT was a good thing.  (Or… so I thought) I watched the scales go down at an intriguing speed.  I saw numbers that I thought I would never see.  There was, of course, a small voice in the back of my head that said “this is not healthy weight loss.”  So what. The larger voice said, “It’s weight loss… and that’s all that’s matters.”  I can’t tell you how many times friends said to me, “You’re done losing weight, aren’t you?” “You’re not going to lose TOO much weight, are you?”  Sometimes people even asked if I was getting anorexic.  I merely chuckled at them and told them that I had it all under control. 

For the next 6 months I battled the medical issues.  Unfortunately, those battles culminated in trip to the O.R. for a lap-band revision and a completely unrelated mental health diagnosis that explained the sleep disorder and severe depression.  I also managed to stay employed as an Executive Director and continue work on my Doctoral dissertation.  It was a completely insane time in my life.  I can hardly remember how it was that I managed to put one foot in front of the other. 

 

The thing I do remember is feeling “skinny.”  I weighed close to 150 pounds.  That meant that I weighed less than when I was in sixth grade.  It was astounding to me. I was a size 8/10 on a 5’8” frame with a flat stomach and newly perked breasts.  I had the body that I was incapable of having at age 25.  I found a great deal of pleasure in shopping for clothes to fit my new physique.  Nearly anything I put on my long, lanky body looked stunning.  I began to have fun catching my reflection, especially in clothes that fit snuggly across my flat abdomen.   I became obsessed with looking “perfect” every time I walked out the door, even if it was just to go to Wal-Mart.  Tummy in, shoulders back, bust out… that was the mantra. 

 

You can see what a contradiction my life was.  On the one hand, I was a desperately depressed, physically ill woman who was barely making ends meet regarding the demands that never seemed to quit coming.  On the other hand, there was this euphoric, laser beam focus on the scales that were dropping precipitously.  A focus reinforced by the outward rewards of beautiful clothes and the body that had only been a pipe dream for 35 years.  There were actually times that I contemplated just experimenting on how low I could make the scales go to satisfy my curiosity.  You know, just for fun.  Because I was depressed and was on a restricted diet due to my lap-band issues, it would have been easy to simply stop eating.  I was standing on the edge of the cliff of a new eating disorder.  I was looking over the edge and considering the pros and cons.  It was seductive to go ahead and take the leap.  I had to make a decision.  Was being skinny more important than being healthy?

 

Fast forward a few months.  I decided to go forward with all of the treatments that were recommended to me.  I got the new lap-band that allowed me to eat more and to eat healthily.  I began working with an amazing psychiatrist that quickly identified the specific mental health disorder that was interfering with my sleep, my mood and (unfortunately) my judgment.  It took me a while to put two and two together, but I began to notice that getting healthy on all of these fronts also meant that scales were beginning to go back up.  Wait a cotton-pickin’ minute!!  This wasn’t in the deal.  I was supposed to get healthy AND keep my new, svelte body.   But, everything was against me.  I was back to eating normal amounts of “real” food with a larger lap-band that wasn’t properly restricted yet.  I was on psych meds that were known for causing weight gain.  My depression had begun to lift so my appetite was returning to pre-depression levels. 

 

By Christmas, my weight had climbed to a whopping 180 pounds.  None of my 8/10 clothes fit any more.  My nearly concave abdomen had a definite “pooch” to it.  It was soooo OBVIOUS that I had gained weight.  I had to buy clothes again.  I was deeply, desperately ashamed.  In my mind, I was a public failure once again.  Everyone could see that I was re-gaining my weight.  And, it was just too hard to explain to people that I had been sick for nearly a year.  Anyway, I didn’t actually “buy” that story myself.  I just knew that I was becoming a statistic of one of THOSE band patients that regained their weight.  (which is a label I would only ever apply to myself… never to another person.)

 

So, let’s look at the facts.  I’m 180 pounds.  By ANY evidence based standard, I am a wildly successful WLS patient.  I have lost 79% of my excess body weight.  The surgeons would have been ecstatic if I had lost 50% of my excess body weight.   I am a size 12/14.  I started at a size 28/30.  I can walk into any clothing shop and buy clothes.  In the past, even some specialty shops did not have clothes large enough for me.  My BMI is 27.  My highest BMI was 50-52, a medical time bomb waiting to happen; especially with my family history of heart disease, diabetes, high blood pressure and cancer.   I am more physically fit than I have ever been in my life.  I can do a full hour of advanced, high-impact aerobics.  I can lift weight with the boys.  I kayak, whitewater raft, hike, ride horses, and many other activities that I would have never done before WLS. 

 

There’s only one rub.  I know what its like to “be” 25 again.  I think that the surgeons wouldn’t be the only ones who would be ecstatic with my current weight.  I’d be right there celebrating with them.  Except…. I know.  I know what being “skinny” feels like.  I know what kind of looks I get from people, men in particular.  There is a feeling of power; there is a feeling of unconditional acceptance.  On the one hand, everyone is watching because they appreciate tall, slender, well-heeled women. The confidence with which I walked when I was 25 again drew the eyes of those who saw me.  On the other hand, no one is watching or scrutinizing what you buy at grocery stores or put on your plate at restaurants.  You’re so small that they don’t care what you put in your mouth.  (when you’re fat, people watch what you eat) If I didn’t know what it was like to be thinner, I would be perfectly content with 180.  It is 20 pounds under my original goal of “anything under 200.”

 

So, I’m 180.  I look in my closet, and once again I have fat clothes and skinny clothes.  How in the world did I find a place in my brain where 180 became “fat?”  Well, the answer to that is simple… because I experienced a place where 153 felt normal, even though it was sick.  It was sick. It was sick.  I can tell myself that a dozen times.  Yet, it was real, it was mine, and it is now emblazoned in my psyche as a loss.  It is very hard for the people around me to understand how I can feel fat at the weight that I am currently at.  I’ve even had friends tell me I’m silly.  I wish they understood how not silly it truly is.  I very much wish that I had never experienced the illnesses that led to my artificially low weights.  The visuals, highs and experiences related to my lowest weight will forever be with me.  I fear that they will forever shape the way I feel about my body, even though by every objective standard, I’m at the healthiest place of my life.  

Little Things: A Poem for Mom

August 19, 2009

  

There’s much to be said about little things

A scarf or a pin and your sweet wedding rings

The pieces of you that are left from a life

When you gave your heart being mother and wife

Oh, what joy those little things bring.

There’s much to be said of our memories

When talking with you was done with such ease

How precious in life those “Mom chats” are

With topics we covered on the phone from afar

Sometimes I wish that time we could freeze.

There’s much to be said of a broken heart

That mourns the trauma that tore us apart

The depth of my sorrow is too deep to share

Of having to say, “Goodbye” to you there.

I wonder if sadness will ever depart.

There’s much to be said of a muted glee

What I lost through death, in turn set you free

The cancer, the pain that you have endured

Your body and spirit are now fully cured

This belief in my soul, it comforts me.

There’s much to be said about little things

A look or a smile, or songs we would sing

The thoughts of you that are left from a time

Too rich and too full to be captured in rhyme

Oh, such endearment these little things bring. 

In honor of Mavis Peacock: 5-13-34 to 3-15-09

Glass Half Full: My 5 Year Bandiversary

Today is a very special day in the life of Julie.  It is my 5^th Bandiversary.  5 years.  In one sense, it doesn’t seem like it could possibly be that long.  In my mind, it could be just last week that I was at my first support group meeting listening to a room full of post op people talk about their experience.  In another sense, I feel like I’ve been at this for decades. 

I have to be philosophical about my Weight Loss Surgery (WLS) experience because it is a story that is fraught with both triumphs and tribulations.  It is not a story of straight forward failure or success.  The band, from a medical stand point, did exactly what I had hoped it would do. It has helped me maintain a perfectly normal size for 5 years.  Within those 5 years, I have not developed any of the co-morbid conditions that I was seeking to prevent: heart disease, diabetes, high blood pressure, or cancer.  The band did its job as an intervention to my morbid obesity and continues to do its job as prevention for potentially inherited co-morbidities. 

Because of the band, there are so many things in my life that I can do now that I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do before.  The weight loss has afforded me a tremendous amount of freedom where my sheer bulk used to shackle me and my shame used to bury me.  Before WLS, I could never have imagined riding a horse again, sitting comfortably in the middle seat of the airplane, climbing a volcano AND riding a donkey in Greece, getting into a kayak, power snorkeling in the Caribbean, and riding any roller coaster that I wanted to without fear of not fitting.  Before WLS going to a movie theater, getting on a bus, walking into a room where all of the chairs had arms, clicking the seatbelt of cars, and finding a formal gown were all horrifying experiences that I avoided if at all possible.  I did not realize how many excuses I had made in my life to avoid experiences that would embarrass me due to my size.  My lap band freed me from that. 

WLS has given me the opportunity to know some the most amazing people on earth.  First…. The team.  Our amazing team!  These professionals have stuck by me through thick and thin.  There have been times during my five years that I have been very, very ill.  The care and concern shown to me has been remarkable.  I will never forget being so exhausted and frail as my first lap band was failing and having Bob say to me with such compassion, “I think we’re going to keep you.”  I just needed somebody to make a decision.  I was too sick and clinically depressed to do it for myself.  Bob did.  They admitted me and got me rehydrated.  And then, a few months later, Dr. Weiss and Dr. Heneghan, together, took me to emergency surgery after 8pm on a Friday night to remove “George” and give me “Tommy” (long story!).   All of these men have had a hand in saving my life many times over the last 5 years.  I could never thank them enough… surely thank yous are not nearly enough. 

I could write for hours about each of the professionals, because they all mean so much to me.  I mean Cindy was a huge part of my journey.  I so deeply appreciate Chris and all she has brought to this path of mine.  And Dr. Mooney helped to finish my physical transformation with his unbelievable skill in reconstructive surgery.  I am blessed to know them all.  I am doubly blessed that they are all so good at what they do. 

The other group of incredible people that my lap band brought me to is this support group.  Oh, how I love this group.  So many have come and gone, and so many have sewn their seeds into my life.  I have been enriched by the loving, giving, intelligent, fun, caring, talented co-travelers who have shared time with me on this path.  You have filled my days with joy and laughter in so many ways…. And we have shared pain and sorrow equally.  You embrace victories with a zest for living that is enough to knock a person off her feet… and you do not shy away from the hurts that sometime encroach on this journey.  No, you shoulder the load and make it lighter than it otherwise would have been.  Who could ask for more?  I have no doubt that a loving God designed groups to work just this way.

My weight loss opened my eyes to a very ugly side of life: the deeply real, personal, understanding of obesity discrimination.  I was mostly unaware how much I had been affected by my obesity until I became a normal-sized person.  Gradually, as the weight came off, I began to notice that people treated me differently.  I am no longer “invisible” to the world.  People speak to me and make eye contact with me in passing.  Gentlemen rush to open doors for me or to carry heavy items for me.  Before my weight loss, I rarely had a gentleman rush to do anything for me.  I surmise that it is because they did not see me exactly as a “woman.”  I was just a “fat person” who could carry that package and open that door just fine. To the majority of the world, I was not only invisible; I was mostly genderless.  

It was a disgusting realization when I discovered that I was being treated differently as I lost my weight.  Waiters and Waitresses treat me differently.  Sales associates treat me differently.  Even those in the academic and professional world treat me differently.  Suddenly, I seem to have developed approximately 30 new I.Q. points.  My thoughts and ideas are taken much more seriously… or at least I don’t have to repeat myself as much to have them heard.  Most of us know that fat does NOT equal stupid.  Too bad most of the rest of the world hasn’t discovered that yet.

And then there’s my body’s relationship with this lap-band…  It is no secret that I have struggled with finding the balance between my very sensitive body and this tool that I’ve been given.  I have desperately wanted it to work for me.  I spent the first several years driving me and the band beyond the limits of what was reasonable to maintain.  I thought for sure that I could find the balance and then simply live my life as a normal bandster.  I pushed me, I pushed Bob, I pushed Dr. Heneghan… and did I mention that I pushed me?  I just knew I HAD to get this right. I thought that I was smart enough to figure out a way to be “perfectly” adjusted so that my body would tolerate the tight times, but that I wouldn’t be hungry during the good times. 

It was not be.  For some reason beyond my comprehension, my body puffs up with the slightest provocation. And, when I retain fluid, my lap band becomes too restricted … often without warning.   This is not a flaw with the band; this is problem with my body’s reaction to the band.  The band is a static ring, and it doesn’t do bad things to me. My body just doesn’t want to cooperate with it.  It took me a long time for me to accept this.  It took me a long time for me to stop asking the team to make my adjustment SO perfect that I would choke on my own spit the next time I retained fluid. 

I had to give up the ideal of perfectionism.  I have actually given up on living a normal life with this lap band.  It is not defeatist, it is realistic. That is part of the bitter sweetness of this anniversary.  All of the marvelous things this weight loss surgery process has given me make the current struggle still worth while.  It didn’t turn out the way I had expected that it would.  But there is always a matter of perspective.  Perspective is a conscious choice; glass half full or glass half empty. I got the great and wonderful things of WLS.  The rest of it is an on-going story. I’ll take all the good stuff that this journey has afforded me, and mingle it with the struggles of a not-perfect solution. By doing so, I will continue to live a life that is lighter because I am unshackled from the ravages of obesity and free from the shame that weighed me down.

5 years.  It is a milestone by anyone’s definition. As a culture, we celebrate such events in a variety of ways. For me, there will be no particular, overt celebration. This particular milestone shall be marked with a simple glass of water on my counter as I turn in for the evening.  The symbolic will become the tangible as I choose to fill my glass much more than half full. 

After the Big Game (AKA: Being Normal)

The confetti has stopped falling.

The crowds have cleared out of the stands.

The pep band is packing away their instruments.

There will be major headlines in tomorrow's papers!

Yet I stand here, at center court, sensing that the pinnacle of all the excitement has just been reached. I have just defeated an historic rival, and this is MY moment.

After this, there will only be an occasional line or two written in the newspaper about the day of the "big game."

Someone may stop me in the street every now and then to give me a big high five and a fond elbow chuck to the ribs.

And rarely, conversations might come up where someone remembers this day and asks me to recount how it came about.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.  I’m not sure what exactly it was supposed to be like, but this isn’t it.  How could it be that a person can do what seems to be a monumental task, only to find themselves standing at center court in silence?  The cheers, the pats on the back, the gasps of delight and the public congratulations were so prolific and so intoxicating while I was losing weight.  Everyone seemed to have a kind or encouraging word to say, regardless of the situation.  But as the newness of my achievement has worn off, those things have all but trickled to a stop. People have become accustomed to me as “normal” sized. They see me walk down a street or into a room and I’m “just Julie.”  I get a normal greeting with none of the additional delight that has been my experience for the past two years. 

How can that be?  I mean, I’ve just won the big game for the home town team.  I’ve just beaten an age old rival.  This is what they all wanted for me. I was obese for nearly forty years.  I’ve been “normal” for less than one.  I’m not used to normal.  How in the world can they be used to it?

The truth is that the task of being normal isn’t even over for me.  I have to play in that same championship game every single day of my life in order to maintain my weight loss. To all concerned, I have reached maintenance weight.  However, my disease of chronic morbid obesity is not cured. The disease is merely in remission. It doesn’t go away just because my weight “looks” normal. The weight loss surgery helps with the battle tremendously and even makes it winnable. But, it will never cure the obesity. I guess maintenance is not the sexy battle.  A daily struggle to maintain a weight is not worthy of cheers or atta-boys. It doesn’t make headlines, and unless I mention it, it doesn’t even pop up on other people’s radar screen. Come to think of it, it is an unseen battle much like the battles that are fought by many individuals who are faced with a variety chronic diseases.

My surprise at the silence associated with becoming a normal sized person has a history.  There’s a huge build up to weight loss surgery; the research, the evaluation by the bariatric team, the medical tests, the decision to go ahead with the surgery, the pre-op weight loss, attending support group, hearing the stories, asking questions, breaking the news to friends and relatives, clearing the house of contraband, dealing with the pre-op bowel prep, and waking up before dawn on the day of surgery.  While at the hospital, the patient is the center of attention.  It is all new, it is all exciting.  A new era has begun.  There is hope that a solution to the chronic morbid obesity with all of its baggage has finally been found.  There is also a companion tension which niggles, “what if this doesn’t work for ME?”

The first several months I think I was simply in amazement.  I could not believe that it was even possible for weight to come off that fast. I was going through clothing sizes like nobody’s business.  I was trying not to shop too much, but it was WAY too much fun.  I would tell myself that I was buying things that would fit for several months.  HA!  I just wanted to look better and better as the weight came off.  Each time I saw a friend or a co-worker, especially if there had been an extended period of time between contacts, there were squeals of delight, looks of amazement, and requests for me to share my “secret.”  I also found that I was like a born again WLS-er.  I wanted to save every obese person in the world. 

I became the center of attention on a regular basis; and all I had to do was walk in a room.  I was melting into a rather attractive 40-something woman who already had a lot going for her before the weight loss ever happened.  I loved turning heads.  In the past, the only heads I turned were the ones that either turned away in disgust of my largess or turned to look with a scowl at the enormity of my size.  I felt like I was walking on air to get positive attention in relation to my physical appearance.  It was a brand new experience for me. 

There was this odd sense of power that came along with becoming attractive by society’s standards.  I am a tall woman with exceptionally long legs.  So, as I became smaller and began to walk with my head up in a confident stride, heads turned; especially those that were of the male persuasion. I smiled and reveled in the ability to make a teensy bit of wave wherever I went.  Of course, being the dramatic performer that I am, I never just eased into a room.  I made an entrance.  Making the wave, no matter how slight, was intoxicating.  Feeling so powerful and accepted for the first time in my life made the daily work of becoming thinner and healthier extremely easy to deal with.  There were immediate rewards.  There was an instant sense of gratification.  If I had a brief moment of fear or disappointment about my progress, all I had to do was to walk out my door and into any place where there were people in my small town.  I would bump into someone who hadn’t seen me in a while and get “the squeal.”  There. I’ve had my fix for the day. 

I was not prepared for what would happen when the stadium lights went dim and the crowds grew silent. Somehow I had unconsciously come to believe that being thinner would always be fun.  I had the mistaken idea that thin girls were at the center of attention simply because they were thin.  I know that I didn’t believe that being thin would solve all of my life’s problems, but I did have some deep seated, unspoken belief that it would be just shy of fabulous. 

It’s not.  It’s just normal.  Compared to the previous two years of my life, it’s actually down-right boring.  The high that I have been living on is gone. The days of getting an instant adrenaline and endorphin fix through “the squeal” are past.  I’m sure that the dosage tapered gradually, but my awareness of its absence seems to be as if some one did an intervention and made me go cold turkey. 

And I still have a battle to fight.  I have to play the big game on a daily basis in order to keep the age old rival of morbid obesity at bay.  It’s just that the battle is confounded by the fact that it occurs in an empty stadium.  There’s no confetti, no pep band, and no roaring crowds. I can ASK the cheerleaders to be there if I really need them.  But, I can’t ask them to follow me around twenty-four seven.  I would wear them out.  This means that one of the toughest parts of normal is that I have to battle my rival without an artificially elevated level of performance enhancing neurotransmitters. 

Somehow the foe has to be held at bay for intrinsic reasons… and the premier reason can’t be fear.  Fear is an easy substitute for elevating those performance enhancing lovelies that my brain creates.  If I stay in a perpetual state of fear that my weight is going to come back, then fight or flight keeps the ole adrenalin pumping.  It’s certainly not as fun as the atta-boys, but it works (at least temporarily).  I’m not sure how to make the transition from stadiums full of cheering fans to a still, small voice inside of myself as the motivation to continue my daily, boring, mundane attempt to hold the line against a rival that will push back at the first opportunity.

It is tempting to consider artificial means of feeling the high again: Drugs, alcohol, shopping, gambling, sex, anorexia, etc.  There are many, many options available; most of them wildly unhealthy.  It would be dishonest of me to write this particular chronicle without admitting that I have considered, even tried, to maintain the intoxication through some of these unhealthy, artificial means.  Without the crowds and the cheers, the very same emptiness that, in part, fueled my obesity still exists.  The surgery did not take that away.

Fortunately (or unfortunately) I have too much knowledge to allow myself to get away with unhealthiest of stuff for long periods of time. So I move to the healthy side of creating a high. I have tried adventure, natural high type activities such as whitewater rafting, kayaking, roller coasting, snorkeling, and horseback riding.  However, the highs of such adventures are short lived.  I don’t have the resources nor the time to become a professional dare devil.  That’s what it would take to keep me excited and focused without becoming bored with the every day. 

The every day.  The crux of it is all is this: I don’t deal with normal very well and become restless very easily.  I suit up each day, put on my best game face and go to the stadium.  I show up only to find myself playing alone.  It’s just me and the rival.  My rival, morbid obesity, is always there. Occasionally, a few people play along with me, and every now and then there are two or three spectators in the stands.  I find myself wanting to go out and round everyone up again… “HEY, EVERYONE… c’mon…. there’s a big game today.  Remember?  The BIG game.  It’s still on.  It happens every day. It will be fun… really…. umm… tickets are free…. hellooooo…. anybody? ” I’m left to figure this out.  I have to maintain my weight loss and deal with an emptiness that craves to be filled with either food or excitement. So, I’m clueless as to how to do normal, boring and mundane. It seems completely foreign to me to live the every day with an occasional spark of spectacular, rather than the spectacular with an occasional spark of normal.  Is it possible that part of the solution is to begin to live my life outside of the stadium? 

What? Leave the stadium?  But, I just won the big game.  There should be more.

Certain Unalienable Rights

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed, by their Creator, with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.”

The themes of independence and liberty have come up a lot for me recently.  I have been philosophical in thinking about how the preamble to the Declaration of Independence applies to my life after weight loss surgery.  As I read the preamble, several phrases and words jump out at me.  To me, it is as if Thomas Jefferson knew that his words could have a very broad application and wrote them in way to make them accessible to more than just the members of the Continental Congress. It is as if he wrote the words to be universal in their appeal and transcendent in their meanings.

Truths that are self-evident; meaning truths that are obvious, truths that require no proof or explanation… they just “are.”  We are all created equal; we are endowed with certain fundamental rights by our Creator; we are endowed with life, with liberty, and the right to pursue happiness.

“Truth”   Truth is a powerful word.  And in the writing of this preamble, the author infused this simple word with even greater value by indentifying these truths to be self-evident.  Every truth that follows this very first thought of his phrase requires no proof because it is in the very nature of The Creator that they be true.

As an obese woman, the notion that I was created as an equal to all others on this earth was foreign to me.  I always felt unequal.  In fact, I was often treated unequal.  This is one of the driving forces behind my over achieving ways.  It seemed to me that I was required to perform “above and beyond” in order to merely play in the same league as thin people.  Because society identified me as a “less than” person, I knew I was starting with a deficit that had to be overcome (and then some) in order to be perceived as equal.

In this instance, weight loss surgery has given me two things.  First, and probably most importantly, I have come to see myself as equal.  I no longer perceive that I must begin far behind the start/finish line where all of the rest of the world is standing. I no longer identify my own self as a “less than” person simply because I have the disease of morbid obesity.  I have a disease.  I did not cause it.  It did not seek me out because I was some sort of a deficient human being.  Therefore, like all others, I am created equal. Created.  Equality was always inherently mine, endowed by my Creator, I just didn’t know it.   Second, I am now treated as an equal.  Those who would be prejudice now have no physical basis upon which to hang their judgments. It is a sad fact of our society, yet it is nevertheless true.  I am treated more nicely, with greater respect, and with less scrutiny than I was as an overtly obese woman. 

We are endowed with life.  My life is forever changed by WLS.  I believe that my weight loss surgery has endowed me with additional life, longer life, and far greater quality of life.  Before WLS, I was looking down the barrel of a loaded musket of co-morbidities.  My genetics had already loaded the gun with high blood pressure, diabetes, cancer, and heart disease.  My obesity had essentially cocked the gun, and my own behavior was shoving gun powder into the muzzle as fast as possible.  Now that I am a normal size, I have managed to significantly reduce the risk of that disaster in waiting.  It was a pretty sure shot that life as a senior adult was not going to be of high quality.  It was plausible that life could have gotten pretty bad, pretty quickly.  WLS has managed to uncock the gun and has helped me unload some of that gun powder.  The bullets are still in the chamber.  I can’t change that because my genetics are my genetics.  However, I’m no longer pointing the gun at my own head.

I am endowed with life.  I intend to live my life to its fullest. 

Liberty is another one of those unalienable rights given to us by our Creator.  I had no idea how significantly my liberty was impacted by my obesity.  I was literally captive in my own body.  There were so many things that I couldn’t or wouldn’t do because I was either too large to do them comfortably or I felt too embarrassed.  I had conveniently made up great excuses that downplayed my inabilities to do certain tasks. 

My best word to express the way I feel about my post operative life as it relates to liberty is “unshackled.”  I absolutely feel as if someone found the key to my handcuffs and leg irons and let me go. I am no longer walking around dragging 150 pounds of prison with me.  To be unshackled is to experience absolute freedom.  It is a kind of freedom that is enjoyed only by people who know what it is like to be unfree.  Those who have always had their freedom cannot possibly imagine the joy unspeakable that is associated with being released. 

I am able to move my body in ways that I never imagined to be possible.  I am always looking for new ways to move and new ways to express my body’s liberty from the ravages of a horrible, chronic disease. I am often like a two-year old who giggles in delight at each discovery of a previously unknown ability.  This liberty is priceless and makes me deeply grateful to The Creator for the weight loss surgery that set me free.

I am also grateful for the right to pursue happiness.  I am keenly aware that The Creator did not give me the right to immediate happiness; He gave me the right to pursue it.  WLS has given me a new opportunity to pursue true joy in life on a variety of levels.   Some of my seeking brings me to things completely and utterly on the surface.  They are the transient things that do not have eternal value; reveling in new clothing, getting new hair styles, and wearing high heels.  However, most of my pursuit is on a much deeper, soul level.   

I have shed the physical layers that were so much a source of pain, shame, and a feeling of complete and utter failure. Having shed those layers, I find (much to my surprise) that happiness is still something that I have to pursue.  I was mistaken to think that my pursuit of happiness was the weight loss alone.  I thought surely thinness would equal happiness.  It does not.  The physical part of me that is left after the weight loss is merely the foundation for pursuit of happiness.  The new life that I have been given, along with the liberty that frees me are the building blocks of this third, but ever-so-important inalienable right.  It is the only listed inalienable right that contains a verb, it is the only inalienable right that required something of me from the moment I receive it. 

Each day is a new opportunity to pursue happiness. I find that achieving happiness is much more about me than about my achievements or situations.  It has become clear that living an event-driven life does not produce lasting happiness.  If I am waiting for an event to make me happy, then I have missed the point.  I can no longer allow myself to fall into the trap of “I’ll be happy when this happens or when that happens.”  That is transient.  Lasting happiness is my responsibility, through a connection with The Creator. 

I am sure that Thomas Jefferson was aware how significant the Declaration of Independence was and that it would take its place in the history of a nation.  Yet, I don’t believe that he could have possibly known that he was writing the Preamble to the Declaration of Independence for one woman who would draw strength from it more than 200 years later. 

So, I close with this thought; Thomas Jefferson may not have known that he was writing to me.  However, I am sure that The Creator was well aware, even in 1776, that this preamble would give me pause to take a few moments out of a busy week to acknowledge His presence, His gifts, and the truths about Him that are self-evident. I am sure that The Creator knew that I needed to stop and look at all He has given me through this miraculous process called weight loss surgery; equality, life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness; precious gifts that are only endowed by a loving Creator.  For these, I am eternally grateful.  For these I thank the Creator who created me.

The Horse

The Horse

During my Junior year of college, I had a roommate who was a tried and true country girl.  Renee was from a local farm with horses, cows, chickens, rabbits and sundry other members of their family's menagerie.  As a girl from the suburbs of Atlanta, I was fascinated by the farm.  Every chance I had, I went home with her to soak in the sights, sounds and smells (oh, the smells!) of county living.  I felt like I was roaming free on the plains of the great prairie; never mind that the Smokey Mountains rose from the ground all around us.  I loved it all the same.

Renee was always delighted to share in new experiences with me.  She enjoyed teaching me about country life and having me stand wide eyed as she described some interesting aspect of farm operations.  In hind sight, I have to wonder if the girl had it out for me.  It seemed like every new experience brought an injury my way.  Renee, like me, was young and impulsive.  As I review events in my mind, I find that her teaching sessions inevitably left some important piece of information unsaid. 

There was the time that she introduced me to her bunnies.  She went into great detail about breeding them, feeding them, and how to care for babies.  However, when she handed me a bunny to hold, she didn’t mention that there was a special way to hold the rabbit in order to avoid the claws on the back legs.  In my excitement I reached out to take the rabbit that she was handing me and ended up getting terribly deep scratches across my wrist.  If I didn’t know better, I would have through my wrist looked like someone who had made a pretty serious suicidal gesture.  The wound was bad enough by itself, but I ended up getting “cat scratch fever” from the bunny’s claws.  Two trips to the doctor and a course of antibiotics later, I was fine.

Another learning incident occurred when Renee tried to teach me how to shoot a shotgun.  I had fired a gun before.  My dad had a .22 long rifle and I thought this new gun was going to be a piece of cake.  She brought the 12 gauge shotgun out of the house and set up some cans on the fence.  She gave me a quick course in gun etiquette and how to handle a gun when in the company of others. Then she showed me how to load both barrels, check the safety, and aim the gun.

The shotgun was heavy in my hands.  I was a big girl at the time, probably about 280 pounds.  So, the heft of the gun did not intimidate me (I should have been intimidated).  I placed the weapon against my shoulder, leaned my cheek against the butt, looked down the barrel, cocked the gun and prepared to fire.  No one had mentioned to me that a double barreled shotgun had two triggers.  For a brief moment, I nearly asked what the heck the two triggers were for, but I didn’t want to appear any less informed than I already felt.  I wrapped my index finger around both of the triggers and pulled. 

The next thing I remember is being flat on my back, in the gravel, with my legs in air.  Renee was laughing hysterically, but I couldn’t hear her.  All I could hear was the echo of a huge BOOM and a not-so-subtle ringing in my ears.  I also realized that I wasn’t breathing and struggled to make myself pull air into my lungs. I slowly got myself to back to my feet.  All Renee could manage to gasp out between her spasms of laughter was that I actually hit the target.

By this time, one would think that a bright, intelligent, dean’s listed college student would figure out that “learning” from Renee was risky business.  Yet, it only gets worse (or more humorous, depending upon your perspective). 

It is springtime in the hills of Appalachia.  I am 21 years old and full of zest and zeal (and possibly a little hypomanic); always looking for new adventures and new experiences.  Renee suggests that we go to the farm so she can let me ride their gorgeous horse, Goldie.   Wow, I haven’t been on an equine in nearly 10 years. I would love to ride Goldie. This should be fun.  I loved riding Uncle Grady’s ponies!  So, I’m experienced, right?  My experience consists of riding around a contained ring on Shetland Ponies.  I loved my Uncle’s ponies and enjoyed being around them.  However, ponies are very short horses.  The ground is quite close when one is on a pony.

We pull up to the farm and I’m thinking we’re going to the stable to get Goldie.  But, Renee begins to call for Goldie out of the pasture.  The horse comes galloping in, looking for a carrot.  She is large and proud, but still has some of her rough winter coat on.  Is it safe to ride a horse that hasn’t been ridden all winter?  Oh, I bet that means that she will be happy to finally have a rider again.  Renee says that Goldie is a good horse.  I should be fine.  Renee takes her by the halter and leads her to the stable. I get a lesson in a horses tack.

Once the horse is saddled, we head out to the pasture for my riding lesson.  My first hurdle is actually getting on Goldie.  From what Renee tells me, she is a big horse.  All horses look big to me, so I guess this is normal.  I put my foot in the stirrup and pull up; the saddle immediately slides toward me.  MAN! I’m not going to be able to get on this horse… I’m too fat. The saddle won’t even hold me. Sigh…  How embarrassing. Renee punches the horse in the ribs to get her to exhale.  This is ostensibly so that Renee can pull the cinch tighter.  She puts a bucket on the ground to give me a bit of a head start and I decide to give it another shot. 

This time, before I mount, Renee decides to go ahead and give me a few pointers.  “Goldie is a five gaited horse.”  Five gaited?  She says that like it is supposed to mean something to me.  Okay, I’ll play along. “She is neck trained and not bit trained.  That means you lay the reigns over her neck to get her to turn.  Pulling on the bit to turn her will just confuse her.”  Got that.  Don’t confuse the horse.  Lay the reigns across her neck.  “Goldie will move through her five gaits if you touch your heels to her side.  So, if you want to move from walk to trot, touch her side with your heels.  The more times you touch her side, the faster she will go.”  I ask her what to do if I don’t want Goldie to go faster. “Then, just don’t touch her side with your heels.  She will stay in the gait that you have her in.”  Walk is good.  I like walk. No heels shall ever touch this horse’s side. “And, of course, ‘whoa’ means ‘whoa.’ Pull up on the reigns and tell her ‘whoa.’”

Think, Julie… five gaits, no heels… neck reigned, not bit reigned… whoa means whoa.  Okay.  That’s three things to remember.  And, anyway, we’re just going to walk. No heels, no running. 

I finally manage to mount Goldie, with the help of Renee and that bucket.  Renee isn’t kidding when she says Goldie is a big horse.  I nearly got a nose bleed looking down.  Renee hands me the reigns, makes sure my feet are well planted in the stirrups and walks me around in circles a few times.  Hmmm.  Not bad.  I can do this. Renee then opens the gate toward the pasture and asks me if I am ready to try it on my own.  I nod my answer, take up the slack in the reigns, and give Goldie a cluck.

I immediately find myself on the back of an animal who has significantly different intentions than I do.  She turns out to pasture, pulls her head down, and goes from stand-still to full gallop in three strides.

WAIT!! I didn’t say run, I did NOT touch your sides!  Julie… get your heels away from her sides.  WHOA!  WHOA, GIRL!  Oh yeh, right. ‘whoa’ means ‘whoa.’  Who is Renee kidding?  WHAT five gaits?  This horse has TWO gaits. Keep those heels out. What do I do? What do I do?? Oh Geeesh, just hold on.

 The picture is quite humorous as I fly across the pasture on Goldie’s back with my feet stuck straight out away from her side.  I finally have to give up trying to stop her, drop the reigns and just hang on to the saddle horn for dear life.  I don’t know how long Goldie is going to run, but I’m not going to let go of that saddle horn; no way, no how.  I’ve got my balance now; my heels are not toughing her side and I’m in for the long haul.

Uh oh.  Why are we running straight toward that fence? Whooooa, STOP!!! What do I do? Oh God, we’re going to jump the fence.  Oh PLEASE God, don’t let us jump the fence.

As the fence approaches, I hold on tighter and put my head down.  I know this is not going to end pretty.  Just as I scrunch my face to brace, Goldie plants all four hooves in the ground and locks her knees.  I fly up and over the saddle horn and land wrapped around Goldie’s neck with my face planted between her ears.  All I can hear is my breath and Goldie’s breath. I am afraid to move.

Renee’s younger sister, Sasha, comes flying out of the house (next to the offending fence) yelling, “What’s all the commotion?  Oh, Julie!!… what the hell are you doing!?”  Do I really have to answer that?  Renee, who is running across the field, screams, “Julie was on Goldie’s back and Goldie got her head for home.”  Is THAT what you call it?  She ‘got her head?’ That is WAY too mundane a description for a runaway freight train. Why am I on a horse’s neck? I slowly lift my head and look at Sasha who says, “geesh Julie, what are you trying to do?  Here, let me show you how to ride the silly horse.”

I lift myself back over the horn of the saddle and start to dismount.  “No, no… stay on.  I’ll climb up behind you.” You have GOT to be kidding.  You want me to STAY on this horse? Before I can really get my wits about me, Sasha is sitting behind me on Goldie’s hind quarters and has the reigns in her hands.  I confirm with her that she actually does, in fact, know how to handle this horse.  She assures me that she does.  So, I reluctantly stay on the horse, at least in part because my legs are shaking so badly that I know I can’t stand on terra firma right this second. 

Sasha clucks at Goldie and I cringe thinking we are off to the races again.  But, shockingly, Goldie leans forward in a slow, lazy walk. Oh sure, Goldie… Now you walk. Sasha says, “See, that’s all there is to it.  Goldie has a nice, easy walk.  You just have to know how to ask her to do that.”  I was still holding on to the horn with white knuckles.  Sasha clucks again, and we move to trot.  This is not the most comfortable of gates.  It is choppy and bouncy.  So, Sasha quickly clucks again and we’re on to the canter.  Oh wow… this is very nice.  Goldie is like riding in a rocking chair.  I could do this.  I could really do this.  After we canter for a while and I am really enjoying the feeling, Sasha looks over my shoulder and says, “You have a good seat. Are you ready to try galloping the real way now?” I was so comfortable with the horse and her driver that I held on a little tighter and said, “Sure, Go for it.” 

Sasha clucks and snaps the reigns.  Goldie shudders under my thighs and then bounds forward with a joy that is absolutely contagious.  It is so different from my first frenetic galloping experience.  The three of us are flying across the pasture and I have visions of Black Beauty movie shots in slow motion.  My hair is flying in Sasha’s face, the wind is blowing in my face, and Goldie appears to be in her glory.  It is incredible to me how much ground we are actually covering and how easy it feels to be on an animal moving this quickly.

And then, without warning, I was rudely startled from my exuberance ….  “SNAP!”

What? What was that sound?... Goldie isn’t slowing down, it wasn’t her leg.

The saddle slowly begins to slide to the right.  It feels like it is happening in a time warp, but it is actually moving so fast that I can’t think to get my feet out of the stirrups.  Sasha falls off the back of Goldie, and I slide off her side fully attached to the saddle.

I can’t tell you how many times the saddle and I tumbled end over end.  I can’t even say that I remember the actual moment of the spill.  I can only tell you that I landed face down with no ability to breathe or move.  Renee’ came running over to me to find out if I was okay.  I managed to suck in enough air to demand that she not touch me. 

The world eventually stopped spinning and I was able to catch my breath.  I was still face down, but managed to do an inventory of my limbs.  Everything functioned, but with great pain.  After several minutes, I pulled it together enough to turn over and sit up.  Renee’ and Sasha helped me back to house when it was determined that a trip to the Emergency Room was in order.   The E.R. Doc told me that I had cracked a few ribs and that I would be unable to complete my music courses for the semester (singing and playing clarinet in front of a Jury was not recommend with cracked ribs). Due to the injury, I was required to take an “incomplete” in my studio classes. I was fortunate, really.  The outcome of this incident could have been much, much worse.

Even so, I have not been on a horse since that time.  It was 1983.

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As I write, my 3-year bandiversary is this week.   I have been at goal weight for 2 years.  Each year, I make it a point to challenge myself physically in some way.  Last year, it was kayaking and whitewater rafting.  This year… this year it is rock climbing and horseback riding.  Yes… horseback riding. As a gift to myself for my 3^rd year bandiversary, I am going to get back on a horse. I am going to get back on the horse Friday. This go ‘round I have been much wiser in choosing my teacher. She is a certified Equine Therapist who knows how to introduce people to the joy of horseback riding.  It has been 24 years since the Goldie incident.  I am 100 pounds lighter, 24 years wiser, and willing to challenge myself both physically and emotionally.  I’m ready.  

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I did ride, sucessfully... and loved every minute of it!   :)