I know I said that I was going to blog more; I have to be careful what I say out loud (or in print) these days, I guess. Approximately two days after saying that, our internet was turned off. Ah, gotta love these financial times, eh? If you want to read about that, you can check out my whining on my other blog. We still don’t have internet access, but I have managed to find a way to get back onto my blog. So, without further adieu, here we go.
Today’s subject is: humiliation.
Last night I decided I would take a bath. I have not taken a bath in, oh – I don’t know – 10 years or more. I have also gained a substantial amount of weight since then. How much? I don’t know; just take my word for it. A lot, OK? I shower.
So I got out the cherry blossom bubble bath, the hazelnut scented candle, a back issue of InStyle magazine, and prepared for a nice treat. I have weather-induced migraines and had been suffering a lot this weekend; a nice, quiet, hot soak just sounded so lovely. As I stood in the steaming bubbly water, I realized that sitting down at foot (or floor) level is not very … erm … graceful for me. My thighs and calves are now so big that I cannot actually crouch down anymore. I finally determined that if I sat on the edge of the tub, held onto the grab bar that we have on the edge of the tub, and braced myself against the wall with my left hand, I could kind of slide into the water.
Silly me; I had forgotten Archimedes’ water displacement discovery. Shamu + lots of water with bubbles ÷ tub built for normal sized humans = not nearly the relaxing bath I had expected.
There was a virtual tsunami of water that flowed over the side of the tub, all over the bathroom floor, drowning my magazine, bathmat, and clothes.
Pffft.
So much for that. I realized that I couldn’t even lean back in the tub to relax because my morbidly obese ass had dammed up the water behind me so high that even turning around to look at it made more water flow over the side. CRAP!!! So after squirming around for about five minutes or so, trying to even out the water in front of me and behind me, I finally had to admit defeat. I sat still, listening to the water flow out of the tub via the overflow drain, thinking that now I will also have to mop the bathroom floor when I get out. Yay me.
I decided to get up and take a shower.
You know, you would think that the biggest enemy against a fat person trying to get out of a bathtub would be slipping, right? It’s not.
It’s suction.
Oh yes; my big fat lower half was wedged into the tub pretty well, yes indeedy-do. I then had a slight moment of panic (OK it was more like three minutes of intense panic): how the heck am I going to get back up and out of this tub? I am not able to pull myself into a crouch, as I mentioned before. I can’t put any pressure on my knees, at least not on hard surfaces, and the bottom of this tub ain’t made of marshmallow fluff. Normally I would holler for Sissy to come help me out of this jam, but she is 100 miles to the south at my mom’s house for the weekend. If I need help, there is just my 74-year-old brother-in-law that is recovering from major surgery, or his 70-year-old friend that is currently staying with us. So not an option. It’s up to me to get myself out of this pickle.
So I figured that I might, just might, be able to reverse the process that got me into the tub. I turned on my left side a bit to break the suction, grabbed that little plastic bar they put in tubs for you to hang your wash cloth on with my left hand, grabbed the grab bar on the right edge of the tub, stuffed a wash cloth under my left knee, and HEAVED. It took me three tries and I’m pretty sure I strained a groin muscle, but I managed to plonk myself back on the edge of the tub.
Yeah, that was the relaxing experience I had in mind.
Not.
After showering off the bubbles, blowing out the candle and mopping up the floor, I returned to my room and reflected. I sure wish there was some way I could just STOP EATING. Lately my weight has ballooned up to 340 lbs. I don’t get it. I recently got a job after being out of work for 15 months (during which time I had actually managed to lose 20 lbs by watching TV and walking the dog in the yard). I have to walk a minimum of 100-150 yards from the parking lot to my building, then climb a flight of stairs to my office. The bathroom lies at the bottom of these stairs, so I’m climbing them at least 5 times a day in addition to the walking. I’m not eating large meals, but I will be honest and say that I do eat quite a lot of sugar right before I go to bed. I take a bunch of pills that won’t seem to go down unless I eat a little sumpin’ sumpin’ afterwards, so it’s usually a handful (or four) of candy. But I kind of thought that the extra exercise would cancel that out? Apparently not.
I am so incredibly depressed about my weight. Sometimes I think, “Why bother?” I have so much weight to lose; I’m going to be 45 in a few weeks; I haven’t had a boyfriend since I was 17; what is the point? But then I think that I’m only half-way through this life (hopefully); maybe I could have a romantic relationship if I just lost the weight and gained some self-assurance and self respect; and I don’t really want to die at this weight from a massive coronary.
What I would really like is to get the lap band. I think that surgery is just my only option at this point, and I don’t want to Frankenstein my insides (no offence to those that have had gastric bypass). That option scares the dookey out of me. But I like the idea of the band because I’m not cutting apart and rearranging major organs, and not relying on malnutrition to make me thinner. I also like the idea that it is reversible if necessary. The only thing standing in my way? Remember why I haven’t been blogging? Right – no internet. Why? No money. Funnily enough, no money = no surgery.
Anyone know a surgeon willing to do it for free? Yes? Hello?
All I hear are crickets.
