Empathy

I sometimes wonder if I lack empathy. Someone’s grandma dies and they’re devastated but I’m all “she was 90, get over it”.  So my empathy meter often runs low. But I don’t have zero empathy. And sometimes something comes across the interwebz that really makes me realize that I do have empathy. And many of you don’t. And that makes me sad.

We all know the Cincinnati gorilla story. We’ve all taken sides. Most (and I include myself) are quick to point out the faults on each side. The enclosure obviously wasn’t safe enough. The mother obviously wasn’t watching her child.

I’m so fucking done pointing fingers. I don’t care WHO was at fault – if anyone.  Here are the facts: a boy fell into the enclosure and a gorilla had his hands on him.  There are no other facts you need to know. A child needed to be saved from a “wild” animal. There were no other options.

The mother, who may or may not have been keeping a good enough eye on her boy, had to watch this all unfold. She had to stand helpless on the edge of the enclosure and offer up words to her god or her universe that her boy not be hurt.

Have you ever experienced that helpless feeling? And I’m not just talking about watching your child go across the monkey bars and fall each and every time. I’m not talking about having to watch your awkward teenager navigate society. I’m talking about literally not being able to do anything to help your child. I’ve not been in that situation. And I thank my lucky stars I haven't.

I have the empathy to understand what this might feel like. And I have the ability to know that I will NEVER know what this feels like until I experience it. And I hope, and I pray and I send out my positive vibes to the universe that I will never, EVER have to.

So, please. Dig down. Find that empathy for that mother. Put away your pointed finger. Think how lucky she and that boy are to be safe. Send your virtual hugs her way. She knows this story far better than you do. If there is a lesson to be learned, it's been learned. Now is the time to heal.

Out of my element

A couple girlfriends and I went out on the town last weekend. San Francisco, North Beach (for those in the know). I'm pretty much a homebody and a suburb girl. I am not comfortable in The Big City. There's so much... everything.  Lights, bustle, people. And I have a fear of public transit.  Goes back to an incident when I was 10 and jumped on the London Underground, thinking my parents were right behind me. They weren't and the doors closed and off I went.  Obviously I survived and was reunited, but scared shitless nonetheless.

Anyway, I wanted to spend time with my friends, so off to The City I went. My friends know and love city and are in their element. I was not, but they had my back. I wouldn't be abandoned.  Our goal was to have tons of fun, fun we wouldn't normally have. So off to the strip clubs we went.

It was early (for a Friday night in SF). The first club (The Condor) was quiet and the girls happily chatted with us while they danced on stage. It was fun. I loved their outfits, I loved their aerobics. And I was in a *whispers* STRIP CLUB. Giggle. I gave one of the girls a couple dollars, admitting this was my "first time". She was so sweet, told me exactly where to put the money and said "slap my butt, your friends will love it". See? Super fun, just my level of break out naughty.

This club was pretty tame (who knew?) so we tried a couple other places. Some wanted to charge a cover, which we weren't going to pay. We found another club and sat ourselves down. This is where my fun, happy and "giggle, I'm in a strip club" feelings ended.

I appreciate the female form, but I found I was much more interested in watching the girls' faces. And seeing their faces killed me. There was no emotion. None. Like they were dead inside. And I bet some of them were. It made me so sad. I leaned over to one of my friends and said "I really kind of hate this". Being the amazing friend that she is, she immediately said "Ok, let's go", and we were out of there.

My friend explained to me that these women really do make a good amount of money, and there are so many rules in place about touching and appropriate behavior from the guests (clients? patrons?), but I just couldn't get rid of the image of their emotionless faces. I still can't.

Most of these women strip because they have to. Maybe they don't have the education for a better job. Or because the Bay Area is so damn expensive they need this second job to pay the bills. Or life just put them there because life can do that. I doubt this happens to male strippers. But what do I know. My male stripper knowledge comes from Magic Mike.

My Weight Loss Journey: The Next Next Steps

The next next steps.  I've had a lot of steps over the last couple years.  Weight loss surgery. Losing 100+lbs.  Getting new boobs.  I'm now a week away (A WEEK!!) from another big step: lower body lift. When a large amount of weight is lost, all the excess skin heads south.  The boobs sag, the arms have bat wings, the thighs wrinkle and the abdominal skin sags and sits right over the pubis. Lovely.

In a week I'm going to have that skin removed.  I still struggle with a lot of body issues (like the aforementioned arms and thighs), but this is a biggie. Imagine your body from your head to your chest looking pretty much exactly how you'd like it to look.  Yeah, you're probably showing more age than you hoped you would, but for the most part you're pretty OK with how you look (and this is a major milestone for how you used to feel about yourself). But that belly. Some shirts and skirts are great at hiding that excess skin, but you still see it every.single.day.

In a week it will be gone.  It's kind of blowing my mind right now. I have NEVER seen my lower body look "skinny" (whatever that means). I still don't see the rest of my body look skinny.  Just today I had a conversation with my boss where she said she's never known me not "skinny". Skinny? I just can't wrap my head around that word.

Every woman looks different. And none of us should be judging a woman for how she looks on the outside. And I should be happy with how I look right now. But I'm not. I have the ability (meaning money) right now to make it happen. So why the fuck not? I've always wanted to look in the mirror and be happy with what I saw. I never was, but I am getting there.

I plan on buying a bikini top. And I plan on piercing my belly button. 40 is the new 30, right? Maybe even the new 20.

Skinny

**edit: I sat on this post for a long time. I needed to get it out there. Even if it's unfinished.**

Skinny. Slender. Thin. Healthy (I hate that one). I've heard all these terms in the last several months. "Look how [insert the above words] you are!" Yes, there is a large part of me that is super excited to hear those words.  But there's also a part of me that wants to shout "FUCK YOU!! I'm the same person inside!"

At 274 pounds I was funny. I said things that made people gasp or laugh or look away uncomfortably.  At 160 I say the same damn stuff.  Yes, I have more self confidence now.  I can hold that eye contact with that cute guy in Starbucks that I never could have before.  But if that cute guy got to know any of the mes over the last couple years, he'd be getting to know the same person.

So I'm struggling with this label of skinny, and all the synonyms that go with it. Is that what I am now? Just some skinny bitch? Because there's a lot more here.  There always has been.

I've come back to this post because I'll be getting a lower body lift (super-duper intrusive tummy tuck) in a week.  I'm mostly excited about it, but a little scared.  OK, a lot scared. But the part that's bugging me the most is how many people will now "see" me. And why the fuck couldn't they see me before?

Bewbs

So here we are, a month and change out from my breast lift and augmentation. That wasn't want I expected.

Now, don't get me wrong. I don't regret for a second having the procedure done. I'm happy with the outcome. I'm still healing, so I'm sure I'll be even more happier as more time goes by.  What I didn't expect was the healing time. Notice how in that line above I said "I'm still healing...." I still have discomfort and weird feelings.

Keep in mind (as I try to remind myself) that my only other experience with surgery was laparoscopic when I had my weight loss surgery. That was 5 itty-bitty cuts and some gas pain.  This was 6 great big giant cuts and a lot of pain, for a lot longer time.

Those who aren't squeamish, or those who don't have a problem seeing the boobs of someone they know, can click on the link below. This is what my breasts looked like the day of surgery.  I called them Frankentits:

https://www.dropbox.com/s/853mx8aumphoqtd/Day%20after.JPG?dl=0

Here's some fun (G-rated) comparison pictures:
Before:

After:

Notice they're not huge.  That was the point. I just wanted what I had refilled. I ended puberty with a B. I wasn't thrilled. After pregnancy and during nursing I was a D. I was thrilled.  Imagine now, those D boobs deflating to As.... I was definitely not thrilled.

The discomfort comes from the multiple suture lines as well as having a foreign body under the muscle that likes to move around some.  It's a feeling I'm still getting used to.  Reaching up for something high on the shelf feels totally different now. I can sort of feel the implant moving around under there.

This June I will be doing a lower body lift. That will involve a much larger portion of my body and, I assume, a much longer recovery time. Knowing what I know now, I'm ready for it. I'm ready to not be able to jump right up and get on with life.  I'm ready to give up running for a large period of time (which I wasn't ready for this go-round).  I'm ready because, goddamnit, I worked hard for this and deserve to have the body I've always wanted.

My Weight Loss Journey: The Next Steps

This last October marked my 2 year "surgiversary". It's been two years since I had the gastric sleeve weight loss procedure.  I've lost 115 lbs. I feel great! I look pretty great, if I do say so myself. At least with clothes on.  With clothes off I'm a little unhappy with where my journey has led me.  Don't get me wrong.  I'd do it all over again in a heart beat, but there are parts of my body that I am very unhappy with.

I have very saggy boobs, and that bothers me.  There. I said it. Body image is a bitch. I shouldn't care what I look like, it's what's inside me that matters, blah, blah, blah. But I *do* care what I look like from the outside.  And I've worked pretty damn hard to get to where I am now. So I want the body to reflect that.

I also have a very saggy belly (it's called a pannus, if you want to be all official about it). Sure, the right underwear hides it, sort of, but I see it. I have to lift up that saggy belly and apply coconut oil to fend off rashes and bacterial infections.  I want that bitch gone.

Then there's my arms. They're like bat wings. I raise my hand to say hello or goodbye and my arms flap away.

So I'm starting the next step(s) in my journey. Plastic surgery.  It's one of those issues that people tend to have very strong opinions on one way or another. My opinion is I worked hard to get to where I am now, why the hell shouldn't I be able to have the body I've always wanted?

December 19th I'm going under the knife.  Being a teacher affords me random breaks through out the year. Winter break is coming up. So, I'm getting the boobs done. I will have boobs that will stand up with out the help of padding and fancy Victoria Secret bras. I used to have these boobs. Now I will have them again!

In June or July I will have a lower body lift done to take care of the saggy belly. It might also combat some of the wrinkly thighs that I'm not so concerned about.

Want to hear something funny? I'm more scared that I'll come out with some Dolly Parton boobs than complications from the surgery itself.  I'm not scared to go under the knife. I have respect and feel secure in the doctor I've chosen.  But I'm scared everyone will notice my new look and judge and laugh at me for it.  Low self esteem is a bitch.

This is the post to get this out there. I've not told too many people for fear of the "you look fine" reaction. But this is my choice, and I could really use your support. I will follow this post up with before and after pictures.

So here we go! 8 days and counting until my next significant step!

Take that, cancer, you asshole.

Friday, March 21st, is Ice Cream for Breakfast Day. What's Ice Cream for Breakfast Day, you ask? Let me tell you.  A friend of mine, whom I've never met, died of Melanoma. It was crazy fast. But he wasn't going to let it stop him from enjoying life to the fullest.  He was diagnosed four years ago, on March 21st (can it be four years already?).  During his battle he decided he would create this Ice Cream for Breakfast Day to teach us all to enjoy life.  Life is precious, life is short.  Sometimes you should just eat ice cream for breakfast.  The first ICFBD was set for the one year anniversary of his diagnoses.  He died nine days before that.  Now, as his family has picked up their pieces and moved on, we still remember him and his spirit on our Third Ice Cream for Breakfast Day. Bruce, I never knew you. But I think of you often. And I think of the mark you've left on this world.  So, everyone out there, whether you knew Bruce or not, celebrate LIFE and how precious it is.  Have some ice cream for breakfast with us. (You might want to practice through out the year, as well.)