So unFLABulous

Ok, so I am all about personal accountability and learning from your mistakes, but really with the leftover skin after gastric bypass? I mean, REALLY? Ya know those stress balls made out of gelatin or mens testicles, or whatever that creepy, squishy material is? Picture that as my ass cheeks. All 6 of them. And you know how you look at a St Bernard and think, “Aw, his jowls are so cute I just want to squeeze them?” Well, that is exactly how you feel if you looked at my stomach. Ooooh, and you know how you used to try to fit 2 quarts of water into a 1 quart balloon when you were a kid and it would sag and then lay unbroken and useless on the ground after trying to throw it. You guessed it, my tits. Some might say it’s a small price to pay after having lost 180+ pounds. I say it’s about 20 pounds of what-the-fuck attached all over my disfigured body as a constant reminder of late night mini pizzas and entire bags of Doritos.

I’m not gonna lie here, I was a total self righteous ASSHOLE when I got my surgery. I was all “I’m not gonna have loose skin because I work out and follow the rules, plus I am all super awesome and my fat ass can defy gravity AND physics so suck on that flabby people!!”. And then, right around losing 150 pounds it happened. I woke up one morning looking like a Sharpei that is one vet visit from being put down. Things just….hung there. Like, “Um yeah, sorry to do this but we have NOWHERE to go so, yeah we are just gonna hang out here….sorry about that”. And I was all like “Really? 12 months of yoga, running, sweating, hiking, eating fat free, sugar free, high protein, low taste bullshit and this is what I get?” And my pants were all like “Hey, at least we are smaller and you don’t sweat in weird places anymore!”. Silver lining….tinged with sarcasm and bitterness. And smells strangely like popcorn.

Don’t get me wrong, I am so eternally grateful to the amazing Dr. O’Malley at Highland Hospital for giving me my life back. And I never did expect to look like I did when I was 18, but I also didn’t expect to look like I probably will at 80 either. In clothes, I rock. See?

But undressed I am a hot, flabby mess. I know I am not alone and there is a secret society out there that no one wants to admit membership to, where other women are undressing and looking like they are Body By Silly Putty but sometimes I feel very isolated in my disappointment. It’s like a giant conspiracy theory going on between the gastric bypass surgeons and the plastic surgeons. And it is what it is, as money makes the world go round, but in a utopian society aftercare would be a part of the process. There would be the gastric bypass and after you have been successful in losing the weight, there would be skin removal. And if one was covered by health insurance for medical reasons, the other should be covered for mental reasons. Because I look in the mirror and DO NOT see what everyone else sees. I still see the insecure fat girl who tells jokes and puts on an air of self confidence to avoid letting the world see how hurt she really is. I feel like I have worked so hard to get to this place and while I am proud of myself for accomplishing so much more than I ever gave myself credit for, I am also disappointed in the fact that I am left with this constant reminder of my past mistakes.

Most days, I am ok. Most days I put on a dress or an outfit and look in the mirror and think, “Wow girl, you did it. You actually pulled it off you crazy bitch!” And other days I think, “Just one more favor God. Just one more. I know it’s selfish and I know there are a million other way more important things in the world that need your attention, but please, just make me feel normal again.”

So, in short, yes, I am "skinny"…..sort of. And yes, I am grateful for the most part. And for the part that is a whiney, ungrateful little bitch who cries like a 5 year old who dropped her ice cream on the ground just as the ice cream truck pulled away, a glass of wine and a reality check usually shuts her the fuck up. But if anyone has an extra $20k lying around that they were just dying to get rid of, or if anyone knows of a good plastic surgeon (or one that performs free surgeries out of their basement with a rusty butter knife and a staple gun), feel free to send either gift my way. Please and thank you.