I Like Cookies

Here's the problem, I've never meet a cookie I didn't like. Oh sure, some cookies are better than others, but when it comes right down to it, they're all my friends. Take the common Oreo for example. It's dry. It's cream filling to cookie ratio is slightly inadequate, although double stuff goes too far. And yet, I can eat them by the pound. Grandma used to keep Chips Ahoy in the cupboard. To this day I equate those waxy little chocolate chips with love.

Moving up the chain of life, to the king of all cookies, the highly exalted, fresh from the oven, Nestle Toll House chocolate chip cookie. Never before have ten ingredients achieved such culinary perfection. Even if the baker insists upon including walnuts, which are unnecessary at the least, the Toll House cookie rises to the prominence of cookie of all cookies. I hear the hallelujah chorus.

To be fair, cookies aren't really the problem. A cookie is just a cookie; a lump of ingredients sitting in Grandma's cookie jar. The problem is me, and the misguided emotional attachment I place on them.

In my mind cookies are good. Cookies are love. The problem is cookies do not return my loyalty and affection. Cookies, any food for that matter, are neither good or evil. They are simply a mass of calories in a matrix of carbs, fat and protein. Cookies are fuel for the body; admittedly not on the same level as lean meat or broccoli, but fuel none the less.

The fundamental issue here isn't cookies, its emotional eating. I eat if I'm happy, to celebrate. I eat if I'm sad, to commiserate. I eat because it feels good, for comfort. Food is my drug. I can walk past bottles and bongs but put a cookie in my path and I forget where I'm going. Weight loss surgery is a tool towards my goal. The real work is going to be when I have to stare-down my old friend the cookie and not flinch.

   

I just don't feel like playing

This weekend in the course of a far ranging conversation with an old friend, the subject of guitars and music surfaced. Actually, it was a question, which became a challenge. How was it possible that I wasn't playing, at all? Why was such a significant part of my life sitting in cases under beds and in a closet? The only answer I could give was that I just don't feel like playing.

Now a day removed from the conversation, I can't get it out of my mind. Music was once a fundamental part of my life; like living and breathing. It made me realize just how far I've digressed. My weight issues, and the depression I am just now able to face, have affected every part of my life. I don't feel like me anymore; why do the things that made me who I was?

The decision to have weight loss surgery is about hope. Hope is a wonderful thing. Hope opens the door to all things possible. I am determined to not be the person I was. I am determined to walk in a new reality; a life not hindered by obesity and the emotional cocoon I've created around me.

I'm starting to realize this journey is going to be much greater than a surgical procedure and weight loss. It's going to be a physical, emotional and spiritual journey to find myself. It's going to be about shattering the artificial horizons I've created. It's going to be about living more, loving more and finding who I am.

Tonight, it's going to be about playing guitar.

No One Wonders Why

I have to admit, when I made the decision to have weight loss surgery, I expected a measure of judgment and condemnation. As it turns out, that says more about me than those who are my friends and family. Reaction to my announcement has come in two forms: support with genuine concern and curiosity. I am not the only one who struggles with weight, image and the health issues tied to obesity.

No one wonders why.

For my friends, family, suporters; thank you.

Stop When Full

I was reading through my post op instructions when I came across the following: Stop when full, even if less than 2 or 3 ounces consumed. Really, 2 or 3 ounces, obviously my life is about to change.

The concept of being full after a couple of bites is completely foreign to me. My view has always been; I can't be full, there's still food on the table. Of course this flawed thinks is the reason I'm reading post op instructions in the first place. I have a life-long love affair with food and I see myself heading for a messy divorce.


I want change. I need change. I've been incapable of change on my own so we're going to get serious. Having a surgeon open you up and remove eighty-five percent of your stomach is seriously serious. However, if I were dying of stomach cancer I wouldn't think twice about it.

The fact is, I am dying, one bite at a time. I've been dying, physically and emotionally, for several years. It came on slowly and then one morning I woke up to a stranger in the mirror. Everyday activities became a chore. I avoided new experiences and isolated myself; not wanting to be outside the confines of my comfort zone.


Weight loss surgery is serious, but I have a serious problem. I wouldn't try to cure cancer with carrot juice. I'd get the best medical treatment available. I've done the research. I'm going to tackle obesity the same way; with the best medical treatment available.

I'm tired of this

Today is the reason I'm going to have weight loss surgery. I am tired, short of breath, and just want to lie down. My knees hurt. My back hurts and I have zero energy.

I'm tired of this.

That's right, I'm weak

It should come as no surprize that someone who weighs in excess of three humdred pounds, and is a candidate for weight loss surgery, has issues with food. Seriously, if I could do this on my own, I would have by now. I'd weigh one sixty and be bragging about my superpowers over all things sweet and salty. Instead, I come to you with my tail between my legs, admitting I haven't been able to make it work. My problem: I've never met a cookie that wasn't my best friend and I'm destined to remain that way without serious and permanent intervention.

It's not that I can't lose weight. I've lost more weight than a room full of Jenny Craig's the week before their High School reunion. My problem isn't losing weight. My problem is gaining it back, plus more, every time. Hence, I am weak. I haven't wanted to admit this before, but it seems key to my success moving forward. I need to face my failings. I need to ask for help. For the sake of my health and my family, I'm going to suck-up my pride and get the help I need.

This is me sucking up my pride.

That's right, I'm weak. 

I Have Made A Decision

I have made a decision: I will have weight loss surgery.


I have Michelle's full support. Weight issues are affecting my quality of lfe; our quality of life. If I were able to do this on my own, I would have by now. I am tired of feeling sick and tired all the time. I am tired of life with limits. It's time.


In the coming weeks I will go ito much more detail. I will explore my thought process leading to this decision, the procedure and the road I will take before and after.


I've always been athletic. I've run, rode, climbed, skied, sailed; this morning I can't tie my shoes without virtigo and wheezing. I am tired of looking at my life behind me. I am ready to admit I can't do this on my own. I need help.


I'm ready to choose. I choose today.