Life lessons learnt in parting

I'm filled with pure emotion at the moment, and know my 'process' is to write and let myself think and talk via my fingers…   but also well aware that right now, there's an issue that I need to address and talk about, because it's so closely aligned with my own experience and issues of the past, and hiding this particular topic does us no favours...


Today I found out that an online weightloss buddy of mine died…  I've known him since basically the start of my weightloss transition five years ago. He was part of the online Club, and someone I used to chat to in the forums. He proved quite successful in his own weightloss transformation despite his arthritis and time constraints - but his cheeky humour was what caught and held my attention over the years. It wasn't unlike my own, and we bonded over kilos and bad humour!

Today I found out that he died in November.  The last time we "spoke", he wasn't dealing with life very well. We had that bond aswell - something that we used to talk about via emails. He'd worked hard to turn his life around for both himself and his young son, and over the years had undertaken study to find a new career, and done so well that he was easily sought after he'd graduated for work. I'd even designed his Resume, and when he'd scored a great job at the end, I was so happy for him! Things were really starting to change…  Last year, he'd bought himself a new car, and he and his son were building their own home. Something he'd never dreamed he'd be able to do - but his new career afforded him the privilege.  He was well respected in his role, helping those in need and those in underprivileged circumstance, change their lives too….


I found out today that he died the day after we spoke last.  He was in a really bad way.  He was upset and on edge, had felt he'd destroyed a relationship that had meant so much to him, and reached out to me to ask me how I had managed to overcome my issues and dark days. There's a certain level of speculation I make here, because I only found out via a friend, and it was only from posts on his Facebook wall that gave us the news...  I speculate that the timing wasn't coincidental, and therefore my reason to bring up the topic of suicide at all.



I try really hard to be positive and optimistic, but I'm plagued with a history of depression, anxiety and suicidal yuckiness too.  He knew that…  Maybe that's why he reached out to me?  Because I understood… because I wouldn't judge.  I understand more than most would…

We talked via SMS, but I guess I didn't read between the lines very well.  He was broken, and I think he was saying goodbye.  Re-reading the old text messages on my phone when I found out today, I'm just heartbroken. He told me I'm a beautiful girl, inside and out, and he'd known that from the first time he saw my photo (even at my biggest!) on the forums and read my posts.  He thanked me for being "the best friend I've never met" over the last five years… 

I reminded him that things would get better - that he and his boy had so many positives to look forward to, and to look to those for both comfort and pushing through - that life just hurts and tests us sometimes… but it's a conversation we've had before, and I guess the impact was lost on him this time…   Though he even went so far as to say we should catch up next time I'm in Sydney, and that he'd "hold me to that drink!" when I was able to get there sometime this year.  It pains me to read that and realise that won't ever happen now...


Well I guess that's the pitfall of befriending people on the internet - and it's one of my fears.  When I've spent half my life being a social recluse, it was far easier for me to befriend and communicate with likeminded people through my fingers (no surprise there… !).   My online friends are all across the world (distance means little on the web) and our backgrounds and lives are often very different… but there's always a bond I have with them, and a sincerity that comes with that kind of friendship where the distance is quite meaningless, but you know people will come and go.  Many of them I'll never meet, and I've always had a fear in the pit of my tummy that something would happen to someone I care about, and I'd possibly never find out.  It bites when a fear turns into reality...  even more so when it's so close to issues of my own.


I don't quite know what's hurting more right now…  The fact that he didn't have the strength to fight.  Or that I missed my opportunity to meet a friend of mine who played a role in helping reshape MY life.   Or that whatever has happened with him, has really reinforced the damage that my old negative thinking could have potentially done to MY network and people I care about (which still surfaces on occasion, when the hideous negatives and doubt come out).

I don't often talk about my suicidal past - because I don't feel I'm that person anymore.  I lost a decade of my life in "blackness" thinking I was worth more in a casket, but the person I am today is too far removed from letting that win.  I simply don't have the right to judge someone who struggles with these issues - because those who don't suffer like this, just don't understand.  It's easy to assume it's "selfish" or cruel to those you leave behind - but there's an intolerable, horrible cruelty that rages in your own heart and head that sometimes wins over.  Some of us can fight back more than others, and I guess there's those that simply don't have the energy anymore.

My heart is breaking right now for a friend who ran out of courage and energy to fight, and I'm so sad that my parting words weren't enough to help bring him through to keep on trying.  He knew…   


I posted this on my Facebook wall - "RIP M. Always thought you were a bit of a clown but you made me laugh, and I certainly considered you a friend. I don't really understand what's happened or how, but that we 'spoke' just the day before has left me hurting. Reading through the last text messages, I'm just heartbroken. Maybe I could have done more.... maybe not, I just don't know. But grant you this, when I meet you again (whenever, wherever, however), I'll be kicking your arse, and you bloody know it. 36 isn't anywhere near old enough mister... "

Despite my tears and heartbreak right now, there's a certain level of relief I have on his behalf too.  I don't agree with his actions (clearly I fight on, and I wish he'd have been able to do the same)… and I hurt for his little boy who needed his dad... but I can't help but offer him the compassion, and afford him the flexibility to let him take his 'calm' now. 

My parting words in our last SMS conversation read "Just breathe…".   Wish he'd had the strength to do just that.


I'll still kick his arse one day though….  but his lesson hasn't been lost on me.  I now see the side of this that I've never truly wanted to see….  and it pains me for all its reality.  I don't ever want to do this to someone else.  Lesson heard, felt and learnt.   Thankyou M.   xx






** If you are suffering from depression, anxiety or suicidal tendencies, PLEASE seek help. There are avenues for counseling via your Doctor - and people who DO care.  I regret suffering for a decade in silence - the damage of which still interferes with me when I'm struggling today.  The actions you take DO impact those who love you.  You are NOT alone.


My apologies for anyone I've upset with this post.  But it is a topic that needs to be spoken about...

The skin I'm in... part 2

If only we all lived in a fairytale, and those fairytales actually produced the goods…

I wish my blog post was all happy and merry - all things beautiful and "flat tummy". Wish it was peppered in positives and flamboyant optimism about all the amazing things that happen when you go slice yourself to pieces….

… but I fear it won't be.  I'm sitting here in tears - for what feels like the hundredth time in the last six weeks. My body is bound in an elastic "corset" binder that squeezes my insides and makes it hard to breathe, assuming I could breathe through the lump in my throat anyway. I have a plastic bag stuck to the side of my gut/groin, that's shielding the staph infection that burst me open a few days ago, and I just swallowed yet another antibiotic tablet in the hope it clears up soon, so the gaping hole that had me re-hospitalised goes away…  but I'm getting too far ahead....

Pre-surgery styling...

I've been hard-pressed to talk about my surgery. People have kept asking me questions… over and over again. "How much did it cost" / "Where did you get it done, by who, how, what, where, when..".  Lots and lots of questions, and I've been trying my damnedest to answer them without wanting to shake the person and say "DON'T DO IT!!!!" - because part of me sincerely wants to. I've tried to be liberal and hold my tongue - people expect me to be positive and forthcoming - but the tears and the reality keep tainting me.


Six weeks ago, as of today, I was about as high on positivity and determination as a girl could get. I'd worked my absolute BUTT off in preparation of my surgery - I KNEW it would be the biggest challenge yet, and despite keeping my blinkers on and only asking questions I felt I needed to know, I was SO ready, so excited and so prepared for it. I was literally BUZZING the day I walked through the hospital doors.


When I was wheeled into the surgery - the surgeon on one side, the anaesthetist on the other - not one part of me assumed any negatives. In my head, everything was positive and good - and I'd be wheeled out of there the "new Amy" that I'd so desperately wanted to become. Not one part of me thought there'd be a down side to this…  my god I wish that was true...


The surgery took over 3 hours, once I was wheeled in (there was a whole wad of waiting time prior to this).  It was labelled a "radical abdominoplasty" - and cut me from well beyond one hip bone right through to the other. I was told I lost a huge amount of blood, and because of the amount of skin removed, that I was left with a considerable 'cavity'. I was internally stitched, and was 'bound' in the elastic binder right there on the table - boning and all - for maximum support.  All I can remember of being wheeled out of surgery is the incredible hot flush running through my body when I woke up, and ceiling lights flashing by, where I was wheeled into my room - much cooler - and where I calmed down thereafter. I guess I fell asleep again after that… It all seemed too good to be true - over and done with in just a little sleep!

Hunchy with my drain-bag

I did really well post-surgery. I was healthy and fit - when they had me stand up the next day, I didn't even think twice about it.  Up I got and toddled into the bathroom, where I was encouraged to brush my teeth and wash my face.  I stood up straight (beep, mistake!!!) and looked at myself in the mirror - I looked really pale, but I was on a high (probably the anesthetic still in my system?!!) and smiled at myself - as though I'd just conquered a mountain! I stood there brushing my teeth and washing my face - just like I'd been told - as the nurse changed my bed. She checked on me and asked if I was doing ok - I thought I was doing awesome, and she ran out the door to go grab something. I flicked my hair out of my face, and suddenly the world became a little bit wobbly….  I backed back and sat myself on the toilet behind me, and grabbed onto the handrails. I wasn't sure if I was about to vomit or fall off the toilet - but the heat in my face and the nausea all kicked in… just as the nurse walked back in. She asked if I was ok - which I wasn't - and she grabbed my arm to lead me back to the bed. Next thing I know, I'm half awake with this incredibly strong inner-monologue repeatedly saying "What movie is this?!  I don't recognise this!  I don't think I've seen this before…"  - until I woke up a little more, and realised there was three nurses surrounding me and I was seated on the floor!  I've never fainted in my life - but that was the first of what proved to be a few episodes thereafter, and the heatwave that traveled through my body prior is like a security alarm ingrained in my brain - I fear it!

In terms of post-op recovery in hospital, the fainting was probably the worst bit - not once did I need additional pain medication, and I seemed to be doing well without it!  I stayed in hospital longer than anticipated, and despite being super healthy, I was exhausted in a way I've never really known. I had two drains hanging out of my legs - one on either hip.  Plastic bottles that would drip intermittently with blood - a little confronting for the girl who didn't want to know these things… !

Lefty & Righty - my drains

When I left hospital, drains and all, it didn't occur to me that I'd be in pain the way I was.  In hospital, the beds move up and down - the pillows just seemed to be plumped and put under my legs.  The nurses were lovely, and would cheer me up and along - everything was just 'done'.  When I came home, my bed seemed incredibly inadequate, it hurt to lay flat. It hurt to lay at all.  It hurt to sit, it hurt to walk, I couldn't bend - I had to stoop so I didn't stretch the surgical line. My back ached like nothing else, my body moaned. I desperately wanted a real shower, but I could barely stand up for any length of time without nearly flaking out.  My binder was uncomfortable, I was hot and itchy.  I had bruises up and down my arms and legs from the injections and lines, and my new belly button stunk...

My family were on hand to help me - and we coped really well for the first week out of hospital.  Mum was like my private nurse, and I had fluffed up pillows under my legs and I was well fed.  I was ok… but then things started to unravel a little.

For anyone who thinks surgery is fun and games… here's some more 'beautiful reality' for you!  If you can't handle it - might want to head off now and read a nonsense magazine article where noone hurts, it all magically happens, and you don't have blood and bowel movements to contend with....
 

As though I wasn't in enough pain, along came the post-surgery constipation.  My body had shut down from the surgery - I have a timid digestive system at the best of times, but post surgery, this was a whole new ball game.  It was nearly a week since I'd gone to the toilet properly - and my meals were banking up in my gut, to the point where I was nearly sick after eating.  I couldn't take it anymore - things weren't going to just 'happen' of their own accord - so it was out with the fibre supplements, natural laxatives… but even those wouldn't help.  In the end, Mum went to the pharmacy for suppositories to try and help…  but even two of those failed. The pains in my gut were horrible - I'd sit on the toilet and just cry - I couldn't push (the pain from pushing sent shockwaves through my surgical line) - sitting on the toilet hurt anyway…  In the end, as gross as this is, I had to take matters into my own hands and forcibly remove what simply wouldn't come out.  Humiliated, in pain, and so incredibly sore… I'm pretty sure I waddled out of my bathroom pretty disgusted with the world...  and very much NOT in a hurry to repeat that anytime soon.

Ice packs were my friend...

Add to this a fabulous stint of food poisoning OR some short-lived bug - whatever it was - something unmercillsly floored me one morning a few days later.  Standing at the sink, hanging on to the tub with one hand and my belly with the other, all I could do was vomit up my dinner, and hope it was enough to get it out of my system. I am NOT a vomiter - last time I was this sick, I'd had a bout of gastro. But the gremlins in my belly weren't letting up - and it wasn't until I could get that bug out of my belly could I actually calm down enough to sleep again…   When my sis came to check up on me, I could barely walk - it was like I'd been sick for a week, not a few hours!  My head was spinning, I was as weak as hell, and my inability to walk myself down the hallway meant I flaked out on the couch - twice - that day just because it was easier than trying to get back to bed.  It scared me to feel that powerless and weak…  But sleeping my entire day away seemed to prove wonders, and a nausea tablet and plenty of fluids seemed to calm my insides down enough to let this issue pass aswell….  (thankfully).



In amongst all this, I'd only seen my belly once.  First time was laying down when the surgeon wanted to check on my belly button…  I could hardly breathe when he undid the binder - ironic, given it was the first time I could actually breathe without restriction - but there was my "flat" tummy.   …. deceptive as it always is when you're laying flat on your back!  I should have noted the deception at the time…

When the binder was taken off for the first time standing up (when the last of my drains were to be removed) - about a week later - a little part of me winced in sadness.  What I saw wasn't what I thought I'd see… but I tried to dismiss it with the "oh it's just swelling, it'll be ok, it won't really look like that" - all the words that I'd kept hearing people say…

Belly button stitches came out

Trouble was, when the binder kept coming off for showers - or when I went back to get my belly button stitches removed - the 'aftermath' wasn't really disappearing…  Actually, the games were just beginning…

The swelling got worse - and gravity being what it is, bulk of the fluid was engorged in my groin. It made sitting down painful, it hurt to stand, the binder and its restrictions pushed against my hips…. and I seemed to be bruising and swelling in a really gross 'black and blue' way.

… and then joy of all joys - I was told to come back to the clinic to be 'drained'. My groin was so hideously swollen, the surgeon had to use a syringe to drain out the fluid. I stood there, looking at the ceiling while he stuck a needle in the top of my groin, and proceeded to suck out the fluid, and squirt it, unceremoniously, into an ice cream container. He made it through about half a dozen syringe-fulls before that sudden heat-rush visited again, and I nearly passed out… and that was that. I was patched up with a bandaid, and sent off on my way, with a jellybean in my hand. Was pre-warned it was likely to happen again… and I prayed right then and there that it simply wouldn't - the severity of grossness was second only to my toilet experience….   Back to sleeping and sitting all day with ice-packs on my groin, and good luck trying to do Christmas shopping - four times I nearly passed out in the shopping centres or shops trying to stay on my feet, for even the briefest amount of time.  My body wasn't doing very well at all… and neither was my head.


I went through a rough patch of hating the new belly - hating the growing muffin-top bulge that I didn't have 'before' - hating that I was so exhausted and had lost my mojo and control.  Christmas came and went, and I got caught up in eating foods that I don't normally eat, and the lack of training and sitting on my butt were messing me around.  … and then I hit my moment, when things just got too much and I'd literally HAD ENOUGH!   I snapped.


A friend of mine dragged me to the gym thereafter - just as my Naturopath has suggested (who I'd been back to see to get supplements to help my recovery - she'd also encouraged getting back to the gym - she could see my mindset was fast slipping too…).  As soon as I hit the gym - even in my distorted, bruised, swollen body - I felt BETTER!  The swelling in my groin was horrible, but I was so determined to keep moving… and I even felt well enough to head back to work.


I made it through two full days of work and gym, before my body gave out entirely…. and surprise, surprise… right when I was doing my shopping after work and gym - I nearly flaked out in Coles trying to buy myself water!  I made it back down to my car, and cautiously drove the block down the road to get back to my house.  Stubborn Amy all the way - I nearly fainted in the car turning the corner, and scared myself no end. I'd made it to pull into the curb, but I was in tears when I sent my Mum an SMS to please come and rescue me - I didn't trust I was able to walk from the curb to the front door of my house….  I swung my car to the front of my curb, barely made it into 'park' and fell asleep at the wheel.  By the time Mum made it to my house, ten minutes later, my body had calmed down enough, and I actually felt ok - I'd "power napped" and could walk to the door.  I felt like an idiot - but after eating some dinner and having a calm night, I felt fine!!!    I simply didn't know what was about to hit…

The following day, my body had broken down entirely. I could barely stand up - I tried to walk down my hallway to have a shower and get ready for work, and made it only to my loungeroom couch - not 15 steps away… I sat down and cried and cried.  My head was spinning, I felt sick to the stomach, and I ached with such an intensity - I'd never been so sore, not even post-op! I sent a message to work that I couldn't come in, and messaged Mum that something was wrong. It was so reminiscent of the stomach bug issue, I feared I'd caught something else … but despite sleeping bulk of the day away, and then another 11 hours of uninterrupted sleep that night, the next day I was just as wonky and in trouble. My head was spinning like a toy, and again, I just sat there and cried.  I couldn't even walk myself to the kitchen to find something to eat - and the lack of eating wasn't helping the situation.  By the time Mum arrived, I was in a bit of a state. She made me something to eat, and it helped calm me down enough to feel a little better, think better.  I had a client meeting - and best I could do was invite them to my house, because I simply couldn't walk out my front door.  Brain was working - body simply wasn't!

The swelling in my body and groin was happening again - and despite my indifference to the syringe, the pain in my groin was too much to contend with….  so off to the hospital I went.  Given my tendency to fainting and the fatigue and pain, the lovely Doctor I found at the hospital let me lay down for this one…  but multiple syringe pokes later, I was pretty sore.  She'd taken away another 185ml, and the relief was there… but the bruising and the swelling didn't really subside overnight the way it had the previous time.

The next day, I woke up with as much pain in my groin as ever - the ice packs I was sleeping and sitting with weren't working - the Panadol and fluid tablets werent working - and the swelling when I'd take off my binder would just bloat my body and "harden" so much that I felt like I was about to burst.  I patched up two of the worst swelling marks on my groin that night - and padded them with extra surgical padding - they were so tender, and I was so scared I'd bump them and something would happen in the night...

… but it wasn't overnight I needed to worry.  The next morning, when I went to remove one of the little pads, it was enough to break the skin, and I literally "burst".  Gooey fluid seemed to go everywhere, and I pushed the pads back quickly to try and stop it.  Standing there shocked, I shuffled to the bathroom because I was dripping on the floor - and when I looked again, even more seemed to flood out.  Right here is where I started to panic, and all I could do was cry.  I shuffled back to the loungeroom with my hands pressed against my wound, to get my phone and ring my sister for help, then took myself back to the bathroom to try and clean up and see what was happening.  Every time I'd move, even more fluid would run out, and it was streaming down my legs at one point - not that I could really tell when the tears were running down my face at the same pace!  I grabbed a towel and pushed that against myself, and just stood there dumbfounded and crying.  I was still wearing my binder (I'd only flipped it up to see initially) - and it was now soaking in gooey mess that just didn't seem to want to stop leaking!  I held another towel against me when the first one was too wet, and tried to lay down on the couch with my feet up, waiting for my sis.  I rang the hospital, and between sobs, tried to explain what was happening - and was asked if I could hold out until after lunch when the Doctors would be around and they had a bed for me in the centre.  When my sis arrived, I tried to tell her what was happening, but I was a mess - both emotionally and physically.  Every time I moved, the fluids would just start up again, and I'd get even more upset - I didn't know what else to do.  She rang the hospital again - not 20 mins later - and the ladies told us to come up.  I was nothing short of relieved… I didn't know what else to do, I needed help, I was scared.

The drain 'baggy' stuck to my gut/groin

Changing to yet another towel, my sis helped me to the car - and drove me to the hospital.  I was trying not to be a complete emotional wreck by the time I made it into the hospital, but I could barely move without the leaking happening again, and I was truly scared…  I was holding my body as though I'd been sliced open again - I had no idea what was going on, I was too scared to look.   When the nurse took my towel away, and undid the binder and took away the goo-soaked pads, the leaking subsided enough to see what was going on.  The Doctor wasn't too far away, and when she assessed it, she was pretty sure then that there was an infection - and after hours in the hospital Ambulatory care section - I was admitted to hospital and put onto an antibiotics IV drip.  Swabs and bloods were taken - but when she mentioned the word 'infection' I just cried…   A plastic 'baggy' was fitted to the outside of my gut/groin over the wound site - to help drain the fluids - and off to a ward bed I was taken.

The following day, whilst waiting for the results, the Doctor came back again with her boss - and he confirmed I'd contracted a staph infection.  I underwent a CT scan that afternoon - given my surgeon was on holidays (his clinic closed, and my private hospital records hard to get hold of), they weren't entirely sure how my surgery had been performed, and were worried the infection had spread further internally in the cavity of where my tummy used to be…  If it had, then I was in for a world of trouble, and a new drain system would have to be fitted.

I lay there in that hospital bed with a hundred thoughts rampaging through my head - what had I done wrong, why did I deserve this, what was wrong with me?!!  It was a really lovely nurse - who explained she'd worked in a  cosmetics ward previously - that told me this was quite "normal" - that I wasn't a freak and there wasn't anything wrong with me - that my surgery was massive, and the extent of it and what was happening now could actually be quite common…  I could have hugged her - nobody had told me I was going to be this broken.  Noone had pre-warned me that my body could just BURST like this!!

Second hospital stint - the grimace says it all!

The following day, my new Doctors did their rounds, checked the wound inside the baggy, and seemed happy to send me home on antibiotic tablets. I was armed with two new baggys - that I'd have to fit myself - and told I'd need another CT scan in a couple of weeks time, before my pre-scheduled (when I'd seen my surgeon before Christmas) appointment for the start of February with my surgeon.  I was told to come back to the hospital and see them should I have any issues - and later this week I'll go back for an interim checkup, and hopefully get rid of the baggy if the leaking has subsided sufficiently.

…. but that was all fine and dandy in theory.  This morning when I went to have a shower, the sticky around the baggy was telling me it was time to replace…  SO I gritted my teeth, pulled it off, held my breath… and then finally saw the damage for the first time.  All I wanted to do was cry…  The huge hole in between my groin and gut - it's like a crevice.  The fluids seem to be subsiding, and the hideous swelling that's hurt me for the past two weeks or more seems to have gone... but there's this great huge gaping hole in my body right now - and it scares me.   I'm trying to stay optimistic, but I'm hurting…  not physically, the pain isn't there like it had been - but mentally, emotionally…




Surgery wasn't pretty - it was never going to be…. not the way they brainwash you into believing when you see it on TV or in magazines. Everyone miraculously walks out a "brand new person" - and how beautiful they all turn out to be!  My surgery - a post 190+kgs woman - was never going to be that pretty…. but it was my "strategy", to help me be ok with this new body I'm still trying to deal with...  But somewhere along the line - amongst the media crap that seemingly kept popping up, the links I kept getting sent, the stories I was forwarded that people thought I needed to see…  my 'strategy' got further away, and the superficial junk kicked in.

When I see my body - I'm not ok with how it looks… and even before the 'great gaping hole' fiasco, I was heralding such "fabulous" thoughts as "who in their right mind wants a girl that looks like THIS?!!" - my body is so incredibly distorted and weird.  Even without the swelling (which I'm finally seeing a glimpse of now that the fluids burst out…) - I'm wonky and still flabby.  The muffin-top is very much there now, my new belly button is crooked, the intense swelling in my groin has made it look like a deflated dead balloon…   I LOVE the scar that goes right around half my body (I've never had an issue with scars - I bear the brunt of self-inflicted ones from bad headspace in the past... ) - but the "leftovers" post-surgery leave a lot to be desired.  You may not have noticed, but the photos I've included deliberately AVOID showing you the actual belly...


… and before I get told - again (for the hundredth time) that "you're still healing!!!  Give it time"…  I can't help but be disappointed.  Part of me bought into the superficial bullshit that this would CHANGE ME for the better - that slicing myself to pieces wasn't interfering with my health (and fark, how wrong was I with that?!!  Multiple fainting spells, extreme exhaustion, fainting at the wheel, and now a fabulous staph infection?!!  NONE of this was present six weeks ago… ). 

I wish I was bold and strong enough to show you the before and after photos - but unlike what I thought 'before' I hit the scalpel, when I had them all taken with the explicit purpose of showing the difference later…  I still can't do it.  I still can't show you.  I'm still ashamed, and so upset with what I look like right now, I just can't.  


I don't recognise this body.  I don't recognise myself right now IN this body.  I miss the Amy from six weeks ago who was so freaking optimistic and driven - who believed in nothing but a happy ending after all this…   Instead, I'm just a bit broken.

You know I'm all for honesty in my writing - and I've been trying to palm off my sorrows as just "post-surgery depression" and the like…  but the fact remains.   Surgery isn't everything. 


Down the track I'm sure I'll learn how to BE in this new body - and I still aspire to getting back my fitness and re-learning how to use what I've got now.   I was so determined my next surgery would be in March, but I've thrown that out the window already - I simply CANNOT abuse my health and my body again that soon... I don't really know if I can do this again…

Right now, I just need the world to stop telling people we'll somehow be "better" if we go get ourselves cut to pieces… that our worth is "fixed" if we go chop our bodies up to look like people in a magazine…

… the reality is, it simply won't.


I'm now starring down the barrel of possible counseling and further self-development to try and come to terms with what I've just done to myself - to try and learn to like this new body and FORGIVE MYSELF for jeopardising my health.  This side of my surgery, and I now realise it wasn't the physical I needed to worry about (I had that covered with my fitness)…  it's the mental scars that are proving the hardest to heal right now…

… but my story won't end here either.  Time will tell how I truly feel about all this - but for now I'll chalk up my disappointment, and just get on with it…  I'll use that energy for healing and turning this around... 

Thank god I'm as stubborn as all hell...   I'd have given up a couple weeks ago if I wasn't.