Your Normal vs You're Normal

It’s nearing three years since being sleeved, yet I still have a hard time fathoming, perhaps even accepting the “new” me.  I feel like I’ve met people who have more recently undergone a sleeve or bypass surgery that are doing better than I am – not in terms of physicality, but more the mental game.  I’m left to wonder why this is – clearly it’s me, but what makes me special, unable to accept the remarkable changes I’ve undergone?  I think I now have an idea about the why.

Every Summer, my family goes to a beach in Port Aransas.  Texas beaches are not the blue waters and white sands of the Caribbean, or even Florida - but to us, it’s our home away from home.  Here, we eat, veg, swim, eat, relax…did I mention food plays a part?  Yes, friends – this sleever has managed to put on EIGHT (8!) pounds for two consecutive years.  Do I recommend this?  No.  However, it does serve two good reminders: it is very easy to gain weight, even with the sleeve as a tool; BUT, getting back on track quickly will take it off.  Or, another way to put it: when you do good most of the time, it’s ok to not be so good for a little while.  One of the local support group docs calls them “banquet days”, and it’s an important distinction from a cheat day in that guilt over what you eat should not be a factor.  Make that not so good choice and own it, enjoy it, reap the consequences, and when the banquet day (or week) is over, get back into routine.  Still, why can’t slider foods be cauliflower and beef liver? 

One day in the midst of our week long do-nothing excursion, I took a break from binging on trail mix and Pringles to head out to the water.   There is a ramp that crosses over the sand dunes connecting the condo to the beach, and most of it is at a gradual incline.  Halfway up the ramp, I passed a little girl, and in this context, I mean little to be young, maybe 8yrs old.  I know you will all welcome her with open arms one day, for she is a WLS patient in the making, her body weight easily double what would be considered healthy for her age.  She was eating a bag of Cheetos, her hands caked in orange dust, and though she walked slowly, she was out of breath from exertion.  Her mouth full of carby goodnesss, she looked over at me as I strolled by, and said with a heavy sigh “this is hard!”

I almost stopped in my tracks.  I looked at her and smiled a genuine smile, or at least that was my intent, for emotion overtook me.  I kept walking, but I thought about that encounter the rest of the trip, and often since.  I knew I would get around to blogging about it eventually. 

See, the thing is, kid…it’s not.  Or, at least, it’s not supposed to be.  At 8yrs old, you aren’t supposed to be gasping for air as you go up a few feet in altitude.  Running, jumping, playing should be instinctual, enjoyable, not a chore.  I wasn’t sure what I felt – anger, sadness, heartache…I just knew it wasn’t good.  And I wasn’t upset with the child, or her parents, or Frito-Lay, or the stupid inclined ramp.  I was saddened that this child would not, for a long time if ever, know what normal is, or what normal is supposed to feel like, and that every event and experience in her life will be masked by this bubble of weight she so struggles to carry. 

I know this, because the child is me.

Notice I said “is”, and not “was”.  In so many ways, I am still that pudgy child, just grown and without the layer of fat anymore that "protected" me. 

But…but…I’m normal now, right?  To the outside world, probably, yes.  I’m guessing strangers see a fairly unassuming dude with a mostly average build.  I stand between 5’10” – 5’11”, and hover between 190-195lbs.  Pretty normal, right?  But what is normal, or rather, what is “your” normal? 

I mentioned in my first post how I’ve been heavy my whole life; certainly during my formative years.  My normal was life as a heavy kid and teen, and I learned at an early age that life wasn’t fair, though I took a lot of ownership for that unfairness.  It was, after all, my “fault”, as I was the one who was different; not “normal.”  I made due with school desks that I squeezed into, often leaving a painful red mark on my swelled belly.  I took ridicule from lots of boys (and a few girls) without retaliating because the few times I did, I was the one who was punished.  I mused that though bullies were allowed to taunt me for being the slowest runner, I wasn’t allowed the same courtesy of pointing and laughing when one of them struggled on a math problem.  And, sure, kids can be cruel - but I also learned that many teachers in a position to do something about the teasing and bullying often turned a blind eye.  For example, It was completely acceptable for kids to peer into the window and snicker at me as I had my shirt off for a body fat screening, while the PE teacher halfheartedly waived them off.

In short, a lot of my experience from being different from the other kids taught me that I was less than, or at least that’s how I interpreted it - and that feeling is still what I fight daily.  I’m normal, but since I’ve never been normal, I have a hard time accepting that I’m normal, or even understanding what normal is supposed to feel like.  The head takes so much more time to catch up than the body, and sometimes I don’t feel as if mine ever will - especially when it comes to something as sensitive as, say, dating and romantic relationships.  That’s a whole blog post by itself, but when you’ve viewed yourself as “less than” and unattractive your whole life, how do you simply turn that off and allow others in??  It’s an area that I actually intend to seek professional counseling for – I may be in my mid-30s, but I might as well be an adolescent again dealing with a lot of experiences for the first time that most go through in middle or high school. 

I suppose this isn’t the most uplifting post before the holidays, but I try to keep it real.  I’ve treated the symptoms of my obesity problem, but I feel like I haven’t done enough to battle the disease itself – the underlying causes.  I am going to try to focus on that this next year.  I wouldn’t change what I’ve done.  But, there is something to be said for the simpler life of yesteryear, where choices were limited, and it was easier to make do; to be at peace with the tiny bubble that was my world.  Easier…but not better.  However, more choices leaves me vulnerable to making bad ones sometimes.  I guess that’s life…that’s normal.

It’s been a whirlwind year.  There’s a lot I still want to write about.  Coming soon:

I go all the way.  

And…

I go under the knife…again.  

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!