Angry Monkey

Man, I am mad today.

I scared my poor friend Lauren to death this morning. We were chatting, and I was telling her that I was SURE that I had done something to negate my entire surgery. I've been watching the scale for 10 DAYS with no change. Not an ounce of change.

None. Nada. Zero.

Nobody stalls out this early. 3 months down the line, maybe 6, you see a slowdown, but most of the people that I have encountered or read about or followed online have steady progress for at LEAST the first two months.

And here I am, dead in the water after 3 measly weeks.

I told Lauren that I am nearly convinced that I will be the one person that this won't work for, that somehow my body has already morphed and adapted to the tiny pouch, and will be able to maintain status quo with the reduced rations.

That I allowed my insides to be Ginsu-ed for a meager 29 pound loss. That I could count 5 abdominal scars and a small weight loss as my consolation for a lifetime of eating food out of ramikens, food the consistency of Teletubby Custard for the rest of my life.

I went on to say that I envisioned that my body will continue to spite me, growing bigger despite my (and modern medicine's) best efforts. That I will be one of those unfortunates that has to have a wall removed from my home to accomodate a trip to the emergency room one day, hauled out by a forklift. Maybe Discovery will do a show on me, and people will gasp when they hear that I actually had gastric bypass in 2008.

Yeah, it's been a rough week.

I am so damn tired. I don't feel well. I still don't feel like I am recovered. Maybe a month is too soon to feel well, but it feels like the world expects me to be healed and over it, already. Next crisis, please. But I'm NOT ready, and I'm NOT able to get over it.

I'm trying. I'm eating the goop. I'm trying to stay active. I'm too tired to walk for a half hour a day. I'm supposed to, but I'm too busy ignoring my side pain and staying in an upright position to strap on my shoes and go for a daily constitutional. 5, 10 minutes, and I am done. I sat outside at our yardsale on Saturday for a few hours, and I had to take a 2 hour nap to recover. When you need a nap to rest from SITTING, you got issues, sister.

Issues that starts with I that rhymes with Pie that spells "you'll never have that again, lardass"

Check back with me tomorrow. I have this wierd laughing and crying thing happening, which I hope will go away before I begin to scare the children.

I'm sore, and I'm upset and I'm scared that this isn't going to get me where I need to be.