Ah yes, the truth comes out; comparing my weight loss to Mother’s success, Russ said that I wasn’t even trying.  I asked, “What do you think I’ve been doing for these past few months and checking out my revision options.”  He said that didn’t count and that I was just looking for a magic wand.

Oh, I see. 

He then goes on about gal we meet who had a hernia problem after my first month appointment where I lost an astonishing 14 pounds, and that I just need to work on it like she did.  Well if he’d been paying attention:  The past few months I was actually losing weight I rarely ate and when I did, I threw it up, however I did have the courtesy to turn on the fan and sink so’s ya wouldn’t have to hear me hacking up in the bathroom all the time.

This type of opinion is fine coming from a stranger but someone you love is really a low blow.

My Upper GI is completed; faxed the results to the surgeon; blah, blah, blah.  

Ya know, no matter how many times people tell you that you’re not the one to blame, it never really quite penetrates.  And to be quite honest, I’m a lil cranky over the fact that people don’t seem terribly concerned.  

ME:  Ummm, yeah, hi.  It turns out that having a full fledged revision is a helluva lot more dangerous than your first go around at surgery.  So instead of slapping your knee and telling me good luck could you at least pretend to look a lil worried?

I want some official documents printed up about how I don’t wanna hang out as a vegetable; don’t resuscitate me if certain things go awry; don’t sue if anything goes wrong, and there’s something else but I can’t remember it now.  When I say “certain things” I’m referring to the very rare complications where folks end up inna wheelchair and the like.  Yes yes, handicapped folk can still excel, enjoy life and show off on 20/20.  That’s great, but I’ve been fat all my life and I don’t wanna be tossed another debilitating obstacle.

As the Bible says: Screw that! – Homer Simpson

I’m cranky and wish the following folks would just fall off the planet.  I’m tired of the folks who say, “Well I’m not a doctor but in my opinion…”  If this is how your sentence begins then it’s a good idea to stop right there before you embarrass yourself further.  Or how bout the folks who literally breezed through this surgery and now believe themselves to be floating onna higher plane of wisdom?

PERSON WHO BARELY HAD A BMI OF 40 AND LOST ALL THEIR WEIGHT IN THE FIRST FIVE MINUTES:  I know all!

ME:  Shut-the-fuck-up.

Everyone is different.  Your expertise only lies in yourself.  Please stop talking.

Oh and seriously:  Like a Suburban black man in the South or (ironically enough) the fat kid in junior high; everyone prefers to keep a minimum of at least five feet from the gastric bypass failure at all times – for fear of it being contagious.  

Ya know what’ll cheer me up?  A poinsettia (the drink; not the plant) and watching Paris Hilton die.  

Speaking of poinsettias:  Our nice neighbors brought us one, however it’s currently perched atop the highest shelf as Mr. Patches is one curious lil boy and them be poisonous plants.  This cat gives cat burglar a whole new meaning.  He can pry open any door; he’s like a master locksmith.

Oh and I gotta tell this:  We have one those automated litter boxes.  He was using it and I thought everything was fine until one day he heard it going off.  Of course he had to run in there to see what all the ruckus was about and I thought, “Oh shit, he’ll never get near that box again now.”  He spent a great deal of time checking the box out; walked all around its perimeter and even waved his paw to see if he could get it to move again.  Turns out he isn’t scared; on the contrary he finds this device completely fascinating.  No matter what part of the house he’s in, when that litter box goes off he comes tearing into the room just to watch.  He’ll even run in here when the fax machine is going off because he thinks it’s the box.  He’s gone from scared lil boy under the bed to mildly spooky and yet well adjusted cat inna a matter of three weeks.