Thanks for worrying, you guys, but we are perfectly fine. The county that got hit hard is a few counties over; all we got was some wind – not even very strong wind – and torrential rain. There’s a lot of standing water, more than I’ve seen since we bought the house (granted, it’s only a year and a half, so it’s not like I’m saying “In all the 50 years we’ve lived here, I’ve never seen so much standing water!”). If we still had the pond, it would be filled to overflowing right now. The back forty is about 1/3 flooded, which SOMEONE needs to keep in mind if he plans to fence it in and put animals back there. In fact, I think where the pigs were going to go is the area that’s flooded the worst.
You have to look beyond the chicken coop to see the worst of the standing water. It’s probably easier to see if you look at the larger version at Flickr.
I had an appointment in South Huntsville yesterday morning, and I left here about 45 minutes before my appointment time, FLEW down the interstate to get there, and as a consequence had to cool my heels for 10 minutes. And another 20 in the exam room. Had I brought my book with me? Of course not. It’s a heavy motherfucking book, the new Stephen King, and I didn’t want to have to carry it around with me. So I stared at the walls and got more and more worked up about seeing the doctor.
It was my two year follow up visit with the surgeon who performed my gastric bypass surgery, and I’ve gained some weight, and I just KNEW I was going to catch shit from him for that. I’ve mentioned before, I think, that he does not quite have the warm and cuddly bedside manner, but he’s very good at what he does, so I’m okay with the lack of warmth coming from him.
So I waited, and I fidgeted, and I waited and I got all worked up, and then he opened the door and greeted me, and I stood up and bellowed “YES I GAINED WEIGHT WHAT BUSINESS IS IT OF YOURS I’M HAPPY WITH HOW I FEEL SO GO FUCK YOURSELF!” and stomped out.
Okay, not really.
I was primed to get defensive, though, because the bottom line is that I do feel very comfortable at this weight. 7 1/2 years ago, I wondered if I would ever be completely comfortable in my own skin. I’m not completely there yet, but I’m certainly getting closer, and oddly enough, when I weighed less than I weigh now, I was less comfortable in my own skin than I’ve ever been in my entire life. While I might now weigh what others weigh when they hit their “OH MY GOD!” wall and go on a diet to lose weight, this weight, to me, is comfortable. I can live here.
While I waited for the doctor to come in, I was all annoyed with myself, thinking just what are you under the impression he’s going to do, point his finger at you and call you a fatty? and what’s he going to do, take your birthday away? and jesus christ, would you calm the fuck DOWN? and but what if he refuses to clear me for plastic surgery?! I was so filled with anxiety that when he walked into the room and shook my hand, I started sweating profusely.
I am 40 years old, and I started SWEATING because I was SO WORRIED that the doctor would YELL AT ME about gaining weight ON MY OWN BODY.
I think I need therapy.
There was no yelling. He handed me a printed time line that showed my BMI over the past two years (I started out with a BMI of 52.1!). He mentioned that I’d gained a little weight, and then he reminded me that I was having liver issues at the time I hit my lowest weight, issues that included the most lovely chronic diarrhea, and as soon as my liver got straightened out and the diarrhea went away (you weren’t eating, I hope) it was not unusual that I would gain some weight.
He told me that he’d like to see my BMI stay under 30 (it’s 27.5), he was glad to hear that I feel so good. He told me to make an appointment with the nutritionist (it’s a yearly thing, seeing the nutritionist). The nutritionist’s office has a new toy, a body composition test that measures all kinds of neat information, most interestingly your lean body mass. I’ll have that done twice before my three-year followup visit with the surgeon, and I think it’ll be kind of interesting to see.
Then he asked if I was considering plastic surgery (lost opportunity to make him uncomfortable by looking insulted and saying “Are you saying I’m FLABBY?!”, damnit) and I said I was, and he said that if I wanted, they could refer me.
So I have a consultation with a plastic surgeon I’ve heard VERY good things about from other weight loss surgery patients at the end of the month, and then an appointment with the nutritionist in March, and my three-year follow up visit with the surgeon next February.
And now I’m all set and can take a deep breath and stop freaking out about the possibility of being scolded like a little girl for gaining weight. I’ve had quite enough of that in my life, thank you.
By the way, despite the fact that I was super stressed about the doctor visit, my blood pressure was 115/80, which is actually higher than it’s been lately. I wonder what it would have been if I hadn’t been stressed?
My surgeon now does lap band surgery. Back when I was first pursuing weight loss surgery, no one in this area did lap band surgery; you had to go to Nashville or Birmingham to find a surgeon to do it. Things have changed in the past few years, obviously. The surgeon smiled and said that he’s a “full-service bariatric surgeon, now!”
We also talked about the recent study that states A body mass index of 25 to 30, the so-called overweight range, “may be optimal,”, which is what he brought up when he mentioned he’d like to see my BMI stay below 30.
BIG SIGH OF RELIEF that that’s over!
For the past two days, we’ve gotten four eggs from the girlz (actually, now that I think about it, we got FIVE yesterday!). This is Big News, because for what seems to be a LONG damn time, we’ve only been getting two or three from them. We don’t know if the lack of laying is from them molting or from adding a rooster to the flock or the short days, but in any case hopefully they’re starting up again. I had to buy two dozen eggs from the grocery store in the last month, and they just do NOT compare to the stuff we can get from our own back yard when the girlz are feeling up to it.
It got well up into the 70s yesterday, and the girlz rejoiced by taking dust baths while McLovin kept an eye on them.
Joe Bob cannot decide whether I’m worthy of love or his worst nightmare. Sometimes he sits and gives me the Love Eyes.
And after he gives me the Love Eyes, he rolls around and flirts with me ’til I rub his belly. Other times, for no reason I can discern, he decides I’m the devil and he runs like hell from me. I have no idea what his issues are, I’m just glad we have another neurotic cat; Miss Stank needs the company.
Previously
2007: (DON’T JUDGE ME)
2006: I’ve been watching a lot of TV lately.
2005: No entry.
2004: And then Fictional Woman and Fictional Child share an Isn’t he DISGUSTING? look, and bid each other goodnight.
2003: Taking a nap looks like a good idea.
2002: I decide who’s King Shit of Turd Mountain, y’all, and don’t forget it.
2001: Everyone enjoys a good fart story!
2000: No entry.