The new dirty word: F*A*T

Hello Blogland!!!  I accidentally deleted my pix of what I wore Thursday so this is a picture free post.

Instead we’re gonna be chatting about fat today. FAT. F….A…T, and I’m not talking about Crisco or the lard you cook up your chicken in.

I’m talking about the stuff that is rolling around my middle. The blubber, the love handles, the flab.

I never was a stick-figure thin kinda gal. That really went out the window when the boobage arrived in middle school.  I had no waist definition, no hips, no butt or thighs. I was built straight up and down but sturdy if you know what I mean. Not a twig. I definitely made up for that in the chest area. Weighed all of 121-125 lbs in high school and college. Wore a size 7-9 juniors bottom and an XL top.

And I thought I was FAT. LOLOL- if I could be that “fat” today!! Seriously–I honestly thought I was a blimp and so began my decades long “battle” of the bulge and dieting.

I lived off of Tab (remember that stuff?) lettuce and dry toast. I was super active physically. And I STILL never got below 120 lbs. I often wished I could get temporary anorexia so I could lose more. Oh, come ON! How many of us haven’t secretly wished that?? Now bulimia was never an option because let’s face it..puking?? Don’t think so.

I just didn’t measure up to the images of women I was seeing on the TV, in movies and in magazines.  THEY were all tall, slim and elegant. I was short, busty, and klutzy. The clothes didn’t fit right, my hair wouldn’t lay right. I didn’t have flawless dewy skin, mile long eyelashes and pouty lips. I felt like a troll. If only I could get my weight to 105 lbs everything would magically fall into place.

105 lbs. A height/weight chart out at the time said that was the perfect weight for me. Yeah right. Maybe if I amputated an appendage. There was no way that could happen. I was starving to maintain 120.

Let me get on my giant soapbox full-o-cheese to go with this whine for a moment…..

Fast forward a few years. I’ve been through several kinds of fertility treatments which played HAVOC on my metabolism. 120 lbs is a distant memory. I’ve become diabetic.  Add to that the FUN of Fibromyalgia. One medicine for Fibro, Lyrica, caused me to gain like 40 lbs in 6 weeks. And then the doctor, who prescribed the Lyrica, chewed me out for gaining weight. DUH!!! It says in the literature for the medicine that one of the side effects is weight gain. Suh-prize, suh-prize. Needless to say, I no longer take it.

Worse part of Fibro, at least for me, is that it’s made me pretty sedentary. Some days getting a shower pretty much wipes me out. Fibro messes up your body/mind so the nifty feeling you get when you exercise-the rush of feel-good endorphins-does not occur. What you get is lotsa pain. Sucks to say the least. It pretty much cuts exercise as a weight loss tool out of the picture.

Hopping off the soapbox….

I’ve been on Weight Watchers, Atkins, diet shakes, diet cookies, diet pills, no-carb, all-carb, no-fat, low-fat, grapefruit, cabbage, Beverly Hills, South Beach, you name it. I’ll lose MAYBE 10 lbs and then it just stops. Frustration!!

And of course, now that I am menopausal it just added to the festivities. It’s just harder for women to lose weight as compared to men. We’ve been “blessed” with a trigger in our brain that turns on when there is a lack of food. It’s there to help us during times of famine as we are the ones who have the babies and nurse them.  So why is it when you are menopausal and the baby days are LONG gone that this famine trigger doesn’t shut off??? Come on now–I don’t need to be storing fat to sustain anything these days.

I decided maybe I needed something more. I checked out different weight loss surgeries and decided that getting a lap-band would be the trick. That’s the one where they put this band around your stomach to make it smaller. Not very invasive surgery-wise.

I make an appointment at the local Bariatric center for a consultation. I figure I’m a shoe-in for it.  I’m fat, motivated and have a co-morbidity issue of diabetes. They take my stats, my history, my height and weigh me.  I wait for the doctor, planning in my head how great it’s gonna be to be thin(ner) again.

The doctor comes in looking at my chart and sits down behind the desk. He then very nicely tells me that I do not qualify for the surgery.

SAY WHAT???? I’ve got good insurance. I’m motivated. I’m not a whack-job nutcase with issues. I’m FAT. And you tell me I don’t qualify??

That’s correct, Mrs. Wolfe. You aren’t fat enough for this surgery.

Whoa, Whoa, Whoa, back up there a minute. I’m not FAT ENOUGH?? Can’t you SEE the blubber?? I’m not FAT ENOUGH??? I KNOW what the number is on the scales. I have to shop in the big-girl store. I see what jiggles and rolls. And you’re telling me I’m not fat enough?? What alternative universe is this??

It seems that the requirement to have this surgery is having a BMI (body mass index) of over 40. This magic number is the result of some math involving your weight and height. The number 40 is considered morbidly obese. They will allow the surgery if your BMI is 35 and you have a co-morbidity such as diabetes.

Evidently I failed on both counts. My BMI wasn’t even 35. The doctor said I’d have to gain maybe 20-30 pounds to make the minimum of 35 to have the surgery.  Add in the fact I’d be on a supervised diet prior to the surgery so I’d really need to gain maybe 50 lbs to make the “cut”.

Don’t let me kid you that I did not consider gaining the weight for a fleeting moment. I briefly calculated how many Krispy Kremes and Big Mac’s that might take!

And then reality set in. I said “So, according to you, a medical professional, I’m not fat enough?”

Nice doctor says “That’s correct. Your weight is all in one place (my tummy) as opposed to being distributed all over, which makes you appear to be heavier than you actually are. You are not a candidate for weight-loss surgery.”

There you have it. According to MEDICAL PROFESSIONALS, I’m not FAT ENOUGH!!!

I am so gonna have that put on a t-shirt. Bite that skinny girl!!




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