Pill Hill

Floor up. Check in. Good morning. You are special. Not.

Disrobe. Gown.

I.V.

Pee.

Pill.

Artist and protégé check in. Ready.

Bed-sail to the theatre. Sterile. Cold.

Masked players nod.

Upside down head lowers mask.

Breath.

Nothing.

Just a little death.

“Princess Bites”

Daily Prompt:  Hesitate

Small forks given to me by a loved one. A size comparison.
Small forks given to me by a loved one. A size comparison.

In a week’s time I won’t be able to take a regular swig of drink. Or eat a regular fork full of food. Soon comes the time for hesitation.  Sips only at first, followed by “Princess Bites”.

Bariatric surgery requires healing of the altered gut.  Inflammation and tissue reduction dictate the gentlest of consumption in the recovery stages.

My “Princess Bites” have been practiced and largely abandoned.  My mind and mouth quickly forget. In a moment I slide back into gulp and chomp. There is no pain, nausea or toss-up to remind me.  Not yet anyway.  It is fast approaching.

It will be interesting having to respect food and drink consumption in a radical way.

Raising my imaginary glass to new beginnings…Skoal!

Food: The Long Goodbye

A year ago I entered a bariatric program and now my surgery is 2 weeks away. They didn’t ask much of me:  lose 15 lbs and exercise. But my hips were my obstacles and were replaced with friendlier parts in July and November. I now walk on two legs, not four, or even three. I use my treadmill and recumbent bike, often smiling as I do. I remember the pain, the dysfunction. God, this is victory! What remains of healing I can live with!

Enter food nostalgia. I heard the term, “The Long Goodbye”. The temptation to eat your way up to surgery by having all the foods you love. I’ve been battling this urge. I lose sometimes, but not most of the time.  Key to my progress is staying out of my self-sabotage tool chest for permission to indulge at will. That’s what all of this is about. Calling out self-sabotage.  Seeing it for what it really is.  Wanting better for myself. And forgiving myself when I fall.  Sounds simple enough but this is a common struggle among the obese.

Bariatric-speak words “journey” and “tool” pepper my landscape. Appointments. Study. Tiny changes here, there. Online support groups. Podcasts. All of it converges to the present. My surgery is scheduled. It won’t be long now. Going from a whole stomach to a part of a stomach. The drama. This stuff is life changing. I cling to the idea that the changes will be good.

And food will be back.  We will have an awkward relationship at first. We cannot, however, be our former selves. We must court a while before we remarry. No sense kicking food to the curb only to pick up where we left off. Food and I must treat each other better the second time around.