Undercover Fat Kid

When dramatic weight loss feels like a deep cover mission in the name of fat kids everywhere.

[undercoverfatkid]

HW vs. CW

[undercoverfatkid]

Problems You Want to Have

1. Underpants too big to stay put

2. Glasses falling off your face cause even that has gotten smaller

3. Rings need to be worn on different fingers

4. Cold all the time

5. Get full from about 4 ounces of anything

6. Get drunk fast; sober up even faster

7. Wide calf boots are baggy

8. Old flats are too stretched out to stay on feet

9. Hormonal mood swings from fat breaking down

10. Funky AF BO from ketosis 

[undercoverfatkid]

I Didn’t Die

My last post was 2 days pre-op and I swear, I didn’t die on the table. Not only did I not die (and believe me, I was pretty sure I was going to be that freak 1%), today I feel like the clock has been turned back a good 10 years. My right knee is back to normal. My left knee is a normal level of sore but fuck it, it works!

A year ago this month my husband and I went to Mount Sinai for our first informational meeting. It was large and impersonal. The lecture hall style room was filled with people objectively less fat than either of us. We went. We listened. We read the slides. We suffered through those objectively less fat people asking objectively stupid questions. We huddled together like bad students flirting through Algebra. When it was over, we all filed out, pamphlets in hand. A woman overheard us chattering about whatever concerns the whole thing had brought to mind. She craned her neck our way as she moved through the lobby, “You’re gonna do great. I had the surgery about a year ago. You won’t regret it.” 

Sometimes New Yorkers come through. 

Seven months ago I let a strange (though highly trained) man cut out most of my stomach. Contrary to others’ experiences, the hours and days that followed were filled with excruciating pain. I couldn’t wear a regular bra for over 3 weeks; the underwire sat against my highest suture & the pressure of the band was too much. The first few weeks were full of raging hormones releasing from fat stores, abdominal pain, gas, and regret. I would have killed a man for a burger - not because I was hungry, I wasn’t, but because I missed the physical act of eating. On multiple occasions I was startled awake during the night because I’d punched myself in the mouth. Dreaming about eating bread. Oprah ain’t got nothin’ on me. 

About three months post-op it stopped hurting to drink water! I could even take an almost-gulp! It may not seem like much, but if I’ve learned anything from this process it’s to appreciate the small victories: sleeping on your side or stomach again, eating a food (tiny though it may be), walking without getting dizzy. The morsels of progress where what kept me going in the beginning. Even with my pain levels. Yes, I felt like I needed to be taken out back and put down for about 3 weeks, but every day I did feel incrementally better. The increments were minuscule, but it was enough. It was progress. 

So here I am, month seven post-op. At my highest weight I was 302. Today I’m 210. 8 pounds shy of having lost 100 pounds. 11 pounds shy of “one-derland.” All my clothes are too big. Even my underwear. Even my glasses. My 3X winter coat, which I refuse to give up or replace until next year cause also I’M SO COLD ALL THE TIME NOW, fits me like I’m burrito-ed in a down comforter. I’m in size 16 jeans for the first time since the 90′s. How nuts is that? And my feet? My feet have permanently de-hobbited! All this to say, it’s worth it. It’s so worth it. All the pain. All the tears. All the feels. Tiny meals. Skipping alcohol. Taking vitamins. I’m back at the gym & walking my dog. I’m sitting in booths & movie theater seats. I’m back to cursing the subway everyday cause it smells and is late and crowded but goddamnit I’m on it regardless of stairs or long connections. I’m just living my life. 

Talk about “non scale victories.”

[undercoverfatkid]

TMI

I’m on the clear liquid only days as of today. They said to drink G2 gatorade. I chose blue. The result? Just pooped neon green, like a champ. 

Easing into the gross parts of this process over here. 

[undercoverfatkid]

GChats with My Husband

[undercoverfatkid]

Fat Things I Won’t Miss

1. Sore knees (only partially a Fat Thing)

2. Sore body

3. Swollen Hobbit feet

4. Surprise Resting Double Chin (where’d that come from?!)

5. Well-meaning people assuming I’m fucking pregnant

6. Unswollen Hobbit feet. They’re basically terrible in all states of water retention and I miss when they used to be cute feet. 

7. Cankles, though if memory serves, I had those when I was thinner too so... fingers crossed!

8. Chub rub. 

9. Being hot all the time, all year long

10. People being rude to me because they think it’s okay to be rude to fat people

11. Thin people cramming into a seat between me and another person, disregarding the space I need & the fact that, yes, sometimes even thin people don’t “fit”

12. Clothes shopping in the sad, no-music-having, heat-blasting floor of Macy’s or otherwise exclusively online, rolling the dice on how things might fit

13. Settling for cheap versions of fashion I want, sacrificing quality for a still ill-fitting facsimile. 

14. Getting winded from not much effort

15. Having to move my boob out of the way with one hand so I can strategically manage my diva cup. Though they’ve always been big and in the way. 

[undercoverfatkid]

Fat Thing’s I’ll Miss

1. Looking 5-10 years younger than my actual age

2. No real wrinkles to speak of (see #1)

3. Making a pencil skirt Do Work

4. Soft, full curves

5. Taking up space

6. Using my size, though I’m short, to intimidate or command respect

7. Being warm on a cold day

8. Using my fatness to show other fat people what’s possible - be in this yoga class, wear a bikini, laugh loud, challenge bullshit - you don’t have to disappear to please those who want you to

9. Making close-minded people uncomfortable (see #’s 5, 6, 9)

10. Milkshakes. It’s cliche. I don’t fucking care. I don’t have much of a sweet tooth and I’m not a dessert freak, but I love a real, thick, plain old vanilla milkshake with real whipped cream on top. That’s probably gonna be too rich for me after this. 

[undercoverfatkid]

'Glow' Star Betty Gilpin: What It's Like To Have Pea-Sized Confidence With Watermelon-Sized Boobs

"I won’t name names, but sometimes a TV set can be a shame-and-fear obstacle course for an actress."

[undercoverfatkid]

The Final Countdown

Surgery is at the end of next week. I’m in the window for the phase 1 diet. Lucky for me, I’ve been doing that diet for 4 months. This means I’ve done a lot of work toward reducing the fat around my liver so it will be easier for some dude I’ve only really met once to go in, lift it, and make off with most of my stomach. It also means I don’t feel conflicted fitting in a few “lasts” or “lasts for a while.” Eventually I’ll be able to eat tiny portions of “normal” food, but things like beer may very well be off the menu thanks to bubbles and the discomfort they’ll bring. 

I like beer. I like beer at a baseball game, preferably with a hot dog that I immediately regret every time. If beer turns against me and my newly tiny stomach, I’ll miss it most at ballparks. Who knows, I may still get one at a game just to have the taste in my mouth. If it gets flat enough, maybe I can even sip it. Dream big, right? 

So this week I’ll have a little beer. I’ll eat a steak at Delmonico’s all by myself, for potentially the last time. I’ll drink cold brew through straws. I’ll gulp cold water by the mouthful. Fast. 

I’ll also drink my protein (aka Slop) and avoid carbs like a good patient. But mostly, the water thing. 

[undercoverfatkid]

Last Actively Fat Week

This is the last full week my stomach will be this size. Internally at least, the external following suit in the weeks and months ahead. 

Last night, waiting to fall asleep, I was more aware of my body than I’d been in a while. I tried to relax. I held my stomach in the palms of my hands. I felt my hips, my dense upper arms. I held my stomach and I felt grateful for it. I tried to remember what it felt like when it was smaller because it was smaller once. But I couldn’t. I could only remember the empty spaces, how I used to lay on my side and with my arm resting along my ribs. It would bend at the elbow and hang straight down, my palm pressed flat against the mattress. I had to move it in, closer to me, to feel my stomach, to the the soft but apparently flat plain. I remember the empty space where my arm fell. It never felt big enough. The space my stomach filled as I cradled it last night, palms against soft skin instead of sheets. 

Fat girls aren’t supposed to know they’re beautiful. 

[undercoverfatkid]

Opinion |

It’s not always comfortable to be the one who speaks up.

[undercoverfatkid]

Hoops

The insurance company denied my surgery. 

I went in yesterday for my last pre-op class and anesthesiologist consult. As far as I knew, everything had been moving forward smoothly. I met all my requirements. I went to all the appointments. I shelled out all the money on copays and fees for things insurance required but would not cover. I lost 30 pounds. I’ve been a gold star student of all things bariatric. 

So imagine my surprise when our nurse practitioner told me, don’t worry, I’d finally been approved as of Wednesday. This Wednesday. That insurance had denied coverage, but my doctors pushed back and got my surgery approved. I was relieved when she told me, because it’s a green light. It’s what we’ve been working toward. Then I had time to think about it and by 6pm I was livid. 

Insurance companies don’t want to pay out for bariatric surgery. A potentially life saving, quality of life improving surgery is too expensive in their eyes. They would rather roll the dice and ultimately be on the hook for medical equipment, knee replacement surgery, blood pressure meds, potential future diabetes and all associated risks and costs, additional physical therapy and injections for my knees - they would rather I be a hobbled, pain-riddled, EXPENSIVE mess than pay out for one surgery that diverts most if not all these issues. 

It is infuriating. 

But I’m one of the lucky ones. The hospital fought for my approval. I have my date. Full speed ahead. Back to being terrified about what I’ve signed up for, trying to stay focused on the longterm benefits I know outweigh my doubts. 

Right?

[undercoverfatkid]

The Defattening

We’re trying to document all this. It’s hard to find the motivation when so much attention is spent on the endless doctor’s appointments, insurance hoop jumping, and subsequent Feelings. It’s hard to rally and sit down and write or film or record. 

Last night we recorded 2 episodes of what will be our podcast. It feels good to get something in the can and honestly, it was easier going once we got started. I tell him it’s easy for him cause he’s a natural performer. He likes being the center of attention. He likes entertaining people. I’m a writer. I make things alone in a room somewhere in hopes that maybe it turns into something palatable to others. Consumption is the goal for us both, but his way is more immediate - comedy, acting, etc. Mine is a long con. I’m not used to winging it. Even now, I worry about what topics we covered. Did I use the right words? Did I represent well? Did I express my thoughts clearly?

Of course, we live in the troll age. I could script the whole project, pour over the audio files, edit the shit out of them. There’d still be something for a troll to glom on to. So for me, this is an exercise in letting go, of ceding control, of trying a new way. Documenting the surgery becomes a metaphor for the surgery. 

So we’ll record. We’ll film. I’ll write. It’s part therapy for us, part roadmap for others like us, part reference for people nothing like us who are just curious. Hopefully the result is a more complete and human look at fatness, something beyond the standard sideshow treatment. Hopefully. 

[undercoverfatkid]

This process, this decision, is so much harder than I thought possible. I feel like a traitor for wanting to be thin(ner). I worry about who I am without my fat. I like that I take up space. Even if it is still disrespected and infringed upon daily. I like that people have to deal with me, have to see me. When confronted with people who hate fat, I relish their discomfort. It gives me strength enough to almost make the damage they cause me worth it. Almost. 

I used to want to be invisible. Part of me thought fat could accomplish that, counterintuitive as it may be. To a certain extent, it worked. The bigger I got, the more invisible I became to men in general. Don’t get me wrong, street harassment never ends. Awful men will always be awful because that kind of harassment isn’t actually about me, or any woman; it’s about power and entitlement. It has less in common with attraction and more in common with violence and no woman is exempt. My fat hasn’t insulated me from that. Instead, it robbed me of my sexuality in the eyes of some--which isn’t all bad. This is one of the things I fear the return of. The idea of suddenly being deemed desirable by men beyond the ever present pool of catcallers and scumbags infuriates me. I’m bracing myself for it, the return to knowing I’ve been judged and deemed fuckable or datable or spankbankable by more troglodytes I want nothing to do with. It’s a dynamic I’ve always found ways to opt out of and I know that without my shining armor of fat, I’m vulnerable. When I was young, I could discourage a lot of it with tattoos, piercings, being a weird art kid, being smarter and more confrontational than them. I scared away a lot of douchebags. The bitch of it is, all the things that were off-putting in the 90′s are hip and twee now. Also infuriating. 

[robdelaney]

USA • CATASTROPHE season 3 • APRIL 28th

[undercoverfatkid]

“Why are you wearing no trousers?”

“Because on top of everything else I’m fat now and they hurt, so when I got home I threw them away.”

[kaleighfratkins]

used to be I hated my body cause I thought it looked ugly, now I hate my body cause it’s the functional equivalent of a 1998 Honda Civic with 200,000 miles, questionable brakes, temperamental AC/heating, and terrible gas mileage that’s liable to break down at any moment in the middle of the fucking road. and the seats aren’t even comfy  

[undercoverfatkid]

So this time next year you’ll be wearing tiny pants & drinking scotch.

My friend after asking if I’ll still be able to drink & me saying beer might be too gassy