I woke up and weighed myself at 212.4 pounds. I had lost a few from two days of water and protein shakes. I was actually happy that I didn't have to worry about drinking for the day. IV fluids would take care of that and I'd get a break from the dreaded protein shake. I'm 5'3" and according to the BMI chart I will need to weigh 135 to not be considered "overweight". So although this isn't one of my worst photos, I am still 78 pounds overweight in this picture. Seventy eight extra pounds on my knees and back. I think about how hard it would be to pick up something that weighs 78 pounds and walk up the stairs with, but that is what I was doing to my body every, single day.
I go to the hospital, which ironically is the hospital and department where I work and everyone greeted me with "Congratulations" and hugs. This was the first time I began to feel nervous. Not about my the surgery or the outcome, just the fact that I was no longer going to be able to eat a big, plate of pasta the rest of my life...or several scoops of raw cookie dough. Why was this so upsetting to me? What was I really giving up? I was trading in large portions, acid reflux and knee pain for a brand, new lease on life.
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