I courageously made the appointment for my initial visit with the surgeon. I practically threw up. But I did it, and so April 2 will see me starting Easter weekend asking for a new lease on life.
I hope the doctor sees me as a challenge to his art. I hope he sees the petite bodybuilder inside this fat lymphedematic (did I just make up a word?) suit. I need him to know that I’m a can-do spirit momentarily trapped inside a cannot-git-‘er-done body.
Only once before had I seen myself as an athlete, and then only for a night. When I began working out and I saw the changes that were being made to my physical self – changes that I was making – I was stunned and amazed. I had an inner athlete!! Who ever would have guessed?
I was a gym rat, before I injured myself. I would lift weights and compliment myself on the muscles that were becoming visible – to others, as well as to me!! I lost 60 pounds. I repeat, I lost 60 pounds. Which found me again, once I became uber-sedentary.
My teapot of self had to be emptied in order to be mended. Once repaired, it will need to be refilled with ME. After an almost 28 year hiatus, I am back.