For anyone who has ever been on a journey towards a healthier body, we know setbacks, obstacles, and hiccups will always, despite how we wish them away, be a part of the process. My pathway towards surgical intervention, at this point, is now in it’s THIRTEENTH year. (Quick summary – I began the steps towards RnY Gastric Bypass in 2012. Then my dad dropped dead of a heart attack in 2013. I got really depressed and gave up. Seven years later, after having let unresolved PTSD and co-morbidities get the best of me, I restarted. Now, after what seems like a stop, start, stop, start rollercoaster of issues, I’m at the point where surgery is scheduled.) In January, I got the amazing news that April 1st, 2025, would be forever recognized in my head canon as GB Day (gastric bypass.) It really seemed like everything was on the up and up. And honestly? It still might be.
But.
Yes, there’s a goddamned but.
Yesterday, I went to primary care doctor to take care of all of the preoperative visit stuff – labs, physical, medication recommendations, surgical outcomes discussion, and a routine EKG. Everything was going along swimmingly. Until my doc looked at the print of out my EKG and literally went “Uh oh.”
Y’all.
She said, “Uh Oh.” UH-FUCKING-OH. While looking at a print out of what my heart is doing.
Number One – see the part above where my dad dies of a widow maker heart attack in 2013.
Number Two – I am a big, old, medical scaredy cat. The kind of person who has to have her blood pressure taken at the end of the visit because when I get there the cuff reads something insane like 180/110 (which is an ANXIETY LIE.)
YOU DON’T SAY UH OH!
What she saw on my EKG might be nothing. It might be something. And given the history of heart disease running rampant through the paternal side of my family, it’s best I get it checked out before I lay on a table and let my very talented surgeon cut me open, bypass my old stomach with a new tool he’ll build, and change my life for the better. So, it’s off to the cardiologist I go on Thursday with all crossable appendages intersected hoping this isn’t yet another setback in the long, long line. And if it is? Then it is. I take a deep breath, blow it out, and deal with the next set of steps on the journey. But I’d really, dearly love for this to be nothing…
This surgical intervention is a big step for me, and not one I’ve come to lightly. I’ve spent my entire life, from early childhood to now, being in a body on a path to destruction. It has limited me in the things I’ve wanted to do. It has silenced me when I was too immature and self-loathing to speak up on my own behalf. Though this may be hard for some to understand, there is a very large and significant part of me that will mourn the loss of this body. I was not kind to her. I said and thought terrible things about her. I starved her as much as I gorged her. I pushed her well beyond her physical means and injured her trying to look a way that was acceptable. And now? Now that I’ve put in the time and reflection therapy requires to help me achieve honest self-analysis, I’m going to miss her. I’ll always regret not loving her the way she deserved. As I’m about to breathe and take the leap into unchartered territory, I can only dedicate this new sojourn to her. As I move on to a place where I make the second half of my life count in ways the first half tried, I refuse to call it a failure, but a valiant attempt. It’s all a part of the journey with the final destination being happiness in a life well-lived.
So I breathe.
Leap.
Live.
Be mindful of your hearts, loved ones.
I promise I will be, too.
Life of Riley 