Where It All Began

My entire life, I have been morbidly obese.  Ever since I was a child, I have been teased and ridiculed because of my size.  Everyone can tell me all they want to "You have a beautiful face" or "But your personality shines above everything and that's what we like about you." But in the end, being as big as I am, is just plain not healthy.  And starting today, I'm going to change that.

 On Monday, April 2^nd, 2012, I went to UNC Hospital to schedule my Roux En Y Gastric Bypass surgery.  I have never had to stay at a hospital, other than to visit other people, let alone have surgery.  I am utterly terrified as I park my car half a mile away from the building in the parking deck.  This hospital is huge.  Am I sure I know where to go?  It includes several different buildings, and is actually a couple of different hospitals in one place.  There's a Women's Hospital, a Cancer Center, a Dental School, and then the main hospital.  The main hospital is where I have to go.  As I step into an elevator, a woman and her two children come in with me.  One of them is in a wheelchair, and is obviously mentally impaired to some degree.  I can feel the lump in my throat grow as I hear the woman comforting her challenged son, and scold the other for taking too long.  A hospital is where someone goes when they are sick, and I am not sick.  I have to keep telling myself that I am sick; That there is something wrong with me.  What’s wrong with me, is that I cannot ride the rides at the fair because I am too big.  The seat belts won't go around me.  I cannot travel on an airplane, because I would make other people too uncomfortable, and would have to purchase two seats, and on my meager earnings, that is impossible.  I can't go to a restaurant without wondering if everyone is talking about me, making fun of me.  I can't buy clothes unless they're from a specialty store or an online catalogue. 

Finally I get signed into the hospital and get directed to the place where I have to go.  Upstairs to the GI Clinic.  Everyone there is very polite and friendly to me, telling me where to go and what paperwork I have to fill out.  I don't expect anything less from UNC.  My ex boyfriend, Brandon, works at UNC, and I can't help but wonder if at some point I will run into him, but I know I won't.  Brandon had been sick for a little more than four months by the time I realized that things were not going to get any better.  On top of his constant problems, Brandon had a very bad addiction to alcohol.  He was a great friend to me, but as a boyfriend, not so much. 

But anyways, back to the waiting room.  On the TV is Doctor Oz, and I have missed what the topic of this show is about, but there is an overweight woman who is on the TV about to partake some type of journey.  I can compare to the woman, I am about to partake in my own journey.  Finally a small woman calls my name, and I hurry over to her, stuffing my cell phone into my pocket book.  I eyeball the woman as we walk.  I have always envied small people.  Those who have never had a problem trying to have children, or have never had to sit out of a play because the costumes won't fit.  We go through the usual routine at a doctors office, vital signs, height, and then the time comes for me to step on the scale.  How much is it this time?  Looking at the numbers on a scale is still kind of new to me.  Whenever I went to the doctors, I would not look at the scale, for over 10 years I did this. The numbers come up, 349.2 1bs.  Wow!  That's eight pounds less than the last time I checked, which was over a month ago. 

Past this part, I get directed into a triage room, and I wait.  I nervously play with my cell phone.  What are they doing?  What is taking so long?  In my mind I've been sitting in this room, staring at a sign that has everything translated into Spanish, showing different GI diseases, for eternity.  Finally two men enter the room. One is an older Caucasian gentleman with brown hair that is streaked with gray hair.  He looks distinguished and intelligent.  He is obviously the man that is going to be wrist deep in my insides.  The other is a younger man, Indian, and looks to be a resident.  We are introduced, and indeed the older man is Dr. Rowell, the man performing my surgery.  He is well versed in what he tells me, and has been doing what he does for about 12 years.  Go you Mr. Smartypants.  He tells me about all of the things that could go wrong, but he says "But you're 22, you're young and healthy, and you should be fine." Were I healthy, Doc, I wouldn't be in the hospital in the first place.  But I nod and agree with him, and smile through my fear.  The Resident nods and pretends to be paying attention to what Dr. Rowell is saying, but I can see him playing with his fancy little smart phone sitting on top of his clipboard, like it's incognito.  I'm glad that he's not going to be my doctor.

Finally the time has come.  He loses his professionalism for a moment when he whips out his phone and says "So, when do you wanna do this?  I had a cancellation this Thursday, wanna do it then?" 
"No!  Too soon!"  I think he notices the panic in my voice, because he laughs a little.  This Thursday?  Has he lost his mind?  There was no way I could have been mentally prepared to take that on so soon.  We agree upon a date, and that is later this month, on April 25^th.  I add it to my calendar, and he begins to prattle on about all of the things I need to do before I come in for the surgery.  I nod along and store everything he tells me into my head for later use.  After he leaves, a little woman comes into the room, bubbly and full of life.  Her name is Lisa.

Lisa is a very small woman, blond, older, but bursting to the brim of positive energy.  Again, small equates to insta-hate for me.  I need to learn to not do that anymore.  Pretty soon, I am going to be one of those smaller people that bigger people hate.  And I need to get over myself.  Lisa gives me her card and tells me that she's there if I need her, and to call her for whatever I need.  Quickly it's put away and forgotten.  I see a few more people, the anesthesiologist, who measures my neck and looks down my throat, and a couple of pre-care people who give me soap and tell me how to bathe, like I need to know. 

Finally I am free of that place.  I hurry outside so I can call my parents.  I want them to know first.  I call my Dad since I had been texting my mom throughout the entire appointment, whenever there was a lapse in doctors, I would let her know what the deal is.  My father is excited for me.  For once in my life, my Dad is proud for something I'm doing.  He has hounded me during my entire existence to lose some weight, even though he is a very heavy man.  Every time I would talk to him on the phone, at some point, he would say "You know you would look so much prettier if you lost some weight.  You wouldn't have to worry about being with a guy because all of them would want you." My Dad and my twin brother, Jordan, seem to have the same philosophy.  I wanted to learn guitar, so Jordan would tell me "I'll teach you to play the guitar if you lose some weight."  Well, in your face brother, get ready to teach me how to play Better Together by Jack Johnson. 

A lot of my decision to get the surgery was based off of Jordan.  I have always sought his approval, and no matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, I could never get him to accept me as I was.  He has always been more popular and more attractive than I have.  Our entire lives I've been known as Jordan's sister.  Pretty soon, I'm not going to be Jordan's sister anymore, I'm going to be Kaitlyn.  I will have my own persona, and I will be my own person.  Maybe finally Jordan will love me and appreciate me like I know he has always wanted to, but is too embarrassed to do because his sister is big.

I finally get to work and all I can think about is my surgery.  It wasn't much of a reality to me until I put a date to it.  It is all coming crashing down now, and I can't wait.  I have paperwork I have to do, and I have to pack my house, because the weekend before my procedure I have to move back in with my mom.  She will help me take care of my fur-babies while I am incapacitated.  My anti-boyfriend, Brian, is not as excited as I am for the upcoming months.  Brian and I have been "dating" for the past month or so, and we cannot really establish a relationship with one another.  He is a wonderful guy; One that my dreams are made of.  Big, long hair, lots of tattoos, funny, extremely smart, and has the prettiest ice blue eyes I've ever seen.  He rides motorcycles and works at a motorcycle dealership.  The one flaw to Brian, is he does not want to be in a relationship.  He wants to "see where things go".  In my mind, this says "I want to be friends, but have sex occasionally because we both know I'm too sexy to resist."  Damned if it isn't the truth.  But Brian is unsettled for several reasons.  One because I'm moving to my mother's, a good hour away, where I was only ten minutes away from him before and two because he likes bigger girls, and "So long as you don't turn into a string bean, I'll be ok."  Sadly, my alabaster god, you will have to be ok with it, whether you are or not, because my life decisions does not bank on your happiness.  Especially if you're only a FWB.  Were you a significant other, I might care more about how you feel towards the procedure, but because you're not… well, you get the jist. 

So, April 25^th, 2012 is the day that my life will be changed forever.  I will enter the hospital as Jordan's sister, and come out as Kaitlyn.