So my worries about the surgery go as follows:
- My hospital appointment is at 6:30 am. What if I sleep in and miss it?
- Apparently they pump air into your digestive system while they operate so you get horrible trapped wind and you’re going to need to do GIANT BURPS afterwards.
- What if I die?
- What if I fail to do this pre-operative liver shrinking diet and they refuse to operate? It feels so cruel to me, to tell someone who has tried and failed at losing weight all their lives that the solution to this problem is dependent on me not doing the thing that I can’t not do. Seriously, keep your fingers crossed for me that I follow the diet.
- What if I wake up after my general anaesthetic and in my woozy state start texting my friends and telling them how much I fancy them/hate their boyfriends/want to marry them/hate them/am passionately in love with them?
- So much of my identity and personality and thoughts and dreams and life are and have been about trying to lose weight. What if I can’t find anything to replace that? What if I feel empty without the struggle? What if I don’t feel like me?
- What if it hurts? (It will.)
- What if I’m one of the 5% of people who don’t actually lose the weight?
- What if the fat down below is gone but my willy doesn’t get any longer?
- What if I’ve already done so much damage to my joints that I’ll need to have hip/knee replacement operations in my forties anyway?
- I know this is ridiculous, but WHAT IF THIN PEOPLE HAVE PROBLEMS TOO? I’ve spent all my life envying thin people and not really sure that they have ever suffered and I know that of course they do suffer, but because I blame literally every problem I’ve ever had ever on my weight, I tend to view thinness as an unproblematic state. I know that’s not true. I know I won’t stop being Connor, with whatever faults and failings that involves, but that’s not how the dream of thinness goes.
I’m still excited. It seems completely unreal, but it’s happening. I’m being given the chance to re-write my story. To be reborn. To not have my whole life be about this any more. I have to pinch myself every so often.
What is life like if you never wake up in the middle of the night unable to breathe because your neck fat is literally choking you? What is it like not to have constant pain (my hips are screaming)? What is it like not to break chairs? What is it like to be able to sit up in bed without any hoisting involved? What’s it like to not have to ask yourself whether someone is attracted to you because a fat man touched them when they were eleven, but maybe they like you because they like you? What’s it like not to have to worry that mothers will have to discipline their children and make them cry in shopping centres or on buses because they called me a fatty?
I’m being given a new chance. I’m terrified. But I’m much more excited than I am terrified.