And so it begins...

I struggled for a long, long time about whether I should blog this or not, but after taking a vote of the voices in my head, the ayes have it with 51%.  So here we go.


Anyone who knows me knows that one of my biggest flaws is my weight (no pun intended) and my inability to sustain any kind of weight loss.  Oh, I can lose it.  But I immediately find it again, along with another 10 or 15 of its closest friends, and this has gone on for decades.  There is so much shame and embarrassment wrapped up in all this that it's difficult to even talk about it without having a complete breakdown.  I will cry the entire time I type this, and I just accept that it's going to happen whether I want to cry or not.  It just is what it is.  


I think what I admire most about John is his strong-minded determination.  No, I did not just completely derail into another subject as I am oh-so-prone to do.  Just stick with me for a moment and I'll explain.  I always thought I was stubborn and strong-willed, but I am, in fact, pathetically, neither of those.  And therein lies the rub:  Losing weight and keeping it off requires a strong mind, I believe, more than any other single thing.  You know, the old "if you believe it, you can achieve it" type of thing.  I've never much believed in myself about anything (except possibly flute and, more recently, vocal talents) and I believe that's why I've yet to be successful at maintaining a reasonable weight.  I am also something of the ostrich variety, i.e. sticking my head in the sand and ignoring it if I cannot find a way to cope with it.  It's why I cannot watch the news at all without going into a tailspin that leads, eventually, to suicidal thoughts.  I am really that crazy.  You should all give John a big hug when next you see him.  :)


ANYWAY!!  Earlier this year, John finally (FINALLY) agreed to consider weight-loss surgery as an option after years of freaking out if I even uttered the word "gastric" in his presence.  Honestly, I think God only made one man who couldn't care less if his wife weighs 732 pounds and still loves her.  I don't know how I landed him, but I guess that was waaaayyy back when I was actually 150 pounds and somewhat attractive.  Apparently love really is blind because that Kathy got lost years and years ago and I'm still trying to find her.  John still sees her when he looks at me and it is beyond humbling.  But I digress (yes, I see you all rolling your eyes and going "as usual" and/or "get to the point!").  Weight-loss surgery (WLS for those of us who like to pretend we are medical professionals and also believe it sounds more justifiable that way) is not something I would ever consider without complete support from my family, and I am fortunate to have just such a family (okay, husband, but the kids are okay with it, too, as long as Spencer knows I will still fill the house with some kind of food he can eat).  So I started seriously looking into WLS a few months ago and I've had to jump through all kinds of hoops (if only!) to get approved by insurance, which I have.  Along the way, I discovered I have severe sleep apnea and stop breathing about 86 times per hour, every night.  I am lucky, though, that I do not seem to have any other health issues (besides being a whale, of course) and every doctor I've seen during this journey to insurance approval (approximately 334 by my count to date) has been amazed that I don't have hypertension, diabetes, other cardiopulmonary problems, etc.  Nope, I'm just fat. But I know those other problems are going to arrive in the not-too-distant future if I don't find a way to get this weight off and so I am going under the knife on Monday for laparoscopic gastric bypass surgery.


I am not proud of this and I didn't really want to tell anyone about it because it's humiliating enough to be morbidly obese without admitting that I cannot take this weight off the old-fashioned way.  I feel like I am cheating, and that bothers me.  A lot. 


I'm nervous.  I'm a little worried.  I'm a little scared.  I'm a lot of things, but I am mostly hoping and praying to find the original Kathy at the end of this road.  In support of that, I am asking for prayers for my family and for me as we all go through this together.  I am praying that God will help me believe in myself enough to be successful on this journey.  I am also praying that I can become one of those strong-minded people who do what they set out to do, no matter how hard it is or how much work it takes.  I want to like myself.  And yes, I know a person should always love themselves beyond their physical being, but I never have, not ever.  I do know that my happiness is not really based on what I look like, that my problems go much, much deeper than my physical appearance.  But I am hoping that if I can accomplish this physical thing, maybe it will help me accomplish my spiritual goals, too.  I want to like myself.  Really, I do.  I want to go out again and enjoy life, party with friends, have a good time...do all those things I did with ease so long ago.  I don't want to be the embarrassment of our family and too ashamed to be in any family pictures.  I want to be "bubbly" again (the appellation everyone else seemed to think fit me eons and eons ago) and I want, most of all, to be deserving of the husband God gave me.  He deserves so much more than what I've let myself become, and maybe, just maybe, so do I.  


So if you've made it all the way to here, congratulations for surviving the workings of my mind.  It's a tricky business and I've yet to figure it out myself.  And thank you.  But more than anything, please pray for me and for my family.  This will probably be the hardest thing I've ever tried to do (besides birthing Spencer, who came with no warning and so, of course, no ability to have any anesthetic AT ALL) and I would really, really appreciate prayers from friends.  Good vibes wouldn't go amiss, either.  :)


~k


And did I mention that Spencer weighed over 9 pounds at birth??  Thank God he was well worth it.

The Room

Okay, so I know this has circulated in email for a long time, but I still find it very worthy of posting again.  If only we could all keep The Room in mind every hour of every day...imagine what our lives would be like.

The Room

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings.

 

As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I Have Liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.

A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I Have Betrayed." The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed At."

Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've Yelled at My Brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived.

Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked "TV Shows I Have Watched," I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.

 

When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me.

One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards.

 

But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.

And then I saw it. The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.

 

And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room.. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.

No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes.

Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room.. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files.. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. "No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, and so alive.

 

The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished."

I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.

Out on a bike ride in this awesome weather...stopped at el guapo downtown for dinner YUMMMMMMMMM

I suppose if one should have only one meal on Ash Wednesday, eating a pizza at Oliveto`s is the way to go. Cheese, of course.

Just testing to see if i really can post to my blog via my cell....

Mardi Gras

Although Mardi Gras is supposed to be a time of merry-making and indulging oneself, I have mixed feelings about the whole thing. It is the one single reason I abhor anything pertaining to New Orleans.  It would be a great day if only everyone who celebrated it also understood what it means and therefore also observed Lent.  Sadly, probably 97.5% of all the people out celebrating right now have never even heard of Lent.  Fat Tuesday has been so corrupted by places like New Orleans that few people even realize anymore what the day means.  Ah well, it's too depressing to even write about so I will stop there.

Today my patience and tolerance were tested by people at the bank.  Specifically, those in the drive-thru lanes.  I think it only common courtesy to make sure you are ready with your deposits, checks, or whatever, when you get up to the little vacuum thingy.  But apparently this does not occur to people who bank at BOK.  I sat there and watched the girl in front of me spend about 25 minutes taking care of her business.  I've no idea what she was doing, but in order to accomplish it, she had to send the little canister back and forth about 8 times.  Now, I'm thinking that if your transaction is this involved, perhaps the drive-thru isn't the best place for you.  And who waits until they get to the front of the line before endorsing checks and filling out deposit slips!?  I truly do NOT understand this.  I know I hate to wait in long lines, so I try to be as fast as possible when it's my turn so as not to make others wait.  Is this a foreign concept?  Or is it just that the person in front of me was an idiot?  I don't think I can adequately express, in this short space, how badly I wanted to exit my vehicle and assault this girl.  And I am not a violent person!  What makes all this even funnier, in a sick, twisted way, is that the tellers at BOK are always asking me if we want to move our checking accounts and other banking to BOK (we only have our mortgage through BOMC right now).  I always politely tell them we are not interested and go on my way.  Today I waited for them to ask, and I was going to actually say, in a nice way, that their drive-thru being the slowest in town is part of the reason we do not bank there.  Alas, she never asked and it's just as well.  I might have been slightly less than polite this time.  (We used to have our business account at BOK and they were an absolute nightmare to deal with. Never again.)

So I guess that's a good thing to ponder on the eve of Ash Wednesday and during the Lenten season this year.  Instead of giving up chocolate or sweets or fast food, I will attempt to give up impatience and anger with other people (even if they need smacking, or worse).  I will also attempt to give up other bad habits and try to be the person God made me to be.  Maybe someday I will even be able to convince myself that non-thin people deserve to be loved as much as thin people...Nah, that's probably asking too much.  I'll stick with the patience and tolerance concepts, which are goals I have some chance of reaching.  Baby steps, Kathy, baby steps...

~k

Saints Drinking Game

I am about to wet my pants after reading this.  And I'm also thinking I will have alcohol poisoning before the second quarter if I do this...

The New Orleans Saints Superbowl Drinking Game

1. Every time they mention hurricane Katrina, drink 1

2. If they show pictures of the City of New Orleans right after Katrina, drink 1

3. Every time they say how much the Saints mean to the City of New Orleans, drink 1

4. Every time the words "tragedy", "flood", or "devastation" are used, drink 1

5. Every time they talk about how good Reggie Bush was in college, drink 3

6. If they show Kim Kardashian in the stands, drink 5

7. Every time they show a picture of Reggie Bush with a bat or say "bringing the wood" drink for 5 seconds.

8. Every time Reggie Bush gets negative yardage trying to run around in the backfield a bunch and outrun the defense, drink 1 and turn to the person next to you and say "I told you Vince Young should havewon the Heisman that year"

9. Every time Reggie Bush gets up and flexes his arms in that pose he likes to do, drink 1

10. If they mention Tim Tebow for any reason, funnel a beer

11. Every time they say that "it's destiny for the Saints to win" drink 1

12. If they show footage of Katrina survivors at the Superdome, take a shot of cheap liquor

13. If they call Saints fans the most passionate fans in football, drink 1

14. If they say that the Saints, Saints fans, or the City of New Orleans "deserve" a Superbowl victory, drink 1

15. Every time they say how good of a story the Saints are, drink 1

16. If Jeremy Shockey pretends to be hurt after dropping a pass, drink 2

17. If they mention the Saints beating the Falcons in 2006 in the first game after Katrina in the Superdome, drink 5

18. Every time they compare hurricane Katrina to the Haiti earthquake, funnel a beer and yell "bull*!"

19. Every time they mention Drew Brees as the Mardi Gras king, drink 1.

20. Every time they show Archie Manning, drink 1, and mention how bad he sucked. If they show old footage of him on the Saints, drink 5.  If they mention how tough of a decision it was for him as for whom to cheer for, drink 10.

21. Every time they show a saints fan yelling "Who dat!" Or a sign/shirt saying the same, drink 1.

22. If they show Chris Paul at the game, drink 1 and mention to someone how much better he is than Marvin Williams.

23. If they show former Mayor Ray Nagin, drink 5 and then punch someone in the face.



Other Rules not involving the Saints:

1. Every time they show Eli Manning in the press box, drink 1

2. Every time Pierre Garcon is mentioned with Haiti, drink 1

3. If Brett Favre is mentioned for any reason, drink 1