Conversations with My Unreasonable Expectations: Part 1

Me, sometime this summer: “Why hello there Size 8 pants! Gosh, I don’t think we’ve ever been acquainted. I’ve heard a lot about you, though, and I gotta tell you, I wasn’t sure we would even get to meet after my surgery”


Size 8 pants: “Thanks, thanks. Really, I’m a very humble number in the vast sea of department store sizes. Do you notice that you never see me while shopping? That’s because I’m so rare. I’m really like a unique snowflake when you think about it.”

Me: “Hmm…you are pants, yet you are a snowflake. That’s so deep. Please tell me more.”

Size 8 pants: “I’m brilliant and will make you brilliant by proximity to my greatness. My cousins and I can make your ass look fantastic in a pair of jeans”

Me: “Wait. I thought you were humble. I was really shooting for a size that I wouldn’t automatically make women hate me. I really only picked you because you are half of a size 16 and designers don’t make a size 9 for women”

Size 8 pants: “Well, you would know more about me if you hadn’t just skipped over me in puberty and went straight into a size 12”

Me: “*gasping* Who told you that? I think I was maybe a size 8 for a month in the 8th grade. That was a very formidable month in my development. “

Size 8 pants: “Was that before or after you got your stretch marks?”

Me: “Bitch!”

Size 8 pants: “Hate the game, not the playa:”

Me: “What does that even mean? You’re a pair of pants! The only thing you are playing with is a wedgie. You know, some people think big asses are hot. I’m told that I have meat on my bones. Size 10 complimented me just last month on it.”

Size 8 pants: “Girrrrrl, there is always a size 10 around when you need them. They are mutton chop while I am a prime rib. You have to specially request me.”

Me: “That doesn’t give you the right to insult me”

Size 8 pants: “Yes it does. Just ask all the other size 8 women. Most of them are wearing pants that are too tight because the size 8s won’t come off.”

Me: “Why did I want to do this again? *shaking my head*”

*********
Yes, in my mind, a pair of size 8s would totally talk trash about larger sizes, including her generously proportioned size 16 and 18 counterparts. I suppose that I could imagine that I would actually be more loving and kind to my smaller self, but I’m having surgery, not a complete personality dissection.

In my mind, size 8 pants would always be bitchy. My favorite part about this unreasonable expectation is that underwear are called pants in England, which gives the conversation a whole other twist. Wedgie indeed

I Heart My New Job

I just past the three-month mark at my new job in late January. Basically, all I’ve done in the past three months is read, attend lectures and presentations, attend more presentations, wonder why all variable annuity wholesales seem to be talking in code and wonder if they make sense to each other, take a licensing exam (which I passed!), and read some more. That being said, I’m in love with the freedom and benefits of my new job. It also doesn’t hurt that I’m interested in personal finance and have been exposed to many of the concepts I’m learning through my MBA course.

 

In random order, here are some of the things I heart about my new job:

•  Learning all sorts of things about the financial industry through reading The Wall Street Journal and study materials for my licensing exams. The financial nugget I learned today is regarding IRS taxation. The IRS loves symmetry. For example, you have to wait 9 months after conception of a child to claim the child as a dependent on your tax returns. Basically, anyone inutero is considered property of Mom (or more accurately, part of Mom) according to the IRS. On the other end of the life spectrum, you have 9 months after the date of someone’s death to pay their estate taxes. Estates are only taxed on property or assets AFTER your funeral costs, debt obligations, and marital and charitable deductions. Provided you aren’t married, this gives your beneficiaries a really good excuse to throw you a $20,000 funeral and spring for the mahogany casket to avoid some tax liabilities. Just saying. Your funeral could be the best party that anyone has ever thrown for you. You also might make that case for the day of your birth. There is some symmetry here.

• I work in a suburb now, so I can go to the mall or shopping centers during lunch and never worry about parking. This is such a dramatic change from my working career on the East side of Houston, where even policemen patrol in pairs. I went shoe shopping at lunch today after receiving my first, full child support payment since August (and yes, I realize that makes all payers of child support – FOBs – want to hit someone. I can almost hear the single, divorced Dads screaming: “Child support is to benefit a CHIILD!” Yeah, well I’ve benefited a child for the past six years with little help, so maybe cut me some slack). I went and got my foot measured at the store that Erika, the other female broker in my office, recommended. I am a perfect 8 ½ wide. The salesman went into the back and come out with no less than 7 pairs of shoes for me to try on. I chose a sleek, fitted pair of heels that don’t make me want to hurt someone. All that I was back to my office in under an hour.

• Bariatric over rider on company health insurance. Seriously. Can I get a Amen? Cash rates for lap band run anywhere from $9,900 (not including lab fees for pre-surgical testing) to over $18,000. I have to pay my deductible and up to the annual maximum of co-insurance. Let’s just keep this between us, but I have something/someone called a bariatric care consultant because I work for such a large company. 

• I can also go and get a massage and go to the chiropractor at lunch.

• My commute is 15-minutes when I hit the traffic lights. It’s about 10-12 minutes when the lights are green. That’s added an hour and a half onto my day that I’m not spending commuting.

• Getting paid to read and take tests for three months.

• Free food at lunch twice a week and most afternoon presentations. Occasional free alcohol at happy hours that are sponsored by wholesalers.

If there is some line between grateful and bragging, I hope I've managed to stay on the grateful side. Of course there are negatives, but I'm looking on the positive side.

 

 

Fat Shoes

I haven't been shy about admitting that I reached my heaviest weight while going through the process of qualifying for surgery. What I never could have imagined was that my fat knows no boundaries. When I was pregnant and my ankels swelled up to the size of my knees, I thought it was some freak pregnancy-related mishap caused by all the hormones in my body. Turns out that I'm an idiot:

It's being fat that causes fat ankles.

On the end of my fat ankles are sausage-like feet. I had wide feet before the massive weight gain, but now I have something else entirely. I'm not even sure they make shoes for feet like mine, unless they are custom-made by short, festive little men in Italy (note to self: look into custom-made shoes). So, I'm in a bit of pickle when it comes to footwear. At my new job, all the women wear high-heels. The other female broker in the office only comes to work in heels higher than 3". I'm much more of a flats kind of gal, but I'm trying to embrace the power suit. No power suit is suitably impressive with a pair of sensible flats on a woman. It kind of looks like your legs got cut off at the shin, which is rather disturbing because I've never worn heels every day.

I have one pair of official, work-endorsed pair of  black high heel shoes. They're size 9 and still don't fit. I can actually feel my toes going numb in them. Then the pain starts. By the end of the day, I'm hobbling along in my shiny black shoes. Sure, my feet might look respectable, but the nasty thoughts that I'm thinking in my head at these blasted pair of shoes are anything but.

Now I'm torn. I know that my feet will decrease in size (maybe) when I lose weight. I also know that I'm getting my surgery in a month and it's realistic to think that my feet won't immediately get smaller. I'm not even sure that I'll get immediately smaller, let alone the potential consequences to my feet. I just don't want to spend money on good shoes that won't fit me for very long. But then I remember that I can't even wear uncomfortable shoes for a full day, let alone an entire month.

I think I just talked myself into some quality shoe shopping time. I'm glad we had this talk.   

Food Cravings

As the prospect of the two-week liquid diet comes closer and closer and my surgery date is around the corner, I feel like I'm in my third trimester. For the first two trimesters, you know that labor is coming, but you can't imagine what it will be like. You know, at least theoretically, you are going to have a baby soon, but actually holding the baby in your arms seems fanciful and unrealistic. Suddenly, you are two weeks from your due date and holding newborn clothing and freaking out, occasionally stopping to stare at babies in the mall. That's where I am right now. I'm overly conscious of every piece of food that I stare at, every aroma, every texture, and beautiful, beautiful piece of food.

Take last night for instance. I guess I should clarify for one moment before moving forward. Just because I'm conscious of what I'm eating, doesn't mean that I'm eating healthy. In fact, the opposite is true. It's a well-understood fact in the gastric bypass community that almost everyone gains weight while waiting for their surgery. How could you not knowing that you face almost six weeks of liquids? The first protein shake is D-Day. To cram as many metaphors as I can into one, small blog post, I'm T-13 days to drinking only liquids. You better damn believe that I'm eating all the food that I can possibly imagine.

That is all just a long way of trying to explain why I got home last night and ordered a Papa John's Hawaiian pizza. Then sat on my couch and talked to Zac, who was drawing pictures. I flipped on the tv and found myself watching every food commercial with intense interest. A Sargento cheese commercial came on, the one where some invisible hand is slicing through huge blocks of cheese and I knew, right then and there, I had to have some cheese. This is the sick part - I had already ordered the pizza. That commercial broke me. I went to the fridge and found my own large block of cheese and shared it with Zac....while waiting for pizza.

"Hello, my name is B, and I'm a food addict."

Less of Me

If we are friends on Facebook (and if we’re not, why aren’t we friends yet?) then you know that I’ve been alluding to a “surgery” that I’m having. Not many people are stoked when insurance companies approve them for surgery, but I had been waiting for a year to receive the phone call that I got on Monday with the good news. I’m having lap band surgery on February 24th to lose weight, lower my cholesterol (total cholesterol: 317!!), and high blood pressure (regularly 140/100). I’ve decided to chronicle my process through the surgery to let my friends and family know: 1) I haven’t completely lost my mind and 2) maybe encourage some people along the way to take measures to take care of their health.

First, let me start with the naysayers. Yeah, you over there. And you. And the person that I’m related to that I will not name in this blog. You all have expressed concern that I’m “taking the easy way out” and even before I’ve started the process, have tried to convince me that I’m going to fail. The conversation that I have with them goes something along these lines:

Naysayer: “Have you even TRIED to lose weight?” (like the thought hadn’t occurred to me yet)

Me: “I’ve tried everything I can think of. In order to medically qualify for gastric surgery on insurance you have to demonstrate obesity for over two years. Some insurance companies require a weight history going back five years."

Naysayer: “I get that you haven’t been successful at losing weight, but why give up now? Losing weight is hard! Think of how much pride you’ll have in yourself when you lose weight through diet and exercise”

Me: “...I plan to lose weight through diet and exercise”

Naysayer: “No, you plan to have an invasive surgery that has potentially long-term side effects that haven’t been fully studied so you can fit into society’s image of ‘thin’”

Me: “The surgery is an out-patient procedure done laproscopically. Lap bands can be removed at any time, for any reason. I don’t want to be skinny. I just want to fit into the medical profession’s idea of “healthy” and it’s pretty obvious that I can’t change your mind about surgery, so I’m just going to step out of this conversation now. M’kay?”

If I don’t end the conversation, it can go on for hours. I never really realized what a red-hot issue bariatric surgery was before I started down the path. For those of you that might think that surgery is the “easy” way to become skinny, let’s just review what I had to do to get my insurance company to approve the surgery, shall we? I started in December 2009, with a visit to my PCP. She referred me to a bariatric surgeon because of my weight and persistent co-morbidities. After that, I:

1) Attend eda three-hour educational seminar about the impacts of gastric bypass surgery and the pre-and-post surgery requirements

2) Talked to my shrink and therapist about what impacts, both positive and negative, the surgery could have on me.

3) Met with the bariatric surgeon for the first time to discuss the kind of surgery that would be most appropriate for me (lap band).

4) Went through a two-hour psychological test of endurance that included a 350-question personality test and hour long interview with a psychologist to assess suitability of the surgery for me. Was told that I have to get a note from previously mentioned shrink and therapist.

5) Went back to shrink and therapist. Asked them for letter of approval from. Felt like I was in the sixth grade. Called them three weeks later and asked, “No really. I’m serious this time. Can you pleeeease write the letter?”

6) Went to six months of nutritional counseling where my nutrition guru convinced me that if I didn’t lose SOME weight that I wouldn’t be approved for surgery because I couldn’t demonstrate the ability for short-term behavioral change. Considered finding a new nutritionist. Kept a food journal for six months and try to follow the American Diabetic Association diet which involves limiting carbs, fats, and meat. Contemplated just giving up food all together. Lost four pounds, then gained nine. Then gained some more when I found a new job.

7) Was informed that my surgeon switched hospitals. Went through a painful process of getting my records, individually, transferred one-by-one to the new hospital. Hit my head on my desk several times a day each time the new hospital either didn’t receive my record or lost it

8) Made an appointment with a new PCP to get a formal letter of medical necessity. Had my cholesterol and blood pressure checked to confirm co-morbidities. Found out that my cholesterol could take now a small ox.

9) Called the new hospital almost every day for a month, trying to get all my records in one place for submission to my insurance company.

10) Waited for two weeks for my insurance company to approve the surgery

AND…I finally got the good news on January 24, 2011. I’m tired from just writing about it. For anyone who says to me, “Couldn’t you just have spent all the energy losing weight?” I’d like to point to #6 on the list and tell you to suck it.

On deck for tomorrow, more procedures, tests, and protein shakes…

Well....There is That

Thank you for the support from my last blog post. It was a very difficult time, but I'm hoping that I've turned a corner. I worked with one of my former teammates from school, which made work incredibly uncomfortable. I also found out that I wasn't qualified for a management training program at work, so I started looking for a new job. I went to a two-day career fair at my University and met a guy talking about the brokerage industry that was a Tulane alum. I walked up to him after his talk and we started talking. He called me the next week and we continued our conversation. I sent him my resume and cover letter. Later that week I was asked to come in for a math/finance/economics test and completed a personality test online. Then I was asked to come in for an interview. Then I went in for a second interview at a branch office that is 3 miles from where I live.

....and....I got the job. I know, I was more surprised than anyone. I know work as a Financial Advisor trainee at one of the largest retail brokerage houses in the US. I was accepted into their three-year training program. I quit my old job, took a day off, and started my new job on Friday.

It's all happened so fast. It feels like just last week I wrote my last post about barely making it through each day at work. Now I'm studying for my Series 7 and 66 brokerage and insurance exams and buying business suits. It's a little bit Alice in Wonderland and it hasn't completely sunk in yet. It's hard for me to really believe that my life has taken such a good turn. I'm hesitant to scream, "Woo hoo!" because I still have the same medical challenges that I've had for the past seven years. It's still easier for me to fall asleep than stay awake. But wow...what a difference a month can make.

Back

Here I am. I never really left the Internet or Blogging...just took an extended break. Life has been hard since I got back from the international trips. My motivation to finish my MBA dropped to near zero and work became harder and harder. Sometime, I don't even know when now, let's say early June, I got called into my boss' office. The Director of Human Resources was there. I was told that my teammates had come and talked to my boss about my behavior at work. Basically, at a minimum they tried to get me off their team. As a worst-case scenario, they tried to get me fired. I can't even really think about it and I'm not going to rehash everything on here in detail. There were parts of my behavior that were unacceptable and parts that were a direct result of the medical problems I face. I actually had to get a note from my Shrink explaining some of the side effects of my medication. I kept my job and had to confront all four of my team members. I apologized for my behavior, smiled, and tried to forget the betrayal. I buried it deeply within me and forced myself to go to work everyday. Head down. Just focus on the job. I now have to go into an empty office or into the hallway when I need to call one of my many doctors or business offices.

Then the same thing happened with my team in school. Even higher stakes. The team, again, all four of them, went to the Dean of the Business School and asked that I be removed from the team. This time, it was effective. The Dean said that if it was an unanimous decision then it was binding. They didn't even have the courage to tell me themselves. The Dean called me and told me. I had three choices at that point: 1) Ask another team if I could join them; 2) Form a team of one and complete all of the assignments by myself; 3) Suspend school for a year and be placed in another team; or I lied, there was a fourth option 4) Quit school 16 months into a 22 month degree program. I've already spent close to $55,ooo - to not get a degree at this point would be such a collassal waste of money that I couldn't even begin to comprehend it.

But the betrayal. I had worked closely with these four people throughout the past year. I knew them personally. I thought they knew me. I had a bad reaction to a medication and fell asleep and missed an hour of the team meeting. Unprofessional? Yes. Excusable? Possibly, if you knew the story. My problem is that I only really tell my problems on this blog. I used to put them on Facebook, but I realized that I would be more successful broadcasting my needs and struggles on the side of my car. At least then I wouldn't have the shame of knowing that someone who knew me in the 8th grade knows about my chronic pain.

Then I stopped blogging. I just held everything in. More and more pain. The night the Dean called me I took four Ambien and slept for 18 hours. Then woke up, talked to my therapist, and took some more Ambien. I couldn't even cope with being awake and existing with my feelings. Two distinct parts of my life had cast me out because I didn't tell them that my medication makes me fall asleep and I have to go to more doctor's appointments than an "average", healthy 29 year-old.

Now I just try to make it through the day. I've had to disclose my medical problems at work. I found a new team at school. I hate almost every moment that I'm in class and I'm counting down the days until graduation. I'm in a class of 28 and trying to avoid the four former classmates is almost impossible.

If it's possible, these experiences have made me more negative and more cynical. Perception matters. It didn't matter that I got all my work done at work, all my teammates saw was that I wasn't pulling my own weight. My teammates at school loved me when I was getting them A's on their papers, but turned against me within a week. What people think matters. You need to play nice with others. You'll get cast out otherwise and it's cold outside.