nimiety

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About nimiety

  • Rank
    Advanced Member
  • Birthday

Profile Information

  • Gender
    Female
  • Location
    Brooklyn, NY
  • Interests
    Books, culture and criticism, powerlifting, politics, feminism, the internet, wildly overambitious cooking projects, the theory and practice of fatness.
  • Age
    33

Information

  • Surgeon
    Alfons Pomp
  • Hospital
    Weill Cornell
  • Height (ft-in)
    5-05
  • Start Weight
    332
  • Current Weight
    219.6
  • Goal Weight
    180
  • Surgery Date
    07/28/2016
  • Surgery Type
    Vertical Sleeve

Recent Profile Visitors

951 profile views
  1. Basically my entire wardrobe has migrated into the clothes box at this point—it's been expanded into two bags. I had one really foul day when I was trying things on and looking terrible in dresses I just love and never wanted to lose, and it's a little depressing opening my closet and seeing pretty much only fast fashion and not anything more substantive. But I've also had a totally great time wearing things I'd never gotten into that I'd bought anticipating weight loss or more stretch or whatever, and yes, some of them are totally out of date, and yes, I have still had fun wearing them. I don't want to pull them out every day, but I've taken victory laps in some fairly ridiculous clothing over the last couple of months. I also get that I'm being a total princess-and-the-pea about this and on the whole, I'm psyched to get to dress in a way that feels like it suits me authentically, which is really on the table in a new way since my clothing options have opened up. (I'm also completely overwhelmed by that, but luckily, being a broke-@*# graduate student does enough limiting of the options that I don't have to hyperventilate.) Frankly, bringing back the Ramones shirt sounds like a totally great idea. And actually kind of a way to process feelings around size, too (sometimes I think men tend not to give themselves enough chances to do that, but I certainly don't know you well enough to say whether that describes you or not).
  2. Bless. Honestly, I'm not a master; I wish I were. I fell in love with the sport a few years ago and had to leave just as I was getting to be okay; I miss it like hell.
  3. I used to be a nationally competitive powerlifter, so when I take advice, it's from my coaches or lifting community. I've been out of training for the past couple of years trying to finish my dissertation, and now dealing with the WLS stuff—I'm sort of generally "active" right now, but hoping to be back under the bar soon. Because I've done a lot of competition training, I'm going to really, really, have to work at taking it easy until my weight has stabilized and I can start thinking about building back up again, and being nervous about that is probably why I haven't started that process yet, I think. When my weight has stabilized I'm hoping to start from wherever I end up and work towards becoming nationally competitive again at some point, even if it takes me until the Masters classes (I'm 33; Masters I starts at 40 in the USAPL).
  4. This stair-step loss thing, man, it can do a number on your head. My pattern has stabilized pretty solidly—a few days of little losses, a few days to a week and a half of no movement (the length of this phase may have some relationship to my menstrual cycle but I haven't nailed it down yet), long enough to get irritated and frustrated but also comfortable enough that when the quick losses come for two or three days, I feel disoriented. But it's not just that. It's this range I'm in right now. Today I saw a 224.6 on the scale. The last five or six pounds my gut's been doing flip-flops every time my weight goes down, looking at these numbers that don't even feel like they could be mine. Whose numbers are these? What person is this scale weighing? In twenty-five pounds I'll be under 200—I remember the last time I crossed under 200 pounds. I was 13, I think. I weighed myself in my parents' '80s-tile bathroom, and the number was under 200, and I thought As God is my witness, I'll never weigh over 200 pounds again. (Buckle up, baby girl.) I feel like I'm flashing quickly back through time based on my body size, and right now I'm 14 or 15, on the way up through my most rapid weight gain, explosive and alarming to everyone but me, because I was lost in it. And before too long I'll be thirteen again, as-God-is-my-witnessing. Who was that girl? What kind of woman will she become? I look at myself in the mirror, I try on my measurement pants. I try to make sense of what I see. My bigness. My smallness. I had a professional headshot taken yesterday courtesy of my PhD department, which is redoing its website and wants us all to have good pictures on it—put my face on, and hauled out on commuter rail, and presented myself to be photographed, and tried to pretend I wasn't dying inside of discomfort every instant at being looked at that intensely, at what he must be thinking of the difficulty of doing this particular job. "Cross your legs? Tip your chin this way. No, this way. A little more. Chin up? I'm going to make you laugh, so hold the tilt." He tried a staircase first (for the flattering angle, I assume) and then a standing background shot, and then, finally, had me hop up on a windowsill in front of a mullioned window with the university crest. That's where he got the shots he liked. He showed me the one he liked best, and I put my eyes on it for the briefest conceivable second, nodded and smiled, and got the hell out of there. It was like an anxiety fugue state, and afterwards, waiting for the train home, when I tried to picture the image, I was sure it had showed me with no jawline, my eyes uneven, my teeth yellow, my cheeks swallowing my features, my neck nonexistent. I took a selfie and there I am, whatever I look like now, for this particular split second, my face quirky and imperfect but face-shaped—there's the jawline, with the little point to the chin—and dominated, now, by the intense blue of my eyes. Groomed brows. Familiar crooked smile. Small potato nose. I look at it and it looks back, reassuring and incomprehensible. (One foot in front of the other, one day at a time.)
  5. Hi there, welcome! You sound like a really kind, thoughtful, generous human being, and it also sounds like you're taking solid steps towards your goals—really looking forward to following your writing here.
  6. I ran into my serious ex-boyfriend by chance in the subway today. He almost did a double take—and he last saw me only six weeks ago. It would take a stronger woman than I not to enjoy that. I enjoyed it. I mean, I haven't the faintest idea what it makes him think. But nevertheless. I enjoyed it. I have started to notice that people look at me more often. I'm not invisible anymore. I look up and people are looking at me, and I don't know how to interpret their looking. I locked eyes with a woman on University Place earlier today because I looked up and she was looking at me and I just didn't know what to do. I couldn't decide why she'd be looking at me. It made me feel a bit like I was wearing the wrong thing. It's easier with men, perhaps—I have a box in which to put the smile the guy who holds the door for me gives me. But it's a new kind of smile. Open, easy. I smiled back at him.
  7. I mean, realistically, I've made certain kinds of decisions already, and every day is full of decisions—I guess it's just that they're not the REALLY hard ones for me yet. Like, deciding to eat primarily whole foods that I prepare myself and log with a kitchen scale and MyFitnessPal isn't rocket science, but that doesn't mean I didn't decide to do that. I decided to reincorporate fruits and vegetables, to not sweat minimizing carbs too hard as long as things were in balance and I was hitting my protein; I decided how to grocery shop and how to eat from a takeout menu or at a restaurant and all that jazz—but a lot of that relied on work that I'd already done in my many years of eating disorder recovery, so YMMV based on your own background. Besides which, I tend to think many of my current decisions will have to adapt to changing norms for a good many months yet, so it's really just a surfing day-to-day thing a lot of the time.
  8. Honestly, I feel like I'm just getting to the point of having enough room beyond compliance to think about what I eat in a systemic way, and I'm almost 7 months out.
  9. So glad to hear this good news, Kim. Sending love to you and yours.
  10. I got a haircut yesterday. God, did it make me feel better. I lost a fair amount of hair after surgery—the stylist pointed out where it's started to grow back in, but in the meantime, my ends were dry and frayed, the top was flat, the thinness was making me crazy...it was not a good scene. The second I walked into a sleek SoHo curl salon, I felt better—all those fluffy, bouncy, shiny curls! (It was also nice not to feel so out of place there—not to struggle with a robe or cringe through the cut where I had to look at myself in the mirror overflowing the chair, etc.) The cut was a good one, too—brings back my bounce and texture, frames my face nicely—and I walked out into the world again feeling much, much better about myself. So I put up a selfie on Instagram, which is unusual for me to do (no, not on my WLS account—on my "real" one). And much like the only time since surgery that I've changed my Facebook photo, it got a lot of attention. A lot of likes. A lot of comments. And I've noticed that men have started clicking Like on my pictures again these days. That attention makes me feel really awkward. For the first flurry of Likes I feel "oh hey, my cute hair!" and then as they keep rolling in I go "oh, this isn't about my cute hair at all," and I deflate. I hate the thought that people might think that I'm specifically pointing out my own weight loss and asking for positive reinforcement about it. I hate the thought of people clicking Like on my face all "good for you!" Nope. No thanks. Do not want. The reactions make me feel retroactively angry, but also more importantly they make me feel bad in the moment—scrutinized, stripped of agency and personhood, reduced. What I want is to be left utterly alone; I want people to know that it's none of their business unless I choose to discuss it with them. But I know obviously that people react independently of what I want, and that any big change—especially a change from something socially unacceptable to something socially prized—makes it hard to avoid a big reaction. And one of the reasons I've posted a couple of pictures is specifically to ward off the shock reaction that might occur when I actually see those people in real life—at this point, even though I don't always see it, I think there's a big enough difference that that might happen (it's happened a few times now). They're innoculation so that you don't have to tell me all about it when you see me, and I just want to get it all over with as soon as possible. But it's going to get worse from here. What's happening now is that I've gone from invisible-fat to normal-fat, I think, but in the event I also go from there to not-fat, well. I'm going to have to buckle up for a wild ride. And that's what's coming up. The next few months would start to take me there if things keep going as they've been going, and it's hard for me to know how I'll react and how I'll cope. I have pretty strong faith that I can, in fact, cope—my shrink, boyfriend, and friends have really been wonderful about holding my ambivalence—but that doesn't mean I'm looking forward to having to. WLS patients talk about the letdown when people stop being like "OMG!" but I just can't wait for that moment. I hope that means I'll have an easier settling-in process, when this feels like an irritation being removed rather than a motivator evaporating. If it evaporated tomorrow, it wouldn't be too soon.
  11. My doctorate is/will be in English, so...not sciencey, but reflects a certain general orientation towards information. I think as academics we tend to like to be led by the facts as opposed to having people tell us what we like to hear. And yeah, allow me to recommend not adjuncting in the US! I'm adjuncting myself, to support finishing the diss because I'm out of fellowship, and it's not a great life or a sustainable situation in the long- or even medium-term. Here's hoping! When my surgeon mentioned the average to me, I calculated what that would mean for me and considered whether I'd still feel okay about surgery if that was all I lost. I decided that I would be, given the advantages of easier maintenance and less-to-none of the white-knuckling diet cycling I've done in the past. I'm below that point now, and hoping to hit the 75% EWL mark by my one-year-out—that's about another 40 pounds in the next 5 months—but yes, definitely looking ahead to the long-term prospectus wherein agency reenters the picture more strongly, and thinking about how to succeed there. I'm actually finding that the work I've done on eating-disorder recovery is serving me pretty well here, and feeling a little more optimistic than I was pre-surgery about that. Thanks for the link! I like this guy.
  12. Oh hey! I'm a teacher too, in a grad-studenty way. So funny. (And I'm totally a Bob in the classroom!) I actually scheduled the initial consult sort of just to see how it made me feel—I'd thought seriously about WLS a couple of times before, but just wasn't ready to pull the trigger. I picked the surgeon I picked because I already knew him to be a field-leading research clinician, and that sort of thing makes me feel comfortable (and because I was frankly surprised that my university health insurance covered him). People on the internet seemed to find his "bedside manner" lacking, but I liked him right off the bat—far more than I expected to. He's not a drill sergeant, which also turns me off (the whole punitive aspect, judgment, shame...no thanks! Too much fat-person doctor trauma for that), but he's very low-key, frank, and straight-shooting. Dry sense of humor. I think maybe it was just an academic-to-academic personality fit—we talked about my doctoral work a little. At my first follow-up visit he told me that he tries to guess who'll wildly beat the averages, and he never can, so I guess I'm hoping to show him that I'm one of the average-beaters in the long term!
  13. I've actually really appreciated my surgeon reality-checking me about averages and expectations. He performs a fair number of two-part DS surgeries, and I started at a BMI in reasonable range for that as a possibility, and he emphasized that it was available and a potentially good option for me (it's not a great behavioral fit—the lifelong supplementation regimen and urgent necessity of monitoring would be rough for me, but that's beside the point) because of average outcomes for the sleeve, if I wanted to get below the range where I could expect the sleeve to take me. He's always been very frank and realistic—I think some people find him brusque, but personally, I like straight talk, and it makes me feel like he's not trying to sell me on some Magical Weight-Loss Experience, which some practices definitely do in a way I think is pretty gross. I definitely agree that doctors talk down to fat people—that experience you had is horrifying (ugh), and I could match it with a few of my own. Research has documented fat stigma at as high or higher rates among medical professionals as in the general population, and in doctors, of course, fat stigma can have a really materially negative impact on the lives of fat patients. But as far as surgeons go, I think different styles do suit different people. Give me the reality check over the cheerleading any day, personally, but as they say, different strokes for different folks. Most importantly, glad you're feeling good!
  14. Oh, Kim, I'm so sorry to hear this news. My dad had a serious accident a few weeks ago, and that clutch around the heart and the gut...it's unbelievable. I'm glad you're seeking counseling, but it also sounds to me like you're ready to tackle the emotional issues here head-on, without displacing them. So glad you have support in doing that. All the best to you, and your daddy, always.
  15. Yeah, I think one of the most interesting things for me about the way surgery interacts with a sense of self is how that varies based on orientation towards fatness, and also size track record. I'm a lifelong weight cycler, but I've identified stably as fat since I was a small child and was actually fat starting perhaps in middle school—none of my mid-scope weight losses ever made me not fat. Fatness for me is a foundational part of my self-concept, and because I've never been thin, I don't have that to compare it to. My therapist and I are talking about ways to cope with the possibility of "passing" in the world of the unfat—because while of course I'm intellectually aware of the difficulty of fat stigma, I know that that's not the same as being personally prepared for the reactions to the visceral realization of it. For me, fat-positivity stuff was an absolute lifeline, and it helped me get my *&^% together in so many ways. It's a part of my feminism and a part of my politics more generally, and it also helped me start to learn to validate my own individual self and needs and possibilities—it helped me grow into myself and start to grow up. It made me think about what kind of woman I wanted to be, and gave me a way to do that that wasn't foreclosed by fatness. I'll be grateful for it and its thinkers and makers and reimaginers until the day I die, and I have a lot of mixed feelings about surgery to do with no longer having that commonality with (other) fat women.