(Some of this may be triggery for people, and I apologize for that in advance. But it's important enough to me not to put it behind a cut tag.)gridlore
and I had more than a little bit of a rude awakening last weekend, at the concert. When we failed to acquire priority parking along with our tickets, I blithely stated, "Oh, that's okay, we'll just take BART
." It's certainly convenient enough; there's a walkway connecting the two. Distance not being my strong suit, however, I never quite grokked just how long
the walk was from the station to the arena.Here's a map for the uninitiated.
Pay no attention to the blue line beyond that first white dot; their walking directions are a very rough beta, and it shows. But Points A and B are as close to accurate as makes no difference. Now, remember that Doug had had a really long, tiring week at work, was fighting some sort of bug, and had been dealing with random muscle cramps in his legs for a day or two.
I still couldn't keep up with him. And 2/3 of the path from the station to the Arena is DOWNHILL.
I never actually burst into tears, but it was a very near thing. When I could breathe enough to speak, I told him "Now you understand why I've been so insistent that I need a scooter for Montreal next summer."
But goddamnit, this is no way to live.
I always swore that as long as the rest of my health wasn't being affected, I wasn't going to give a damn about my weight. If I lost some, fabulous, but if I didn't, it wasn't the end of the world. Obviously, that's no longer the case. I have a doctor's appointment in two weeks, a follow-up for the medication she put me on in October (which I have to confess I've not been very compliant with over the holidays). When I go in, I'm going to talk to her about a more aggressive weight loss plan...
...and this time, I'm no longer ruling out surgical intervention.
With the exception of the few of you on my f'list who have made that decision for yourselves, I simply cannot convey to you how UTTERLY FUCKING TERRIFIED I am right now. I've got a lot of research to do in the next few months, and a lot of work. It's going to be difficult as hell, and I'm sure I don't need to tell any of you about the voice in the back of my head saying "...but what if I fail?"
For once, there's a simple answer to that question: If I fail, I condemn myself to gradually decreased mobility, the loss of my ability to do so many of the things I love...and ultimately, I die. Yeah, I know we all do - but if there's a way for me to make it happen later, rather than sooner, I need to do it
I owe it to meglimir
. To smileystickman
. To peaberry
. To banesidhe
TO MYSELF.I'm screening all comments on this; I've had to leave the post public, so certain important people in my life who *gasp* don't have LJs can see it. I'll probably unscreen the non-spam comments eventually, but I make no promises regarding responding to them...because honestly, I don't know what I can say at this point.