Friday 1-6-12
Sounds like a good name for a bluegrass band...
My CPAP machine (continuous positive airway pressure) for sleep apnea was delivered and I finally got it set up and began using it. My particular case of sleep apnea does not require me to wear a full mask for sleeping, just a small apparatus that looks a little bit like a snorkel, with what are referred to in the sleep apnea business as "nose pillows". So my headgear is not as uncomfortable as I had imagined it would be, although I will admit that the sensation of air being gently forced into my nostrils is a little strange and will take some getting used to. Like undertaking anything else new, adjusting to the CPAP will take a little time.
The Big Girl Britches also arrived this week, what I hope will be the last ones I ever have to purchase. For my CPE class and general hospital dress code, jeans are not allowed and I needed another pair of non-denim pants to wear on CPE days. I went to one of my favorite sources for plus-size clothing and ordered a pair of the pants I love in black, in the same ginormous size I've been wearing for years. So I waited a day or two before trying them on, and last night when I finally did try them on, I just pulled them on over my flannel pajama pants. It surprised me that, even with flannel pants on under them, they fit with room to spare! I haven't lost enough weight yet for people to really begin noticing (and that's not the reason I'm doing this anyway) but feeling the difference in fit of the new Big Girl Britches was satisfying.
There are other Big Girl Britches that I need to put on, and I am struggling with it. At some point I have to tell my Dad that I am having surgery, and I just don't look forward to it at all. I considered not telling him about it, but then I reconsidered because, A) I would want to know if he were having surgery, and B) God forbid something should go wrong and my Hubs have to explain, "Well, she went in for weight loss surgery and didn't plan on ending up dead, maimed, comatose, etc." It is my responsibility to tell him myself. I just need to pick my moment and state the fact that, "I am having weight loss surgery on such-and-such date and thought that you might want to know." He may be completely supportive of the idea, but I am past caring whether he is or isn't. I just know that I dread telling him.
Our history regarding my size holds unpleasant associations for me, memories of his well-meaning sermons on my health and the humiliation I felt as a result of them. He has always asserted that he only has my best interests at heart and is only concerned for my health...and I know that he is concerned about my physical health. My emotional and psychological well-being, unfortunately, have never mattered much to him as far as I can tell.
Without going into a lot of detail, I will simply state once more that my Dad is a Fatophobe. He is insensitive to the feelings of plus-sized people, seeing us as pathetic sad sacks whose size is a symptom of a flawed character. We are not presentable. We could change ourselves if we just had some self-discipline. He is disrespectful of fat folk the way some people are disrespectful of someone of a different race or religion. I grew up hearing him refer to a couple of large neighborhood people as "Fat (female name)" or "Fat (male name)". Their fatness was how he defined them. And my fatness is how he has defined me.
Chances are decent that, once I am no longer as visibly fat, he will find some other fault with which to define me. I have to prepare myself for that possibility. Accepters accept, and judgers judge. I also have to deal with the fact that, just as he has always judged me, I judge him too. In that way I am very much my father's daughter.
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