Admitting That I Need Help

Sometimes you just have to suck it up and get humble for a minute...


The Hubs and I went to visit with some family this afternoon.  The last time we saw them was at Christmas and I have lost a bit more weight since then.  When we arrived, my sister-in-law answered the door and greeted us with a hug, and commented on my shrinkage.  She has been very open in her support of my journey and genuinely pleased with my progress along the way.  She said that she knows it's been hard, and I agreed, parts of it have been difficult.  But the hardest part, I think, was making the decision to do it.

I am a bit of a control freak, and it was so hard to admit that I needed help with something.  It was hard to admit there was something I couldn't conquer without assistance.  It was hard to suck it up and get humble for a minute.

This whole journey has been about humility, and sometimes even about humiliation.  My very first visit with the surgeon was a very humble moment indeed, realizing just how far I had let myself go...so far that I needed help to get back.  At that point, The Hubs and I had been married for over 25 years, and never in all that time had he known my weight.  I don't know what I thought I was trying to hide, he'd been seeing me naked for over 2 decades and knew my size.  But still...

That morning, when I was weighed in for the first time at the office, I let him know what my numerals were on the scale.  He asked if I was sure about that, and I said, "Yes, I am sure.  I'm committed to this and I'm all in, so you might as well know what I'll be dealing with."  I'm still not sharing those numerals with the world, but sharing them with The Hubs was a huge step for me.  A very humble moment.

Immediately after surgery when I was hooked up to an IV pole, I needed help just to go to the bathroom.  That was difficult.  The nurses were measuring my output and had me urinating into a hat.  Once, the hat was not properly situated on the toilet and I peed what seemed like 5 gallons, all over the bathroom floor, and I was not able to clean up after myself.  I felt horrible about that.  I can sometimes be high-maintenance, but I at least like to pick and choose when those times are!  Requiring help is quite a different thing, and not a feeling I am fond of or comfortable with.

Toward the end of the all-liquid diet phase, I became frustrated and depressed at times, wondering if I would ever be able to eat food again.  I was very limited in what I could consume and I got very bored and sick of it all by the time it was over.  I said I was never, ever so excited to be able to eat mashed beans and fish in my life!  I remember once crying because I knew I needed to "eat" something, but I had no appetite and the thought of another cup of clear bouillon almost made me sick.  I felt about as low then as I can remember feeling in a long time.

There were moments of physical and emotional pain that I prayed to get through.  Praying helps.  A lot.  I was talking to my Dad the other night and told him how very faithful and gracious God has been to me along the way, and how thankful I am.  I have leaned more on Him in the last year and a half than I have in ages, and I know He has taken care of me.  Times when bowel movements have been so painful that I sweated and cried, or when a period was so heavy that I had to sit down near the end of a concert I was singing in because I was about to pass out, or when I ate too fast and made myself sick...moments like those are not the "glamorous" side of weight loss surgery and recovery.  They are not what people hear about, and not what people want to hear about.  I have felt very helpless, and I don't like that feeling.  And I'm sure there are more helpless moments to come.  What I am learning all over again, though, is that God helps and comforts, every time, if I am just willing to ask for His help.

Sometimes, you just have to suck it up and get humble for a minute.