In the begining...

The first question most people ask me is "Why the lap band?" There are two kinds of answers to this question. The first kind is where I detail the medical benefits. I chose the lap band because it's reversible, flexible, and fit my needs. I didn't have any serious health problems except for the fairly common side effects of obesity--trouble sleeping, back pains, leg pains, and other annoying little odds and ends of the medical variety. If there are problems, I could have the band tightened, loosened, or removed. When I want to, I can have children with the promise of loosening the band during pregnancy and tightening it after.

The second kind of answer is an emotional one. With the lap band, I felt less like I was giving up. I felt less like I was taking the "easy route." I remember my first visit to the bariatric office. The doctor I saw for my initial visit asked me a barrage of general medical questions and then asked me why I felt like I wanted or needed bariatric surgery. I could feel my throat closing up and I looked at my chubby knees covered in denim. I couldn't look him in the eyes, so I looked at my knees, the wall, the door. "I just want a chance," I told him. For 25 years I had struggled to be some kind of normal. Long after I understood what a fairy tale that word is, I still went through the motions of trying to attain some sort of semblance of a normal body. So the lap band gave me a chance while also giving me the emotional feeling like I would still be working harder than I would if I had chosen a gastric bypass.

What I learned is that weight-loss surgery is just a tool. It doesn't reflect on your ability or your self anymore than a carrot peeler does on a chef. We live in a culture where obesity is one of the last acceptable stereotypes and we tell ourselves that not losing weight "naturally" means you are weak and unworthy. It's the complete opposite. Being able to make this choice responsibly shows just how strong you really are in knowing your limitations and your commitment. Weight loss surgery, the lap band, was a personal choice and it inevitably led to larger things.

On the day of my surgery, my Aunt told me that I was the happiest person she'd ever seen to go into surgery. I was happy. I went into surgery bubbly and cheerful. I held a conversation with two nurses, an anesthetist, and one of my (very cute) doctors just before I went under. A woman from my pre-surgery information group was in the surgery prep area as well. She was smiling and as I was wheeled away I heard her call out, "This is the last time I'll be this woman. I'll be fabulous at fifty!" The last thing I remember before surgery is smiling. And it was great. I woke up, I went home a few hours after surgery, and I began to recover. I was happy the whole time. Yet, for months after the surgery, whenever I went to sleep, I would wake up terrified. I would wake up terrified that it had all been a dream. I would dream that the stitches in my belly scar would open up and everything would spill out. Either way, I would wake up in a panic, my fingers searching for the scar. Finding it, everything would be okay. I was afraid for a long time that my new life, my life as the person I'd always wanted to be but who was hidden inside layers and layers of someone else, would be just a dream. So to remind myself of reality, I decided to talk as much about the surgery and my truth concerning the surgery, my body, and my life that it would be undeniable. It would be more than a dream.

But the surgery wasn't just a dream. My surgery helped me to escape my body and become, not a new person, but the person I've always been. All of my would-could-shoulds become will-can-dids. I can sit in an airplane seat and not "spill over." I can buy clothes in pretty much any store. I could ride a roller coaster. I can walk into a room, a store, or a restaurant and know that if there are eyes watching me, it's not because they're laughing at or judging me. I will no longer hear "fat ass" yelled out of truck windows because someone thinks its funny. I will run a mile. I will wear a skirt. I can ride a horse. I can join the military. I can cross my legs. I will remember who I am. I did remember.

So where does the name of this blog come from, this Buddha Belly? Well, it's both a joke and an ironic discovery. My stomach, unfortunately, looked a lot like an old man's belly (you know, pants from 1965 still fit...right underneath the hugely looming upper belly those same pants are supporting). I would joke that I had a Buddha belly. With my surgery, the belly has mostly returned to a normal looking belly (thank God) but a bit of Buddha remained. What I mean by that is that the lap band and the changes in my life after the surgery began to teach me mindful living and mindful eating. These are both Buddhist principles. I learned that eating simply, eating with care, and eating with purpose easily and often subconsciously translated to living simply, living with care, and living with purpose. I learned to appreciate and crave tastes, textures, and moments rather than quantity, bulk, and speed. By having to slow down my eating, I slowed down everything else as well. This blog is about everything from discovering that the tree pose (yoga for those of you with giant question marks over your heads) helps me to digest with more ease to the discovery of food and flavors through my new lap band perspective to the more humorous moments of self-realization the lap band has "led" me to.

Hopefully, someone will find this helpful.

-April