So I won't worry about my timing, I want to get it right, no comparing, second guessing, no not this time

Tomorrow marks six months since Roosevelt was created. Six months ago, I was packing my hospital bag, running to Target to get the last minute items people who had had the surgery before were telling me I would need. I was loving on the dogs and cats, as in case I died in surgery, I wanted them to remember how much I loved them. I skyped my sister and her kids. I drank the last three optifast shakes I had in the house, trying to savor them, as I knew I had at least 24 hours of no eating ahead of me. I texted friends. I made a list of people for my mother to get in touch with after surgery, the friends who wanted to know as soon as possible that I was okay. I knitted. I watched TV with my parents. I tried to go to bed early because I knew when my alarm went off at 3:30 am the next day, I would not want to get out of bed. I thought I was fully prepared for what lay ahead of me.

I do not regret the surgery. I do regret some silly little things though.

I wish I had eaten pizza the last weekend I was on an unrestricted diet. I can no longer tolerate it and occasionally I miss it.

I wish that I still belonged to my beloved 9Round in Greenville, SC. I need to start working out more and it's hard to get motivated right now. I miss the camaraderie I had there.

I wish I could drink water again without gagging. Never did I ever think I would ever come to despise the taste of water. It's truly one of the biggest mindfucks of this whole experience.

I figure if those three things are my only regrets, then undergoing the gastric sleeve was the right choice.

There are other things I wish I could change. I wish that people that not feel the need to comment on my appearance.

That's not to say that I don't like getting compliments. I do. However, there's a fine line between just simply complimenting and going a step too far.

Being told I look great, that's okay.

Being grilled about how I lost the weight? Pisses me off to no end.

Having folks ask me about what I can eat now? Pisses me off to no end.

Being asked about how much I can eat now? Pisses me off to no end.

Being told I took the easy way out? No expression fits just how angry this makes me.

Here's the simple truth. I am losing the weight the way anyone else does--I eat less. I exercise. There is no fucking magic formula to weight loss. You eat less. You exercise. It comes off. Some days, I want to tell people it's thanks to my tapeworm. Or my newfound cocaine habit.

Roosevelt is not a magical solution. He's a tool. And just having a stomach that holds less than 5 ounces is no guarantee that I'll lose all the weight I want to. Or that I'll keep it off forever. Even with weight loss surgery, you can regain weight. You can regain all that you lost. Roosevelt will get stretched out eventually. I am told there will be a day where I can eat more than 5 bites without feeling like there's an elephant crushing my chest.

Because that's what it feels like if I eat even half a bite too much. It's uncomfortable. It feels like my chest is being crushed. There really is no relief to this feeling either, until the food passes through Roosevelt. Unless I vomit. And as much as I hate vomiting, some nights I am more than happy to do it, because it means I'm not in discomfort.

And having people tell me that that know how I feel when I eat too much or vomit, that's bullshit. Unless you've had weight loss surgery, you don't. Full stop.

And now that I've hit 6 months out, people are noticing now that I've lost weight. It makes me cringe that it took losing 65 pounds for people to notice a difference, but that's probably not the case. It's just now open season on commentary on my appearance. And asking me how I've lost the weight. And how much I've lost. Blah, blah, blah

And while I want to be open about having the surgery, I have become more selective again about who gets the full story. Seeing the look of discomfort on people's faces when I tell them I had weight loss surgery can be almost comical. I am not ashamed of having Roosevelt.

I don't need to be reassured that I wasn't that big. That they're surprised I went for weight loss surgery because I surely only had 50 pounds to lose. Whatever line they want to feed me.

I was that big. When I started my pre-op liquid diet, I knew I was at least 120 pounds away from the finish line. I am now 55 pounds away from that point. I hope to be there in another 6 months. Roosevelt doesn't necessarily mean that the remaining 55 are going to melt off. I have not lost a pound in close to 3 weeks right now, because I've hit a stall, which seems like a cruel joke. I permanently altered my digestive system. I live off refried beans for the most part. And protein shakes. I consume under 1000 calories a day. It's just not right that the damn scale isn't budging.

But it's going to be okay. Celebrating my 37th birthday was wonderful, because I knew that the next year was going to be filled with positive changes. I knew that I could continue to handle whatever life throws my way. I was reminded of how wonderfully supportive my friends have been and continue to be. Of how wonderful my family is. I know what the impact that God has had in my life and that he will continue to guide me.

Six months later, I just know that things are going to continue to get better. I know that things will continue to anger me. I know that there will be more challenges ahead. I'd be foolish to think otherwise.

However, someone told me right after I got my letter telling me I had been approved for surgery, that everything was going to be okay, because I was going to get fixed. And that is what still pisses me off most of all. The one comment that still makes my blood boil.

There was nothing about me that needed fixing pre-surgery. Not a damn thing. To say that I was going to be fixed implies that I was just a messed up, broken individual with no hope. And that couldn't be further from the truth.

The one thing I am most grateful for, post surgery, is that my filters are going away. I no longer feel timid about speaking my mind. About standing up for myself. Admitting that I need help. Reaching out to friends when I need their fellowship. Showing my vulnerability. Allowing my extroverted side to override the introverted side. And there's more, but I am babbling.

And I do wish I could go back in time and talk to myself six months ago. The woman who thought she was so prepared for what lay ahead of her. I would tell her this "Expect the unexpected. Let go of all of your preconceived notions. Nothing will be as you expect. But trust me, it's all going to be okay. In fact, it's going to be brilliant."