Ideals…

This photograph was floating around Facebook yesterday. A bunch of my Weight Loss Surgery friends had shared it on their walls. Each time I saw it posted I clicked on it, looked at it and thought about it. Each time it left me a little unsettled, because I know that my own ideals have changed with each goal I have reached.

When I decided to have weight loss surgery, I was 330lbs, a size 26 and my goals were not in numbers or sizes but simply to reach healthy and normal. Achievable, right?  Yeah, well not so much. I’ll tell you why. “Normal” is in the eye of the beholder. As an extremely obese woman I would have been giddy to reach 225lbs! A size 18 was a dream come true to me at that point. But when I reached a size 18, I immediately set my sights on a 16 or a 14, because 18 wasn’t normal enough! Then I reached a size 16 and I was unamused. It was not a celebratory state. There was no WOOHOO I’m a size smaller. It was more of a “shit, I’m only ONE size smaller?”.

From very early out post WLS I relied on the scale to tell me my success, my worth, and to give me my rewards or punishments. Those numbers dictated the day. They still do, but not nearly as obsessively as they did a few months ago.

So, here I am at a size 12, and probably able to squeeze into a size 10, but avoiding the fitting room for fear that putting on a 10 will be a failure (hello insanity, take a seat, get comfy, I know you’re here to stay. Bitch). Once upon a time a size 12 wouldn’t have been an attainable goal for me. So having reached it, and now possibly having passed it, I should be content and proud. And I am proud. There is pride in this. There is NOT contentedness. NOPE. Not at all. Because, I want to be a size 8. I want it, I can taste it. I can fantasy shop for it.

I have heard time and again int he past few months “you look beautiful” and “You’re HOT!” from my husband, my friends, my family. I love it. It makes me smile. So why? WHY WHY WHY am I not content? Why am I not satisfied? Why do I want to continue pushing for smaller and smaller and smaller? When I reach an 8 will I want to try for a 6?

If that happens, if I get my ass into a size 8 and I am not satisfied and ready to maintain and settle for that, somebody had better come hunt my ass down and give me a serious smack down. I see the slippery slope in front of me. I want to put the breaks on, and yet I want to free fall down that hill as fast as I can.

I feel as thought my clothing sizes are a game of whack a mole. I’ve got the hammer and I’m slapping those critters down. 26, 24, 22, 20, 18, 16, 14, 12….. WeeeHeeee I’m winning, you can’t stop me now! I got this. No… I’m crazed and obsessed. So, I will allow myself to strive for an 8. I hope I get to ten and find comfort and acceptance with in myself.

Decompressing

Image

When the world gets to be too much for me, I often hide.
This morning I told Kailey that she will have some big surgery on October 21. She was sent home early from school after the smell of rubbing alcohol triggered an anxiety attack.
This is how she spent her afternoon. Folded between the ottoman and sofa, on the floor, out of sight, with the IPad. She sat there, in her space, decompressing and happy.
She is her mother’s child

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Body Morphing, its just a strange thing

Here I am 13 months post vertical sleeve gastrectomy. The honeymoon phase is waning. The need to make a conscious effort is apparent. A few days of bad choices equals a few numbers increased on the bitch of a scale. Damn that scale.

So, anyway, its a funny thing, the way a bariatric body changes. We have a body type. Those of you who are bariatric know what I mean. We morph in stages. Top first, melt melt melt. WHOA.. look at those cheek bones just days/weeks/months out. Then the neck, collar bones. Around 8 months out my waist changed, then I had to really work to get my legs to slim down… they were just hanging on to weight like potato sacks. Now here I am, slimming down again, and my waist is slimmer, my legs are slimmer and suddenly my face and neck and collar bones are slimming again.

There is amusement in this. I admit to being fascinated by the bari-body. The pre-pastics bari-body. We are identifiable. While we are proud of our weight loss, the way our bodies morph is often a bone of contention with many of us. The loose skin, the areas in which it hangs, the way the excess settles in areas such as our hips or lower belly, thigs, batwings, ankles, toes… what ever. Ahh thank the universe for the joys of the digital camera, the ability to take a photo and delete a photo, edit a photo and play with a photo. Thank the universe for the ability to connect with other body morphing freaks like me, who totally get it when I pinch the flap of skin on my hip and ask “What in the hell is THIS? What do I do with THIS?” and for those who laugh at me when I joke that “If a hurricane were to hit right now, at least we could all deploy our loose skin and parachute to safety” Its our super power. Flexi skin FTW!

Next time I  post a picture of myself and you wonder why I often post face pics, understand that the answer is this…… There is NO loose skin in my face, my neck or my shoulders! It is easily photograph-able with out needing to suck, push, roll or hide anything. When there are full body shots, I assure you that they are carefully selected, there are slimpressions worn to pull in the excess hangage, and they are shared painstakingly.

Stages of morphingI was recently asked if my brain is finally catching up to my body. I had to think about this for a day or two. I suppose it is. When trying on clothes I still grab one or two sizes too large. I still have anxiety trying on smaller sizes. Mind you, there is VICTORY in getting my ass into a size 12  and more so in the need to go try on a size 10… but there is also anxiety that comes along with going to grab those 10’s and carry them into the fitting room. But yes, my brain is there. I know I need the smaller size. I DO see it. I DO like it. I’m totally NOT bitching about it! YEEHAW to cute jeans! WOOHOO to skinny jeans! And YIPPY to the fact that this fall I will get myself a pair of boots because my calfs are thin enough to wear them! SO there! LOL

I digress, the point is… we are constantly in a stage of morphing. I don’t know that it matters how far out we are either. We just change shape every few months, bounce back to a shape, then revisit another shape. We are shape shifters, body morphers… we have super powers so watch out!

Sick Kids + Insurance = Its not all taken care of….

I have never taken the time to write about the financial aspect of having a sick child. Its a personal thing, its a difficult topic, its a sensitive issue for many people. That all being said, I have watched friends struggle, my family has struggled, and the vast majority of the public assumes that either insurance covers everything or the government steps in to help.

The majority of middle class families who have a sick child have a primary insurance company. Primary insurance covers (for us) 80% of medical procedures with in network doctors. We have a maximum of $3000 out of pocket. After that is covered, insurance covers all procedures. They do not however, cover all medications. Our monthly pharmacy bill alone is upwards of $300 a month. Laboratory Billing is separate,  Imaging billing is separate, medical equipment is separate.. and so on and so forth.

We do not qualify for SSI because my husband, our sole provider makes too much money for a family of six. Applying for a deeming waiver for medicaid has proved to be exhausting and loathsome, and difficult. We have been denied. I need to reapply because the time in which I had to appeal has expired. I let the ball drop. What ever.

Why am I telling YOU this? Well… heres the thing…. I have a friend, who has a sick child. This friend holds fund raisers to raise funds for his family and other families like his. Every few months they hold a small comedy show or event, something fun, a nigh out, nothing asking for large donations. Just something that can happen with in the most basic of circumstances.

It is my observation that when a child is initially diagnosed with an illness, a family is showered with support from well meaning friends and family. They are loved, and people are eager to show it.  But childhood illnesses such as leukemia, take YEARS to fight. And eventually the child who is fighting for their life, becomes well, not so sensational. And people go back to their every day normal, while the sick child’s family struggles to hold on to any semblance of normal that they can hold on to.

Finances dictate normalcy to a child. Siblings want to play sports, take dance classes, and when physically strong enough, the sick child would like to do the normal things other kids his age are doing as well. Do you know how much it sucks to tell your kid “Sorry honey, you can’t play basketball this year because we just can’t afford it.”? I do. It sucks. A lot.

So, my friend Tommy saw a way to gather friends, gather support, help his family and other families like his own. He has asked people to come out and show their support. And well… 2 years into his son’s battle with leukemia, he is seeing the support slowly trickle away. He is disheartened and disenchanted. It breaks my heart to see another parent feel jaded by the outside world. I chose to distance myself from the world when I had Kailey. Tommy chose to put his faith in his friends and his community when his son was diagnosed with leukemia. I know that Danny has had tremendous support so far, but he deserves support all the way through. He is a little titan! His story should be one with an ending as big as its beginning! Danny deserves an entourage the size of a stadium.

So, I’m writing to remind you, that we, the parents of sick kids, we rely on you… our friends, our family, our community… to continue to show your support, year after year… because the battle continues long after the initial diagnoses. The battle continues and gets worse, and sometimes gets better… but it continues and we are not “so strong”, we are along for the ride. Our children are strong, our children are amazing, we, the parents… rely on you the outside world to lend us strength… because sometimes we are running on empty, and facing tomorrow seems impossible.

Donations can be made to :

Friends of Danny

10 Highland Ave

West Islip, NY 11795

 

Momma and baby, a moment shared.

I found myself standing there, in the dark, dank silence of the garage, soaking in this moment…. she had her arms around my neck, her tiny head resting on my chest, her head below my chin, her legs draped over my arm, as I cradled her like I use to not so long ago. It was a quiet moment, a calm at the end of a stormy day. She was exhausted and so was I. It was just a moment, and I think we were both painfully aware of how incredibly rare and special that moment was. We were just still, deep breaths, strong grips, and silence.

It was only 3PM, the boys had not even gotten off of their bus yet, and here we were, 13 hours into the day from hell. We expected a rough day. We know that any day scheduled at the hospital will suck. We didn’t expect it to start at 4am, we didn’t expect the emergency room as an entrance. We didn’t expect the pain and anxiety.

Kailey is 8 years old. She is a tiny little bit of a girl. 30lbs and not even 3 feet tall. Kailey has a number of medical conditions, and I choose the term medically fragile when speaking of her, because above all else, the fact that her life is fragile is the most important fact I can stress. She is handicapped, she uses a wheelchair. She is a cardiac child, she has a mechanical mitral valve. She has a rare disorder called haywells syndrome, which amazingly enough is considered to be a random mutation. Any one of these things in and of itself would be bad enough, combine them together and well… you just don’t know what you get from day to day. We didn’t expect to see our girl celebrate her fifth birthday. She is now eight. At some point, we stopped projecting on the “but when” and decided to enjoy the “right now”. This way of life suits us well 99.9% of the time. Every .1% reality swoops in and gives us a really mean reality check.

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Kailey was scheduled to have a cystoscope to check out her bladder at 11:30 on Wednesday. At 4Am on Wednesday, Kailey came hysterical into my room, in pain. Her bladder was full, it hurt. Because of her spina bifida, she has a mitroffanoff to access her bladder. We catheterize her through her belly to get the urine out. We have been having a hard time lately, thus the reason for the appointment later in the day. At this point, I was unable to get her cathed. We tried and tried. Ultimately we ended up at the Emergency room.

Once at the ER, we were greeted by the lovely woman who works behind the desk at the CHILDREN’s HOSPITAL, who, when pulling up my daughter’s name stated “you’re scheduled for day surgery, you need to go upstairs.”. Here is how this goes.

Me “Yes, she is scheduled for surgery at 11:30. It is 8am, she is in pain and needs seen RIGHT NOW. The doctor’s service said to bring her into the ER”

her “So you’re coming from the doctor’s office?”

Me <GLARE, look at watch, GLARE> “Uh, no, I’m coming from home. This is not a child with behavioral issues, this is a child in agony. You have to admit her to the ER”

her “Oh, okay hold on.” .. picks up phone, dials and speaks “Uh, I have a mother here who refuses to take her child to registration, she is scheduled for day surgery, what should I do with her?”

At this point I walked to a nurse, explained again that the child who I have with me, that is screaming in agony, and demanding somebody help her RIGHT NOW… is not a child with behavioral issues, but rather a child who has not urinated in over 12 hours, and that the surgeon told us to come to the ER. The nurse went to the idiot at the desk and told her to check us in. There was a debate between the two. I took Kailey and sat down while the battle of wills went on over there. I had nothing to contribute. My heart was broken. My will was shattered. My baby was in so much pain.

Finally another nurse called us over to take K’s weight, temp and allergies. She gave her her bracelets, then told us to have a seat. Dumb struck I said “huh?” she said pointing to the empty chairs “Go there and sit, somebody will come and get you”. Uh, oh… well, okay.

Now, this is where I should let you all know that at our usual children’s hospital (CHOA has FOUR hospitals in a very close area all specializing in different areas. We usually go to Egleston, because of their cardiac unit) sees us walk into the ER, and Kailey’s chart must be flagged, because we have never, ever EVER so much as sat in a waiting area there. EVER. We have signed in, and been escorted straight back. Seas part for Kailey at that hospital. They are NO JOKE. DO NOT PASS GO! No no, straight to a room with a nice lil’ pulse ox, and telemetry monitor on you.

Being told to have to sit in an ER waiting room, while standard for the whole wide world, is not standard for Kailey, ever, especially when she is in THIS MUCH PAIN! I have never ever seen her hurt like this.

My advocate self, my take no crap self, my “don’t screw with my baby” momma bear self…. BROKE! I don’t know what happened to me, I don’t know who I was. I was completely swallowed whole by the words my daughter had spewed at me about wishing she could just die. I was traumatized by the world around me and how completely out of body this whole thing seemed. I was not myself and I was not doing my thing. So, Kailey stepped in.

Kailey started to yell at ‘She who sat behind the desk’. When I say yell, I mean… this child turned UGLY. She screamed “Im going to slam my head into the floor and MAKE MYSELF BLEED! Do YOU HEAR ME? I’m going to make myself bleed, so somebody HAS to come out here and HELP ME!” OMG, my 8yr old just had her very own, “terms of endearment moment” for herself! GOOD FOR HER, and yet, how sad that she knows that this is a way she should have to get herself help?

At this point I texted my sister, who called the doctor, who sent a nurse, who got us into the ER. From there the frenzy was fast and furious. There was the attempt to calm the child with versed. They tried to put it up her nose. She spewed it back at them. Not happening. The urology fellow came down and tried to get her catheterized. She failed. It was clear that this bladder wasn’t going to get tapped while this kid was awake. So, the next step was get an IV going. Once that was done morphine was given. The savage beast was calmed. She pointed her finger in a circular motion and said “THAT… that medicine makes me sleepy AND it makes me not care! I LIKE THAT ONE!” Yes honey, me too. As soon as Kailey got her “not care” on, she was shuffled up to the OR floor. Notes were taken, doctors were in and out, I just stood, answering questions, holding her hand, and feeling both apprehensive and relieved. At least she didn’t hurt, but soon I would have to leave her. That moment, that horrible moment when you kiss your child goodbye before any surgery, was looming closer and closer, and with it, the old “what if” started to whisper like thunder in my soul.

Then we were home and  there we stood, soaking in our quiet moment in the dark, dank garage. Both of us knowing. Both of us exhausted. A moment an 8 year old shouldn’t have to understand, but she does. A moment, like so many others we have had, but a harsh reminder… that I don’t take advantage of the normal moments nearly enough.

Kailey will have more surgery in the upcoming weeks. I will let you all know about it, as the time arrives.

Perception, the way you’ve changed

Those of us who have had bariatric surgery have read many a story about the post op patient who has lost their weight, lost their mind, and found their mid life crisis. We have also heard many a story of those who have been there, done that, come back, found level ground and who live a happy sane life.

From MY personal perspective, there is a whole lot of unearthing of crap when you go from this:

to this:

Outwardly, it is easy to look at an image, or a facebook page, or a blog and think to yourself ‘Wow, she must be so happy!’ or proud or whatever. And to be clear, as for the weight loss, I AM! I am thrilled! Lets not be vague about that! Not for one second! I am happy and proud and giddy about the fact that I am no longer swallowed up by layers of my own fat.

However, those layers of fat gave me shelter. A reason to hide from the world. In my mind, I didn’t want to be exposed to judgment or hurt, harsh words, looks, etc. I didn’t want to feel the let down that I had felt in the past when I had let people in. And so my fat protected me. It was my shelter.

I recognized that my unsocial behaviors were neither who I use to be or healthy. I realized that my unsocial behaviors impacted my children. And just as my tendencies to feed my fears with food were slowly killing me mentally and physically, so was this hermit lifestyle. I was simply a fragment of the person I use to be. I didn’t know who I was anymore.

Sadly, those behaviors quickly defined who I was. The perception was that I was this person who didn’t have an outside life. I was the person who threw herself into her children and her husband, her family and nothing more. This perception is not incorrect, but this is not who I was. The vibrant girl I was before, was lost and the memory of her was lost as well. But she was still there, inside of me.

I decided to make these changes. I knew that with the change that weight loss surgery offered, there would be social changes too. I knew the statistics, I knew the crisis that hit damn near every one of us. I read and reread and thought I was prepared. Really, I thought I could handle it. I did.

Here I am 13 months post WLS. I have a whirlwind around me with fragments of two worlds spinning around. I am grabbing what I can, and trying to piece together, redefine rescue, the person I know I am!

I don’t have my shelter of fat to protect me. My guard is down. There is a ton of hurt, while I dig through this rubble. Accusations of “I don’t even know who you are anymore” and I understand that, because for 9 years I didn’t know who I was anymore either. I had to learn to trust people, and in doing that, I had to accept that sometimes people let you down, and sometimes people hurt you. And I fight myself, to not crawl back into that hole. I fight, and I reach, and I struggle. Because I KNOW who I am… or at least I know who I am not! I am NOT that person who sat by herself in sorrow for 9 years. I am NOT that person who guarded her wounds like badges of honor! I am NOT that person! That person was unhealthy and not somebody anybody should ever strive to be! EVER.

I am trying to grow from the damages I have caused myself over the past decade. I am trying to plant my feet firmly in the aftermath of the storm that I created in my own life. And I accept that people who knew me when I was fatter and more sullen are confused as to the changes they are seeing. I understand that this may seem sudden, awkward, manic, or out of the blue. I get where it will be perceived as a side effect of rapid weight loss, but I assure you, this is simply one of the steps I have to take, for myself, in addition to the weight loss. This is part of my process, and I hope you all make it through this with me.

“Nobody loves me, nobody cares,
Nobody picks me peaches and pears.
Nobody offers me candy and Cokes,
Nobody listens and laughs at me jokes.
Nobody helps when I get into a fight,
Nobody does all my homework at night.
Nobody misses me,
Nobody cries,
Nobody thinks I’m a wonderful guy.
So, if you ask me who’s my best friend, in a whiz,
I’ll stand up and tell you NOBODY is!
But yesterday night I got quite a scare
I woke up and Nobody just WASN’T there!
I called out and reached for Nobody’s hand,
In the darkness where Nobody usually stands,
Then I poked through the house, in each cranny and nook,
But I found SOMEBODY each place that I looked.
I seached till I’m tired, and now with the dawn,
There’s no doubt about it-
NOBODY’S GONE!!”
Shel Silverstein

I’m sort of excited!

Yesterday I received a package from Fed Ex. This alone is an exciting event. I LOVE packages. Admittedly they are usually medical equipment, but I still love to receive them. Packing bubbles! Ohh fun! The kids love it and so do I!

Anyway, what was in the package you ask? Well, it was a PERK! A perk? A PERK! About a month ago I qualified for a Perk on Klout. It was from a company called Big Train® & their new product called Fit Frappe™. I did as I was asked and filled out my preferences, my address and whola… package to my doorstep. Not my mailbox, my door step. This sucker wouldn’t fit in my mailbox.

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So, first impressions being what they are, I was pretty damn happy that I got a full size tub of protein, let alone samples of all of the flavors. Then, when I read, and re-read and triple read that this product could be mixed directly with HOT WATER I was nearly giddy. I know, its petty being happy not having to nuke my morning protein, but it is what it is. Second impression was skepticism. “Is this stuff going to clump up and seize on me?” I almost couldn’t wait for morning to come!

So, 4:30 am arrived and I was up and out of bed! I came downstairs and I brewed a cup of coffee. Sleepy headed I forgot that I was going to try my new Fit Frappe™. I remembered reading the suggestion that baristas could mix it up to customize their customer’s favorite coffee order, so rather than half & half I threw a scoop of Fit Frappe™ into my donut shoppe K-cup and whola, breakfast was served! It was delightful! Really really good. A great cup of Mocha goodness!

I waited till this afternoon to mix it up with plain ol’ water. I used hot water, because frankly I enjoy a warm beverage and again I wanted to see what it did when I used piping hot water.

I had no blender bottle…. it is MIA (somebody please send blender bottle)

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Even still it is clump free!

CLUMP FREE PEOPLES! CLUMP FREE!!!! HELLO! YOU HEAR ME?

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So, yeah, it’s really good. I like it with water alone. With milk or hood it would be creamy mocha goodness, but honestly my beverage of choice is going to be a big ol’ scoop of Fit Frappe in my coffee!

You want stats? I got stats! I used it in an 8oz serving so those are the stats you’re gettting!

8 fl oz

10g protein (Calcium Caseinate)

0 sugar

11g carbohydrate

calories 60

What does Big Train have to say?

“Fit Frappe is our new product line. Big Train has been around 20 years making gourmet drink mixes- chais, blended ice coffees…  We took a long time to roll out or new protein line Fit Frappe. The challenge is making a protein mix drink taste good added by the complication of adding coffee to a protein drink without an aftertaste. Looks like we hit a homerun on this line—Fit Frappe is getting huge reviews in the health and fitness communities. We just launched this product. No stores carry it yet although we are selling sample kits and jugs on our Facebook page – facebook.com/bigtrain “shop now”.”

So kids, if you are interested in purchasing some Fit Frappe, you can go to Big Train’s facebook page and click on “shop now” http://www.facebook.com/bigtrain?sk=app_135607783795

 

Battling obesity doesn’t end with WLS

I think it needs to be said that while WLS helps us to lose weight quickly, keeping it off and maintaining the right lifestyle is a constant battle.
Learning to cope properly is not easy, and for me, food is the easiest way to squash my emotions. The portions are smaller, but eating around my sleeve is possible. Owning up to my behavior by being accountable to my support system helps me to stay on track.
The one thing that sort of surprises me the most at 1 year post op is this… Struggling to lose 30lbs is the same as struggling to lose 170lbs. The struggle is no different. The end is in sight, it’s more tangible now, but… The fight is the same!

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Had somebody tried to tell me that at 300+ lbs I would have smacked them. I use to roll my eyes at my “normal” size friends, who claimed they needed to lose another 20lbs or so. Now, I understand. It’s not easy to lose weight at any size.
Be aware, those of you going into this soon, you will battle obesity for the rest of your life. Long after you fall out of the obese category, it will follow you around. It scars your body and your soul. It is a part of you and you shouldn’t forget it. If you ignore it, you could easily fall victim again.

I’m Here! .. wait… what?

Today a fellow sleever asked for a show of hands on facebook. Specifically he aksed for “over a year veterans”.

There are many times in my life where I have looked a situation and thought ‘it seems like yesterday..’. Often times when I look at one of my children, my husband, my parents. Sometimes when I open the front door of my home, or visit my old town. But never did I ever expect to feel that way about being a baby op. I mean, when did I become a veteran? I didn’t think I was. In my mind, I’m still green at this. I’m a newb. A babe, a fresh op. Careful, don’t scare me away!

Perhaps the fact that I had another surgery just three months after my WLS, I feel as though weight loss is still fresh, still progressing, still honeymooning. I know, logically that 18 months is the “magical” number assigned by “THEY” who write the books. “THEY” say that the majority of weight is lost with in the first 18 months after surgery. “They” also say a person who undergoes a vertical sleeve gastrectomy should expect to lose approximately 65% of their excess weight. Uh, yeah… that would have left me at about 215lbs…and I should have been happy with that? I don’t know who “THEY” are or where they get their numbers, but I think they may want to do some other research with in the community. Perhaps some updated studies. I don’t know.

Either way, being called a veteran is sort of like having somebody guess my age five years older than it is. It sort feels similar to the tick tock of the biological clock ticking in my chest. Its kind of like looking out the window and realizing that the big kid on the skateboard is my baby.

Lets slow down, take a breath, reassess the situation. Yes, I’m here for support. I am still in need of support. But by no means would I consider myself any kind of veteran. I’m in my surgical toddlerhood. I’m just ready for the equivalent of potty training. I still have accidents!

Disclaimer: The person who called forward the veterans did no wrong. He called forward those who seemed to be missing with in the support community. He was not looking to offend and I have no issues with him. 🙂 Its all rainbows and unicorns.

STOP SUGAR COATING IT GEORGIA?!?!

Really? REALLY? Did I REALLY just see this damn campaign AGAIN, on my television, in MY family room, WHILE MY KIDS WERE WATCHING?

What campaign? Sigh, let me take a breath. Okay. Georgia, Children’s Health Care of Atlanta… is “leading the campaign to stop childhood obesity”. How are they “leading” the way? Well… it goes like this.

There is a beautiful young lady standing alone. A voice over describes how, sure she liked sweets, like any other kid. And “I just thought she was thick like her momma ‘” they then go on to say how they didn’t know that what she ate could make her sick. When she was diagnosed with Type II Diabetes…..

SO.. whats wrong with this? Well… from my perspective… A LOT!

What was your body image at the age of 12 or 13? How did you feel standing alone in a room, in front of your peers? I wasn’t obese, I still squirmed in my own skin at that age. NOW… put this “thick” child on TV when the family is sure to be watching, single her out.. call her thick… what do the other kids in the house walk away with? I’ll tell you what. A fat kid, alone on a TV screen, looking ashamed… MUST BE BECAUSE SHE IS FAT!

I’m ashamed that this is the best way that this subject has been approached has been with shame. WTF Georgia.

http://strong4life.com/

 

Sadly, while I have been preoccupied with my own children, doctor appointments and lack of computer, I have lost contact with Lindsay Bishop from CHOA, who was supposed to work with me, to discuss this very topic, and to get a Walk From Obesity going with in the Children’s community as well as the bariatric community.

I have trusted CHOA with my daughter’s life. I have been nothing but satisfied with the care given there. CHOA has been our home away from home. The heath care providers are incredible. So how is it that a public relations team can be allowed to drag them down this way? Its shameful.

This campaign is disgusting. I’m sad. Frankly, I’m pissed off.  There are better ways to address childhood obesity. In your face, in my living room IS NOT THE WAY!