"Such a Pretty Face" or Chapter 1 in my Journey to Lose Weight

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Don't tell anyone, but I'm planning bariatric surgery. 

Don't bother:  "relating to or specializing in the treatment of obesity" The Merriam-Webster Dictionary 

Apparently, "needs to loose a little weight but doesn't she have a pretty face?" has given way to "oh look! she can't cross her legs but doesn't her hair look great?"

Well, I still think I'm pretty, even if the health system here labels me morbidly obese. 

Seriously? The cutoff seems quite arbitrary.  I don't care if my BMI has PMS, OCD and visits the DMV,  I may not be thin, but I am not on death's doorstep. 

Or maybe I'm not seeing myself as I should. I always considered myself an intelligent self-aware individual, but my confidence was shaken a few weeks ago when I discovered that I am no longer 5'4".

***** Cut to an image of my Great Aunt Anna -- all 4 feet of her - bustling around her Philly landmark restaurant, the Ambassador. "Mommy, why is she so short?" "Old people shrink, honey." 

So at 5'2" and ba-da-ba-bum pounds, I passed the requisite committees, medical tests and interviews which will entitle me to invite someone to cut away part of my stomach.

 But only after a diet meant to reduce the fat on my liver so that he can find it.

One of the specialists who has to agree to bariatric surgery in Israel is a psychiatrist. For better or worse, I have a psychiatrist who knows me for years. He is convinced that I am "fit to stand trial", that I understand the issues, that I have realistic expectations and that I will be so much happier in life if I can get back to the thin version of me.  


I really do believe that I have realistic expectations. With that established, I'm ready to go.

But first I have to  tell someone there is a conference room at work with chairs that have gotten narrower over the years.