Dream a Little Dream

I walked into the doctor's office on Thursday morning resolute. I was going to be calm. I was going to be firm. I'd lay out my position. I'd flatly state my case. This time I would prevail.

"Doctor," I envisioned myself saying. " I've decided it's time for the Lap-band surgery."

No, Gastric Bypass for me. Sure it's faster. A little more permanent. But I like the idea of the lap-band. I like the idea that someday I can remove it. That it's adjustable. That I have to change my diet and my lifestyle but that I'd have just one more weapon in my arsenal. Mama's little helper. Without all those nasty side effects. Lap-band surgery. It's time.

Shoulders back, head up, pushed through the big heavy doors, checked in and sat in the waiting room. I was going to do it.  The kids will be grown soon. There is still so much I want to do with my life. Like, ya know walk up a flight of stairs without losing my breath and wander around San Francisco and go to Europe and get married again. I want to get a great job. A dream job. A job in which I wake everyday grateful because I get to go to work. I want to run. Like I do in my dreams. Fast and free sprinting across the landscape.

"I want lap-band surgery." I practiced in my head. "I want lap-band surgery. I've researched and read. I have insurance. I want it."

Lifted my head and waved in acknowledgement of my name being called. "I want lap-band." Stepping off the scale. "I want lap.." Into the room. Really all my clothes off? It's just a physical. Wrapping myself in the handkerchief square of paper. "I want..." Waiting for 25 minutes. "I..."

Really perfectly healthy huh? Great blood pressure, pulse, blood sugar. No, no thyroid problems. Well, that's, ummm great."  ..." Of course I can exercise every day and watch what I eat. 30lbs in a year is a perfectly reasonable weight loss. No sugar for the rest of my life. OK. or bread. or red meat. or alcohol. Ever."


There's aways next month. I can start practicing now. "I SAID, I WANT..."