"Saboteurs are Poisonous!"

"It makes your butt look too fat!"  So said the best friend of a lovely voluptuous bride-to-be on the TV show, "Say Yes to the Dress".  The woman in the bridal gown, who had once been a pageant queen, turned pale, just a shade lighter than death.  She had been very excited about this particular gown, even commenting to the bridal consultant how well it shaped her derriere.  Beyond devastated, she silently walked back to the dressing room.

Over the next few episodes, mothers and sisters and aunts and fathers and brothers, not to mention fiances and best friends, of the brides-to-be continued to rail at what they considered to be flaws in their beloveds body.  "Your belly is huge in that dress!"  "It makes you look fat!"  "It doesn't make you look thin enough!"

What on earth would possess anyone to make such judgemental, sizest comments?  Why do we, the people who are closest to someone, feel the need to point out what we consider to be their worst features?  Just what gives us the right to cloak our judgements in statements pretending to include the obese person?  "You don't want to look like you're fat."  Really?  How do you know what I want to look like?  "You're an obese woman.  You need to figure out how to hide it."  I don't think so, friend.  Why would I waste my time on such a futile project.

I don't care if folks have opinions about my weight.  I don't care if those opinions differ from mine.  And, I certainly don't mind discussing obesity with others.  What I do mind is the constant barrage of criticism and advice that comes from well-meaning friends and family members.

"Have you thought about losing weight?"  What am I supposed to say to that question? "No, frankly, I didn't know I could lose weight.  Thank you for suggesting it."

This sort of question does not truly include me in the topic of my weight loss.  It is a presumptuous query meant to say I think you should lose weight.  I think you are too obese and I don't understand why you don't do something about it.  It focuses on your opinion of my weight and sends the signal that losing weight is the most important thing to do.  It does not share your anxiety over my weight or your fear of what my obesity might do to me.  

Now that is a conversation worth having.  My weight might worry you; it might give you nightmares of disease and early death; and if that is the case, you are welcome to discuss it with me in a loving, non-judgemental manner.  I will listen to your concerns and I may sympathize with you; but I will not allow you to make me feel as if my obesity is ugly, or disgusting, or something I should hide.

I think another important question to look at is, why does fat allow you to intrude on my personal life?  Would you intrude on the weight of my thinner sisters?  "Angie, I really think you should plump up.  You have no cushion in your butt."  Would you accompany your sister or best friend to a bridal gown consultation and reject dress after dress because it showed off her curves perfectly?  Of course not.  And, why is that?  This is the question everyone should ask themselves.  Why is it okay for a woman who weighs 125 lbs to look sexy and radiant, while a woman who weighs 275 lbs needs to be embarrassed and find a way to hide her curves?

If I want to walk up the aisle with the person of my dreams, I should be allowed to do so without fear of recrimination from the people I am closest to.  My wedding day should not be sabotaged by my well meaning friends and family, regardless of my affection for them.

My weight is not open for discussion with saboteurs.

"Have You Met Holly McFatso??"

The United States of America has some of the highest obesity rates in the world.  This is probably not news to most of you, given the numerous news programs devoted to this very issue.  As well as exploring the rise of obesity in this nation, much has been said about the probable causes, medical risks and costs, and the prevention of the disease.  I am sorta thinking that the average American citizen has at least a glimmer of knowledge regarding the epidemic proportions of obesity in this country, so I will keep the statistics on the lighter side.

More than one-third of U.S. adults are obese, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC).  That is a whopping 34.9% or 78.6 million people over the age of 19 years.  The statistics for our children and adolescents between the ages of 2-19 years have, for the most part, remained stable for the last ten years.  However, the CDC places their percentage at a disturbing 17%, which is approximately 12.7 million young people affected by obesity.

My question is, with so many overweight Americans wandering around, what is up with the hostility and sheer hatred evidenced by many people towards the obese?  Social media is an especially fertile ground for bullies... not that everyone is a bully. Let's just say that anonymity is precious to the dark side of humanity.

I recently read a comment on Facebook that was posted in response to an obese woman's challenge that we consider the ramifications of racism.  Actually, the fact that this person was obese was inconsequential to what she had to say.  Yet, the response posted by one hate filled individual was, "Eat another cheeseburger, you piece of s**t."  Interestingly, while searching Facebook for that particular post again, I typed "eat another cheeseburger" into the search box.  What came up was an astounding collection of photos and videos featuring obese people, both famous and non, each of which had the same refrain posted as a response to their obesity.  "Eat another cheeseburger..."  The charming epithet that followed was interchangeably, "fat boy", "bitch", "you fat prick", "you fat grease pit", "you waste of space", "you nasty pig", etc, etc...

Seriously??  Did I miss the meeting where we all learned to use name calling as a response to anything we don't like?  Was there a memo directing folks to characterize obesity as a hideous state of otherness?  Has the standard for respectful interaction among our species been lowered while my back was turned?  Forgive me if I protest too loudly!

Not that any of this nastiness and name calling is new.  We just have a world wide forum now to express our prejudice against not only the obese, but anyone who makes us in the least bit uncomfortable.  Want a rational discussion of racism?  No, we would rather point our fingers at your fat ass and laugh at how disgusting you look.  Want to rally over a woman's right to choose what happens to her body?  I am pretty sure we can come up with a photo of a woman with triple double chins holding a pro-choice placard to take a potshot at.  "Apparently, her choice is to eat another cheeseburger to keep her body in terrific shape!"  Do you have something to say about the considerable issues facing our LGBTQ youth?  It doesn't matter... especially if you are fat.  It appears that some people might think that being fat is a choice made by masochists who love to be ridiculed until it hurts.

When I was growing up, my last name was McFadzen...  I will take a moment for that information to sink into your fertile brains.  So what was I called by the brilliant minds of my classmates and neighbor kids?...  You guessed it...  "Hey, whatcha eating, McFatso?" "You look like you ate a whole cow, Fatty McFatson!"  "Hey, look at McFatty, she's got sticky fingers. Was that candy bar good, Miss Piggy?"

I was not even close to being fat when this started in elementary school, but what does that matter?  Equating another person with obesity has always been a favorite way to crush an opponent with shame.  What I was is a breeding ground for a lifetime of obesity. I was led to believe that I was, in fact, fat.  By the time I reached puberty, it was easy to convince me, since I was an adolescent and growing in places that had once been painfully thin.  I had already been trained to believe that I was fat.  And, by my mid-teens, I was definitely "overweight" by medical standards.  The medical charts declared that a girl of my height should weigh 102-118 lbs.  At 140 lbs, I was definitely overweight.  By the time I reached my mid-twenties, I was rocking 200+ lbs.  I was obese.

At least half of my life has been lived as an obese person, while the remaining years might as well have been spent as obese.  I never quite believed that I was a "normal size" person, even after losing 90 lbs in my late twenties.  Though I suddenly had a waist and my clothing was much smaller in size, I had plateaued and never reached that ideal skinny mini size of the medical charts.  At 135 lbs, I still believed that I was fat, and therefore, undesirable.  

And, worse than that, the insidious hatred of fat people was a part of me.  I knew it was wrong, I knew it was part and parcel of my own dislike for myself, I knew that I had to crush it before it crushed me; but still, the evil thoughts were there.  I didn't voice them, at least out loud... that's how wrong I instinctively knew it was to judge a person for their size.  But, walking behind a 400+ lb person slowly riding on an electric scooter in the grocery store would bring the nasty words up in my mind... "fat lazy pig." The interesting thing was that the "fat pig" comment was always accompanied by other degrading words... stupid, lazy, ugly, dumb, creepy... as if being fat automatically made you stupid and lazy, etc.  I am not proud of this part of my history.  It took years of self examination and therapy to rid myself of the instinct to equate fat with laziness.  It also took a vast amount of time to truly look at myself as worthy of respect regardless of my size.

This world has so many conversations to have; conversations about the insidious instincts we have learned regarding those folks who are different than us in one way or another.  Conversations that will allow each of us to live free of hate... our own self hate and our hatred of others.  Some of these conversations are already happening and, because of the willingness so many have displayed to see another person's experiences as valid, we are allowing ourselves to see that we are all different in so many ways.  If we allow the voices outside of ourselves to overrule the voices in our heads, we will learn to live free of the hatred of differences and begin to see the beauty of "otherness".

Let's join the conversations being had all over the world, and if we see a conversation that has not actually begun, let's be courageous and start that topic ourselves.  Violence is perpetrated out of hatred and lack of understanding that differences are not threatening to our own set of values.  The murder and suicide of people affected by hatred is monumental.  Racism allows people to murder others by virtue of their ethnicity and skin color alone.  The danger to black and brown skinned individuals does not stop with white supremacy groups; there should be constant vigilance from all directions, including our police officers, who have shot and killed close to 200 people of minority status this year.  Transgender violence is on the rise with 20 trans murders reported in 2015.  Eighteen of these victims were women of color and seven of the deaths occurred in the last month alone.  At least 41% of transgender people report having attempted suicide at some point in their life.

Joining the all inclusive conversations regarding racism, homophobia, transphobia and transgender violence, sex trafficking, mental illness, senior discrimination, bullying and suicide, differently-abled individuals, child rape and molestation, domestic violence, and obesity, just to name a few, is truly a matter of life and death for many of our brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, neighbors and acquaintances.  We have a responsibility to be aware and informed about hatred, regardless of its source.

"Against All Odds"

I had the pleasure of staffing an information booth at the PDX City Parks 5K Run at Gabriel Park in Portland, OR this last weekend.  And, I do mean it was a pleasure.  This was a great place to be reminded of who I am and why I have the goals I do.

First, let me say that I am in awe of folks who dare to participate in life at this level.  Other than running as a child, I have never had an urge to use running as a sport for the sake of just that... running.  When I was a child, I loved running bases and I adored playing Hide and Go Seek, Tag, and other playground games; and of course, as I got older, there was the Catch the Toddler game that every parent has been forced to play.  You know the one... as they dash for streets and ponds and other hideous life defying challenges, you run as fast as you can to try to catch them.  Not nearly as fun as Tag, but it does get your heart pumping at cardio level.

The folks who attended the 5K Run at Gabriel Park all had one thing in common... they wanted to be there, they wanted to run, and they wanted to cross the finish line.  I did not spot a single person there that day who looked as if they had been forced to attend the event; instead they appeared cheerful and ready.

The other thing I noticed was the variety of shapes and sizes and age groups present.  From children to adults, there were tall people and short people; small people and large people; thin people and obese people.  There were young folks and old folks, and given that the entry fee was a mere $5 bucks, I would imagine that the income levels were just as diverse, because it was affordable.

The courage on display, while not flaunted, was, nevertheless, remarkable.  I could barely walk while weighing 316 lbs, yet, here were, not one or two, but, many obese people, elderly people, and unfit people.  There were people of varying abilities throughout the spectrum of human experience.  It certainly fortified my trust and belief in the "against all odds" paradigm.

Extreme acts of courage run rampant throughout our society, yet we often do not stop and observe the immense spirit it sometimes takes to just be who we are.  Take Caitlyn Jenner, who recently was the recipient of the prestigious Arthur Ashe Courage award at this year's ESPY (Excellence in Sports Performance Yearly) ceremony.  This award is intended to honor "people whose contributions transcend sports through courageous action."  ESPN released a statement last month, saying, "This year, we are proud to honor Caitlyn Jenner embracing her identity and doing so in a public way to help move forward a constructive dialogue about progress and acceptance."  

FYI, in case my readers live inside a rolled up sock without access to gossip or news from the outside world, Caitlyn Jenner was once Bruce Jenner, the former Olympic Champion track and field athlete.  She is a lovely woman, who has not only won the Olympic Gold Medal (the highest award given to athlete's for their prowess on the field), but has now also been honored with the highest sports award for courage.  

To me, the fact that Caitlyn Jenner has fully shared herself with the world, despite criticism and controversy, is a stunning act of courage.  She has given yet another strong voice to the transgender community, opening another opportunity for understanding and the elimination of discrimination.  I will always love her for that.  

Yet, for her, the act of speaking publicly while reading from a teleprompter at the ESPY awards took a dual amount of courage; one, because of her fear around her childhood dyslexia, and two, because she is not yet happy with the pitch of her voice and she wanted people to hear what she had to say, rather than observing the pitch of her voice.  Our own inner demons are probably the worst, most poisonous voices we will ever hear.

Like Caitlyn, the obese men and women who showed up to run at the 5K event, regardless of what others might think of them; regardless of what they might look like in others eyes; and regardless of the pain they might feel in their joints, both before and after the event; these people are my heroes.  They are willing to cut through their own fears to live life to its fullest, and by doing so, they both impress and enable each of us to do the same.

  

"The Dreaded Plateau"

It's July 9th and this is the week I am supposed to schedule my knee surgery.  I have not done so yet, and I won't be able to do so anytime soon, simply because I am on a freaking plateau.  I haven't lost one pound for over a month now, which means that I have not come any closer to attaining my doctor's goal for me, which is a BMI of 40.0.  In fact, if truth be told, I have gained 10 lbs since March 24th, which has me at a BMI of 44.6.  Ouch!  (Remember that yo-yo thing we talked about last week?)  

So right now, I am 30 lbs away from my goal.  I've been trying to convince myself that it is all water weight.  My legs are certainly swollen, and have been for most of this last month.  I have also had an excessive amount of pain in my knees while walking... standing, sitting, sleeping,  Both are telltale signs that I am holding excess fluid in my body.  It is also true that I have been somewhat lax about taking my diuretic medication on a daily basis.  Given my history of long, drawn out plateaus, with a sudden drop in weight of 5-20 lbs inside a week's time, my story to myself might even be true.

But what if it's not!  What if I have truly gained this entire 10 lbs, thereby destroying the painstaking work I put into losing that 10 lbs in the first place?  What's going to prevent me from gaining the entire 85 lbs that I have lost so far?  And, more to the point, what will prevent me from gaining another 85 lbs beyond that?

I forget the terror of being unable to draw a deep breath... the pain of attempting to stand and the agony of walking even one step away from my chair.  It is all too easy to forget what life used to be like before the changes that I made to make myself more comfortable in my body.

I spent years weighing 225 lbs.  Regardless of how much weight I lost, I always returned to the 225 lb mark.  That is until I quit smoking and found myself eating my way up to 316 lbs within a year's time.  What is interesting to me is that I actually lost 85 lbs in my twenties... I went from 225 lbs to 140 lbs... and I kept that extra weight off for a number of years.  However, when I did gain weight again, I managed to return to the original 225 lbs, and then gained yet another 85 lbs for good measure.  Imagine!  I actually doubled the 85 lbs I had originally lost, and found a new high weight to settle into.

Sound familiar?  I took off 85 lbs a few years ago, and then gained 45 of them back.  Fortunately, I came to my senses before reaching 280 lbs.  But here I am, having taken off that same 45 lbs (returning to a total of 85 lbs lost) and what is happening?  Again, I ask, what will prevent me from gaining double what I have currently lost (170 lbs), and finding yet another new weight high to settle into???

I am hoping that the answer is myself, even though it hasn't felt like it lately.  I managed to lose the rhythm of my hope, excitement, and yearning for my new knees.  I forgot what it felt like before I lost 85 lbs... I forgot that my new knees are dependent upon a goal weight and BMI... I even forgot how easy it is to regain weight after losing it.

I haven't stopped myself from consuming more sodium than is healthy.  Nor have I followed my weight loss plan... I haven't written in my journal; I haven't posted to my blog; I haven't kept track of my food intake or my portions or the types of foods I am consuming.   Basically, I have not been doing anything to prevent holding the water or gaining weight.  I have not been accountable to myself or anyone else in any way, shape, or form.

So now what?  How do I get back on track?  Believe it or not, my swollen fluid filled legs are a painful reminder of what lies ahead if I totally lose control.  They are my first step in remembering what I do not want to return to.  Memory is the key, I think.  I need to remind myself of why I am on this weight loss journey.

This blog is one of my memory tools... I remember through writing about being obese.   Writing centers me and gives me a sense of purpose that I can translate into losing weight and becoming fit.  So let me be accountable to both you and me.  I will post my thoughts to this blog on a more regular basis.  Hopefully, I will pick up the rhythm of hope, excitement and yearning in the process.

"Once a Yo-Yo... Always a Yo-Yo!"

Wow... My last post was on April 1st of this year. What is that? 94 days ago???  Basically, three months since my last communication. Way too long. It appears that I have let far too many things allow me to neglect the very essence of me... my one true passion... which is writing, and most especially, writing for you!

So without further ado...

So, let's talk about yo-yos. 

You mean the little round toy on a string that Tommy Smothers, the Yo-Yo Man, swings and gyrates and manipulates to perfection? That wonderful spinning toy of tricks where you can learn to Walk the Dog or Rock the Baby or go Around the World? First invented in China... no, Greece... no, the Philippines... suffice it to say that the yo-yo has been around for a very long time, much longer than the Pedro Flores version of the 1920's, which was later purchased by Donald F. Duncan.

No, not that yo-yo, sillies. I am talking about that annoying up and down weight loss/weight gain so many of us experience throughout our lives. Some say, once a yo-yo, always a yo-yo. Sounds pretty defeatist, but there is a certain amount of truth to that statement.  Anyone who has yo-yo'd their way up and down the scales knows that the inevitability of gaining and losing weight is certainly a reality for some of us unfortunate souls. This is not to say that we are defeated before we have even started.

Call it genetics, call it environment, call it loss of self control, or hell, call it bad luck! The truth is, obesity simply happens for a myriad of reasons. I accept that I am an obese woman, with a body shape similar to my mother and grandmother and even some aunts, nieces and cousins. That speaks to both genetics and environment. 

But what about self control? I am a person with an addictive personality, who has a passion for anything that can feed her wild compulsions, thereby, giving her a reason to get up everyday. There was a time that I drank alcohol, until the blackouts took away the pain and isolation I lived within... Hello, my name is Holly and I'm an alcoholic.

Likewise, in my youth, a little drug called speed had a magical touch for making me feel alive inside my body. For twenty years, I smoked anywhere from 2-3 packs of cigarettes a day. Frankly, some of my best writing happened while I was stoned, one way or another... Hello, my name is Holly and I'm a drug addict.

I love the taste of food. I love the rich nuance of flavors and I love the aromatic sensibilities. If this was the extent of my love for food, I would be called a gourmet, a connoisseur of fine food... Hello, my name is Holly and I'm a compulsive overeater.

For many years, I lived my life replacing one addiction with another... alcohol, drugs, food, caffeine... let's not even get me started on my collection of office, art and craft supplies. Some of these addictions have been conquered to the extent that I accepted that I was powerless and worked to relieve myself of their insidious grip on my life. More importantly, I have spent countless hours in therapy and meditation and reading and writing and journaling to discover that my addictions are a melding of my mind and body, attempting to create a safe space for me to fit into. The pain and isolation of repeated abuse teaches many of us to expect nothing from life, and for me, to search diligently for a way to not exist.

So what were we talking about? Ahhh, yes, self control, or the lack thereof. There is a widespread opinion within the addiction communities that we addicts have no self-control. I agree, and yet, I disagree. I have not had a drink in the last 33 years; my addiction to illegal drugs was broken within a year or two of that; it has been 22 years since I smoked a cigarette; and my love affair with caffeine crashed to a halt sometime in the last decade.

I have great self-control once I admit I am powerless over an aspect of my life that is leading me into suicidal defeat AND make a decision to make the changes necessary to respect and love myself enough to don the armor of courage and do battle with my addiction of the moment. Don't I? This is where I disagree with the assumption that we recovering addicts lack self-control. 

Didn't I say I both agree and disagree? Well, yes, I believe I did. My agreement lies in the endless ways I am able to exchange one addiction for another; given that I have never been actually totally free of addiction and compulsion, I would venture to say that my image of my own self-control might be skewed.

What does this have to do with being a yo-yo, endlessly bouncing up and down the weight scale? You tell me. I think the answer is as individual as we all are. For me, my addiction to food allows me to be a yo-yo. We all have to eat to survive, so it is impossible to mark our calendars with the date we last took a bite of food, in the same way as we can with our last drink or cigarette. Conquering a food addiction seems to be a never ending task that works one day and not another day.

Personally, I choose to refrain from the use of the word, never! I will never go back... I will never be fat again... I will never eat anything unhealthy, ever, ever, never! To do so would make me a liar, over and over and over again. I prefer to allow myself the courtesy of one day at a time. Today, I will not take a drink. Today, I will not smoke a cigarette. Today, I will eat like a sensible person.

Yes, I am an alcoholic, a drug addict, a compulsive overeater, and a dog-gone yo-yo, but I believe in choice. We always have a choice to make sense of our lives and defeat our demons. Don't get me wrong. I need to remind myself often of this ability to choose, but the choice is always there.

"Pain Relief is a Mighty Incentive!"

I am someone who needs to weigh herself everyday.  Yes, I know the weight loss experts advice is to weigh in moderation; no more than once a week.  However, the experts one size fits all approach does not work for a person who has considerable water weight issues.  I can actually gain 20 lbs in 10 days, only to have it disappear just as quickly.  Because of this, my doctor prescribes a water loss medication that attempts to rectify the problem.

Every time I have attempted the once a week weigh in, I have been sadly disappointed.  So often, the scale paired with my water weight issue does not show me an accurate weight.  Sadly, it is not very encouraging to have your weight remain the same after a week of pinching points or counting calories... or, worse yet, go up after working all week for the reward of marking off pounds lost.  The scale becomes a symbol of everything you are not doing right, and try as you might, it is impossible to keep telling yourself that the weight loss is there, when the scale says no.

"Measure yourself, sweetie.  You lost inches."  A familiar refrain and one that is not without truth.  The scale is not and cannot be the only instrument that measures our success when attempting to lose weight.  Taking measurements at regular intervals can be a great success tool, just as feeling the fit of your ever expanding pants gives immense satisfaction.

The truth is that motivation is a little thin in times of immeasurable chasms.  The valley of obesity is not for the faint of heart, and yet... there we are.  Lost and alone in a wilderness of fat that seems to be larger and stronger than we can ever be.  It takes a mountain of courage to take that first step towards weight loss and fitness.  It also takes unending bravery to continue down the path, through the highs and lows, over the plateaus, and into the darkest forests of savage loneliness.  For, in truth, we are alone on this journey.  We must face the terror of the voices in our own brains, constantly voicing concern over our choices.

"Didn't you eat a rather large portion of baked ham yesterday?  How do you expect to lose weight when you are constantly make poor choices?" That is the voice I call my Vindictive Mother.  She is never content to just urge me to look at my choices; she has to make sure that I know what a failure I am being.  Then there is my Chicken Soup Mother.  "You might as well have a piece of pie, dear.  You deserve a little something special after such a bad week."  The Chicken Soup Mother is always there to urge a splurge, regardless of whether one is warranted or not.

My Defeatist Mother can't help but clarify how far away my goals are and just how often I have failed to reach my goals.  "You aren't going to show any weight loss this week anyway.  I don't think you are really trying."  The Defeatist Mother knows how many times you have walked this path and failed to reach your end goal.  She also knows how often you have reached that goal, only to turn around and gain your weight back, plus some.  And, she keeps those failures ever present in the back of my mind.

How many of you have named the voices in your head?  That's the first step to defeating their evil intent to destroy your success.  I have found that the best way to do battle with these voices is to armour myself with support.  Find as many kind and gentle voices as I can, people who are seriously happy and excited by my journey.  I have to reach out and open up to others about what I am doing.  Give them an opportunity to celebrate my weight loss and offer their support.  Without a doubt, if you are willing to be open and honest about your journey, the respect and happiness you meet will filter into your own being, replacing the strident voices of defeat. 

It is imperative that I follow this path of weight loss and fitness, because I have absolutely no cartilage in my knees.  I am in a state of endless and agonizing pain, where standing for any length of time past thirty seconds is beyond uncomfortable; where walking creates a grinding of bones in my knee cap and a shifting creak as the bones slip and slide against each other; and where sitting is my best option for pain relief, but even then, finding a comfortable way to ease my knees can be impossible.

I tell you all this, not for sympathy, but to explain why this journey is so important to me.  My knee doctor tells me that he would be willing to replace my knees, but not until I reach a BMI of 40%.  For me, that is somewhere in the range of 210-220 lbs.  That is a mere 17-27 lbs for me to drop off of this obese body to get to surgery.  

Considering that I have already lost 79 total pounds from my top high of 316 lbs, shouldn't this be a walk in the park to get to the goal weight?  Probably not.  Every single pound that I am able to drop represents a gritty battle against my aging metabolism, my water weight issues, and my own history of yo-yoing up and down the weight loss graph.  That doesn't mean that I won't get there, and soon, because I am determined to change these tiring, arthritic knees.  I want to walk, and dance, and play with my dog; I want to chase my grandchildren, and bicycle the Spring Water Corridor, and not give a thought to whether I can push past the pain of standing up.

My goal is to have my left knee replaced this coming September.  My hope is that I won't waver as I get closer to the surgery.