Part 3-- Flaccid Hose: Ecstasies and Agonies- 6 months on Weight Loss Drugs
Air- Sweet Air
Losing weight
rapidly on Mounjaro® has made it so I can finally breathe at night. This is may be the best result of my weight
loss journey. 6 months ago, I was
struggling with breathing, mostly because my neck-fat and my large, floppy
boobs were strangling me. I can’t speak
for other’s sleep disorders, but mine was completely fat-related. In the back of my mind, I feared having to
strap on a CPAP in the future.
My ex-husband,
Hyde, had a tiny, baby-sized mouth and the tongue of Jabba the Hutt. I don’t know how he could even talk. In 1993, when I started dating him, he had a
Model A version of a CPAP. Model A
consisted of a thick, wide hose and a little hat (for his head) to keep the
nose-hose in place. In the shadows of
the night, the hose looked like a long, flaccid proboscis that I was hoping was
not meant for foreplay.
“Hyde, can you
take that thing off before we have sex?”
“Haaaaaaaah. Haaaaaaah” was all I heard, like Darth Vader’s fat
cousin, Darth Inflater.
It’s a complete
wonder I ever conceived our daughter with that thing in the way. After I got pregnant, I had nightmares of a
13-month gestation period and then a baby elephant dropping out of my vagina,
shaking itself off and running away, ears and trunk flopping.
No More Evaluating
Space to Accommodate my Body
It’s amazing
not having to decide if I’m going to fit into a seat or a booth anymore. I will always have compassion for you, my
people, if I see you asking for help struggling out of a restaurant booth. I
know what it feels like to be wedged, upper abdomen spilling onto the table
like a meat entrée.
Restaurant management
only thinks of shoving as many paying people into the square footage as
possible. Sound effects come out of me
when I have to scooch (nay-cram) myself into a restaurant booth seat.
“Would you like
to move to a table?” a hostess would ask, seeing that I was oozing and
red-faced.
“Oh, no, this
is fine,” I managed, swirling and heady from the lack of oxygen.
Now, I can slip
in, silently.
Emotional
Eating- I miss the love
Agony.
59 years of self-soothing via food and poof, it is gone. The reason is, on Mounjaro you can’t really overeat and feel that delicious food hangover from pure, joyful emotional eating.
When I was a
child, my mom would give me a sucker so I wouldn’t cry when my grandma went
home. Ever since then, a mouth full of comfort
food is the love that lasts.
No more eating
to make me feel whole. No more baker’s
dozen donuts or loaves of French bread to cuddle metaphorically after a bad
day. No more whole pizzas to warm my heart. Your
brain doesn’t fixate on food, but it also doesn’t understand what is
missing.
Don’t resort to
street drugs or alcohol—just go talk to a good therapist. And you’ll cope, eventually.
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