Survival of the Fittest

I am now convinced that planning a wedding-type activity is what is used in our society to determine who precisely is meant to live on this earth. Because those who survive truly prove Darwin's theory of survival of the fittest.

It was a lovely time. Stress level once everything was at the church dropped to nil. I took my time getting dressed. The Husband looked dashing. Brother-in-Law looked swashbuckle-y, Friend looked bone-crushing-y. Thing One and Thing Two were attitude-y but gorgeous-y. In-laws were in abundance. Father was not, however Mother made up for absence of my side of the family in spades.

More than ever, I am convinced that this was the right thing to do. Renewing our promises to each other in front of witnesses that see us every day (that part for the first time) was something important to us. I got my big white dress. I looked like I felt - radiantly happy. What more can a girl ask for?

There were certain things that were odd, however. Specifically when it came to me, my weight loss, and how people perceived me.

When I saw my brother-in-law, and The Husband was bragging on how much I had lost, BIL had no clue what Husband was talking about and couldn't figure it out for a bit. The person he saw was the person he had always seen. His brain, much like mine, had never really registered that I had gotten as large as I had. He was seeing me, Sarah, as the same Sarah his brother married 13 years ago. Just a little bit older, but the same person none-the-less. Who I look like now is the picture he's carried of me around in his head, even though he's seen me at least once a year and has seen me at my highest weight. To him, I'm the same person I've always been.

My mother, who hadn't seen me since a week out of surgery, was the same way. She knew precisely what I would be looking like at this weight and had already adjusted her mental image to the one that was in her memory banks. There was no exclamations of "you look so skinny!" which was actually the kind of reaction I was afraid I was going to get as I am beginning to hate hearing that all the time. I didn't know how I would feel hearing something like that coming out of my mother's mouth. She is just happy that I am now happier with where I'm at and that I am once again comfortable in my body.

As I corseted my flabby skin into my beautiful dress that I finished in the nick of time, I felt like this was one of the first real steps back into who I really am. The me that's been hidden in the fat suit. It wasn't me, but was just attached to me, a monkey on my back (elephant perhaps?) that dragged me down.

And all throughout our trip to Vegas I was reminded that I'm back. Men stopped and looked like they used to. I mean, I'm no beauty queen, but when you have a confidence in yourself, you get noticed and appreciated visually. Strangers that would have ignored me previously struck up conversations. I could walk for forever and not have to stop and take a break so my feet would stop hurting.

The real kicker came the day we checked out of the hotel on Tuesday. From there we went to the Las Vegas Speedway so that I could get to ride along in a real NASCAR on the track. Three things occurred that after it was all said and done made me cry.

First, there was no struggle to find a safety suit that would fit me. Straight off the rack it came, and it was even loose.

Second, even though I was trepadacious about how I was going to get into the car, all it took was a quick leg over and whoosh I was in through the window as if I had been slipping into race cars all my life and it was second nature. Bo and Luke Duke had nuthin' on me!

Third, the only complication of getting out of the car was figuring out how to get my head out at the right angle with the helmet and HANS device still on. Once that was done, everything else was a breeze.

No pry bars were needed. No extra-large suit had to be found or pieced together to actually fit me. Easy coordination and off the rack apparel was all it took.

I'm normal again.

The Husband and I had a good cry over this. Him because he's so happy that I can enjoy things again, and me because I have ME back.

If you've been thinking that surgery is your only way out of the prison your body has become, do it. Do it now. I cry for the wasted years of my life, even though there were only relatively few of them compared to some of you out there. But the things that I missed doing! I'll never get them back. Now? Now I live for me. I live for my husband. I live for my children. And that life is GOOD. And it's spread out in front of me, a smorgasbord of delights that I can taste again.

Why don't you dive into your own? I'll be here for you.