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Las Vegas, Nevada, United States
"No, really!"

My Favorite Bit of Paper Cup Philosophy

The Way I See It #76

The irony of commitment is that it's deeply liberating - in work, in play, in love. The act frees you from the tyranny of your internal critic, from the fear that likes to dress itself up and parade around as rational hesitation. To commit is to remove your head as the barrier to your life.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

My Own Private 9-11

I imagine there are few people over a certain age who do not know something about the horrible events of the September 11, 2001 attacks by al-Qaeda against the United States. The four coordinated suicide attacks on that Tuesday morning were shocking, devastating and resulted in many changes to the routine ways in which some things are conducted in the U.S. and throughout the world. I am not a good enough wordsmith to add anything cogent to the millions of words already written about the horrors. I don't have a photo or film clip to present. I was nowhere near any of the individual events. I was distracted that day. I had to learn much of what I know about 9-11 by reading and discovering long after the fact. For I, too, had been focusing on the 9-11-01 square on the calendar for some time. I had personal business to conduct on that day.

I was downstairs chatting distractedly with Ex, making the coffee, even though I would not be allowed to drink any that morning. That seems odd now - that little snippet. He was perfectly adept in the kitchen, by now acting as menu maker, shopper and cook. Why I, coffee hound, was messing with the makings when it was denied me is unclear. Likely I had insisted. I needed to keep my hands busy while my head spun out of control.  Amber came down the stairs with an odd look on her face. While getting ready for school, she'd seen the first news bulletins on TV. She didn't fully comprehend what was happening (who did?), but she knew she should likely say something. "You know those twin buildings in New York? You guys better turn on the TV." We did so, and I have a sense of us staring like two slack-jaws at the screen, comprehending no part of what we were seeing. At the time we switched on the set, all eyes were on New York. Then the Pentagon was hit.

I knew my mother would be preparing and drinking her coffee in the north county, and I knew there was no chance she'd partake of news delivered by any media. She is a TV-phobe, not very interested in hearing about anything remotely resembling news. She likes floating around in her own world and her own head. She would soon join Ex and me at a hospital, for I was to have surgery that day and we'd all made careful plans to support me and to support Amber so she could have as normal a day as possible. Nevertheless, we felt Mom should be told what was going on. She can't always be allowed to float along in a bubble. "Mom, dust off the TV and turn it on. I think we may be at war." She asked a good question, given the hour: "With whom?" I didn't know. Anxiety was creeping up on me. I already had a good sense of fear and dread going on. I didn't have much fiber left with which to deal with the attacks. "Just turn it on, Mom. We'll both be available on cell phone. Please take yours out of your purse and turn it on. We're going to the hospital as planned."

Amber had seen and heard enough. She'd been offered some options for her day. She'd landed on going to school as usual and walking afterwards to Aunt Becky's. Her dad would pick her up for dinner and they'd come to see me in the hospital after their meal. She'd been made to understand Mom wouldn't be very frisky and they'd only stay a few minutes, just so she could see I'd come through surgery and now was on the other side. The breaking news distressed her - she was 11 - and now she wanted to simply spend the entire day with Aunt Becky. We actually preferred that. We wanted her in one known place rather than two places with a solo walk in between. Oh, yes, it was Lemon Grove. On her walk, she'd pass the homes of a few different relatives in a 6-block walk, but we still favored her being in one location with a person we trusted 100% to make good decisions.

Amber and I had had a Mom-Daughter sleep-together the night before, bunking in her waterbed playing music we both loved, talking as needed. I don't believe our hands ever ungrasped, even through the sleeping hours. We woke from time to time, both crying. We were scared. We were a well-counseled family, the bulk of that bestowed on me, a bit less on Ex and a sanitized version applied to Amber, appropriate to her age and understanding. Even my mother had been let in for a little bit of preparation. For this surgery was going to drastically change me, and - therefore - everyone close to me, everything I did, everywhere I went, everything I thought, felt and emanated. We were in for some change. I was 49 years of age. I was very reliable and predictable. Good old Les. A rock. The one you could count upon to remain steadfast. I wasn't known for changing up anything in any way.

At the hospital, I was ensconced in the corral where pre-surgical patients wait together in their anxiety and misery. The staff members were clearly distracted, patients' families gathering in front of TVs in the various waiting rooms. I heard one woman make a tart comment to her companion: "Hey, I'm having surgery. Can I get a little attention here?" Though my procedure was scheduled for the afternoon, I reported at 7:00 a.m. and was given an IV. This caused me to need the bathroom 2 or 3 times an hour, dragging my little pull-along contraption with me. I remember feeling absolutely frozen, begging warmed blankets which were produced repeatedly with a smile. Between them, Ex and my mother managed to both keep me company and monitor the news. And finally I went from the corral to the chute. "Bye, Mom. Bye, Ex. See you on the other side." In the chute, my hair was covered, I got a light sedative in my IV (odd, because I'd toughed out many hours without sedation and now I was about to go completely under, but sedate me they did). The nurses there were also distracted, chatting among themselves. One commented on a grisly TV scene wherein body parts could be seen on the roof of a New York building. I didn't think much of that in my sedated state, but she apologized to me for being too graphic. And suddenly, "he" was there.

By pure happenstance, one of the world's recognized front runners practiced his specialty at his clinic and at the hospital 5 miles from my home. I was - once again - the chosen one, the lucky child, to be in his care. I was his third surgery of the day. "Do you know what's happening in the world today or have you been too busy to hear it?" He said he knew about the attacks. "Are you distracted in any way?" He said he was good to go. "OK, then I am, too. I have an 11-year-old who is relying on you to be as expert as you are." He promised to do his best. I suffered a few slight indignities in the operating room, such as meeting the crew that would film my surgery. And then I was mercifully removed from consciousness.

I have said many times in writing that I have suffered more than one addiction. My surgery was to help me with but one of those. I walked into Alvarado Hospital that morning weighing 340 pounds. I'd been gaining toward that peak for many, many years. Though I had managed such things as a successful career, a pregnancy and childbirth, international travel and many more of life's most wonderful gifts, I was now beaten down with nowhere else to turn. I'd tried every reasonable remedy but I'd succeeded in nearly destroying myself. My surgery was Roux-en-Y gastric bypass, the hard way. I was not a candidate for the less invasive laparoscopic procedure. It would color everything that came afterward. Not all outcomes have been joyous. Amber calls 9-11-01 the day she lost her mother. That is an enormous and powerful statement she means completely. My truth is that this was the first enormous gift I gave myself in order to find myself. The 10-year journey has been one of tremendous highs and a few deep lows, those not directly related to the surgery or its results. I wouldn't change a thing. The enormity of the impact of all of my changes cannot possibly be expressed in one blog post. I will continue to write about them, though. I have wanted to write of this for a very long time, as it is such a deeply integral part of the me of today. And - there - now I have done so.

A few things I know: there are enough of "us" now that we know 5 years post-surgery, 80% of us have gained back 50% of our excess weight. I am not one of those. Knowing what my skeleton, blood, muscle and other parts should weigh, I was given a number that - if I reached it - I should accept with good grace and call it a day. I weigh 35 pounds less than that number, without ever once taking extraordinary steps to cause more weight loss. I know about infections and torn staples and all the other horror stories. I read the same news reports you do. I just haven't suffered any of them. I know "they" were right to counsel us about the number one side effect: broken relationships of all kinds. Though Ex and I had been together 30 years and scoffed at the notion my surgery would break us apart, the marriage collapsed in 13 months. I know that not everyone is happy for a person who finds her way out of a terrible trap. Mostly people want things to remain the same. For most of us, profound change is too difficult to contemplate.  Good old Les. She changed everything in one fell swoop.

30 comments:

  1. Your teaser comment at my place had me looking forward to reading this. I am stunned. You garner my respect, dear lady. You are one tough hombre.

    Thanks for making it through your myriad trials and for relaying them in a compelling way. Thanks for being part of my crew.

    Mostly, thanks for what you did ten years ago and being here today.

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  2. @ Erin ~ It pleases me you were first to read it and comment. I have been so very pregnant with it. Perhaps I AM a tough little imp, eh? But really: just another stranger on the bus, trying to make my way home. I DO wish to be a member of your crew - your TRIBE, as set out by a most wonderful, venerable member of my AA group. <3 <3 L. Morgan, Very Small on 9-11-11

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  3. I agree with Erin. You are one tough hombre.
    Thank you for sharing.

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  4. @ CramCake ~ I THANK you for that. I need to reconsider some things. I always think of myself as a meringue. You and Erin have said "tough hombre". I need to think about that. Hard chiquita, eh?

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  5. I'm glad I came over and read this, Leslie,with a Big L.

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  6. Well a few veiled hints and walking 45 miles a day gave me a clue. But your confirmation here is heartening. Taking care of yourself first, another AA maxim I.m happy to hear you have been doing that.
    I too was in the hospital Portsmouth Naval to get a cast removed from Aidan's broken arm. The hospital was in a state of chaos as Doctors and Corpsman were being called to NYC to assist with casualties. I'm so happy you're doing well.

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  7. Yeah, what they said.
    Knowing you only through blog interaction, I've none the less come to the conclusion that you are a strong and determined woman. I applaud that Leslie.

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  8. Les, you're an inspiration. Thank you for sharing your vulnerabilities and empowering everyone who reads you.

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  9. @ Bill ~ I'm taking it that it's NoCal Bill, frequent contributor at Erin's place. And whether I've got you placed correctly or not, thank you for your comment. I'm glad you came over, too. Please, drop by again.

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  10. @ Mike ~ I was pretty sure you wouldn't fall out of your chair. I think you were onto me pretty good when I was so obsessed with my "marching" as you called it. Yes, it's true. When a person has walked my path, she CAN literally fear she'll wake up in the morning and weigh 340 pounds again. Ten years on, I'm more comfortable with myself now. I know what I can/should and can't/shouldn't do. I don't have to exercise until it hurts. I don't have to starve until I'm nearly fainting. I wear the same size clothes I wore at my lowest weight. That's good enough. I'm healthy. That's better than anything. I'm sober. That's likely best. What a ride ~ what a year this has been. What a life this has been.

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  11. @ alphadog ~ It's so nice you came over today, both to the blog and on e-mail. Thank you. I appreciate your applause. Not everyone admires "strong and determined" (if I am even those things). It feels wonderful to hear someone say "I salute the things I perceive you to be".

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  12. @ Rachel ~ Oh, Rae! "Inspiration" is a pretty heavy burden. I'm just another one trying to do what I can to navigate through life. And I don't "choose" to share. I'm driven to tell. I MUST tell my story. If no one ever said anything back to me, that would be all right, too. But I revel in whatever comments do come my way. It fuels me for the next challenge to present itself.

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  13. Hi Leslie. Yep, that was me. Very nice post. Way to go. I will stop by again. Sorry, can't help myself but I'll bet that Doc doesn't belong to a union.

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  14. @ Bill ~ OK, Sir! I doubly appreciate the positive reinforcement as it comes from you. Bury any hatchets outstanding? I'm willing! No, Alan Wittgrove, M.D., requires no union. He's pretty much the top-feeder. It's OK, Bill. Sometimes, I can achieve balance, too.

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  15. @ Bill ~ OK, then. Thank you so much. It's OK, you know, that we're not politically aligned. Today you proved your humane-ness to me and that's all I need. Welcome, Bill. I cheered you when you sang on video, though I was not then big enough to say "Yay,Bill!" Now I am. YAY, Bill! Yay, Les. Another human connection. Thanks, ever so much.

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  16. Hard chiquita. Hm. I like it.

    After watching yesterday's coverage (which I did not think I wanted to watch, but couldn't stop watching once I did) and remembering the feeling of 9/11, that you faced all of it then went under the knife is amazing.

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  17. @ Erin ~ Oh, that doesn't even make me special! I just had to go do it, once I ascertained Dr. Wittgrove wasn't freaked by the day's events. Some time later I'll write about his kindness, which went beyond his skill and expertise. I wrote him a fan letter recently. He (at least pretended, if it wasn't real) remembered me because of the date of the surgery. I'd been tapped to appear on a TV piece about the "success stories" . . until my other little unrelated health issue reappeared. You know, nobody wants to present an "uh-oh". I don't hold any resentment. I get that they want to present a 100% sunshine and roses case. I'm not that, altogether, but I AM a pretty happy, pretty healthy girl, tough hombre, hard chiquita. Thank you, Erin. I was a little anxious about my post and my revelation about deep things. Some of my own tribe haven't even rung in yet. Imagine, when that happens! BTW, I went to a pizza dinner yesterday with a "new" man. He pointed out that I am not beautiful. Well, no fooling! But - oh, Don - you don't yet know about the depths of beauty I've touched. He's a good man, worth encouraging. He just doesn't yet know my full story. We'll see if he yells "Kudos!" or runs for cover. I think he'll cheer me.

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  18. @ Bill ~ Hugs feel better than beans and rice. I'm not so sure everyone deeply appreciates hugging, but I do. OMG, the feeling of another person's arms surrounding us in peace, benevolence, caring. . . isn't that a most beautiful connection, transcended (mostly? mainly?) only by the sex act, if we're talking strictly about connecting with others [my main turn-on in life]. I truly appreciate you, Bill. I didn't know I could do that. You've helped my human growth. I thank you.

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  19. You're basically saying life goes on, our personal problems go on, even when something as big (I almost used the word "exciting"; don't want to offend anybody) as 9/11 is going on.

    I was driving home from work through the parkway on 9/11. It was about 5:00 pm. I noticed an unusual number of people jogging, rollerblading and riding bikes for a weekday. Later, I talked to my sister, who worked downtown, and figured out what happened. Downtown was evacuated, people left their jobs early, and were taken advantage of an unexpected day off. Beutifully sunny day off, I may add. I know some of you reading this feels those people should have immediately shuttered themselves into their living rooms with eyes glued to the TV. Well, they didn't, and I don't blame them.

    My mother found out that day that an aquaitance with health problems simalar to hers had just died. That distressed her far more than anything going on in New York, Washington DC, or Shanksville, Pa. Later that night, she went to play bingo (which remained open that night). That usually made her feel better. Good for her.

    Life goes on, no matter what.

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  20. @ Kirk ~ Do you know how much I value you as my friend? [I'm not sure you COULD, by the way. Just sayin'.] Yes, you've got it: "Life goes on, no matter what." I love you, Kirk. No, really.

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  21. This is/was a big anniversary for you. And, I would add, more important than the other one; and ultimately, more meaningful.

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  22. @t= the Badger ~ Well. Yes. You're right on it. Of course, you'd have the life's Cliff Notes and everything that went before and after . BUT, it makes me feel very good that you said anything at all. Thank you, James.

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  23. I don't have much to add here that hasn't already been said, but I feel that it bears repeating. This was a great post, I was hooked from the first sentence. A tale very well told.

    And good for you, being in the 20%!

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  24. @ Matt ~ Hey, long time no . . thank you for coming by. I appreciate you commenting because I'm human. We want to be reinforced by others saying "good job" or "way to go". I'm grateful you did that.

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  25. sorry for the delayed response.
    this was an event that changed every damn thing in your life, in ways that were not foreseeable at the time. you've come through it much better than this country has come through its 9/11. thank you for baring this part of your soul.

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  26. @ Rraine ~ comments are always welcome here, even on a post that is a year old. I invited communication. You processed my story perfectly. The singular event that has affected everything that came after. It felt good to tell it. It's not a pretty story, but it's mine and I needed to say it outright.

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  27. I saw the header for this post, Leslie, and as it was late when I read it and I was tired I thought it might be yet another mention of 9/11. Not that I don't consider this a dreadful and remarkable event, but I, like many others find it difficult to revisit again and again.

    So thank you for alerting me to the deeply personal nature of your 9/11.

    I have wondered about you, often, Leslie. Your recent experience with what I thought was an alcohol addiction seems so much greater now. Not that such an addiction is minor.

    You have been through so much over the past ten years, your story is one of inspiration, not simply the story but also the way you write about it and the fact you have survived.

    Thanks, Leslie.

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  28. @ Elisabeth ~ Thank you so much. I really wanted you to see what I'd written because of your many kindnesses in the past (and right up through today, obviously). Yes, my 9-11 was just a little off center from that of others.

    You hit it: I am an addict who has changed one drug of choice (also called my "best friend" of the moment) for another. Oh, I've never embraced gambling or cigarette smoking, but I've jumped into too many others to make me think I'm anything BUT an addict. Oddly, until a year ago, no health professional, no family member, no friend every suggested, "Sweetheart, you need a 12-step program." And I surely did need just that. Am I cured? Never. We don't cure. We just learn to manage our messy selves 24 hours at a time.

    A year ago I did not think I would or could survive. That should point out how grateful I am for every day now, and all they contain. Thank you so much, Lis.

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