Funny post-surgery moment

They got me settled into my bed and I was still flying high from the anesthesia. My bedside phone rang and I knew it would be someone I wanted to talk to. I picked up and said: "Hello?" Adam's voice said: "Uh ... hi. Is Allison there?" I must've been SO out of it for him not to recognize my voice! He later said he'd never heard me sounding less perky. Well, duh, honey.

417 North Sherman, North Platte, NE

I lived here when I was 22 and working for the North Platte Telegraph. My friend Marcus was passing through, so I asked him to take a picture for me. He obliged.

A new start

On June 25, I underwent vertical sleeve gastrectomy. Essentially, 85 percent of my stomach was removed. This is a drastic weight-loss procedure, far more so than the Lap-Band that I had placed nearly four years ago. With the band, I lost 50 pounds, then had to have it unfilled and gained it all back.

This link explores the incredibly high failure rate of bands. In my case, it was a learned art that never took. I was either overfilled and miserable, unable to eat, or I was underfilled and so what the hell was the point of having the damn thing in my body?

At Thanksgiving 2011, I found myself in the emergency room at Kaiser Zion in San Diego getting completely unfilled. Then we went to Missouri for four months and I could EAT -- without puking -- and boy did I. I gained it all back in a matter of months and things were never the same.

Years later, I started thinking about the sleeve. Insomnia brought me to it, really. I would lie awake at night, tapping at my phone, thinking and wondering. Earlier this year I talked to Adam about a revision. We agreed it would be a good idea. Then I got the approval from my insurance company. We kept it quiet for a while, but before the surgery I spilled it all on Facebook because I knew I'd need the support. I couldn't be happier that I did. Everyone has been great.

I'm not going to lie: Surgery kind of sucked. I knew the minute I woke up in recovery that it was going to be a hard road. After the band I was joking about having Doritos WHILE IN THE RECOVERY ROOM -- no lie. This time it was far different, harder and more humbling. The first full day at Summit Medical Center in Oakland was completely challenging. I was nauseous and exhausted and all I wanted to do was go home, shower and have a good cry.

But now I'm five days out and nine pounds down. And if I feel good enough to pound this blog post out, I feel good enough to keep pushing forward. I plan to do just that.

Why did I write BEARDED LADY?

This morning a friend messaged me on Facebook. "I name-checked you in a thread," he said. It was about Conchita Wurst, the bearded Austrian drag queen. There was a guy in the thread who was talking about how women shouldn't have beards, that he found them unattractive.

It was just the way he wrote it. As if his opinion mattered to the rest of the whole-wide-world, as if it dictated reason. As if someone different should crawl into a hole and stay there pending the world's approval.

I wrote BEARDED LADY for people who feel different. And really, that's all of us.

Tonight's poem

Optimism at 10 p.m.

I'm not sure
who stacksthe cards.How to tellwhether their handwill stay steadyor knock and bump?Our lives
are in the grips
of others
and we know this,
but choose not
to acknowledge it
at this hour,
late for some,
beginning for others.
Your foolishness
is my pride.

Maizie dog

First draft of a poem

Emeryville Train Tracks, 2:30 p.m.

We are looking
for a lost dog.
Her name is Merlot.
Like a fine drunkenness
she has evaded us,
slipping traps,
stymying would-be rescuers.
Here the tracks
run without reason
to all locations --
there is nothing
 to stop her
from running as well,
fleeing to her death.
Here the rocks
edge against the sides
of my sandals,
begging me:
Trip.
Trip and fall.
Stop the search.
She doesn't want to be found.