Monthly Archives: September 2015

Current Mood


When your plan A and B for surgery after care fail, you’re by yourself the first night home from surgery melting down over the inability to eat, sleep, or do anything normal at the moment, and your friend tells you to suck it up when you reach out for support… this is what happens.

Check out my art and follow my journey on Twitter, Instagram., and in my Etsy shop.

Morning Thoughts on the Eve of Surgery

I know I’ve said it a million times already, but anxiety is seriously the royal cuntress overlord of the bitch army. She is insidious, sneaky, manipulative and conniving.  She makes you think the most outlandishly disastrous thoughts and can convince you to do so many things outside of your normal character to make that bitch go away, even if temporarily.

Friday evening, filled with my dear friend anxiety, I almost called this surgery off entirely. It’s been a tough few weeks and it’s been getting to me, bad. From being my own boss again (which is actually currently the LEAST stressful thing on my mind), to the ridiculous fight with my parents that really worked its way into my brain, and then my after care plan crumbling a couple of weeks ago (and still not in a great place), I was ready to call it quits! Thankfully, I had myself a good ugly cry, went to sleep and woke up feeling a bit better. 

As yesterday went on, though, because anxiety, I decided I needed to clear the air with my bestie over shit that ain’t shit.  Fail! She’s obviously great, though, so it was a momentary blip.  She gets it, even if she doesn’t totally get it. Spent the rest of the day cleaning, stalking all my favorite WLS accounts on Instagram, picking up last minute supplies, getting groceries and prescriptions, planning and thinking way too much. Naturally.

This morning, I actually feel quite excited!

I still don’t know for sure who will be bringing me home from the hospital. I’m still not sure if I have people who will come through and take care of me for a bit after I make it home. I have work I have to get to that, unfortunately, will have to wait until at least Wednesday and be late (I hope I’m coherent enough for it even then). But such is life. Nothing is ever going to be perfect. Ever.


But surgery is tomorrow and I’m going to go into it positive as fuck, damnit!

I have to let the stress of the last few weeks melt away and get back to having 100% faith in and just trusting the process. My doctors are top notch. I have seen the incredible results people have had. I have seen the struggles and complications people have had too.  I’m terrified of all of it (the good and bad), but I know deep down in the core of my being, and have for a long time, that this surgery would be a catalyst to finally getting to be the best version of me that I can be. 

Unfortunately, the thought has crossed my mind many times that I should be able to do this on my own.  I have this intense guilt, and part of me believes that I’m somehow a failure at life, over the facts that a healthy weight and relationship with food have eluded me for so long and that I need surgery to help me finally get my weight under control.  But fuck that self (and societally and familial) imposed guilt.  There is NO SHAME in having weight loss surgery. 

I repeat: there is NO SHAME in having weight loss surgery. 

Do you think I made it through law school and the Bar Exam without tools to help me? Hell no. I took BarBri for the Bar Exam, I looked up study guides and additional outlines before exams, and did countless extra multiple choice questions for the MPT all to make sure I was going to do well. 

Same thing here.

I have been working very hard in therapy over the past few years to overcome the trauma that led to my eating habits. I have let myself be vulnerable with friends and family and complete strangers throughout this entire process in ways I never thought I was capable of. I have looked inward, looked outward, and have learned so much along the way already.  In the end, every single word I have written here about my trauma, my past, my present, my anxiety and depression, all of it, is motivating me to keep growing and pushing forward, even when it’s hard as shit.  I’ve done and been through a lot of hellish things in my life and come out on top, despite everything.

I can do this too!

If you want to see candid surgery shots tomorrow and follow my progress from here on out, head over to Instagram!  Otherwise, I’ll be back in a week or so! Until then, my lovelies, have a wonderful rest of your weekends and a great week! 💜

P.S. I don’t know if it’s the planets aligning for the super harvest blood moon eclipse or what, but Tudor and Lady finally came down to the living room for pets while Freckles was present yesterday! And Tudor is at it again today!


It seems that the long standing tensions at the stairway border between the upstairs cat 😺😺 faction and the downstairs dog 🐶 realm are finally easing (it only took 3 1/2 years)! Could this be the beginning of a real cat-dog truce in my house?! Here’s hoping!

Check out my art and follow my journey on Twitter, Instagram., and in my Etsy shop.

Eight Days To Go!

Eight more days! Only eight! I’m going to be a broken record, but I’m still excited and nervous.

I had a good talk with my dad last Sunday about why I got so angry at them for trying to give me their unwanted opinion about surgery. The only way I could describe it to him was like this: Would they have ever told me that I was about to fail the Bar Exam three weeks before I took it? Of course not! So why would they EVER say the things that they said three weeks before my very mental surgery? My dad got it, thankfully.

I sent a simple text that said the same and attempted the same talk with my mother later and failed. So now she’s back on the Do Not Call list. That’s her own doing, so I have really just moved on like I should have done before.

And guess what? I had a fantastic week!

Monday I had a great meeting with another lawyer in town who has a very similar story to my own. We both grew up here in Vegas, we both had to make our own way, and he is both successful and humble. I have a total business crush! We approach our law practice in similar ways and it makes me incredibly hopeful that in five years my business will also be successful. We got along so well, and both were surprised by it, because networking is sometimes very painful. Lol We’re trying to squeeze in dinner this week!

Tuesday I was exhausted, but busy and productive and of course Wednesday was my birthday! I had my preop seminar that morning and was late! Oops! Then I met up with my bestie and birthday twin for coffee, cake, and dinner with our third law school musketeer. Oh, and there were tattoos!


I’m not sure a tattoo so close to surgery was the smartest decision I’ve ever made, but what’s done is done! Better to ask for forgiveness or something like that, amiright?

The end of the week has been tough, but nothing I can’t handle. Thankfully, Sunday is my official me day. No clients, no work, just doing the things I want and need to do for me. Of course, I’ll do just about anything to work off all the nervous energy I’ve got going! Lol

You know what? Three is my favorite number, which means that being 33 is going to be a damn good year. Getting sleeved, continuing to work the new firm. Crazy, but wonderfully so. Cheers to a new year!

Now it’s full detox time (gently self imposed, not doctor), so I may be a cranky woman the next time I write! Lol

Oh, if you haven’t heard of Periscope, please go get it now and follow me! I’m @thelawyernerd across almost all my social media so you can find me easily! I scope about random things, life, weight loss surgery, Vegas, business, being a lawyer.  Pretty much a live vlog, with chatting. Fun!  I’m totally addicted. 💜

Check out my art and follow my journey on Twitter, Instagram., and in my Etsy shop.

16 Days And Counting (Warning: Foul Language Ahead)

As I count down the days until surgery (it’s really just days left, omg!), I’m trying very hard to put the negativity of last week behind me. I have been a complete mess as I’ve been trying to get my head back in the game (I really should have scheduled an extra therapy session this week), but rather than rehash all the bullshit with her, I’ve got to let it be. I’m too emotional, too hormonal, and honestly, have much bigger things to worry about than one set of toxic voices. I just wish those voices weren’t still so powerful in my life.

I have a couple of theories to share about her true motivation for being a complete shithead and getting my dad (who was overweight forever and ended up with diabetes and painful neuropathy in his feet and legs) so worried and worked up about the risks of this relatively safe surgery that he actually told me not to go forward with it at all.  That’s right, he thought it would be better I stay fat, with all the worse long term risks, than choosing to be healthy at 33 because of whatever it was she put into his brain. Then, she actually tried to blame it on him, claiming HE did research on all the surgeries and told HER! Yeah, my dad, who is rarely on the internet, told my mom, who is always on the computer, supervised the medical department at the detention center she ran, and has always been a wannabe doctor for everyone and everything since I can first remember, about the horror story complications of the gastric sleeve. Right. Okay. Does she seriously think I’m an idiot?! Come on!

Goosfraba.  I digress.  Back to my theories.

1.  She wants to claim the glory of my success as her own (like she has tried to do with my career). Let’s face it, if I actually changed my mind, went with the lap band and lost a ton of weight, she’d be able to hold it over my head that it was her idea and, in her narcissistic logic, that would mean she was the reason I did well. Not all the hard work that I would still have to put in, but her. Fuck her.

2.  She wants to keep me fat. At my young age, I have outshined her in almost every area of life: intelligence, education, career, friends, personality. Being thinner (she’s about 140) is really the only thing she has to compete with me. Getting me worked up enough to change my mind to have a surgery I don’t think I’ll be happy or successful with, or even better, decide not have the surgery at all, would keep her on top. When I lose weight and am a tall, thin, gorgeous redhead dominating the legal scene here in Vegas, she’ll have nothing to lord over me anymore. She won’t have anything to subtly demean, manipulate, and berate me with. I’ll say it again, fuck her.

Of course, since she’s made her opinion well known, if I have one ounce of complication or fail in the long run with the gastric sleeve, she’ll have that to use against me.  But you know what? Yep. Fuck. Her.

Unfortunately, she did accomplish part of her asshat goal – to put unnecessary seeds of doubt in my brain just three weeks before surgery – but that’s where it has to end for me. While her bullshit admittedly had me swinging from the rafters emotionally this week (at one point I was convinced I was going to die in surgery, because anxiety is an effing bitch), I’m turning my back on those thoughts, because they’re not really my own. 

My thoughts are these:

If I stay fat, I will die an early death. If I stay fat, I will never have children. If I stay fat, I will continue to exist in the misery of avoiding booths at restaurants, hating photos, turning away from reflective surfaces, and generally being unable to live life the way I have always wanted and deserved to live it. If I stay fat, I will keep missing out. If I stay fat, I will likely end up as miserable as she is now. If I stay fat, she wins again. I’d be an idiot not to have this surgery, and I’m no idiot.

Am I nervous, scared? Oh hell yes! I’ve never had surgery before and there is a small risk of death in every surgery, so there’s that. I live a busy and stressful life and worry I won’t be able to get my protein and fluids in. I still, and will continue to, struggle with eating my feelings and living a food focused existence. I am terrified of failure in all aspects of my life and this is no exception.

But I’ve got so many things that get me excited and keep me looking forward to being on the VERTICAL SLEEVE losers’ bench. Shedding this fat suit I’ve been hiding behind since I was a kid. Things like crossing my legs like a normal woman. Increased confidence, physical ability, stamina, beauty. Hiking farther than I ever have. Zip lining. Horseback riding. Doing one of those parachute flights behind a boat above the water. Rollercoasters. Getting rid of my airplane seat belt extender. Keeping up with my nieces and nephews. Having the chance to have children of my own. Loving myself more. Learning how to live a healthy life. Not fearing an early heart attack, diabetes, and death. Getting to onederland someday. Putting myself first, finally. Cheap fashion (plus size clothes are effing expensive)! Not feeling invisible. Not feeling like I have to prove myself as capable even more than the average sized woman. Mirrors. Photographs. Living life with more zest, energy and vibrancy than I already do.

I’m so thankful, overwhelmingly grateful, for all the support I’ve gotten here and on Instagram and in real life so far. Everyone, except a few shitty ass people, have been fully supportive of this life alteringly glorious decision I’ve made for myself. Or, if they’re not, at least they’ve been smart and respectful enough to keep their damn mouths shut. And for all of that, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

16 days y’all!! Eek!

Check out my art and follow my journey on Twitter, Instagram., and in my Etsy shop.

Screaming Match

This is exactly why I never wanted to fucking tell her about surgery.  No time to write it all right now, but I’ll be back later to tell the whole story. I lost my damn mind.

For now, I’ll just leave this right here and you tell me if you had the same mother I do, if this email wouldn’t have set you off less than 30 days before your surgery.

I just think that having your stomach cut out is not so swift.  After reading all about the different kind of bariatric surgeries, I think the banding surgery would be better.  That way you can have it adjusted over the first 6 months and if for any reason, heaven forbid, something happens in the future and you get some kind of stomach disease or disorder they can take it out and you still have a whole stomach for the doctors to work with.  I also read that there is less scarring internally with the banding surgery.  I thought of this because of the cancer on your Dad’s side of the family and the stomanch problems I have had that didn’t show up till I was older and the problems your Aunt [] has had with her stomach and pancreatitis. 

Mind you, we had already just gotten into it right before I had Court about my NOT WANTING TO HEAR HER DAMN OPINION!! I was prepared to drop it. She couldn’t just leave it the fuck alone. The got my dad involved too. Oh snap.

Gotta get ready for work. Yes, my law firm has work!! More later, friends. Enjoy Friday!

Check out my art and follow my journey on Twitter, Instagram., and in my Etsy shop.