I think I've got a battery pack where my gall bladder used to be

Energizer batteries at that. By my second day postop I was feeling energy churning. I started decorating the living room for the holidays, cleaned the kitchen and the powder room, did two loads of laundry...and still had energy to spare. By the third day I was in overdrive, cleaning the dining room, master bedroom and bath, vacuuming...all the things I'd had to literally force myself to do for the past several months.

For at least a year I reported to my doctor that I was tired all the time. Exhausted. There were days when I would take two naps and still be sound asleep by 10:30 that night. I'd experience random bouts of a motion sickness-type nausea. At first it was contributed to my obesity and/or NSAIDs I was on for knee pain. Then it was due to recovering from lap-band surgery and after that it was because of the ulcer I'd had. Finally I started to think that maybe it was just plain ol' depression and made an appointment to see about increasing my anti-depressant. After all, we'd had sons in combat, family drama, worry over grandchildren. Depression made sense to me at that point, especially since all of my bloodwork was normal and there was nothing else to account for the symptoms I was having.

No disrespect to my regular doctor, but his not being available that day about a month and a half ago was a boon for me. Instead, I was scheduled to meet with his physician's assistant. Right away she gave had two suspects: gall bladder disease or another ulcer. Now, my doctor is a good one, but he's also the one who told me, when I asked, that it probably wouldn't do any good to go through allergy testing again since our bodies don't change in that regard. Yep, he was wrong about that too. As a result of my following up on my own, I recently found out that I have many, many allergies and was instantly started on allergy shots twice a week.

So, here's the dilemma that I faced. I was fat. Not only was I morbidly obese, but I was beginning to feel like a hypochondriac with my constant nausea and my every-two-months sinus infections. Because of my weight I hesitated to push for answers - somehow my weight translated into timidity . Simply put, I didn't feel I was worth putting the extra effort into and so didn't ask for or expect it from my medical provider. That's a mistake too many of us make.

As I've said before, taking control of my weight has empowered me in other areas, one of those being the care and wellbeing of me. I'm discovering my voice and learning to speak up for myself in different situations. I'm feeling better about spending money on myself for new clothes, quality skincare products, books and other fun things.

It's amazing how much of our sense of self worth can be tied up in the number shown on our bathroom scales. As Oprah once said, "My personality is not in my thighs." We agreed with her. Yet how hard was it for us to actually take that as our mantra and live by it? Pretty damned hard.

But one mistake I'll never make again is not listen to my body. Because honestly, I literally feel 10 years younger than I did just a week ago, and if I'd pushed, if I'd made my doctor listen to me and explore other options, then I could have felt this good weeks or even months ago.

Remember: WE ARE WORTH IT.

I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas

Literally. I am. I want a white Christmas this year. No dangerous roads allowed, though; my DIL wants to host Christmas dinner and we want to be able to get there. I don't want that icky end-of-snow stuff either, when it's all gray and smooshy and plain ol' depressing looking. I want fresh, crunchy, blindingly white snow. The kind that eases and breathes over the hills and hollows, following terra firma terra formingly. The kind of snow that makes you forget your age and indulge in snowball fights and the creation of snow angels.

I enjoyed Thanksgiving. Three of our four children were here (the missing one having the valid excuse of being in Iraq) as were some of our grandchildren. We laughed. We cried. We fussed. We bickered. We worried. We fretted. We yakked. A lot. I mean...A. LOT.

Tomorrow I'll go in for surgery to have my gallbladder removed. Is it totally strange that I'm looking forward to it? I haven't felt good for two or three months, living in a constant state of morning/motion sickness that was finally attributed to gallstones. One of the not-so-good results of weight loss. But I anticipate that by this time next week I'll be up and at 'em, feeling Christmasy and goodwill-to-all-ish, wrapping presents to stack under the tree and reveling in the spirit-deep certainty that I am a blessed woman. In spite of all odds, I'm with my husband, the man I love more than life itself. We have our four children and the children they've given to us through their marriages and relationships (yes Janie, Jessica, Andy and John, I mean you guys) and our eleven, going on twelve absolutely perfect grandchildren. We have our beloved furbabies and a home we're happy and content in.

So, on this first day of December, I'll remember Christmases past in all their glory and with all their ghosts, fill my heart with hope for Christmas present, and dream of Christmas future, when all of our family can be together again in all its boisterous, stressful, anxiety-producing and love-filled nuttiness.