The struggle and love of living with RRT

Last night while driving home I found myself annoyed with the pickup truck in front of me. At this point I don’t even recall what he or she did that caused my annoyance but that isn’t important here. What came out of my mouth is where I found myself mystified. My RRT (Road Rage Turrets) has been something I’ve been aware of for years and the scenerio always goes something like this….

:: Enter vehicle and driver who does something to piss me off. :: (This could be braking for no reason, cutting me off, or any other thing that I find annoying at that moment in time.)

Me: (I scream in a fit of God knows what from the safe enviroment of my car, windows up and in no way hearable by anyone but myself (and perhaps the rare passenger) any random mashing of words that might come to mind). “Dick stroking poop noodle!”, “Ass Hammer!”, “Crotch Sock!!”, “Ball scratching shit nugget!”, “Tit sucking ligers ass!”… It can be anything really. Just some words that I place together in my moment of rage. Immediately after this lyrical moment of genious I start to laugh and pat myself on the back for being so clever and creative.

I find my RRT to be comical and perhaps a bit therapeutic. Although the name of the condition itself may seem a bit daunting I can assure you that is much healthier than those of you who suffer from the typical road rage. With RRT there is no tail-gating, chasing the offending car or even gesturing with your middle finger. No one is harmed and you are left feeling like you were just handed a Nobel Prize in Literature.

RRT for LIFE!!    

Ch-ch-changes…

A week and a half ago I had surgery on my ears. It was a fairly major surgery that required me to be off work for a week and a half and gave me some glorious pain pills to get through the first few days. I’ve had several ear surgeries in the past and on the day of surgery you can be guaranteed an anxiety attack courtesy of me. This last surgery was no exception; however, I was able to talk my self down from it almost immediately and without medication. (Yay me!)

What normally gets me going is just the idea of being put under. It scares the bejebus out of me. The thought of someone drugging me to a coma like state and trusting they can bring me back is terrifying. I am not a small girl. I am not even an average girl. I am an obese girl and as everyone knows this problem goes hand in hand with health problems. I am not exempt from this. So I laid there thinking about how my size complicates things even further when having surgery. There are many ways your size can affect a surgery. I’m not going to go into them but I will say I was pretty annoyed with myself for my current situation and for the added risks my poor choices were bringing to an already stressful situation. Sometime prior to my anesthesiologist knocking me out I decided that changes had to made and I was the only one who could make them. I realized I have no control over my hearing situation and most likely will undergo surgeries in the future, but I knew that I do have control over what I eat and how often I exercise.

Today I went and bought sneakers and tomorrow I am joining a gym. I’ve lost 10 pounds since my pre-op appointment and I’m happy about that but there is far more work to be done. I deserve to be happy within my own body. I don’t have a number on the scale that I want to be. I don’t have a size that I’m aiming for. What I do have is a desire to be healthier and feel better. I don’t want to go into surgery and fear that I am so large that the amount of medication it takes to put me under will keep them from being able to bring me back. So here I go making a choice to change the my health, my story, and my life.