The ugly

You might know, looking at my face today, that something is wrong — but you'd have no idea what. And it's something that most of you (thankfully) can't imagine. 

There are lots of ugly truths about being morbidly obese. 

There are the worries (What if I don't fit in the booth?) and the certainties (I'll need to ask for a seatbelt extender on the plane), both closely connected, for me, with shame.

Part of my goal with this blog is to be done with shame. So here goes sharing the most shameful part, for me, of being morbidly obese: I get a rash where my tummy folds over itself. 

Friday I joined a gym, and yesterday I was going to do my first workout on the way home from work. But during the day I noticed my tummy hurt, and when I looked in the mirror, I was shocked. Raw, red, angry. Painful.

No workout, I decided. Instead, I called the doctor. 

In the past, this has been a yeast rash. This time (even more shameful) it also looks fungal (such a dirty word).

My doctor has a three-pronged approach: steroid ointment to address the immediate pain, diflucan to address the yeast, and next week, when it's cleared up, a preventative cream. Thank goodness I went to the doctor. This is the worst it's ever been, and I'm, at best, constantly uncomfortable. 

As I lose weight, of course, the rash might improve — unless I'm left with empty hanging skin (a real possibility with weight-loss surgery). Sometimes insurance companies consider repeated rashes a medically necessary reason for plastic surgery to remove excess skin. I'm hoping my skin will magically shrink as the rest of my body does — but I'm beginning to prepare, in my head, for the possibility of plastic surgery. 

And that, my friends, is something I never thought I'd say.