and her chin in her hands.

“Mom took me to a doctor.

A bariatric surgeon.”

I tell Doc everything.

“You’re definitely a storyteller.

You described it perfectly.

But you’re also a poet.

So tell me how it made you feel.”

I shake my head.

“Facing feelings is like

swimming in a stormy ocean.

One wave of emotion hits and

then another and another until

I feel like I’m drowning.”

“That’s why you’re going to learn

how to face each feeling as it comes.

So you just face one wave.

One wave at a time.

Not an ocean.”

“Which wave first?”

“Well, you’re a writer.

So let’s start with a bunch of words.

Name all the feelings you have.

Then you can choose.”

Doc throws open her arms.

“Toss ’em out.

No particular order.”

I start slowly.

I think about the surgery,

being cut open.

“Scared.”

I think about

Mom making me look in the mirror.

“Ugly.”

Then the words come rapid-fire.

“Ashamed.

Embarrassed.

Mad.”

“Good.”

Doc takes notes.

“Let’s dive deeper with one of those.

Give me synonyms for mad.”

I clench my jaw. “Furious.”

I raise my voice. “Livid.”

I almost spit each syllable. “Seething.”

I spring up off the couch.

Doc rolls back her chair.

Gives me space to pace

from one side of the room

to the other,

like doing laps in a pool.

SUPPOSED TO

My arms flail like

I’m swimming on land,

a fish out of water.

“To drag me in there like

I’m a freak of nature,

and want him to cut me,

slice me open,

rearrange and reattach organs

—just because of this.”

I grab my stomach.

Shake it.

“It’s not what a mom should do!”

I collapse onto the couch.

Hug the pillow to my chest,

hiding my heart,

not my stomach.

“Moms shouldn’t do that.”

Tears flow as I rock back and forth.

“She’s supposed to love me.”

My voice is a whisper.

“Just love me.”

When I stop crying, the pillow’s wet.

“I think I owe you a new one.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll bill it to your mom.”

Doc winks.

“You’ve come a long way.”

“So no more sessions?”

I act like an excited puppy.

“But you’d miss me!” Doc says.

“Actually, I would,” I admit.

“I like coming here.

You’ve really helped me.

I’ve learned a lot.”

“It’s important you learn

that not all doctors

are like the ones your mom’s taken you to.

Try to find a doctor you like.

I’ll explain to your parents why

it should be your choice;

they shouldn’t have any say-so.”

Mom with no say-so.

It’s about time.

STRIKES ONE, TWO, THREE

Dad and I create a list

of the top ten doctors to try.

At the first appointment,

the nurse tsk-tsks

when she weighs me.

I turn around and leave.

At the second appointment,