Reflections on Gastric Bypass

Forward:  This post is not meant to be offensive to anyone.  Please know that.  Everyone makes their own medical decisions based on their own unique situations.  I am in no way condemning the medical decision others have made in order to further their own health and better their own lives.  This post is about me, and my journey.  If you have made different choices, and have been successful--I applaud you.  A wise person once said 4+5=9--but so does 8+1 and 7+2.  There are many ways to arrive at the same answer, merely different ways to go about it.    


     I think I was about ten years old when Disney's the Little Mermaid hit the theatre.  I remember going to the movies and watching it one the big screen.  I loved it!  The songs, that cute little crab, the romantic row boat ride--pure Disney magic.   I still think I can sing every one of the songs by heart.  But I remember, even as a child, there was one scene in the movie that really got to me.  For those of you who don't remember, the basic premise is that Ariel, our titular heroine, saves the life  a handsome shipwrecked prince, and falls madly in love (because that's how we all find true love, right?).  The only problem--she's got flippers and he's got legs.  Ariel realizes that living in the ocean and being a land lubber are not conducive to a successful relationship.  Longing to unite with her beloved, but against her better judgement,  she visits the sea witch, who offers her a choice--trade her beautiful voice for a new set of gams.
     Before I lost weight, I felt a bit like that Little Mermaid.  So desperate was I to shed those horrible unwanted pounds that I was willing to do just about anything to feel human.  And just like Ariel, I was thinking more of the outcome of my choice than the consequences my actions would entail.  I had my mind firmly made up that I was going under the knife.  Gastric Bypass or bust.
      You see, before I decided to take back my life and shed some much needed pounds, I was a pretty miserable girl.  I'd let me weight ratchet up to a point that I'm severely ashamed to admit.  I might hint at the number from time to time, but I probably won't ever feel comfortable divulging those exact digits to the general public.
     When I was at my heaviest, I couldn't even enjoy shopping at the mall.  Besides the fact that finding clothes had become more about finding whatever would fit my body than  about finding outfits I truly loved, the simple act of walking from one end of the mall to the other was exhausting.  I even got winded walking from my car to the front door if the parking lot gods didn't happen to be smiling upon me that day.   At school, I used to think how lucky I was that I didn't teach 5th grade, because that would mean I would have to drag my fat ass all the way to the top floor multiple times a day--and the mere thought of climbing those stairs that terrified me.  Honestly, walking anywhere was a challenge, not just because I was so out of shape and out of breath, but because my feet killed me!  Plantar fasciitis plagued me.  I wouldn't wish that kind of pain on my worst enemy.  I remember taking a trip to Denver for a work conference  during an especially bad flair up.   Walking down the main shopping/business district in the city was tortuous.  My feet ached so badly it made what should have been an enjoyable outing painfully daunting.
       Aside from the mobility challenges, being that heavy was taxing on my emotional wellbeing too.  Going to the movies gave me anxiety because I was deathly afraid that my rear wouldn't fit into the theatre seats.  During a major remodel of my bathroom, I worried constantly about finding a bath tub that would accommodate my ample girth--looking for one of those at Lowe's nearly gave me hives. Paranoia set in. I felt like people were staring at me every time I went out to eat--prying eyes secretly judging me as I shoveled in bite after bite.    The bottom line is I was depressed.  I felt hopeless to ever change my situation.
      When you get that big, you get desperate.  I think I would have consented to having a limb cut off if I thought I could magically translate the amputation of an appendage into fitting my body into a size 6.  And you know what--that's in essence what I almost allowed to happen.  Gastric Bypass doesn't involve sawing off a arm or a leg, but it does involve major, irreversible, and forever life changing alterations to one's body. And,  I almost caved.  I convinced myself that the only hope I had to lose weight--the only chance I had to chase the happiness and normalcy I craved--was putting myself in the hands of a bariatric surgeon.
     I saw my primary care physician.  I visited a specialist several times, and sat my ass in those over sized chairs designed to accommodate the grossly obese. I went through initial testing and screenings.   I underwent a psychiatric evaluation to make sure I was sane enough to understand the consequences of my decision.  I was ready.  But thankfully, before I made it to the point of no return, something deep within me spoke up--and I just knew this wasn't the right decision for me.
 

Here are five reasons I am glad I didn't go under the knife:

1.  I love food.  Really.  I do.  I've always been a foodie.  I'm from a family of foodies.  We like to cook and we certainly like to chow down on some good eats.  Having gastric bypass drastically changes not only how much you can eat, but what you can eat.  Eat the wrong thing, and you can experience something called dumping syndrome.  Funny name, but there is definitely nothing funny about the experience.  Eat foods high in fat, carbs, and sugar and you are just inviting bloating, diarrhea, heart palpitations, and vomiting to visit you--not pleasant.   This meant no more Coca-Cola.  No more of my Aunt Lynda's pasta salad at family get togethers--or her special Chex mix she always makes me at Christmastime.  No more biscuits and gravy at Cracker Barrel---LIKE EVER.  I just wasn't sure I could commit to that.

2.  Gastric Bypass can be dangerous.  Even with an experienced and competent surgeon, it is dangerous anytime one goes under the knife.  All surgery carries risks--even the most routine. Unforeseen tragedy happens.  The only surgeries I've ever had are a tonsillectomy and LASIK.  The thought of going under the knife terrified me.    What if I didn't wake up?  I just wasn't ready to take that chance.

3.  It is expensive.  Luckily for me, I have decent insurance.  However, there were still copays and deductibles to consider.  I'm a teacher.  I've got a master's degree, but I'm certainly not rolling in the dough.  In order to make it work financially, I was going to have to have help from my parents.  I didn't want to be a financial burden on them for something that was ultimately my fault.

4.  What if I regretted it.   The fear of waking up and realizing that I had made a terrible and forever life altering mistake frightened me.  (I suppose in some sense that must be what Bruce Jenner is going through right now--that is if you believe everything the supermarket tabloids are saying these days).
      For the most part, once you go under the anesthesia, there is no turning back.  Once it is done, it is done.  Now from what I understand, it is possible to reverse it under extreme medically valid conditions--but you certainly can't reverse it just because you miss being able to scarf down McDonald's any old time you feel like it.

5.  Most importantly for me-- What if this didn't work!  What if I went though all the pain (which I understand is significant), sacrifice, and financial strain the surgery entails only to lose the weigh and gain it back?  I really didn't think I could live with myself it that happened.  The only thing I would have gained was more self loathing and even lower self worth.

     Looking back, I know in my heart of hearts that I made the very best decision for me when I chose to forego the surgical option.  Would I be at my goal weight now had I consented to the surgery back then? Perhaps.  But, perhaps not.
     Here's what I do know:  Taking the weight off on my own has given me options.  Yes, I restrict my calories--but I can also cheat and have an enchilada every now and again if I want one--In fact, I scarfed one down tonight thank you very much.  Yes, it has taken time to take off the pounds--but knowing I'm doing it by my own shear will power really boost my self confidence. True, eating healthy is expensive--but it is sure a hell of a lot cheaper than the medical bills I would have been saddled with post-op.  When I first backed out of the surgery I felt a bit like a coward--but after working hard and losing the weight on my own terms, I have no regrets.
     If you are considering weight loss surgery I implore you to consider all your options.  Think about why you are doing it.  Are you looking for a quick fix?  It isn't.  Are you desperate and feel you have nowhere else to turn?  Regardless of what you think--you do.  If those are your reasons, I highly encourage you to think long and hard before letting anyone--- friend, family member, or even your doctor convince you to do something you can't take back.
     Let me say this, and let me be clear. There are legitimate reasons to explore surgical intervention-- among them diabetes, sleep apnea, and severe high blood pressure. These require immediate intervention, and for those afflicted with these serious conditions bariatric surgery can not only be a life changer, but a life saver!  I just thank the good Lord none of those applied to me--but if they had, my decision might have been very different.
    What I want you to understand is that in most situations you do have nonsurgical options--and they can and do work.  I urge you to consider them.  YOU CAN DO IT!  I'm on my way!  And, as of a few weeks and a few pounds ago--I no longer even qualify for a surgical procedure due to my current weight and BMI.  And knowing I did that all on my own--that folks, is a damn good feeling!

P.S. For the past two years, my classroom has been on that very top floor.  And I climb those stairs every day with confidence and without keeling over!  :)
   

Somebody Needs to Teach My FitBit Some Manners

     To this day, my daddy swears that the only way I passed my driver's test was because I said "yes ma'am" to the evaluator.  He likes to use this as an example of how important it is to instill good old fashioned manners in one's children.  You see, growing up in the South, I was taught to always say please, thank you, and you're welcome.   Maybe my upbringing makes me more sensitive to lapses in decorum.  Maybe I'm just overly sensitive.  But maybe, just maybe, some things just lack tact and decency.  Sticking one's tongue out at someone, just happens to fall into that category.
     Since I decided to get back on the health and fitness wagon, I decided to invest in a new tool to help me achieve my goals, and keep me accountable.  I decided on the Fitbit Zip.  Overall, I've been very pleased with this device.  It tracks my steps and my calories burned and consumed  Plus, it gives me access to a web site where I can interact and compete with friends.  Besides the number crunching metrics and the time display, one of the first things I noticed was the smiley faces it periodically displayed.  "Awww…sweet!" I thought. "Fitbit is smiling at me.  It's my own personal cheerleader!"
      If you aren't familiar with Fitbit, the emoticon changes to reflect your activity level.   The more active you are, the bigger the smile.   Curiously though, there isn't a key to explain these smileys in the product manual.   One of the faces seemed to show up first thing in the morning, and while I was watching TV.
It looked like this:

I couldn't quite figure out what it was, so  I decided to google it.  Much to my dismay, I soon found out that Fitbit was sticking its tongue out at me!  In the words of Stephanie Tanner, "How rude!"
     Here's the thing.  No one can be active every minute of every day.  People have to sleep.   There are times when even elite athletes are sedentary.   Sometimes, I feel like sitting on my ass, putting my feet up, and chilling out in front of the boob tube.  When FitBit chides me, it doesn't push me to do better.  It makes me feel guilty--and guilt isn't an effective motivator.
     I reminds me of when I first started this weight loss journey a few years ago.  The hot product at the time was the Wii.  I bought one, and sad to say, like many fads, it is now collecting dust in my spare bedroom closet.  Those of  you who, like me,  jumped on that band wagon might recall that the Wii works as a scale as well as a fitness/video game platform.  I'd step on that thing and get greeted with this gem:

Every single time, I wanted to shout at the screen, "Seriously?  No shit!"
     Look, I knew I was fat. I knew I had a problem.   I certainly didn't need Wii telling me so or making that condescending noise.   Nor did I need to see my avatar do a full on fat girl body jiggle.  Seriously, it was insulting.  Who needs that.
      I guess what I'm saying is that for those of us who need to lose weight, what we need is praise, recognition,  and support.  We don't need condescension or scolding--not from a living, breathing humans, and certainly not from an electronic device.  What we do need is a network of people willing to cheer us on and celebrate our successes.  I'm glad I've got that, because it is truly what keeps me motivated.   As for FitBit--well, I guess I'll just disable the emoticon feature.  Because in the words of my mama, "if you can't say something nice, you shouldn't say anything at all."
   
   
   

Big News From a Smaller Lady

     Today I have a BIG ANNOUNCEMENT.  Now before y'all get too excited (or gossipy)--no, no one has been to Jared and no one has put any proverbial carts before horses--So sorry to disappoint.  But my news is BIG.  Well, maybe I should say, my news is SMALL.  Today, I took a major leap toward loosing my membership card in the FAA (That's not the Federal Aviation Administration folks--That's Fat Asses of America).  Today, for the very first time in a very long time, this girl put on a pair of jeans that:
A.  did not have a W after the size

and

B.  were a size smaller than the age you have to be to vote.

    Now for all you skinny bitches who haven't ever been in double digits, that might not seem like much of an accomplishment.  But let me tell you--for someone like me--it feels incredible.  I honestly didn't think I'd ever see the day that I could fit my trunk's junk into a pair of pants that didn't come from the "women's department."  To be able wear them, and to feel comfortable in them, makes me feel so much more comfortable in my own skin.  And that folks is an amazing feeling.
     So for all y'all out there who think you can't do it.  Trust me.  I've been there.  I've wallowed in self pity and bathed in my own low self esteem.  But I'm here to tell you--If I can do it, you can do it!  I've still got a long way to go.  Looking at my BMI, I'm still "obese"  I'm hoping to be out of that category by the end of the school year if not before--not too much more to go.
     If you are where I was three years ago--take heart. You are worthy, you are valuable, and when you hit your own personal milestone--whether it be walking around the block without getting winded or shimmying into a pair of skinny jeans--I promise, it will be worth it.

PS:  Here's a little proof and inspiration  for you: