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:

I Hope You Remember Me For More Than My Fat Ass

 

      I love a good story. I always have. I'm a person who cherishes the written word---a person who relishes the complexities of a well crafted yarn woven by a skillful wordsmith.  That's why I was particularly saddened to learn that Colleen McCullough, the author of my all time favorite book, The Thorn Birds, died earlier this week. But, what saddened me even more was to see how Australia's most heralded author was memorialized in her obituary. Here's a excerpt:

"Plain of feature, and certainly overweight, she was, nevertheless a woman of wit and warmth.  In one interview, she said: 'I've never been into clothes or figure and the interesting thing is I never had any trouble attracting men.'"

     Seriously,  Rupert Merdock, was the mention of this woman's weight problem and "plain" face really necessary?  Is her most glowing accomplishment really the fact that she could snag some bootie despite the fact she had a fat ass?
     Beyond the fact that McCullough sold multiple millions of copies of her novels, beyond the fact that her most famous work was adapted into one of the most watched mini series of all time,  beyond the fact that football fans would have never heard the name D'Brickashaw Ferguson if not for Ms. McCullough (okay, his mama probably just watched the TV version because she didn't' bother to spell check that)---this woman was amazingly brilliant.  She studied neuroscience in her native Australia, worked at Great Ormond Street Hospital in London, and spent ten years as a member of the faculty at Yale University.  Folks, that's nothing to sneeze at!
     The truth is, this is how our society views women like Colleen McCullough--- women-- like me.  And that friends, makes me sad.  It is hard being an anonymous woman of size in the real world.  It must be even harder for women of size who live under the glaring scope of celebrity.  Think about it.  When I mention Kirsti Alley--what comes to mind?  Her tenure of Cheers, or pictures of her fat ass splayed across glossy newsprint in the checkout line?    What about Oprah?  The woman's a bizillionaire, a philanthropist, and had enough grit to pull herself up from the grips of poverty to become one of the most successful media icons of our time.  Yet, in spite of her phenomenal success, people still want to focus on her battle with her waistline.
      Women are so much more than rolls of fat and numbers on a scale.  We are powerful, unique, complex individuals--each with our own story to tell.  When I die--and here's hoping that's a long way off-- I want people to remember my inner beauty, not my outward appearance.
        ….I'm a teacher who loves her students.
        ….I'm an animal rescuer who is a sucker for sad puppy dog eyes.
        ….I'm a writer, a reader,  and a ponderer of deep thoughts.
This is who I am.  This is what makes me, me.
     Colleen--you deserved so much better.  You deserved dignity and respect alongside recognition for your contributions to the world.  You made it a better place.   I just hope when it comes time for someone to pen my obituary,  I'm remembered for the person and really am, and not just the extra junk I carry around in my trunk.

Thoughts on Oliver Twist and Mama June

     When people used to think of "the poor," images of emaciated waifs straight out of a Dicken's novel generally came to mind--Poor unfortunate souls begging for a bit more gruel to hopefully stick to their feeble bones.  A century ago, this was the reality.  I won't be so blind as to say that all American's now have plenty to eat.  I know for a fact that children still go hungry.  However, one does have to wonder why so many of the poor these days look a whole lot more like...


This:

 










And a whole lots less like…

This:

Please Sir, may I have some more?

    















     Now don't get me wrong.  I'm not saying I'd prefer poor folks (or anybody for that matter) to look more like Oliver Twist than Mama June.  But I am saying that the correlation between poverty and obesity is every bit as much a problem as as the kind of hunger that prevailed in the poorhouses of yesteryear.  So, why is it that so many underprivileged Americans are overweight?  I'll tell you why.  Eating healthy is EXPENSIVE!  
     If you walk through the local Kroger, you will find sale after sale on all things bad for you.  Soda, potato chips, frozen burritos--those are the items that often are the most deeply discounted.  How many times have you seen fresh spinach or kale greens on the ten-for-ten sale?  Didn't think so. 
     Specialty grocery stores like Whole Foods are even worse.  I'm not downing these places, because they have wonderful selections of high quality items.  But what I am telling you is that $19 a pound fresh Alaskan Salmon, $10 a bag chia seeds,  and $7 cherimoyas are out of reach for people on a limited income.  That's a real stretch for me, and I'm gainfully employed and have a master's degree.
     Healthy choices at restaurants will also often cause you to dig deeper in your pocket.  For instance, Applebee's has recently introduced its Pub Diet.  None of the items on this menu are over 600 calories.  That's fantastic!  However, the items in this promotion are also some of the most expensive on the menu.  Even fast food establishments follow this trend.  Take Wendy's dollar menu.  Lots of fried goodness, but only a small side salad as any kind of healthy offering.  The regular salads will cost you upwards of five times as much.
     The price burden for getting healthy is tough on me.  Its even tougher on folks who are just barely scraping by.  I'm lucky enough to be financially able to make healthy choices--even if it does stretch the pocketbook sometimes.  I've got the means to choose healthy alternatives at the grocery, pony up a gym membership fee every month, and splurge on an exorbitantly priced exotic fruit just for kicks every once in a while.  I just wish everyone had that opportunity.  Is there a way to fix it?  I'm not sure.  I'm neither an economist nor an agronomist.  But something's got to give.  Everyone ought to be able to afford to make choices that promote their own health and wellness--regardless of what tax bracket they happen to occupy.  
   

Don't Poo Poo On My Parade

     I've been feeling very proud of myself as of late.  I've stuck to my diet plan, cut myself down to one Coke a week, and  torched ten pounds.  But probably most importantly, I've gotten my sorry butt off the couch and started exercising.  I think those are things to celebrate!  And I have been!  But doesn't always seem that in the midst of any celebration that there are always one or two people that want to poo poo on your parade.  You tell them you're getting married--they quote you divorce statistics.  You tell them you're expecting--they tell you how expensive it is to raise a child these days.  You know the ones--never a positive word no matter how wonderful the news.  My path crossed with one of these folks today--but I'm determined not to let it get me down.
     I am a member of a Facebook "free-cycle" group.  Basically, member of the groups post items they wish to give away, or post in search of items they need.  This site has been a Godsend to me, because besides my vices of overeating and lounging on the couch, I'm also the world's worst packrat.  Now not to say I belong on "Hoarders" or anything, but I do tend to hang on to stuff longer than I should (maybe that's the problem with my weight--I'm hoarding the fat).  I've mainly utilized this site as a way to rid myself of unwanted and unneeded junk collecting dust in my closets and basement.  I rarely post in search of anything, but last night I made a simple request.  I posted in search of magazines to read while working out at the gym.
     It is no secret I hate to exercise.  I hate to sweat.  I hate to feel the burn in my calves as I walk on the treadmill.  But most of all, I hate watching the clock.  If I'm not distracted I get very discouraged.  My iPod and the televisions at the gym help, but I've found the most useful thing for me to do is to read a magazine while I'm working out.  It helps me zone out and the time goes by SO MUCH MORE QUICKLY.
      After posting I quickly received a reply from a friend that she had several magazines that she would like to part with, and offered them to me.  I was excited!  One woman's trash would certainly become this woman's treasure.  We made arrangements for me to pick up.  We were both happy, and that should have been the end of things.

BUT NO.

     Apparently some know-it-all came across my post and decided it was her job to offer her two cents. "If you read (or watch TV) while on a machine, your workout is less effective.  Research says so…I am an exercise professional.  Just sayin' "  Really lady?  Did I ask you for your advice?  Nope.  I asked for magazines.  Because you know what?  I'm doing the absolute best I can.  I am dragging my ass to the gym six days a week even when I'd much rather it be firmly planted on the couch.  I'm foregoing Coca Cola and a big bowl of popcorn in favor of bottled water and green smoothies.  Your advice didn't empower me.  It didn't make me want to put in an extra workout or push myself to amp up the speed or incline on the treadmill.  What it did do is make me feel small.  It made me feel weak.  It made me feel like the significant lifestyle changes I've made over the past few weeks were worthless.
    But here's the thing.  I'm not going to let someone else's snide remarks get me down.  I'm pushing forward.  I've got a great support system, and lots of other folks cheering me on (and my friend's comment back to her almost made it worth it--priceless).  One Debbie Downer won't stop this show.  Maybe when I'm down to my goal weight, I'll send this chick a picture--me with my rockin' new bod--on the treadmill, reading Us Weekly.

Own It!

     Being overweight is tough.  If you have never experience weight problems you truly do not understand what it is like to live in a body that betrays you daily--what it's like to live in a body you hate, and society despises.  Harsh words, but true.  I think one of the worst parts of being heavy is the guilt we feel because ultimately we realize that we are the ones who've put ourselves in this boat--and that is an ugly realization.  No one likes to feel that kind of shame.  So, what do we do?  We make up excuses and point our accusing fingers in a myriad of directions other that where they ultimately belong.  I've heard it all, said it all, and thought it all--anything to make  myself feel better about why the body that stares back at me from the mirror is not the body I want to see.  Here's the problem with that kind of thinking.  It solves nothing.  Blaming others is a prescription for laziness.  The thought process becomes, "if it isn't my fault, why should I bother trying to fix it."   I've got news for you.  With rare exceptions-- it is your fault.  (Ouch--that probably stung--but it is true).  You are responsible for you.  You took every single bite that put every single ounce of fat on your own thighs.  But here's the GOOD NEWS.  Once you own it, you can reframe it.  Stop throwing your own personal pity party--trust me, no one wants to attend.   Come to the realization that if you were responsible for putting the weight on, you can take charge of taking it off. Let me tell you folks--that is empowering.
 Instead of wallowing in self pity and self loathing, make an action plan.
     One of my all time favorite excuses for the extra junk in my trunk has always been to blame it on heredity.   Looking around at family get togethers  I've  always reasoned that some mysterious fat gene is responsible for the fact that my blue jeans come from the plus size section.  It makes sense.  It is totally logical.  But it isn't the whole truth.  Don't get me wrong. I do believe that genetics can predispose one to obesity.   But here's the thing.  How much of those collective extra pounds have to do with  our DNA, and how much has to do with that macaroni and cheese sitting on the stove.  You know, the one with the whole quart of heavy cream and a whole stick of butter.  Hmmm…certainly makes you think.  If you know that weight gain runs in your family you are not doomed!  Be proactive.  Make healthier choices to help combat an unfortunate roll of the genetic dice.
    Another excuse I like to make is that I'm a foodie.  Not gonna lie.  This girl loves to eat.  I've never been picky; I've always enjoyed the experience of trying new things.  I grew up in a family that loves to eat--we just didn't always make it a priority to choose the most healthy options.  Family gathering centered around good eats--and lots of them.  Good old Southern hospitality with a side of cheese grits.   If you are like me, and you enjoy the experience of eating, don't believe the lie that you can't enjoy food on a diet. Reframe it as an opportunity to experiment and experience.  There are so many healthy options out there that will tickle your palate.   Do your research.  Finding new, healthy foods that satisfy my inner foodie has been fun for me.  It can be for you too.
        The bottom line is this.  Stop thinking of reasons to fail.  Think of reason to succeed.  Once you own up to the fact that you are responsible for your eating and exercise habits, you can begin to change. You can say no to that extra piece of chocolate cake and yes to extra minutes on the treadmill.  You are responsible for you.  No one can lose the weight for you.  It is a personal journey.  Own it, reframe it, and change it.  You won't regret it.