She's Baaaack!

I’m just like most other women. We take it all on — work, family, friends, church, and more. 

There are busy days at the office with more than enough work to do and pending deadlines. Thankfully, I work with a great team. Working two jobs, I get excited about the weekends with girls night out, shopping with my daughter, and church on Sunday morning. I’ll wind up the week with a visit to have lunch with my 96-year-old daddy, who is still sharp as a tack.  

I’m smart, successful, and blessed. But, if you and I were to meet, you’d probably have no idea how much I’ve struggled with my health and personal self-image because of my weight. Just two-and-a-half years ago, I was twice my size. 

I remember sitting on the side of the bed one morning, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I didn’t even look human! When did I get so huge?  

My body looked as if it had been wrapped in a gigantic body suit made of bread dough, puffy and dimpled. Tired all of the time from carrying the equivalent of another whole person, I was uncomfortable sitting, miserable standing, and unbearable lying down.  At night, all of that fat shifted up around what used to be my neck and tried to suffocate me.  Walking was a struggle. My ankles would swell at the mention of the word salt, and caffeine made my heart race. My blood pressure was through the roof. Panic attacks, constant heartburn, and marginal bladder control combined with a menstrual period so heavy I thought I would surely bleed to death. Other than that, I really thought I was pretty healthy. Who was I kidding?

I quit wearing make up because no matter how I painted, powdered, or polished, 300 pounds of fat was impossible to hide. My head looked like a tiny little cherry on top of a big fat cantaloupe. 

Simple things were impossible — bending over to tie my shoes, crossing my legs, and climbing a flight of stairs.  I could barely balance on high heels.  Bless my heart, I looked like a pig on stilts. It is hard to be a woman at 300 pounds. 

I was miserable. In my mind, I was my college self, trendy and hip, though my body showed the world a completely different picture. 

Clothing was a challenge. Styles don’t look the same in a size 26-28. I tried the Little House on the Prairie look — natural fibers, long skirts, and flat boots. The only thing I lacked was a burlap bonnet. Then I found stretchy velour. In the summer, I switched to stretchy knits. The objective was to conceal as best I could.  

But honestly, I wanted to be pretty again.  I wanted my husband to look in my eyes and tell me I was beautiful. Never having seen me without my extra girth, he had no idea what a hottie he was married to. 

Diet after diet, I tried them all. How about boiled cabbage soup for three weeks?  I probably depleted one ozone layer from my own noxious gasses. The Vinegar Diet brings back horrible memories. 

In the 1980’s on a “medical” diet, I paid a bunch of money for an LPN to give me daily injections. I ate lettuce and protein supplements for a total daily caloric intake of less than 300 calories. No salt, no sweeteners and even toothpaste was regulated. After three months, I temporarily lost the use of my left arm, which was a wake-up call since I really liked having the use of my limbs. My extra weight fell off but so did my hair. Sugar Busters, Optifast, Herbalife, Slim-Fast, The Blood Type Diet, and Weight Watchers — I  tried them all and failed so many times that my future appeared bleak, with no hope for a healthy life.

In November 2006, my brother-in-law had gastric bypass surgery. I had heard of the procedure but considered it far too dangerous. I kept close watch on his progress, though, and asked questions at every opportunity. His journey fascinated me. If he could do it, there was hope for me. I had the chance to live again, not merely exist. 

After considerable research, I made the choice to undergo gastric bypass surgery. I read everything I could find about the process: the good and the bad.  Every surgery has risks and this one is no different.  I prepared myself mentally and physically and I knew when I hopped on the gurney, my life would be forever changed.  

My wonderful surgeon at Baptist Hospital’s Metabolic Surgery Center, Dr. Albert Spaw, rearranged my insides and gave me back my life. Instead of a full-sized stomach, I now have a pouch that holds about two ounces.  

Because of the type of surgery, I need daily protein and supplements for calcium, iron and B12. When I eat sugar or too much food, I get sick. Too many carbs and I’m sick again.  

For the first time in my life, however, I am in control of my eating. 

Weight loss surgery is not a magic fix to obesity. Losing the weight is just the first part of the journey. Maintenance is not for the faint of heart. I have educated myself and am armed with the knowledge of what will help me and what will hurt me. 

I have spent enough time under cover, watching the world pass me by. Today, if my pants are tight, it’s because I am showing my curves — not because it was the biggest size they made and I poured myself into them anyway.  

I am in touch with reality and I feel beautiful. Watch out, world. I’m back!