Sandy~Diamond
October 15th. 2005~
I have always been a chubby kid. You know the kind. Always picked last for the games, called names, laughed at. The only clothes Mom could find was the polyester nasty short sets in the chubby girl section of JC Penny catalog. Those things rubbed my thighs raw. I went from chubby to obese at age 12 when I started my period. (sorry men) I shot up to almost 200 pounds within months. Although I was chubby I have always been a tom-boy and was active by climbing trees, skating, riding my bike, hanging upside-down on branches, jumping rope and playing baseball in bare feet... but all of a sudden I couldn't do those things anymore. Everything became hard to do and I got out of breath. I didn't understand it. Looking back I hadn't changed my eating or exercising habits. But hormones came into my world and that was the end of life as I knew it.I really didn't know until just about 6 years ago that the hormones were to blame for most of it. I always just hated myself for being fat and out of control. Blamed myself for being weak. Not that I don't LOVE to eat or have a big appetite because I do. I deserve to be fat the way I eat sometimes. But when I say that, I mean I should weigh around 250 pounds. I don't eat like you would expect a 400 pound person to eat. And yet that is what I weigh. My friend Kris always said "I'm around you 24/7 and I see what you do and how you eat. How the #^%@ do you weigh almost 400 pounds??? I hate coming to your house to eat. Everything is low fat or diet. Fat-free mayo? Gross!" I would just shrug my shoulders and look confused. Beats the poo out of me why it was so easy to gain and so hard to lose.
There is a girl I work with (I know you all know at least ONE of these kind of people) who weighs 100 pounds soaking wet. I sat beside her. She has this big box with a lock on it that has all kinds of goodies in it. I would sit there with my water or diet Pepsi and diet nutrition bar and watch her with my mouth hanging open as she ate Ho-Ho after Ho-Ho. Candy. Sugar packed Mountain Dew. Big mugs of Hot Coco. I sat there looking like freaking Jabba the Hut (or Pizza the Hut) while she was Twiggy. I asked her how she could eat like that and be so skinny. She would just laugh and wave a doughnut in my face and asked "Don't you wish you could have one of these?" I have told her more than once... I CAN have one of those or more if I want to. I choose NOT to have one. I wanted to shove the doughnut down her throat and biotch slap her across the room. I never did of course. I'll get my revenge though. (evil laugh) I almost swear she would weigh more than me if she had my genetic make-up or whatever makes me this way.
It's simple. I have done many experiments with my eating. In order for me to lose weigh I have to really cut back on eating. That's it in a nutshell. If I eat like Joe Blow next door I will continue to gain till I die. If I eat like a bird I will lose weight. Why? I don't know. But that's my reality. My reality SUCKS.
Being desperate one year, I decided to get my stomach stapled. Just stapled. That was the way they did it 15 or 20 years ago. Staple it 3/4 of the way across and let your little pouch trickle food into your regular stomach. I had to fly to Arizona alone to get it done. I cried when I left and I was frightened to death. I was cut from between my breasts to my belly button and went through it alone. I had to fly back to West Virginia with 40 some odd staples closing me up. Now THAT was harsh. When I got back I had no doctor to follow up with. My staples needed to come out and my surgeon sent a staple taker-outer home with me to give to the doctor who would take them out for me. Well... no doctor would touch me. I called several. My staple site was getting infected because they had been in too long. I was going insane with itching and wanting them out so I had no choice. I took them out myself. That was an experience. Unfortunately the bottom of the incision came open about 1 inch long in one place and one half inch in another. Later the next day I lifted up my gown to take off my binder and it was soaked with GREEN. It looked like someone poured spinach water on me. I called my Mom in a panic and then the surgeon in Arizona. He said it might be medication they injected into the site coming out. What? Green medication? Whatever. I just hung up frustrated and took care of everything myself. I cleaned my incision several times a day and disinfected it and was very careful and I finally healed. I was never seen for any kind of follow up after I left the hospital. I was my own doctor. I had no WLS peers to talk with. I began losing weight and lived off of baby food. I was never told about protein or vitamins or how to do things right but I did my best. I dropped 65 pounds in 4 months and kept a watch on my own scale.
I joined a gym and began to exercise and was feeling great until I started getting these pains. The pains turned into attacks. These attacks were horrible and the most pain I think I have ever felt in my life. I would ride them out and get back to life very sore for a few days. The attacks became more frequent and harder and were just horrible. The last straw was when I had one at work. I worked at a homeless shelter and worked 16 hour shifts overnight. I was doubled over all night and half out of my mind. When the daytime worker came to let me go home, I barely remember telling her I was sick and driving myself to the Emergency Room. I gave them my Mom's phone # and had emergency surgery to remove my gallbladder. Wow that hurt. So, of course I make sure (and yes I remember) telling them I have had gastric stapling. Please be careful. Please. Please. For visual effect, I had a HUGE scar down the middle of my belly just as a reminder. I should be fine. I was put to sleep, operated on, and I woke up with a freaking tube down my nose and throat in recovery. I felt my nose and groaned. The nurse said "Oh, honey. That should have been taken out before you woke up. Now take a deep breath." I took a deep breath and she began to pull the tube. It came part way out and stopped. She told me to take another deep breath. It wouldn't come out. She called another nurse to come help her. They said to take a REALLY big breath. So I... being in the most pain I have ever been in... mustered up this huge, deep breath and they both pulled that stupid tube hard. Something went "POP" and that tube came flying out of my throat and nose. I retched and gagged (omg that hurt so bad) and leaned over and threw up a little blood on my right arm. The nurse screamed and ran to a red telephone. The doc must not have been worried. I eventually recovered from that surgery too. Of course, after they tore my staple line I could eat anything I wanted to. People say I should have sued. But I just blamed it on myself like I always blamed everything else. I regained the 65 pounds plus another 90.
I had such a horrible experience with being on my own after the first surgery, and having been so traumatized with the gallbladder surgery and the disruption of my staple line... that the idea of a third major surgery in a 5 month period just made me sick. I simply could not bring myself to get the staple line repaired. No more. Put a fork in me. I was done.
I went about my life and gained the weight. I did eat as fat free as I could and tried to keep the amount down but life goes on and so did my fat butt... well more my gut than my butt. Yuck.
Of course I went about on my own joining Curves, TOPS and everything else I could find. I would stop eating and lose weight, but when you have a normal appetite it's hard to stop eating. I know skinny girls who cry if they miss a freaking meal. Geesh. I did manage to keep myself from weighing 600 pounds, but I have hit the 400 mark.. then the 312 mark... then the 350 mark...then the 312 mark...then the 350 mark...then the 400 mark... well, you get the picture. The yo-yo queen. For over 15 years I struggled doing this refusing to get surgery. Then I hear of the "new" way of doing it. Bypass. Ewww I said. No way.
Then one year I saw a doctor who finally diagnosed me with my major problem. I had PCOS or Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. By this time I was having major physical problems. He was blunt. He told me it wasn't really my fault being fat but that I would never lose weight no matter how hard I tried. He said I would continue to gain weight, would become a diabetic, get sicker and sicker, go downhill fast and he said he gave me 5 years to live. He told me if I lived past that 5 year mark that I should thank God every day I wake up and kiss the ground because I was still alive. That 5 year mark is up October 31st 2005. That's not far away. Bummer.
Of course I didn't believe him. I was going to prove him wrong! Yee ha! I ate very little and exercised and lost 80 pounds on my own. I was way hungry all the time but I was determined. I started feeling bad though and began a 6 month bleed. I had to stop exercising. I was in pain and anemic. I had to have surgery to stop the bleeding. By then I had gained a lot of weight back. This cycle happened several times. My health steady going down-hill. This brings us to last month. September 2005. I just had another surgery (D&C) to remove nasty things growing in my uterus again. The doctor thought it was cancer... again. I just had the surgery a few weeks ago. It came back NOT cancer... again! Woooooooo Hooooooo! She said it was pre-cancerous and I may not be so lucky next time. I need a hysterectomy but she won't give me one because she is afraid I might die. My belly is too big to do a vaginal hysterectomy because of all the weight pressing down on it. She has no room to do it. She might accidentally cut something wrong. She can't (won't) do it through an incision because my belly is SO HUGE it's way too much to cut through. She wants me to be under 250 pounds to do this surgery. Time is important. The growths WILL come back. It's not if... but when. So here I am. The 5 year death date from one doctor hanging over my head, "the you need surgery so hurry up and lose weight" from another doctor. I just found out 6 months ago I was diabetic. I have lymphedema now and my feet swell up so bad I can't wear regular shoes. I look deformed. My legs are terrible. I can hold so much fluid that I can gain 20 pounds overnight. I thought I was trying to put on my daughters pants once and when I checked the tag they were mine. I couldn't get them on. Three days later I peed myself to death and they slipped right on. My sugar has gone to 400 before in the morning after only having a cup of coffee with Splenda. I can no longer walk around for hours and shop and do things I used to. My legs will swell and I get out of breath so easily. I will have to pee because of the pressure on my bladder from my huge belly. It's hard to carry all this around. It's like some 200 pound person jumped on my back and I had to carry them all day. I'm just so tired.
I had to go shopping the other day. I HAD to go. The fridge was empty. I cried before I went in the store because I knew I would have to use the "Old Lady Cart." Forgive me any elder folks that use that cart. It's the name I gave that thing. It's for disabled people who can't walk and older folks who can't walk and I had to finally break down and use it. It was humiliating for me because I'm not old and I never thought of myself as disabled. In fact, walking 80 year old walking people were passing me up in that thing. My fat was finally a handicap. I swore I wouldn't let it get this far. Of course I ran into people I knew and the very girl I worked with that eats the ho-ho's. No kidding. True story. She looked at me so strange. I told her I just had surgery the week before which was true. But that wasn't the reason I was in the cart. I made her think so though. What was I going to say... "Well girl, I have finally gotten so freakin' fat that I can't walk now. Ain't that a hoot? Let's celebrate with a ho-ho!" Nah. I guess that wouldn't work. Darn girl is so skinny I could hide her in my butt crack anyway. I should have sat on her. Humph.
Anyway, my medical problems have gotten out of control. High blood pressure, depression, sleep apnea. I have to sleep with this stupid, ugly face mask that smells funny and squeaks in the middle of the night like a mouse on crack. I hate that thing but if I don't use it I fall asleep at work. I have so much pressure on my bladder and those parts that I will pee myself if I have to go too bad and happen to cough or sneeze. That sucks. And I am a short person. Almost 5' 3'' tall if I stand real straight. Short legs and short arms. Short arms plus a big butt is a BAD combination when it comes to bathroom happenings. I could be in the circus with the way I can twist and bend to try to wipe my own dang behind. I almost dislocate my shoulder every time I potty. And 50 E/F is not the name of a new band. It's my bra size. Children try to steal my bras to use them as a pup tent for camping.
All this is getting to be WAY too much for me. I am not this person.
Want to know who I am? For real?
I'm the person wearing ripped jeans and a tank top with bare feet and not the stretch pants and shirt down to my knees to hide my belly along with support leggings for the swelling.
I'm the person riding all the fun rides at the amusement park... laughing and screaming and full of energy and not the person sitting there smiling through the sadness as they watch everyone have fun. The one who carries everyone's's stuff as they laugh and run to get in line. The one who can't fit.
I'm the girl who hears a favorite song and jumps up to dance in front of a room full of people without being ashamed. Not the girl who tries to fit in but just ends up crying later for breaking a bar stool in front of a room full of people and crashing to the floor. (Yes, that really happened. I haven't been out since)
I'm the person who walks in a place with confidence smiling and sits where she wants to, not the one who waddles into a room and quickly scans the room to make sure the chairs are strong and they have tables and not just booths and the chairs don't have arms on the side to squeeze between.
I went to the movies last week and couldn't fit between the chair arms. I had to sit on the edge of the cushion for an hour and a half. I was so uncomfortable and my azz was numb and all I wanted to do was get up and leave. I was gritting my teeth and angry and thinking to myself "I can't wait to get this fat off my body! I want that surgery!" I am SO over this fat life. I am So ready to experience what it feels like to be a normal size. I told my friend Kris the other day that I know there is a chance of me dying with this surgery. I know the risks. I said at least if I die, I will die trying. I refuse to wimp out and if I go down it will be in a blaze of glory. She gave me the high five and grinned and said "Yeah, but you aren't going to die. If you do I'll hunt you down and kill you." Now you know why she is my best friend. She's so sweet.
So this is my story. Well really just a part of it. I have story after story but that could keep us here for hours. So I will fill you in on the important stuff as time goes by. Ok, deep breath... let the journey begin!
This is me. My best friend Kris took this. Thanks for making me look So pretty Kris! I weigh more now. I know this is not a great pic but I wanted to show you this body. I really can dress better than this and wear make-up! lol. But oh well. I usually refuse to show my body in ANY picture. I can pose for a picture and know just how to turn my head to try to make my chin smaller. My chest to face pics can look really good. But I wanted to show the full-body, un-posed, let-it-all-hang-out picture to let you know exactly what I'm working with here.
