SavanahJ
My first entry regarding WLS was made over 1.5 years ago. Nineteen months out from surgery, I’m still amazed when looking at photographs and reading last year’s journal entries. There were times when I didn’t think I’d ever recognize myself again. Now comfortable as a slender person, my “before” photos have now become someone I don’t recognize.
So many changes have taken place in my life in the past 1.5 years. When contemplating the decision to have WLS, I opted to keep my decision private sharing it only with very few people. Even after surgery, I kept the information to myself. I didn’t want to spend my life feeling as though I were beneath the microscope of every food Nazi concerned for my well-being and otherwise. I felt people would be critical of what I was and was not eating and that people would also be critical if I wasn’t losing weight. After losing 100 pounds, folks began expressing their concern that I was getting “too skinny.” At one year post-op, I’d reached my goal weight and began sharing with people that I’d had WLS.
One of five children, early childhood brought more than its share of tribulations growing up in a dysfunctional home where there was an absence of love and acceptance yet an abundance of abuse in every form. Poorer than the poor people, our diet was high in fat and provided very little nutritional value. Once in a great while, I was sent to the local grocer to purchase a treat for everyone. Very good at making a dollar stretch, I purchased as many treats as I could with the money given me. We enjoyed the sweet goodies AND mother’s momentary change of focus. During that blink in time she wasn’t yelling or hitting anyone. On one occasion she even jumped up and down on the couch and allowed us to laugh and dance in the living room. The moment was gone as quickly as it came. It didn’t take long for me to associate the consumption of sweets with happier times.
Food was the only friend I had growing up. I spent my childhood isolated from my peers. Mother was very controlling and didn’t allow visitors nor were we allowed to spend time outside our yard fenced by chain-link. Because we were poor, I was only allowed to bathe once a week even though I wet the bed nightly. We fetched our clothes from second hand stores and wore the same shoes until they fell apart. Although socially illiterate, I was always outgoing and had a social personality. Bound by my personal life, I turned to food to escape daily abuse, unhappiness, and the imprisonment imposed by a biological mother who was psychologically dysfunctional. Puberty brought changes in my mental thought processes about home life, and I started putting on weight. Unlike my siblings and mother who were all blonde, blue-eyed, and very slender/petite, I was brunette, had dark eyes, and had a “stocky” build. At 13 I weighed 145 pounds and stood 5’3” tall. One class mate used to measure my backside and tease me in front of my peers. He spent many hours sitting at a desk in a hall for his behavior. The older I got, the more weight I put on. At 16, I weighed 175 pounds and was called “Kong” by one of my peers because of how big I was. Looking back now, I recall him having written something really nice in my year book when we graduated 9th grade. I’m guessing it wouldn’t have been popular for him to like me because I was poor, not “hip” and FAT! I felt ugly and was told I was. I felt like the fattest girl in school, which wasn’t far from the truth.
Although I was a straight-A student, I was reminded every day by Mother how stupid I was, a “no one,” and that I’d “never amount to anything.” It was nothing a candy bar wouldn’t ease the pain of even if for a few moments until I could focus on something else. We didn’t have money for supporting my habit, which led to lifting baker’s chocolate from the grocer across the street. Desperation comes to mind when thinking about those days I chomped on bitter baker’s chocolate.
By the time I was 19, I was unhappily married, the mother of a beautiful little boy, and I weighed nearly 300 pounds. Determined to avoid becoming a statistic, I stayed in that physically and emotionally abusive marriage for almost five years. About six months before I got up the courage to walk out the door, I resorted to a combination of low caloric intake, starving myself, and daily exercise to lose weight. I stopped eating all sugar, snacks, and fried foods. I managed to lose 90 pounds, which gave me the courage to walk! It didn’t take long for the pounds to make their way back when I added sugar back into my diet. Twenty, thirty, and then forty of those pounds I lost crept back on my body. I was married and divorced a second time, graduated from college, and although obese, managed to maintain around 240 pounds for several years until injuring my back, hip, and groin fifteen years ago. Doctors and therapists said I’d never walk again given the damage done to muscles, soft tissue, and ligaments. With the passing of one year and the addition of over 100 pounds, it seemed their prediction would come true. I was depressed, nearing 400 pounds, and lacked motivation for anything—least of all losing weight. Food, or so I thought, was my only source of comfort. Fortunately, I’ve always been an independent sort. Through the support of the woman I celebrate as “Mom” today and a very good physical therapist, I was walking again with the use of a walker at first and then a cane. I went back to school to learn a skill that would allow me to sit and/or stand during the day and earned two degrees in office and business administration simultaneously two years later.
My most embarrassing moment as a fat person took place two months before I graduated. One of two people receiving a very prestigious award from the governor, I had to fly to the state capital. Weighing in at more than 350 pounds, I was ROUND and BIG and a horror to the people on that flight. I’ll never forget that long walk to the back of the plane. The aisle was so narrow, and I was so big, that no matter how I tried navigating my body, I bumped people and seats while making my way to my seat, which was in the middle in the very last row! If that wasn’t horrific enough, I had to request an extension for my seat belt. I was mortified and cried the entire one-hour flight. There I was experiencing one of the greatest moments of my life having it obliterated by the horror felt because of how fat I was. Needless to say, I starved myself for as long as I “could” in order to take off approximately 30 pounds.
My weight fluctuated from 305-350 for nearly 15 years. I refused to believe I had a problem because my blood pressure was perfect, heart rate normal, cholesterol wasn’t too bad, and I wasn’t diabetic. I’d learned to like myself during the years I faced my childhood memories with the assistance of some very good counselors and feel fortunate to have been a fat person who didn’t hate myself because I was fat. Don’t confuse that with hating to be fat, however. What I couldn’t deny was my poor intestinal health. Early 2002 I complained to my family doctor of symptoms I’d had for years with what I termed as “gut rot.” He sent me to a surgeon, who, after not finding any gall stones, suggested I have gastric bypass. I adamantly refused because I socialized with a woman who’d had it, and her personality changed so much that I no longer wanted to be around her. She was miserable! The doc was no longer focused on my complaint, and I stopped seeing him or anyone else because the fear of having to unclothe my severely morbidly obese body superseded any ill symptoms I was experiencing.
November 2004 I could no longer endure the intestinal pain I was experiencing and made an appointment with a gastroenterologist. Multiple tests later revealed a number of intestinal ailments. Hiatal hernia repair and removal of my gall bladder were suggested along with prescribed medications to heal my esophagus and intestinal tract. Long story short, I sought three opinions because the first surgeon told me I’d have stomach and/or esophageal cancer in six months to a year if something “drastic” wasn’t done. The second surgeon suggested lap band surgery because losing weight would help my prognosis. I freaked initially telling him, “Hey I want to lose weight, but I don’t want to die trying!” I left his office crying and made an appointment with a third doctor—Dr. Gregory Schroder.
Because I had a month’s wait to see him, I took some time to learn about Weight Loss Surgery. I spent HOURS researching the various procedures. Although nervous, by the time that initial appointment came around, I’d made my decision to have WLS.
If you’re still reading about my journey, then I’ve done a good job writing it and should seriously consider writing a book!. LOL! Because it’s difficult to tell my life’s story in several paragraphs, I will be writing a book—hopefully within the next five years. For now, let me bring this portion of it to a close. (or not? LOL!)
Had anyone told me I could lose almost 200 pounds in less than a year, I’d have laughed myself hysterical. But, in fact, that’s exactly what I did! I went through several phases post-WLS regarding my attitude toward food and the surgery! "Who on earth decided we needed so many food commercials," was an early post-op thought. Weighing in at 308 the morning of surgery, it was difficult for me to get around after having Open RYN, hiatal hernia repair, and removal of my gall bladder. The incision started at my sternum and ended at my belly button. Down 33 pounds at one month post-op, my attitude about surgery turned the corner, and I was excited. However, I was apathetic about food. Odd to me at the time, I had no interest in food at all. Post-op depression set in, and I continued seeing the behaviorist I was seeing pre-op to address my skewed relationship with food. The WLS tool and my local support group took my focus off eating and allowed me time to educate myself regarding proper nutrition and sufficient exercise. Weight loss was consistent and steady, and I walked daily. Because of increasing energy and decreasing size, my interest in “moving” accelerated, and I decided running was a sport I could do that wouldn’t require any formal training. Given my obese teenage years and controlled childhood, I never played sports. Trust me baseball fans, you DON’T want me on your team! LOL! So I read Jeff Galloway’s book on running and started using his principles October 2005—five months post-op. January 2006 I began training for the local 10K and cried happy tears the first time I ran one mile without stopping. It may as well have been a marathon! When I first started, it took me 18 minutes to complete one mile. The 10K was April 1 this year, which was one year and one day after I had WLS. I was elated to finish the event having run a 12.5-minute mile. Over 10,000 people crossed the finish line after I did. Am I proud? YES, I am! I ran those 6.2 miles non-stop. I’m running my first ½ marathon two weeks before my two-year WLS anniversary!
My WLS journey has been filled with challenges emotionally and physically. It’s required a number of changes in my attitudes about food, exercise, and life in general. It hasn’t always been easy, and it hasn’t been “hard.” Do I dump if there’s too much sugar in something? Yep! So my rule is: Sugar must not be in the first three ingredients, AND, I have to eat protein before consuming anything with sugar in it. Exercise is a MUST! Vitamins are a MUST! Water is a MUST! Keeping appointments with my surgeon, taking care of my health, and having routine blood levels checked—definite MUSTS! I’m passionate about being faithful to myself and the tool, which makes me a bit intense at times regarding my feelings when I hear people reverting to old behaviors and testing waters. I choose not to sabotage myself, while understanding that each person’s journey is individual. Do I have any regrets? Absolutely none! It’s like running Coach Danny Shea said during the 10K training, “If nothing changes, nothing changes!”
About Me
Before & After
rollover to see after photo
