Those of you who are regular readers of this column know that I have written a few times over the past five months about my journey towards gastric bypass surgery. After fighting my insurance company, switching surgeons once when it was clear that the surgeon and I had a different definition of the initials M.D. (he thought they stood for major deity, I didn’t), and going through every medical and mental test known to man, I finally received word that surgery had been approved and scheduled. I immediately panicked.
I panicked because I was sure those mental health evaluations had missed something in my makeup that would cause me to go nuts the first time I had to turn down a bowl of pasta. I panicked because I had spent 30 years in Barrow away from fast food restaurants and had way too much catching up to do before I’d be ready to say goodbye to them.
But mostly I panicked because I was about to profoundly change my life and my past history seemed to indicate that this was not something I did well. And if I did have to do it, I needed food by my side to see me through. All of which contradicted the point of the surgery I was about to have. Now that gastric bypass surgery can be done laproscopically – four or five little incisions instead of one big one – the surgery itself is not as big a deal as the lead up to it and the change of life required after it. For the first week post surgery, I was allowed only broth and Jello. Imagine getting on a scale a few days after surgery and finding out you’ve gained weight on this lovely diet. It’s like every obese person’s worse nightmare come true.
After I finished sobbing so loudly I couldn’t hear the nurse over the noise I was making, she explained to me that I was retaining fluid from the IVs I’d had and that once that was gone, I’d see my weight start to go down. She was right. But that sure didn’t make the week go any quicker.
And now I find myself on the losing end of the surgery and I’ve discovered that life isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Sure there are those times where I hit a plateau and stop losing weight. I still find myself getting quietly hysterical when that happens despite all the reassurances that it is normal and the weight loss with eventually resume.
The best part of this whole experience has been that I am losing weight without feeling deprived. I go to restaurants and order what I want. I just eat very little of it and then I’m full. So I don’t spend the better part of the meal wistfully glancing at my dining companions’ meals and thinking that it’s not fair that I can’t eat what they’re eating. I’m too stuffed to care. And without that sense of deprivation, there is little incentive to not stick with the program.
I’ve now lost about half the weight I want to lose. I go to Curves and am actually developing muscles in the roll of fat that still constitutes much of my abdomen. I can bend, walk and bike ride without getting breathless after the first five minutes. I can even carry groceries up two flights of stairs without having to sit down in between flights. This may not sound like much but for someone like me who was not only overweight but sick because of it, it’s like winning the Miss America title, the Miss Universe title and getting accepted into MENSA all at once.
Is there a down side? Before the surgery, I used to complain that I was on so many drugs I didn’t know what was me talking and what was the drugs talking when I’d get angry over something. I was off almost all those drugs thanks to the surgery when I had an encounter with a company that annoyed the heck out of me. I called their main office and told everyone who would pick up the phone what I thought of them and their services.
It was about then that I figured out that since I couldn’t blame all my bitchiness on the drugs anymore, it must just be me. So far, that’s the worse of the downside.
Next time this subject is brought up in this space, it will be accompanied by a new picture of the new me. I can hardly wait.