I had gastric surgery, please stop trying to force feed me

For those of you who haven’t had the surgery let me explain, the average stomach can hold about 6 cups of food and has to ability to stretch (like when you’re at the Chinese buffet or for second dinner on Thanksgiving).  After you have the surgery your stomach can now only hold 1-2 cups of food/liquid and loses its elasticity.   Unfortunately, after having the surgery people get worried that you aren’t eating enough and they turn into little Italian grandmothers that are on a mission to spoon-feed you everything on the table. “Oh man, this is really good try some of this!” “You didn’t really eat that much did you not like it?” “Hey, there’s only a couple spoonfuls left of this.  You sure you don’t have room?”  What part of my stomach only holds 10 oz of food do you not understand?  It’s not a choice if I eat that I will throw up all over you.  Please do not get offended when I don’t have seconds and thirds.  I probably couldn’t even eat everything on my plate in the first place and now I feel like I’m going to die because I finished everything to be polite.

To give you a clearer idea of how much food I can fit in my stomach they reduce your stomach to the size of a banana by reshaping the pouch and removing the portion of your stomach that stretches when you eat.  So while other people can continue to eat when they feel full and merely suffer from bloating my food literally fills up my stomach and then begins to back up in my esophagus like a clogged toilet.  I can physically eat one piece of protein about the size of the palm of my hand and be completely full, if I don’t chew it well enough I will become physically ill. So that means no buns, no pasta, no giant heaping bowls of salad, and no bread because I simply don’t have room for it no matter how much I loved it in the past.  On top of that, eating anything carb heavy, very rich, or hard to chew makes me feel like shit.  So if I turn down something delicious you are offering, believe me, it hurts me more than it hurts you.

Now let’s look at it from an addiction standpoint.  I have an addiction to food and I had the surgery to help me curb that addiction.  I try to eat now for nutrition, not to eat for comfort, a celebration, or a coping mechanism.  Do you go up to alcoholics that have been sober for 19 years and try to get them to have a drink with you? “Hey man congrats on 19 years sober, let’s have a drink to celebrate!  It’s only one drink!”  In some way’s it’s really degrading and depressing to have people dismiss your issue because they don’t understand it or they just don’t care. Yeah, I would love to eat that cheeseburger or a whole pie or a giant Cheesesteak again but I can’t.  So the fact that you think it’s so funny to try to get me to eat it is really sad.  Imagine having an addiction you can feed at any time to get high, you can run out to a store 24/7 and buy it without an i.d. for the change in your car, nearly every place with a register offers it, and there is no age restriction or legal limit.  I have to make the conscious decision over a dozen times a day to not indulge it.  I pick something up, read the label, put it down, pick it up, put it down, pick it up, read the label, put it down.  Rinse and repeat, over and over every single day.

Having the surgery has helped me empathize a lot with vegans, vegetarians, and people with food allergies since it’s become clear that as a society we just ignore issues that don’t have an immediate impact on ourselves. We have this really great ability to dismiss things as not a problem if they aren’t a problem to us, which I imagine is a coping mechanism for how shitty the world is and not wanting to kill ourselves all the time because of it.  Sometimes I fantasize about just eating everything and then throwing up all over the person just to see how they like it.  I’m sure that’ll get me invited to a lot of dinner parties.

How to get “unstuck” and going back to basics

Anyone on a weight loss journey, with or without surgery, has experienced those exasperating moments when the scale stops moving, or worse, beings to move the other direction.  Shock turns into dismay which turns into desperation as the scale continues to defy us.  Despite weight loss plateaus being completely natural, it can be hard to escape the feeling of becoming “stuck”.  This is the perfect time to go back basics, here are some steps for how I get “unstuck”:

  1. Go back to your nutritionist’s instructions, make sure you are eating at the right intervals and getting enough protein in.  If you haven’t been making your quarterly check-ins nows a good time to make the call.  Everyone has unique protein requirements and if you aren’t hitting your targets you won’t see your best results.
  2. Don’t be afraid to do a liquid diet reset.  Don’t worry I’m not preaching to go back to 3 shakes a day but moving to a shake for breakfast and lunch may be the perfect thing to help you break some of your bad habits and stop some of those Starbucks, Dunkin Donuts, and McD’s trips.
  3. Identify your bad habits.  I am notorious for skipping breakfast, for some reason a coffee or a small shake is all I can eat before lunch most days even though I know that breakfast is super important to jump-start your metabolism for the day.  Conversely, at night I constantly find myself wanting to snack and nothing has been able to cure this struggle.  Modify your behaviors and consciously work to correct your habits, get back to what was working for you.
  4. Track your food!  Junk food creep is real, you may find yourself adding in certain junk foods or getting fast food on a more regular basis, forgetting to bring your lunch in once a week can turn into a few lunch’s at McD’s faster than you want to admit.  Those little treats and late night snacks start becoming ritualistic again.  If you are anything like me tracking will help deter some of those cravings, I know I won’t eat certain foods just so I don’t have to log them.

 

Finally remind yourself the number on the scale isn’t why we began this journey, take a look in the mirror, try on your clothes.  Does everything fit right?  Do you look and feel better?  We will all hit stalls, remember you are doing this for you, your well mental and physical well being, not the scale.  If none of that works take the scale out back, run it over with the car, hack it with an axe and shoot it for good measure.  That scale wasn’t good for you anyway, he didn’t deserve you, there are thousands of scales in the sea.

 

Have any tips or tricks for helping you stay or get back on track?  Share them in the comments or on Facebook and I will add them to the list.

How do you feel? Appreciating the little things, 140lbs and counting

“How do you feel after losing the weight?”  That’s a question I get asked on a daily basis, the truth is I don’t feel very different much of the time or maybe it’s that the change has been gradual enough that I don’t notice any specific changes.  Although I do feel like I have more energy I would say the biggest changes are probably a culmination of little things, things average sized people take for granted.  This may come off as a “list of things Tony has broken” but without being overly dramatic this is really what I notice on a day to day basis.

I can sit on folding chairs that I wouldn’t dream of trying to sit on before and although breaking a folder chair or two has been the source of comic relief in my family it makes it very hard when going to weddings or other events where they don’t have full sized chairs.  I had resorted to bringing my own folding chair to most occasions and as you can imagine that’s both a hassle and embarrassing.  There were several weddings and functions where I just stood off to the side instead of risking a chair explosion during an inopportune time.

I no longer need to request a table, or a seat without arms, when dining out at restaurants.  Again this may seem like a little thing but not being able to sit in a booth with a fixed table or in a chair with arms can be incredibly limiting for seating.  Either you get the embarrassment of not being able to fit in a booth, having to ask your hostess to move you, or you have to watch them hunt frantically for the one or two chairs in the venue without arms.  Although we dine out much less often it’s such a relief to not have to worry about special seating arrangements.

That bring’s me to breaking furniture, more specifically toilet seats.  The most embarrassing moment of my life was when I visited my in-laws for the first time and I broke their toilet seat.  There really isn’t a great way to tell someone you just met that not only are you moving their daughter across the country (this in itself is a whole other story) but you’re such a fat-ass you broke their toilet seat.  Couple this with cracking a toilet seat or two at work, a customer’s couch while on an appointment, a few car seats, our own living room couch and chair (twice), and countless desk chairs I knew something had to give.  I’m still leary of lighter weight furniture but it hasn’t been a chronic issue since I began this journey.  (I probably spent about $3,000 and several weeks of construction on my bathroom over 10 years from damage to the tub and tiles from my weight – Thanks Dad for your help and understanding)

Weight limits, for those of you of slighter build you likely don’t face these problems very often but once you hit the 500+ mark you are basically over the weight limit of everything.  I couldn’t even do the stress test at my cardiologists facility because their equipment was only rated to 450lbs.  Most “heavy duty” scales don’t clear 500lbs either, so many of the offices I did my pre-op work at couldn’t even accurately weigh me. Furniture is usually only rated to 250lbs per person, beds included, and if you have ever tried to buy “heavy duty” furniture, exercise equipment or even something seemingly as simple as a bicycle you understand its astronomically more expensive.  Imagine joining a weight loss program and not being able to use any of the equipment, yeah I’ve been there.

This also reared its ugly head when going to events like football and baseball games, the movie theater or anywhere with stadium seating.  I actually had to google seating sizes for different venues to see if they had seats that would fit me and after a while I just gave up going altogether to avoid the embarrassment of not being able to fit in the seats and having to stand the entire time.  As much as I hated it I often had to ask for handicap seating or rooms if they were available, I didn’t feel handicapped and I didn’t want to be “that guy”.  In college this was an issue during lectures, I had to sit in the end seats (they were handicapped seating) to sit comfortably.  When we went on a cruise we had to request a handicap room so I could comfortably shower without having to leave the door to the bathroom open.  I couldn’t dream of flying someplace without buying two seats or flying first class so we drove everywhere, 16+ hours each way to Florida for a long weekend, or I skipped the trip and flew my wife and kid down without me.  (fyi 99% of all motorcycles, airplanes, canoes and boats are not “Tony Sized”, not even cruise ships)

Cars were another pain point, either the seat belts didn’t, my legs were crammed into the dash, or the steering wheels didn’t adjust enough and they were jammed into my legs, groin, or gut.  Climbing in and out of our econo work van was nearly impossible since the seat did not adjust back and the steering wheel was locked in place.  I basically had to squash and meld my self around the steering wheel every time I hopped in and out.  I would come home with bruises on my stomach from cramming my way into spaces or having objects poke my gut while working.  Long trips would generally lead to days of leg and foot pain if I drove or sat in the front and often times it was easier to sit in the back seat so I didn’t run into issues with center consoles or dashboards.  I once was actually pulled over for not wearing a seat belt and when I sheepishly demonstrated that I couldn’t buckle the belt I was berated on the side of the road about either losing weight or getting a seat belt extender, yeah that went about as awkwardly as you would expect.

So I guess you could say that’s how I notice or feel a difference since the surgery.  Although I still struggle with seeing the weight loss in the mirror, as many of us do and which is a topic for another day, I do notice and appreciate all these small changes which help tremendously with not only my anxiety but my overall quality of life.  If you have your own stories or small triumphs please comment and share below, I would love to hear them.

I would also like to thank my incredibly thoughtful friends throughout the years who made sure I had a “Tony Chair”.  Whether they bought special heavy duty folding chairs, considered passenger leg room in their new cars a bit more, bought heavier duty furniture, or set aside a special chair for me at their wedding I greatly appreciated it all.

Body to Baby: A Lifetime of Struggle, A Blessing and Now a Curse

For as long as I could remember I was always “chubby”. ‘Oooh my gosh! Look at those chubby cheeks!!’ Is what my mom says was a huge draw for people when I was a baby. When I was older I got into sports but before a softball game my mom would make me a grilled cheese for breakfast, this lasted well into my teenage years. “Balanced Breakfast” was never in my vocabulary except when it was taught in Health class. In one ear and out the other though.

My weight problem would haunt me throughout my childhood. I was into sports but exercise could only do so much. Then I became a teenager. A teenager with too much angst and a mother who wasn’t so much helpful on the emotional end. ‘You’re fat/that doesn’t fit right’ etc., was said to me almost daily, to where I could have become bulimic but instead I hid in large clothes, ate when I was sad and used my “bright personality” as a crutch.

Like any overweight kid there came a barrage of “mean girls” and idiot boys who also liked to point out that I was fat. By the time I got into high school I turned the whole thing into a self-deprecating joke. ‘Oh am I fat? I didn’t realize that, THANK YOU for the memo.” One time I can remember I was helping out as a backstage person for a play our school was putting on. Because I was, and still am, helpful I was putting makeup on for a guy who was part of the cast. Apparently the guys girlfriend, or the girls in the cast, didn’t care for my friendliness and I received a letter written in black eyeliner (black eyeliner I had purchased for the cast to use). The letter basically said that I was a fat cow and I should kill myself. That was one of the lowest points of my high school experience.

I graduated and moved on into being an adult. Adult stressors kicked in, work, college, boyfriends, and I just didn’t pay attention to what I ate, and then there was booze. While I didn’t drink myself into a stupor or anything when I worked the graveyard shift in my early twenties nothing was open except for bars, diners and fast food establishments. I never thought anything of it. I dated on and off and none of my “significant others” thought it was their place to tell me that I probably shouldn’t eat five tacos and wash it down with a beer on Taco Tuesday. I just kept on keeping on all along still using my personality to get me by when mentally I was still that high school nobody that wanted love and acceptance.

I tried so many times to do the gym thing, but when you don’t know what you’re doing and you cannot afford personal trainers or the classes, $10 dollars a month got me nowhere. I tried Slim Fast, Jenny Craig, and TrimSpa, you name it I probably tried it and got sick cause of it. My turning point regarding my weight loss was actually my Dad. While I learned to tune out the negative conversations from my Mom it was my Dad who made a passing comment to me while I was visiting that turned my world upside down.

“You’re getting kind of fat no?”

That was it, my dad thought I was fat…not cute chubby, but fat. It sent me into full on panic mode, I weighed myself when I got home. 290….two-hundred and ninety pounds. I cried and tried to figure out how that could even be. I gave up and gave in. I needed help.

I started my bariatric journey in January of 2013 and had my surgery in July. I remember in group therapy we had to choose one thing we would do in a year we never thought we could. I chose running a Tough Mudder. After I was cleared to work out and was able to actually eat something more than just broth and cottage cheese, I hit the ground running…hard. I signed up for Crossfit and broke myself mentally and physically. I followed my nutritionist guidelines and never stepped on a scale because I knew if I focused on the pounds lost I wouldn’t see the muscles gained. I ran my first mudder, the Dirty Girl, in June of 2014. Over the next two years I would sprinkle in two more mudders, two inflatables when finally a chipped bone in my left foot landed me in physical therapy the summer of 2016. By the time I was benched I went from 290 to 155, a size 22 to a size 8, I could squat press 200lbs. I was determined to get healed and back into the fray.

Then November came. I was still in physical therapy because I’m an idiot who couldn’t sit still and made a few things (besides my foot) worse. I was coming home from a camping trip and realized I was “late” honestly, I thought because I was camping in below freezing temperatures for 2 nights straight I froze my insides. At that point I had been married to my husband for only 6 months and I was a half a pack a day smoker, surely I couldn’t be. I was. We were over the moon excited, until I started gaining that baby weight.

I was a hormonal crying mess my first trimester, partly because of my body rebalancing for growing a tiny human and partly because to me everything that I worked hard for crashed down like a house of cards. I tried to watch what I ate but physically didn’t have it in me to work out any more than walking to and from my car to work and up and down the garage stairs. Oddly enough what I usually ate (or forgot to eat) before I was pregnant wasn’t enough, I had to think of not only myself now, so I ate more, which made me feel worse. It’s kind of hard to accept that “it’s for the baby” when in group therapy “weight was my enemy.” So I went from 165 to 215, needless to say I wasn’t happy about it but wasn’t able to do much to prevent it.

On July 18, 2017 I gave birth to my handsome little man. I am a Mom and it’s exciting and exhausting.

But now…what about me? Last time I weighed myself I was 195, good but I have 30 pounds to go to get back to a weight and a pants size I am happy with. But getting back to Crossfit is not in my cards, sleeping isn’t in my cards either and yet I keep ebb and flowing through my days, my work outs are lifting my son and the walk to and from my car. I’m still not eating great but eating less.

I have to go back to being accountable for my actions, I have to start pushing past the pain and making time for myself. But, how do we do that? How do moms of infants make time to work out? You can straighten out the “eat right ship” again, but man it’s hard when you have had chicken nachos at 2am because the “baby” wanted them.

So I guess my journey starts anew.

Submitted by Jenn M., with light editing by permission.

Doctor Shaky Hands – Trials and Tribulations of Anesthesia and Surgery

Nothing could have prepared me for the sheer magnitude and scope of the procedures I was going to need for my gastric sleeve operation.  As someone who had been to the doctor only a handful of times in the past 15 years it was completely mind blowing.  Due to my BMI my surgeon required that I have an IVC filter placed to protect against clots post surgery which added a whole additional layer of procedures to my already very full schedule.

What’s an IVC filter?  Click the pic above to find out more, image courtesy of wikipedia.

 

Besides the standard office visits and clearances there were several procedures that would require varying forms of anesthesia, it’s important to note that before this I had never been sedated for any procedure.  When I had my wisdom teeth out I was awake for the entire procedure, although I have blocked most of that traumatic memory I clearly recall that my dentist kept trying to show me the teeth that he was chiseling out of my head. It was all I could do at the time to respond with a desperate “blurgle gurgle burgle” in protest but it was to no avail.

My only real first hand experiences with anesthesia were my wife’s relatively serene/comatose responses to sedation and when I took my son to have tubes put in his ears.  Honestly the latter was probably the most traumatic day of my life, the look of betrayal in his eyes as I held him down while he kicked and screamed as they sedated him was haunting.  When he finally woke up it was like one of those scenes out of a movie when someone comes back from the dead, he lurched up in the bed gasping for air with no idea where he was.  It took me a solid 30 minutes to calm him down and so needless to say I was approaching these procedures cautiously as I had no idea how I would react.

First up was my visit to the gastroenterologist, he was a nice enough guy and walked me through the procedure and explained I would undergo deep general anesthesia and I would be asleep for the procedure.  I scheduled my appointment and arranged to have my wife pick me up and drop me off at the surgical center.  Everything went swimmingly until they rolled me into the room for the procedure.  They began by explaining the procedure and how he was going to put me asleep and not to worry, they proceeded to hook me up to various pieces of equipment and strapped a mask on my face.  I tried not to panic, it kind of felt like I was being abducted by aliens, staring up at the ceiling, bright lights in my eyes, little blue men wandering around.  To my surprise he didn’t do the backwards countdown, he just said “ok you should be feeling sleepy, you should be asleep soon” which in turn caused me to start to panic as I, of course, was still awake and listening to him tell me I should be asleep.  My mind was racing, oh my god this isn’t going to work, maybe he didn’t give me enough, holy crap I don’t want to be awake for this, I wonder if panicking will make me fall asleep faster….. and then I was waking up in my hospital bed about an hour later feeling no worse for wear.  I was up and out of there within 30 minutes or so of waking up and out the door suffering no ill effects.

Side Note – Fellas this is where I would like to mention that if you are a little  “gun shy” around strangers be prepared to have a dozen or more nurses/doctors see your manhood throughout the different procedures including the ultrasounds on your legs (p.s. that jelly is cold!).  This is just a little peek into what women go through on a regular basis so if nothing else maybe we can sympathize a little more after this.  

The next trip was to the vascular surgeonhe would be the one who would place and later remove the IVC filter.  This time the sedation would be much more mild and I would be awake for the procedure.  The IVC filter (info above) is placed through a procedure in your groin and later removed through your neck (yeah who knew you have an artery that runs that direction?!).  I specifically asked multiple times if I needed to shave the area the procedure was in and was told not to worry about it and to just wash with the special soap I was given and sleep on clean sheets the night before.  So you can imagine my surprise when I show up for the surgery and I am informed I will need to be “clipped”.  I’m sure the nurse does this dozens of times a day but I was completely mortified as she went to work.

While the nurse was busy buzzing away my anesthesiologist, an older gentleman, showed up and offered to help draw the blood samples that were needed.  He was struggling to find a vein, his hands were shaky and you could tell the nurses normally did this part for him, I held my clenched fist up, down, left and right until he seemed to find one he was happy with.  He muttered under his breath until finally “HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!  Don’t move or its going to fall out… oh boy… nurse I need help cleaning up I made a mess…” I began to joke about how it couldn’t be that bad and peered over the side of the bed.  It looked like a crime scene, blood on the side of the bed, my gown, the floor.  I couldn’t help but wonder how anyone could get away with murder if this is what happens just for a routine IV placement.  Before long everything was cleaned up and under control and I was off for the filter insertion.  It was a sort of surreal feeling, I had full control over my motor functions but couldn’t really feel anything besides a sort of pressure of them tugging and pulling and an almost grating sensation as the filter was being placed.   They put a curtain below your neck so you can’t see anything but I listened to the doctor as he explained everything out-loud to his assistant (who I assume was a medical student).   After the procedure was done I was in and out in about half hour again with little to no side effects from the anesthesia or procedure.

For the actual gastric sleeve surgery I was again put under deep general anesthesia.  The operation was performed at the same hospital as the IVC filter and to my surprise I had the same nurse.  When she came by to draw blood I expressed my relief that she was doing it instead of “Doctor Shaky Hands” and we joked about how at least this time I didn’t need a clipping done in my down under.  Much to my chagrin I would again need some grooming but (thankfully?) since it was on my stomach I was treated to a not-so-gentle waxing, thank you Sweet Baby Jesus (my favorite Jesus) that I am not a hairy guy.  After being moved to the operating room and positioned in place, I don’t fit comfortably on the tables so they had to put stretchers under my arms and prop me up, I was quickly knocked out (again no counting backwards boo!).  I woke up as I was leaving and heading to have my new stomach checked for leaks.  They x-rayed my stomach and I got to see how liquids splish splash their way into my gut on the screen which was kind of trippy in a way (although you could possibly attribute that to the narcotics).  Unlike my wife the fog and sleepiness cleared quickly and I was up walking laps within the hour.  The only ill effect I was suffering besides an extremely swollen stomach, which would not willingly receive food or water, was an incredible amount of gas pain that could only be relieved by walking.  Thankfully that dispersed after a few days and after a week long struggle with cramps and dehydration I was fully on the mend.

Last but not least, a few months after the surgery I was back at the hospital to have the IVC filter removed.  For the third time I had the same nurse who was finally spared some sort of manscaping on me.  I couldn’t help but groan however when “Doctor Shaky Hands” strode in my waiting area to draw blood.  He must of had less coffee or took his “anti-shaky” pills that morning because he managed to tap into a vein quickly and without the horror movie-esque blood splattering.  This time the anesthesia must have worked a little better, I was aware of what was going on but was less cognizant, I distinctly remember the sensation of them removing the filter (kind of like a pipe cleaner going through your veins) that I had similarly felt when they placed it originally.  The surgeon was giving me instructions and jokingly remarked that I wouldn’t remember any of this anyway so the office would follow up with me after a couple of days.  Again I was up and functional fairly quickly, I did suffer some severe back pain/muscle spasms later that day and into the next week from laying on the table for an extended period of time.  I normally avoid painkillers whenever possible but I caved in and went to the doctors the next morning, I was prescribed muscle relaxers which along with a heat pad seemed to do the trick.

It’s been a long eleven months from my first nutritionist appointment to my final surgery and doctor appointments but I have a few new stories to share and a much smaller waist line.

Have any similar stories or comments?  Please share below!

 

 

What are you going to do about all that skin?

This is a question I get a lot, I would venture to say as often as people with tattoo’s hear “How will those look when you’re 80?!”  To be honest I have no freaking clue, but I’m guessing it will be a hell of a lot better than carrying around a few extra hundred pounds.  I will probably do the same thing I’ve done with all the fat I have been carrying around the last 20+ years and that’s sucking it up and dealing with it.

I have a long way to go to get to where I’m going and it’s just one of those things I will just have to worry about when I get there.  I already see some of the signs, the skin on my arms, my thighs, my stomach and chest all starting to get a little more loose.  Of course as the fat burns my skin has begun to contract but I know it only has so much elasticity, I have no choice but to embrace my stretch marks.

For years I felt ashamed about my fat, my stomach, my chest, the marks.  I gave up going to the beach, one of my favorite places in the world, because I couldn’t stand to be asked about why I wouldn’t take off my shirt or people jokingly trying to check out my rolls or chest.  Eventually it was just easier to avoid the situations and the embarrassments altogether, I abandoned the shore, pools, public showers, locker rooms or anywhere I would be expected to take my shirt off.

After shedding 130+ lbs and about 7 pants sizes and 2 shirt sizes I am beginning to feel more comfortable with myself.  More accepting, willing to show a side of me that I’ve hidden for so long and to not be afraid of the ridicule or the judgement.  It’s not easy, the self doubt creeps in, the insecurities, but it’s getting better.  So no, I don’t know what am going to do about all the skin but I know whatever I decide it will be better than where I started.  Surgery is an option, if I can afford it, but I will no longer allow my skin, my rolls, or my weight dictate my happiness.

A picture is worth a thousand words… or 200lbs.

(A look back at a post from ~3 years ago chronicling my struggle and fluctuating weight loss.  Years of data showed I needed something to push me over the hump, sheer willpower wasn’t enough.  The frustration so evident in this post repeated itself every few months, the same cycle over and over, lose weight, gain it back, rinse and repeat until I decided to have the surgery.  Over a year before the surgery I started preparing mentally and in my diet, the 130lbs+ I have lost are just as much from the hard work I put in before, if not more so, than the immediate effects of the surgery.  Anyone who says the surgery is cheating doesn’t know or understand the struggle we go through on a daily basis.)

I came across a picture of myself from a friends wedding taken 9 years ago and I am shocked at how much less I weighed back then.  Body image is always part of being a fat person, and many times it’s that you simply don’t believe you are as large as you are or weigh as much as you do.

I had convinced myself for so long that I weighed the same amount because I didn’t have a scale to weigh myself on.  I was shocked a few years ago to see how much I had gained  (nearly 200lbs) even though I knew my clothes sizes had gone up and that on the few rare occasions I looked in the mirror I was appalled by what I saw.  You learn to ignore mirrors, maybe just look at your face, your hair, your teeth.

Fast forward a few years and I am down about 40lbs but I feel the same as before.  I had actually forgotten that for a long time I was smaller, much smaller.  Even when I was “bigger” like 9 years ago I was nearly half the size I am now.  Yet in my mind I have been this large “forever” and it seems impossible to get back down to where I was.  Like I had convinced myself even if I lost the weight nobody would notice.

Maybe its because I avoided pictures being taken of me for so long I had nothing to compare it to.  Or that its all part of the self sabotage of being and staying fat that I had convinced myself it wasn’t worth it to lose the weight, that it was too much work and nobody would notice, or there wouldn’t be much of a difference.  Maybe that picture is what I need to get motivated again, for although that was still heavier than what would be considered “healthy” it would be a hell of a lot better than where I am now.

The lies we tell ourselves, why I chose gastric sleeve

(This is a post from my personal blog from January 2017)

It’s been a while since I have written on here but as of late I have picked the keyboard up again for more creative purposes.  I hit some writers block yesterday and today my mind  has been plagued by something more mundane.  After Becca’s surgery last year I have been contemplating gastric sleeve surgery very seriously, something I have tried to avoid at all costs citing various reasons from not wanting to give up food, wanting to do it the old fashioned/hard way, or being afraid of future medical complications.  I know its all deflecting, procrastination, self sabotage but I have never been able to bring myself to go through with it or to get the process started (other than when I went for interviews for Extreme Makeover) but something has finally changed.  No not that I have a kid now, although that certainly has highlighted the importance, my perception of self has changed.

What do I mean?  When you start off overweight you go through different phases: “Oh I am just chubby” “I’m not fat, I’m husky” and it goes up progressively until you get to the point you give up even weighing yourself.  Maybe you don’t want to see the scale, maybe the scale doesn’t go up that high but in your mind your weight is the same.  For years I thought I was 350 lbs, maybe 400, until I finally got on a scale that went 500+.  My brain couldn’t contemplate a weight of 555 lbs, I didn’t feel like I weighed a quarter ton I mean I get around a lot better than those people on the tv shows who are 500 lbs but the number was in front of me.  When I tell people my weight they are genuinely shocked, “You don’t look like it!”  “But you lead a normal life!”  You let their reassurances assuage your fears, “It’s not that bad, I’m doing good, its not as bad as I think.”  Then you realize, “holy shit I haven’t even looked at myself in the mirror in years.  Do I look like that?”  Then you see a full body picture, something that doesn’t exist in today’s selfie world “Holy fuck!  Look at my stomach!  People see me like this?!”  You realize you stand in the back of photos, you have someone stand in front of you, you turn sideways, you do anything to hide everything but your face in photos.  Then the realization hits “I’m not just fat, I’m not even obese, I’m morbidly obese.  I should be dying from being like this!”

It starts to sink in.  You have been avoiding these realizations for a long time, you actively avoid seeing yourself that way, it allows you to continue doing what you’re doing.  How did it get this bad?  Certainly eating out 5 to 10 times a week doesn’t help, neither does sitting on a pc 8-12 hours a day between work and play, or eating at night, or binge eating when you are depressed.  Binge eating?  I never thought I binge ate from depression based on the ridiculous videos they show you in school, but when I stop and think I certainly do.  Those late night snacks, that happen almost every night when I let the dogs out at midnight count.  Maybe I shove some cheese or pepperoni in my mouth, make a pbj sandwich, grab some other munchy, maybe I am pissed about what happened in my game, stressed about work, can’t sleep whatever it is just jam something in my mouth before bed and it makes it better.  Then you realize holy crap I am adding an extra 500+ calories or saturated fat/sugar before bed, plus the fried food at lunches (pizza, burgers, mexican, chinese, multiple times a week), not sleeping as much as I should and it all starts to add up.  Maybe you don’t eat 6,000 calories, maybe closer to 3,000 but its all crap. Maybe its the second helpings you always have at dinner, or half a second helping, or that extra side order or two at lunch (oh add some nuggets, oh give me the soup and egg-roll, oh you aren’t going to eat those?  Sure I’ll take it).

That’s what is sitting around your waist, that’s what you see in those pictures.  “Oh well I lost 60 lbs that’s something right?” Yeah sure its great, but its so easy to fall back into bad habits.  Back to eating out for lunch, eating seconds, oh I hurt my foot I can’t go on walks, its raining, its snowing, oh the basement smells funny, oh there is people around, oh the kid is sick, oh I worked late… excuse excuse excuse.  The weight creeps back up, you fall back into your bad routines.  So here I sit, preparing to make the call to get things moving.  I know the hill is too steep and too far to climb without help, do I need the surgery?  I don’t know, would it help force change?  Yes.  Do I feel like its cheating and that I SHOULD be able to do this with self control and exercise?  Yes, but its been a decade and I am back where I started.  I don’t know if surgery is right for me, but I know I need something to help me effect permanent drastic change, my body hasn’t been processing food the same way, I can’t eat like I used to, I feel bloated, I have heart burn/indigestion issues for the first time ever, I had a kidney stone for the first time last year, I want to do something to make me feel better both mentally and physically.  I am repulsed and disgusted by what I see in those pictures, I feel like a monster, because its not what I see in my mind when I think of myself.  My reality and perception have moved so far apart that its startling when they come crashing together.

I’m tired of the lies I tell myself to keep things this way, I don’t know what my decision will be on the surgery but I am going to open myself up to all options because that’s the only way to make my perception and reality come back together in a positive way.  I can accept that this is who and what I am now like many others have or I can work to make my perception my new reality.  Time to conquer the lies, the fear, the procrastination, the self sabotage and actually allow myself to succeed for once in my life.

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