MAKING THE DECISION…
So far, I’m down 142 pounds. This website was so important to me that I swore I would regularly post. Well, last August my beloved sister began to die, and I spent almost every moment with her from then until she died in my arms on December 28th. She was the most beautiful, vibrant, inspiring person I’ve ever known, and someday I will just write about her journey, because it is a story definitely worth sharing. If you are curious, you can read about her at dinner, and honestly, even that had become more difficult. I was at a place where eating was interfering with my ability to eat!
For months, I ate every meal like it was my last meal. I went through the motions of getting approved for the surgery, all the while believing that I would back out in the end. I searched the internet for stories that would convince me I was better off in a wheel chair. Instead, I learned about the sleeve, and found this website. Rather than tales of regret and woe, it was full of stories of success, determination, and victory. For every fear, there was a reassurance.
I searched you-tube for videos of miserable people. I found happy people instead. People on a journey.
But while I believed it could work for them, I didn’t think it would work for me. Nothing had EVER worked for me.
I was convinced that sugar was the glue that held me together during the hard times. I worried that I would just go flat-out crazy without food to sustain me.
I was terrified I would die in the surgery.
I was terrified I would fail, just like I always had.
I was terrified I would resent everyone around me.
I was terrified I would feel left out at celebrations, and that I’d never want to entertain again.
No one—I PROMISE YOU—no one, ever wanted to have this surgery less than me.
On September 12, 2011, I went to see the weight loss surgeon. It took me 20 minutes to walk approximately 80 yards into the doctor’s office. I had to stop and rest twice. And then, the stats: My weight at 5’3” was 367.8. My blood pressure was 168/95. My blood sugar was 395. On all accounts, the highest numbers ever. It wasn’t the sickest I’ve ever felt, but it was what I consider to be the unhealthiest day of my life. The surgeon just looked at me and shook his head sadly. The guy who saw fat people every single day was looking at me like I was a hopeless case!!!! It was one of my worst moments ever.
It took months to get approval and to be scheduled, taking me through the holidays. The night before my surgery, I was alone in the house. Without warning, I burst into tears, and I howled with fear, regret, and resolve. I cried like someone had died. The next day, I went to the hospital still uncertain as to whether or not I’d go through with it. I couldn’t believe I was actually doing it, right up until the moment they gave me happy juice. But the day after that? That day, I woke up knowing that the time for fear and regret was gone. The time for hope had arrived. That day, my new life began.
Look for my next post, “The Process” in the next few days. Here's a self-portrait, taken in despair in a dressing room, before I embarked on the "farewell food tour," about 20 pounds below highest wt.
