Facing the Challenge

In May, I decided it was time to lose the 20 pounds that I had been saying for a year I was going to lose. Having maintained my weight for some time, it hadn’t really occurred to me to really try and lose; I was content where I had been. After all, I had already dropped over 200 pounds—I wanted a break.

Maybe it was because of an overwhelming and complete sadness around that time that I started working out at about twice my usual rate, but then I really got into it. I started enjoying it and met some really great people along the way.

It was about that time that I also decided that I would share my personal story about struggling with weight and my decision to have bariatric surgery. Over the years, I had shared it privately, but this was a professional decision. As a result, the company I work for is introducing to market a program for those who are contemplating bariatric surgery. There will be a press release coming out this week—I’ll link it when it drops. As part of this process, I’ve worked on how the program will look, proposals for interested clients and training for those administering the program. For the last month, I’ve worked on writing the “Patient’s Perspective” and recounting all the feelings and thoughts that happen going through the decision process. It was difficult… as someone who writes all the time, I had never written about the surgery, the reasons, the emotions—I barely speak about it, writing was incredibly difficult. Next month, I speak in a professional training with 7-8 people whom I work with about my experiences—and I’m very nervous, but in a good way.

And there is a point… when the sadness hit, and I started thinking about the surgery, what I had went through and where I was, it became increasingly important to me to lose the 20 pounds and get to the first goal I had truly set for myself. About the time I started writing the “Patient Perspective” I was 8 pounds from my goal. I determined it was time to set a reward. About that time, I saw a pair of patent red leather, peep toe shoes. I decided that before I bought another pair of shoes, I would reach goal, and these would be the shoes. A week ago, I realized the shoes were selling out in every store. After a few days of panic, I found a pair and ordered them. Tonight, they arrived.

My shoes are sitting on the table in front of me, still in the shipping packaging and I am less than one pound from my goal. I will not open the package until I weigh in and have reached goal. There is no close enough anymore.

Now, the question has come up—what will you do now that you have the shoes and are at your goal? My answer is to set a new goal. A friend emailed me, concerned that I would take it too far, not know when to stop, never think I was thin enough… She has a valid concern. I’m not objective in looking in the mirror; I’m judgmental of the scale; and I’m completely addicted to my work out… recently, I gave up a shopping trip to pay for my workout facility membership dues. If you know me, you know 6 months ago, I would never have done such a thing.

There are new challenges in front of me as I move forward. They will be difficult. Last week I caught myself thinking about how the only thing in my life I could control were the amount of calories I eat… I walk down the snack food aisles, the cookie aisles, the candy aisles, and read the labels, leaving empty handed. I do it every trip to the store. I am aware that it can become part of a bigger problem. It is part of the reason I’m sharing this… I am admitting that while there is not a problem right now, I have to be aware of the signs. I have also learned that sometimes, simply sharing the story can be cathartic and a surprising process. I am grateful for the opportunity… so I leave you with the following, which I excluded from the training piece I wrote:

Deciding to have bariatric surgery is one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make. It may seem like a dramatic statement, especially in view of all the decisions people have to make in their lifetime; but it has been over four years since I had the surgery and more than six years of my life and I still stand by that assertion. I don’t know many who have shared the experience who would argue with me. On July 23, 2002, I underwent an open RNY. Even during the process, I had a hard time admitting how difficult the process or surgery was for me. I returned to work, against all advice, after two weeks; I was not going to let this surgery deter me from any part of my normal life.

It is four years later, and I am now trying to figure out what normal life means. Maybe it is a function of being in one’s twenties that makes us think we know everything… but if I’m being honest, it is the mentality over living life with obesity. As an obese person, I didn’t want to be seen as different, outside the realms of convention anymore as my size made me already. As a result, I pushed myself—in some ways it was good, it meant I was able to walk 8 miles with relatively little pain (while most my size were not able to walk even a mile), but in other ways, it was unhealthy—returning to work while I still had staples shining down my abdomen and not able to eat solid food.

But, in four years, I have learned a lot about who my friends truly are, who I can depend on, and more about who I am and where my determination comes from than I had ever imagined. I had never thought the surgery would change my life, up until a year ago, I as reluctant to even admit that it did outside the physical health factors. But one of the things I’ve learned, because I have the people around me now to help me see that, is that my life has changed and by sharing the story, I have been able to help many others. It was one thing I had not ever expected. And I’m okay with that.