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My Reasons for Weight Loss Surgery

Reasons for Weight Loss Surgery Part 1 I was a normal weight child and very active - a “Tomboy”. My home life at best was dysfunctional , at worst, physically and emotionally abusive. Food and access to food was controlled by my mother. You ate what was put on your plate and if you didn’t finish by the time everyone else had, you sat there until you did. Didn’t finish? Your plate was put in the refrigerator and served again at breakfast and again until you ate it. You were not allowed to help yourself to something to eat in between meals and there were no “after school snacks” unless I had a friend over. When I had company, treats like milk and cookies were offered but I knew better than to have any - as soon as the other child had gone home, I’d be castigated for having eaten the “treats” which were “just for company“. I was also schooled not to accept any snacks at a playmates’ house. If by chance the other parent mentioned to my mother that, “the kids had a snack of…“ as soon we got home I would be punished. Food and the withholding of food figured prominently in our disciplining. Poor grade on a test - I was sent to my room to await my father’s return from work. At which point I would be beaten with a belt and sent to bed with no dinner. Accused of “back talking” - sent to my room to write 1,000 sentences; “I will not back talk” - and provided an apple and a glass of milk per day until the task was completed. My mother designated food as belonging to certain people; “your father’s cookies”, “my ice cream”. To ensure my brothers and I didn’t, “steal” or “sneak” food, it was often hidden. When I was 9 or 10, my younger brother already had a weight problem so to ensure neither of us were eating outside of my mother’s control, we were locked in our rooms at night. Mealtime was itself was a miserable experience. My father would come home from work to down a pitcher of martinis and as my mother would harangue about a variety of issues, we would sit down to dinner. To deflect my father’s anger away from her, my mother would pick a scapegoat. Usually, it was me. Both of my parents made it clear from the time I was a small child that they hadn’t wanted a daughter, thus I was fair game for humiliation for any shortcomings ranging from a poor grade or a messy room to not being invited to a party. More often than not the verbal abuse would denigrate to being slapped, punched or dragged by my hair from the room before being beaten with a belt. I learned to eat fast and get away from the table as quickly as possible. At age 13, my mother became concerned that I was getting, “too fat” and took me to the pediatrician for my annual physical. The doctor assured her my weight was normal and that I was developing into a woman. As we left the doctor’s office my mother told me that she, “Didn’t care what the doctor said - you’re going on a diet!“. I tend to recall that day as the day my problems with food really started. My mother was an expert dieter - 5’6’’ and no more than 118 pounds ever. Extremely proud that at the birth of her last child, my second brother, she’d gained no weight, her eating habits were poor: coffee and a cigarette for breakfast, a weight loss shake for lunch, minimal servings of whatever we had for dinner, followed by a large serving of frozen yogurt for dessert. Following the fateful doctor visit, the focus on my weight became excruciating as did the rules. No bread, no dessert, breakfast of coffee and orange juice only. My lunch was packed for me daily and was the same thing - dry tuna, an apple, a thermos of skim milk. Dinner was portioned out by my mother - no seconds allowed. We did not celebrate my birthday one year as I was “too fat”. Now in high school, the control over my eating extended to my personal life. My mother went though my drawers, reading notes from friends, refusing to allow me to drive, or work, putting me on social restrictions for months. Despite this I was a solid B+ student, class officer and involved in numerous clubs and school organizations. At home the physical and verbal abuse continued; I had, “thunder thighs”, “whale lips”, “piano legs”. I chose a college five hours away from home. While I quickly got the hang of college life, the availability of food was something I wasn’t used to. I joined at sorority and lived in the house. We were provided with three meals a day and it certainly wasn’t the narrow selections offered to me a home. Other girls were eating bread and dessert - it wasn’t long before I was eating like everyone else. I was 118 pounds when I left home and 133 when I came home for Thanksgiving my freshman year. My mother was furious and refused to speak to me again after advising me that if I wasn’t down to 118 by Christmas, there’d be no presents. I wasn’t and there weren’t. When I came home for the summer break that year I was up to 156. This time I was advised that it was too humiliating to be for her to been seen in public with a “pig” and that if I wasn’t 120 by the time it was time to return to school there would be no new clothes. That summer passed with her indirect references to me as “her”, “she” and “it”, using other family members to communicate as necessary. I came home from my summer job on my birthday to find my parents had left that day for a beach vacation with my brothers. The note left indicated that no one wanted me to go as it was too embarrassing to be seen with someone as “disgusting” as me. I left for college that fall - 123 pounds but no new clothes as I weighed “too much”. I haven’t worn shorts or a bathing suit since then. (Continued...)

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