How did I let this happen again? I had lost nearly 60 pounds, and slowly but surely, the weight had reappeared. I say that as though it happened without my knowledge or consent. I guess it would be more appropriate to say I put the weight back on. I wear it around like a lead coat. It stifles me, it breaks me, it pains me. Yet, I have done this over and over and over for my whole life.

All the fluffy girls reading this know exactly what I am talking about. As a collective, we have probably gained and lost the same 60 pounds a million times. I hate to think it is because I am lazy, or that it is because I have no will power. I know that’s what most people think when they look at me - that woman is a glutton. I suppose there is some truth to it. Although, if they knew how disheartening it is to reach a goal, only to have it taken away . . . wait, there I go again, acting like some invisible power caused this. I know I have to take responsibility. I did this to myself. It didn’t happen to me, I caused it. But could it be that I can’t help it? It may be my fault, but maybe I just need some help to be successful.

I tried many different things to “help” but nothing worked in the end. Weight Watchers was great, and I certainly learned a great deal about what foods to eat, and what portion size I should be eating. I remember the first time I learned about the portion size for pasta and rice. I think I laughed out loud. I did lose weight, quickly at first, but I never could get past that 40 pound mark. I had such a long way to go, over 100 pounds, and stalling out at 40 pounds just threw me over the edge. And when I would cheat, I WOULD CHEAT. I think it is a great deal like being an alcoholic. If I had one drink, or in my case, bite, it was all over. Forget about moderation, or “Points” or whatever. Then getting back on the wagon was harder than ever. Again, I know, excuses, excuses. Nevertheless, that was my pattern.

I even tried medication for a while. I went to my doctor and begged for help. I remember saying, “I think something must be wrong with me. Even when I am really good, for a really long time, I can’t seem to lose the weight I need to lose!” So she gave me Wellbutrin. It states clearly that it is a medication for depression that should not be taken by people with eating disorders. Well, at 300 pounds, isn’t it fair to say I had an eating disorder? 50 pounds later, gained, not lost, I decided to quit taking Wellburtin. It definitely took the edge off, and helped me realize that I probably have some anxiety issues to work on, but it certainly did not help me lose any weight. In fact, it just made me complacent. The end result, however, was that it did force me to recognize that I have an addiction to food. It forced me to recognize that there was not going to be an easy fix for me. That was a huge disappointment.

So, this last bit of temporary weight loss came from a surprising turn of events. I was pregnant, and all of a sudden, food was not my first priority. Taking care of the little being inside me was the most important thing of all. Because I was so large, 355 to start the pregnancy, my doctor was very worried about gestational diabetes. I met with a dietician at the hospital, and I followed her directions to the letter. I cut back on carbs, no more orange juice, lots of fiber, plenty of protein. Well, compared to the fast food junk I had been living on up to that point, it was no surprise that I started to lose weight. All told, I gained 13 pounds through my pregnancy, but lost 35 immediately after my daughter was born.

Then, the most difficult thing I have ever had to do in my life occurred. My dear little one came 6 weeks early and was critically ill. She had to stay in the NICU for nearly a month. For the very first time in my life, I did not turn to food for comfort. In fact, I could not stand the thought of eating a thing. Leaving the hospital without your baby is the most unnatural thing in the world. I felt like I was literally being torn apart. I remember, the night I was discharged from the hospital, my husband and I were walking across the parking lot, and I said, “I feel like I am forgetting something.” Then I broke down and bawled. I don’t think I quit crying for the rest of the evening.

I had to pump every three hours because I was hoping to breast feed my baby. Since I wasn’t eating, there wasn’t any milk to pump. I didn’t figure this out for about three weeks, and was getting very discouraged. However, I did find it funny that every time I turned around, someone was trying to make me eat. It was the strangest thing! My father especially, who was such a champion for me during that time – driving me back and forth to the hospital – would always try to get me to eat. I just couldn’t do it. In the end I lost an additional 20 pounds, creating an ultimate weight loss of about 55 pounds at that point.

Eventually, my beautiful baby did come home. She is the light of my life. Being her mother is what I have been waiting for. I know all mothers probably feel this way, but she is the most lovely creature I have ever seen. She spreads such joy everywhere we go! I feel so blessed to have a baby that can make even total strangers smile with glee.

I continued to lose weight. Ava and I walked every day. All the climbing up and down the stairs with baskets of laundry didn’t hurt either. Breastfeeding did work out in the end, so I know that helped me shed a few pounds as well. All told, I lost over 60 pounds.

Then, I had to go back to work. Summer was over, and I had to return to my job as a literacy specialist at an elementary school. I started eating again. It happened slowly, and I saw it happening, but I didn’t do anything about it. It was as though I could watch myself through someone else’s eyes, but I didn’t try to intervene. I just kept eating. WHY? I have thought about this a great deal, and I don’t have any good answers. Was I feeling guilty about taking my baby to daycare? Probably. Was I worn out and looking for comfort? Probably. Was I wishing for more consistent help from my husband? Probably. Are those good reasons to gain 60 pounds? Absolutely not.

So here I am, obese again, trying to raise a well-adjusted girl in the United States. That is why I have made this decision. She is the reason I am going to be successful this time, even though I have been unsuccessful all the other times. I want to raise her, not watch her from the sidelines. I want to still be alive when she gets married and has beautiful babies of her own. I want to be able to chase her if she is getting into harms way. I will do this.

So that brings us up to date. I have decided to have gastric banding, also known ad Lap-Band surgery. This simply has to work. I have to do the hard work to make it work. I am going to be successful at this!

Several things happened to bring me to this decision.

My good friend Heidi had gastric bypass surgery a little over a year ago. I mention this for several reasons. First of all, I love Heidi. I have always thought she was one of the most beautiful women I have ever met, even when she was heavy. Second, Heidi has always reminded me of myself. We were both women of faith, school teachers, intelligent, opinionated and well-read. I hold her in the highest esteem and respect her immensely. When Heidi told me she was going to have gastric bypass surgery, I was so excited for her. She had followed a path similar to mine, struggled with her weight all her life, tried all the commercially available programs, all to no avail. I was a bit worried of course, especially because I had just heard about another person I knew that had died from complications from bypass surgery. I started thinking about the notion of never being able to eat gluttonous amounts of food again. I thought about not being able to drink a can of soda pop. I thought about eating only Dixie Cup sized potions. Yuck. That was not for me. Not only that, it scared me.

(continued in part two)