Promises

I went to the bariatric surgery orientation meeting that was organized by my surgeon to support my friend, let's call her Leila.  I was running late as usual, and by the time I arrived, the room was full and I had to pull up a chair sort of in the aisle next to her.  I remember there was a visual aid, but it wasn't a movie, more like a powerpoint or something.  As I watched I would glance sideways at Leila, wondering if any of this was appealing to her.  The thought of having surgery to lose weight seemed so drastic and I worried that Leila was getting involved in something that she would one day regret. As the doctor and then a nutritionist spoke, I found myself thinking less and less about Leila.  During the question and answer session, I asked a few questions, and by the end of the hour, I was envisioning myself in a string bikini.  'I'll just see how far it goes,' I thought.  'I'm sure I don't even qualify for the surgery, I'm not that heavy.'  Wrong!  At 5'6" and close to 250 lbs I most certainly did qualify.   'Well then, my insurance probably won't pay for 100% of the surgery.'   Wrong!  They did pay, almost too quickly.  I was practically insulted!  'Well certainly my husband will not want me to go under the knife for elective surgery.'  Wrong!  He was incredibly supportive.  With no more excuses, I forged ahead.  After going through the pre-surgery testing, sleep test, EKG, blood test, stress test, I was finally scheduled for surgery on August 8, 2007. I'll never forget laying on the stretcher as nurses buzzed about the room starting an IV, checking my temperature, asking questions.  Then Dr Goldstein appeared and after a few more questions, he pulled a sharpie out of his breast pocket and asked if he could write "Yes" on my stomach to indicate that I was having surgery on that part of my body.  I obliged and joked, "Now will you write 'no' everywhere else?"  We laughed and he made a motion towards my forehead as if to write No there.  In hindsight, that moment is symbolic of the fight that I've been through ever since I woke up in the recovery room a few hours later.I have learned so much about myself, number one being that it is not about the amount of food as much as my attitude towards eating that needed to change.  In the beginning, I was loving my band.  I was eating what I wanted, just less of it and the weight was falling off.  But then the weight loss slowed, and finally stopped.  I wasn't following the "band rules."  I was upset that I couldn't finish a small amount of food.  (There is something about taking that last bite and leaving an empty plate.)  And when I was depressed or angry or sad...or even happy, I wanted to eat and eat and eat like I was used to doing.  It had nothing at all to do with physical hunger. But the band would not allow it.  Things would get "stuck" going down. I would have to excuse myself from the dinner table and go into the restroom all the while hoping and praying that whatever I had swallowed would find its way down through the band without my having to see it again.  I'd stand there swallowing while holding a napkin over my mouth, talking to the chunk of food, coaxing it down.  Sometimes I would put both hands over my head, other times I would bend at the waist and rub the area in the center of my chest just below the bra line. Thankfully, I've never PB'd, although I've come close.  Finally, I would feel normal again and I would return to the table.  My dinner companions would always ask, "are you okay?," and I grew to hate that question.Fast forward three years and I've lost 54 pounds.  I am smaller now than I was on my wedding day.  As a matter of fact, I put on my wedding dress to surprise my husband on our anniversary.  I still have about 20 pounds or so to get to my goal, and I am well on the way.  I am proud to say that I now understand the difference between physical hunger and emotional hunger, and how it affected me for so long.  It is a hard battle and I still lose it occasionally, but I feel that I've found a way to meet my goal and stay there, while still indulging in my favorite treats every once in a while.  I enjoy exercise, and try to break a sweat at least 100-120 minutes each week.  I feel great, I feel strong, I feel attractive.  Wrong!  I AM great.  I AM strong.  I AM....gorgeous!  :o)