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Went out to dinner (again!), this time with only my husband and my best friend Debbie, all 100 pounds of her. I had told her on the phone this morning of my intentions, and she seemed to understand and was very supportive. She even agreed to go with me to Monday’s doctor appointment after I expressed my high degree of anxiety and angst with this.
At dinner, the three of us talked at great length about various aspects of the surgery and the concept of changes in general. I watched more carefully as Debbie ordered a meal, rivaling the size of mine (beef souvlaki), yet ate sparingly and pushed away the rest. While I was busy taking extra slices of French bread from the shared basket, she seemed content sipping her coffee and leaving enough food for another meal for the waitress to pack up. I can’t help but wonder if this may be me someday - having a normal relationship with food to the degree that I can unthinkingly stop when full, leave items behind, and not feel compelled to finish every slice of bread in the basket just because it’s there. What a concept!
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Another day, another indulgence. I’m now having an even more odd reaction to meals eaten out, as I imagine each as my last opportunity to fully enjoy large quantities and varieties of favorite items.Of all places, my husband and I took our good friends Zoe and Dennis to the Casino buffet (you see, we had free points that needed to be used up!) for the feast of the century. Dennis struggles with weight issues, and can rival me in both appetite and sad tales of prejudice and woe related to emotional baggage and effect on self-esteem. Truth be told, his wife Zoe confided in me earlier this week that she hoped I’d tell Dennis my intentions, to get him thinking too of the possibility of bariatric surgery to address his problem. Not surprisingly, although supportive and respectful to my stories, Dennis exhibited some defensiveness and anger when Zoe tried to draw such connections for him. Sadly, I think I understand both sides.
Oh, and God, the buffet was good! It’s hard to imagine how life would be without such shameful indulgences. Does this mean I’m not really ready, or is this a normal reaction? Dare I assume the psychologist can help me understand this better?
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I actually had a client tell me today how much she enjoys coming to see me, how helpful and supportive and understanding I am. And how I have such a jovial, friendly face. Strange how I now think - wondering if she’d see me the same way 100 pounds thinner with a possibly gaunt, friendly face.
Am I perceived as the jolly fat person?
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I’m so weird. I came home from a long day of work to a hearty packet of paperwork to complete for my January 19th psychological appointment. As noted, “the enclosed paperwork helps us to conduct….” And somehow I am excited about this. Maybe I should see a psychologist!
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What happened to my protective system of denial and apathy, like “but I have a good life” or “we’re all gonna die form global warming soon anyway!”? How has this New Year, my 47th, brought me such crisp awareness that obesity = sickness = feel bad = soul-sucking, energy-depleting, ego-crunching, mind-fogging half-a-life. No longer can I excuse it, compensate for it, or rationalize it with beliefs like, “but I work and get around OK.” No, I really don’t (any more). I’m often too f’ing tired (physically and emotionally) to be nearly as focused in both work and play, and I dare not push myself because I’ve learned my body will rebel if too much is asked of it any more. As my husband says so eloquently, ”You’re only 47!” - yet I feel 87. Hobbled, achy, out of breath, slow-moving. Lack of exercise has atrophied muscles and I now have poor balance and struggle with steps and simple maneuvers like getting in and out of high car seats. Sometimes I watch my thin contemporaries squatting, walking, taking steps (especially with things like laundry loads in their arms), and crossing their legs - and such simple movements amaze and perplex me. I can barely remember ever doing such things (especially the crossing-of-the-legs thing) and have trouble fathoming how different from them I am. Only when I let myself see and feel, that is. Like now. Mixed blessing, I guess. Sigh.
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Well, I set about making more necessary calls today. The first was to the Bariatric Center to schedule the requisite two-hour (and that’s before he discovers I’m nuts!) assessment to ensure that I’m not deluded (enough) to undergo surgery and its aftermath without knowing full well what I am getting myself into. I also talked briefly with a woman who answered me with the expected steps and timeframe until surgery. She explained that it goes like this: send in paperwork; see primary care physician and psychologist and have them send in paperwork; maybe get insurance approval from having done all this; consult with Bariatric doctor; await surgery date (2-3 months after); and, finally, attend exercise/nutrition class nine days before surgery. Also, I left a message and got a follow-up telephone call from the woman at the Bariatric Center identified as the one who could help me complete my diet history. I brought what I had written to work today in hopes of reviewing this with her, then feared all day that it would accidently get mixed up with my client notes or other work papers and end up for all the world (well, co-workers anyway) to see.
I think most non-fat people would find 100 pounds fluctuations in weight over a five-year period not just appalling, but probably fictitious. Unless you’ve been there, the idea of losing and gaining your maid of honor (well mine anyway - my 100-pound, size-zero best friend) a few times, is ludicrous.
Oh, and I told another friend and co-worker (and skinny person), married to a man with lifelong struggles with his weight, about the operation. Wow - what an amazing and supportive reaction! I could cry remembering words like “Great!,” “Good for you!,” “I’ll support you,” and “I can only imagine, by knowing my husband and you, how hard it’s been for you to be overweight.” And my favorite: “I’ve done nothing to deserve my thinness except draw the better straw….” No - “Have you tried (fill in the blank)?,” “Are you sure?” (Of course NOT!), “Isn’t that dangerous?,” or “That sounds gross and unnatural!”
Not that I expect any of my wonderful and beloved friends to sound like this. Maybe these are manifestations of my own thoughts. Gross indeed!
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OK — I’ve done it. Someone online wrote to: decide, commit, then act. I feel astoundingly relieved, light, exhilarated! I called the Bariatric Center after finding the number on-line the other day, and left an eager message in the morning while on my day off. I knew they’d call back because everyone on line had written that they were excellent with such things at this place. However, hours of nerve-wracking silence had to be endured first. Then, when she finally did call it was while I was stuck on the other line with a neighbor seeking advice about roof repairs and I could barely click over, breathless, in time, to sound like the calm patient fat person I had hoped to. Then, while she was in the middle of being flummoxed by the fact that my social security number matched another me from 9 years ago (when I had my past surgeries there ) - the lawyer for a lingering estate matter called thru on the other line (I love/hate caller id!) and I lost her when I tried to briefly click over to ask him to hold that thought!
Once this crisis was resolved and she explained that her only role was to send an on-line questionnaire and video presentation (complete with quiz!) to my e-mail address, I relaxed. I’m not sure what I had expected.
Intent on setting a world record for compliance, eagerness, and timeliness, I immediately retrieved my “package” and set about completing the questionnaire. In addition to all the usual demographic questions, it included pages of questions on weight at different times in my life (e.g., high school, 10 years ago), historic/family/support information, and health history.
Most difficult for me was the required “Diet/Exercise Program” history from the last 5 years (2003-2008) with samples included. “Bob” - or whoever completed the sample - clearly had a better memory and better diet and exercise history than I did! Atkins, Weight Watchers, Nutri-System - you name it, “he” had tried it. What didn’t “he” try!? I can only hope my prior attempts to lose look as pathetic and futile on paper as his do.
Tomorrow I will attempt to do the next step: call my primary for an exam, and to have him complete his “medical necessity” forms and authorize that I won’t drop dead engaging in the required pre-op exercise class.
Oh, and I “accidently, on purpose” told the first person (other than my husband) what I’m considering, and this from an innocent telephone call that began with a dining room set for sale and ended up with her concerns about my “messing with what nature/God gave you.” Her being an organic-minded, Italian, homeopathic, skinny woman in her 50s, just what did I expect? Not that she was hurtful, dissuasive or a naysayer - just a realist and skeptic … I guess. I’m sure she’ll remain a great and loyal friend, support, and help. I’m OK with her shock, really. In fact, it is shocking.
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The thoughts are solidifying and taking form — I can do this; I must do this; others before me have succeeded with this.
I spend the day researching the topic both generically and at the local front. I look up bariatric surgery, bariatric surgery vs. lap-band, dangers of bariatric surgery, success rates of both types, statistics, and side effects. Somehow, whereas the horrors associated with things like mortality rate, vomiting, diarrhea, and other unpleasantries were enough to deter me and send me reeling from the computer in the past, now I merely skim this information and find myself much more drawn to reading aspects of positive change. I especially revel in personal stories of success - and read and reread entries by individuals in particular who have undergone bariatric surgery with Dr. JC in Buffalo, New York - my city, my chosen doctor, maybe soon to be my disciple too!
I am heartened by and feel fate has led me to this Dr. C. He is who has performed both gallbladder (removal) and hernia (repair) surgeries on me in 1999/2000. He is the kindly doctor with the compassionate manner and excellent bedside manners that I remember and have now read others speaking well about as they bare their soul and bodies before him.
I am definitely one who bases every relationship whether personal or medical on not so much the degree, professionalism, or knowledge one possesses, but by manner of relating and degree of empathy. I once ran crying from an exam preliminary to a colonoscopy when the highly recommended and supposedly knowledgeable gastroenterologist hurt my feelings. Only years later and at possible jeopardy to my colon did I carefully hand choose the most gentle, kindly, Doogie Houser like young and cute doctor to perform my colonoscopy without even using anesthesia! (Relevant needle phobia - make note!).
Same with my primary M.D. He seems to care, has a good sense of humor, has apparent compassion, and is strict but not foreboding. This allows me to tolerate comments like: “You’re fat - stop eating a million calories a day!” and “You’re lucky you’re still somewhat healthy despite yourself.” Perhaps I should be appalled, hurt, indignant…horrified. I guess it’s all in the delivery and honesty. It’s hard not to like him and feel he’s on your side despite such comments. Something about the way he conveys humility and genuineness despite it all. And, I can’t help but sympathize with any doctor stuck with perpetually fat and ever gaining me who has developed sleep apnea, diabetes and high blood pressure while on his watch. As a social worker invigorated by others’ receptivity to my guidance and wisdom (ha!), I know firsthand the sad resign that comes when clients can’t or don’t grab hold of life preservers I send their way.
It’s likely though that I’ve embodied society’s view of myself (fat people) as deserving differential treatment, bordering on disrespect, even by their doctors. Perhaps you’re cringing as you read this and I should have cringed as I wrote this. It’s scary that I can’t even tell for sure. Interestingly, when the doctor’s comments were run by a skinny friend of mine who sees this same doctor, she had the chutzpah to be appalled for both herself and me … unless she was just doing so to sound like a protective, sympathetic friend.
Perhaps the answer will come in my 100s (pounds, that is, not years)!
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 Donna (Broad in Buffalo) before surgery I’ve always been fat. As I write this, I struggle to catch my breath after walking to retrieve paper and pen to write my memoirs.
Why write about such an embarrassing, grotesque matter at all? Because I am about to embark on what I hope to be a life-altering, skinny-making experience called Bariatric Surgery - i.e., make my stomach the size of a peanut so hereafter I eat like a size 2, not 26/28.
In sharing my early thoughts with my husband, his reaction both hurt and didn’t really surprise me. An exact quote is: “My first wife died at that hospital” (when I gave the broad brush, including the name of the center and hospital that the local bariatric surgeon works out of). Upon further discussion, I know him and understand deeply his concerns at many levels including fear of “losing you,” worry that “you’re doing this for me,” and that he’ll lose his eating partner (something we do well together). Normal worries shared by me - but not appreciated in stereo. Clearly we have lots more talking to do if/as I get approved and time goes by.
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January 10th, 2009 | 
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