For now, I am getting nourishment daily, and that is certainly progress. The crippling nausea is gone, thank goodness, and I have a pretty good idea of what foods agree with me and which ones I should avoid. Despite my best efforts, I still get in too big of a hurry sometimes, and I don’t chew my food thoroughly. When this happens, food gets stuck in my esophagus, and I have to remind myself first of all to stay calm. Usually I then get out my familiar green bowl. It’s become known affectionately in my house as “Mommy’s throw-up bucket.” When my food gets stuck, I have to get it out the old-fashioned way. I have thrown up more in the last year than I have my entire life. It’s such a regular occurrence, my children don’t even notice it anymore. It used to be quite upsetting, and I’ll admit, it still isn’t my favorite thing in the world. But I’ve learned to live with it, and I am convinced it is getting better. My stomach pouch will stretch over time, and as I continue to learn what foods to cut out, I’m sure much progress will be made.
The number one question I get is, “What do you eat?” Indeed, everyone is so curious about me at mealtime, it’s kind of amusing. I know a couple of people who had a gastric bypass who resent this kind of attention. But really, I don’t mind it at all. I understand it, in fact; I’ve always been deeply curious about how all this works. I just worry that I am not a model patient and perhaps not the best example of what to do and what not to do! In any case, protein is the order of the day. Now that I finally have gotten the message that carbs are not my friend, I eat very few of them. It was never my intention to cut out carbs entirely; they just don’t agree with my stomach. So I don’t eat sandwiches or pasta or potatoes. Well, I guess that is not entirely true; I will eat a bite of spaghetti or a french fry or two. But truly, I’ve lost my taste for high-carb foods, and I couldn’t be more grateful. Besides, I’ve eaten enough plates of spaghetti to last me a lifetime!
I have two scrambled eggs every morning, usually with some cheese. For snacks, I eat slices of pepperoni or tablespoons of peanut butter or a handful of nuts. I still enjoy lean red meats, but I have trouble tolerating hamburger, and I still haven’t found any chicken that I enjoy—something about it is too chewy for me. Really, if it weren’t for cheese, I wouldn’t survive!
Of course, the one million dollar question is: What do I drink? Have I fared well with the no-soft-drinks rule? The relief-filled answer is an easy yes. Truly, it was the one thing I was most worried about, and it is actually what I have missed the least. Maybe in that way, the complications after my surgery were a blessing; I was too preoccupied with illness to obsess over my inability to have a Coke. And I found that once I didn’t have them often, I didn’t miss them—not at all. I’ve had conversations with other gastric bypass patients who’ve tried to tell me it would be all right to have a drink every once in a while, but I am not going there. I’ve been through too much to risk it, thank you very much.
In fact during the 2008 Christmas season, I took my daughter to a cookie exchange at a girlfriend’s house. The moms hosting the event thought it would be cute to make Shirley Temples for the little girls to drink. I guess I’m an idiot—I had no idea what was in a Shirley Temple. When they handed me Emma’s pink drink, I sipped some off the top so she wouldn’t spill it all over herself. I immediately tasted the carbonation and almost spit the drink out all over the table! I didn’t realize Shirley Temples are made with Sprite. Truly, it tasted awful, and Michael has said the same. He gave up soft drinks the same time I did, although every once in a while he gets served one by mistake. He says when you’re not used to it, the carbonation is dreadful. I’ll just take his word for it. Other than that one sip, I haven’t had a soda since March 17, 2008, and I don’t plan to ever have one again.
It doesn’t mean I’ve said good-bye to sweet drinks, however. After the surgery, I had a huge problem with dehydration, but water just didn’t do it for me. I needed to find something that I would drink regularly—and I turned at first to my kids’ juice boxes. I loved the sweet taste, and the small amounts were just what I needed. Of course they had too much sugar in them, and I’m sure my surgeon would frown about me drinking them. Again, I don’t claim to be a model patient; I just had to do whatever it took at the time. I did eventually give them up—but for pleasure, I now turn to the wine of the south, sweet tea. It gives me the sweet taste without the carbonation of soda. Yes, it is full of sugar and calories and not the best thing in the world for me. But I like it, and I allow it, and that’s all I’m going to say about it (believe me, I get plenty of grief from Michael).
Something I’ve taken great pleasure in is my absolute indifference to fast food. I used to live in the drive-thru line, and now I couldn’t care less about it. The only reason I ever go at all is if my children want the latest kid’s meal toy; I rarely get anything to eat for myself. I find most of the food too greasy and it upsets my stomach. What a victory this is! Although I must admit that it is not terribly convenient. If I’m out and about and have to find something to eat, it makes things a little trickier. I always have the need to plan in advance, but really, that’s only a small nuisance. The fact that I can pass all those fast-food signs and keep right on driving is thrilling.
Another mild irritation that comes as a result of having a gastric bypass is not being able to drink with my meals. To allow room in my stomach pouch for my food, I have to stop drinking anything thirty minutes before I eat, and I have to wait to have something to drink for at least thirty minutes after I eat. I knew this before the surgery, and I thought of all the changes I would have to make, this would be the least bothersome. But it has actually turned out to be the toughest to get used to. I mean, it’s just natural to want to sip something while you eat, especially when you eat things like cheese and peanut butter! But I’ve really had to train myself not to, and I’m getting there. When I go to restaurants, I purposefully don’t order anything, because even if it’s just water, I will pick it up and drink it out of habit. Drinking while eating makes eating really uncomfortable, so I’m learning to avoid it, albeit reluctantly.
I am so very happy to report that my diabetes has gone away, as has my high blood pressure. I can’t tell you what a tremendous relief this is; being diagnosed with type 2 diabetes after Eli was born really put me over the edge. The thought of being on medication, and possibly on insulin shots, for the rest of my life was unfathomable. Getting rid of those two conditions alone was worth having the surgery, even with all its complications.
I do struggle with vitamin deficiency, as most gastric bypass patients do. The way my body absorbs vitamins from food has been changed forever, and I will always be on supplements. I take multivitamins twice a day, plus a calcium supplement. And after having recent blood work, my surgeon has me on a vitamin D supplement. I hate having to take pills every day, but it’s a small price to pay; I’ve learned not to take good health for granted.
In fact, it was the vitamin deficiency aspect of all of this that led to perhaps one of the worst postsurgery complications, at least for personal reasons.
I lost a lot of hair. Now, it’s well-known that this is a common side effect for gastric bypass patients; after the surgery your body is in such shock that every available vitamin and nutrient goes to support your major organs and body systems, and things such as hair, skin, and nails miss out. It’s not uncommon for gastric bypass patients to go through quite a bit of “shedding”—and doctors advise their patients not to be alarmed, the hair will come back. But if you’ll recall, I’d been going through hair loss for quite some time leading up to the surgery. For years I’d been self-conscious about my protruding scalp, wondering if everyone else noticed that my hair was thinning. I was warned about this side effect before the surgery, but I guess I didn’t seriously contemplate the ramifications. I just wanted the weight off, no matter what it took. But about three months post-op, once the complications were finally behind me and I was starting to live again, I started to lose gobs and gobs of hair. It was frightening. My previous hair l
oss was way more subtle—a few strands in the shower, on my clothes, and so on. This time fistfuls would drop into my hairbrush every morning. I’d find tangles of hair in the washing machine from my clothes. I was shedding everywhere: on the carpet, in the car, on the plate of food at the dinner table. More than once two-year-old Eli came to me, saying, “Mommy hair in my mouth.” It was humiliating, and it did a real number on my self-confidence.
Had I really come all this way, only to look like a complete freak? Sure, I was losing weight, but how would anyone notice? They’d be too busy staring at my bald scalp! I tried to comb it and style it in a way that hid what was happening, but truly, each day, I was so scared to look in the mirror, afraid to see even more hair gone. I didn’t know what to do.
When I went in for my sixth-month checkup, the hair loss was the only concern I brought up to the doctor. He nodded and said it was quite common, and that it would grow back, perhaps even thicker and fuller—all the things I’d read. Only, I’d suffered hair loss before the surgery—would my situation be different? Did that mean my hair would not come back? The doctor didn’t know—he’d never been asked that question. I was as confused and scared as ever.
I seriously started to think about getting a wig. I was becoming so self-conscious; I didn’t want to leave the house. That was frightening, considering I was just rebounding from the surgery complications and depression. I couldn’t believe I found myself wanting to hide again. Maybe a wig would make me more comfortable; after all, they make really good ones now, in all kinds of styles. They are quite realistic looking. And maybe I wouldn’t have to wear it for long; if what the doctor said was true, my hair would come back. Perhaps a wig was what I needed to get through the interim.
I started researching and found that wigs are very, very expensive. If I wanted one that was going to fool people, and indeed I did, it would cost me at least a thousand dollars. I struggled with this. On the one hand, I thought it would do me a lot of good in terms of self-confidence. But on the other hand, we had a lot of medical bills to pay, plus we weren’t exactly rich to begin with. Could I justify spending so much money on something I was truly hoping was only temporary?
While I was mulling it over, I decided to share what I was going through with some friends. Whenever someone asked how I was doing, or remarked on how great I looked, I thanked them and admitted that my only problem was my hair. Most people seemed concerned, and I explained how the doctor had said it was only temporary. Everywhere I turned, I received kind words and encouragement, and in the end, I decided not to invest in the wig. I figured if I suddenly showed up with a full head of hair, everyone would know it wasn’t real, and that would instantly cause talk and speculation. What was the point? By being open and upfront about the problem, I found myself liberated from being so self-conscious about it. Instead of letting it control me, I took control of it. That felt wonderful.
I am happy to report that my hair is coming back, albeit slowly. I have tiny little hairs standing straight up all over my scalp. Yes, it looks freaky, but I don’t care. I love every single hair, and I gleefully point them out to anyone and everyone who asks how I am doing!
There have been many victories to enjoy so far on this path. The very last week of May, as I was just beginning to come out of the post-op complication fog, we took our kids to the beach for a weekend trip. Normally I’d rejoice in the timing of the excursion; late May is usually too cold to get in any kind of water for very long, and as a fat person, I could easily be excused for not putting on a bathing suit. Even though I’d had gastric bypass surgery and was on my way to a healthier me, I was still quite heavy, and didn’t relish the thought of going half-naked in public. But we were going to a resort with an indoor water park! Hooray! Bathing suit required! Shoot me now, right? Wrong. I planned the trip, on purpose, knowing what was involved. And I embraced it. Well, perhaps embrace is a little strong; it was still quite difficult for me to imagine wearing a bathing suit in front of a lot of people. But something changes when you’re headed down the scale instead of going up. The idea of taking a risk is somehow more tolerable, especially when it pertains to your kids having fun. I bought a Delta Burke bathing suit, in black. It was a size 2X and had a little skirt on it for extra coverage. But by God, it was a bathing suit and I wore it. I swam with my kids, for hours on end, listening to their laughter and glee. Every time I had to get out of the water, I felt as though everyone was staring at me. I fantasized about calling everyone’s attention to announce that, yes, I was heavy, but just so they knew, I was finally doing something about it. I didn’t want everyone to take one look at the miserably fat woman in the bathing suit and feel sorry for me. When I dwelled on stuff like that, I was a little down. But I knew next summer would be different, and the next and the next. And that felt priceless.
Later that summer we actually joined a pool. I had wondered for years how my kids would get the privilege of swimming if I wasn’t able to do it with them, and finally I was not only able but willing. I wore the same 2X bathing suit all summer, even after it was clearly too big for me. I was self-conscious at first, but after a while, I let it go. I was there for my kids to have fun, and I didn’t care what strangers thought about me. I knew I was losing weight and getting healthier every day, and that was truly all that mattered. It was so liberating.
Over all the years I struggled with trying to lose weight, I would fantasize about all the clothes I was going to wear once I was thinner. As I gained weight and slowly grew out of all my thinner clothes, I held on to them like trophies, vowing one day I would wear them again. Old dresses, suits, and even jeans all hung in my closet, waiting to be worn again. Of course when I finally started to really shed the pounds, some sixteen years later, most of the clothes were grossly out of style. Acid-washed jeans, anyone? No, wearing my old clothes, for the most part, was not an option. But I was able to make it through the first several months postsurgery thanks to hand-me-downs from friends who had lost weight. My sister-in-law, Mandy, in particular, saved me thousands of dollars in clothes. She gave me tons of high-quality tops, pants, and dresses that started in size 2X and went down to size 16. For many months after the surgery, I didn’t have to buy anything, and that was a good thing, too. Shopping now intimidated me greatly. I was woefully unprepared to look for clothes when there were lots of options to be had; I was used to having to settle on whatever I could find that would fit me. Suddenly I was faced with having lots and lots of styles and colors to choose from, and I had no idea what was hip and what kinds of clothes were flattering on me. I needed help, fast!
Things only got worse once I sized out of the “today’s woman” category of clothing. The regular-size parts of the department store were so intimidating to me, I didn’t know where to begin. I tried a few times to shop, and I swear I had panic attacks. My mind got swimmy, my heart beat fast, and I had to get the heck out of there. One time I was so scared, I retreated to the big woman’s section and actually convinced myself that some 1X tops still fit me. When I put them on at home, my mom, who was visiting at the time, couldn’t believe her eyes. Why had I bought such big shirts? Funny, to me they hadn’t looked that big in the store, but she was right: They were way too big for me. Such a revelation should have made me happy, and it did, but I was also scared of the unknown. I hadn’t bought regular clothes in more than a decade. I didn’t know what in the world I was doing.
The weight loss was happening so fast, my mind had a hard time keeping up. The scales said one thing, but inside I felt the same. I knew I was thinner, but it was hard for me to believe I had lost so many pounds that I could now wear an extra-large instead of a 2X. To someone who’s never battled a weight problem, this may not seem like much, but trust me, the difference is huge.
I walked around with baggy, ill-fitting clothes for a while. I knew I could do better, but I felt paralyzed. Finally a special occasion approached, and I needed a new outfit. Desperate, I went to a small department store with an even smaller ladies�
�� department. The bigger woman sizes were smashed in right beside the normal clothes, and before I knew it, I had crossed the line and was looking at tops in 14, 16, and 18. I quickly drew in a breath, waiting for the panic attack to settle in. Surprisingly I remained calm. I looked for something I liked. I found it in a 16. I went to the dressing room. And … it fit! And it looked great. I couldn’t believe it. Up until then, whenever I’d wandered into the regular-size section, I half expected someone to tap me on the shoulder, telling me I didn’t belong. Finally, I knew I did.
I’ve had many people ask me about gastric bypass surgery. So many seem to know someone who they think would benefit from it, and they want to know if I recommend it. This is a tough one for me. On the one hand, I do not regret at all having had the surgery. Even though I had a lot of complications, and it certainly hasn’t been an easy road, I know the path I had been on was one that led to premature death. That may sound overdramatic to some people, but please believe me: I was slowly killing myself with food. And what’s worse, I knew that’s what I was doing and was unable to stop myself. Finally making the decision to have a gastric bypass saved my life—I truly believe that. Was it fun to have the abscess, the collapsed lung, the depression? Of course not. But the way I was going, it wouldn’t have been long before I suffered a stroke or a heart attack. I could have easily dropped dead, leaving a husband and two children behind to mourn what could have been. So yes, I am happy I had gastric bypass surgery and I would do it all over again.
Would I encourage others to do it? No. I just couldn’t, not after what I went through. I endured months of pain and depression. I still don’t know what the future holds in terms of side effects. But at least I know that I made this decision myself; I didn’t let anyone else talk me into it. And that’s what everyone else has to do, too. Before agreeing to have this surgery, you must really understand what it entails—and what could happen. And you have to be willing to live with the results. It takes a lot of research and soul-searching. I am happy to share my story with anyone who wants to listen. But such an important decision has to be made by the individual themselves.
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