I've always been self conscious about my weight. I remember having to shop in the pretty-plus section throughout elementary school. But I was never like FAT fat. I don't think I ever exceeded a size 20, which, while certainly not thin, isn't absurd for 5'8". In high school I joined the cross country team, ran about 3 miles 3 or 4 times a week, and dropped all the way down to a mind-bogglingly thin size 14 and about 185 pounds. I even had some people who suggested I try for a gig as a plus-sized model, though I never pursued that. (I did do art modeling in college, but that's entirely different.)
I struggled with my weight on and off through college to my early 20's, gaining and losing the same 30 pounds over and over. I tried to eat right and exercise, but fell off the wagon now and again. When Grumpy and I were stationed in Colorado, we were constantly hiking and camping and at the age of 22 I was about a size 16 and just under 200 pounds. And I looked good. And I felt healthy.
And then pregnancy. I got pregnant for the first time at 22, but I miscarried at 11 weeks. Even though I was pretty much nauseous the entire time, I managed to pack on about 30-40 pounds that hadn't even begun to budge before I got pregnant again, a month and a half after the miscarriage. Again, extreme nausea. The term "morning sickness" was a cruel joke. I was sick 24/7 and it didn't end with the first trimester. I was sick the entire 41.5 weeks. (He was late, stubborn boy.) I was in the ER 15 times for rehydration. I once threw up 18 times in one day day (pregnancy plus food poisoning) and it took several tries to get the IV started. They eventually nailed it with a pediatric-gauge needle - the kind they use for newborns. Even with the extreme nausea though, I managed to pack on pounds.
I knew I didn't want to go through that again anytime soon, and I knew I wasn't good at being consistent about things like taking pills, so I got the depo shot, which was supposed to last 3 months. It lasted a year and I just ballooned further, despite a healthy diet and a physically active lifestyle. Now, mind this was before the age of Google so I couldn't really research the side effects before I had the shot. It wasn't until after I'd gotten the shot that I found out my experience was super typical.
So, a little more than a year passed and I finally had a period -- ONE period -- and found out that I was pregnant AGAIN! (This seems to be something I do easily.) Cue the nausea. Cue the trips to the ER. Cue yet another round of weight gain.
A few weeks after N2 was born, Grumpy was sent overseas and I moved back home to the South. Again, good diet, lots of walking and hiking, but the weight wouldn't budge. I went to the doctor. Nothing wrong with my blood work except my liver enzymes were high because of the fat in my liver. She said I needed to try to lose weight and put me on Prozac. I'm still not sure of the connection there, or why a PA for a liver specialist was handing out anti-depressants. I didn't lose any weight. And I didn't tolerate the Prozac well. I pretty much just slept. Constantly. So that didn't last long.
In December of 2001, Grumpy came home on a two-week leave. Two friggin weeks. And of course I get pregnant again. I miscarried that one at 10 weeks. I really tried to get myself together after that, eating right and exercising. And I think I lost maybe about 10 pounds over the next six months before Grumpy returned stateside for good. That's when we got sent to Bumfuck where medical care isn't really a thing. (Really, this is an AWFUL place -- the first question asked when anyone hears that you've been stationed there is, "Who did you piss off?")
We had about a month between his return and his report date. The plan was to get an IUD ASAP and look for job and like, be a person and stuff, but no. At my appointment to get an IUD, about a week after arrival, I found out it was too late because..,(drumroll)...I was pregnant again. (Seriously, you'd think my sex life was WAY better than it actually was, but no, I'm just really really fertile.) Again, all the nausea, all the vomiting -- once on N2's wee junk because while changing him, the smell of his poopy diaper overwhelmed my gag reflex. The smell of the rotisserie chicken at Walmart made me so sick that I was unable to make it fast enough to the restrooms and hurled on the floor of the dairy aisle at least twice. And somehow, I STILL gained weight. The fuck??
After the arrival of AndrogyNut, a full two weeks late, I lost exactly 9.5 pounds, which is exactly how much she weighed, and then proceeded to gain another 20. Again, I tried to eat right, exercise. There's pictures of me at 300+ pounds (I think I topped out at 320) with her strapped to me in a front-carrier, hiking with the family. (I spent a lot of time wearing all three of my babies, both front and back. I did most of my hiking then carrying a baby -- when the got older and moved to the backpack, my braids made for great reins.) But the weight would not budge.
By this time, I think Yahoo was the search engine of choice and was able to research options for bariatric surgery. I was just sick of this shit. My dad died at the age of 50, a few weeks after N1 was born, from liver disease. They said he had hepatitis from an unspecified source because they never isolated a virus. I don't think there was one. I think he was just fat. He topped out over 400 pounds. Either his doctors were never observant enough to come to this conclusion or they were just too polite to tell my dad he was morbidly obese and that his obesity was likely killing him. (Why would you not tell your morbidly obese patient dying of fatty liver that he was fat and it was killing him? You'd never be too polite to tell a patient they had cancer. Ugh.)
I knew I didn't want bypass, even though it put Carnie Wilson in the pages of Playboy. I researched that and the side effects and noped the fuck out. I read about the reversible, adjustable lap band, but I'd have to go to Mexico to get it because it wasn't FDA approved. Tricare wasn't going to pay for that. I decided on banding because it was reversible and didn't involve rearranging my intestines. (I think they're just fine where they are, thanks.) The closest qualified surgeon I could find was about 3 hours away. I asked my general practitioner at the military hospital for a referral. She said she was wondering if I was ever going to bring that up. (Again with the being too polite to tell your sick, fat patient she/he is sick and fat. This is just stupidity.)
Had the surgery. Went on a liquid diet for a month. Lost my mind. Slowly began eating regular food, being very conscious of what I could and could not eat. Lost a little over 100 pounds the first year. Reveled in my new body (which was just like my pre-baby body, only a lot saggier). Got used to throwing up. Grump got used to pulling to the side of the road on a moment's notice so I could throw up. Still totally thought the surgery worth it.
I STILL, almost 15 years later, think the surgery was worth it. Last check, I'm not pre-diabetic and my liver is just fine. I've kept the weight off, though I still battle that 30 or so pounds I battled before pregnancy. I'm not going to drop dead at 50. However, the not eating thing has gotten out of control. I've had to have several endoscopic procedures where the gastro doc goes down my throat with a balloon and blows the band back open because it keeps closing. The last time he did this, back in July, he told me he was willing to keep repeating this procedure but really, I needed to have it out.
I was still settling into what I thought was going to be my permanent job, and didn't want to take the time off for surgery, so I put it off, and off, and off. Finally in October I got frustrated enough (and felt fairly secure in my job, joke's on me hahaha, bitches) to go see the surgeon, who agreed that yes, it needed to come out and he could do that handily. I scheduled the surgery for Dec 20 when big corporation marketing shuts down for the holidays so as not to interrupt the job I no longer have. Jesus the irony.
Anyway, today I went in for an imaging appointment. I did the whole barium swallow thing. The band has completely shut and the yummy barium milkshake was exiting to the right, where my stomach tissue should be stapled shut, as illustrated in the above picture. I don't even know how that could happen. But yeah, fucker needs to come out.
Grumpy is afraid I will get fat again, but seeing as I had the doc go full scorched earth on my girly junk (slashed and burned) as soon as Andro was born, I think I will be fine.
Now the only thing is finding a new job once I'm healed.
Goddamit multinational corporation marketing department!
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