Part 3: Lies The World Has Told Me: One Woman’s Journey Through Weight Loss Surgery
“Weight loss surgery is worth the risk”
I awoke suddenly and violently after surgery, struggling for breath.
Vomiting followed, the kind that feels as if you’re emptying the very depths of your soul. The pain of surgery was sedated by the morphine pump that took up residence next to me those first couple of days. One never knows how much they use certain muscle groups until pain makes it clear.
Everything hurt.
The pain eventually subsided, and the pump moved on, but the vomiting prevented me from being able to take in any portion of the liquid diet I was prescribed. My hospital stay was extended because of this. I recall the overwhelming fear that something was very, very wrong.
Then, a new day brought less pain and no more vomiting. I breathed a deep (yet still painful) sigh of relief.
The weeks following surgery, my focus was on sticking to my prescribed meal plan. At first, I had no appetite and didn’t want to eat a thing. But I did, knowing this was required for my outcome to be successful. I remember growing tired of the multi-tiered process of adding in foods, looking forward to a change in texture with the introduction of oatmeal, eggs, and eventually meat.
Vomiting was a routine part of most days as I adapted to my new, still healing, stomach.
Every new food brought excitement and anxiety – would I be able to tolerate it, or would it be more of the same for another week?
I drank water…so much water…and dealt with the disruptively embarrassing bariatric belch as my stomach processed my intake. My anxiety continued to run high as I moved into solid foods at home, and it skyrocketed when I began to eat outside of the house. I never knew when a quick trip to the bathroom might arise between the onslaught of vomiting and dumping syndrome.
Yet somehow, I convinced myself that this was all worth what I began to experience: consistent, significant weight loss.
That first year after surgery was like a dream. I felt as if all the things that I once struggled with were erased – I didn’t think about food much (in fact, I had very little interest in it), and my body continued to get smaller and smaller…yes, this was so worth it! I shared that sentiment with close family and friends, saying I wish I hadn’t waited so long.
As my body changed, it became easier for me to connect to the embodied experiences of life. For the first time, I began to feel safe in my body. I trusted her more and more as I engaged in countless activities that were once loathsome or off limits. I hiked mountains and scaled cliffs by the ocean. I took up running and worked toward competing in a race. I dusted off my bike and enjoyed the feel of the wind on my face as I pedaled into a new way of being and doing.
My relationship with food shifted, too. I barely felt hungry and followed the diet provided by my physician, eager to do whatever it took to continue this trajectory toward thin. My dreams were literally coming true… which made it that much easier to overlook the signs of a nightmare lurking beneath my bariatric bliss.
Restriction was clothed in a tapestry of bariatric meal plans, comprised of a whole lot of protein shakes and bars.
As “normal” food entered more and more into my diet plan, so did inflexibility.
I was obsessed with high protein/low carb options. And I dare not divulge the new method of bingeing that I discovered with my now much smaller stomach: eating copious amounts of Goldfish crackers, convinced it was okay – they were small, and a whole bunch only added up to so many calories…
Increased body dysmorphia led to an obsession with the mirror, the scale, and clothing size. I was never satisfied with the next size down. I needed to see the scale move more quickly. The mirror held the truth – I was still fat. I needed to do anything I could to make my stomach flat, my arms toned, and my legs long and lean.
Inevitably, the weight loss stopped and nothing I tried would restart it.
No amount of food restriction or over-exercising would move the scale. As it remained stuck, I, too, became stuck in a place of helplessness and hopelessness, well-known partners who led me back to the eating disorder I thought was gone forever.
Not only had my eating disorder returned, but she was back with a vengeance.
Surgery had committed me to a life of restriction, but this would only last as long as my appetite was suppressed. After about a year, my appetite came back bigger than ever.
I recall my dietitian chuckling when I told her this, assuring me it was normal. I felt betrayed.
My understanding was that appetite reduction was a permanent part of weight loss surgery.
Alas, what was never explained to me at any point was the amazing ways that our bodies adapt to keep us alive. My low caloric intake was not enough to sustain me physically or mentally, and once I began to sense hunger again, there was no ignoring it. I recall the shame that eating more than I “should” brought upon me, shame that led me right back to the cycle of restriction and bingeing I had lived for years prior to surgery. Over time, the scale began to move in the opposite direction, compounding my shame.
Depression and anxiety followed as I repeated to myself over and over again what a failure I was: I couldn’t even get thin after major, life-altering weight loss surgery.
In the third year of my post-surgical journey, I decided that strict keto was how I had to live. This lasted as long as I had the energy to dedicate to it – once life stressors diverted my attention, it was easy to slide right back into my well-worn binge-restrict cycle.
I tried again and again without success, restricting my intake at one point so much that I lost 30 pounds in a little over a month. I had also added excessive exercise to my daily diet. My obsession with not being a failure caused me to lose my sense of self. It was only when I began to check train schedules for the tracks I drove over each day that I knew something was wrong: I was making sure that when I stopped on them, I would be hit on the driver’s side.
By the grace of God, or whatever higher power or internal force you believe in, I found my way back to eating disorder treatment.
It was clear after a month that I needed a higher level of care than before, and my team insisted that I leave work to focus on my healing. I remember sobbing in my therapist’s office – work was the only way left to prove my worth, and now even that was being taken from me.
I can tell you now that the moment I surrendered to this healing journey of trauma-informed care and intuitive eating now stands as the best decision I ever made.
I eventually realized that the decision to have weight-loss surgery was inevitable given my history of chronic, embodied trauma. So much of it was not my fault – nor was it my mother’s - for we both lived in a world that demanded strict adherence to the cult of thinness. Over time, I was able to forgive both mom and myself.
In the wake of forgiveness, and with the amazing support of a community of providers and people like me, I came to a place of body acceptance.
I continue to seek out that support as I traverse a world where fat-shaming continues to be a normalized, acceptable practice by healthcare providers, fashion houses, the media, and everyday spaces and places that lack accessible seating or sizing.
Is it an easy journey?
No.
But this journey is far more life-giving than any and all attempts I’ve previously made to shrink my body and myself to societal standards.
I now see the lie for what it is, and know in the deepest sense of my being that the promises that weight loss surgery made were never worth the risk of losing this simple truth: I am worthy. Then. Now. Always.
Hi, I’m Laura Gordon. I am a trauma therapist in Pennsylvania and I provide eating disorder therapy in Horsham, PA and via online therapy in Pennsylvania.
In this 3 part blog series I shared pieces of my body story and my journey through weight loss surgery, relapse into my eating disorder and weight gain following bariatric surgery. My hope is that sharing my story provides deeper insight into the experience of bariatric surgery, some of the risks, the complicated nature of eating disorders and how they often resurface, and hope for what is possible for your relationship with food and body.
Most importantly, I want you to know that if are experiencing, or have experienced disordered eating or body-shame throughout your life, your desire for surgery makes sense. It is hard to live in a world that has deep rooted stigma against bodies.
And.
You deserve to find peace in your relationship with food and rediscover trust in your body. Surgery may promise that, but I know for me, and many others, there is much deeper work that needs to be done to get there.
To support you in doing just that, I’ve created this offering.
🧡,
