Part 2: Lies The World Has Told Me: One Woman’s Journey Through Weight Loss Surgery
“Bariatric surgery is the answer to your weight loss struggles.”
Sitting inside my car, parked at the local hospital, I could barely breathe. My hands shook, my stomach turned, and tears began to fill my eyes.
Years of shame weighed on me, so much heavier than the extra weight I carried.
As I tried to slow my breath down and get grounded, the part of me that so yearned for a different body showed up. “You’ve got this! This is the first step toward taking your life back!”
Still shaking, I managed to exit my car and enter the hospital. In a hushed and humiliated tone, I informed the security guard I was there for the bariatric surgery informational meeting. When I arrived at the room it was already crowded, the prized seats in the back all filled. Forced to take a seat in the front, the panic that had momentarily abated returned full force. I was hyperaware of the others around me, hoping I didn’t run into anyone I knew.
I felt the tension in my body as I shrunk myself, pulled in my shoulders and thighs, slumped down in my chair, and avoided eye contact. I prayed that things would get started quickly, every fiber of my being ready to spring up and make a beeline for the exit.
Finally, the presentation began. This was the first in what I came to learn would be a series of programs and appointments considered part of the pre-operative preparation for bariatric surgery.
The doctor whom I would eventually see led most of the meeting. He shared myriad charts of statistics and benefits of bariatric surgery, touting the (at that time) latest addition to the medley of options – gastric sleeve. This was the surgery I was most interested in from the varied conversations and internet searches I’d conducted to get to this point. I recall the explanation of how removal of a portion of the stomach that produces the hormone ghrelin was found to reduce appetite, further helping patients to lose weight. The more he and others spoke, the more I relaxed and began to believe that indeed, this was the answer to all of my weight loss struggles.
I would finally be thin!
I also learned about the risks of surgery, yet even these were couched in the notion that the benefits of weight loss surgery far surpassed the risks.
“Isn’t it everyone’s dream to have a smaller stomach? How is that not worth a little risk?” I thought to myself.
I remember the statistics on approximately how much weight I could expect to lose post-surgery, a number that felt impossible to even imagine without surgical intervention. I understood that I needed to change my diet and lifestyle for the rest of my life, take copious amounts of vitamins, and, if I wanted to enhance the benefits of surgery, “become a gym rat” (the doctor’s words) to increase weight loss.
But that same part of me that so wanted to be thin was, in that moment, willing to do anything and everything to shrink my body.
Others in the room shared my thoughts. More than a few asked how soon they could schedule surgery and were frustrated by the insurance rules that required pre-operative care for several months. Others had no such limitations and seemed almost giddy as they brought out their calendars and waited to speak with a nurse navigator.
I recall a large part of me felt jealous – my insurance required a full six-month pre-operative program before surgery. This included appointments with doctors, dietitians, and therapists and attendance at information sessions on a host of topics. I appreciated the opportunity to learn and recall thinking the extra time was a gift so I could be even more prepared for the new life I was desperate to claim.
I signed up for my first appointment that evening.
It was at that first appointment that I first stepped on a body mass scale and waited anxiously for the Tanita printout that would track my progress. I would continue to endure this every month as the medical team looked for evidence that I was putting into practice what I was learning.
I paid out thousands of dollars for prescription diet foods designed for bariatric patients - oatmeal and soup and protein shakes and bars. I returned to a supplement diet I knew well – a supplement for breakfast and lunch and a “sensible” protein-forward, low fat dinner. Once more I grilled chicken like it was my job, laid it on top of beds of greens and veggies, and even learned some new tricks, including cutting oil from dressing and sticking only with a small amount of vinegar. I followed the instructions diligently and ate 1000 calories at most each day.
But soon the bridegroom of restriction showed up in full force, and I found myself bingeing late at night.
I know now that the education I received was not unlike my own learned and lived experience of restriction as a way of life.
I had disclosed to the team that I was in recovery from an eating disorder in my initial evaluation, but we barely spoke of this. The fact that I had a current therapist seemed to assuage any concerns. My shame and desperation kept me from disclosing, even to my therapist, that my symptoms had long since returned since my ED treatment – the cycle of restriction and bingeing a daily battle.
Every month, the Tanita scale printout hardly changed. Some months it got worse. But I managed to keep myself in check enough to make it through six months. Along the way, I was introduced to people who had “successful” surgeries and now lived the life I so wanted. They showed us their old clothes compared to their new bodies and we gasped in awe. They talked about taking up new activities and going to the gym often. They celebrated their “normal” bloodwork and escape from Type II diabetes.
They also mentioned the hair loss and leftover skin, but were thrilled to share hair regrowth tips and the names of plastic surgeons who further nipped and tucked their body into the one they always wanted.
Then there were the dietetic group programs, where we learned how to change our diets as we moved through the pre- and post-surgical process. I remember seeing the small cup of food that represented our new total intake at one meal. And the rules – so many rules. Protein first. Veggies second. Then carbs – but only “good” ones. No straws. No soda. When someone mentioned a family member who had surgery and still consumed soda, the dietitian launched into a shame-filled discourse about how such choices around food would lead all of us back to where we started, if not worse.
I hated those meetings and the way they made me feel like a bad child who needed to learn a hard lesson about getting thin. Yet still I went, thinness a prize worth the emotional abuse.
After six months, I was given the green light to schedule my surgery: January 19, 2016.
I counted the days.
Two weeks before the surgery, I met again with a member of the medical team (it was rare to see the doctor), who informed me that I would now start the pre-op prep diet in order to shrink the fat around my liver – something she stressed was vital to a successful surgery without complications.
She walked me through the heavily restrictive diet meant to put me in ketosis for two weeks. She reminded me that the first couple of days would be hard – I could expect moodiness and headaches and increased food urges. But then I would enter the high of ketosis, and all would be well.
And all was (almost) well.
Until I was given a cupcake as a thank you at a work event.
I remember the panic setting in once more – I couldn’t be trusted with this, but it would be rude to refuse. I thought I’d throw it out when I got home. Instead, I sat in my car and stared at the cupcake, salivating, bargaining with myself, trying to determine how much I could eat without compromising my surgical prep. Eventually, the raw need for nutrients won out, and I took a bite of the cupcake – and another.
Tears streamed down my face – a mix of relief and flat-out self-loathing.
How could I do this to myself? How could I ruin my chances of being thin? I remember stuffing the cupcake back into its plastic holder and squishing it. Still, I wanted it. I finally “got myself under control” when I got home and put it in the trash can with some used cat litter.
Despite the cupcake incident, I lost the required weight before surgery and was given the all clear.
On my final ride to the OR, I choked back sobs. The nurse asked with concern if I was okay – was I in pain? Scared? Maybe a little.
But it was grief that overcame me as I said goodbye to a me I had hated all my life, ready to meet the new me on the other side of surgery.
For she held the answer to all that mattered: Being thin.
Stay tuned for the next post in this series:
LIES THE WORLD HAS TOLD ME: One woman’s journey through weight loss surgery.
PART 3: “Weight loss surgery is worth the risk.”
Hi, I’m Laura Gordon!
I’m an eating disorder and body image therapist in Pennsylvania.
In this three part blog series I’m sharing pieces of my body story and my experience with weight loss surgery. My hope is that this supports you as you look into the risks and cost of bariatric and weight loss surgeries. Stay tuned for my next blog post, sharing the next parts of my story and some of the truths that I learned about bariatric surgery.
Until then!
🧡,
Reclaim Therapy provides trauma therapy and eating disorder therapy in Pennsylvania.
Our team provides eating disorder treatment in Pennsylvania, trauma therapy and childhood trauma therapy in Pennsylvania. We often work with people who have had weight loss surgery and bariatric surgery and are experiencing disordered eating or an eating disorder. We want you to know that you are not alone, and that you deserve support, and never shame. Our team of trauma and eating disorder therapists would be honored to support you in your recovery.