Modest_Phoenix
Hello. I suppose we all have a lot in common when it comes to our weight loss stories. How we got to be overweight, then obese, Like most of you I have lost weight only to put it back on and those pounds brought friends with them and stayed.
Childhood: Mine was OK. It was the normal life for a kid in the 1970s. I had friends, I played outside. I loved to ride my bike. I liked playing in the snow. I liked and did well in school. I liked watching TV. I played with stuffed animals. No traumas other than the normal childhood sort. I began gaining weight when I was 8 years old. By the time I was 11 years old the pediatrician told my Mom to get the weight off me before I hit puberty or it would likely stay and increase throughout my life. And that is exactly what happened. At 12 years old I weighed 112 pounds. My Mom was the best. She never made me feel bad about being overweight. She worked in shoe stores and ladies fashion, so from the moment I hit puberty and moved from girls clothes to juniors to misses and women fashions she was my style guide and guru. She always told me that as long as clothes fit properly anyone could look like a million bucks. I still believe that to this day. My Dad was overweight, short and stocky. Mom was always petite, wearing nothing more than a size six petite during my childhood and teen years. At her highest weight she only wore a size large. Mom was a ballet teacher in her younger years and when I begged to take ballet or dance classes she told me I didn't have the body or grace for dance. She put me in gymnastics classes where I did well. But I was the super short, chunky kid and in the 1970s that was really unusual. I stayed in gymnastics for two years and loved it. I was picked on in school because of my weight and when puberty struck it came on quick and in full force. I developed practically overnight going from a chunky girl figure to a woman's figure. Getting teased in sixth grade by the boys and even leered at by a few men made me extremely uncomfortable with my body and only wanted to hide it. I was awkward and shy. Food was love in our house and it became my companion that didn't care if I had acne, wasn't graceful, was short and fat, or incredibly shy and socially awkward.
Teen years: Acne broke out and was so bad my grandmother took me to a dermatologist for treatment. It didn't work. Mean kids at school called me pizza face. So yeah, acne, overweight, awkward, shy, the teen years sucked. And the weight packed on my short frame. I stopped growing when I hit 4'11” but I certainly didn't stop gaining girth. When I graduated high school I weighed 145 pounds. Yep, in 1985 that was sort of unusual. There were only a couple of fat kids in the whole class. During junior high and high school I fell in love with roller skating. I went as often as I could and rode my bike everywhere. Sports was not part of my teen years.
The 20s.: Boy oh boy did I enjoy that decade of my life! I had the best time. I discovered dancing at the nightclubs and danced at least 4 nights a week. The mean girls would make fun of the fat chick on the dance floor but I was in my element. I was confident and courageous and a good dancer. It kept my health in check but I gained into the 150s, then the 160s, and finally the 180s during that decade. As my jobs became more sedentary my weight went up and my activity plummeted. I went to college, fell in love, got my heart broken into tiny fragments, and started a career in office administration.
The 30s: At 30 I was diagnosed with stage 4 Hodgkin lymphoma. I had a year off work to go through chemotherapy. I was bald, sick, possibly dying, and learned my life priorities. Weight loss was not one of them. I went into remission, got back to work, and packed on more pounds. My friends had gotten married, were having kids, settling down. The club days were over and my hobbies became solitary and sedentary; cooking, eating, reading kept my mind engaged during my free time. I bought a house and did yard work but that was my only activity. My weight was in the high 190s. At 35 I received the dreaded news that my cancer had returned and my only hope of survival was a stem cell transplant. What a grueling experience. During that time my weight went down to 165 and I was getting compliments on surviving and losing weight. In my mind weight loss became synonymous with cancer. At the exact time I could have jump started a healthy relationship with food all I wanted to do was put weight back on so I no longer looked sick. And I was extremely successful.
The 40s: I worked, loved my little house, adopted way too many stray cats, completed an advanced degree, cooked some really great food and ate. Entertainment and entertaining was mainly food oriented. We all went out for dinners and cocktails and movies instead of dancing the night away. We had dinner parties with wine and game nights with pizza and beer. At my highest weight I was 208 pounds. I didn't stay there long but I was astonished that I could get so heavy. I wasn't a chunky kid anymore. I was a morbidly obese, middle-aged woman going through menopause. How the hell did that happen? I joined a gym. I worked out in bursts for several months at a time and then quit for various reasons. I cut my portions down. I joined Overeaters Anonymous and attended meetings but didn't like the group that was available at a time when I was available but I liked the program. I lost a bit of weight. I even got into the high 170s for a short stretch of time. Changing jobs led to stopping my healthier lifestyle and old habits crept back in and the weight came back. I tried again to lose and this time nothing happened. The scale didn't move a single digit. The doctor warned me that if I didn't lose weight soon my health would deteriorate quickly and profoundly. I tried again. Again, nothing happened. Repeat, repeat, repeat. On Jan. 1, 2015 I weighed myself and was 201 pounds. I felt defeated. Over the years I had looked into weight loss surgery and even know a couple of people who had it. It wasn't for me. I wanted to cook and eat and not deprive myself of anything. I didn't want to reroute my intestines or strangulate my stomach with a band. On Jan. 4, 2015 I went to my PCP and told her I am thinking about surgery and what I didn't want. She said surgery would be an option to really consider. So I here I am, very interested in the vertical gastric sleeve. I have been reading everything I can find on it. I even switched insurances to find one that would cover it. Now it's February 2015 and I'm looking forward to meeting with a surgeon and getting as healthy as I can be this year and all the years that I have left.
