Tonight was a 90 minute information meeting in which a group of
potential weight loss surgery candidates sat in a conference room and
listened to remarks from our case worker, nutritionist and the exercise
therapist. As I entered the medical offices I spied two women waiting
for the elevator, both overweight. We look at each other awkwardly
until someone mumbled they think we must all be going to the same
place.
Why does this make me so uncomfortable? As I glance at the
middle aged white woman, only slightly heavier than I am, and the
Hispanic woman who is probably nearing 400 pounds, I feel ashamed.
Ashamed that I am heading to a weight loss clinic. Ashamed that they
know I am considering weight loss surgery. But why should I be? These
people are my people. These people are exactly the same as me....we all
use food to self medicate, we all over eat, we are all self conscious
in public. So why do I feel a million miles away from these women? Is
it because we all belong to a club that nobody wants to belong to? A
lifestyle where something, in our case food, has so completely taken
over your life, your will power and your habits that you are seriously
considering cutting your stomach open and re-sewing it into a pouch the
size of an egg.
It's humiliating.
Upon entering the meeting I take a seat, determined to be cheerful and
outgoing, but the women seated at my table are as seemingly
uncomfortable as I am. One is thin (a supporter I assume), one is about
my size and the final is so large she is seated in a wheelchair, unable
to even walk under the strain of her own weight. It's hard not to
imagine that kind of life. As embarrassed and self conscious as I might
ever be in public, could it get more humiliating than not just being
considered obese, but being considered technically handicapped by it? I
feel for her.
First up is our case worker, Lauren. I met her at my last appointment
and I am once again put at ease by her easy manner and openness. She
quickly sets up the night's speeches and turns the floor over to a
nutritionist.
However, when Ms. Nutrition begins her power point presentation, my
warm-fuzzies dissolve as she begins speaking to our collective group as
if we are young children. Remember that last month we all attended the
same information seminar where we were walked through every step of
Gastric Bypass and Gastric Banding surgeries? However, Ms.
Nutrition brings up a graphic of a stomach being re-routed to the
intestines and asks the audience if anyone can sum up what Gastric
Bypass is. There is a stony silence. I feel the motivation drain from
me as I realize that the following presentation is going to be a rather
dumbed down rehashing of what has already been thoroughly explained. At
this point I check out mentally. My chipped nail polish, my green pen,
my new purse...all captivate my wandering thoughts.
After a mind numbing 40 minutes in which Ms. Nutrition walks us through
Gastric Bypass as if we are children, our new Exercise Guy stands up and
begins his talk. He is a young, energetic, good looking 30-something.
I note that everyone I have seen in this office is incredibly thin and
fit. This is aspirational, I suppose, but at this moment I find it
mildly annoying. As Jeff begins his schpeal I cannot help but
wonder....can these thin, fit, healthy people possibly understand what
we, the fatties in the room, feel? When Jeff begins extolling the
virtues of stretching before exercise I wonder if he realizes that
likely no one in this room has even thought about exercising in years.
In fact we have avoided it at all costs. I know I have. Stretching? Rotating between weight training and cardio?
These phrases are not in our vocabulary. You don't end up at a Gastric
Bypass meeting because you live to push through the last 5 minutes of a
spinning class.
Jeff drones on in a similarly youthful approach to the topic. Again, I
zone out. But this time I begin to think about what I am going to grab
for dinner after this meeting. And sadly, the predominant thought is an
order of Mozzarella Cheese Sticks from Sonic.
Maybe this meeting is not effecting me the way it should...probably due to my bad attitude.
When we are excused I bolt for the door and wait for the elevator next
to two more potential patients. One mentions that we probably should
have taken the stairs down to get in some exercise and we all chuckle.
12.23.2011
12.05.2011
It begins
I went to my very first orientation meeting last night. This is the
meeting you must attend before even considering starting into the
process of having Gastric Bypass Surgery.
The surgeon (we'll call him Dr. Jones) is a healthy looking, thin, athletic 40 something with an unnatural tan and overly confident smile. I walk into the meeting 20 minutes late and he is already launched into a full, fast talking speech about the thrills and benefits of Gastric Bypass Surgery. I instantly distrust him. He speaks about this surgery like a used car salesman trying to get me to drive off the lot in a 89 Ford Taurus.
Dr. Jones is slick and he knows what the purpose of this meeting is. Rather than an overview of the surgery and its risks and benefits, he is making this meeting a one man pitch for serious weight-loss surgery. He is unabashed in his preference of Gastric Bypass surgery over the less-invasive Lap Band surgery, although he offers both at his practice. I have been to two of these meetings before and after a few minutes I generally tune out Dr. Jones and begin to observe the room.
I am sitting in a large conference room/waiting area that should seat around 40-50 people, but tonight it is filled over capacity with overweight individuals seeking information about weight loss surgery. There are probably 65 individuals there, sitting in the specially designed, extra wide, plastic chairs. Having arrived late, I am seated on a love seat which was pulled in from the hallway and many are standing in the back of the room.
As I glance around at my fellow prospective patients I strange thought occurs to me that is both new and unsettling. I am the thinnest person in the room (besides Dr. Jones, of course). Now, thin is not a word I have ever referred to myself as, but in this case a very unusual and awkward feeling steals over me. The notion that other people in the room might look at me and say to themselves, "Why is SHE here".
At 285 pounds I am what an average person (and the medical community) would call Morbidly Obese. And yet, the chairs around me are filled with people who are much more morbidly obese than I am. I glance at the man sitting right next to me. In his hand he is holding a form we are meant to fill out before leaving. At the top, after his name, it asks his weight. It reads 437 pounds.
You might think this sudden realization that I am the lightest person in this room would be exciting, even exhilarating, but instead I feel extremely uncomfortable. I am suddenly acutely self conscious. "So this is what it must feel like to be an average sized person in today's world", I think to myself and then it dawns on me that, if I go through with this surgery, I may find myself the smallest person in the room in the future. This thought is so foreign to me that I feel panic set in, instead of relief.
I have always considered taking the weight loss surgery step to be something that must go hand in hand with psychological counseling. After all, food is not the enemy. Everyone needs food and everyone eats food. My unhealthy relationship with food is the enemy I am trying to strike at. And my unhealthy relationship with food is all in my head. I eat when I am sad, anxious, bored, happy, depressed, tired, elated, lonely. But plenty of healthy, thin individuals feel those emotions too. The difference is they don't medicate those feelings with food.
Feeling so uncomfortable emotionally while sitting among my overweight peers is a glimpse into the psychological journey ahead that terrifies me more than any surgery could. I leave the meeting with information packet in hand, feeling very unsettled indeed.
The surgeon (we'll call him Dr. Jones) is a healthy looking, thin, athletic 40 something with an unnatural tan and overly confident smile. I walk into the meeting 20 minutes late and he is already launched into a full, fast talking speech about the thrills and benefits of Gastric Bypass Surgery. I instantly distrust him. He speaks about this surgery like a used car salesman trying to get me to drive off the lot in a 89 Ford Taurus.
Dr. Jones is slick and he knows what the purpose of this meeting is. Rather than an overview of the surgery and its risks and benefits, he is making this meeting a one man pitch for serious weight-loss surgery. He is unabashed in his preference of Gastric Bypass surgery over the less-invasive Lap Band surgery, although he offers both at his practice. I have been to two of these meetings before and after a few minutes I generally tune out Dr. Jones and begin to observe the room.
I am sitting in a large conference room/waiting area that should seat around 40-50 people, but tonight it is filled over capacity with overweight individuals seeking information about weight loss surgery. There are probably 65 individuals there, sitting in the specially designed, extra wide, plastic chairs. Having arrived late, I am seated on a love seat which was pulled in from the hallway and many are standing in the back of the room.
As I glance around at my fellow prospective patients I strange thought occurs to me that is both new and unsettling. I am the thinnest person in the room (besides Dr. Jones, of course). Now, thin is not a word I have ever referred to myself as, but in this case a very unusual and awkward feeling steals over me. The notion that other people in the room might look at me and say to themselves, "Why is SHE here".
At 285 pounds I am what an average person (and the medical community) would call Morbidly Obese. And yet, the chairs around me are filled with people who are much more morbidly obese than I am. I glance at the man sitting right next to me. In his hand he is holding a form we are meant to fill out before leaving. At the top, after his name, it asks his weight. It reads 437 pounds.
You might think this sudden realization that I am the lightest person in this room would be exciting, even exhilarating, but instead I feel extremely uncomfortable. I am suddenly acutely self conscious. "So this is what it must feel like to be an average sized person in today's world", I think to myself and then it dawns on me that, if I go through with this surgery, I may find myself the smallest person in the room in the future. This thought is so foreign to me that I feel panic set in, instead of relief.
I have always considered taking the weight loss surgery step to be something that must go hand in hand with psychological counseling. After all, food is not the enemy. Everyone needs food and everyone eats food. My unhealthy relationship with food is the enemy I am trying to strike at. And my unhealthy relationship with food is all in my head. I eat when I am sad, anxious, bored, happy, depressed, tired, elated, lonely. But plenty of healthy, thin individuals feel those emotions too. The difference is they don't medicate those feelings with food.
Feeling so uncomfortable emotionally while sitting among my overweight peers is a glimpse into the psychological journey ahead that terrifies me more than any surgery could. I leave the meeting with information packet in hand, feeling very unsettled indeed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)