Guest Post #15,000

I was serious when I said that the 15,000th visitor would get a guest spot on this blog. Let me introduce Marie Braden, loyal HF4S reader and fellow traveler. Read her post. Visit her blog. Share the love.

He said he would divorce me if I didn't have the surgery. Little did I know that he had already made the choice to leave me, and perhaps this was his final farewell--a way to wash his hands of the mess we'd made of our life together. I don't talk to him, so I'll never know. The thing is, my weight bothered him far more than it did me. I have always said that if I wasn't happy with who I was, I couldn't have the surgery--I could not look to it to fix any problem other than my weight. And, hey, it definitely fixed THAT. But my husband didn't understand why I didn't hate myself for being fat. He was no prize, but he also didn't realize that my weight gain wasn't the real problem--it was the things that had gotten me to that point. It was the depression, the feeling crippled, unwhole. It was only after I addressed those feelings that I could even consider taking such a drastic step.

When I tell people that I've had WLS, I usually get the following reactions: 1. "I know someone who had that and gained back all their weight and then some." 2. "I've heard about someone who died from that" 3. "OH, I bet you're so much happier now!" or 4. "Well, I'm thinking about it myself, do you think I should?" (The last, usually from someone who wouldn't even qualify.) The thing is, I do NOT want to spend the rest of my life identifying as a bariatric patient. I'm me, Marie, whatever that means. What perverse need do people have to try to sabotage my successes with their negativity (responses 1 and 2). It isn't easy. I don't like that I will have to have additional surgeries eventually (the skin removal), I don't like that I have to think carefully when I order food in a restaurant (Ironically, my boyfriend says it is easier to go to dinner with me than it is some of our female friends who insist on having their food meticulously prepared, where I just find something that looks likely to work). But I have made huge strides, so dwelling on the negatives won't get me anywhere. As far as responses 3 and 4, I think, sometimes, that I find them even MORE offensive. I wasn't unhappy about my fat, I was fat because I was unhappy. That's a crucial distinction that most people don't understand. And it isn't an easy choice, so for someone who is only 20 lbs overweight to say they have considered surgery really gets to me. Someday, I'm sure I'll snap and say, "What, would you amputate your finger for having a hangnail? It's pretty much the same."

But along with my desire NOT to be identified as a bariatric patient comes a series of needs, too. Unless you've been there, you don't understand how you can dissolve in tears in a clothing store that doesn't carry 4X, because you've FORGOTTEN that you wear a 4 WITHOUT the X now. Unless you've been there, you don't understand the tears that come when, as hard as you tried to prevent it, your hair falls out anyway. Unless you've been there, you don't understand the self-loathing you feel when you see someone as large as you were or larger and the thought flickers across your mind, just for a moment, "Why doesn't s/he have surgery?" I would never want to talk anyone into this drastic step; it was the right choice for me, although for the wrong reasons. But the thought still occurs, and then I hate myself for thinking it. Because it's NOT my life, it's theirs, and it's not as if the information isn't out there if they are ready to change.

Support groups haven't really helped me, which may be why I love reading this blog so much. I discovered it a few months after my surgery, when I was thoroughly disgruntled by the support group I'd been attending. I began reading, and found a sassy voice that was dealing with so many of the issues that I have been tackling on my own. I felt, surprisingly, uplifted, knowing I wasn't alone. How very different from attending a support group meeting and getting yelled at by someone who felt that I didn't "deserve" to have surgery, because at the time of my procedure I was "only" 221--never mind that at 5'3", that gave me a BMI of 40; never mind that I had been as high as 276; never mind that I didn't start attending group until I was several months post-op. It's hard. It's not something I can discuss with my thin friends, because they don't understand the fat side of the equation. It's also not something I can discuss with my fat friends, because, to them, I'm no longer "one of them". So that's why I've gravitated towards the blogs of other WLS patients--the ones who have been there but do NOT let it define their sense of self.

I'd like to think my blog falls under that category, as well. Admittedly, right now, it's kind of barebones as I am porting over the posts from my old one. When I was married, when I was fat, when I was somewhat crazy... "Postcards From the Wasteland" suited me. But, now, with a new life, a new me, a new world... I'm ready for "Whatever Happened to Fun?" It's out there--just waiting for me to find it!