Two Year Surgiversary
As I write this, it's September 2. Two years ago today at this time I was in the recovery room after my roux-en y gastric bypass surgery. I started out at 376 pounds, my highest recorded weight though I'm pretty sure it was likely closer to 390 at times but I didn't have a scale that would go that high and honestly I didn't want to know. By surgery day a strict low-carb diet helped me quickly shed 26 pounds; this is a requirement for surgery because even 5% weight loss helps the liver to shrink and lessened the chance that my laparoscopic surgery would require fully cutting me open and praise God for that! You can hardly see my scars today--they look like freckles.
|Me the day of my surgery, post-op.|
There's a sad haunting in my eyes that reminds me just how
sad I was then. May I never forget how far I have come.
But here's the thing: I hoped to weigh about 160 pounds by now. Praise Jesus, because he answered the deep desire of my heart and gave me my amazing son, Roger. That really threw off my weight loss per my plan (it never surprised the Lord, though, which I must remember--my plan was never a reality, never meant to become reality in God's plan). Since having Roger, though, the weight hasn't dropped off as I expected, either. I know I'm only 6 months out and most women have told me it wasn't until between 6-12 months that that they really saw their body start responding. But I'm discouraged--despite eating nowhere NEAR enough calories, I've inexplicably gained 7 pounds, going from 272 to 279 this morning, in the last two weeks.
|No, I'm not as small as I could have been.|
I have zero regrets--look at this guy! Can you blame me?
The timing on this all is good, though. I feel like Jesus is really, deeply pursuing me. See, I'm more than ready to go full-on gung-ho on losing weight. There's an itch to make it my religion, to eat and exercise in pursuit of that dreamy 160 pound goal. I feel entitled to it because, dammit, I gave up 15 of the most precious first 24 months after my surgery to carry Roger and then give him the best food possible. Doesn't that count for something?
I Deserve To Be Fat?
I fear that the opportunity is past, that I "wasted" my gastric bypass, and now I'll be back to the same body that refused to let go of weight unless I literally make calorie counting and vigorous, long exercise sessions my #1 life priority. I get mad that I'm max 140 pounds overweight so I can never be on a show like Extreme Makeover: Weight Loss Edition where you have to be 200 pounds overweight, but I think that if I could have that trainer and that home gym and that $100 a week for healthy food grocery budget then my life would be so great.
Instead, I'm scared that I'll just stay stuck here, or even gain weight. I feel the fattest I've ever been in my life, despite having lost 100 pounds--but as I write that I feel guilty because now it's 97 pounds. I can't even say 100 pounds anymore. I look down and only see a huge stomach, two giant rolls that make me feel, if I give into the thought, like I don't deserve to live.
See, I'm not writing this series to guilt trip all of you women who struggle with body image. I am one of you. I do not sit here with it all figured out, and from my lofty perch fling judgment down upon you. I know this battle well, and believe me, the enemy knows how quickly and easily he can trip up my heart. I didn't write about fad diets so that those who have done them will feel terrible--I wrote about them because the deepest part of me aches to find a trick, a secret, even if it's not a shortcut, some rules that I can make the center of my life so I can finally, FINALLY be thin.
Tomorrow will pick up right where this leaves off. Don't miss it.