My breaking point

My weight history

I knew I was big. Well, I have never been a skinny girl. The weight was dragging with me forever. For as long as I can remember, it was there. I kept fighting it, but it was always a little less and then all back and some more. It was a never-ending series of battles that were every time harder and longer and in the end, the result was questionable at best. But still, I was far from my breaking point at that time.

Then I got sick, I was almost bedridden because of some neurological problem in my legs and added piles of medications and it was when the weight started to spiral really out of control. I was not able to combat it anymore. So it glued to me and it seemed that it would never go away. I accepted it. Well, what could I do? I got to the point when I was not able to do any exercise anymore.

Everything was hurting me. I was slowly losing the ability to walk long distances. Luckily I lived on the first floor only, so I made it home, but sometimes it was a good battle. I was wearing the largest size of clothes normally available in stores. I had somewhat high blood pressure and my cholesterol was high. Luckily my insulin was still ok. A little miracle. But diabetes runs in my family, so I knew it was a question of time.

I got really sick

Then for some reason, my legs, especially ankles got seriously swollen. I was used to having them kinda bigger, especially in the evening, and in summer it used to be pretty nasty. But this time it was different. They were so big that I barely fit in shoes. That was something. At first, I didn’t want to go to the doctor at all, but as it didn’t seem to go away just like that, I agreed.

And there it was pretty fast. Hospitalization right away and it was not negotiable. They suspected I might have a pulmonary embolism. And it was serious. End of jokes anymore. I had all the tests in question for hours, they pinched me with tons of things right away, and I had an IV in my arm from the very first minute. I even saw doctors and nurses running. That looked scary.

I was lucky

It was negative. But the following speech the chief doctor gave me, was something. I was 41 years old, my weight was 104 kg and my health was as if I was 60 at best. That is not something you want to hear. The verdict was clear: or I do something with my weight or things will not go as well as I had planned. Taking into account all the diseases that run in my family, I would be happy to make it to 60.

At first, I felt incredibly offended. I knew I had some extra weight, no doubt about that. But I never thought I was so big that it could interfere with my life span. I felt reasonably ok, I could do things, and I was not one of those people who only sit at home and eat all the time. That is why my emotions were really high. I won’t lie about this.

I felt offended

When they sent me home (with new pills for the long term), I calmed down a little. But still, the offense was there. Ok, I had to admit that my weight was out of hand. It was pretty clear. But there are so many many more obese people than I was, so what! My ego was struggling. It didn’t want to accept the reality. I fucked up and I didn’t know how to get out of this dark alley.

I am quite an analytical person so I took out a sheet of paper and wrote all the pros and cons. It took me almost a week. The thing was that the con list was endless. The more I was thinking about the sad fact of how the weight would affect my life long term, the more things I was putting down. Then I rewrote it in positive. That would be the outcome if I got rid of the weight. It seemed pretty attractive I have to say.

Where to start?

The problem was that I had no idea how to get there. No, my aim was not to run a Marathon, far from that. But it felt like it. I was living somehow and to get to what I wanted to become, I would have to start living in a very different way if I wanted to become all that. The breach seemed unsurmountable. It was straight away discouraging and simply too much. I felt incredibly overwhelmed and completely lost.

I had no idea how or where to start. All I knew was that I desperately needed to do something. I have a history of silly miraculous diets, stupid advice, and whatever you can even imagine related to how to lose weight. We all have been there. The results were always questionable at best or it was a complete failure after a few hellish days. I knew I needed something else. Something I have never tried before.

A new diet? Which one? I have tried them all anyway. It felt as if I was doomed. The internet is full of clever advice, especially from people who themselves weigh 50 kilos and will tell you how running 20 km before work is the best thing in the world. This is complete nonsense for somebody happy to crawl to the first floor. And many more like this one. The list is endless, they are just not usable.

Searching for help

My GP was not helpful either. I get it, she is not there to listen to my venting about my weight and my inability to lose it. I just hoped she might direct me somewhere or at least tell me the options I could research. It didn’t happen. Never mind. I still have my private insurance so I was looking for options through there. And I ended up with an endocrinologist who knew.

And this is how I first got to the option of bariatric surgery. Again. I was in total shock. I never knew I might be a candidate. I thought it was only for people who are barely able to walk and weigh 200 kg or more. I couldn’t be further from the truth. There is a huge misconception and the information that runs among people is completely incorrect. That is why many people who might benefit from it never even consider this option. Which is a huge mistake.

Researching options

So this is how I ended up researching the bari options. It was clear to me that I got to the stage when I was not able to do exercise without hurting myself. Going to the gym was causing me such trauma that even dying from obesity and heath-related complications was more acceptable than going there. I hardly fit into any gym clothes anyway.

I had to accept where I was standing and what was going on. And I had to acknowledge that I needed help. I was scared but I asked for help. Seeing it from today’s perspective, it was brave. But once I understood that those people in healthcare were there for me, that they understood and that I was no different than others in the same condition, it all became much easier.

I found them!

These people saw it all. I couldn’t surprise them anyhow. Yes, I thought I had stupid questions. At least they seemed to me. But they were patient and answered them all. To tell the truth, they seemed to be happy that I embarked on the journey, that I was coming to the appointments prepared, that I was progressing, and that I was not a passive piece of stone who allowed them to perform the surgery on me.

This all was not easy. I struggled. I had to change so many things and I was not even close to the surgery. Some of them were easy to make, others were incredibly difficult. I had to start working on so many things. It all seemed that it was going on at the same time. I felt overwhelmed sometimes. But it worked. I saw the progress. And it kept me motivated. I was glad I did it.

How about you? What was your breaking point?