Every ending has a beginning. Right? Well, I know what I want the ending to be. So, I’ll start at the beginning.
I’ve been “heavy”, “overweight”, “chunky”, “thick”, “solid” or “fat” as far back as I can remember. One of the earliest memories I have of thinking I was too big was when my mom and I were leaving McDonalds, and I was eating an ice cream cone. I don’t know why, but I threw it away and looked at my mom and told her I was too fat to eat ice cream, and I shouldn’t have asked for it. I promptly went home, put on my leotard, tights, leg warmers, and started jogging in circles around the house, to exercise. I was 8.
As I went through the years, into middle school and high school, I don’t really remember being overweight. But, my peers sure thought I was. My freshman year of high school, I could squeeze into a size 7 pair of jeans. By my senior year I was a size 16. Looking at pictures from that time in my life, I don’t see myself as fat, but I wasn’t the same size as the other girls in my school. Of course, I always compared myself to the cheerleaders, dancers, etc.
At this point I still wasn’t anxious about my weight. I was happy, I had friends, and I had a life. I tried off and on to lose weight, going to weight watchers with friends and family, to appease and or support them in their efforts. I still wasn’t the skinny minny I was dying to be inside, but accepted genetics and went about life. The genetic make up of my family is a blessing and a curse. When people questioned my size, I could shrug my shoulders and say that I’m built like my parents. That was a blessing – it wasn’t JUST my fault. Of course, they look at my sisters and I can’t think of a single friend that didn’t ask me if I was adopted. That’s my curse. Beautiful, healthy, THIN sisters – younger and older.
I continued on the path of eating what I wanted, excercising when I could fit it into my heavy social rotation (read: next to never), and not really paying attention. My mom was diagnosed with cancer in 1988 and by 1998 she was terminal. In the last 6 weeks prior to her death, I probably consumed 6 months worth of food. I was at home, on leave from work, bored, stressed, and depressed. It’s amazing, when someone dies people bring you food. Comfort food. Gooooooooooooood food. And I ate my weight sampling this and that. Six months later, I had pictures of me taken, that REALLY opened my eyes.
Those pictures are what started the next 12 years of weight battles. I lost 90 pounds. Once. They all thought I was going to Weight Watchers. No, I wasn’t eating. I was in a horrible relationship, I was working 100+ hours a week, and I worked in a restaurant. I didn’t want to eat. And did I look cute. My family and friends discuss it behind my back. They’re concerned. They think I’m not. People, trust and believe. It terrifies me. But I don’t know what to do. I’m not particularly fond of experiments in frustration – and to me, that is what weight loss is.
I am terrified for my health. I lost my mother to cancer. My father was diagnosed with congestive heart failure a few years back, and has since gone into cardiac arrest once, has had a pacemaker and defibrillator placed, my paternal grandparents both died of heart related causes, and I have 2 sisters and an aunt all of whom have had their own battles with cancer in some shape or form. The night after my father went into cardiac arrest, my step mom made me promise to never put my husband and step daughter through what we went through that night. I know with obesity comes the increased risk of heart attack, stroke, cancer among a myriad of other risks. I feel like I’m a ticking time bomb due to my weight in combination with my family history and the horomone replacement therapy I take that also has cancer, heart attack and stroke as its risks.
I’m beginning this blog to chronicle my struggle with weight loss. I have set my sights on weight loss surgery. I’ve been to the information session my doctor offers. I’m excited, scared, nervous and ready to get this rollin’. My first appointment with the bariatric surgeon is next week. I know I have a long road ahead of me, first with 6 months steady weight loss attempts.
I hope you stick around – I promise it will be a fun journey :)
~Amy
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