Woe is I, the Daughter of Eve

From a very early age I suffered monthly the wrath of Aunt Flo. I remember having to stay home and lay on the couch watching Andy Griffith and I Love Lucy reruns because I was unable to cope with the cramps that had taken over my teenage body. As I matured, my symptoms lessened and I was able to maintain normalcy during my monthly visits...well, as normal as a hormonal teenager can be.

As I began gaining weight, however, new and rather alarming issues developed. I went from having a normal monthly menstruation cycle, to extended cycles. I'd be on for a week and a half then off for two and a half weeks. This continued progressing for about a year when I realized I was now backwards- on for three weeks, off for one, on for three weeks, off for one.

I went to visit my obgyn or the "Oh Boy You Got Me Naked Dr" as my soon-to-be-mother-in-law calls it, and I was told that it was normal for someone of my "stature" to have irregular periods. Appeased momentarily, though not happy with her answer, I returned home resigned to spend a fortune on feminine hygiene products each month.

A few months and twenty plus pounds later, I was sitting in my office at the top of the highest hill in La Canada, and I fell apart. (Let me stop here and let those with weak constitutions know that they can fast forward a few paragraphs.) I had cramps, bloating and all of the usual monthly friends but as I sat in front of my computer screen typing away, I began to feel something wet seeping through my pant legs. I quickly looked at my water bottle on my desk to see if I'd knocked it over, but alas, it was still there and at that moment I knew what was happening.

I shared an office with another woman so sneaking by her to the bathroom wasn't going to be easy if I did it in the full panic attack I was about to have. Thank God I was in black. I attempted a nonchalant shuffle past her desk and into the bathroom where I discovered the next major side-effect of my morbid obesity. I had bled through all hygiene products, through my underwear and through my pants and clearly my body had no intention on stopping my flow anytime soon. I cleaned myself up as best as I could with scratchy paper towels and cheap one ply toilet paper, made myself a make-shift diaper out of the same products and then shuffled back to my desk, trying not to show the fear on my face or let her hear the rustling of paper products in my pants. This was the first of four identical trips I would make to that bathroom over the next four hours before I was off.

When I finally got home, I undressed, tossed all of my soiled clothes into a plastic bag for disposal- truly no sense in even trying to salvage them- got into a scalding hot shower and proceeded to sob for twenty minutes while I washed off the stain of Eve's sins. When I told my boyfriend about what had happened, he insisted that I go see my Dr. again and so I did. She did a series of exams and came up with a diagnosis. Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. She explained it as a disease that causes the ovaries to produce cysts that can cause irregularities in a woman's monthly cycle. The major kicker was that POS can also cause infertility. My Dr. told me to go home, that there was nothing to be done and that I'd just have to "double up" on my hygiene products during my monthly flows.

For the next three months I did just that, except probably "quadrupled up" not "doubled". I even had a pair of jeans that were a size bigger than my normal 26 that I would wear to cover the wash-clothes I had stashed between my legs. I was wearing these pants the night I went to the symposium about gastric bypass, the night I found hope.

Hope came in multiple ways that night. There is the hope that you'll be able to wear cute clothes again. Hope that you'll be able to go grocery shopping and not have to avoid the cookie and chip aisle in order to conserve as much of your money for real food as possible. Then there was the hope that I received from the Dr. running the symposium. As the event ended and people slowly wheeled and wobbled out of the room, I waited for my chance to talk to him face to face.

I approached him, introduced myself and asked him a few basic questions about the procedure. He answered them just as simply as I'd asked them. I then mustered up the strength to ask him about obesity's effects on a woman's menstrual cycle and told him that I had POS. He asked me one question. "Do you have cysts?" I sat there silently, confused by his question and also shocked because I knew the answer. When I had been through my battery of tests at the obgyn, one of those tests was an ultra sound to look for cysts on my ovaries.

He asked me again, assuming that I hadn't heard or understood him. "Do you actually have cysts on your ovaries?"

"No..." I whispered.

"Well, my dear...you do not have POS and I believe that we can fix that problem of yours. I've had more women come to me with the mis-diagnosis of POS because their Dr's just don't know what else to tell them and after they lose the weight, their periods are regulated and many of them go on to have children."

I cried. Right there in the middle of the room in my too big pants hiding my too big pad. All I could muster was a thank you and he nodded and walked off to greet other potential patients.

Hope. It comes in so many forms, but that night, it came in the realization that there was a future for me where I would not have to be in constant panic about when my home-made hygiene products wouldn't be enough.

I didn't have to think about it anymore. My decision was made. I called the next day and made my appointment for a consultation to discuss whether or not Gastric Bypass was right for me and two weeks later, I would be sitting in the office of the man who had given me the glimmer of hope that I needed to seek out change.

The Shame and Guilt from Being Obese

Shortly after the pot roast lunch, my co-worker took me to a symposium for other morbidly obese folk like myself who were interested in Gastric Bypass. I was consumed with shame and guilt as I parked at Huntington Hospital and began the trek towards the room where the event was held. Shame: what a terrible person I am for letting myself become this giant marshmallow. Guilt: I definitely shouldn't have had that chicken burrito on my way here.

I walked past two skinny nurses outside on a smoke break. Shame: I'm sure they're mortified by my appearance. Who wouldn't be? Guilt: I'd rather have a cheeseburger than be here right now.

I walked into the room and was immediately shocked by all of the other very large people. A few of them were pushing or pulling oxygen tanks, many had canes and there were a handful who had someone else pushing them in their plus-sized wheel chairs. Shame: Oh my goodness, I look like this. This is me. Well, in five years anyway. Guilt: I'm totally grossed out by some of these people but I'm one of them!!

I sat down with my co-worker as far in the back of the room as I could, took out my notebook and pink gel pen and waited with asthmatic breaths for the symposium to begin. Shame: My shirt isn't big enough to cover the rolls around my middle. Guilt: I still really want a cheeseburger.

A tall, thin (of course), blonde doctor approached the podium. He was maybe 40 and had probably never had a day where he worried about calories. He started by going over the multiple types of stomach surgery: Lap Band, partial bypass and the full bypass. (I promise one day I will go into details about the many differences between each; its definitely good to know!) His practice only did full bypasses because they had the highest success rate and "lets face it, you don't need to continue to struggle (with weight loss), you need the chance to succeed."

I was scribbling notes away on my paper with the fervor of a college student cramming for finals. There was so much information to absorb but I felt like I didn't have enough time. After the Dr's turn at the microphone, he introduced a panel of guest speakers- all post op. The first to take the floor was a very tall man of about 60. He stood with his strong presence next to a full size cut out of the man that he was only three years before. At his largest, he had tipped the scales at over 400lbs. Next, a small woman of about 45 took the stage (9 years post op) and told of her struggles with infertility and how she ate to cover the pain but it just fed the vicious cycle- "The bigger I got, the more unlikely it was for me to conceive" she said as she wiped tears away from her now chiseled cheek bones. After we journeyed through her past, she introduced us to seven year old son.

At the top of my page I wrote the one single word that was resonating in my mind. "HOPE!"

If they could, so could I. The next step was to schedule an appointment with the skinny Dr and to see if I qualified. Day two of my future concluded on the wings of hope and prayer.

Who is that person in the mirror?

Have you ever had that moment where you suddenly wake up and realize that the you that you've become is not the you that you wanted to be? My moment came in April of 2006 in the form of a pot roast lunch. I was at an Administrative Appreciation Luncheon hosted by my work and was sitting next to a co-worker who was ingesting bite after bite of gravy covered pot roast, potatoes and carrots. She was probably a size ten at the most and I was shocked at her ability to consume the countless calories without it pummeling her mid line like a gallon tub of cottage cheese. As I sat there pushing the wilted lettuce and pale beats of my "healthy" salad around my plate, I began to get frustrated. I was 330lbs and a size 26 and if I even glanced twice at what was on her plate, I would have gained 5lbs on the spot.

I was not 330lbs because I hadn't cared enough to try Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, or the Atkins Diet. I was 330lbs because I had tried these diets and was unable to successfully lose weight while consuming a third of a congealed chicken breast and a quarter cup of slimy rice in a sauce that I could only hope was really the "roasted garlic Marsala" that Jenny claimed it to be. I loved good food and I wasn't willing to give up flavor and enjoyment of food just to lose a few pounds.

A few pounds. What a joke. According to the U.S. standards for a healthy Body Mass Index, or BMI, I had surpassed their recorded "should-be" numbers and was in the 300+ category, otherwise known as Morbidly Obese. In other words, at 25 years old, I was knocking on deaths door.

So as I sat there, envious of the braised beef and wine reduction gravy on the plate next to mine, I mustered up the nerve to question her ability to gorge on greatness. Her response would change my life.
"Promise not to tell anyone?" she whispered. "Totally." I was desperate for her secret. "I had gastric bypass last year. I've lost 95lbs and I am still losing."

Gastric Bypass? Stomach surgery? This gorgeous girl who I was horribly envious of, had at one point looked like me and because of the surgery was now able to eat pot roast and lose weight. It sounded too good to be true and in fact, there was much more to the story than I originally thought, but at the time it was enough to get my attention and set me on a journey towards the first day of the rest of my life.



Beautiful Women Come in All Shapes and Sizes

After losing more than half of my total body weight, people began to ask me for advice and help in their own journeys. I was happy to help but it became clear to me that there are more women out there who struggle with their weight than who don't, and that they come in all shapes, sizes and walks of life. Inspired by the journeys of some of my friends who were sharing their stories on Facebook, and wanting to lose the final 15lbs that I just can't shake, I decided to establish a blog that would bring these women together and would give us all a safe place to vent, share our secrets and tips, and support each other as we each continue to battle those evil calories and pounds.

Those of us who are starting this journey out today range in age, size and are at different points in our weight loss journeys. From the first pound to the final ten, you will see unfold before you our trials and triumphs, our failures and our victories and mostly, our forever support for each other as we travel this life, losing one pound at a time together.