I was born pre-mature at 5 pounds 10 ounces.  Probably the only time I was underweight.  The doctor told my mom I would have a hard time eating and not to be alarmed if I had very little appetite for milk.  Boy, he was wrong.  My mom says now that I was just born loving food.  She says I “went to town” with that milk.  I hope my mom’s nipple has since recovered.

And then there’s the story of when I stole my sister’s Happy Meal and hid it in my crib.  I guess food made me feel safe even at a young age.  My mom and sister found the food from my sister’s Happy Meal tucked underneath my baby blankets.  They couldn’t believe it.  Again, addicts are smart little creatures.  Even before they are fully developed.  My family says I finally learned how to walk when my sister held a chocolate chip cookie in front of her.  I’m surprised I didn’t run toward her.

This is all to say that looking back on my life, food has always been important to me.  It’s probably difficult for some people to understand this.  I mean, everyone has to eat!  The world can be divided into two types of people.  Those who eat to live and those who live to eat.  I, would obviously, fall into the second category.  

For AS LONG AS I CAN REMEMBER I have been overweight.  This was all cute and dandy when I was little.  Chubby, adorable, curly-headed.  What could be any cuter?  Maybe a puppy in a basket.  But anyway, I was really, really cute.  Chubbiness is cute when you’re as tall as an Elf.      

But twenty years later it just stops being cute.

I went to my first nutritionist when I was about nine.  She was this really sweet lady but she didn’t teach me much.  We did used to go on an annual lunch trip where we’d get picked up in a limo.  But as far as I remember, I didn’t learn much except that Limo’s are really big and a lot of fun!

Then there was Weight Watchers.  Three times.  And Jenny Craig.  Twice.  And LA Weight Loss.  And a medically supervised HMR diet.  And Atkins.  And Vegetarianism.  Mind you – going from the Atkins diet to being a Vegetarian is like going from being a Preacher to an Atheist.  I joined LA Fitness and have had two personal trainers in my time.  I’ve gotten my thyroid checked and countless amounts of blood work.  After all these years and so many failed attempts – I FINALLY had one answer to why I am A)  Overweight and B) Have SUCH a difficult time losing weight.  Last year my OB-GYN diagnosed me with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS).  In short, it’s a condition where I have cysts on my ovaries and this, in effect, causes my metabolism and insulin levels to be totally out of whack.  There is a lot of debate on PCOS – how it’s formed and why.  Who has it?  And if you get it because you are overweight or if you are overweight because you have it.  Sort of like – which came first, the chicken or the egg?  Either way, I have it.  And it explains SO MUCH as to why I diet and diet and diet and exercise and hardly ever see major results.

In my lifetime, I have had a lot of great things going for me.  I’ve never felt as though my weight *really gets in the way of my life.  I have a lot of friends.  I do good at work.  I am creative.  I have a lot of dreams and ambition and energy.  I’ve always been a “big” person – big dreams.  Big goals.  Big personality.  Big sense of humor.  Big creativity.  Big emotions.  Big heart. Big hair!  Everything I do I tend to do full force.  That’s just who I am at my core.

So, I always just sort of accepted my being overweight as just being ‘who I am.’  But as some time has gone on, I’ve realized that my weight does get in the way of a few things.  For one, I LOVE the outdoors.  And on more than one occasion, hiking or whitewater rafting or jet-skiing have been harder than they should be simply because of my size.  

I think the turning point really came last Christmas.  I was in the Bahamas with my family and my sister and I decided to go jet skiing in the ocean.  It was so much fun.  I was driving, and naturally, I was being fun and unpredictable.  But at one wrong turn, we flipped the jet ski and fell into the water.  We were pretty far out in the ocean.  At first it was sort funny and my sister and I were laughing as she pulled herself back onto the jet ski.  Well, her 5′ 4″ petite frame caused her no problem to just pull herself on.  I still wonder how our genetics are so different if we come from the same parents.  But anyway…It was my turn to get on the jet ski and I just couldn’t get back on.  At first it was embarrassing.  Then it was frightening.  I realized that I was bobbing in the middle of the ocean and absolutely could not pull myself up on the damn jet ski.  When you’re in panic mode, your mind starts to race.  ”What if a shark comes?”  ”What if I drown?”  That would really suck!  It sounds silly, but I’ll tell you – when you’re scared you’ll think of *anything to get your ass to a safe place.  My adrenaline was pumping and my heart was beating out of my chest.  The life jacket was weighing me down with a lot of water and the jet ski was so slippery.  Whoever thought it was a good idea to put a tiny handle on the back of a jet ski as the way to get back on does not get my vote for ergonomic inventor of the year award.  But the majority of my problem was that I knew I couldn’t get back on the jet ski because my body was carrying extra weight that was NOT water.  I would get half way upon the jet ski and then just slide off.  There were thousands of feet of bottomless ocean below me and nothing to push off from using my legs.  It was only up to my upper body that was being weighed down by my life jacket and my body weight and my exhausted arms and total panic.  

The most frustrating thing was that I KNEW mentally I c
ould get on.  But I was yelling, “I can’t!  I can’t get back on!” because physically I just couldn’t get on.  And my petite sister was helping me as much as she could but I didn’t want to pull her in with me.  

The mind-body connection is amazing.  It is very frightening when your mind and body aren’t on the same page.  

Eventually, the guy who rented out the jet ski saw that ours was stopped and came out to help us.  He was able to pull me back up onto the jet ski and I sat behind him as he zoomed and rode me back to shore.  He wanted me to call him his “Bahama Papa” and I think was getting an erection while I was holding onto him and we were pouncing over the waves.  But I was just so happy to be back on the damn jet ski I didn’t care.  Utter relief can cause you to be okay calling just about anyone your “Bahama Papa.”

From December to June I did Jenny Craig & Weight Watchers.  The experience really made me serious about getting my weight off.  But, just like my old failed attempts, this was no different.  Not because I am a failure, but because these diets just don’t work well with my PCOS.  I talked to my doctor and he thought I needed something more intense.  Not that I wasn’t sticking to my diets – but I needed an iron fist.  It’s hard after so many failed attempts to just start to give up hope.  So, in June I was at the beach with my family and finally decided to start researching weight loss surgery.  This is how the next part of my journey had begun…