MY weight loss surgery.

My stomach is not made of felt.
|It is now, though, the size of a banana

So I'm 12 days post surgery and much to my annoyance, I'm not yet a size six... this is, quite frankly, a DISGRACE.

But seriously, I am 12 days post surgery and I'm still trying to get my head around the significant change that I chose to make to my life (with assistance from our ever brilliant NHS). I had a sleeve gastrectomy on 16 July. First time having anaesthetic and surgery, and first prolonged stay in hospital since I had meningitis in 1982. I was pretty freaked out by the whole idea of the hospital stay, probably more than the surgery.

I've touched on having weight loss surgery briefly in my blog before. It's something I really hadn't considered before. With my obesity and fertility issues, I was offered the surgery to help with weight loss and then the possible knock on effect from that would be qualifying for IVF.  So I went with it.

It's not as simple as people seem to think, I had to have psychological input before I was approved for the surgery.  And I have a lot of changes to make to my lifestyle.  So I thought I'd write a blog to try to explain a bit about 'my journey' (trust me, I hate that phrase as much as you do, but it's the best way to define it).

This is MY journey, no-one else's.  So to be quite blunt, my opinions are the only ones that matter so therefore:

1. Please don't ask me if I'm hungry, it doesn't help.  I am not a side show circus freak. FYI: ghrelin (the hunger hormone) is produced in the part of the stomach that was removed.

2. In the same way, please don't ask me what I'm eating or if I'm eating.  Quite frankly, that is only the business of me and my dietitian.

3. Keep your expectations of MY weight loss to yourself. I don't want you to tell me that you thought I'd have lost more weight than I have done.  I already have low self esteem so your comments will more than likely hinder my recovery.  

4. Along with physical recovery, I need time for mental recovery too. I have to relearn how to eat (effectively, I'll be relearning how to eat as my friends' baby is learning how to eat, so we can be chow pals).

5. Encouragement is GOOD. If you can encourage me in any way, that would be delightful. If you don't think you can, that's also cool, but I'd ask that you keep your negative comments to yourself please. This can hinder my recovery. 

6. It really isn't 'the easy way out'. As I say, I didn't ask for the surgery, it was offered to me. And I thought long and hard about whether to have it at all. So if you think it's the easy way out, keep that to yourself. Don't tell me eating less and moving more will help me out, I have two underlying health conditions that affect my weight as well as being on antidepressants. So if that's what you want to add to my 'journey', I'd rather you didn't, thanks. I'm well aware people think it's a cheat (including some consultants).  

I am already worrying myself that I haven't lost enough weight in the 12 days since surgery and have already begun branding myself a failure. This is incredibly unhealthy (I am well aware of this) and this way eating disorders lie.  I shall be letting my dietitian and bariatric nurse know how I'm feeling, and they will get me an appointment with the psychologist.   

I have a great support network around me including David, my family and assorted friends and work colleagues.  

So anyway, this blog might be a bit snarky, a bit unfriendly, but I needed to write this because at the moment, I need to concentrate on me and my recovery. If you feel like you need to ask me any of the above, it's probably not going to help me.

Fluffy and over emotional posts will resume soon. 

Tara on: Manning up

It’s the second week of my phased return to work.  Last Mondays ‘having a whole bottle of water poured on me as I got off the bus’ incident is still actually quite raw for me.  Yes, I’m well aware that it could’ve been anyone but feeling so fragile, low and depressed, it just seemed that things like this are destined to happen to me.

Anyway, enough dwelling on that: pull yourself together woman!  Actually, for the first time in my life, after suffering several bouts of depression since my early twenties, during this episode (which has been by far the absolute worst) not one single person has said that to me.  A result?  Well, sort of.  I don’t know if its because society’s attitude to mental health is changing for the better (albeit very very slowly indeed) or possibly that the few folk who had said this to me in the past have since had depressive episodes and have gleaned some empathy for my plight. 

Last week was a challenge for me, mentally and physically.  Having to get up out of bed, knot still in the stomach although not a knot of dread now, more a knot of anxiousness, uncertainty.  Luckily the individual who had caused the atmosphere in work wasn’t in on Monday, so I felt I could breathe.  The clinicians and nurses all seemed genuinely pleased to see me back, asking how I was and if I ever needed to chat yadda yadda.  But, you see, I have this thing inside me that means I can’t really accept compliments…ask anyone who knows me and they’ll tell you.  I’m more adept at handling insults because being a fat, ginger, glasses wearing, braces wearing, guitar playing, quiet bookish kid garnered me so many insults, many of which have carried through to my adult life – the water incident last week, the way my mind works, even though I was upset by what had happened, I felt that somehow I almost deserved it.  You see, during counselling for another bout of depression, I discovered that I can accept insults and the most vile name calling from people (strangers included) because basically, as I have such low self worth, that’s what I think of myself and so if they call me something horrific, it somehow means I’m right.  Does that even make sense?  And yes, I know how fucked up it sounds.

This is why I am so thankful for the psychological input I’m receiving through work.  I’ve really clicked with him and after two sessions, we’ve worked through quite a bit.  When I’m depressed, the self esteem side or ‘my dark side’ is a lot stronger.  She comes out and sabotages any good feelings that I have.  On a trip to Skye with friends back in April, she appeared to me when we went on a walk along some hills and crags.  She was trying to persuade me to jump…I was almost persuaded… it was horrible.

So, anyway, I’m progressing.  The mixture of psychological input, the right dosage of medication and the support of so many wonderful human beings, family and friends, here, overseas or online is doing me good.  I’ve been so completely overwhelmed by the amount of support I’ve received from people…so many lovely comments and invitations to stay with people, so much support.  All this is very slowly making me think, I can’t be that bad, can I?