I believe in voting, sexy shoes, a great handbag(s), naps, walking, yoga, quality vs. quantity, laughing loudly, dancing wildly, kissing often and I believe in bariatric surgery… But it wasn’t always that way…

 In February 2004 I had one of the most demoralizing nights of my life. I went to a black-tie event to support a friend. It was pouring rain—and I had a fever. I should have stayed home, but I didn’t want to disappoint my friend, so I met my glam posse at the hotel… only to realize that I hadn’t brought the slip for the sheer dress that the good people at Torrid had sent for me to wear on the red carpet. I was in the middle of Beverly Hills—but miles from anything plus-sized.

I usually felt worse on the inside than I looked on the outside, because as a fat girl who grew up in Southern California and the daughter of an alcoholic, I knew how to keep it together on the outside even when all hell was breaking loose inside. But that night I looked as bad as I felt. Yet, I strutted down that red carpet in my size 32, see-through dress with every roll, stretch mark and dimple on display, smiling and posing for the cameras like I was on top of the world. But I was sick, and inside I was dying.

The next day my cough and my fever were worse. I went to see my doctor. It was the kind of bright, sunny So-Cal day that makes most people happy, but it just made me mad and sweaty. I took great care with my hair and makeup. I looked cute in my bathroom mirror, but by the time I crossed the parking lot from my car to my doctor’s office, I was a sweaty mess.

The waiting room was full of skinny chairs and skinny people. I began to cough uncontrollably as I signed in. I realized there was nowhere for me to sit, so I put my sunglasses on and leaned against a wall, trying to maintain a veneer of dignity while I continually shifted my weight to take the pressure off of my joints, and sweated. 

My doctor, all 110 pounds of her “naturally high-metabolism” self, is a lovely and brilliant woman, but seeing her always came at a high emotional price, because it meant a confrontation with my life-long nemesis: the rickety medical scale—the metal beast. When it was my turn for an examination, Dr. Sarang bounced in… shivering. “Great to see you, Jackie! It’s freezing in here!” She was cold. I haven’t been cold since I went snow skiing in the 7^th grade. She was shivering. I was dripping with sweat.

“Let’s get your vitals done so we can figure out what’s going on. Still smoking?” Oh crap! “Yes, but I’m cutting back and planning to quit soon.” I surprised even myself with that answer, since it was news to me as much as it was news to her. As if on cue, I began to cough. “That does not sound good.” She took my temperature, looked in my ears, my throat, up my nose… thumped on my back, listened to my chest, checked my blood pressure. “Blood pressure is a little higher than I’d like it.” She listened to my pulse. “Okay, hop up onto the scale for me.”

I got up with the grace of a drunk staggering from a curb. “What hurts?” Dr. Sarang asked. I explained, trying to distract her from the metal beast as she moved the markers from 150 to 200 to 250 to … Oh my God … 308 pounds! She said, “If you don’t get a handle on your weight, it is going to seriously affect the quality of your life.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I surprised myself as I began to sob. I was trapped. I was a caged animal. I couldn’t breathe. I surprised myself again as I heard myself saying, “I’ve been on every stupid, crap diet in the world and it’s always the same thing; I spend time, money and energy, starve myself, deprive myself, feel terrible, lose weight and then gain it all back plus more. It’s exhausting and depressing and I’m so tired. You have to help me. What is wrong with me? I’ll do anything. I’ll fast, take shots, shakes, whatever it takes—just please help me.”

I expected her to recommend some new diet program, but what she said changed my life: “Have you ever considered bariatric surgery?” “You mean stomach stapling?” I replied. “Well, that’s inaccurate and crude, but yes, that’s the idea,” she said. I was horrified. Dr. Sarang thinks I’m such a loser that I would take the easy way out and get my stomach stapled? She sent me home to rest and research. Aside from achy joints, high blood pressure and being told that I was morbidly obese, I also had a case of walking pneumonia. 

There were three significant problems with my thinking back then. First, like most people I was ignorant. I thought there was something wrong with me because I was fat. I didn’t realize that obesity is a disease. Second, my “knowledge” about bariatric surgery was also ignorant—it came from tabloid media and people’s opinions rather than facts. Third, I kept doing the same thing expecting a different result—and that’s the definition of insanity.

I spent that night scouring the internet for information on obesity and I realized that I could be cured. Obesity killed my aunt—it kills one person every 47 minutes—but obesity is preventable and it is curable. I read, I thought and I began to seriously consider bariatric surgery.

After many weeks of research, attendance at support group meetings, talking with WLS veterans and surgeons, nutritionists and obsessively looking at people’s before-and-after photos—proof that miracles happen—on April 14, 2004 I underwent laparoscopic Roux-en-Y gastric bypass surgery at Cedars Sinai Hospital with Dr. Phillipe Quillicci.

I have lost 173 pounds and gone from a size 32 to a size 2. I have kept my weight off for more than three years! I love my life. I wake up every day pain-free; my blood pressure is perfect; my labs are perfect. My husband and I regularly exercise together—and now I love to sweat. I eat less, sleep less, complain less, worry less, stress less, fear less and need less. All of these things are miracles—miracles of WLS.

 Too many people think of WLS as a one-stop-chop-shop or carwash where you go in at 308 pounds and come out at 135 with a perfect life. Nothing could be further from the truth. You take yourself everywhere you go. WLS is not a cure for bad habits, bad relationships, addictions, negative people, obnoxious bosses or high gas prices. WLS is a valuable and effective tool when used correctly, but it’s not magic. WLS is one of the best things I’ve ever done but it is also the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

I believe that I am a better person today, but not because I’m thin… because I’m stronger, healthier, wiser and more productive. I believe in miracles, and…I absolutely, positively believe in weight loss surgery!