Thanks, Doc.

Yesterday I went home from the doctor’s with a wide smile on my face and a feeling of accomplished world conquest in my chest. This doctor’s visit was well worth its 20 Shekels and the 30 minute walk because apparently, the practice was not “just next to the mall” after all.

I went to see endocrinologist Dr. B. because I was starting to suspect my thyroid to be behind my body’s refusal to shed those pounds. Thanks to radical self acceptance activists’ sites like The Militant Baker or The Body is not an Apology, and the realization that all women, no matter what their weight, are raised to feel some kind of insecurity, I had already not just made peace with, but learned to love my body. Which changed not only my perception of my body, but of everything around it, too.
But I still want to know why I had to miss out on everything for hating my body for so long. Just ,why. After all, a gastric bypass did nothing, atkins combined with extreme gym-hitting and daily hours of swimming did nothing, a month-long attempt at pro-ana did nothing, nothing did anything. I only lose weight when I’m not even trying to, and shoveling McDonald’s, Snickers, and coke for lack of time to cook. Yet my body has, for the last 12 years or more, kept returning to the same weight over and over. So, why?
After I’d ordered eltroxin off eBay to see how my thyroid responds, and finding that I lost a bit of weight and felt better overall, I took these findings and my questions to Dr. B. A doctor who is among the rare gems of doctors who don’t dump all of your health problems on your weight, or dismiss them to tell you to get skinny instead. Because that attitude is an atrocity. “Doc, I have mood swings and suicidal thoughts that terrify me.” – “Yeah but first, here’s a referral to a dietitian.”… “I can’t turn my neck without excrucia–” – “What have you tried in terms of weightloss?”… “Doctor, please check my pelvis and hormones, I’m just not getting pregnant.” – “Lose the weight and you will.”… “Doctor, I suffer from migraine and falling asleep uncontrollably.” – “Yes, and here’s the card of a dietitian so we can make you look a little more appetizing.” (the latter were the exact words of the school doctor, a woman no less, when I was 14, and I think her head needs to roll for crushing what little self-love is left in an insecure fat teenage girl, with her choice of words).

Dr. B however, took a good look at my blood work, my med history, and at me, and said: “Nope, your thyroid is normal.” After several questions, answers, and theories, Dr. B said what all those “I bash fatties because they’re unhealthy” people out there should let sink in deep:

“Though, look. I’ve seen your bloodwork and your medical history. I’m looking at you. You’re not at any risk, your stats are good. You are what’s called healthy obese. You don’t need to lose weight.”

Oh yes.

Advertisements

To Guy Nr. 5,000,000

No, you didn’t deeply hurt my delicate feelings. But you did strike a nerve. My “Come the fuck on, not that again”-nerve.

So on one dating site, the one where you can communicate without paying, I met a guy who seemed nice enough, also handsome, and apparently, interested. Contact died down for a few days, which was okay because I’m in the middle of a 1-girl-move where I’m mostly busy and exhausted hauling my possessions from one place to another by bus.
I do so in spite of there being some 30 extra kilos on my hips weighing me down. I do so in spite of having less stamina than fit (not: slim) people. I do so because I’ve always been pretty much on my own and learned not to rely on others too much. Now, as per social experiments conducted with consideration for the repeatability factor, had I been a slim, delicate-looking, petite little creature, passers-by would have volunteered to help every step of the way as they saw me with a table in my hands, a backpack on my back, and a shopping cart strapped over my shoulder. But I’m fat. So somehow, according to the public’s strange attitude, I don’t qualify for help. Finally, the neighbor’s gentleman kid offered to take my trolley up the stairs, but I could do that last bit on my own. Too.

Now this guy, after a few days of radio silence, writes back. I’m thinking I’m gonna propose a date that somehow includes my possessions in his car/on his back. Well, long story short, no. I think he wants to sell me Herbalife. And the next criminal trying to leech money off me with that disgusting poison, I swear to God, I will make them watch while I barbecue their children and eat them while they’re still screaming. Because I like to eat quality food. I am a foodie. A gourmet. I don’t eat much, but when I do, it needs to rock.
He basically tells me that he had not paid much attention to what I had entered in the basic info of my profile: I’m full-figured. So now it came to his attention, and he decided to bring it to mine. Because I care so much that he is put off by my being fat. Oh wait, I don’t. What I do care about, is that this is a symptom of the cancer in our societies. We are brainwashed into thinking that “fat” is the worst a woman can be. An ugly face? Fine. A stupid, loud mouth? Fine. Unfaithful? Fine. A gold-digging whore who marries so she doesn’t have to earn her own money? Fine. Fat? “Now listen, I would like you if…”.

Because, now he tells me that if I lost some weight, I’d look a lot better. And I’m sure that’s true. But (1), I’m fine. But (2), then he’s like, “You can easily…”. No. I can not “easily”, I tried, and under doctors’ supervision did everything right, and still only lost 10% of what other people lost on the same programs (plural), so shut the fuck up. If everyone “could easily” lose weight, I doubt a whole lot of people would choose to stay fat and get so much hate and disrespect from society. It’s like being gay. The proof that being gay isn’t a choice, lies in the fact that nobody in their right mind would choose to be gay in such a hateful, homophobic environment.

First of all, while not very photogenic, I look good enough. I have what’s called an hour-glass shape, and let’s not get started on my face. But it doesn’t even matter. Because this body, is mine. Even if I got married and had children, it’d still be mine. I don’t owe anyone to look a way they like, not even my husband. Which this guy, just like the 4,999,999 others telling me to lose weight, is not.  I don’t buy that beauty/ugliness is on the inside. I do know looks matter. However, there is no one right way to look. I have seen many fat girls who looked better than many slim girls, and vice-versa. One person likes this, the other person likes that. This is what made me realize, when it comes to apearance, it’s okay to be fat and even a little insecure about it – because most girls are insecure to an extent. Even the prettiest model will pull the sheets over herself in the presence of the guy she just had sex with. We are taught insecurity. We are taught to obsess about our looks, and guys are taught to pick a woman by how presentable she looks to his dumb friends. Because men, too, are taught insecurity: “Is my girlfriend hot enough, or will the bros tease me?”. Who cares as long as you enjoy boning her? I know my weight is one factor in why I’m still single. On the other hand, it is by far not the only one. I’ve seen women, fatter than myself, getting married to handsome, smart, “quality” men.

I have been hit on by many men who are shorter than me, or bald. These are two things I simply am not attracted to at all. And that’s just as okay as someone not being attracted to fat chicks. However, it would never, ever, occur to me to tell them: “Yeah, I’ll give you a try, but only if you get leg extension surgery/hair implants”. Unless they dare tell me do something about the weight.
Because let’s face it. Men complaining that I’m fat, aren’t worried about my health, but about how my appearance graces them. And actually, the leg extension or the implants may just be less tortorous than losing a significant amount of weight. All you have to do, is lie down with the doctor and pay. then recover, and you’re all set. Weightloss is so much more difficult, and so much less pleasant. Weightloss is suffering. It’s exhausting, it’s depriving, it’s no fun to be obsessing all day about the question: if I do this or eat that, how will this affect my ass? It’s an oxymoron. They tell you to be slim in order to be happy, but how does obsessing and depriving and exhausting yourself over your weight, make you happy?

Hence, no. I will not give that bald dude or that short guy a chance, because he, just like I, deserves to be accepted the way he is, or left alone to remain free to find a true match, not a “Painfully change what you’ve been all your life until I came along and didn’t like it”-match. I will tell him I’m not interested, if I tell him anything, and let him move on. This is the only right way to handle someone whose exterior doesn’t appeal to you. For clarity: telling someone to change, is the wrong way. I am healthy, I am beautiful, I get laid, and I refuse to sacrifice any more of my precious life to suffering from one desperate weightloss attempt to another.
This guy used the term “ideal weight”. What is that? Who determines that? Mr. BMI? I’m sorry, I thought a person should have more authority than a math scheme. My life will not be controlled by numbers, not the numbers the BMI-God throws at me, not the numbers I see when I step on the scale, and not the numbers of inches a man is shorter than me, because I care about none of them. I did for most of my life, and I realize now, painfully, how much I missed out, not by being fat, but by behaving the way society tells fat people to behave: “hide, and don’t have fun because a fat chick dancing isn’t a pretty sight”. I have near-literally tried everything. Restrictive diets, pro-ana diets, diet products, the Herbalife scam, diet pills, hours of exercise and swimming, the adjustable gastric band (which helped me lose 50 kilos, then the weight stagnated on the same mark give or take 15 kilos exactly, strangely), and then, the biggest mistake of them all, the gastric bypass. And when I think about it, I already eat less, and healthier, than many of my slimmer friends. It’s probably not a nutrition issue at all. So stop preaching at me that I could “easily lose” a few more pounds. I can not. And if I could, I would still not suffer to do so. I’ll be happy to lose some weight through activities I enjoy, but will I force myself to skip that dessert or to walk myself dizzy on that treadmill? Hell no. I am done suffering, and he who wants me to suffer so I’m more pleasing to look at to others, does not love me and has as little a place in my life as his opinion has worth. My life has been about suffering and trying twice as hard to get half as much, for too long. No more.

Honestly? Fuck every last one of you, no matter who you are. I’m sure you’re good people with good intentions, but shut up. If my big butt means more to you than any of my other qualities and flaws – and I have “bigger” flaws than my ass if you were to look past that – then I guess I – *I* – mean less to you than my weight does. And that is not a relationship I wish to entertain. I’m fat. I will probably always be fat. And that is okay. My weight is one of many things that partially define me. My weight is not the main, nor the only thing, that defines me. Just as your lack of a chin, your receding hairline, or your short penis, doesn’t define you.

Here’s how to handle a potential date whose appearance has a flaw: take it or leave it.

Image

Dear all Men.

Dear all men.

When you want a woman to change her appearance before she expects to have a chance with you, please do the following:
-have your legs broken and rearranged so you’re tall enough to fit our expectations of the ideal man. Most women like their men taller than themselves. If the Chinese can do it, so can you. Yeah it’s painful, but so is dieting.
-lose some fucking weight yourselves. If it can be expected from us, it can be expected from you. Fat men are not better looking than fat women, and I don’t wanna date one.
-get your bald spot treated with some hair implants. If a woman can be expected to fix her body hair, you can be expected to fix your head hair. Yeah it hurts, but so does waxing and lasering our legs, asses, and armpits.
-get your random tattoos removed, they’re fucking ugly. If you can expect a woman to wear chemicals on her face, you can be expected to remove chemicals from your arm. Yeah, it costs money, but so do Vichy and Garnier.
-get a circumcision. You think a woman’s unwashed cooch is disgusting? Well a) you don’t have to lick it, b) look under your own skin flaps. You could sell that cheese 1 pound a week.
-get a 6-pack implanted. If implants are a reasonable demand to make of flat women, I think it’s only fair we get to demand a skinny guy to get some abs, fake or not. Oh, you’re scared of the surgery? Every time I go under the knife, I update my will in case I don’t wake up, and picture nice things so I don’t have nightmares during the anesthesia. I’ve had 6 surgeries and it never gets any less scary or dangerous, assholes.
-stop smoking and drinking. You think not finding the right hole underneath her fat rolls is annoying? Try being kissed by tobacco breath, or cum with the taste of beer. Oh and shave your balls, I really hate pubes in my mouth.

Every surgery is painful, every anesthesia is potentially life-threatening. A gastric bypass can destroy your life and leave you handicapped and miserable forever. Make-up can ruin our skin. Diets are torture and unreasonable considering their’re hardly natural or what our bodies want.
Women put themselves through these nightmares so YOU accept us. While all you do, is sit around, wait for dinner to be ready, and hope for sex. You think you deserve a batch for suffering through her shopping sprees or stupid romance movies. You think you’re great guys just for suffering through her PMS mood swings. I bet none of you is willing to go through the same troubles to be accepted by a woman, as you expect women to go through. How about you only expect from a woman as much as she can expect from you?

Gastric Bypass – My Experience

I had a gastric bypass (roux-en-y) operation at age 27, on February 17, 2010, in Brussels, Belgium, at a certified and well-respected hospital. I was treated beyond well by nurses and staff who took my meltdowns with smiles and humor and were shocked when I offered a tip. A very funny memory was when I was just off with my blood drainage bag and my visiting friends to sneak into the morgue, and a nurse came with my antibiotics or whatever shot as I left, and just stabbed me in the belly with it as she walked by. This is not a complaint; I actually thought it was funny and time-saving.

Dr. Staudt was my bypass surgeon. He explained the procedure to me and seemed very friendly, yet I should not have blindly trusted him to fully inform me. He said nothing of side effects except the usual surgery risks and a change in diet. He didn’t go into details about the unreasonably strict and restrictive diet that would make you skinny even without the surgery, until after I woke up from the latter; and said nothing about any of these things I am experiencing on a near-daily basis:

-digestive problems, and I mean severe and bothersome
-outbursts of sweat and weakness, called “dumping”, but not just when expectable
-lactose intolerance in all its glory, especially after milk on an empty stomach, aka the end of morning cereal. I can binge on dairy once I’ve eaten something else though, this usually being carbs.
-random adverse reactions to sugar: feeling sleepy and sick and dying with a tad too much, or waking up with a cold sweat and dizziness at 3 am because I need sugar at once
-random adverse reactions to fat: feeling sick and awful with too much on some days, and like I could keep eating forever on others.
-extreme cravings for carbonhydrates. I often set out with the specific urge for a specific dough product
-extreme cravings for apples. Apples save me from all sugar high or sugar low episodes.
-no weight loss
-random weight: 3 kilos DOWN in a week after eating only junk food and lots of it, or 10 kilos UP in a month for reasons yet unknown to me as my daily schedule has changed, yet not my eating habits
-fatigue in spite of vitamin supplements
-massive hair loss that does NOT end after a few months; I shed my hair all over the place until I had no choice but to shave my head completely and let nature decide how to proceed with my hair from there onward

Let me elaborate on my sugar episodes. Aside from a cold sweat, dizziness, and needing to sit down, it makes me sleepy for hours. It causes delusions, fear, rage, and PMS-like mood swings. I have had suicidal or rage episodes on post-OP sugar highs and lows. If outside, I would find myself walking very fast (I don’t imagine it; my dog will have trouble keeping up and tires quickly) and as if in a haze, an aquarium, my senses impaired, sounds muffled, sight oversensitive or blurry, and feeling like a cold wind in my head and chest. I would get angry, suicidal thoughts, become aggressive, and start getting scared of being unable to slow down or stop walking. I feel like I’m walking unsteadily or even swaying, with no ground under my feet, feeling light, though I never trip or get glances; every such walk ends without incident. It’s like a huge bad rush of some drug, though I never tried any. It’s more confusing than buzzing on alcohol. I have had manic depressive tendencies, “sorts of” ADHD, OCD, and Borderline before the operation, but they were under control and I have found a pattern in my sugar consumption and these specific episodes. The episodes coincide with only 2 things: PMS once a month, and sugar swings at any other time of the month.
I recently woke up sweaty. Mind you, I was sleeping naked in winter with only 1 blanket. Sweat was pooling on my clavicle. The next morning it had formed thick crumbs in the back of my neck. That’s how bad it was. Dizzy and confused, I was guided as if by instinct or magical pulling toward the fruit bowl where I grabbed 2 apples, a banana, and devoured them within 2 minutes; everything happened so fast and with such urgency as if my life depended on it. The episode was over and I feel asleep right away. I remember being unable to think straight, with just 1 thought: APPLE! Whenever I feel queasy, ill, or dizzy, I grab an apple of the soft, sweet, yellowish kind.

I have never experienced the “dramatic weight loss”. I have never experienced the lack of hunger or the promised mental aversion to sweets. The fear of dumping syndrome may be what they meant, but it does not help as I rarely experience it with the most unhealthy stuff: chips, chocolate, and pizza.
Yeah, sometimes I randomly lose weight very fast, but without significant changes in eating or exercising behavior, and it just returns as fast as it dropped. I can eat large amounts of food including red meat at once with little more than a stomach ache to punish me. I don’t “feel full, fast”. I need to overdo it and let it sit first.
My weight now not much lower than pre-OP. I weighted much less at some point, but it came back over the course of a few weeks and is now hard to lose. The window of “dramatic weight loss” has closed while the side effects will be permanent, rendering me permanently disgusting and undesirable. I need to keep eating to keep my energy up, but random mistakes in quantity and timing of fat or sugar can ruin my day. Too little? Feel crappy. Too much? Feel crappy. Right amount? Random.

Some of the digestive issues can be sort of avoided by avoiding onions at all times, and dairy on an empty stomach. Yet, how am I to function at work without my morning coffee that I hate without milk?
For the digestion I was told to try Psyllium as a supplement. It helps a little but not satisfyingly or reliably and the most effective preparation is one that will make you gag no matter how you take it. Integrating it in an egg omelette helps, but still… Also, it’s ridiculously expensive. The life long vitamin supplements make for a regular hassle at the doctor’s without helping much and most of the time I disqualify to donate blood. Also, having ADHD(-like issues 24/7, never diagnosed but pretty obvious) who will remind me to take them? Hm?

The bypass is supposed to make you skinny AND healthy. It’s supposed to save you diseases to be medicated. Yet – you have to permanently medicate, and permanently suffer side effects. The bypass is a cure for one ailment, while creating another. I frankly don’t give a fuck whether I’m sugar-ill from diabetes or bypass. I don’t give a fuck whether I’m tired all the time from being too fat to endure, or from being malnurished by the bypass. I don’t give a fuck whether men reject me because of my fat ass, or my digestive issues (and I still have a fat ass). The bypass solved nothing other than allowing me to return to fresh produce after the stomach band that I lost more weight with in the first 12 months than I did with the bypass in 2 years. I lost 50 kilos with the band. Yeah, I puked all the time and couldn’t stomach fresh stuff, but thinking back, until it stopped working, at least IT FUCKING WORKED!!!

I’m miserable and none the skinnier. I am still fat, yet now I am also sporting a buzz cut what with the hair loss, and I feel gross a lot of the time – the bypass has made me the opposite of more attractive.

Advantages:
-having had a gastric band for the 10 years leading up to the bypass, I could never deal with fresh produce because somehow it made me throw up and clogged my stomach; now I can eat fresh produce meaning I eat much healthier and can refrain from fattening juices or shakes because I can eat actual apples. I enjoy meat in its fresh and nutricious form rather than the minced crap in burgers.
I can no longer vomit. I can eat red meat and sit at the restaurant with people without having to run and purge all the time for food trying to burst out of my nose. A problem with the gastric band. I also puked in my sleep or in a doubled-over position. It would just run out my nose. Though, is it a good thing to actually be unable to puke..?
-I tried.

What seems to help a bit:
-Psyllium for the bowel
-lots and lots of protein, but watch your cholesterol with those eggs and mind the lactose intolerance…
-exercise, though mostly it’s been disappointing. Just saying, it helps a little. I walk a lot, my city is built on a steep hill, but still, little effect.
-strangely, I tend to lose more when I care less about what I eat (not: how much)
-4 Snickers bars a day in addition to a diet of mostly produce. No kidding.

Killers:
-Soda
-Diary on an empty stomach
-Fat or sugar on an empty or very full stomach
-Onions (gas)
-Pizza and crackers (specifically; some carbs are okay)
-Coffee (makes me extra hungry, like PAINFULLY hungry and feeling a chilly wind in my gut)

Bottom line:
I fucking regret it and I want to die.