I got fat
I got fat.
I can almost hear the gasps echoing throughout the online community. We’re so afraid to say that word.
“Oh, no, sweetie, you’re not fat!”
I had hit 280 pounds – at 5′ 8.75″, that’s considered obese, albeit not morbidly obese – but obese just the same.
“You’re just big boned!”
Actually, no, under all this excessive poundage, is a small frame screaming from the pain. While I’m tall, my frame is small. Not a big bone anywhere on this body. No, I am not big boned. I am fat. It hurts my hips; my neck throbs at times down into my shoulders from the weight of my breasts. Sometimes it just hurts in undeterminable places. Fat hurts.
I could sit and tick off to you the reasons I got fat. I had three babies, I was on antidepressants for anxiety. Buffy The Vampire Slayer ended. My ovaries are bipolar and create havoc in my endocrine system. The reasons are numerous, the excuses are endless. It all comes down to a bottom line.
1. I stopped caring what I looked like.
2. I decided I was invisible.
3. I stopped moving.
I went to the doctor and inquired about the gastric bypass. Show me the magic.
“Your BMI is not high enough,” he informed me.
“Okay, you can go get fatter to qualify, or do something else. How about a pill? Let’s send you to the cardiologist first; we don’t want to send you into cardiac arrest by speeding up your metabolism.”
“Excuse me, Doc, I’m a baby elephant.”
“Sorry, you are 15 pounds under the bottom line and you don’t have significant health issues to warrant a gastric bypass.”
My good cholesterol was down. Luckily bad was not up. Sugar was slightly elevated. There was so little Vitamin D in my body, the doctor asked me if I was freelancing as a vampire. That conversation, I informed him, I will save for my gynecologist.
I was a mess. However I was not enough of a mess to warrant medical intervention.
Doc shrugged. “Just do it kid.”
So I started walking. I walked and walked and walked and walked. I walked to work, I walked to the store. From there, it broke into a jog. Slowly but steadily, it started coming off. The pain started to subside. I could breathe better. My anxiety was coming under control.
I lost a total of 62 pounds before I rested on my laurels. I have stayed at 62 pounds lost for three months. I am considerably smaller than my starting point. In my house sixty two pounds is the equivilent of the smallest child. I took a good look at myself in the mirror recently. A furry gray sweater I’d bought draped loosely around my reduced, but still not optimally healthy, frame.
“I look like a muppet corpse!” I screamed in horror to several individuals of significance in my life. They laughed at me – wait, no, it was with me.
So, here we go on what I consider to be the second half of this journey. The interim of the process has yielded me these facts.
1. I am not invisible.
2. I have the ability to reach my full physical potential.
3. There is freedom in movement.
It’s okay to call me fat. Bring my tiny bones into this and it is on!