The (Not So) Skinny on Me
Hi. My name is Vanessa. I'm 29 years old. I'm a Black female living in South Texas, and I work as a home health care aide. It's hard sometimes, but I basically get paid to hang out with one of the most awesome people on Earth, and help them navigate through their daily life.
Also, while I am facing many challenges, I am grateful to be alive.
That is because I almost died last year.
In March 2016, I was in a medically induced coma for two weeks after complications from gastric bypass weight loss surgery. When I woke up, all I could see (after the blurriness wore off) was my grief-stricken mother, bursting into tears of joy because I could finally open my eyes and hold her hand. I can't imagine how hard that must have been for her. Ever.
No one ever told me how or why it happened to this day.
Complications from weight loss surgery happen all the time. This is from the Mayo Clinic. It's why you sign a million forms the day you register for surgery (mine was done the day before). Yet you assume the risk anyway, as I did. Willingly and voluntarily. No one held a gun or knife to my head at all in the hospital.
Yet everything in my life for over 20 years told me in no uncertain terms that I was basically unacceptable. My family (even though most of them are overweight or obese themselves), school mates, teachers (sad, but true), doctors (especially so), and even my own clothes told me that I didn't fit in. I just wasn't cutting it in life, despite the fact that I was an honor student my whole life, never partied or got pregnant early, never tried to sneak out of the house, or even had a single date (I went to prom by myself, okay), graduated third in my high school class and got accepted to a prestigious private liberal arts university four hours away from home. I just wasn't good enough. I wasn't useful to anyone anymore. And that's a hard truth to realize when you're in your twenties. But it happens.
When my jeans don't button up or my shirt is cutting off the circulation in my neck and arms, and I'm already pushing it hardcore at a size 26/28, going up a bigger size is not always an option and something is definitely wrong. And after being harassed constantly and being told every day and every night by some reasonably concerned person that I just need to "try harder and lose weight", for over 20 years, you're damn right I'm going to do something about it. Hence gastric bypass!
So I spent the past few years doing my research. I can't go into specifics, but given my current socioeconomic status and a ton of student loan debt (thank you, higher education!), I had to cut a LOT of corners. So all of the complications and negative emotions that I'm experiencing are my own fault. Maybe I should have waited and saved up the over $10,000 and chosen a better facility, instead of going through the ringer with Medicaid. It took over a year of primary care visits, nutritionist meetings, therapist visits (which I was doing before, but are necessary pre and post surgery--you can't get approval for WLS without a therapist's letter), tests and exams, labs, and sleep studies (I was put on a CPAP the same night of the initial study!) before they would even touch my case. Oh, and my BMI (Body Mass Index) was a 60, so I definitely was considered obese and the ideal candidate for gastric bypass.
Yeah. This may very well be my fault. However, hindsight is 20/20, and I'm probably preaching to the weight loss choir. There's no such thing as a free lunch, and even if it is, you're probably going to get food poisoning. Just saying.
But let the record show...I don't want sympathy here. That's the last thing I want. I don't expect you to feel sorry for me. Please don't. I'm just owning up to my stupidity and choices and telling my story. That's it. Take it or leave it. I'm holding the door open for your right now. I do not hold anyone hostage in my life, on or offline. You don't have to debate about whether you should stay or go with me. If you have any doubts at all about me, please just save us both the time and misery and just leave now. Thank you for your time, and goodbye. Peace always!
If you have made it this far, and you are still here, whether out of compassion or curiosity (or a mix of both), then thank you. But you were warned. If I upset you after this point, I'm sorry. But I am not holding you to this site against your will, okay? Got it? Good. Moving on.....
I've seen many doctors since I left the hospital in April 2016. What was supposed to take three days or so at the most took actually over three weeks of inpatient recovery, including respiratory (yuck!) and physical therapy. Yes. Physical therapy. I could not walk after surgery, much less get out of bed to use the bathroom, which is actually the FIRST thing that the staff asks you to do in order to prevent blood clots. If you've ever seen an episode of My 600-lb Life, then you know what I am talking about. So yeah. But I had partial paralysis and diabetic neuropathy. I couldn't even feel my feet most of the time. They were tingly, yet numb at the same time.
On the bright side, coming home, I had a cute in-home physical therapist (wish I'd gotten his phone number!). Also, I can walk now, unassisted, since November 2016 (wow! Thank God!). Yet I have tingling and numbness in my feet that won't go away, even with medication. Did I also mention that I am 29 years old? Last year, after surgery, I was 28 and using a walker! I still have it in my apartment, as well as my bathing chair. I keep these things, though, as a reminder of how far I've come post-op. And how I never want to go back to that again. Ever. Recovery is a bitch, to say the least.
However, the doctors are clueless, and lawyers won't even look at me. I've sent them my PDF file of the surgery records and everything (if you want to read over 2000 pages, ask me for the link to my file on Google Drive), but no one will take my case. Even though I basically did this for MY HEALTH (although looking like Tyra Banks wouldn't hurt, either), it was an elective procedure. But maybe this may change your mind.
I did this to myself. I chose the easy way out. I'm 29 years old. I'm still considered a baby to most people, especially my family. I'm sure if I had really tried and wired my jaw shut, I could be the current size that I am now (if not smaller). I went from being 360 pounds and a size 26/28 in March 2016 to 210 pounds and a size 18/20 as of this month, February 2017. Crazy, right?
My latest full-body shot as of November 16, 2016, according my Facebook.
I have come a long way. I can admit that. Yet I was the girl who maxed out my credit cards to order Chinese food and Pizza delivery at least twice a week, and I always ordered enough for leftover meals. This is a dream come true for an agoraphobic food addict. Sweet and sour chicken, lo mein noodles, and pepperoni and sausage pan pizza were my best friends as well as my enemies. I also gorged myself on bread (hello, Oprah!), ice cream, cookies (especially double stuffed Oreos), other snack foods, especially entire bags of Doritos, and gummy bears. I love Haribo Gold Bears. I crave them still to this very day.
Also, while I am facing many challenges, I am grateful to be alive.
That is because I almost died last year.
In March 2016, I was in a medically induced coma for two weeks after complications from gastric bypass weight loss surgery. When I woke up, all I could see (after the blurriness wore off) was my grief-stricken mother, bursting into tears of joy because I could finally open my eyes and hold her hand. I can't imagine how hard that must have been for her. Ever.
No one ever told me how or why it happened to this day.
Complications from weight loss surgery happen all the time. This is from the Mayo Clinic. It's why you sign a million forms the day you register for surgery (mine was done the day before). Yet you assume the risk anyway, as I did. Willingly and voluntarily. No one held a gun or knife to my head at all in the hospital.
Yet everything in my life for over 20 years told me in no uncertain terms that I was basically unacceptable. My family (even though most of them are overweight or obese themselves), school mates, teachers (sad, but true), doctors (especially so), and even my own clothes told me that I didn't fit in. I just wasn't cutting it in life, despite the fact that I was an honor student my whole life, never partied or got pregnant early, never tried to sneak out of the house, or even had a single date (I went to prom by myself, okay), graduated third in my high school class and got accepted to a prestigious private liberal arts university four hours away from home. I just wasn't good enough. I wasn't useful to anyone anymore. And that's a hard truth to realize when you're in your twenties. But it happens.
When my jeans don't button up or my shirt is cutting off the circulation in my neck and arms, and I'm already pushing it hardcore at a size 26/28, going up a bigger size is not always an option and something is definitely wrong. And after being harassed constantly and being told every day and every night by some reasonably concerned person that I just need to "try harder and lose weight", for over 20 years, you're damn right I'm going to do something about it. Hence gastric bypass!
So I spent the past few years doing my research. I can't go into specifics, but given my current socioeconomic status and a ton of student loan debt (thank you, higher education!), I had to cut a LOT of corners. So all of the complications and negative emotions that I'm experiencing are my own fault. Maybe I should have waited and saved up the over $10,000 and chosen a better facility, instead of going through the ringer with Medicaid. It took over a year of primary care visits, nutritionist meetings, therapist visits (which I was doing before, but are necessary pre and post surgery--you can't get approval for WLS without a therapist's letter), tests and exams, labs, and sleep studies (I was put on a CPAP the same night of the initial study!) before they would even touch my case. Oh, and my BMI (Body Mass Index) was a 60, so I definitely was considered obese and the ideal candidate for gastric bypass.
Yeah. This may very well be my fault. However, hindsight is 20/20, and I'm probably preaching to the weight loss choir. There's no such thing as a free lunch, and even if it is, you're probably going to get food poisoning. Just saying.
But let the record show...I don't want sympathy here. That's the last thing I want. I don't expect you to feel sorry for me. Please don't. I'm just owning up to my stupidity and choices and telling my story. That's it. Take it or leave it. I'm holding the door open for your right now. I do not hold anyone hostage in my life, on or offline. You don't have to debate about whether you should stay or go with me. If you have any doubts at all about me, please just save us both the time and misery and just leave now. Thank you for your time, and goodbye. Peace always!
***mic drop***
If you have made it this far, and you are still here, whether out of compassion or curiosity (or a mix of both), then thank you. But you were warned. If I upset you after this point, I'm sorry. But I am not holding you to this site against your will, okay? Got it? Good. Moving on.....
I've seen many doctors since I left the hospital in April 2016. What was supposed to take three days or so at the most took actually over three weeks of inpatient recovery, including respiratory (yuck!) and physical therapy. Yes. Physical therapy. I could not walk after surgery, much less get out of bed to use the bathroom, which is actually the FIRST thing that the staff asks you to do in order to prevent blood clots. If you've ever seen an episode of My 600-lb Life, then you know what I am talking about. So yeah. But I had partial paralysis and diabetic neuropathy. I couldn't even feel my feet most of the time. They were tingly, yet numb at the same time.
On the bright side, coming home, I had a cute in-home physical therapist (wish I'd gotten his phone number!). Also, I can walk now, unassisted, since November 2016 (wow! Thank God!). Yet I have tingling and numbness in my feet that won't go away, even with medication. Did I also mention that I am 29 years old? Last year, after surgery, I was 28 and using a walker! I still have it in my apartment, as well as my bathing chair. I keep these things, though, as a reminder of how far I've come post-op. And how I never want to go back to that again. Ever. Recovery is a bitch, to say the least.
However, the doctors are clueless, and lawyers won't even look at me. I've sent them my PDF file of the surgery records and everything (if you want to read over 2000 pages, ask me for the link to my file on Google Drive), but no one will take my case. Even though I basically did this for MY HEALTH (although looking like Tyra Banks wouldn't hurt, either), it was an elective procedure. But maybe this may change your mind.
I did this to myself. I chose the easy way out. I'm 29 years old. I'm still considered a baby to most people, especially my family. I'm sure if I had really tried and wired my jaw shut, I could be the current size that I am now (if not smaller). I went from being 360 pounds and a size 26/28 in March 2016 to 210 pounds and a size 18/20 as of this month, February 2017. Crazy, right?
This is me pre-op in March 2016. The man on the left is my father. Don't mind the cheesy shades. ;-)
I have come a long way. I can admit that. Yet I was the girl who maxed out my credit cards to order Chinese food and Pizza delivery at least twice a week, and I always ordered enough for leftover meals. This is a dream come true for an agoraphobic food addict. Sweet and sour chicken, lo mein noodles, and pepperoni and sausage pan pizza were my best friends as well as my enemies. I also gorged myself on bread (hello, Oprah!), ice cream, cookies (especially double stuffed Oreos), other snack foods, especially entire bags of Doritos, and gummy bears. I love Haribo Gold Bears. I crave them still to this very day.
Oprah and her bread. Seriously!
But not anymore. I have a new stomach with its own mind and with extremely restricting terms and conditions. And it's very fickle to say the least. One day, I love a certain food, like Greek yogurt. The next, I can't even tolerate the sight of it and want to throw that shit across the room like a toddler. And the smells and tastes of nearly every solid food make me want to vomit excessively, especially meat, which is bad because all WLS patients are required to have protein! I cannot stand meat anymore right now. I'm almost considering joining PETA and becoming a vegetarian. Seriously. I cannot eat eat meat any more. And I used to live for fried chicken. I'm practically committing sacrilege in my family for not having Popeyes right now!
So, my primary care doctor, a sweet but busy man, has graciously prescribed me an alternative in the form of protein shakes. Hence the title of this blog: Peace, Love, and Protein Shakes. I get the shakes prescribed because I can get them at a significant discount with my county's clinic card instead of paying at cost at a grocery store or online. Also, if he recommends this particular type, then it must be the best option, right? So it works out. I'm drinking Boost's Very Vanilla. Surprisingly, it tastes decent, but it's all I have to eat (well, drink) three times a day (if my stomach pouch allows), EVERY DAY. I have no other options. I have no variety. I'm trapped. For a food addict, this is very depressing to say the least. Food Network was like porn to me. Seriously. Anyone else love that show Unwrapped? This is truly a learning and a grieving process. Surgery didn't change my brain or personality, sadly. I am still the same person.
All gastric bypass did was alter my stomach size and digestive route. That's it. My stomach, by the way, is now the size of a generic Easter egg, about five ounces, and most of the time, I can barely tolerate a couple of ounces of fluid at any given time. So frustrating! But if you're looking for a cheap date, I'm your girl! No five star restaurants or buffets for this basic bitch! 😁
An actual Easter egg, if you needed a reference. ;-)
An overview of the traditional, gold standard Roux-en-Y Gastric Bypass procedure.
Oh, be warned. I have a sense of humor, and I'm not afraid to use it. Sarcasm is literally my second language, and my strongest coping mechanism to date, especially post-op since I CAN'T EAT A DAMN THING. My family literally cannot stand me right now, so I understand if you've made it this far and you think I'm annoying as hell. Yet I have to live with myself 24/7/365. So be lucky! At least you're not me. And as my loving mother says, it could have been worse. I have absolutely no right to be depressed or bitch about life right now, especially since I almost lost it.
As for support, I have no access to reliable transportation, so a physical support group is out. Also, online forums give me mixed messages. So it's just me right now. I am my support. I am my own strength, my rock, my fortress, and that is fine. I'm an only child; I've learned to find comfort and refuge in solitude.
If I never find a life partner or get married (ha!) or have a child, I won't lose any sleep over it. At all. I can be alone for the rest of my life. No problem. I've made my peace with that. Okay.
So, this is the (not so) skinny on me, Vanessa E. Reynolds. I thank you so much for your time and infinite patience, and if you want, stay tuned for more on my weight loss journey. I've only just begun, so I'm trying to hold onto hope.
Suggestions and questions to answer in future entries are always appreciated. Thank you.
Peace always!
Vanessa
P.S. Why did it take me so long to tell my story? Well, one, recovery! Also, my mother (who I live with) did NOT want me to tell anyone about my surgery, especially after my medical coma and almost died. I even left Facebook several months ago just to appease her and maintain the family image, and to ensure that I could keep everything a secret.
But I am at my breaking point. I can't hide anymore. If I lose my mother (and my biggest supporter ever), then I just have to accept that. She is a very private person and only the woman who gave me life, so naturally, even though I'm 29 and everything, I have to respect her wishes. But she doesn't even use the Internet or technology in general (except to watch The Young and the Restless). Yet I know that someone in my family will eagerly tell her about this, though, and I've accepted that too. Sigh. But I have been to the Emergency Room more times this past year than I have ever been in my entire life. I'm done. Seriously. Game over.
It must have taken a lot of guts and courage to make it this far.
ReplyDeleteI love your writing style and I hope to see more updates. :)
PS: when I first typed "it must have taken a lot of guts" it autocorrect guts to guys, haha. How many dudes did you have to go through to get here?! LOL