Two years and holding steady
It's now been two years since gastric bypass surgery changed my life. Gone are the days of getting winded from putting on socks or climbing a set of stairs. Shopping for clothing at normal stores and fitting into a single coach airline seat still remain novelties to me.
The biggest change, however, is one I probably expected the least: An increase in my self-esteem. While I was heavy, I felt I was well-balanced, confident in my knowledge and skills and relationships with people. What I now realize, though, is how much others' opinions affected me.
For example, I would never want to discuss my weight with other people, including loved ones. It was an embarrassing topic, made all the more so by not fitting into society's dictates on what was normal. Traveling, for instance, often heightened my insecurities about my size. The constant embarrassment of requesting seat belt extenders on airplanes. Listening to the disgusted harumphs of fellow passengers as I spilled into their space. Feeling the stares of others as I huffed and puffed and sweated my way through airports.
One poignant moment from a trip many years ago stands out in my mind, a transatlantic flight during which the Pan Am jumbo jet encountered heavy turbulence. I had gone to the lavatory before the bumpiness got bad. Returning to my seat, though, as I steadied myself with my hands along the luggage bins because of the worsening turbulence, I overheard a flight attendant tell his colleague "If that fat guy falls , he'll kill somebody!" Rather than showing the slightest concern for my safety--after all, I was the one attempting to return to my seat--he was quick to judge me and essentially call me the problem.
Life as a fat man is full of such unpleasant situations. Chairs straining and breaking under the weight of an obese person. Hearing a loud, unexpected and incorrect crack of a diving board. Getting free advice from total strangers on everything from diet to exercise.
Thankfully, with my weight gone, all of those negative stimuli have vanished too. Even though I am still about 15 lbs. overweight by government standards, my confidence has increased because people now accept me for who I am, not for how I look. While I can never pretend to have experienced the hatred of racial discrimination, weight discrimination is real. Worse, the it is so insidious in that it is one of the last socially-acceptable forms of bias in this country--in employment and social situations alike.
As I look back on the past two years, my self-confidence has increased in inverse proportion to my decreasing weight. When I first visited the Cleveland Center for Bariatric Surgery, my weight (fully clothed) was 428 lbs. During my two-year follow-up appointment this week, I weighed 226, again fully clothed. Losing 200 lbs. is a feat in which I have considerable pride. Gaining back my self-esteem, though, has been of immeasurable significance.
The biggest change, however, is one I probably expected the least: An increase in my self-esteem. While I was heavy, I felt I was well-balanced, confident in my knowledge and skills and relationships with people. What I now realize, though, is how much others' opinions affected me.
For example, I would never want to discuss my weight with other people, including loved ones. It was an embarrassing topic, made all the more so by not fitting into society's dictates on what was normal. Traveling, for instance, often heightened my insecurities about my size. The constant embarrassment of requesting seat belt extenders on airplanes. Listening to the disgusted harumphs of fellow passengers as I spilled into their space. Feeling the stares of others as I huffed and puffed and sweated my way through airports.
One poignant moment from a trip many years ago stands out in my mind, a transatlantic flight during which the Pan Am jumbo jet encountered heavy turbulence. I had gone to the lavatory before the bumpiness got bad. Returning to my seat, though, as I steadied myself with my hands along the luggage bins because of the worsening turbulence, I overheard a flight attendant tell his colleague "If that fat guy falls , he'll kill somebody!" Rather than showing the slightest concern for my safety--after all, I was the one attempting to return to my seat--he was quick to judge me and essentially call me the problem.
Life as a fat man is full of such unpleasant situations. Chairs straining and breaking under the weight of an obese person. Hearing a loud, unexpected and incorrect crack of a diving board. Getting free advice from total strangers on everything from diet to exercise.
Thankfully, with my weight gone, all of those negative stimuli have vanished too. Even though I am still about 15 lbs. overweight by government standards, my confidence has increased because people now accept me for who I am, not for how I look. While I can never pretend to have experienced the hatred of racial discrimination, weight discrimination is real. Worse, the it is so insidious in that it is one of the last socially-acceptable forms of bias in this country--in employment and social situations alike.
As I look back on the past two years, my self-confidence has increased in inverse proportion to my decreasing weight. When I first visited the Cleveland Center for Bariatric Surgery, my weight (fully clothed) was 428 lbs. During my two-year follow-up appointment this week, I weighed 226, again fully clothed. Losing 200 lbs. is a feat in which I have considerable pride. Gaining back my self-esteem, though, has been of immeasurable significance.
posted by Joe Wollet at 11:00 AM
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