What Made Me Do It...

This is going to be incredibly LONG....I just decided to give you a few of the reasons I choose to have WLS. If you'd like you can just read one "little story" then skip to the bottom......they all relay the same kind of hurt, embarrassment, and shame I felt as an overweight person in a society that is less than accepting.

I try to think of these memories as I teeter at 200 lbs......needing/wanting to fall into the 1XX club....FINALLY and FOREVER.......

I have always been overweight. There I said it. It feels good to say something that I have known all along. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think for a minute that I fooled anyone. It was very obvious that I had an uphill battle with my weight, almost from day one.

Okay, so maybe not from day one. I was born 3 months premature and weighed in at 3 lbs 4 oz. Sounds like a good steak, huh? Aaahhh those were the days. I was a bit strange looking with my strange coloring and my wrinkled skin. I know that my father had to wonder if my mom had been stepping out with the milkman! Hey premies aren’t cute, but I can say that I looked great in a one piece!

Anyways, maybe it was day TWO that I began to have a weight ‘problem’. For a few short months I was too small. Oh my say that again. For a few short months I was too small. Wow! That is Amazing! I can’t even begin to remember a time where I was “too small” for anything.

When I was about four years old, I was already overweight. My pediatrician and my parents decided to Put me on a diet of sorts. Diet. A big ugly word. I remember vividly not being able to swallow pills. I remember my parents crushing up vitamins as a part of my diet, about 30 pills a day I think, and trying to hide them in all sorts of food to get me to swallow them. Cool Whip, ice cream, you name it. I still find myself giving my hot fudge sundae a second glance before eating it…’cause you never know!

I don’t remember how long we did this, or if it ever worked. I just remember going to the doctor and Spending my day trying to swallow horse pills or even worse eating them while they were disguised as food.

By the time I was in elementary school I was past pudgy and already having trouble finding clothes. Kids are so cruel. I remember being teased by my thin peers. In elementary school we used to have those group pictures each year, you remember them, in fact you probably have a few stashed away some place. Elementary school is a time when you should be running and playing and not worrying about being different, but I did worry. I was already self-conscious about my picture being taken and felt that I was being punished if I was on the front row.

I have a hard time looking at a bag of Oreo cookies without thinking about my first “closet eating” experience. I don’t recall how old I was but I was in elementary school. I was supposed to be watching what I ate. I don’t think I was on a structured diet or anything but I remember the Restrictions being there.

My hand was dipping into the cookie jar and I was sneaking Oreo cookies. I felt like a criminal and I was rearranging the cookies in hopes of hiding my visit to the cookie jar. I stuffed down a handful Of Oreos and even went to the bathroom to make sure no crumbs were clinging to my shirt or decorating my mouth. Is this normal behavior for a child? I don’t really know.

With my belly full of Oreos I went into my parents bedroom, feeling as though I had really pulled a fast one. My dad picked me up and tossed me back on the bed and was tickling me and teasing me. Great fun for a kid. One problem. You guessed it Oreo cookies. When I would squeal and laugh, Naturally my mouth would fly open. My dad leaned down over me and said “Deborah,” (that is what He calls me when I am in trouble or if I am about to get a pep talk. His next few words should have told me right away that I wasn’t getting a pep talk) “have you been in the cookies?”

Simple question. My mind was racing and I was wondering how he knew. I had been so careful to Cover my tracks. Disbelieving and thinking he was guessing, I did what any young child would do. I lied. “No daddy”. He asked me again with a smile on his face and I again denied being in the Cookie jar. He laughed and pulled me from the bed and told me to go look in the mirror. I looked at myself and only saw the lie in my eyes, but how did he know?

My dad the detective. I have never been able to pull a fast one on him. He knows his first born too well. He reads me like a book and he is a speed reader! How else would he be able to catch the Oreo cookie bandit so quickly? Well, you know how you can toss back a few Oreos and have cookie get stuck in your teeth? Well, let us just say my molars were full of evidence! Geez, if I would have only thought of brushing my teeth!

Almost every child takes swimming lessons at the community pool. I loved the idea of swimming and I wanted to be able to swim. Oh but the trauma of it all. I was overweight and was having trouble finding a swimsuit. Even in my youth I realized the magnitude my weight had over me. I knew that If I wore a swim suit I would be laughed at.

I was crushed. I wanted to swim, but I feared the jeers and snide remarks. I can remember my mom taking me to a childrens shop called Young Texan to buy a swimsuit. This is the first time I can remember crying in the dressing room. My short little pudgy body looked awful in everything. I knew it did. I hated myself. I felt so different, and so this is my first memory of crying in the dressing room. Crying with my heart simply broken because I didn’t want to wear a swimsuit, but I didn’t want to have to go back to school to tell my friends I wouldn’t be taking swimming lessons with them.

Already my life was being restricted by my weight. Luckily, or so I thought, my mom and the nice sales lady came up with a creative idea. We tried buying a swim suit cover up, and a pair of bottoms that were made of a stretchy tights like fabric. The swim suit cover was navy with tons of polka dots on it and it slipped over my head and had a tie at my neck. The bottoms fit like panties And were covered by the polka dot swimsuit cover up. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was loose over my stomach and hid me fairly well. I was just happy to be on my way to swim!

My mom sewed on the season swimming pool pass and I was ready to go. Swimming lessons seemed to be going just fine. I could bob up and down, I could hold my breath under water, I could even float on my back. I was beaming because I felt like all of the other kids. Of course, that feeling of self worth and accomplishment soon faded. The American Crawl. I was unable to do it. I thought it was due to my weight, but I think it was more to do with coordination. My confidence was shattered and I wasn’t wanting to get in the pool each morning for my lessons. I cringed when they called on me to swim across the pool. I muddled through it and was the last one to get across when we swam as a group.

Finally swimming lessons were over. I made it. I was so relieved that it was done. I had a feeling of accomplishment but it was over shadowed by a sadness. My relief was diminished when I was told that there would be a presentation for all the parents with us doing, of all things the American Crawl, across the length of the pool. The last day of our lessons was spent coordinating everyone and the instructor advising us where we would be in the line and so on. I can remember my fear growing leaps and bounds. I just knew that I would be the only one that wouldn’t make it across the pool. I was even more mortified to learn that once I DID swim across the pool we were all to “hop up” on the edge of the pool and sit facing the crowd until we got our certificates.

I don’t remember how many days it was before this took place, but it might as well have been 100 because I was having nightmares about it. I cried and cried and was trying to think of a reason to not go. I didn’t want my parents to witness me being a failure, nor did I want to fail in front of my friends and their parents. I told my parents that I had one more lesson and I didn’t tell them I would be getting a certificate, because in my mind I wasn’t going to get one.

I asked if I could walk to the pool and I didn’t tell them that the other parents were going to be there. The walk to the pool was one of the longest of my life. My little mind was full of dread. I kept trying to come up with an excuse to give the instructor. I entered the pool area and looked up at the parents starting to gather on the bleachers and I felt my heart just drop inch by inch.

As we lined up against the fence, I was looking out over the pool and trying not to cry. I remember a spring of hope well inside of me when I looked across the pool and saw the ladder In the corner. I racked my brain to remember which swimmer was positioned in front of the ladder. I was to be on the far right side in the deep water, but someone was going to be in the shallow end and swim right up to the ladder. I thought that if I could only switch places, I would be able to climb up the ladder and sit down quickly and maybe nobody would notice.

I was feeling excited and hopeful. The whistle blew and we were all hustling around to our designated spot and I was looking around frantically for a chance to change places, but the opportunity never came and I found myself with my toes hanging over the ledge of the pool while waiting for the next blow of the whistle which was to tell us to push off and start across the pool.

I was ready to cry but I didn’t care. I thought as soon as I am in the pool nobody would notice. The whistle blew and I jumped in the pool and felt myself moving in slow motion. I was so scared I wasn’t breathing like I should, and I was almost all the way across the pool before I even took a breath. My heart was beating fast and I felt like I was tossing my arms and legs around frantically in my attempt to keeping up with the others.

I had two goals ahead of me. Don’t be last, and get up on the edge of the pool. I heard clapping so I knew that someone had made it to the other side. I had no idea how far away I was or if I was even swimming in the right direction. I just kept swimming. Finally my hand touched the side of the pool and I came up gasping for breath. I threw my hands up on the edge of the pool and working on pure fear, I pulled myself up and slowly made my way up on the side of the pool.

I believe in miracles. I believe that my guardian angel was there that night. I was the last one, but not by an embarrassing margin. I made it up on the ledge, albeit not gracefully. I was so proud to get my cerificate. I felt I had earned it. I told myself I would never go swimming again and I almost believed It. I never spoke of my experience or my heart gripping fear.

I did go back to the pool that summer and I had a wonderful time. Of course, all good things usually come to an end. While sitting out on the grass drinking Coca~Cola and eating a Payday candy bar with my friends the fun all changed. One girl spoke loudly to the group, “Why don’t you have a real swimsuit?” All of my friends had two pieces on and in comparison I did look funny in my ensemble. I fabricated some big story about there not being any more two piece swimsuits at Young Texan and that my mom would only shop there.

Once again my sense of belonging was shattered because I felt different. I didn’t want to feel different. I wanted to be like everyone else. Kids are cruel and will point out your differences. Once in the pool we were playing Marco Polo and boy asked me what was under my arm. There was a little roll of fat under my arm where my swimsuit met. I was so self-conscious. I began walking in the water with my arms floating on top of the water. I didn’t want my arms to be down at my side because of that little fat roll.

There are so many things I can say about gym. None of them are very nice. When I was in the sixth grade I was once again sent into a tailspin about my weight, which was slowly climbing. I started in Junior High which held the sixth, seventh and eighth grade students. On the first day of gym I was mortified to learn that I would be expected to wear a t-shirt and shorts during gym. This meant changing clothes in front of everyone.

The locker room had about 20 shower stalls about the size of a bathroom stall but there was no door or curtain for privacy. I couldn’t even imagine taking off my clothes in front of my skinny peers who always made me feel different. Our gym class had students from sixth, seventh and eighth grade. The eighth grade girls seemed so worldly, boasting of the breasts they grew over summer break and how they had become a woman. I, on the other hand, grew over summer break but not in the bust area.

I went to my parents to see if they could help me with this latest dilemma. I expected them to be shocked and apalled that I was being told to take my clothes off in front of a room full of classmates. I expected a letter demanding that this nonsense be stopped immediately. Instead I was told that this was normal, I would be fine, not to worry, nobody is looking etc.

Well, I did worry. Everyday. I worried during all of the classes prior to gym. Once I got to gym I changed clothes as fast as I could. During gym I was miserable because I knew I would have to be changing clothes again shortly. I was also miserable because I wasn’t any good in gym. I never could seem to do what everyone else was doing. I was uncoordinated and chubby. Not a good combination.

I cried to my parents that I didn’t want to go to gym because we were going to square dance. If that wasn’t bad enough, we were going to square dance with the boys gym class!! Here I was in sixth grade already feeling like a wallflower. All of the boys wanted to dance with the eight grade girls or the pretty girls, neither of which was me. Afraid that I would be standing there alone after all of the picking, I was somewhat relieved that the gym teacher started pairing us off in twos. I was still going to have to square dance, but at least it wasn’t going to be alone.

I made it through the square dancing and my partner ended up being a beau of sorts. He was nice to me and he hated square dancing as much as I did. We made a good pair.

I went to high school in a small town that I loved. My weight was still climbing, and I was very self-conscious about it. Buying clothes was still a chore and very depressing. I wasn’t able to wear the latest in styles or trendy clothes. I made myself step up to the plate (no pun intended) and join the clubs and become active in the school activities.

This, however, did put me in a few more depressing situations. I was in the band, but I was ashamed that I couldn’t find a uniform that fit right. I was in FFA (Future Farmers of America) but I was embarrassed when we had our measurements taken in front of the whole class in order to have our FFA jackets made. Moments like this didn’t stop.

I think I tried hard to please everyone. I was always doing things for other people and I think that in some ways I felt I had to make myself worthy of their friendship and make up for my appearance. I felt that I had to give them extra reasons to like me, so they could overlook my weight.

I think that if I would have taken a few moments to step back from how I saw myself I would have seen that most of them liked me for me.

I loved high school even with the sad times mingled in. I made many friends and had many good times. Everything was dramatic, good or bad. A few of the low points were due to weight. I wanted, still, to be like everyone else. I didn’t want to stand out. I wanted to be accepted. Junior prom was one of the first major high school dilemmas. A prom dress. I still groan when I think about it. I can still feel the pain and anguish I went through. I wanted to go to prom. I knew I wouldn’t have a date, but I wanted to go. I didn’t want to have to tell my children that I didn’t go to my prom. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering if I should have just gone, regardless of what every one else thought.

I started shopping early for a dress because I knew it would be hard. Little did I know HOW hard it would be. If I would have realized it before I convinced myself I had to go, I probably would have stayed home that night. I spent weeks of searching and crying. I didn’t want to tell my friends I wasn’t going to go because they would demand a reason. How could I tell them I couldn’t find a dress that fit?

My mom was such an angel. She went with me and was always full of suggestions or ideas of how we could get something to work. Finally I found a dress. It wasn’t a beautiful dress, in fact it wasn’t even a pretty dress. It almost fit. That was the hope I was holding on to. It almost fit.

The owner of the shop assured me that she could fix the prom dress. I started what seemed like endless fittings. In order to make the dress fit, an insert of fabric had to be put under each arm and down the side Of the dress to my waist. I needed about 4 inches to get the dress to zip up in back. I also needed about a foot of material taken off the length because I was so short.

Finally, I took my overpriced prom gown, complete with alterations home. I hated the dress. It was pink with white lace. I wore a big old fashioned hoop under it so I felt like a house. At the time my hair was very short and I felt like a big woman with a little head. Still, I wanted to go to prom.

My next dilemma was how to get there. All of my friends had dates, and I for sure didn’t want to drive myself! I ended up going with a friend and her date. I felt so embarrassed. I sat in the back seat holding down my hoop while my friend went to pick up her date. His parents were all waving and smiling and I felt like a freak sitting in the back seat of the car. I felt like a third wheel. What was supposed to be fun ended up being a nightmare. I had the worst time. I sat around and felt like crying. All of my friends were out dancing and laughing and I was sitting there alone. I had my picture taken alone and I was miserable. I felt like it was an omen on my future.

My senior year wasn’t much different in the prom department, I didn’t want to go searching for a dress. We came up with a brilliant (or so we thought) idea. Why not just have the prom dress cut short and change the lace? It would look different and it would help compensate for the high price of the dress. We went back to the shop and we were assured that this was an easy task that could be done and nobody would ever know the difference. More fittings. Satisfied, we left the dress in the hands of the seamstress to let her do her magic.

A couple of weeks before prom we go to pick up the dress. I have to say it was the most hideous thing I had ever seen! You could see all of the holes where the lace was taken out. The black lace was supposed To cover the holes, but didn’t. It looked like a dolled up petticoat. I stood there in the dress with tears welling up in my eyes and looking at my mom like “What now???” She was unable to hide her frown at the dress.

We took the dress home to see if it was salvageable. Nothing could be done. It was a mess.

I resigned myself to not going to my senior prom.

Miraculously I was able to find a pretty dress....WAY overpriced, once again....*sigh* I ended up going to my Sr. Prom with the "man of my dreams".....of course, it wasn't all Cinderella......*smile*

Well, I could go on and on with stories like these......These little stories only touch the tip of the iceberg in my life...heck this was just my childhood. I know you have all probably been in the same type situations. I try to remind myself where I came from and now where I am going.......these stories remind me. These memories tell me that I made the *RIGHT* choice.......

PS sorry sooooooooooooo LONG!! :) But if it will help one person who struggled with the same things, and is indecisive about WLS........so be it! *hug*