I Thought a Number Would Make Me Happy – Part One

I thought a number would make me happy. I was wrong.

I am writing this for the person out there who may be considering bariatric or weight loss surgery.

When I was first thinking about surgery, the option I was given was the Lapband. It was explained to me as the best choice because I had a massive hernia that needed repair. The surgeons weren’t convinced that the repair would even be successful without significant weight loss. The band was promoted as the least risky option. I was young, and the hope was that it would give me the boost I needed to “get the weight off.”

But the band failed. Not once, but twice.

I ended up in emergency surgery with a total gut obstruction. The mesh failed. The hernia repairs failed. It caused me no end of problems. I look back now with so many regrets — regrets that I allowed myself to be guided toward a weight loss solution that was terrible for me in the long term.

After those experiences, I carried major trust issues. I was frightened of all the things I didn’t know about weight loss surgery. I was scared that I would once again be kept in the dark about risks and complications. Medical trauma changes you. It makes you second-guess every decision, every voice of authority, every “you’ll be fine.”

And here is something I want to say clearly: when doctors and nurses speak about complications, they speak in medical terms. But behind every complication, there is a whole life playing out in the background. For me, there was a family that suffered. Children to consider. Financial consequences that stretched us to breaking point. It was not just a complication. It was a total mess.

That is why I made a promise to myself: if I ever decided to have surgery again, I would go in with my eyes wide open. I would read everything I could get my hands on. I would talk to people. I would not rely on a five-minute overview in a doctor’s office. I needed to understand every possibility, every risk, every side effect. I needed to be at peace with the reality of it all before I could ever commit again.

Yes, the truth might scare me. But being scared was still better than being terrified and lost in the unknown.

Eventually, my Lapband was removed. After that, I was too frightened to do anything for years. I shut the door on the idea of weight loss surgery completely.

Then one day, my baby brother rang me to say he was having weight loss surgery. My stomach sank. I did not want him to go through what I had endured. I wanted to protect him from the pain, the trauma, the endless setbacks. But at the same time, I did not want him to die. His health was on the line, and he knew it.

He had done his research. He knew the risks, but he also knew the alternative, a shortened life. He went ahead. I watched him lose weight. I listened as he shared the ups and downs of recovery. And then I saw him come out the other side, living a life that looked brighter, freer, healthier. I felt relief for him, but I still wasn’t convinced.

And then my little sister decided to have surgery.

The cycle of fear began again for me. Terrified, I watched her too take this brave step towards her health. Once again, I saw someone I loved make the choice to fight for a better life. And again, I witnessed their courage, their transformation, their determination to live fully.

Meanwhile, my own health was spiralling. I was gaining more and more weight. I felt trapped in my own body. I wanted desperately for something to change. I didn’t want to be the “fat one” anymore. I didn’t want to feel out of place in my own skin. I wanted to blend in. I wanted to feel normal.

So I returned to the promise I had made myself. I read. I researched. I asked questions. I wanted to know everything, so that if I ever chose to have surgery again after the Lapband debacle, I would truly understand what I was walking into.

Perhaps you know that feeling of having tried everything at your disposal. I had. Every single diet known to humankind. Every pharmaceutical option that was available to me at the time. And every time, I lost weight. That part was never the problem.

The problem was that I could never keep it off.

My track record of regaining weight was flawless. And that was heartbreaking.

It was in the heartbreak that I found myself facing a decision I had once sworn I would never make again: to have weight loss surgery. This time, it would be gastric bypass.

And that is where this story really begins.

To be continued in Part Two…