ABQ Tribune article-This is the 1st one

A FITTING CHANCE: Lose? I want to gain my life Jennifer W. Sanchez ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---- Clothing racks swirled above my 5-year-old head. White lace and pink ruffles drew me like cotton candy. A new spring dress, sweet and girlie. But this one didn't fit around my arms. That one felt too tight around my waist. The ones for older girls fit but were far too long. With a sigh, my mom gave me the verdict: "Mija," she said, "your grandma needs to order a 6X from the catalog." Allow me to translate: Honey, you're too fat. That's when I started a 23-year struggle with dieting and overeating, avoiding mirrors and hiding from cameras, putting on a happy face but crying in my room alone. As a child, other kids called me Fatso and Miss Piggy. Last year, the medical world gave me a new label: morbidly obese. So I'm sitting here with a plastic band on my wrist waiting for a doctor to fillet me on a University of New Mexico Hospital operating table. It's my last, best chance: gastric bypass surgery. When I was born, the band read "Weight: 7 pounds, 11 ounces." Today, at 5 feet 5 inches tall, I weigh 345 pounds. According to nutritionists' guidelines, I should weigh 125. Getting this heavy hasn't been easy. As a little girl, the schoolyard taunts hurt, and so I'd quit eating. For a few days. Then I'd go back to stuffing my face. In middle school, I tried starving with a diet of Wheat Thins and cream cheese. I tried purging after my $1.25 lunch of nachos and iced tea. One day, a friend called me obese. I had no idea what he meant, and so when I got home, I looked it up in the dictionary. I cried all night. In high school, not much changed. I went to a nutritionist for a few months but couldn't stay on the low-calorie diet. Why? I think it's because food helped fill empty spaces in my life. Food gave me control. Food meant good times with my family. Food, well, food tastes good! When I left for college, I discovered healthier foods and healthier habits, but that just started a cycle of losing weight and gaining it back. Two years ago, I got on the scale, and the red marker hovered between tiny black lines indicating 375 and 380. Almost 400 pounds! Within days, I stopped the occasional fried foods and sweets. I started working out six days a week for more than two hours, sometimes with a $25-an-hour personal trainer. I told my doctor I would lose this fat once and for all. Seven months later, I was floating between 315 and 320 pounds, but my motivation had flagged and the weight loss was stalled. Two months later, I talked to my doctor about gastric bypass surgery - basically, putting staples across my stomach to reduce its capacity from 42 ounces to 2 ounces. Getting the surgery involves a lengthy, complicated process. I put my name on a one-year waiting list just to get a visit with a surgeon. I needed proof of a sleep apnea evaluation, a psychological evaluation, blood work and records of at least a six-month diet recorded by a doctor. One by one, I checked off each item. And I prayed. "OK, God, if this surgery is what you want for my life, then let it happen. If not, I'm going to be mad - for a few days - but you know the desires of my heart, and you'll do it, somehow." Last December, I met with a surgeon. I was approved the same day. Then I stumbled through a muddle of insurance regulations, denials, appeals and, finally, on March 5, approval. My surgery was scheduled for March 17. Quickly, I made a list of 101 things to do before going under the knife. File taxes. Buy a pink hospital robe. Schedule a "last supper." The surgery carries life-threatening risks, but I'm not scared. I can't be. I can do all things through him who strengthens me. I'm ready to give up Diet Coke, chips and queso, and green chile breakfast burritos. I'm looking forward to my new life. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---- Ten days later: I've come home after a two-hour surgery, five-day hospital stay and 30-staple belly incision. A typical meal? One ounce of tomato soup. The other day, I had 3 ounces of Cream of Wheat - less than half a cup - and I'd swear I'd just eaten a Thanksgiving dinner. I've lost 20 pounds in nine days. A friend asked me: "Is it as bad as you thought?" I said: "A hundred times worse. You can't even fathom what I'm feeling." I knew I liked food, but now I know I'll probably never be able to eat as much. And I'm missing it. The doctors say that you're mourning the loss of your best friend and that I'll have to find other things. I want to fit in my ideal white wedding dress. Have children. Sit comfortably on an airplane. Run a marathon. Live long enough to play with my grandkids. I want to be healthy. So I have to fight the cravings, even though I'm already thinking about my family's Easter barbecue and how I'll be home then. Hamburgers. Mom's potato salad. Chocolates. I used to say: "I just want a pill that will make me never eat again." But now I say: "I need something for my brain that will erase the memory of how good food is." I'm trying to think about something other than food - walking into a stylish boutique to sample the dresses on a swirl of racks. A little black dinner number, a cotton-candy pink gown. I'm taking it day by day. Sanchez is a Tribune reporter and will document her progress in a series of occasional columns. Send e-mail to [email protected].