"Blythe decided listening to the seashell was preferable to listening to people"
People are strange creatures…
Today I came across the first negativity to my weight loss, being banded and my weight loss goal. Where did this happen? In a club? In a ‘skinny-Minnie’ clothes shop? At the gym? Nope. It was at my local weight loss surgery support group. Now before you think I am about to slate the support group, I am not. The support group is run brilliantly by one of the loveliest ladies I’ve met on my journey and the structured part of the group is always facilitated with sensitivity and tact. I am committed to attend every month, despite this month’s experience. So what happened? Perhaps I am being too sensitive, it has been known ;) but, at the time, I just felt the comments I received where mean and bloody ignorant.
There were only a couple of familiar people there that I knew (and a big shout out to them :) and the rest of the group was made up of people I hadn’t met before. There were 5 banders that I hadn’t met and it was from a couple of them that the comments came. I’m not sure if they were intended to be malicious, I hope not, I’m telling myself that they were just thoughtless and ignorant.
You tell me. Am I over-reacting?
The first comment happened just after I arrived. One of the banders looked me up and down (I kid you not) and then said, in what I can only describe as a hostile tone, “Well you didn’t have the band on the NHS did you?” What the f**k is that supposed to mean? That I only had it done out of vanity, as a cosmetic procedure? That, because I wasn’t prepared to put on the extra 4 stone to get my BMI over 50, and get local funding, I am somehow less deserving of being banded? I have to say I was really taken aback by this comment and I found myself trying to justify why I had paid privately for the band. She continued to be hostile, either talking over me or ignoring me, for the rest of the meeting. Some people!
The reality of my journey leading up to the band was not an easy one, it certainly wasn’t a decision made out of vanity and being banded, whilst being the best decision I ever made, isn’t the easy-option. The decision to be banded was my ‘last chance saloon’ and it came after 2 years of increasing health problems:
Gynaecological problems: In August 2005, after a year of having extremely irregular and absent periods, I started to bleed. Not just bleed but, quite literally flood. I couldn’t be further than 45 minutes away from a toilet at any time. I would be on a home visit to a patient and just know what was happening, the humiliation. I couldn’t really sleep for more than a couple of hours at a time without waking up in a pool of blood. This went on for 15 months with little more than a day here and there without the flooding. I spent a good 3 months trying to get help from the GP, who was convinced it was down to my obesity (and, yes in part, they were right). However I was scared out of my mind thinking the worst. Eventually I had the scans, hormone tests, etc and I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS). I was started on 3 different pills for this, 2 to try and stem the bleeding and 1 for the PCOS itself (Metformin). Unsurprisingly I was also severely anaemic so they added an iron supplement too. I was told that I needed to lose weight, that I wouldn’t be able to have children naturally, I would need help with conception and that they wouldn’t even consider helping me until my BMI was under 25. At the time it was 42.
Hypertension: I have always had high blood pressure, even when I am lighter and exercising it is still worryingly high. I was on 2 different pills for it by the time of my operation. My family history on my mom’s side is extremely scary with regards to heart disease. My grandmother died of heart failure in her early 30’s when my mom was 4 years old. My mom had her first heart attack when I was 3 years old, and has had several since then. Neither my mom, nor my grandmother were overweight, in fact quite the opposite. I was 33, I had a very high blood pressure and I was in the very obese category with my BMI. I was understandably concerned.
Type II Diabetes: Following on from my PCOS diagnosis, I was still feeling extremely poorly. Parts of my body were randomly swelling up like a balloon on, at least a thrice weekly basis. My face and tongue would swell up so that I had difficulty breathing and talking, my hands and arms would swell up so that I couldn’t even hold the steering wheel to drive and my feet were so swollen sometimes that it was agony even trying to walk around in the house. I was getting home from work, going to bed about 7pm and struggling to get up on time for work. I had lost my appetite (a good thing ;) and was piddling for Britain. I had recurrent thrush and my head always seemed to be pounding. My bloods showed that I had in fact developed diabetes. I’d been tried on 3 different diabetes medications, was bouncing between not wanting to eat and fighting an almost psychotic urge to eat bags and bags of boiled sweets (something that I generally don’t even like) and my blood sugars were constantly through the roof. The Tuesday prior to being banded I saw my diabetes consultant, he informed me that if I was not being banded in 2 days time that he would have started me on insulin that day. He gave me a 6 week grace period to see if the band improved the situation.
Depression: Yup, I was bloody depressed. I felt physically and mentally like crap and, what was worse, I felt that it was all my own fault and I’d brought it on myself. I felt so low at what I was putting my loved ones through and all because I was unable to control what I shoved in my pie-hole. I was on anti-depressants and I hated the fact that I relied on them. I felt I wasn’t able to do my job to the best of my ability, I had trouble concentrating and felt like I was giving all my capacity to exist, just to get through the working day and that there was nothing left over for me to live any sort of life. Many a weekend I spent in my pyjamas, too knackered to even be bothered to get dressed. The 12 months leading up to being banded were pretty grim.
I tried to get the band funded on the NHS. I jumped through all the hoops, I attended the ‘Obesity Clinic’ which, frankly was run so inefficiently that the minimum time I was sat in the waiting room was 2 hours for each appointment (the longest was 4 hours!!!). It was also run by doctors that I swear had almost no understanding of what it is like to be obese. The advice that I was given was at best cretinous and, at worse, downright negligent. I’m not going to go into details here but, suffice to say, as an educated NHS professional myself, it is my opinion that it was a noddy clinic run by noddy staff. The doctors then lied to me about putting me on the waiting list for surgery, I later found out that I wouldn’t have even been put on it until my BMI was over 50.
So, yes, I self-funded my operation. I was lucky enough that my mom had just received a modest lump sum for her retirement and she has given me an interest-free loan. Did I have the band due to my own vanity? Hell, no. Did I do it to, quite literally, save my life? Of course I did. Am I any less deserving of being banded? What do you think?
I am not on ANY of my medications now. Not one. My blood pressure is slowly getting there. It is better than when I was on any of the tablets. I have had 3 normal, monthly periods since the band. In just 13 weeks I am healthier, in my own opinion, than I have been for 10 years. I will be saving the NHS thousands of pounds in treatments and preventable illness. Ok, the plus side is that I look better and can wear smaller knickers, but that’s just an added bonus. I just wanted to feel well again.
The second comment was not said with malice at all but, it still took the wind out of my sails. It was said in a well meaning way initially but, I could sense the irritation behind it. I was asked how much more weight I want to lose. I said 2 stones. Now this is based entirely on getting my BMI under 25. If I lose 2 stones I just squeeze it under there, then I will be eligible for IVF if I need it (fingers crossed that my newly regular periods are a sign that my fertility may well be improving of its own accord).
I was told, in no uncertain terms, that I didn’t need to lose any more weight and the inference was that I was being a ‘silly girl’. The lass who was saying all this was 27 stone and I can understand that being 12 stone, for her, would be such an achievement. But, I am not her, I am me. The band is helping so much, that I want to aim to get my BMI down to about 23. And why shouldn’t I? It’s not an unhealthy or unrealistic goal. My waist measurement is still 38 inches. I am aware that, for women, anything above 35 inches is associated with increased health risks. At 9 stones, it is still 32 inches. I am an apple shape, I have no waist and I carry my excess weight around my middle. It is the first place it goes on and the last place I lose it.
Should I be vilified for wanting to get the most out of the band? I don’t want to be a size bloody zero after all. I just want to be the best me that I can be. Is that really so offensive to people?
After all that, I ended up eating my toasted egg sandwich too fast in the car park after the meeting and was a slime monster all the way home in the car. Sitting with a sandwich bag full of slime on my lap and having to pull over to be properly sick. I can honestly say it made me regret even bothering to go. But, I will return to the group. As I say, don’t let the bastards get you down. Am I being too sensitive? Am I over-reacting? You tell me.
Sorry to rant. Deep breath, onwards and downwards.
Today I came across the first negativity to my weight loss, being banded and my weight loss goal. Where did this happen? In a club? In a ‘skinny-Minnie’ clothes shop? At the gym? Nope. It was at my local weight loss surgery support group. Now before you think I am about to slate the support group, I am not. The support group is run brilliantly by one of the loveliest ladies I’ve met on my journey and the structured part of the group is always facilitated with sensitivity and tact. I am committed to attend every month, despite this month’s experience. So what happened? Perhaps I am being too sensitive, it has been known ;) but, at the time, I just felt the comments I received where mean and bloody ignorant.
There were only a couple of familiar people there that I knew (and a big shout out to them :) and the rest of the group was made up of people I hadn’t met before. There were 5 banders that I hadn’t met and it was from a couple of them that the comments came. I’m not sure if they were intended to be malicious, I hope not, I’m telling myself that they were just thoughtless and ignorant.
You tell me. Am I over-reacting?
The first comment happened just after I arrived. One of the banders looked me up and down (I kid you not) and then said, in what I can only describe as a hostile tone, “Well you didn’t have the band on the NHS did you?” What the f**k is that supposed to mean? That I only had it done out of vanity, as a cosmetic procedure? That, because I wasn’t prepared to put on the extra 4 stone to get my BMI over 50, and get local funding, I am somehow less deserving of being banded? I have to say I was really taken aback by this comment and I found myself trying to justify why I had paid privately for the band. She continued to be hostile, either talking over me or ignoring me, for the rest of the meeting. Some people!
The reality of my journey leading up to the band was not an easy one, it certainly wasn’t a decision made out of vanity and being banded, whilst being the best decision I ever made, isn’t the easy-option. The decision to be banded was my ‘last chance saloon’ and it came after 2 years of increasing health problems:
Gynaecological problems: In August 2005, after a year of having extremely irregular and absent periods, I started to bleed. Not just bleed but, quite literally flood. I couldn’t be further than 45 minutes away from a toilet at any time. I would be on a home visit to a patient and just know what was happening, the humiliation. I couldn’t really sleep for more than a couple of hours at a time without waking up in a pool of blood. This went on for 15 months with little more than a day here and there without the flooding. I spent a good 3 months trying to get help from the GP, who was convinced it was down to my obesity (and, yes in part, they were right). However I was scared out of my mind thinking the worst. Eventually I had the scans, hormone tests, etc and I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS). I was started on 3 different pills for this, 2 to try and stem the bleeding and 1 for the PCOS itself (Metformin). Unsurprisingly I was also severely anaemic so they added an iron supplement too. I was told that I needed to lose weight, that I wouldn’t be able to have children naturally, I would need help with conception and that they wouldn’t even consider helping me until my BMI was under 25. At the time it was 42.
Hypertension: I have always had high blood pressure, even when I am lighter and exercising it is still worryingly high. I was on 2 different pills for it by the time of my operation. My family history on my mom’s side is extremely scary with regards to heart disease. My grandmother died of heart failure in her early 30’s when my mom was 4 years old. My mom had her first heart attack when I was 3 years old, and has had several since then. Neither my mom, nor my grandmother were overweight, in fact quite the opposite. I was 33, I had a very high blood pressure and I was in the very obese category with my BMI. I was understandably concerned.
Type II Diabetes: Following on from my PCOS diagnosis, I was still feeling extremely poorly. Parts of my body were randomly swelling up like a balloon on, at least a thrice weekly basis. My face and tongue would swell up so that I had difficulty breathing and talking, my hands and arms would swell up so that I couldn’t even hold the steering wheel to drive and my feet were so swollen sometimes that it was agony even trying to walk around in the house. I was getting home from work, going to bed about 7pm and struggling to get up on time for work. I had lost my appetite (a good thing ;) and was piddling for Britain. I had recurrent thrush and my head always seemed to be pounding. My bloods showed that I had in fact developed diabetes. I’d been tried on 3 different diabetes medications, was bouncing between not wanting to eat and fighting an almost psychotic urge to eat bags and bags of boiled sweets (something that I generally don’t even like) and my blood sugars were constantly through the roof. The Tuesday prior to being banded I saw my diabetes consultant, he informed me that if I was not being banded in 2 days time that he would have started me on insulin that day. He gave me a 6 week grace period to see if the band improved the situation.
Depression: Yup, I was bloody depressed. I felt physically and mentally like crap and, what was worse, I felt that it was all my own fault and I’d brought it on myself. I felt so low at what I was putting my loved ones through and all because I was unable to control what I shoved in my pie-hole. I was on anti-depressants and I hated the fact that I relied on them. I felt I wasn’t able to do my job to the best of my ability, I had trouble concentrating and felt like I was giving all my capacity to exist, just to get through the working day and that there was nothing left over for me to live any sort of life. Many a weekend I spent in my pyjamas, too knackered to even be bothered to get dressed. The 12 months leading up to being banded were pretty grim.
I tried to get the band funded on the NHS. I jumped through all the hoops, I attended the ‘Obesity Clinic’ which, frankly was run so inefficiently that the minimum time I was sat in the waiting room was 2 hours for each appointment (the longest was 4 hours!!!). It was also run by doctors that I swear had almost no understanding of what it is like to be obese. The advice that I was given was at best cretinous and, at worse, downright negligent. I’m not going to go into details here but, suffice to say, as an educated NHS professional myself, it is my opinion that it was a noddy clinic run by noddy staff. The doctors then lied to me about putting me on the waiting list for surgery, I later found out that I wouldn’t have even been put on it until my BMI was over 50.
So, yes, I self-funded my operation. I was lucky enough that my mom had just received a modest lump sum for her retirement and she has given me an interest-free loan. Did I have the band due to my own vanity? Hell, no. Did I do it to, quite literally, save my life? Of course I did. Am I any less deserving of being banded? What do you think?
I am not on ANY of my medications now. Not one. My blood pressure is slowly getting there. It is better than when I was on any of the tablets. I have had 3 normal, monthly periods since the band. In just 13 weeks I am healthier, in my own opinion, than I have been for 10 years. I will be saving the NHS thousands of pounds in treatments and preventable illness. Ok, the plus side is that I look better and can wear smaller knickers, but that’s just an added bonus. I just wanted to feel well again.
The second comment was not said with malice at all but, it still took the wind out of my sails. It was said in a well meaning way initially but, I could sense the irritation behind it. I was asked how much more weight I want to lose. I said 2 stones. Now this is based entirely on getting my BMI under 25. If I lose 2 stones I just squeeze it under there, then I will be eligible for IVF if I need it (fingers crossed that my newly regular periods are a sign that my fertility may well be improving of its own accord).
I was told, in no uncertain terms, that I didn’t need to lose any more weight and the inference was that I was being a ‘silly girl’. The lass who was saying all this was 27 stone and I can understand that being 12 stone, for her, would be such an achievement. But, I am not her, I am me. The band is helping so much, that I want to aim to get my BMI down to about 23. And why shouldn’t I? It’s not an unhealthy or unrealistic goal. My waist measurement is still 38 inches. I am aware that, for women, anything above 35 inches is associated with increased health risks. At 9 stones, it is still 32 inches. I am an apple shape, I have no waist and I carry my excess weight around my middle. It is the first place it goes on and the last place I lose it.
Should I be vilified for wanting to get the most out of the band? I don’t want to be a size bloody zero after all. I just want to be the best me that I can be. Is that really so offensive to people?
After all that, I ended up eating my toasted egg sandwich too fast in the car park after the meeting and was a slime monster all the way home in the car. Sitting with a sandwich bag full of slime on my lap and having to pull over to be properly sick. I can honestly say it made me regret even bothering to go. But, I will return to the group. As I say, don’t let the bastards get you down. Am I being too sensitive? Am I over-reacting? You tell me.
Sorry to rant. Deep breath, onwards and downwards.
4 comments:
Nil desperandum, no need to justify your self to this reader.
Unfortunately non judgemental approach is not a side effect of bariatric surgery.
keep going keep writing.
As they say in my group - people should fry their own fish - (or healthily grill in our case.
NO! NO! NO! You are NOT being over sensitive!! Frankly, I don't know how you refrained from punching somebodies gob!! Methinks there was a little jealousy going on here and to be honest, its nobodies business HOW your surgery was funded!! Who was running the group and allowed that to happen? Listen. you are doing really well and doing wht YOU want to do. Let them get on with what THEY want to do....as for 27 stone gobshite, when she said "You didn't get YOUR band on the NHS did you?", you should have lokked HER up and down and said "No, but I bet YOU will!" That would have shut her up!! Ignore them all. My only question is this...how the hell do you eat a toasted egg sandwich? I am having the most horrendous problems with solid food, having my head down the loo most times I try and eat anything! Today I have managed a weetabix and a few crackers with peanut butter, plus a mug of warm milk!! Bread doesn't like me at all and egg isn't easily tolerated...actually, not much is easily tolerated and I'm just one week behind you!!
Anyway, stuff the negative nadgers and enjoy your success.
Love
Suzanne xx
Thanks guys, I'm not sure why I feel the need to justify myself but, I was just caught completely off-guard on Saturday. To be fair, i don't think the group leader was aware and, the last thing i wanted to do was to draw attention to myself.
As for the egg sandwich ... I can normally manage a chopped up boiled egg on very toasted bread easily. However I had made the toast and egg into a sandwich, put it in a little bag, and the toast had gone all floppy by the time I ate it. I can't manage bread unless it's toasted at all. It was quite scary slimeing down the motorway I can tell you. Really should have waited.
I hope you are both well. Suzanne, keep your chin up. We all different but, we'll all be at the same place in 2 years time anyway. It's just we all go a slightly different route to get there :)
Lots of love,
Me
x
Hi
I am sorry to hear that people who are in similar situations to us can be so thoughtless. The comments you received were totally uncalled for and some people should keep their mouths shut if they have nothing supportive to say. You go girl, you're doing so well and maybe this has brought out the green eyed monster in other people. It is also quite sad to see how you felt the need to justify your decision to have surgery, it's no ones business but yours and it's a shame that you felt the need to explain.
You sound like a fun and warm hearted person who has so much to give, so don't let the buggers get to you. SOD 'EM they aint worth it.
Good luck with the rest of your journey and I am sure you will reach that goal. Luv Maria
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