It has been a little more than five months since my weight loss surgery and I am down almost seventy five pounds. Some people might say I took the easy way out by having the surgery. They are wrong.
When I first contemplated having the surgery more than a year ago, I was undecided. I knew I was fat, but I still liked myself. When I looked in the mirror, I didn't see a morbidly obese woman. I saw the same old me of my twenties with a bigger butt and bigger hips.
And I was scared. I had never had any type of surgery before. I dreaded the idea of dying on the operating table and people saying, "She died having weight loss surgery."
A natural risk taker, I decided to take a chance and jumped into the unknown. The surgery went fine with no complications.
Still, the last five months have been anything but easy. The first week after surgery was awful. The next month was not much better, I couldn't eat more than a thimble full of food. I was on liquids for almost eight weeks. The weight came off quickly.
Now that five months have passed, I can eat again. I still can't eat the way I used to and I wouldn't want to. Instead, I eat small portions and focus on protein. Carbs don't draw me in the way they used to. I look at a bagle and think, that looks heavy. I crave salads and dare I say it, vegetables.
Not all my bad cravings are gone. I have a new yearning for hot fries. And I still drink Diet Coke.
However, the most surprising aspect of my journey has been a new addiction, exercise. That's right, this former fat girl, couch potato and bookworm likes to run. It's as if I found something inside of me. When I run, I feel as if my mind stops going in circles and I can breathe. I get it.
Finally after forty years, I get it. Exercise is addicting and better than any hamburger and fries.