A morbidly obese co-worker decided two years ago to have gastric bypass surgery. Yes, after years of trying nothing to lose weight, she decided she would do the most obvious thing: get cut open and have a surgeon take his handy Stanley stapler to her innards. (Keep in mind that my last college course related to human physiology was BIO 101, so I can only assume that this is how it’s done.)
Sure the story could then follow of her heroic struggle to regain her life, her family and run the Boston marathon. However, the Lifetime channel could get no new film of the week fodder from this tale. Hers was a struggle to figure out new and exciting ways to consume the same foods that put her in the original predicament. Hence, she created liquefied cheeseburgers.
I am not a nutritionist, nutritional expert, nutrition student, Tony Little, Weight Watchers receptionist, or a multivitamin consumer, but I think that concocting such a strange diet after major surgery for weight loss is not a good idea. What’s the point of the surgery? Did you want to experience the foods you love through a straw? Did you wish to bathe in this putrid mixture? If you wanted to sip all of your foods or just eat piles of mush, simply chew a few mouthfuls of gravel or insult a mentally unbalanced boxer. Either way, your teeth will be gone and you can go about gumming your food for the remainder of your days.
So it’s her life, why should I care? Well, it all comes down to whining. Yes, whining of how hard the surgery was and whining about the utter hunger she had for all things consumable. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a pizza slathered in cheeseburgers covered with gravy!
The doctors recommended that she exercise shortly after surgery. A very obvious suggestion if ever there was one. So what does she do? The answer in short: NOTHING! Her reasoning for the lack of activity was that it hurt too much. You know, I would think that people splitting me open and fiddling with my digestive tract would be as soothing as a summer rain. I can’t believe pain would follow a major surgery.
Our heroine eventually did start to exercise. She put on her walking shoes and went for a walk in a grocery store. Of all places, she indeed chose to peruse the local grocery store. Again, she complained she was hungry. You can sense that the IQ points were dropping faster than the pounds.
After quite a few months, she had lost weight. I guess she couldn’t quite undo the surgery, even through her best attempts, at least initially. However, after just one year, she did manage to gain a large percentage of the weight once more.
In the end you may say that this is her life, so what is the point of this diatribe? It’s quite simple and in two parts. First, if you are to undertake this procedure, please do a bit of vetting regarding those health professionals that are offering it. My co-worker was obviously not ready for this surgery. She did not undergo the rigorous pre-screening that I know many other folks had endured. There were no psychological evaluations or other counseling. I never asked, but I am beginning to wonder if she won a “surgery of your choice” bid on EBay. Seriously, thirty seconds of searching on Google will provide you with enough information on this procedure to help you make a logical decision.
Second, if you are having major surgery to remove the weight equivalent of ten toddlers from your body, don’t make those around you suffer through the ordeal. You chose this path, so quit whining. If you don’t want the pain, try walking up the two flights of stairs to the vending machine when securing your salty snack trophy. Whatever you do, please stop telling me how hungry, sore, or stupid you are. It really spoils the delicious satisfaction I get from my Snickers bar.