Let me just come out and say it: I never thought I’d be the kind of person who would actually go through with weight loss surgery. Oh sure, I thought about it—many times, in fact—usually while eating a sleeve of cookies and watching a documentary about other people changing their lives. But me? No, I always thought I could diet my way out of obesity. After all, I’d done it before. Many times. Too many times.
And every single time, I gained it back. With interest. You know, like the universe’s way of saying, “Nice try, but not today.”
I’m 57 years old. I’m 5’5” and I weigh 338 pounds. Yes, I said it out loud—well, typed it. That number has haunted me for years, but it’s not just about the number anymore. It’s about what it’s doing to my life. What it’s taken from me.
When Walking to the Bathroom Feels Like Hiking Everest
Let me paint you a picture: walking for more than five minutes? Painful. Standing at the stove for longer than ten minutes? Feels like a back-breaking endurance test. Stairs? Don’t get me started—every time I go up a flight, I sound like I’m climbing Mount Kilimanjaro in flip-flops. And going down? Knees screaming louder than a toddler denied a cookie.
Speaking of knees—mine are not happy. Years of carrying extra weight has left me with arthritis in both. My back has joined the rebellion. I have high blood pressure, sleep apnea so bad I’ve scared myself (and my poor CPAP machine), and it turns out, at some point in the past, I had a mild stroke. Probably eight years ago when I started noticing that my brain felt a little foggy more often than not.
Diets, Doctors, and Denial
Believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve counted calories, points, carbs, colors—you name it. I’ve done shakes, soups, frozen meal plans, and one unfortunate summer of trying to live off cabbage soup. (Don’t do it. Trust me.) Every time, I’d lose some weight, feel proud, and then life would happen, and the weight would come back faster than a boomerang with an attitude.
After my last doctor’s visit—where my blood pressure was up again, my knees were shot, and I had to stop halfway across the parking lot just to catch my breath—I realized something: I was out of options.
Why Surgery? Why Now?
Because I want to live. I want to walk without pain. I want to go to the store and not have to find the bench near the pharmacy so I can catch my breath. I want to be here for my family, and if I’m really honest, I want to remember where I put my keys without it feeling like a Sherlock Holmes investigation.
Weight loss surgery isn’t an “easy way out.” It’s the hardest, most personal decision I’ve ever made. But I finally accepted something: I can’t out-diet this anymore. My body needs more than willpower and a Pinterest board full of low-carb recipes. It needs a reset.
Why the Modified Duodenal Switch?
Ah yes, the big question. Most people have heard of gastric bypass or the sleeve, but when I told folks I chose the modified duodenal switch (SADI-S), they blinked like I was speaking a foreign language. So here’s the scoop.
The modified duodenal switch combines the benefits of two surgeries: the sleeve (which reduces stomach size) and a rerouting of the intestines (which helps limit calorie and fat absorption). But it’s done in a way that reduces some of the extreme side effects of the traditional duodenal switch. Think of it as the duodenal switch’s more balanced, less dramatic cousin.
Here’s why it made sense for me:
- More Effective Long-Term Weight Loss: I need significant weight loss—not just 40 or 50 pounds. I’m talking 150+ pounds. The SADI-S has great long-term results.
- Better for My Metabolism: It offers a powerful metabolic reset, which I need, thanks to my long, rocky relationship with insulin resistance and yo-yo dieting.
- Less Hunger, Better Hormones: This surgery messes with the hunger hormones (in a good way). I’m not trying to live the rest of my life constantly fighting cravings like a gladiator.
- Helps with My Comorbidities: High blood pressure, sleep apnea, early cardiovascular disease—check, check, and check. This surgery has a great track record of improving or even reversing these.
Yes, it’s a big deal. Yes, I’ll need to take vitamins forever. Yes, I’ll have to make major changes. But guess what? Not being able to walk up stairs without gasping is also a big deal. And frankly, I’m done letting fear or shame keep me from doing what I need to do to live—not just exist.
So, What’s Next?
Recovery won’t be a breeze. There will be rough days. But there will also be better days. Days where I can walk without pain. Sleep without a mask. Breathe easier. Think clearer.
I’m not doing this to be skinny. I’m doing this to survive. To get my life back. To move without pain. To be fully present. And if that means having a little less intestine along the way—so be it.
Wish me luck—and if you’re in the same boat, just know you’re not alone. We’re all just doing the best we can with the bodies (and knees) we’ve got.