I probably should not be putting this out into the Internet, because once it is out there… there is no going back, right? Either way, I get quite a few questions concerning what inspired me to do this. I’m fairly sure that there are a couple posts on this blog with some explanation as to why I decide to lose weight. Today, I’ll tell you one of the biggest factors. Onto the long, long story… 

As some of you may know, I’ve been in and out of the hospital for the last three years. Thankfully, I haven’t been checked in since June. Overtime, I’ve collected about 20 hospital bracelets reading my name, date of birth, my doctor, and a little code that resembles that of a bar-code on a bag of chips. Why was I in the hospital? I was diagnosed with scoliosis at 11 years old. It was severe and I’d probably had it for a very long time; it had gone completely unnoticed somehow. I suspect my parents were in denial and I never said that I was in pain because I was young and thought I was inconveniencing them. By the time my scoliosis was found out, I had two really severe curves. I was sent to a specialist and was operated on immediately. They inserted two metal rods onto my spine, straightening them out. If you’d like to see an example: click here. (FYI, that isn’t me. My rods were longer and my spine more curved.) Now, a scoliosis surgery is by no means the worst surgery ever, but it is not easy. You have to relearn to walk again, you can’t do anything really physical for a year, you are not allowed to return to school for 3-6 months, it is really painful. By Christmas I was rushed back to the hospital for an infection, was operated on again then sent packing home. I visited my ortho-surgeon for a long time. 

By the time high school rolled around, I’d ballooned to 290 pounds. I decided I’d walk everywhere and that would melt the pounds away. I lost 20 but I hadn’t changed my eating habits. One day, in winter, I was walking home and I slipped on ice. I fractured part of my spine that was not fused together. That was the trigger that set everything into motion and I’ll give you the short version of this horrifying and boring story. I had to get more surgery. I moved on, I went back to school a couple of credits short the next September. I obtained a job as a cashier and one day after work my back started to crunch and shift. My legs went numb and I couldn’t walk for a couple of hours, the popping/crunching continued. I’d broken one of the screws attached to my spine. They took out all of the hardware, replaced it. I was in the hospital for 6 weeks because I obtained an infection and a CSF leak whilst there and was losing spinal fluid from my brain, I couldn’t stand up without vomiting or a splitting headache. Let us add 10 more surgeries onto the list. I went on with special home care and a PICC line and 6 months of antibiotics as souvenirs. I went back to school for a half of a day, a lot of credits behind. They did some blood work, and hey!, I was still sick! Add another PICC line to the mix. Then, I couldn’t eat anymore because for 3 months everything I consumed came back up. I was sent back to the hospital, add another infection and 5 more surgeries onto the list. 

This was a scary time for me. Half of the memories I have from it are second hand, only imaginations of what someone else has told me about it. My mum is scarred for life, she openly admits that she thought that I was going to die multiple times. She thought my liver was shutting down, I was turning yellow. They gave me multiple pints of blood. She was with me all of the time and even sacrificed her sanity for me. I can’t really even think about this time without crying… to be honest, I’m crying a little bit right now. I’ve, or my illness, has in someway tainted my parents marriage. None of us are the same. We simply are not the same people and my mother and I have this extreme bond over what went on in that hospital room. 

There is one specific memory that I have, that makes me really sad. I am laying in the hospital bed. It is in the dark hours of the early morning. I’ve woken up in pain and I am already crying. I just lay there and cry, when suddenly I ask God: “Why me?” I pitied myself. All of the things I’d never get to do flashed through my mind. I’d never really get to fall in love. I’d never know what it was like to feel truly comfortable in my own skin. I’d never travel the world. I’d never write a novel or finish school. Then, I asked God: “Can’t you just let me die? I’m tired. I just want to die.” I really did want to die, I am not going to lie. I want to die more than anything. I was 16 and I was just tired of living this half life. 

I don’t really believe in God, so it just shows how desperate I was to beg an entity that I have no belief in.

Within the next week, I got a roommate. (I had been in isolation but was cleared to be with another patient.) My roommate was a 6 year old girl. Let us call her “S”. S had a special type of cancer that effected her brain. She’d undergone many surgeries on her brain. She had two moms and a little brother. You could look into her moms’ eyes and see that their hearts were breaking. If you looked into S’s eyes you saw that she was still happy. Even though she was dying, she was so happy. Happy to see her family, happy when Dora the Explorer came on, happy when she was coloring, happy when her doctor came to see her. I couldn’t understand how she was so happy, I thought she might been ignorant to the whole situation and even today I’m not sure. 

There I was, almost dying. There she was, probably dying. There I was, wanting to die. There she was, not giving a damn. This was normal to her. This was becoming normal for me. Then a realization hit. Her mother had told my mother that she had only been given a couple of months to live a couple of years ago. S was a fighter. She was so young, but she still fought. I wasn’t fighting… I was giving into illness, accepting death. 

They let her go home before me. An indication that she was healthy enough to go home, but I was not. One of my doctors noted to me that I wasn’t the same anymore. He could remember how cheerful and ready to get better I was during my first couple of surgeries. Now, I didn’t want to do anything. I’d cry to go home, but I didn’t do anything about it.

They let me go home after 8 weeks in the hospital. I went home and was given antibiotics through my PICC line 2-3 times a day.  I wanted nothing to do with anything that wasn’t fast food or my bed. I was getting better, but I still wanted no part in life. I was convinced that the cycle would repeat itself as it had so many times. 

I finally broke down one night. I asked my mum if I could talk to someone. The pain clinic I was attending had already suggested it, so we found someone. Ruth, my psychologist, has not diagnosed me with depression but the Pain Clinic has always been convinced I am. I think I was at that point, wanting to die is not normal.

Right before my 17th birthday, my mum told me S had passed away. In front of my mum, I only expressed my deep sadness about the young girl’s death. When I was alone in my bed I cried for her. The fighter had lost the fight, while the I had done nothing to better my health yet I was still here. It seemed completely unfair. It seemed so cruel to take a little girl away.

Something clicked over the next week. I didn’t want this anymore. I didn’t want to die. I just didn’t want to be that person. I wanted to be someone who worked for what she got, I wanted to be a healthy person, I wanted to be a fighter. 

There had been a couple of comments by my family, that estranged us from them. They didn’t think I would make it to 30 because of my weight. I hated them for saying that. I hated myself for agreeing. I hated the situation I was in. I hated my life. For the first time, in a long time, I didn’t want to die. I wanted a change. 

I knew that no one could change my life. The only person who could control the path that I was on was me. So, I switched lanes. I did not want to die, I did not want to be obese, I did not want to live everyday being sad. I needed a change. 

The first order of business was controlling my health. In September, I finally had all of the tools I needed. That is why I am here today. I know not everyone can receive a push as large as mine. I just hope that everyone realizes that they should have health on their list of priorities, because there are so many people that want to live a healthy life… but never get the chance. 

I know this is unbelievably long and probably very boring. This was the only way to explain it fully.