Beyond Appearance

There are a lot of television shows about obese people turning their life around. Their surgery is televised and their journey into their new life is seen as entertainment and often a topic of discussion. “It’s easy. Just stop eating. Get on a diet.” I often hear people say as they criticize the people on the screen and around me.

 If it was easy I would’ve done it without the pain and hospital stay. I wonder if they know that that person was me, is me.

“Are you doing okay, Melinda? Any pain or discomfort?” I heard their muffled speech through their masks. “I’m okay, no pain.” I spoke softly. I could feel my legs shake, a movement that quickly moved to my fingertips and then to my torso. Get it together. You’ve wanted this for a really long time. You need this. No going back now. Aside from not being able to recognize their faces behind the masks, their voices were unrecognizable as well. I didn’t know these people who were calling me by name and it made me uncomfortable.

There was much movement taking place around me, and medical jargon I decided to tune out for obvious reasons. I laid there awake, waiting. I didn’t expect to be awake on the inside. I’ve seen every episode of Grey’s Anatomy twice, and still this place felt foreign to me. It was bright. Too bright; not at all dark and dim like the show always portrayed it.

The masked woman next to me touched my arm, forcing me by instinct to focus my eyes on her. “It’s okay,” she said, gently rubbing my arm. “Don’t be nervous, Melinda. I had this surgery. It will change your life.” I was uncertain of how to respond so I slightly smiled, exhaling a deep breath to show I was taking her advice.

“Okay, Melinda, are you ready? This is Michael, Jennifer, and Jacob. They are a part of your team—you already know me, Dr. Ray, and we’re all going to take real good care of you.” My body continued to shake. They placed a mask on my face, making it difficult to breath. “It’s just oxygen. Lift your head a bit, please.” They moved a strap around my head, holding the mask in place. It was strange to me how much more difficult it was to breath with this oxygen than without it.

“Can you count down from five for me?” I looked up and saw Dr. Ray’s eyes piercing mine, awaiting my count down. Oh gosh. This is it. It’s pretty much done. “5…” I felt it hit me, right between the eyes. “4...” It moved up my forehead, inching towards the top of my head. This doesn’t feel right. What if I don’t wake up from this? Please let me wake up from this. “3…” and I was gone.

It felt like waking up from a short nap when I heard the commotion around me. “Melinda? Can you wake up for me, Melinda? The surgery was successful. You will have some bruising, but you’re going to be okay. This is Marcus and he’s going to be taking care of you here in recovery. It was the woman from the inside, her mask off. Her face was kind and I at once found relief, believing I was going to be okay.

At first I felt nothing, but then I felt everything. There was something at the back of my throat. I swallowed over and over but the sensation wouldn’t seem to go away. With every try to remove the feeling, I felt the nausea build up in my stomach, or what was left of my stomach. Every couple of minutes I would hear a machine resound behind me, as I saw movement coming from the tube in my nose. I reached for my face, right for the tube and I gave it a light tug. Realizing it would be much harder to remove than I thought, I grasped for it again, getting ready to pull it harder than before, when I heard a light shout come from a man as he rushed towards me. “Ms. Melinda! Don’t do that!” removing my hands from the tube, “This is helping you heal! And it’s helping you with the nausea. It needs to stay till Dr. Ray says it can be removed.” I pouted, hoping to shed a tear that would change his mind. “It’s making me nauseous.” And at once, speaking those four words I was overwhelmed with a feeling I absolutely loathed to feel. I began to gag. “I’m going to be sick!” I said grabbing onto the man’s arm, anticipating help when I knew he could give me none. “Melinda! Look at me, Melinda! Breathe. Just Breathe. You’re not going to throw up because there is nothing for you to throw up. I need you to stop that. Right now! That is the worst thing you could do right now. When you do that, you’re causing your stomach to this” he lifted his hand and pumped his fist in my face “and that can be very bad. That can cause your stitches inside to come undone, and you don’t want that. Ignore the tube. Just breathe. It’s all in your mind.”

And so I did. I lay there slightly inclined, alone in room, my bed next to strangers. Why did I do this? I was fine yesterday, and today I feel terrible. I was fine! I don’t want it anymore. Tears strolled down my face. Conversing in my head, a place that did not make me feel nauseous, I couldn’t sleep a wink that night. The clocked inched closer to the next hour, and then the next. The sound of the machines around me made me feel anxious, as if they were somehow contributing to the slow movement of time.

It was quiet, until I heard a woman begin to cry. It was disturbing. Obviously a cry depicting her pain, but I couldn’t help but wonder if it was possible for her to feel any worse than I did at the moment.

“Where’s my family? Why aren’t they here?” I asked a nurse when she drew near to check my vitals. “Melinda, you know why. This is the ICU, we don’t allow family in here, especially not at this hour.” ICU? Why am I in here? They told me this was recovery. Am I okay? How could I not have noticed this?

The woman cried and wailed on. I didn’t know why she did this, but I presumed she was in a painful situation, one she did not ask to be in. I felt selfish—like I chose to put myself here when she did not.

That night was the longest night I’d ever experienced. That week was even longer, as I was hospitalized for five days post surgery. They told me the ICU stay was used as a precautionary gesture because my weight was so high. It made me sad. Even after taking this step forward, my weight still managed to make things worse for me.

The months were long. I wasn’t expecting to waltz on out of there a new person back in my old ways, but it was more difficult than I had anticipated. Recovery was so hard. It did not last days or weeks, but months.

The woman in the operating room was right. It did change my life, but it did not happen overnight. It was not a shortcut, as many believe it to be—as it was a very time consuming process. It was not easy, as some hint—as it is by far the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

I’m unsure of what has changed my life the most—my surgery or the thought of my life before it. We live in a world where our looks determine the outcome of our success or failure. However intelligent and qualified I may be, my appearance determined whether I got the job or whether it would be given to the pretty, thin bimbo next to me.

I like to meet people, all people. I’m kind. I’m chatty. I want you to tell me things about yourself beyond what I can see. That is who you are, not who or what everyone makes you out to be. Very few know what it feels like to be trapped in your own body; it’s a truly horrible feeling.

When people see my before photos, the words “wow” and “oh my goodness” often fall from their mouths, along with their jaws. I’m terrified to know what they think of that girl, the one in the photograph, the girl I was a year ago.