Monday, 20 August 2012

My fat story Part 4

 Well, pregnant...again! I am excluding a lot about those subjects wich is not related to my weight but a lot of thoose issues is directly related to my weight, so some private parts needs to be told about anyway.
I wanted more children and my daughter wanted a sibling. My ex-boyfriend didn't want any, and there I was in the choice between being a single mum with 2 kids or do an abortion.

I knew that my ex wasn't going to "be there", so the main question was if I could take care of one more child by my self. Nothing I really longed for but the longing for another child was stronger.

I decided to keep it. Me and Samantha lived in a pretty big three-room apartment, I had a job and was prepaired  better than the last time...anyway in a practical and financial way. What I forgot was the emotional part...

I was still very much in love with my ex and I think he was too. We saw each other regularly, and I always had that hope that we should live together again some day in the future. I was aware about  having a child without his agreement would affect the relationship negatively. I really couldn't understand why he didn't want to have a child with me, when he said that he loved me. We fought a lot about this issue and he said several times: - You are welcome to have another child, but not with me.
But now I was!
In pregnancy week 13, I went to the Maternity Clinic for my first check up. The midwife asked me to stand on the scale. It said 13 more kilos than I weighed 13 weeks earlier.


I felt how my whole inner just cramped in to a black, hard lump and I just swallowed, swallowed and swallowed. All those kilos I'd worked so hard to keep for over three years was just gone and I knew that if I could gain 13 kilos in 13 weeks, I had another 27 weeks to gain even more.
I went back home and continued to "swallow" that lump who was inside of my chest.

The next day I was on my way to work. I went with my daughter to daycare and on the way from there, the lump in my chest literally exploded. My legs crumbled and the panic welled out through every pore in my body - I had lost the control over my weight. I couldn't breath, the tears flowed and I stumbeled back home. The thought of going to work was impossible. I called my work but couldn't speak, I just cried and hyperventilated. The person who answered heard that it was me and just said: - I understand that you are staying home today. Call when you can talk.
I don't know when I stopped to cry but I don't think I ever stopped crying that year...
(My ex used to say that I had to stop crying or else his child would be insane)

The day after I called Psychologist Clinic and asked for help. I had fallen down in to an acute depression and I felt that I couldn't get out of it by my self.
I went there once a week, the rest of my pregnancy and had supportive talks with a nurse. I was not allowed to do therapy with a psychologist because of my pregnancy - You are far to vulnerable when you are pregnant.
My ex-boyfriend was informed about my condition and surprisingly, he wanted to participate, wich meant on his own terms off course.
I was still very lonley and depressed.
Danish Pastry
I worked in another town and drove the 70 kilometers to work with a bag of candy beside me as company and on the way home from work I stopped to buy fast food and more candy. When I got hom, I bought more food, pastries and more candy. Chocolate Fudge was one of my favourites but also cookies, danish pastry, bread, food and more candy.

I cried, ate and cried some more. No supportive conversations in the world could make me feel better and for each gram of weight I gained, I ate even more.
I was supposed to give birth to my baby the 12th of november 1993 and stopped working in the end of october. Now I sat at home and just waited to give birth to my baby. Added to my heavy body was very swollen feet and legs. I used slippers in november because there was no shoes who I could wear. (It was cold and snowy in november)
I succeded to find a winter jacket wich I could close in a size of an elephant...
When I was in the eight month of my pregnancy I found out from a mutual friend of me and my ex-boyfriend that he "planned" to break up with me as soon as the baby was born. I confronted him and got it confirmed, wich ended with a big fight, where he threatened to sue me if I wouldn't let him participate in the delivery. He used to threaten me with a lot of strange things but this one was probably the oddest of them all.

I didn't get exactly happier after this. I talked to my supportive contact about the situation and she helped me to realize that I already had given birth alone once and should let the father participate - for my own sake.
The 12th of november came but no baby and I had to wait another two weeks.
The 25th of november I did a ultrasound to find out if everything was okey with the baby and my ex-boyfriend was with me. I saw all those happy couples around me...
I was just tired, fat and sad and just wanted to give birth to my child...two days later I started to get  contractions - at last!
My daughter, 7 years old was as happy as me and started to prepair for her sibling to arrive, she vaccumed the whole apartment, helped me to pack a bag etc. She helped me so much with those things I couldn't do because of my big body. My ex-boyfriend came with the car and we went to the hospital.
We came in about six o'clock in the evening and the water broke right after..and the contratctions stopped! It's supposed to be the opposite.
I started to walk around the ward clinic to get my contratctions started again and once again, I saw all those happy couples...
My ex-boyfriend was actually pretty solidaric and gave me more support than I expected, nevertheless, so the decision to have him participate was good.
I got an IV to make the contractions to start again and by midnight, they started. Three hours later I gave birth to a big babyboy at 4,3 kilos. He didn't breath at first because he had swallowed faecal (the first poop) wich was quickly removed and he could breath. I didn't even react towards it because of exhaustion. They came with him and put him to my breast and he grabbed it like he never done anything else in his short life.
Oliver has come in to my life.

When I came home I could just note one thing:
I was as fat now as I was before the delivery. The jacket was as tight as before. I was in complete panic - how was I supposed to loose all this weight???
The promisse I made to my self to never do surgery again started to feel wrong...

I started to call to different hospitals and ask around how to do, to get a gastric bypass-surgery and ended up with an appointment at the surgical clinic in Sahlgrenska University Hospital.
In the clinic I standed on a scale for the first time since the beginning of my pregnancy. I weighed 150 kilos - I hade gained 30 kilos during the pregnancy. I begged for help, not just for my own sake, also for my childrens sake. There was no chance that I could take care of my children physically with that heavy weight. What would happen if I had to run? I rememebered how much I had to run when my daughter was smaller.
They put me on a waitinglist and said it would take about a year to wait for surgery. This was in the beginning of 1994. The following months I did as during the pregnancy: fighting with my ex-boyfriend, cried and ate and got fatter for each day passing. The only light in my life was my children.
Early that summer I was asked to be made of honor for a friend at her wedding. The colours was red and white and I started to search for something who could fit my big body and a wedding. In the end I found a red skirt and a top, my big arms could fit. But was to casual to wear on a wedding so after some thinking I sew a top who could hide my big arms, from my grandmothers old lace curtains.
The same summer my son, Oliver was babtised and the only thing I could wear was that red skirt and the top. In Sweden it is very hard to find clothes for big people.
My body was so heavy and it got worse every day. I just waited to get that surgery and ate anything I could find. I couldn't pick up the toys on the floor or put on my own shoes, because then I couldn't breath. I couldn't turn around in the bed without first sit up. I had to hold the washbasin in the toilett to get my legs in to the bathtub, to shower. To carry the laundry down to the laundry-house was pure hell and I had constantly pain in my back, knees and feet. Samantha had to help me to clean, pick up the toys, her small brother from the floor, help me to dress and put on my shoes etc. Without her I would probably just been sitting and not done anything at all.
My ex-boyfrend moved up to the north part of Sweden (he came down for the summer), so mainly I was alone with my two children.
The only thing who kept me alive was the thought of the surgery and to get out of the prison my body and my addiction was. I was so depressed that I was suicidal.

In the fall my ex-boyfriend moved back to Gothenburgh, to me. I remember that he wanted to have sex with me and my big body. I reluctantly agreed to do it but afterwards I cried of pure humilitation - to have sex with this big body was terrible, because I couldn't move in lying position.
Yes, it is embarrasing to wright about it, but that is how it was. Still today I can think about how big people manage to have sex because I know how difficult it is. I didn't do it again!

I started to loose patience an started to call the hospital to find out when I could do my surgery. They told me in the end of the year.
Every time I called, I got the same answer:
- No, not yet. Call again, next month.
In november I was so big and heavy and desperate and cried every time I called, they decided to see me again in the hospital for a second check up.
I met the Chief Surgeron of Gastric Bypass-surgery, an older man. He listened to me, trying to describe my hard situation, how I couldn't move, take care of my children and how it would be next summer when Oliver could run and I hardly could get up from a chair. He heard my suicidal thoughts and the conversation ended with him taking my hand and say:
- I will arrange for you to do the surgery before New Year, I promissed you that. You will get a letter form us around Christmas.
Christmas came but no letter.
New Year came but no letter.
The first week in january I called again and got the answer:
- Oh, didn't you get any letter? You will have it in a couple of days because you are listed for surgery now.
The letter came and it said:
Day for surgery 1995-02-03
My life would change for ever, the 3rd of february 1995.
I was so happy and relifed and at the same time totally terrified and panic-struck.
What will happen?
What if I get sick again, and throw up until I die? Then I can't take care of my children.
What if I die during anesthesia?
What if....!
But I could also point out that if did NOT do this I would die anyway. Probably because of some over-weight related disease or kill myself. This life was no life. I just existed and the only thing who made me get up every day, was my children, nothing else - absolutly nothing else. (Yes, it hurts to write about it...)
I didn't want to live as a fat walrus who couldn't move and who got comments and gazes every time I got outside my home.
I remember I wrote some kind of poem where I wished I could go among people without no one noticing me and "melted in" in the crowd. Not like now, when even drunken, dirty old men commented my fat body, grumpy old ladies stairing at me, kids who pointed and laughed etc.
Just some days before the surgery I was in a candyshop to buy candy for my kids and a woman staired at me and said loud and clear:
- That is the way you get if you eat candy!
I felt the tears in my eyes and the humiliation in my body and I just lost it. I took the small bag of candy and threw it towards her and "ran" out of the shop.
I was going to do surgery just a couple of days later! But she didn't know that and I didn't thought of telling her that either.

I arranged for my ex to take care of the children and he promissed to visit every day so they didn't miss me to much. I didn't know how long time I would be gone...or if I even would survive.
The day I did the surgery and cried, excusing myself to the surgeants for being so fat I weighed 172,4 kilos.
New Years eve 1995

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