Why I’m having obesity surgery for the second time

AFTER this photo was taken Melanie Tait put on 50kg. So she’s about to do something even more drastic than having a gastric band.

Melanie has struggled with her weight most of her life. Here she is in 2014 after successfully getting to her goal weight. Unfortunately it didn’t last long.

WHEN I got my gastric band removed in 2014*, I thought I had the food and weight thing licked. I didn’t eat flour or sugar. The day of the surgery, I weighed 72kg, up from my lowest of 69kg. As I walked around the ward afterwards, I smugly thought about how lucky I was to never have to come back to this place. I noted that most of the elderly patients I was sharing the ward with were overweight — suffering from hip problems and knee problems.

Not me, I’d never get back there. I had it all sorted.

Three years later and I’m 125kg, and just shy of two weeks away from having a much more invasive surgery than a gastric band — a vertical sleeve gastrectomy. An operation that reduced the size of your stomach by 85%. Where now, I can shovel in mouthful after mouthful of food until my stomach is about 2 litres full, by the time the fortnight is over, I’ll only have room for about 100ml of food.

In that time, I’ve tried really hard to accept being fat. Proper fat. Size 22 fat. ‘Morbidly obese’ fat. I’ve read all about fat acceptance, I’ve joined fat acceptance Facebook pages, I’ve talked with my amazing fat friends who live life to the full and tried to enjoy my body more. I’ve bought beautiful clothes from terrific fat shops.

I even spent a month in an eating disorder clinic in mid-2016 trying to come to terms with my problems with food and the depression it causes.

Melanie Tait had her gastric band removed in 2014, and thought she had won the battle against obesity.

Melanie's weight has ballooned since she had the gastric band removed, and is now about to undergo more radical surgery.

For me, though, within my actual soul, I haven’t been able to get on board properly. I haven’t been able to join the fat acceptance movement and really live in truth with it. Mostly, because although I accept it (of course) and love it in others, I can’t seem to do that for myself.

Here’s what being fat is for ME. And, I don’t cast these judgments on any other fat people — this is my experience, and my experience only: I hate that extra weight means that I’m scared to go on dates. That I get puffed on bush walks. That I don’t dare flirt with men. That I feel my sexuality has been taken away.

I hate that it’s defined almost my entire 37 years on this earth. I also hate how I try to change every day, and don’t seem to be able to. That I stay in bed much longer than I should because I’m frightened that today will be the day my jeans don’t fit, again. That I’m dreading my high school reunion in a few weeks, even though I can’t wait to see everyone.

It’s been a big decision. When I had my band out a few years ago, I swore I’d never go under the knife again, but I’ve discovered, over 50kg later, that when it comes to food, I don’t have an off switch. And unfortunately, radical surgery is the best medicine has to offer at the moment for the treatment of obesity.

And, I’m one of the lucky ones. It’s expensive to have obesity surgery. Firstly, you have the $138/month health insurance for at least a year (as obesity is a pre-existing condition), then there’s the out of pocket for the surgeon and anaesthetist coming to $8500, doctor’s appointments in the lead up to the tune of $1000, four weeks off work and flights between Sydney, where my doctor is, and Hobart, where I live.

Already, I’m in a lot of financial debt because of my eating addiction. It costs a lot of money to put on 57kg, and like an alcoholic or drug addict looking for that next fix, I’ve done anything I could to get the money to feed my addiction. Being a professional, middle class woman — that means racking up three credit cards full of food, then bigger clothes to fit the bigger body. Sometimes, I’ve even stolen food from my colleagues at work, when the money has run out. It’s an endless, expensive cycle.

Thankfully, I have a loving family who’ve seen how this eating problem has broken me and cast shadows on my life, and in doing so caused them immense pain too. They’re not wealthy, but my parents, my grandfather, aunty and siblings have all generously supported me financially and emotionally to get this second operation. My job has been supportive allowing me time off. I’ll pay them back when it’s impossible for me to squeeze a burger into my tiny new stomach.

What about the people who don’t have this lucky set of circumstances? Who have four kids and work two jobs? Every report that comes out tells us that obesity is a socio-economic problem, but only ‘rich’ people can afford the solution. It’s not fair.

For anyone reading this who doesn’t have an eating problem, the solution to all this expense is simple: stop eating. I wish I could. I don’t know what it is inside me that keeps me putting food into my mouth, when it’s wrecking everything in my life.

Now, I’m preparing for my operation by taking an Optifast meal replacement diet, to reduce the fat in my liver. At first, I found it so hard I doctor-shopped until someone would prescribe me legal speed (phentermine) to curb my appetite. My surgeon has asked me to leave them behind, but I admit I’ve taken one this morning because even though the operation is fast approaching I’m still trying to find any rationalisation and spare change I can for a McDonalds drive thru.

Having been through obesity surgery before, I know it’s not a quick fix, it’s not a perfect fix, but it’s a bloody good hand break on a car that’s out of control and smashing up everything that’s in its sight.

* The band was removed for medical reasons. My stomach had grown over it and I couldn’t eat anything. Hair was falling out, the works.

Melanie Tait is a writer and broadcaster, hosting ABC Hobart Evenings 7-10pm Monday — Thursday. You can chat all things obesity surgery with her on Twitter: @MelanieTait