Before & After First Installment September 6, 2001

I am 13 days post gastric buypass surgery…oops, bypass.

August 24, 2001, at Zale Lipshy Hospital in Dallas, I went under the spell of Dr. David Provost and his assistant, Dr. Daniel Jones. In a little more than an hour, they skillfully performed the latest in weight-loss techniques (a laparoscopic gastric bypass—the same kind of surgery that Carnie Wilson introduced us to about a year ago).

Look at her now. An astounding permanent change in her weight because she was (like me and thousands of others) 100 pounds or more overweight. Finally, hope for what in the medical community is referred to as "morbidly obese." Scary, isn't it?

Well, from that day forward, a miracle is in the works. For the first time in my life (or as far back as I can remember,) the Diva's not hungry.

Now think about it. If you're not "one of us," don't you stop eating when you're full? Well, we don't. After a perfectly wonderful and satisfying dinner out, an hour later I'm rummaging through the refrigerator or the cabinets for "something to eat." Anything will do, though my favorites were cheese and crackers, peanut butter and celery, or chips, chips and more chips.

Couldn't eat just one? Had to finish the bag. I'd even wake up at 3 AM if I hadn't downed it all in the first go-around.

Today, however, my life begins anew. I will be sharing my progress through this website along with others who hopefully will share theirs, both in pictures and in words.

That's where the real inspiration lies. I hope, too, to publish a book of "our story," and why gastric bypass surgery is the medical answer to those of us who have no control over the amount of food we eat because we suffer from a very complicated, yet simply correctible, disease.

Throw away all those pills that ultimately are recalled from the shelves. Forget dreaming about losing 100, 200, 300 pounds in your sleep, or anywhere else as long as effort is not involved.

Think about it? If you take it off slowly, it may take you three or four years to do so. Will you be able to sustain the "diet" over the long haul? Will you even live long enough to try?

For those with 100 pounds or more to lose, it is a daunting project, one that is so discouraging; you give up before you even get going.

The struggle to regain my day-to-day activities and to look forward to a future without pain (and without the twenty-something pills I was taking daily) is now possible. The moment I was wheeled into recovery my life had just begun.

No more diuretics, unless I need them. No more Prilosec for my ulcers. No more Celebrex for my arthritis. Cut the blood pressure medicine in half. Life is definitely getting better, easier, and most significantly, less expensive.

In the last ten years, I have progressively added more than 150 pounds to my under five-foot frame. Not easy, you say? How could I let myself go? Why can't I exert some self-control? Why couldn't I just say, "no" to second helpings, fast food and desserts, just like you say "no" to drugs and alcohol?

Could it be that something is different with food? You have to eat, don't you? Well, chalk that up to just one of the differences between food and drugs (though I admit, we "use" food as our "drug" of choice.)

Granted, I have used food all of my life…to celebrate a happy occasion or to soothe my sadness, my boredom, my stress, or my anger. But those 100-plus pounds were seriously jeopardizing my health—and ultimately, my life.

About four years ago, I began my search for that "miracle" cure that I had been dreaming about.

What I did before

I have belabored my weight problem via thousands of hours of therapy. Pretty expensive, but it NEVER worked. Was it in my head, or the result of my rebellion against a controlling mother? Why am I fat, I asked over and over again of the many psychiatrists and psychologists I conferred with? There were never any answers, but thousands of dollars later…I finally gave up. One psych was so furious that I was leaving him; I thought he was going to sue me. After all, weekly sessions for three years do help decorate palatial contemporary homes, don't they?

Though he nodded off during most of our sessions, after so many years I was not only tired of asking the same question over and over again, but I was getting bored, too. In fact, I couldn't wait to grab a hamburger across the street the minute I left the session.

While undergoing "therapy" to find the underlying causes for my weight problem, I turned to the myriad of commercial weight loss programs that make millions, if not billions, of dollars off of those that want to or need to lose weight.

Like most of us, I have lost thousands of pounds via Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, Diet Center, Larry North, Cliff Sheats, Dr. Atkins, the Scarsdale Diet, Sugarbusters, The Carbo-hydrate Lovers Diet. I even knew Dr. Heller, pleading with her to help me—without having to give up my sugarless gum and Diet Cokes.

Too, I lost 100 pounds with Medifast. It was easy. Just stop eating and drink the shakes. Not having to deal with food was much easier than I thought and I was successful…until I put that first broiled chicken breast in my mouth. I gained 170 back in about four months.

One time I was in the company of Richard Simmons. We were both, at the time, syndicated by Universal Press. I found him obnoxious, hyper and stuck on himself; I couldn't get to first place on a personal level. I thought maybe he was the answer.

Though I had bought several hundred dollars worth of his tapes, I thought at least he'd be cordial. He wasn't; I was furious and ordered dessert and a cappuccino.

Instead, he was the only one of us (Cathy, Ziggy, Ann Landers, etc.) who rode in a limo to the restaurant; and he was the only one to leave the table in disgust, complaining the fish wasn't fresh enough.

So much for having a pipeline to Richard Simmons.

I even know Oprah. Having been on her show many, many times, I, too, have gone through three personal chefs who cooked fabulous low-fat meals, only to gain weight by eating twice as much.

Wrote the book on spas

One night, at Lake Austin Resort in Austin, several gals and I were sitting in my room talking about our late-night secretive excursions to fetch a favorite food. One asked me if I had ever heard of "turtle fudge ice cream?" I hadn't. But in a few minutes, one of the ladies (who was the wife of a high-ranking political leader), called her chauffeur to deliver us some turtle fudge ice cream. So much for satisfying a craving at midnight!

Just talking about it sent us into some sort of raving mania. We had to have it—or we'd die? (Or something short of that!)

It sounds funny, but we were serious. We continued our visual journey of downing a big bowl only to discover how potent our images were.

We got some. We ate it. We felt guilty. And we gained a few pounds the next day.

But I've got one up on Oprah (and she's got several hundred million up on me.)

I owned a spa and taught others how to lose weight. I was supposedly an expert on the subject of weight loss. I exercised daily, ran 5-10 miles a day, wrote a national book on spas (and went to most of them) and still gained weight. Late night popcorn in my room, behind closed doors, didn't help.

Neither did all the stress that ensued after my partner decided he wanted my half of our interest in the spa…and took it! To make matters worse, we were engaged to be married. (So much for my European knight in shining "armour.")

Being broke, without a car, a son in the hospital, and the reality that I was experiencing another lost dream, was too much to bear.

After I spent every last dollar and every last ounce of energy in court fighting the good fight, I ran out of money, and he ran off with the spa and a new girlfriend that he was courting during our engagement.

By 1989, I really started packing it on. Food was my best friend, my solace, my comfort that I could call upon whenever I wanted and that quieted by nerves.

I took it everywhere I went—in the car, in bed, to the couch. If I wasn't eating, I was thinking about it. Regardless of whether I was hungry or not, food was uppermost on my mind.

My 85-year old dad begged me to "get a grip." After all, being single and FAT…who would want me? At that point in my life, after the fiasco at the spa (and my ex-fiancé,) who cared about men? They were the last thing on my mind and frankly, the fatter I got, the less likely they were to bother me.

So, I hid away for about 5-6 years, in my lake house, working on the first and second floors and hiding out on the third. Until my house burned down.

The search for the perfect doctor

I started searching the Internet and found a wealth of information. Obesity is a big topic and since the majority of Americans are overweight, I started reading.

I attended several obesity surgeons' seminars that were advertising in local publications. One that was particularly blatant about his program was first. I dragged my husband to the session and thought, wow, this sounded interesting.

There were at least 75 in attendance, all weighed over 100 pounds, and many more than 200 pounds. I wasn't even the "fattest" in the group. (My, how I felt smug!)

Watching a film on the surgery, and listening to all the things "I wouldn't, couldn't or shouldn't do" after the surgery, scared me. Do I really want to give up Diet Coke? (NO!) Do I really want to give up cheesecake from Cheesecake Royale? (NO!) Do I really want to not drink with my meals? (NO!)

Boy, was I ready for this surgery.

I still pursued it. After all, I was reluctant to quit smoking, but took the class and quit, didn't I? I didn't have to like it…I just had to do it.

Unfortunately, my insurance said "no" to paying for the surgery and I was off the hook.

Life continued and the weight kept piling on. Finally, I topped an all time high of—well, never mind, at least I didn't weigh 300 pounds.

In June, I finally begged my doctors for a referral. Meridia, Xenical, they didn't work. Exercising in the pool made a big difference…one month later, one pound lighter. It was too discouraging and "weigh" too slow.

They gave me two doctor referrals; one was Dr. David Provost of Southwestern Medical Center at Dallas. 214/648-9622. The first appointment for a consultation was sometime in the spring of 2002. Great. Here I was ready, and he couldn't see me.

Since I was already doing segments for Channel 5, I suggested to their medical reporter, Deborah Ferguson, to do a story on gastric bypass. I'd be happy to be a guinea pig.

When I called Dr. Provost's office back, I asked to speak to him personally because Channel 5 was interested in doing the story. Thank God, they found a last-minute cancellation for that first meeting. It was filmed at the same time I was meeting Dr. Provost for the first time.

For information about the surgery, visit www.obesityhelp.com. It's the best site to get acquainted with the surgery, see others who have gone before you, find a doctor near you, and other pertinent information from those who are either thinking about it, waiting for a surgery date, or those who have "gone to the other side."

Meeting Dr. Provost

When he walked into the room, I thought he might be just out of college…he was so young-looking. And handsome, too. Well, when did I object to having a young, handsome man as my doctor?

My first question, however blunt was, "How old are you?" and "How many of these surgeries have you performed?"

I know he was taken aback but he answered firmly, 40 and 500, respectively.

Prior to specializing in gastric bypass surgery, he was, I believe, the head of the trauma surgery department at Parkland while his colleague, Dr. Jones, was an expert in laparoscopic surgery. Together, they made a formidable team and already I felt more comfortable.

Since they were part of a world-renowned teaching hospital, they were also expected to teach other doctors this surgery; I surmised, therefore, that they knew what they were doing.

Okay, already, if my insurance will cover it, I'll go for it. Reluctant as I was because of my concerns over other health issues of mine, I decided, 1) it would make a good story; and 2) if it didn't work, at least I tried. Frankly, I didn't think it would work. Nothing else had, and all the success stories behind me were owing to their own particular "will-power and discipline" or they were "younger" or "they had easier lives and didn't have to be concerned with making a living." Excuses that really satisfied my fear of failure.

I attended one of the support groups prior to surgery and noticed the majority of attendees were drinking bottled water. Oh dear, I though. You mean after surgery, I'd be doing that, too?

I hate tepid water. If it didn't have tons of ice in it, I didn't drink it. The four weeks or so before surgery I was, no doubt, diabetic, for I drank gallons and gallons of water. In fact, because of my congestive heart failure (my heart filled up with fluid), my cardiologist recommended I drink a whole lot less. Never did I have a thirst for water until those last weeks before surgery.

I had tested borderline, but I'm sure I went off the charts right up to the very end.

I had to eat "light" a day or so before surgery and not drink anything beyond midnight. So, I waited until the last possible hour to eat my "last meal" and really enjoyed a take-out from my favorite Mexican restaurant—a half order of fajita nachos with sour cream and guacamole, thinking all along that that would be my final hour of pleasurable eating.

My whole world was going to change at 7:15 the following morning, August 24, 2001, and I was going to go out with a full stomach and my beloved guacamole.

Stay tuned for the surgery and the week that was. Installment #2. Next week.

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