Stolen Dreams
A few days ago, I went to visit a neurosurgeon. I have a tremor in my hands. It’s called an “essential tremor”. I’ve had it for over 20 years. At first, it was a mild annoyance I noticed sometimes. Now, it shows up in my fine motor skills when I can’t align things properly and more generally when drinks slosh over the tops of cups I’m carrying. In 2021, I tried various medications to slow or stop the tremor, but none of them really worked; they only made me tired. This past January when I went to see my neurologist, he recommended I see a neurosurgeon since medication options weren’t working. There’s a surgery called “Deep Brain Stimulation”. This surgery specifically targets the parts of your brain that control the tremor area. With the surgery, you actually have a controller implanted that you use to control the tremor area. So if your tremor gets worse over time, you can ramp up the controls. To me, this surgery sounded like an answer to my issues. Tremors like mine run in my family. One relative had this tremor, and it was intense toward the end of her life. She had trouble holding cutlery when she wanted to eat. She had trouble dressing and bathing. Another has this tremor now. He too has trouble with cutlery and he can’t put on his shoes. I could see my life headed this way if I didn’t do something like have this surgery.
I went to see the neurosurgeon. When I got there, it turned out my appointment was with a physician’s assistant (PA). That was okay; she was extremely knowledgeable. She told me the details of the surgery. She told me that the surgeon had already done 900+ of these surgeries and had a great success rate: 70% or more decrease in tremors. She told me how the surgeon had developed a new process to zero in on the area of the brain, and you only had to stay in the hospital overnight, and they didn’t have to shave your head. Then she explained a special rechargeable battery I could get for the implanted device that would last 15 years. She tested my coordination and fine motor skills. She told me I was suitable candidate for the surgery. We went over the fact that less than a year before, I had lung surgery; a nodule in my lung was removed. It turned out to be melanoma, so they removed an entire lung lobe and 32 lymph nodes. As a result, I am undergoing immunotherapy to eliminate any other chances of cancer. She said I would need to wait for that treatment to be over before I could have the surgery. The immunotherapy has stripped my adrenal glands of the ability to make cortisol, so I am taking supplemental steroids for the rest of my life. She pointed out that I would have to have a special steroid boost for the surgery so that I could heal properly, and they would want to watch me for infection more carefully. She assured me it was all doable. I was feeling confident that this surgery could eliminate my current and potential future tremor issues. It was a dream come true. Then she dropped the bomb. The PA said, “You can’t have this surgery until you are at this lower BMI. I know you are taking steroids, and that makes weight loss tricky. You should try GLP-1s to help get the weight off. They’re very effective!” I would have to lose 20% of my body weight. At that point, I wanted to walk out of the doctor’s office. Why bother staying and asking questions? Who did they think I was that I would go off and start dieting?
I am so angry and frustrated. It’s as if they dangled a gold ring in my face and then snatched it away. The PA said I was a great candidate. She said my tremor was bad enough (or good enough?) that my insurance would cover the surgery. Yet my body wasn’t good enough. My body could not manage the surgery in its current fat state. My body was bad and wrong. A body my size was at risk of blood clots and infection. But wait – my body had a lung surgery 11 months ago. What the hell was she saying?
I’ve spent close to 10 years undoing over 35 years of body hatred. I’ve spent this time unraveling all the feelings that my body is not small enough. I spent over 35 years questioning feelings of hunger and denying myself the pleasure of taste because society told me my body was too big. Whenever I went on a date and the potential partner didn’t reach back out, I assumed it was because my body was too fat. I even conceded to doing things with men that I didn’t want to because I thought, “Well I’m lucky to have this man. Normally someone in my body size doesn’t get a man.”
In the past, when I lost weight, I received buckets of praise. I felt like a superhero on the outside, while struggling with hunger and a desire to listen to my body on the inside. When I lost weight and gained it back, I considered myself a failure. I have finally accepted my body, see my body as a good body, and I’ve dropped my body shame. Hell, I even have “The body is not an apology” tattooed on the inside of my left arm. I’ve had a rebirth of boundaries, put my body above the thoughts and intentions of others. I’ve rescued myself from a life of self-hate and flagellation.
It’s amazing what one sentence can do to my psyche. I suddenly was questioning my body autonomy. Did I want to give up all my body acceptance to go back to the life of fixating on how many calories go into my mouth and how the scale was moving? Did I have to go buy a scale after not having one in my house for more than 10 years? I noticed that I was body checking again, comparing myself to other bodies in my line of sight.
What about after the surgery? Did I have to stay in a smaller body after the surgery? The PA said I did not. What would happen to me post surgery? Would I balloon back to my original weight? Get even larger? I wondered how many sizes of clothing I was going to need for this pre and post-surgery experience. I love my current closet. I just bought 3 new dresses. There’s no way they would fit after losing 20% of my weight. Would I put them aside and save them for when I got fat again?
Thinking about my thoughts, I felt shocked. Here I was, on the opposite side of dieting, worrying about all I would have to give up of my peaceful autonomous life if I started dieting again. It reminded me of when I was a dieter, and I dreamed of what life would be like in a smaller body. Now that dream is more of a nightmare. So why am I considering dieting? Why must I throw away what have become my principles just to get healthcare that I am entitled to?
When I left the doctor’s office, I went to Costco to meet my partner for lunch. Who doesn’t love the $1.50 hot dog and soda? As we sat munching on our treats, I looked at the carts around me. They were stuffed with packages of ramen bowls, macaroni, eggs, breakfast bars, and chocolates. On each of the giant packages, I imagined faces with sharp teeth taunting me. These were for people who could eat these foods with no worries, no gains.
I told my partner about my experience at the doctor. He felt sad and frustrated for me. He even said, “If you decide this is something you want to do, we can do it together.” I looked at him weirdly. He wanted to have the surgery with me? Then I realized he was saying he would lose weight with me. I said, “Thank you, that is really kind.” I appreciated his compassion. Then I thought, “Hell no! What are you thinking? We aren’t doing this thing!”
Still, I am finding it hard to let go of the idea that if I want to lose the tremor and have a better quality of life as I age, this weight loss may be my only avenue. After Costco, I went shoe shopping. As I purchased a pair of shoes I thought, “If I lose 20% of my weight, will these shoes fit me anymore? Will I need all new shoes?”
I remember starting diets in the past. I remember feeling hopeful and excited thinking, “This time!” “This time!” I remember feeling like a failure when the scale crept up on a week when I thought I was, “good.” I remember having so much fixation on my body, there wasn’t much room for anything else in my head. I don’t want to go back to that place.
Just one sentence. This woman turned my mind upside-down with just one sentence. I’m not sure how to find peace in this cognitive dissonance.
